#Nosy almost set Black's office on fire...

[kiwiplaetzchen]

What was the most mischief Nosy has ever gotten into? Did just Slytherins belongings gone missing or anyone else’s? 😏

Oh, my sweet sweet anon 😏💚 You know damn well that nobody is safe from Nosy's grabby hands.

I would say the most remarkable chaos the little rascal created was when he snatched Sebastian's wand or when when he had a little bit too much fun with Clem. 😌

But Nosy created quite a lot of chaos and arson throughout the whole year.😌 😏 (Lots of arson, really. It's a wonder Nosy is still allowed to stay in the Common Room, let alone at Hogwarts.)

But you also have to understand Nosy's point of view... Is there something more shiny than FIRE?! 🔥\(*-*)/🔥

[bungeenomin]

COMPETITION- KIM DOYOUNG

genre: e2l doyoung x reader 

word count: 5.2k

summary: your entire life, your neighbour has been nothing but competition. from as soon as you had the ability to form an opinion on people, it was engrained in you to hate kim doyoung. but can you still hate him when you reunite as adults after getting hired under by same company? is he still competition?

warning: oral (m+f receiving), dirty talk, sex

a/n: feel free to send me requests, asks and leave feedback!

main masterlist

from when you were a kid, you were taught to hate the kim family. ironically, both your parents and mr and ms kim pretended to like each other. they acted like they didn’t completely despise one another, but they knew they did, everyone did. the feud was so petty, you’ll admit. your families constantly competing with who was the richest, who had the nicest car, who had the better education, who’s children were more talented. no matter how petty you knew the feud was, it was ingrained in you to hate kim doyoung with all your being, and that’s exactly what you did.

when your parents and the kim’s pretended to get on, you and doyoung never dared speak to each other. in both of your eyes, you were just competition, feeding into your parents on going feud. as you sat glaring at each other at dinner meals, your parents would brag back and forth about how amazing their dear children are, constantly trying to one up each other and get the last word.

you didn’t hate anyone, you thought hating was harsh. but kim doyoung was different. you had deep, deep hatred for him. your only conversations were cold, offensive, hateful. he was an obstacle in the way of your success from the day you were born until the day you moved away for college. he was nothing but competition.

December 5th 2020

“good look today my love” your mother beams through the phone, full of pride. it’s your first day at your new job, an extremely well paid job, a job to make your parents proud of you. 

“thank you mom but i have to go now, being late on the first day wouldn’t leave a very good impression” you sigh, grabbing your handbag from the passenger seat and exiting your car, locking it behind you. “i’ll fill you in later mom, okay?”

“yes, yes of course!” your mother enthusiastically responds. “your father and i are so proud of you, talk to you later”

you sigh, locking your phone. you love your parents, you really do, but sometimes they can be intense. too intense. in their minds, everything has to be perfect first try. according to them, successful people leave no room for errors. they leave no one pass their level of success. they get distracted by no one, keep their eye on the prize. 

the building is exactly the same as you remember it from your interview, extremely large, but not too difficult to find your way around, signs and directions places frequently throughout the building. “hello, my name is y/n, i start working here today” you confidently tell the receptionist. 

“ah yes” she responds, “one of mr lee’s new recruits”. one of? clearly multiple people were taken on at once, not that it’ll be a problem to you. “follow me, i’ll lead you to where the rest are waiting” she smiles softly, walking you down a corridor and into a waiting room. “mr lee will be with you shortly!” 

there are four or five people in the room, you assume all starting work today, but your eyes lock on one person. kim doyoung. after what, five, six years? he looks the exact same, slightly better skin with more prominent facial features. he wears a slick black suit. classic. he can’t help the cold chuckle that leaves his lips the second his eyes land on you, eyeing you up and down in the process, judgementally. the last thing you expected was to see him here. after all the years you spent competing with him, you never thought that you would be back at it again after college.

“long time no see” he mutters. 

you roll your eyes, “yeah, pity, i finally erased your ugly face and shitty attitude from my memory and now i’ll have to start all over again” 

doyoung chuckles leaning closer to you, “ouch, i’m hurt. well now you have plenty of time to watch me beat you, like i always have done”

“you fucking wi-”

“hello everyone, nice to meet you all as employees and not applicants this time. as i’m sure you’re aware, i am the ceo of this company. i take great pride in my company and only hire the best of the best, people who i know will aid my companies success”

“shame he hired you then” doyoung whispers. 

“now, i am a busy man, but that does not mean i won’t see if people are slacking. If you are slacking, you get one warning. If you continue to not put in one hundred percent, you’re fired. it’s as simple as that. i will constantly be able to view your work, so i expect everyone’s full effort. i believe i pay you very well for your job, so expect it to be done well. anyway, with that being said, welcome to the company! i hope we can all do great work together” 

as soon as mr lee finishes his introductory speech, you are brought to your offices. it is one big room but fortunately, there are walls between each desk, allowing for privacy to work. you notice there is someone in between you and doyoung, which you are eternally grateful for, you really don’t know how you would be able to work to the best of your ability knowing he’s beside you. 

it doesn’t take you long to get stuck into your work load. quickly setting up your desk to your liking and turning on your computer. honestly, the morning goes really fast. with the work load you have, you’re constantly busy. what distracts you slightly is when you see a familiar face walk to mr lee’s desk, handing him a stack of papers he was working on, ready for mr lee to read. “thank you doyoung, i appreciate your hard work already”. with that doyoung turns to go back to his desk, not before looking your way and sending you a sarcastic smile. fucking idiot. 

by the time lunch rolls around, you’re just excited to try the food that is served in the cafeteria, everything looking and smelling delicious, leaving your mouth watering. once you get your food, you sigh in defeat as you look around for a table to sit at, only to be left disappointed when you see they’re all full. your eyes slowly pan the cafeteria, looking for anywhere you can possibly sit, until your eyes land on a free seat, beside the one and only, kim doyoung, who’s sat quietly on his phone as he eats his lunch. him working here is going to be more hard than you thought. 

“can i sit here?” you question. 

“gosh y/n, looks like you’re a little obsessed with me huh?” doyoung replies, a smug look on his face. 

“you fucking wish. i wouldn’t come near you unless it was absolutely necessary, which unfortunately, it is. there’s no other seats” 

“whatever” doyoung rolls his eyes, looking back down at his phone as you take your seat. arrogant prick. 

“so” doyoung speaks up amid the awkward silence, “how has little y/n been?”. to anyone else, they would think he was being nice, but you know he’s just nosy. prying into your business as usual. 

“i’ve been great. i graduated top of my year in university, got to travel a lot. all good things” you reply, a smug expression on your face. 

“you know y/n you should really get the stick out of your ass, it’s very unprofessional” doyoung replies, him now wearing a smug expression as yours drops. 

“oh fuck you doyoung”

“i’m sure you’d love to sweetheart” 

the rest of the day went relatively fast, without any more encounters with doyoung, thankfully. before you know it, you’re back in the comfort of your own apartment, relaxing with a glass of wine. you’ve already informed your parents about your first day, causing them to almost burst with pride. what throws them off slightly is the mention of doyoung. ‘don’t mind him’ you mother advised. ‘don’t let him get in your way’ your father informed. not that you intended to take notice of him, certainly not intending on letting him get in your way. 

December 14th 2020

working with doyoung is proving to be a lot harder than it seems. he’s very, in your face. always chiming in with his opinion and what he thinks is right. his presence alone gets on your nerves, let alone when he opens his mouth. to everyone else, he seems like a great, hardworking guy, but to you, he’s just in your way. a headache. an inconvenience. 

“doyoung these files are for you” you sigh standing at doyoung’s desk with your hand extended. 

doyoung looks up from his desk, taking the files from your hand and flicking through them. “no they aren’t” he nonchalantly responds, handing them back to you. 

“doyoung why the fuck would i lie about something so stupid?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at his stupidity. “these are for you”

doyoung sits back in his chair, folding his arms. “how do i know you’re not just loading your work onto me, hmm?”

“fucking hell doyoung why are you the most difficult person in the world? jesus. they’re yours. take them, if you don’t do them, it’s you falling behind, not me” you groan, once again extending your arm out with the files that doyoung insists don’t belong to him. as doyoung takes the files from you, your hands brush off each other swiftly, but it’s enough to make your cheeks turn pink to your dismay. 

doyoung chuckles slightly at your reaction to such a small touch. “are you okay?” doyoung questions, playing innocent. 

“of course i am” you respond sharply. 

“whatever you say darling” doyoung chuckles turning his attention back to his computer, leaving you standing there with your mouth hanging at his words. “it’s rude to stare y/n, am i that attractive to you?” doyoung asks, completely focused on his computer screen. 

“fuck off” you mumble before storming back to your office. that’s the thing about doyoung. he’s cocky. too cocky. always thinking he’s better than everyone, above everyone. thinks he’s beautiful. he makes you sick. 

doyoung doesn’t mean to stare. he honestly doesn’t. he catches himself doing it quite often though. the coffee machine is placed in perfect eye line of your desk. it just so happens that doyoung spends a lot of time at the coffee machine. he convinces himself that he looks in anger. you stress him out after all. you’re his enemy. his competition. he never gets caught staring at you, well, until now. “it’s rude to stare kim!” you shout at him from your seat when your eyes meet his, only earning an eye roll from doyoung. you giggle lightly at his reaction. you’ve always loved getting under his skin. 

December 19th 2020

you honestly thought your day was going great. there was very little traffic, no line at the coffee machine, you were way ahead on your work. That was until your boss entered your office, asking specifically that you and doyoung stay back a few hours to get through some work with him. of course, this is your worst nightmare, but who are you to turn down your boss?

“just wait inside my office” mr lee announces to the two of you, “i’ll be back in a few minutes i just have a quick phone call to take”.

the silence between both you and doyoung is severe as you sit in the two seats across from mr lee’s. you try think of something to say, literally anything, to break the awkward silence, but you can’t think of anything. reflecting now, you and doyoung have ever had a casual civil conversation.

“doyoung can we just- can we just cut the shit for this?” doyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “we’re doing this with our boss, and the snappy comments and awkwardness is just gonna look bad, so can we just pretend we don’t hate each other for this”

“fine” doyoung snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and facing straight ahead, you doing the same. once again, the silence is deafening. it’s been a significant length of time since your boss left now, probably getting caught up on the call. “remember that year our families went to the lake together?”

you look across at doyoung, thrown back by his sudden conversation starter. “of course i do, it was a fucking disaster” you chuckle lightly, thinking back on the events.

“the literal worst” doyoung responds. “it felt more like family bootcamp than a break”. it really did. both of your dads spent the whole trip trying to one up each other, making sure their family was presenting themselves as best as they could the entire time. It was intense. 

“no, the worst was when our dads kept trying to one up each other on the jet ski’s” you giggle, “they literally just embarrassed each other”. at the time, you hated the trip. you felt tense the whole time, on edge. looking back now, you can’t help but to laugh at the mayhem. 

“they really did” doyoung cringes, remembering how hard his dad tried to show off his ‘jet ski skills’ when in reality, he was a complete amateur, just like your dad. 

“we beat you in the family tennis tournament though” you tease, remembering how happy you were with the victory. 

“oh whatever, as if i was gonna go hard on a girl. i’m way better than you” doyoung scoffs. 

“oh my god, remember when our dads decided to make a barbecue together!” you laugh loudly, your eyes welling with tears. 

“stop that was so bad” doyoung chuckles, “we just ended up with way too much food and they burned half of it”

once you both calm down from your fit of laughter. there’s a weird atmosphere. everything feels lighter. you and doyoung sit there for a minute, just staring at each other with silly smiles on your face. “i still fucking hate you”

“thank fuck for that” doyoung replies, rolling his eyes once again, playfully this time.

“i’m so sorry!” mr lee announces as he barges into the office. “i’ve kept you here for over an hour without doing anything. look, just go home for tonight i’m so sorry” the older man sighs.

you and doyoung ensure him it’s okay, before getting up and leaving, going your separate ways into the old december night. 

December 24th 2020

the usual christmas eve agenda didn’t even cross your mind when you started your new job. of course, your christmas eve will be spent in doyoung’s families house. this was typical of your families at christmas, the host house alternating every year. 

“merry christmas!” ms kim greets at the door, allowing you enter into her home. “go to doyoung sweetie, he’ll get you a drink” she suggests, extending her arm to the living room, where sure enough, doyoung was. 

doyoung’s eyes devour your figure as you stand in front of him. your dress hugging your figure beautifully, showing you off in all the right places. “your mom told you to get me a drink” you say, an eyebrow raised. 

“wine?”

“red”

soon after you giving your order and taking a seat on the now empty couch, doyoung returns, two glasses of red wine in his hand, taking a seat beside you. “don’t you want to go into the dining room with everyone else?” 

“do you really want to listen to them more than you have to?” doyoung questions, earning a giggle from you as you sip on the expensive wine.

“absolutely not” you reply, getting comfortable on the couch, facing doyoung slightly. “are you going to the new years party in work?” 

“mhmm. it’ll be nice. it also would leave a bad impression on the boss if i didn’t show” doyoung replies sipping on his wine. things are weird between you two since the day in mr lee’s office. it’s like something switched inside the two of you. maybe it’s because you’re speaking as adults now, not children. maybe it’s because you’re both independent of your parents. for whatever reason, you can’t find the same hatred you had for doyoung previously. “are you going?” 

“mhmm” 

“will you look as beautiful as you do now?” doyoung questions, tilting his head slightly sideways. 

“w-what?” 

doyoung leans in, so close to your lips, eyes stuck on them. you close your eyes, thinking doyoung was about to close the gap between, but instead he whispers in your ear, “maybe you’ll get a midnight kiss”

“doyoung, y/n dinner come on!”  

doyoung stands up, a smug smirk on his lips as he extends a hand to help you up. 

“You’re insatiable Kim Doyoung”

December 31st 2020 

the work new years eve party is going much better than you thought it would. everyone mingling, getting to know each other more than just ‘the person in the office beside me’. everyone is currently sat on the rooftop of the building, a cozy little set up. the addition of alcohol in the coworkers interactions allows them to feel a lot more casual and at easy with each other. 

“everyone it’s just time! come on” someone shouts from beside the large projector mr lee had brought up for the countdown. everyone rises from their seats, glasses of champagne in their hands as they walk towards the projector. 

“ten”

“nine”

“eight”

“seven”

“six”

“five”

you feel an arm sling around you wait. looking up your eyes meet doyoung’s.

“four”

“three”

your heart is pounding in your chest as you get closer and closer to finishing the countdown, doyoung’s eyes remain glued on yours, like no one else is present.

“two”

you place a hand gentle on his upper chest.

“one”

“happy new year” doyoung whispers.

“happy new year”. before you can even process the celebratory screams and shouts around you, you feel a soft pair of lips against your own.

the kiss is so soft, delicate, lips gently placed together. you pull back slightly, looking up at doyoung, who rubs soft circles on your waist. you pull doyoung closer to you, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, the body on body contact driving you wild. The kiss this time is harsher, needier, more desperate, your lips moving passionately against each other with such ease.

reality hits doyoung, remembering you are surrounded by colleges. he pulls back and whispers in your ear, “let’s get out of here baby, hmm?”

your back is against doyoung’s door the second you both make it into his apartment, doyoung’s lips attacking your neck, peppering it in kisses, sucking large marks all over. “mmh doyoung” you moan, tilting your head to the side, allowing the man have more access.

“jump” doyoung mumbles against your neck, tapping your thighs lightly as an indication, to which you comply. you jump, wrapping your legs around doyoung’s waist, him holding your legs up with his arms, his hands resting on your ass squeezing it as he begins bringing you to his room. “gonna fuck you so good” doyoung announces, nipping on your neck.

doyoung lays you on your back, him on top of you, not once detaching his lips from your neck. your hands find their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, signalling for doyoung to remove the garment. doyoung complies, pulling back to unbutton his shirt, throwing it to the other side of the room. “your dress is so pretty baby, but i think it’ll look prettier on the floor” and with that, doyoung removes your beautiful red dress, allowing it to move to the floor, leaving you in your red lace lingerie. “fuck baby, you look so good for me” doyoung praises, already working on unclasping your bra.

the second your breasts are free from the confines of your bra, doyoung’s lips are on your right nipple, sucking on it harshly, flicking his tongue across the sensitive nub, leaving you a moaning mess. doyoung doesn’t neglect your other boob, messaging it with his large hand, pinching and twirling your nipple between two fingers. “fuck doyoung” you moan, grappling onto his hair, a small groan escaping doyoung’s lips in response, the vibrations against your nipple driving you wild.

doyoung trails kisses all the way down your stomach, making sure to leave his mark on the way. “you want me so bad huh? you’re a moaning mess for me already baby” doyoung smirks against your skin. 

“doyoung, i’m supposed to fucking hate you” you moan out as doyoung starts kissing along the lining of your soaking wet panties. 

“baby, we both know we’re passed that point now” doyoung chuckles as he pulls down your destroyed panties, proud of the mess he caused as he see’s your glistening folds, your juices starting to drip down your thigh. 

doyoung places open mouthed kisses on your thighs, taking in all of you. worshiping every inch of your body, the whimpers escaping your throat being music to his ears. “mmh fuck doyoung” you moan as doyoung licks a stripe up your dripping folds, collecting your juices on his tongue. 

“taste so good baby” doyoung groans, dragging two fingers up your folds and bringing them to your mouth letting you taste yourself, airy whines leaving your lips as you suck on his slender fingers. “gonna make you feel so good” 

with no warning, doyoung shoved two fingers into your tight hole, a scream escaping your lips as he does so. “f-fuck doyoung faster” you moan, grabbing the bed sheets tightly. doyoung listens, picking up his pace, fucking your dripping core with his fingers faster than you can even process.

the room is filled with your load moans, your legs shaking as doyoung’s pace gets faster and faster. doyoung smirks at you before bending down and attaching his lips to your clit, gaining a scream from you as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “doyoung i’m gonna cum fuck” you moan, grabbing onto his hair tightly.

doyoung moans against your clit, sending you over the edge. doyoung’s fingers and mouth don’t stop as you reach your high, continuining to move the whole way through and continuing after, sending your body into shock. “fuck doyoung i came already stop” you moan, causing doyoung to finally let you calm down, stopping his actions and looking at you with a proud look on his face.

doyoung meets your lips again, placing a chaste kiss on them before whispering in your ear, “you haven’t even taken my dick yet angel”. you look at him with doe eyes, as you feel his hard dick through his pants rub against your stomach.

“are you gonna take me like a good girl, hm?” doyoung questions, tucking your hair behind your ear. you respond with a nod but that’s not enough for doyoung. “words angel. use them”

“yes doyoung”

“good girl” he smiles, placing another quick peck on your lips before leaning back to remove his now very tight suit pants and boxers, allowing his hard dick to slap against his stomach, earning a small whimper from you.

“sit up for me baby” doyoung smiles, extending a hand for you to take, helping you sit up. “knees angel”

you comply to doyoung’s request, getting on your knees for him, now eye level with his hard length. doyoung pumps himself twice before tapping his length against your lips, giving you the hint to open for him, which you do.

you wrap your mouth around his leaking tip, collecting his precum on your tongue, earning a groan from doyoung. you move your lips to the base of his length, dragging your tongue all the way back to the top from the bottom, following the vein the goes the whole way up. “stop teasing fuck” doyoung grunts, grabbing a fist full of your hair. “suck”

you once again wrap your mouth around his tip, but before you could move by yourself, doyoung shoves your head down his entire length, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag. “pretty” doyoung smirks, enjoying the tears welling up in your eyes as you look up at him as he fucks your throat. moans and groans spill out of doyoung’s lips as your tongue works wonders on his hard length. a moan escapes your lips, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. “enough”doyoung groans, pulling your head off of him, “i’m not cumming until i fuck you baby”

doyoung effortlessly lifts you up, laying you down in the middle of his king sized bed. “do i need a con-”

“no!” you reply sharply. “no i’m on birth control. you don’t need one” you blush at your quick response.

“fuck you’re perfect” doyoung groans, attaching your lips together for the umpteenth time tonight. you’ve had your fair share of kisses, but none of them feel like doyoung’s. his lips feel like they’re made for you. your mouths move in perfect synchronisation, making you feel so whole, so excited.

you moan against doyoung’s lips as you feel his dick against your wet folds. “doyoung please i need you” you whine against his lips, earning a smirk from doyoung.

“so desperate for me angel” he teases. “how badly do you need me?” he questions, teasing you more by just sticking the head of his length in you.

“mmh fuck so bad doyoung i need you so bad, please” you plead, eyes wide showing your desperation.

“good girl” doyoung kisses you softy before moving his hips slowly, moving inside you inch by inch until he bottoms out, both of you whimpering at the feeling. “ready?”

“yes please move” you whimper underneath him.

doyoung wastes no time in grinding his hips in and out of you, fucking you at a fast pace. “you look so pretty angel” doyoung praises, “i love how fucked out you look for me”

“f-fuck doyoung” you moan as he picks his pace up again, you grabbing onto his forearms. “fucking me so good mmh”

doyoung throws back his head in pleasure, your words making him harder and harder, snapping his hips more harshly into you. “you’re so tight for me angel. such a good girl. you make me feel so good angel. all those pretty moans”

doyoung’s praises earn a loud moan from you, digging your nails into his back. you feel doyoung twitch inside you, he’s close. “my good girl. you’re mine angel aren’t you?”

“mmh yes doyoung fuck, just yours, no one else”

doyoung brings his hand to your clit, thumbing the bundle of nerves rapidly as a string of moans escape your lips. “cum with me baby yeah?”

“mmh yes fuck” you moan loudly as you both reach your highs. loud moans from both of you bounce off the walls at your euphoric feeling. “fuck” you whisper as doyoung pulls out of you carefully, his cum dripping out of your hole.

doyoung throws himself down beside you, pulling you into his arms, peppering your face in gentle kisses. “my good girl. you did so good for me baby, so so good” he praises, moving your hair out of your face. “i’m gonna get you cleaned up my love, okay? i’ll be back in a second” he says, placing a delicate kiss on your forehead and walking to the bathroom. 

doyoung returns a minute later with a wet wash cloth, sitting in between your legs. “i’ll try be gentle angel” doyoung warns, earning an appreciative smile from you. 

“Ah sore, sore, sore” you complain as doyoung meddles at your sensitive area. 

doyoung pouts seeing your pain. “sorry baby, i’m done now”. doyoung throws the wash cloth in his laundry basket before climbing back into bed with you, something he hopes he can get used to doing. he pulls you close against his chest and plays with your hair, as if he’d lose you if he didn’t hold you tight. 

“doyoung?” you question, looking up at him with soft eyes. 

“yes baby?”

“why did we spend so long hating each other” you frown. 

“well when we were kids, it was inevitable. but when i became a teenager, it was easier to still hate you than to admit my feelings for you” doyoung shrugs. 

“huh?” you reply confused. he liked you then?

“i liked you a lot when we were teenagers silly” doyoung chuckles. “you’re beautiful, you always have been, you can’t blame me!”

“so you were mean to me because you liked me” you scoffed playfully. 

“exactly” he chuckles, placing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“you know y/n” doyoung speaks, “when i liked you back then, i knew we wouldn’t get together while still living at home. i knew we were both too stubborn, and our parents would be too difficult. but i told myself that i’d wait for you. that in the future, we’d meet again and you’d be mine. now, i have you, and it was so worth the wait. 

you can’t believe what you’re hearing. the kim doyoung who caused you all that struggle and strife, has been waiting to call you his. wants to love you. wants to be there for you. “bold of you to assume i want to be yours” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“well do you want to leave me?” he responds with an amused raised eyebrow. 

“never” you whisper, connecting your lips once again, your new favourite hobby. 

January 1st 2021

you had the best sleep of your life last night, in the arms of the one you love. you had the best morning of your life, waking up to cuddles, kisses, breakfast, coffee. it was nice having breakfast with him, the small talk and jokes, it just felt so domestic. so normal. so right. 

“babe, they’re going to be staring at my neck” you pout, as doyoung takes the keys out of the ignition as you pull up outside your workplace. 

“good” doyoung smirks, “they need to know you’re mine”. with a quick kiss on the lips, you’re both out of the car, walking towards the company building. 

walking in to your work hand and hand with doyoung, your neck littered in hickeys from him feels so right. you’re proud to be his. proud to let everyone know. you get some looks from coworkers as you walk through the building, but you couldn’t care less. he’s yours. 

“i’ll see you at lunch angel” doyoung smiles, leaning up against your office wall. 

“that’s if you can resist me for the long” you giggle. 

doyoung rolls his eyes playfully, “brat”  

never in a million years would you have believed you would end up loving kim doyoung. up until two months ago, he was nothing but competition to you. an obstacle to you. now, you want to be with him all the time. you love seeing his head sticking around the corner of your office when he’s at the coffee machine. you love hearing him talk. you love seeing him thrive at his job, no longer seeing him as competition. after all these years, you and doyoung are on the same team. your own team, not your parents. telling your parents about your relationship will probably be, a lot, but you’ll go through whatever it takes for kim doyoung. now you have him, you’re never letting go. 

———————————————————————

@bubudays @uhyikesbro @whoe-dis @nctxtrash @junglewoos @ajhdr @obligatoryidolblog

[hehebread]

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

--

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

--

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

--

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

[weakzen]

No Take Backs

Her offer affords him some fun advantages, Mason supposes.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m series: part 1 of 7

AO3 version

also submitted for @otomefandomevents​ wayhaven week 2020 ♥ day 1 – dawn/dusk

Mason leans over the walkway railing and takes a long drag from his third cigarette.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the familiar and all-too-brief sting that burns down his throat and explodes across his lungs. Smoke chokes him with overpowering and comforting acridness, blanketing his face in soft heat when he finally exhales.

But it's still not enough to cover the sickly sweetness of fresh-cut grass blasting through the air to coat his tongue.

Or to shield him from the scorching light melting his clothes into his skin. Or muffle the unrelenting, jumbled blare of air conditioners, lawnmowers, TVs, radios, and every other goddamned electronic object in the vicinity.

A piercing shriek from one of the kids playing nearby stabs into his ear and he flinches slightly.

Or that too.

Mason groans as a headache begins to rumble at his temples. He sucks down another long, deep drag and steadies himself against it the best he can. The fatigue makes it difficult. Annoyingly more difficult. Exhaustion weighs on him, subtle yet heavy, trapping his mind and his every little movement beneath a sense of sluggishness.

Though—at least it's starting to lessen somewhat, now that the sun is finally fucking setting.

He ashes his cigarette over the balcony with a flick of his thumb.

And at least it's not as boiling hot as it was earlier, he supposes. And summer's almost over, too.

Thank fuck.

But it'd be better if that storm would finally roll in to cool everything off.

He squints up at the cloudless and faintly hazy sky. Far above the town, the wind continues to whip in from the west. And every time it shifts to slice closer to the ground, he catches the scent of rain.

Sure is taking its fucking time getting here, though.

With a final drag, Mason pushes off the railing to crush his cigarette into the ashtray she'd placed on the windowsill by her door. The one she insisted he use if he 'absolutely had to smoke here.' The one that she grinned over, then told him he needed to stop being a butthead, right before she snorted herself into a cackle at her own stupid pun while he stared at her and wondered why exactly he found her so attractive.

Shaking his head at the memory, Mason lights another cigarette and resumes his perch.

As he waits, the sun slinks closer to the trees. The kids scream endlessly. His headache builds and his cigarette burns shorter.

Obnoxious cawing bursts from somewhere behind the apartments too, joining the rest of the noise crushing in around him. Probably those birds she's always feeding.

Mason rolls his eyes and huffs out another cloud of smoke.

His eyes scan over to the parking lot, to that gleaming silver shitheap of hers, the low sun highlighting every scratch and painting every pockmarked dent in deep shadow.

Where the hell was she, anyway?

Frowning slightly, he glances back at her building, to the grassy courtyard below, the cracked sidewalk, the concrete stairs leading up to the second story, the chipped white railings that bend along the exterior walkways in front of a wall of red brick and a row of doors and windows. His gaze slows as it passes one window in particular.

That nosy fucker is watching him again through a slit in the blinds. He glares hard and directly into the eyes widening behind the glass.

The gap immediately snaps shut.

Mason chuckles a little as the fucker's heartbeat spikes.

Then his chuckle breaks into a loud laugh when he hears the panicked sound of a body crashing into a table.

He takes another drag on his cigarette, smirking as he shakes his head.

But… his amusement doesn't last. And when it finally fades, it just leaves him with a scowl and even more irritation than he felt before.

Where the fuck was she?

…And why was he even waiting for her?

If she couldn't be bothered to show up on time, then fuck it. Her loss. He isn't sticking around. Mason grabs his jacket from the railing, whips it over his shoulder, and strides toward the stairs.

He makes it halfway down them before the realization slams into him that something might have happened to her.

That could explain why she's late today.

His hand snaps out to catch the railing, jerking his movement to a sudden halt at the bottom of the steps. Annoyance twists uncomfortably in his chest, drawing his brow into a furrow when it briefly claws up into his throat.

And if something did happen to her, then it would be entirely on him.

Adam would never let him hear the end of it, just stern glares and disappointed frowns forever—and Mason doesn't even want to think about what Agent Black would do.

And… he doesn't want anything to happen to her, either.

She is one of them after all.

Annoyance still coiling inside him, Mason exhales deeply and almost flicks his cigarette away into the grass.

Then he groans even more deeply and runs back up the stairs to smash it into the ashtray before he takes off.

–o–

He traces her usual route home back to the station, but only finds the night shift volunteer at their desk and Officer Bobblehead in front of the copy machine, singing to herself while she dances to the rhythm of spewing paper.

Scoffing in disgust, he tries the Square next, staying only long enough to guarantee she isn't there before he immediately veers away from the nauseating confection, greasy food, and overwhelming wave of people. He lands at her boxing club after, where there's nothing but stale sweat, grunts, and the echoing cracks of fists hitting bags.

And when he sends her a text to ask where the hell she is, he receives no response.

Mason frowns heavily, annoyance clawing at his throat again as he runs his hand through his hair.

Then he pushes out of town, into the woods, up to the trail that she likes to run by the lake.

Branches whip by him in a blur of green. His feet trample ferns and bounce off moss-covered logs. The rich aroma of damp earth and organic decay invades his lungs as he opens his senses fully to the rustle of every leaf, animal, and insect. The forest howls with life, tearing into him with such a vicious, primal resonance that his body trembles beneath the sheer force of it.

But he pushes on. He cuts through the roar with focus sharpened for one thing only.

Until he finally catches it at the very edge of his hearing, soft and quiet beneath the screaming.

A familiar heartbeat that makes his own jolt in recognition.

Immediately, he turns and streaks toward it. It's calmer than its usual tense tempo, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything good.

He spurs on faster.

Blazing through gaps in the timber and sunken banks of mist.

Over tangled deadfall, slick boulders, and the wide creek he clears easily in a single bound.

Light begins to flicker between the trees. And Mason bursts through the edge of the forest, his momentum carrying him forward—but something even stronger slamming him back, forcing him to skid to a halt, one hand scraping a long trail through the dirt behind him.

Sunset bathes the lake in brilliant red as thousands of sparkles glitter across the water. A felled tree rests on the shore, its trunk worn smooth by time. And in the middle of it, she sits with her back to him, her arms spread out to her sides while her hair ignites like a flame in the light.

Something catches in his throat then.

Smoke, maybe. From that fire up north.

He clears it away and pushes himself up, wiping his hand on his pants. Then he folds his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face.

If there's one good thing about summer at-fucking-all, it's the sleeveless shirts and cropped tops.

His eyes draw over the muscled slope of her bare shoulders and arms, down the curve of her side, briefly dipping into the band of exposed skin above her jeans before sliding back out and around the swell of her ass, only to repeat the journey up the other side. Her hat ruins the effect somewhat, a big black circle silhouetted atop her head that blocks part of his view.

But, all in all…

Mason bites his lip. The image is almost enough to make him forget about how goddamn annoyed she's made him.

Almost.

He kicks a branch out of his way and strides towards her.

“Finally,” he barks out as he nears. “Could've let me know you were gonna be late tonight. Or texted me back.”

She gives him a lazy glance from over her shoulder, followed by an even lazier smile. Oversized sunglasses conceal her eyes.

“Turned my phone off,” she replies, then shrugs slightly. “And I didn't realize we were meeting, sunshine.”

Mason scoffs and stalks across the shifting jumble of rocks and splintered wood that pass for a beach. He tosses his jacket down and plops onto the log beside her, facing the other direction.

“Yeah, not like I don't come over every night to tuck you in when it's my turn to babysit,” he says, glaring at her from over his shoulder. “Some of us have a schedule to keep, sweetheart. Try to be a little more considerate.”

She only laughs, her head falling back with the motion while her tits bounce enticingly. Mason presses his lips together as he watches, his irritation crumbling away.

Just a bit.

“Oh, of course. I'm so sorry,” she says a moment later, her voice even huskier than normal with amusement. She rolls her head to the side to glance at him again, her smile broadening as she tugs her sunglasses down slightly, just enough to meet his eye. “I completely forgot all that smoking and brooding aren't gonna take care of themselves. Next time, I'll be sure to send a text.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs again, turning away as his own smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Apology accepted.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his.

As she pulls away, he follows, spreading his arms out behind himself too, until their shoulders press faintly together and his hand nearly touches her thigh. Heat rolls off her body—and excitement too, a skittering little thrill that prickles electrically across his skin to bury itself in his stomach. She gives no outward indication of it though, other than the smallest hitch in her breath and the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.

Mason smirks slowly, temptation urging him to lean even closer and draw his finger up her leg to put a deeper crack in that facade, but…

He finds himself more content to just leave her undisturbed, to let her keep relaxing into the moment.

…And to enjoy it himself.

Cool moisture drifts off the water behind him, but it flows over his back pleasantly, softened by the sunlight and her warmth. A lazy breeze presses through the air, brushing against his cheeks and ruffling his hair. He briefly catches the tang of rain on it again, before it disappears beneath her scent and the pines and the distant smoke of wildfires.

The forest rustles around them, and his gaze passes over it appreciatively before ambling up the mountains that cradle the lake. The craggy, purple behemoths tower into the sky above, their snow-capped peaks bathed molten orange in the sunset.

He closes his eyes to a vision of their afterimage.

Waves lap against the shore. Birdsong slows in the trees. Her heart beats in a steady, soothing rhythm with her breath.

And that's all he hears.

Even at the very edge of his senses, he can't detect any other people.

He sags slightly as tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying uncoils from around him.

For a long moment, there's just… peace.

And the world isn't scraping him raw.

–o–

He doesn't open his eyes again until some time later.

When she shivers against him and the pink glow of twilight surrounds them both, the first smattering of stars visible overhead.

Mason leans over to let his breath tickle hot along her neck. “Need me to warm you up?” he asks, teasing his lips against her ear.

Another shiver ripples across her body, and she turns to smirk at him.

“Eventually.”

She looks at him for a moment longer, her smirk softening into a quiet little smile, but he can't see anything more of it behind the sunglasses.

“Should probably get home before it gets too dark,” she adds, pushing up from the log.

He grunts in reluctant agreement.

As she stands, she raises her arms above her head to stretch, her joints cracking from the effort. His eyes follow her movement, roaming appreciatively once more along the lean lines of her body, slowly tracing around her familiar curves as he bites his lip. She picks up her ratty denim jacket from where she was sitting on it, shakes it out a few times, and slips it on.

Mason almost groans.

Then she slings her backpack over her shoulder and glances down at him. With a sigh, he pushes himself up to put on his own jacket and join her.

They walk alongside each other in silence, rocks crunching beneath their feet as they follow the dusty, packed trail that hugs the curve of the lake. Frogs croak from the water, joined by the chirp of crickets and the sharp chittering of bats overhead. A sliver of moon hangs in the darkening sky with them, while the air rapidly begins to cool below.

She pulls her jacket tighter and folds her arms.

Without looking, he lazily throws his arm over her shoulder and tugs her closer. A moment later, her arm circles around his waist, her hand slipping beneath his jacket to curl hot against his side.

His lips quirk in a faint smile as she shifts into him, her body heat bleeding through his clothes and into his skin. Her touch always pleases him, of course, but right now he's more grateful for the shared warmth.

Already, the cold slices him deeper. Sounds grow louder. His vision stretches further, into even sharper detail, while his limbs glide with powerful fluidity. And within it all, he feels far more alert and awake than he has all day, his body thrumming as nightfall gradually returns his strength and draws his senses to a heightened pitch.

…Which only makes it even worse when they finally reach the fork in the trail that breaks away towards the trees.

The little wooded path that cuts back into town.

A frown catches on Mason's lips. At least her apartment isn't far from there.

They turn to take it, eventually emerging onto an empty, dead end street.

The springy dirt of the forest floor blends into a blanket of windblown pine needles before yielding to crumbling asphalt that makes their footsteps snap echoes against the buildings. Electricity crackles in the power lines above, surging down to spool in the streetlights with a shrill whine, readying them to spill their ugly orange light everywhere. In the distance, dogs bark, children shriek, sprinklers sputter and hiss, and the din of heartbeats pound against each other, rising in volume, tangling around the tinny blare of electronics, fragmented conversations, grating laughter, shouting, arguments, screeching music and more abrasive noise than he can clearly identify until it all becomes a jagged and overwhelming roar that tears into him painfully.

Mason inhales and tenses against it reflexively, his jaw tightening—

But then Alex shifts closer into him, stroking his side with her hand briefly before giving him a soft squeeze, and all of it just… fades away.

Disappears beneath her touch and her quiet presence and her calming heartbeat.

His brow furrows deeply as something swells in his chest. Something strange and light and somewhat uncomfortable, if only because of its sudden appearance and unfamiliarity, but... it's not entirely unpleasant.

It's not unpleasant at all.

Frowning, Mason drags his hand back through his hair and exhales a quiet sigh.

The weird sensation lingers for a while, floating gently inside him as he uneasily enjoys it—until she suddenly turns sharply, and he nearly stumbles to keep in step with her. Annoyance jolts through him, a reprimand snapping hot and immediate to his tongue, but… then he realizes they've only arrived at her building.

And all she's done is lead them up the walkway toward it.

He frowns, his irritation fading as he blows out a breath.

Then his frown pulls even harder as she disentangles from him.

She shifts her backpack around to unzip the front pouch. And as she does, a black shape swoops down from the trees to land on the wire that stretches between the apartment and the utility poles.

The crow caws down at her.

She chuckles and holds her hands up, fingers extended and empty. “Don't have anything for you right now, bud.”

It caws obnoxiously a few more times, seeming to understand. Then it flies away with a piercing screech and an annoyed flap of wings.

Chuckling again, she shakes her head and pulls out her key ring. “Yeah, you're welcome, you little bastard.”

“Why the hell do you feed those things anyway?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as they continue up the sidewalk.

She shrugs. “Because they're smart and a little ridiculous? I dunno, they're fun to watch. I like them,” she says, then purses her lips. “Except for when they're cawing right outside my bedroom window at five in the morning, but… well, even that's a little funny too.”

His lip curls. “Ugh, if you say so.”

They head up the stairs to her door. She stops outside of it for a moment, then turns around to face him.

“You know… I do have something for you, though.”

Mason immediately smirks.

“Yeah? I have something for you too, sweetheart.” He slides his hands over her hips, thumbs brushing over her bare skin, before he hooks his fingers into her belt loops and tugs her closer. “You want it in there—” he asks, his voice rumbling low as he skims his lips along the length of her neck to press a few quick kisses to her mouth “—or out here?”

Her heart beats faster as her lips move to keep kissing him, but then she just smiles against his mouth and breathes out a quiet little chuckle. “Probably in there,” she says, resting her hand on his arm, “but… let's take care of my thing first.”

He shrugs and gives her a parting kiss before he leans away, letting his fingers flick free of her belt loops. “If that's what you want.”

She glances at him for a moment longer, then inhales deeply and shifts her bag around to unzip the front pouch again. Her hand slips inside and returns with an unexpected object that she holds up between two fingers.

He raises an eyebrow.

“A key?”

“Yep.”

“To what?”

“My apartment.”

Mason tenses slightly, shifting his weight.

“Why the hell would I want that?”

“So you can let yourself in.”

He scoffs and glances away, running his hand back through his hair. “I don't need a key to do that, sweetheart.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, and he can hear the faint grin in her tone, “but it would help me out if you did. You're scaring the shit out of the neighbors with all of your skulking and your scowling and your glaring and your general… you-ness.”

A laugh bursts from him and he glances back to her. “I don't see how that's a problem.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but some of us still have to live here.” She huffs a stray hair out of her face and leans against the door, resting her foot against it too as she lets her bag slide to the ground. Then she folds her arms. “You know, I still can't believe no one has complained to the landlady about all of the smoking… and the noise.”

He smirks and chuckles again. “Sounds like I should keep scaring them so they don't.”

She cocks her head and fixes him with a look that not even her sunglasses can hide. His smirk widens.

“I like this building. I don't want to move. And I'm tired of you banging on the door every time it's locked until I come and answer.”

Mason angles himself towards her, licking his lips as he brings his arm up to rest on the door above her head. “Yet you still let me in every, single, time,” he drawls, his voice low and teasing as he grins at her.

She stares up at him. “Do it again and I won't.”

The telltale combination of reactions ping loudly and immediately against him—the nearly imperceptible crack in her voice, the subtle shift of tension in her stance, the faint and brief spike of her pulse.

He leans down toward her, his grin sharpening. She inhales slightly as he approaches, but holds her ground and his gaze. Pressing his face in close, he teases his lips up her neck again, to her ear, her head tilting to the side to allow it.

“You should know better than to lie to me of all people, sweetheart,” he whispers against her, his words brushing hot across her skin.

She inhales again, more sharply this time, as a shiver ripples down her body. Heat prickles across her face quickly after, and he lingers for a moment to savor it before pulling away to enjoy the view of her flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, well…” she begins, then huffs in that usual way she does whenever she rolls her eyes. “If I didn't answer, then you'd probably just creep around behind the building and start pounding on my bedroom window instead.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “That does sound like more fun, now that you mention it. Less of a walk for both of us, too.”

She groans a loud noise of exasperation, but the smile playing at the corner of her mouth undercuts it slightly.

Then, with a shake of her head, she pushes away from the door and holds the key up to him by the tip.  

“Well—do you want it or not, sunshine?”

They stare at each other for a moment. But even with his vision, the only thing Mason can see clearly on her face is the faint movement of her eyelashes brushing against the twin reflections of him and the hand she's extending towards him.

He glances down at the key, and back up to her face.

“I don't need it.”

Her breathing stills for a moment and her lips press together slightly. Something rolls quietly through her chest to bump something uncomfortable into his.

But she inhales deeply and it's gone.

Then she simply shrugs.

“Okay,” she says, her voice unusually flat. And she slips the key into the front pocket of her jeans.

Alex turns away from him—

But his hands snap out to spin her back toward him.

Then they're pushing her hat from her head and her sunglasses up into her hair and curling around the back of her neck and her waist as he leans in to kiss her hard.

His mouth muffles the sound of her surprise, but not the way it reverberates against his skin—and not the heated rush of arousal that quickly follows as she kisses him back.

A moment later, her arms loop around his neck and he yanks her tighter against himself in response. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth while his fingers tangle into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms circle him tighter, squeezing, as she presses into him fully, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach him better, and he slides his palm across her lower back and down to her ass, where he squeezes too, lifting her slightly in encouragement.

She moans into his mouth—and he can't help but do the same in return as her desire crashes into his electrically and bursts pleasure across his body.

Fuck, he wants her.

Mason pushes her against the door, her tits crushing to his chest, his cock grinding into her hips, and he presses his thigh between hers, dragging it upward to the sound of her gasping moan. He captures her lips again immediately, unrelenting, and kisses her deeply while he glides his hand over her bare stomach, across the hot and silky expanse of her skin, before he teases his fingers down the front of her pants.

He slides them in past her jeans, past the band of her underwear, until his fingertips and knuckles brush into soft, warm hair and press on a little further still. She sucks in a breath, her stomach rolling exquisitely beneath his touch as her hips rock forward to match it, grinding pleasure from his leg. He smiles against her mouth briefly before kissing her again, rolling his hips in time with her movement while his thumb dances circles around the button on her jeans. He lets her anticipation spiral with it, winding it tighter inside of her until she's ready to spring.

And when she is, he clutches the front of her jeans and pulls them up into her instead.

She arches against him, a moan tearing from her lips, her pleasure crackling white-hot between them and surging straight into his cock.

He inhales deeply in excitement, breathing hard against her lips, anticipation making his own limbs tremble faintly—but despite it, despite the alluring scent of her arousal on his tongue and how much he wants to stay, how much he fucking wants to push his fingers down even further and slide them back up inside of her, he forces them out of her pants instead, to leave her even more wanting. He teases them away across her waistband as she shakes with breathy, groaning laughter against him.

And then he clenches them hard around her hip when she catches his lip between her teeth and nips down

Pain and pleasure singe fire across his body, burning free a guttural snarl that rips past his own teeth. He smirks sharply against her.

Then goes for the throat.

To that spot of hers they both enjoy so much.

As he moves his mouth mercilessly against her, as she moans and shudders beneath his teeth, as they grind together, her pleasure arcing into him on waves that amplify his own throbbing need, his fingers play against her stomach, teasing along her waistband once more.

Then he carefully slides two of them into her pocket.

And pulls out the key.

Mason doesn't understand why.

But he knows immediately what to do next.

He glides his hand down from her hair, his palm pressed flat and wide, fingers trailing over the bumps of her spine, past her thrumming heartbeat, dipping in to the curve of her back before finally settling on her ass. Once there, he grabs her again, groaning as he squeezes a firm handful of her, partially for pleasure, but mostly to shift her weight as he urges her hips forward. Chills ripple across her body as he continues kissing her neck, grazing her with his teeth, dragging his tongue across her pounding pulse and the intoxicating taste of her skin, until her nipples harden and dig into his chest wonderfully, and her fingers claw into his shoulders, and her thighs clench around his, and she moans so deeply into his ear that he knows she's focusing on nothing but him and the pleasure he's giving her in the moment.

Then—in one quick motion—he slips the key into the lock, turns it, and throws the door open.

A gasp tears from her lips as she falls backwards.

Her pulse spikes, surprise flashing with it as her hands scramble at his shoulders to keep hold. Her foot kicks up off the ground as she plummets, her body almost parallel to the floor before he snaps forward in a flash and whips his arms around her to catch her.

She stares up into his eyes as she jerks to a halt, gaze wide, cheeks flushed, arms clinging to him desperation while she breathes heavily and her heartbeat thunders against his chest.

He just smiles.

And holds her there for a long, enjoyable moment, taking in the stunning view of her knocked off balance in more than one way.

Then he pulls her back upright and against him.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands sliding downward from around his neck to rest on his chest—right before her eyes suddenly snap to the door. He chuckles slightly, and reaches around her to tug the key from the lock, her gaze following his movement closely as he holds it up in front of her between two fingers.

“I guess it could come in handy for some things,” he says, smirking.

She raises an eyebrow and huffs a loose hair out of her face. “Guess so.”

Mason slips the key into the front pocket of his jeans.

Her eyebrow shoots up even further.

Still smirking, he bends to grab her things from the ground, then flings that hat of hers over the top of her head into the living room like a frisbee. She watches it fly by and immediately gives him a look that only makes him chuckle in response.

When he swings her backpack behind himself like he's about to do the same, she sighs deeply.

Then she grabs him by the front of his pants and yanks him inside.

Mason slams the door shut behind them, grinning widely as he tosses her bag away with a heavy thunk and presses himself against her again. Her jacket quickly follows the bag, and he groans appreciatively as he runs his hands over the soft and bare skin of her arms and sides. He grabs her waist, squeezing her slightly as he leans down to start kissing her again—but she only lets their lips brush together before she weaves her head away to fix him with another look, raising a pointed finger between them.

“One rule,” she says, pushing her fingertip firmly up against the bottom of his chin. “You better not smoke in here.”

He smirks and pulls her finger away.

“Can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow with dangerous intent—but a gleam of playfulness flickers in them too.

“Then give it back, asshole.”

“Make me,” he replies, his smirk slowly widening. “If you think you can.”

They stare at each other for a moment, amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth as tension builds between them.

“But I have some doubts about your capability,” he adds.

Her heartbeat spikes as her eyes flash wonderfully.

Then her hand whips toward his pocket, but he catches it and spins her around instead. He pins her wrists together against her stomach with one hand as he hooks his chin over her shoulder and holds her body tightly against his.

“Nope,” he growls into her ear, bending them both forward so he can grind his cock against her ass. “It's mine now.”

A frustrated noise rumbles low from her chest, vibrating into his. He chuckles deeply and starts kissing down her neck.

“Fuck you, sunshine,” she says, hissing her words through a laugh as she tilts her head to encourage him. “Give it back.”

“No,” he replies, smiling briefly against her before continuing his kisses. As he does, he roams his free hand down the front of her body, stopping along the way to grope her tits before moving onward to pry her fingers from around her keys. He tosses them away with a jangling clink. “And don't worry—” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low and rich tone as he slides his hand down to cup the heat between her legs “—you'll be fucking me soon enough.”

Mason rolls his palm against her firmly, excitement swelling between them both as she sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I promise,” he adds, then nips down sharply on her neck.

She yelps out a surprised moan and arches into him, her thrill of pleasure crackling hot across his skin to buzz euphorically inside of him. He inhales deeply and groans, her scent filling him too, as anticipation and sheer, overwhelming want for her jolt straight into his cock.

He quickly scrambles his hand downward to tear at the laces tying their boots. Another one of her rules. Shoes off by the door.

The last fucking things keeping them here.

As he rips the knots free, as he reaches to peel his boots off and kick them away, she laughs quietly against him, shaking his body with her own while she squirms beneath him in less of less of a struggle and more of a sly, calculated grind. Her movement stokes pleasure as much as it puts him on guard—but not nearly as much as it pulls a broad smile across his face.

For a brief moment, that strange sensation returns, spreading softly across his chest.

And distracting him just enough for her to twist free from his grasp.

She bolts upright and her hand races toward his pocket again—but he recovers faster, swerving his hips so she lands somewhere much better. In a flash, he grabs her by the ass and crushes her against him, trapping her hand between them both directly on top of his cock.

Mason smirks deeply.

“Find what you're looking for?”

Cheeks flushed, she flashes him an answering smirk before giving him a good, long, and very generous squeeze.

“Maybe.”

He can't help the groan that rumbles low in his throat, or the way his eyes shutter closed and his hips roll forward into the heat of her touch.

He also can't wait until his jeans are finally fucking gone and there's no goddamn awful barrier between them.

She takes in his reaction through half-lidded eyes, a smile growing slowly on her lips. “I'll get it back eventually, you know.”

“I wouldn't count on it, sweetheart.”

And with enough said, he curls his hands under her ass and picks her up.

Her arms and legs wrap around him immediately, her lips finding his just as quickly too. She barely manages to pull her boots off with her feet, kicking them away to clatter down the hallway before they're both at the bed and he's leaning over to drop her onto the edge of the mattress. He takes only the time to rip free of his jacket before he presses himself against her again, kissing her deeply as her arms and legs lock around him once more. He remains halfway on the floor as their mouths move together, her tongue gliding hot against his, and his hands sliding across every part of her body he can reach, completely unwilling to move or break away from her at all, even as she fumbles at the hem of his shirt and tries to pull it off him.

Eventually, she succeeds.

And eventually, he moves away from her lips to kiss down her neck, down her chest, her stomach, groping his way along the entire time, until he guides his fingers to finally unfasten the button on her jeans. When he tugs her zipper down after, an idle question rolls across his mind.

One that asks if he can keep her waiting on the edge for as long as he waited outside her door earlier.

Mason smirks into her skin—and yanks her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

Then he skims his mouth up her inner thigh, determined to find out.

–o–

Mason returns to the Warehouse around dawn the next morning, his patrol complete.

Shoulders hunched, he swipes his key card at the hidden door before he jams his hand back into his jeans and stalks inside. His other hand remains curled in his pocket, absently fiddling with the key nestled in his palm, spinning it slowly as his fingertips trace idle laps along the bumpy ridges and smooth metal warmed by his touch.

As he passes by the living room on his way to bed, he makes the mistake of glancing inside.

Felix catches his eye and immediately flips backwards off the sofa from his upside down perch. In a flash, he appears in the doorway, swaying off the frame under his own halted momentum.

“What exactly are you so pleased about?” he asks, grinning.

Mason pauses by the door, then shoots him a smirk.

“It was my turn to babysit. What do you think?”

Felix's eyes narrow as a wide and sly smile unfurls across his face. “I think there's more to it than just that.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “Think whatever you want.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” he replies, his amber eyes gleaming.

Shaking his head, Mason continues down the hallway toward his room while Felix's gaze drills a hole in his back.

“Night,” he calls over his shoulder without looking, raising a hand to wave.

But not the one holding the key.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 22

She awoke to the sound of bird song and the pleasant warmth of the sun shining through the glass of the window. Beneath the blankets and her dress, her ribs only vaguely hurt as she took in a big breath. Her sick bed had been set onto a window sill overlooking one of the gardens at her request. Though Yaesha would move her back closer to the fire at night as he worried the cold would slow her healing.

A little over a week of recovery had dulled the pain greatly and her bruises had all but healed. Most of the wyvern attack was a blur to her and she could only recall the day’s events vaguely. She did remember the smoke man, however. Despite her dread of it, he had since failed to materialized, though she spent many sleepless nights wondering if she had wholly imagined him. Having been told that she had hit her head pretty hard, jumbled thoughts, recall difficulties, and false memories were to be expected. At least that was so according to Yaesha, the royal physician, and Sawyer, a human healer to whom he was guardian. Sawyer was tall for a woman and kept her hair cropped short and wore trousers and tunics rather than dresses or skirts. In fact, had she not been in possession of a distinctly feminine voice, Nenani might have mistaken her for a man entirely.

“You try sewing up a giant’s wound in a petticoat and bodice,” the human woman replied when Nenani had asked about her choice of wardrobe. “Better yet, try to wash it afterwards. Unlike Yaesha, I actually do my own laundry. Much easier to clean blood from black shirts and leather tunics and trousers. I’m a healer, gal, not a homemaker.”

Her answer felt well practiced, but her tone was amiable and blasé about the frank nature of her work. Yaesha was treating the twenty something giants who had sustained various forms of injury, including Bart. His arms had wickedly painful looking scraps where the wyvern’s claws had caught him as well as a bruised cheek. Gjerk was there was well with a black eye and torn ear that needed sewing back up. Both were discharged mere hours after coming in and none of them were permitted to see here, much to their frustration.

As Yaesha went about his work treating the injured Vhassalans, Sawyer was beset upon Nenani at the behest of many anxious giants. Lolly among them as she was the one who had fetched her from Maevis.

“Not a clue why he thought he knew how to treat a human,” Sawyer said as she wiped blood from Nenani’s face with a damp cloth where her bottom lip had split. “He must be in shock. Poor guy looked like he was gonna faint. Barnaby must be in pieces. They always get that way when one or the other is stressed or hurt. Them two are precious when they get that way, but really. Maevis knows there is an order ‘round here. Should have brought you straight to me.”

Nenani was not much well in the way to carry the conversation, but tried to add in when she could.  

“They’re friends,” she added, trying to quell the dizziness she was feeling. The room would not stop spinning. “It’s good to have someone who cares...”

Sawyer laughed, dipping the cloth back into a bucket of water. “I’ll second that. Don’t know what I’d be without Yaesha. Aside from dead. He was the one who found me y’know. Saved my ass, brought me back here and let me heal up and offered to let me be his tag along since I was a trained healer.”

“What happened?” Nenani asked, wincing when the wet cloth was brought over to her shoulder to wipe away dirt from a nasty gash in her shoulder.

“Got careless,” Sawyer replied, carefully cleaning Nenani’s many scrapes clean of grime. “Got caught. Almost ended up as someone’s dinner. Yaesha was being his nosey self and stopped ‘em from gutting me like a lipper. He traded them a remedy for piles in exchange for me. Now, no more talking. I need to clean all this blood and muck off and see what I’m working with...”

Sawyer was not like any woman that Nenani had ever known and she had a strange ability to distract those being treated with stories so they were not even aware of her treating their wounds. So when she had to perform a movement that would be particularly painful, the patient would be too enraptured by the story to notice until the pain hit. Not being able to anticipate the pain made the whole ordeal that much more tolerable.

As her injuries were serious enough to warrant prolonged observation, she was only able to receive visitors after the first three days. Yaesha wanted to make sure she had pulled through the worst of it. But apparently, three days was far too long for many.  

“Farris is beyond cross with me,” he said to Sawyer as she changed the bandages on Nenani’s leg. It was only the second day and Nenani was still suffering from a horrendous headache and barely aware of anything yet thanks to the medicines she had been given which had sedative properties. Though they were peaking softly, their voices felt like claws inside her brain. “He’s tried to barge in here three times today. I don’t know how many other ways there are to phrase ‘She has a concussion. She needs rest. Go away!’ Besides, he should be resting that damn leg!”

“He’s scared for her,” Sawyer answered as she tucked Nenani’s bandaged leg back under the covers. “She looked like death when they brought her in. Mumbling about shadows or some such thing...”

Yaesha first had her bed set up in his private office so he could keep an eye on her. Sawyer assured him, that she was capable of doing it on her own, but Yaesha insisted. “I do not doubt your skill in the least. I am merely being cautious.”

“You’re being nosy,” she countered.  

Yaesha’s office in many ways reminded Nenani of the spice pantry. Tall shelves filled with incomprehensible knick knacks and books and jars. So many jars. Some were filled with innocuous items like river stones or dried leaves. Others were filled with persevered animals, suspended in discolored fluid. Hanging from the ceiling, suspended from ropes tie to the rafters, was a full skeleton of a whale. The main room of the infirmary was a long hall filled with cots and at its center was a long hearth, not too dissimilar from that in the kitchen. A young maid tended the fire most of the day and assisted Yaesha with the more menial tasks such as cleaning and tending to the daily needs of the injured. Most who had sustain injuries from the attack had been released and allowed to either return to their duties or allowed to recuperate in their own rooms. Those who remained, including Nenani, had sustained some form of head trauma and required careful and close observation for a time.

Though she had been happy when Sawyer assured her that no one from kitchen was present among the worse hurt, she could not help the anxious need to see for herself.

“Scrapes and scratches,” Sawyer told her. “They’re all walking around fine.”

It was the morning of her third day that Farris was finally allowed to see Nenani and she could hear Yaesha instructing the kitchen master he only had a few minutes and to not tire her out. Her anxiety leaped when Farris walked into the room. Or rather, as he limped into the room. His right hand was bandaged as was his right leg and he clearly favored it.  

“You are hurt...” she said with concern. She could not help but feel as though Sawyer had lied.  

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yer sittin’ there looking like a mauled rabbit and worryin’ ‘bout me?” Farris grinned, his good humor inflated by his very palpable relief to see her sitting up and most certainly not dead. Her head, arms, and legs had all been bandaged and her right cheek was heavily bruised. He took a chair and eased into it, wincing only a little as he lowered himself into it. “Ya really are one lucky lil’ buggar, Dumplin’.”

“Is anyone else is hurt?” she asked, voice hoarse. She was very thirsty, but was under orders not to drink anything unless under Sawyer’s observation. They were still concerned about possible internal bleeding and the best she had been given was a damp piece of cloth to chew on so her mouth would not dry out.

“Nothin’ to fret over. A’course ya wouldn’t know it by their bellyachin’” he said her. “Cuts and a few bite marks. A torn ear. The kitchens are a right mess, though. They’re still surveyin’ the damage.”

“What happened to the monster?” she asked, forgetting the name for the enormous winged lizard.

“Maevis bunt it t’cinders,” he replied with a vindictive satisfaction in his words. “Nothing left of the fucker but charred bones.”

Memories and fragments of the passed few days flickered in her head, but she was unable to piece anything together and it hurt to try.

“Maevis,” she mumbled. She could hear his voice in her head, chanting something and apologizing to her and he was...crying? “Is he…?”

“Yer magician’s just fine, lass. Got a nice bite mark on an arm fer all ‘is trouble, but he’ll live,” Farris told her. He raised his hand as though to reach out to her, but stopped and settled for placing his hand at the end of her bed. “He saved ya from that thing, lil’un. Came out of fuckin’ no where and grabbed ya up from it before it could gets its teeth around ya.”

“I don’t remember...” she said weakly, putting a hand her head.

“Don’t tire yerself out none, lass,” He said softly. He eyes were tired and she could see he had not been sleeping well. “Sawyer’s gonna take good care of ya fer me, alright? Get some rest.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of sleep beginning to drag at her mind and by the time Farris was at the door, she was asleep.

………………………………………………...

“It’ll leave a scar,” Sawyer was saying, wrapping the spent bandages around her hand and surveying Nenani’s shoulder. Her smock was pulled down to reveal a six inch long gash starting from the top of her shoulder and traveling down towards her heart. Black thread stitched the wound closed and for as alarming of a sight it was, it was healed. Yaesha loomed over his companion, squinting into his spectacles to study the wound for himself. “Hm. Yes, I have to agree. But your clothes will hide it nicely, so don’t fret.”

Sawyer pulled out a small pair of sheers from her bag and then from her front pocket, a small bottle of amber liquid.  

“What’s that?” Nenani asked of the small bottle.

“Whiskey,” Sawyer grinned. “Keral’s whiskey to be precise.”

She looked at Sawyer in surprise and seeming to read her thoughts, the healer laughed loudly. “No, it’s not for drinking!”

To show her, Sawyer pulled the stop from the little bottle and poured the fluid onto the sheers, allowing the access to drip onto a wad of cloth. The smell was unpleasant and made Nenani scrunch her nose in disgust. She had never liked the smell of alcohol, but this was nothing like the yeasty smelling ale that they drank in the kitchens. This was pungent and smokey and medicinal.

“I clean all my tools like this,” Sawyer explained. “Or I boil them. Helps keep away infections.”

“It just doesn’t smell very pleasant,” Yaesha added, observing her with a disapproving eye. “I wish you would use something else...”

“But it works!” Sawyer grinned, bringing the little bottle to her lips and swallowing the small bit remaining. She grimaced as it hit her throat. “Ugh. I like it better watered down a bit. Hoo-boy! It’s strong.”  

She wiped the excess whiskey from the sheers and then wiped the dampened cloth across the area on and around Nenani’s wound. Above them, Yaesha sighed.

“My dear,” Yaesha pleaded, rubbing his temple. “Please refrain from your indulgences until after you’ve removed the sutures.”

“Yes, mother,” Sawyer replied failing to suppress her gleeful smile. Seeing Nenani’s bewildered expression, Sawyer winked. “Let’s get you unwrapped and back to the kitchen, huh? Those boys have been biting at the bit waitin’ for you to be released.”

Nenani smiled gratefully and nodded. In no time, her stitched were gone as well as her bandages. Her less serious scrapes and cuts had scabbed over and the bruise on her cheek was fading, though it still hurt for her to put any pressure on it. They began gathering some medicines for her to take with her to ease the remaining pains.

“This will help if you start to feel dizzy,” Yaesha said, using a dropper to fill a small bottle with a faint greenish liquid. He held the tiny glass container delicately between two bony fingers, squinting hard to make sure to deposit the correct amount. “Farris is familiar with this recipe so he will be able to brew more should you deplete this ration, but if the dizziness persists, he is to bring you straight to me. Fair warning, he does not brew his with honey, so it will be much less palatable.”

Yaesha was an older Vhasshalan, but his long hair was still a dark black with only a few strands of gray near his temples. He may have even been tall for a giant, but it was near impossible to really tell as he stooped over so much. He wore robes much like Maevis, but instead of maroon, Yaesha’s robes were a deep purple. He possessed a long hawkish nose and small, dull gray eyes.  

“Sawyer is preparing some tonic of Valerian blossoms for you as well,” he said, glancing at her meaningfully. “To help you sleep more peacefully.”

“Will it really help?” she asked, recalling the nightmare she had just that morning.

“It will make you sleep deeper,” the physician replied. “Which will keep you from dreaming, but should also keep you from experiencing nightmares. It is potent, so use only a drop just before sleep.”

Her memory was slowly piecing itself back together and she had a much clearer picture of what had happened that day. But with it also came the nightmares. Most nights of her recovery, she saw him. The smoke fillings her vision, tendrils of black curling around her, and red eyes staring at her from the skull of a stag. A flash of a sword…

The sound of someone knocking interrupted her thoughts and both her and Yaesha turned to look at the office door.

“Enter,” Yaesha said and the door creaked open and a blue coated ranger stepped inside. “Oh! Keral, what brings you in? I’m just finishing up here if you’d like…”

“It’s the squeaker there I’m lookin’ fer, actually,” Keral said, stepping inside. His clothes were clean and his hair and beard combed, looking very different from the last time they had met.

“Oh? I was under the impression Yale was coming to fetch her,” Yaesha replied, bemused and a little suspicious.  

“Oh, he very well may be. I just have some questions to ask the lil’un first. Just some lose ends to tie up. Won’t take long.”

“Oh. Oh, well...I suppose that is alright.”

“Alone. If you don’t mind.”

Yaesha eyed the ranger. “Alone?”

Keral’s careful composure faltered and he stared at the physician, incredulous. “What? I ain’t gonna do anythin’. Yer lookin’ at me like I’m gonna eat her!”

Yaesha hummed to himself and then nodded. He seemed satisfied enough. “Very well. I’ll see to my other patients then.”

The older Vhasshalan left, closing the door behind him. Keral stared at the door and shook his head, muttering under his breath. With a sigh, he turned to Nenani. “How’s ya noggin’, sweetling?”

“Hurts,” she answered honestly.  

“Aye,” Keral replied with a faint grin. “Suppose ya got a good crack from that lizard, eh?”

The ranger grabbed the chair that Yaesha had been sitting in and fell into it with a lazy crash. He looked fatigued. Leaning back, he set his hands on his lap and regarded Nenani with a serious expression. “So, remember when we had the tea party in the library a bit ago? Maevis was helpin’ me look fer somethin’...”

She nodded.

“Well, understand me here, lass. I’ve got all these puzzle pieces I’m tryin’ to put together and I’ve been feelin’ like I’ve been chasing shadows for months lookin’ fer this thing. And until that little party, I didn’t know what – or who – I might be lookin’ fer.” He paused, sitting up in the chair and leaning forward to rent his elbow on his knees. “And then Maevis got a good look at that big ol’ lizard up close. He said there was somethin’ off about it that he didn’t much care fer. Gave ‘im the willies. Not sure what it was, but he says he felt somethin’ that mornin’ before it showed up too. Some sort of magic and it wasn’t ‘cause ‘a no wyvern.”

Unease settle in her belly like a lead rock.  

“Magic?” she asked. “Like...the smoke mage Barnaby mentioned?”

He nodded, the edge of his mouth quirking into a smirk.  

“Barnaby gave me a piece to m’ puzzle that day. Meeves gave me another this morning,” Keral lifted a gloved hand and pointed at her. “And I’m bettin’ ye might just have one fer me too, sweetling.”

“Me?” she asked. He didn’t say anything, merely watched her expectantly and the weight of that stare was enormous. The smell of the hearth in the other room brought the memories back easily now. Smoke filled her lungs and the stag skull mask flashed in her mind. Red eyes looking down at her as a dark blade rose…

For her time in recovery she had managed to cling to the idea that they were all manifestations of her nightmares. But she knew it wasn’t true. And more so, she understood that to remain silent was not the path to take. This was not a pile off some dusty bones of a long dead person chanting nonsense at her. That man had been real and corporeal and dangerous. And yet, their words had been the same...

The river runs uphill to the dying songs of the fall of fools and Kings that tear flesh from bone and the crown from the mountain. Water runs red with fire and shall rise when the old blood runs new. The flesh taken will be paid in blood and the dead walls will rise with gold...

“Nenani,” Keral’s voice broke her from her thoughts. “Maevis said you were covered in that magic he sensed. It was all over ya like mud. Now, I know ya saw somethin’ none of us did. I need ya to tell me. Tell me true, lass. Was he here?”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” she told him. “I wasn’t even sure if it had happened for real or if hitting my head so hard messed my brain up...”

Keral did not say anything and merely watched her with interest.

“I... I saw it...him. The smoke mage...”

Keral’s expression did not change, but somehow his eyes looked that much more intense. “Ye did?”

Nenani nodded, alarmed at how her hands were trembling. “He was in the kitchens when the...the way..wavey..”

“Wyvern.”

“Wyvern,” she echoed looking at her hands. “He came out of the hearth and...there was smoke. And he was made of smoke. And then he wasn’t...”

He seemed to be staring beyond her, focusing on something far off as though mentally putting his puzzle pieces together. He seemed dissatisfied. “Did he say anythin’ to ya? Anythin’ at all?”

“He did,” she replied uneasily. “...kind of.”

“Tell me,” Keral said, his voice more gentle that the predatory look in his eyes would suggest. “Anything ye can recall. I need ya t’ tell me.”

“He was saying that prophecy,” Nenani said, wringing her hands. “About the Gold King. But he didn’t say anything else. Just that. And then he...he tried to...”

“...kill you?” She looked up and Keral was a lot closer than he had been. He was standing, looming over her and she was surprised to find herself suddenly afraid of him. There was a dangerous look to his eyes and she shrank back on instinct. She nodded, eyes blurred with sudden tears. Her throat hurt and her chest heaved.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for not saying anything before...”

“Ya haven’t seen ‘im since?”

“No.”

Keral drew in a long breath, setting himself back into the seat and crossing his arms. For several long moments, he did not say anything as he became engrossed with his own thought processes. When his eyes focused on Nenani once more, his steely eyes softened and he chuckled.

“Ah, now. Don’t be givin’ me that look. Yer in no trouble, sweetling,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare ya none. Just frustrated is all.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked him.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” he replied and seeing the mounting horror on Nenani’s face, he waved a palliative hand. “Now, now. Don’t start that up. I’m sure ya have nothin’ to be frettin’ over.”

She balked at him. “Keral, he tried to kill me! With a sword!”

He nodded, conceding the point. “Aye, but I don’t think ya were ‘is true target.”

“You...you don’t?” she asked, a fluttering in her chest.

He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t. S’why I’m sure he’ll be back and my intentions are t’be ready when he does.”

“Why would he attack me then?”

“Simple. Ye were a witness. He probably thought the wyvern would be a nice distraction while he got inside castle grounds all sneaky like. Most certainly wasn’t expected a wee squeaker to give him away so quickly. Mages get like that, y’know. All hubris and overconfidence. Almost always their downfall. That and they’re usually right cowards when their magic fails ‘em.” He paused, considering. “An’ ya said he was chantin’ the Gold Prophecy?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a right pompous twit,” She could almost see the proverbial ball bounce around Keral’s mind and he grinned smugly, an excited and nearly predatory glee in his face. “He won’t be gettin’ another chance like that, I can promise ye. Now that Maevis’s got a good feel fer the bastard’s magic, I’ll be able to track ‘im better and this trekkin’ all over creation can fuckin’ end.” He paused to nod at her. “So don’t ye be worryin’ none about ‘im, eh? He won’t be gettin’ anywhere near this castle now that I’ve got ‘is scent. And best know Farris’d have my arse fer curtains if somethin’ were to happen to ya when I could’a done something ‘bout it.”

He reached out to her and lightly pinched at her arm, teasing. “Ye just gave me the last piece ‘a the puzzle, lass. I thank ya.”

“I did?” she asked.

Kera stood with a renewed sense of purpose and direction. He snorted as he strode towards the door, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I think Maevis was right about old bumblin’ Bertol’s prophecies, after all. Those words are dangerous when lunatics start belivin’ they’re all about them.”

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part One

(Should probably think of a better title at some point but for now I’ve got nothing)

@rock-n-roll-fantasy It’s about time I finally stopped teasing and started posting something, isn’t it? 😅 I should be able to post Part Two tonight as well and technically Part Three was the initial teaser (which due to being written beforehand doesn’t line up as perfectly as I’d like, but I’m too lazy to change it right now) so I’ll link those as soon as I can. Hopefully the rest won’t take too long! I’m now at the stage of having spent so much time thinking about this behemoth that I’m a little sick of it, but I hope you enjoy it!  🥰

Part Two, Part Three

Mark thinks he could live a thousand lifetimes and still never get tired of this view.

Not so much the hotel itself, though he supposes that makes for an impressive enough sight. With its sleek curves carved into smooth cream-coloured stone - designed to resemble a natural rocky outcrop rather than a man-made construction - it’s little surprise that guests willingly travel through the inky blackness of space to rest here for a while. Beneath his perch on the hotel’s impressive outdoor balcony, a turquoise pool stares invitingly back, the shimmering waters undisturbed by so much as a breeze. In the distance, resting in a cove upon the roof, he can hear the distant chatter of guests enjoying a luncheon at the newly opened taqueria. The restaurant itself is concealed from view by an overhanging blood-red canopy, but he can visualise the diners clearly, paying a fortune for the best food the moon has to offer while gazing out towards nearby gentrified apartments and undulating valleys.

The taqueria represents the newest addition to the premises. The hotel already plays host to a pair of Italian and Japanese restaurants, alongside an all-you-can-eat buffet for those who prefer to stuff their faces without judgement, but all three have been outshone of late by the new arrival. Mark had pursued the outlandish idea following a drunken remark from one guest who decried the absence of good Mexican food on the moon. If he’d realised that said taqueria would go on to become the prime topic of several mind-numbing meetings then perhaps he’d have let the joke die without further comment, but he himself had been too drunk at the time to possess that level of foresight.  

By this point he’s so sick of hearing about it that he had to be physically forced to read the glowing reviews upon the restaurant’s grand opening. He would have been much happier simply relegating them to the nearest bin, though admittedly the less favourable articles had given him a good chuckle. Buried among the countless four-star reviews had been a particularly unimpressed critic who managed to fashion a terrible pun out of ‘taco’, ‘taqueria’ and ‘tacky’ for his headline, before awarding Mark’s efforts with a pitiful two stars. Mark had been so tickled by it that he’d immediately ordered the article to be framed and hung on his office wall.

Pulling his gaze away from the hotel itself, he draws his attention to the nearby town which has cropped up in recent years, predating the hotel by only a matter of months. The surrounding area once served as a camping ground for scientific projects, populated by scattered white tents and forklift trucks, but little trace remains of those good intentions now. Mark’s surprised he’s even allowed to lay eyes upon the town, so reserved is it for the richest of the rich. Gaudy apartments have sprung up around a narrow, elevated highway like overgrown weeds, with more and more buildings creeping outwards as the years go by. No doubt it won’t be long before his view is completely obscured by giant lumps of steel and tall windows. The topmost floors carry a price-tag of millions, or so he’s been told; their suites offering splendid views of the deep canyons on the lunar surface and the towering space station on the outskirts. Those properties must be a haven for nosy old dears enjoying their unearned retirement, content to sit by the windows as they watch the rockets come and go. In quieter moments, Mark likes to imagine the casual conversations that must take place on those uppermost floors as he ponders how the other half live: “Look love, there’s another one coming in now!”, “Russian or American?”, “Think it might be English, actually...”, “Oh, not those bastards!”  

Mark had been offered a first-floor apartment prior to his arrival, though he suspects the proposal had been made in jest. The eye-watering price-tag for rent alone had been enough to persuade him that his humble suite on the hotel’s fifth floor would be perfectly adequate. He can’t say he’s ever regretted that decision; the holier-than-thou attitude of the locals is insufferable enough without him being forced to live among them. Besides, this way he’s guaranteed a better view.

A droning hum draws his eyes skyward and a tight smile tugs at his lips. Just on time. The new arrival cruises lazily across the thin atmosphere, the rocket’s hull a deep fire-engine red as thrusters spill black smoke and bursts of flame from the rear. A private vessel, most likely. Company starships don’t tend to be so kitsch for fear of throwing off rich clients with elegant sensibilities. No doubt this particular ship is some playboy’s new toy – the space-age equivalent of a 70s Lamborghini – but so long as it comes bearing plenty of paying guests, Mark certainly isn’t in a position to complain.

He watches as the ship prepares for its final descent, drifting towards the spindly tower situated five miles away, notable for the endlessly flashing lights adorning its clinically white exterior. A lighthouse for the modern age. The thrill of watching spaceships come and go has started to waver in recent years. Knowing that what he’s seeing has less to do with the wonder of space travel and more to do with commercial ventures has sucked the childish wonder from his heart, but there’s still enjoyment to be found in watching the crafts make their landing. Once upon a time, railway-watchers must have gleaned similar amusement from witnessing steam-trains pass by, while they munched on their picnic sandwiches and squinted through binoculars with bleary eyes.  

For all that he’s allowed himself to become jaded by certain aspects of his new home, he finds comfort in knowing that one sight will always ignite wonder in his heart.  

In the far distance, resting peacefully against a vast starry sky, Earth stares back at him in all her glory. No photograph has ever successfully captured the brutal beauty of that hulking mass of deep greens meshed with delicate blues, overlain by thick swirling clouds and snow-capped mountains. His eyes trace the subtle variety of colours, from deep forest-greens to the industrial greys of vast cityscapes, to the golden hues of sun-battered deserts. The view is ever-changing - ever-turning - and he smiles as his eyes latch onto the more populated areas, bathed in pinpricks of golden light like decorations on a Christmas tree.  

It’s impossible to spot England from this distance, tiny as she is and persistently buried beneath swirling clouds. The hulking mass of Africa stretching from equator to pole is visible enough however, and if he squints, he can just about spot the sharp stiletto-heel of Southern Italy. If darkness hasn’t yet fallen back home then it surely will in a matter of hours. He smiles as he imagines amateur astronomers wrapping up warmly in their oversized parkas, dragging themselves and their gear to the peak of the closest hill with the intention of gazing up at the tiny civilization planted on the moon. No doubt he’d have done the same when he was a boy. There’s no specific memory to latch onto, but a vague recollection of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling above his bed is assurance enough that he must have made the trek with a cheap telescope of his own once or twice.  

Only, back then there’d been no burgeoning society to gaze upon. The only sight that would have greeted his tiny eyes would have been deep untouched valleys carved into endless grey rock.

It’s unclear how long he spends losing himself to the whims of malformed childhood memories, but when the moment is finally broken by a playful finger poking none-too-gently at his temple, Mark leaps out of his skin with a startled curse. The new arrival can’t help but laugh, seemingly glad to have broken the spell that was threatening to consume his friend. While Mark waits for his heart to stop beating a samba in his chest and grips the smooth railing of the balcony with bone-white knuckles, he somehow manages to resist the urge to fire a sharp “Fuck off Jamie!” in the direction of the man who currently has mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Hey,” Jamie says with a gentle smile once his mirth has settled, raising another finger to Mark’s temple and pressing more softly this time. “You gettin' lost in there again?”

He must be, Mark thinks with a sigh as he clenches his eyes shut and tries to anchor himself in the present. Jamie is often a quiet, comforting presence but he’s never that quiet. The fact that Mark had been too lost in his thoughts to notice his approach is likely a sign that he’s long overdue a nap.

Not wanting to concern his friend more than he already has, Mark offers a sincere smile before responding to his question with an evasive, “Hey yourself.”

If Mark is currently coiled like a tight spring, Jamie exudes a level of carefree bliss which is mercifully contagious. In contrast to Mark’s sharp suit – a reliable mask for the guests’ benefit – Jamie has chosen a pair of battered old jeans and a faded white t-shirt. With his long hair tucked lazily behind one ear, he could almost be mistaken for a glorified sixties hippy, albeit Mark doubts he’d appreciate the comparison. He doesn’t need to act like a professional until the hypothetical curtain rises on their evening set, and it appears that the nervous thrill of performing to a new pack of guests couldn’t be further from Jamie’s mind.  

The reminder that Mark himself is due to sing with the lads tonight sends a flurry of excitement through his veins. Closing his eyes and letting the music flow through his soul while he sings into the mic has always granted him more contentment than the mundane inner-workings of the hotel ever could.

Taking Mark’s ongoing silence as an invitation, Jamie turns to face the hotel complex, resting his back against the metal railing seemingly without a care for the steep drop on the other side. He doesn’t remain quiet for long, and Mark inwardly braces himself for his friend’s teasing when he spots the formation of a shit-eating grin stretching across his handsome features.

“Amazing what you’ve done with the place, it truly is,” Jamie declares, adopting a ridiculous impersonation of the Transatlantic accent that characterises the vast majority of their clientele. A trained ear can easily spot the Yorkshire twang lurking beneath the pompous act, but he almost sells it. Enough to have Mark straining to hold back a grin at any rate. “I’d wager this is a three-star establishment, easily. Might even push it to four if I’m feeling generous!”

“Oh, stop it!” Mark scoffs, stifling his laughter and bowing his head to conceal the sudden heat flaring in his cheeks. Kudos to Jamie, however, for his antics have the no-doubt desired effect of releasing some tension from his tightly-wound frame, and he glances towards his friend only to spot a victorious grin. This isn’t the first time a similar joke has been made at Mark’s expense. The need for him to sell the hotel to prospective guests has resulted in him having to adopt the role of sleazy businessman on multiple occasions. Doing so has always made him feel gross and he doesn’t particularly like himself when he’s caught up in his act, but his friends seem to find amusement in his alter-ego at least.

It is somewhat reassuring that they’re able to recognise that, despite the vast quantity of masks he regularly adorns, he’s still the shy kid they grew up with underneath it all.

“I don’t like playing salesman,” he admits, not for the first time. “It’s just part of me job description.”

“I know that,” Jamie says without missing a beat, squeezing Mark’s shoulder gently and banishing any remaining tension in the process. “I were only messin’.”

Mark smiles and leans into Jamie’s comforting touch. He knows. Of course he does. It can just be difficult to unwind sometimes; the weight of responsibility seems to crush his spine more often than not, leaving little room for levity. The lads help when they can, but for the most part it feels unfair to drag them into hotel business and burden them with his problems. They agreed to hop onto an entirely new celestial body with him for the opportunity to continue playing as a band, not to get caught up in the internal politics of a company they barely understand.

A low grumble disturbs the air, causing the ground beneath their feet to quiver. Two pairs of eyes are drawn to the illuminated space station as the playboy rocket finally makes its descent, the thrusters sputtering like a broken match as they release one final gasp. A mechanical whine resonates in the distance as intricate machinery clamps onto the ship’s hull, keeping her secure while her passengers – ten in total according to the updated guest list – gather their belongings and prepare to disembark.  

This is the moment Mark has been waiting for all morning, whether out of excitement or dread he cannot tell. His time for dawdling has been cut short. In a matter of minutes, he will be forced to make preparations to travel to the space station and greet his new guests upon their arrival. It’s one of many added perks advertised on the hotel’s website; further proof of Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino’s first-class service. Albeit this particular gimmick tends to be reserved only for the richest of guests; those prone to frequenting the suites on the uppermost floors, with transparent ceilings offering an unfiltered view of the stars. Mark can’t remember whose idea it was to have the manager await the guests on disembarkation – certainly not his – but as with a great many details concerning the running of the hotel, he is powerless to refuse his services.

The quickest route to the station is the highway; an elevated road built on steel platforms and sheltered by a curved tunnel, offering a direct means of travel from the station to the hotel while branching side-roads spill onto the town’s quiet streets. No doubt Mark will return that way in a rented limousine rather than his beloved Bentley, but for the outgoing trip he’ll likely elect to walk.  

Pre-dating the highway by several years, an underground tunnel lurks in the underbelly of the town, offering direct passage to the Arrivals Lounge of the station. In the fledgling days of the hotel, Mark had found the tunnel unbearably claustrophobic and suffocating, but as more and more people have elected to drive over time, he has learned to enjoy the solitude that comes with wandering through its depths. The sleek, curved interior with tangerine tiles and dark alleys branching in all directions reminds him of the stylish Kubrick movies which headline the hotel’s vintage cinema, and the perpetual brightness offers a closer approximation of daylight than the spotlights surrounding the hotel ever could. The walk will take much longer than a simple car ride would, but he’s well-practiced at this. What with all the fuss regarding interstellar passports and customs, he could twiddle his thumbs for the next half hour and still have time to greet his guests with feigned politeness at the exact moment they rock up to the station’s exit.

His approaching duties don’t seem to be lost on Jamie either as he gestures to the rocket dismissively before remarking, “Guess that’s a couple more audience members for tonight, then?”

A weak smile tugs at Mark’s lips, and one glance at Jamie’s face implies that he’s not particularly keen on the idea of Mark having to dash off so soon either.

“You could come with me, you know,” he offers, though a sinking feeling in his chest is enough to inform him what the response will be long before he hears it. His friends have never much cared for the managerial responsibilities of the hotel, nor have they ever accompanied him to the station. Why on Earth would Jamie agree to come with him now? “I bet you’d butter ‘em all up with your charm.”

Sure enough, Jamie’s handsome face morphs into an expression of scandalised disgust, not unlike the time Mark and Nick dared him to swallow a platter of oysters without gagging.

“Absolutely not!” he insists, as though Mark has just proposed that he leap naked into the pool and subject himself to the delighted ogling of lunching diners and afternoon gamblers alike. “They can be charmed by me guitar-playin' all they like, but that’s all they’re gettin'. I don’t do meet and greets.”

“Cool and mysterious type, eh?” Mark teases with a wink, a warm sense of pride flooding through him as Jamie scoffs at the accusation. “That’s why you’re their favourite you know.”

“Nah, that’s bollocks. They’re just grateful for the distraction from your ugly mug,” Jamie shoots back with a wicked grin, reaching an arm around Mark and pulling him in close like an overbearing older brother.  

Rather pathetically, Mark finds himself being so grateful for the human contact that the thought of reprimanding Jamie for his remark doesn’t even cross his mind. Besides, while confidence is hardly his strong suit, he’s had enough proposals from female – and occasionally male – guests to pay a visit to their suites after-hours to know that his ‘mug’ is far from undesirable.

It strikes him as odd that he’s never been inclined to take any of those prospective partners up on their offer. As the only unattached member of his friend group, he technically has free rein to spend his nights with whomever he pleases, and yet he’s consistently elected to sleep in his own bed, alone. Perhaps it’s the impermanence of it all that stops him from indulging in drunken mistakes. One-night stands have rarely appealed to him, and there’s little hope of developing a genuine connection with someone who’ll be returning to a different planet within the week.  

That’s not entirely the reason, however. On the rare occasions where he’s been drunk enough to consider an invite fully, his initial emotional reaction has always been one of guilt. The mere thought of inviting a stranger into his bed feels like an unforgivable betrayal. God knows why – he’s sure he would have remembered if he had a sweetheart waiting for him back home – but no degree of logic has ever succeeded in banishing those feelings from his heart. Perhaps he’s simply married to his work, as Matt has often joked, but he’s not sure that explains why he’s prone to feeling so fucking lonely.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he finds himself asking before he can stop the words from spilling forth, though he doesn’t have the energy to berate himself. He leans further into Jamie’s warm embrace, wondering if the strong arm draped over his shoulder is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. Without further prompting, Jamie squeezes him a little tighter and Mark’s eyes close in momentary relief.

When he opens them again, he finds that all humour has drained from his friend’s face, only to be replaced with a genuine concern that has guilt gnawing at his bones. There’s no need for him to worry his friends about problems that don’t exist. He’s fine, honestly. It just feels like he isn’t sometimes, and he’s yet to figure out why.

“Sorry mate,” Jamie says finally, sounding like he genuinely means it. An apologetic smile tugs at his lips and Mark returns the gesture with a weak smile of his own which is easier to summon than he expects. “Promised the missus I’d treat her to lunch, and she’ll give me a right bollockin’ if I back out now.”

A spontaneous laugh breaks free from Mark’s chest as he takes a moment to enjoy the mental image of his bandmate being royally admonished by his tiny, yet undeniably formidable wife. If Jamie minds him laughing at his expense, he doesn’t show it, seemingly content to watch as the remaining pressure is lifted off Mark’s shoulders. No doubt it’ll return with a vengeance later, but for now he opts to enjoy this rare moment of lightness; it’s amazing how easily his friends can make him feel human again.  

Much as he wishes they could linger here for the rest of time, teasing each other until one of them finally cracks, the minutes tick by relentlessly to the point where neither of them can justify further procrastination. Jamie has his date with his wife to attend to – having finally arranged to judge if the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is truly deserving of four whole stars – and Mark has his appointment with the new arrivals who will no doubt be hoping to collapse onto their beds for an afternoon of beauty-sleep before enjoying the evening’s festivities. Neither party are likely to be happy if kept waiting without good reason.  

Jamie draws him into a tight hug before Mark can pull away, and he sinks into it with a sigh. The embrace is broken far too soon, forcing Mark to school his expression into one which does not betray his disappointment when Jamie begins the trek back to the hotel’s interior, seeing him off with a wave and a hurried, “See you at rehearsals, yeah?”

Mark waves back and utters an affirmative which he doubts Jamie hears, before watching him vanish behind a set of automatic doors. And then he’s alone again, with only the overhanging Earth for company. Not for long though; his round trip to the station and back should only take three hours at most, and then he’ll be free to spend time with the lads and rehearse the set for the evening. In a matter of hours he’ll be standing onstage – the only place that truly feels like home – flanked by his closest friends as he sings his heart out to a drunken crowd. Whether the guests approve or not is of no concern to him. So long as he gets the opportunity to lose himself in the music, that’s all that truly matters.

For now, he has other responsibilities however. The present moment is not calling upon him to be the frontman of the hotel’s house-band, but rather the renowned owner and manager of the establishment. It may not be a role he particularly enjoys, but it’s one he’s good at and it would serve him well not to neglect his duties. Formal complaints from guests are thankfully a rarity, but he can’t say he appreciates the bollocking he gets whenever one manages to slip through the cracks. The degree of paperwork alone is horrendous.

Fuelled by a newfound conviction, Mark casts one final glace over the impressive view with a resigned sigh, before tearing himself away from his quiet haven to face the music.  

[boywivlove]

Don’t be afraid of the dark

Genre | Supernatural AU, Witch/Warlock AU, slight angst, slight fluff

Pairing | platonic Min Yoongi | Kim Namjoon

Summary | The Empyrean Academy for gifted young men finally opens its doors after the tragic accident of 85. A new coven is formed as six new warlocks now call the academy home. But as one gifted individual finds out, someone already resides in this great house. But after 35 years, is this his home, or his prison?

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief descriptions of violence, brief descriptions of gore and wounds, descriptions of occult stuff? Implied member x member

Authors Note | Im SSSSOO glad to finally be writing something! Ive been in such a rut with creativity but Im so glad to get this out! This is my first member x member fic Ive written please be gentle! This reads a lot from Namjoons side of things but does switch to Yoongi more throughout!!

The Empyrean Academy, once the home of a great and powerful coven, now stood frozen and abandoned. The magical enchantments on the place made it as though no time had passed since it closed its doors. The rooms, still immaculate and not a speck of dust anywhere. The light still shone through the transparent white curtains and the dark wood flooring still looked freshly polished. Indeed it was as though no one ever left. But sadly, this was not the case. The once great house closed its doors back in 1985, 35 years to the day. The enchantments in place were powerful to say the least, no pesky squatters could enter, nor robbers nor locksmith could find their way inside. But while no one can enter, nor can anyone leave. And for one soul, this is a gift as well as a curse. Only with the emergence of a new coven would the academy open its doors again. But is our friend ready and willing to share the only home he’s known since afterlife…

12,146, twelve thousand. one hundred. and sixty two days…to the day… how time flies when you have no need to keep note of it anymore. A hand gently brushes the ivory keys of the grand piano situated in the portrait room. He contemplates the melodies his hands remember, anything to block out the unbearable silence. 

Min Yoongi sat on the bench, his eyes dully reading over the sheet music, each one a beautiful melody, but overplayed. He only had himself to blame, spending so much time at that damned piano has left him growing bored of one of the few things he took joy in during his life. But 35 years has started to chip away at him, making him unable to think of a melody to key. It was always the same, he would wander through the house, he would read the books, he would light the candles, play the piano, and every single day since he died, he would repeat the now tedious activities. He never felt hungry, he never grew tired. But everyday would end up the same.

No one knows what happens to you when you die, no one in this big blue world knows what awaits you on the other side, and had Yoongi known what awaited him, he never would have gotten involved that day. He never would have tried to intervene. 

That’s what he likes to tell himself, he tells himself that he should have let them blow themselves up, let them be stuck here for decades with no one but themselves. But he knows he could have never stood by while someone else was in harm’s way, that is not the way of the coven, in this house, we protect our own. He knew in whatever scenario, he would be there trying to stop things escalating to a shit show like before. His mother had always said he was too nice. Even if his face didn’t always register his kindness. 

He missed her. His mother, god only knows how she reacted to the news of his death. He missed talking to her over the phone about classes and what he had been learning, he missed her letters,the swirl of her handwriting telling him how much she misses her boy, the way the pages would smell like her perfume, reminding him of her. The letters he still had were so old now, the scent had dissipated and he now only remembered it in his memory, ivory soap and lily of the valley. It’s a scent that reminds him of home. A home he can never go back to. This place was his home now. His tomb. The dorm room he once shared with friends now is a place for him to wallow in his memories as he watches the days turn to night, a cycle that repeats itself in his endless eternity.

The day Kim Namjoon found out about his gifts, he had accidentally set the curtains of his family home on fire. He had been terrified of what had happened, unable to explain it. It wasn’t until his mother sat him down and revealed her family secret, the gift of the craft that had skipped her generation, he finally understood. It was odd to say the least, he still didn’t fully believe that he was a descendant of a powerful witch, and he had manifested one of many gifts their line was known for having. It wasn’t until his mother explained that she had made a call to an old friend, and he would be going to a private academy to learn how to control his powers that it all became real. He didn’t know how to feel, on one hand, he would be leaving his whole life behind, but he would be learning how to harness his powers to control them, and hopefully not set fire to anything anymore. He just hoped the people there were willing to help him. And he prayed there was at least a lunch lady, curtains weren’t the only thing he’s accidentally set on fire…

The trip down to Peninsula Bay was long, 5 hours in a crowded bus with no stops, his legs were numb and his back arched slightly. It wasn’t all bad however, the man escorting him had introduced him to two students who would be joining him in his schooling. One was a young man, younger than himself, named Jeon Jungkook, he was welcoming, he had a nice smile that set Namjoon at ease ever so slightly, The boy was dressed in all black and had combat boots that could crush your windpipe, a complete 180 from his personality.  The other young man, his name was Jung Hoseok, his smile was even bigger than Jungkooks, eyes crinkled with how wide he smiled. He was a ball of energy, his blonde hair like the sun and his clothes were all bright summery tones and double denim, not what you would expect a warlock to dress in, but then again, Namjoons shirt had flowers on… were warlocks supposed to dress a certain way? if so, Jungkook didn’t have to worry at least.

They made their way off the bus to be greeted by their new  governess, Mrs Song, wife to the supreme warlock of this new coven, A welcoming woman but she had an aura of power that made it clear she was to be listened to. She led the three men into another car that took them up a steep hill, the sea seemed to go on forever and stretch further the more they travelled. The car arrived at the gates of a beautiful white stone mansion, The Empyrean Academy, Empyrean meaning the highest part of heaven as Namjoon recalled, no one would bother them up here, convenient given what was to be going on inside.

It had taken a while for the other student to arrive, to Namjoons surprise there were only six of them in total. The other three names he learnt were Kim Seokjin, he was the oldest of the lot,Park Jimin and  Kim Taehyung knew each other before coming to the academy, both coming from families that actively practised their craft, Namjoon could see the bond the two shared. They were led inside my Mrs Song, after reciting an enchantment that made the wind pick up, and the gates creak open on their own. The dead leaves of the autumn swept themselves from the driveway and the doors to the house unlocked themselves.  The boys were given a quick tour of the house, it was so beautiful. Namjoon could see himself sitting by the windows in the sunlight, his potential new study spot. 

It didn’t take long for the boys to each pick a room, Mrs Song had mentioned the rooms used to house up to 3 boys each back in the day, but since the numbers had dropped to 6 they could decide to share or have their own space, Namjoon found it not surprising at all that Jimin and Taehyungs rooms were next door to each other. Jungkooks room was down the hall from Jins, Hoseok had chosen the room right across from Jimins, which meant that Namjoon was left to decide between two more rooms on this wing, he made the decision for the room closest to the stairs,heading to open it. The door opened ever so slightly before it was slammed closed again. Oddly, he found himself unable to open the door, he felt as though someone was holding the handle on the other end, it wouldn’t even budge. Mrs Song had reappeared in this time and watched the small struggle unfold.

“Id pick another room Namjoon. That room has too many bad memories you see.” There was something in her eyes, something that looked almost sad. She waved her hand and the other room’s door opened for him, and then she was down the stairs and he could see her heading into a large room, her office perhaps.

Namjoon let go of the handle, he had a feeling, an odd feeling. He Felt like there was something inside that room. Something that didn’t want anyone to enter. 

Indeed there was something on the other side of the door, and he didn’t at all feel like sharing his room. Not with all his things being still here, the last thing he wants is some nosy new student rifling through his belongings. Yoongi may have lost his powers of the craft when he died, but being a spirit bound to the house you died in gave you some abilities, abilities he would put to use. He’s been here 37 years, now he finally had some company, but when you’ve been alone for so long, new arrivals can be jarring. He would hide out in his room for now, sure they couldn’t see him unless he wanted them too, but he would scope them out when he was ready.

The boys had settled nicely into the academy in the weeks that passed. Namjoon had found himself becoming fast friends with the whole group, he grew close with them all, Jin he was particularly fond of, Namjoon swears to himself it’s not just because Jin can cook, but it is a heavy factor for him. 

The boys each had their own special talents, Jin was gifted in a herbology, gifted with botanical magic, he would often be seen in the greenhouse or the kitchen cooking up all sorts of smelly things.. Jungkook, the youngest of the group, was developing his gifts of divination and clairvoyance, he could read objects and people enough to know something about w said person. He was also interested in the world of spirit contacting, liking to read tarot cards and scoping out the veil. Hoseok and Jimin seemed to share the most gifts with each other, their favourite pastime was seeing who could levitate the most stuff, a lot of broken or smashed things to the bemusement of Mrs Song and Taehyung, who would spend this time sharpening his transmutation powers, Taehyung would always catch the others by surprise by flitting from one room to another, many times he’s heard Jin cry out in surprise, and Jimin and Jungkook laughing hysterically.

Namjoon had also started developing his powers, his pyrokinesis had come a long way in just a few weeks, no more setting curtains afire. He had learnt enough control over his fire powers to understand his power surges were brought on by stress and anger. Namjoon could understand why, at the time of the curtain accident he was under a lot of academic stress with college entry exams. Just as well he set them on fire, in truth, he’s never felt more at home. The others were his home away from home. 

But with all this comfort Namjoon felt, his mind couldn’t help but go back to the locked room. Jungkook had asked him one night if he felt anything weird about that room. He looked like he knew something but if he did, he was keeping it quiet for now. Namjoon had explored quotes around the house during his stay, he had found a door in the wall in the living room,and stumbled upon the portrait room in the east wing. The walls were decorated with portraits of all the former supreme warlocks, but there was one he found out of place. It was smaller than the others, and instead of being hung on the walls, it was framed and sat upon the grand piano. 

The portrait was of a young man no younger than him, his hair was neat, while his uniform was black and pristine looking, it looked dated. Namjoon looked at the plaque below and read the name Min Yoongi - 1958 - 1985. Twenty seven when he died. This was an old photo, but then Namjoon had thought. 1985. This was the year the academy shut its doors right? Was this man connected with it somehow? Namjoon had so many questions about the academy, it was in his nature to be curious.

Yoongi had eventually come out of his room, shifting from one room to the next, he had observed each of the new students, and so far he didn’t see anything that would cause him to be weary. He would often watch the group during their lessons, following along with what Mrs Song was teaching them, he was surprised to see the curriculum had changed. No more dark magic history lessons it would seem. 

`Good. Maybe things will turn out differently for this coven.` He couldn’t help but think. 

He wouldn’t admit it, but the boys were growing on him. He often had a chuckle to himself overhearing their conversations or observing their antics. But there were two of the men he wasn’t sure of. The first was the youngest one, he learned his name was Jungkook, he found himself tiptoeing around this kid. 

Yes this `kid` was 22, but had yoongi lived, he would be 62, everyone of these guys were `kids` or `Young men` in his eyes. 

Jungkook always seemed to get off feelings whenever Yoongi had appeared around him, obviously he couldn’t see him. But it seemed this warlock had an affinity for sensing when spirits were near, even if he didn’t fully understand the depth his powers yet, Yoongi would catch The kid looking up to where Yoongi situated himself, with a gaze so intense that Yoongi often wondered if he could in fact see him, but he knew he couldn’t if he didn’t want the kid to. 

The second was the blonde that tried to get into his room the first day, Namjoon. He had observed this one the most. He was a curious one. He had spent a lot of time in the library, studying anything and everything. Yoongi had to stop himself playing tricks on the man by making books slide off the shelf, most of these books are older than the house and he wouldn’t risk damaging such an old relic.

He found himself hovering around Namjoon more than the others. It was interesting to see the man looking into the house, most students just focused on their powers. But Namjoon went searching all over the house for all its hidden mysteries, He could relate, he remembered the hidden room in the back of the greenhouse he stumbled upon with his roommates back in the day, there was nothing in it. But the thought of more hidden spaces in the house made Yoongi shiver. The thought of unlocking hidden places excited him.

He had followed Namjoon into the portrait room, he would spend so many hours in here playing the piano, his own portrait staring at him. He watched Namjoon observe his portrait, a curious look on his face, his thumb brushing the name plaque gingerly. 

Yoongi didn’t know what compelled him, he felt himself materialising before he could reason with himself not to be an idiot.

`Not my best look, but they got my face in a good light at least`

He never saw someone jump up so quickly.

`JESUS, w-what`

`what, you never seen a ghost before…` Yoongi felt like an idiot, he hadn’t spoken to anyone in 35 years, his tone wasn’t exactly welcoming.

`a-a ghost, wait, your, your, your a`

`Dead guy? yeah…

There was a long silence, Yoongi could practically hear Namjoons heart beating out of his chest. What the hell should he say now…

`so, you were a student here back in 1985?`

`Yeah, me and twenty other students, it was so different back then, I’ve told you this already.`

`I know, I’m just thinking, your pretty old now, you must think its all new to you, the laptops, phones… we don’t ride broomsticks anymore haha`

Yoongi gave a deadpanned look to the man laying on the bed besides him, the hint of a smirk evident on his lips. In the past week he and Namjoon have spoken a number of times with each other. It was nice to talk to someone again. He honestly thought Namjoon would run a mile after seeing him, but as surprising as it was, he remained with him. Namjoon had calmed himself, figuring that, if witches and warlocks were real, why not ghosts. That’s what Yoongi liked about talking with Namjoon, he liked that he was openly curious about things. Namjoon would listen to Yoongi talk for hours about his life way back when, and Yoongi craved all the attention he was getting from the man after decades of solitude. 

He hadn’t revealed himself to the other students yet, he wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he just wanted to sit with Namjoon, he did other things to give the others a hint he was there, he would open doors for the others when they had their hands full of books, or he would leave relevant books on the tables in the library whenever they needed to research something important. Of course none had caught on yet, thinking it was one of the other students, but Namjoon had mentioned that Jungkook often stared at him with an off look in his eye, not bad nor good, it was like he knew, but didn’t elude to anything. Given his abilities, Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised. 

Namjoon didn’t jump at telling anyone yet either, he knew that Yoongi had been alone for years, and while he had told Namjoon his story, he had kept some things hidden, his death was something Namjoon was eager to learn about. Morbid yes, he had learnt from Mrs Song that a student had died and two others had been injured years back and the details were kept secret, but there whispers that dark magic was surrounding the young man’s mysterious death. Namjoon had pieced together that Yoongi was the Man in question, and when he questioned Yoongi about what happened, Yoongi had clammed up, nervous almost. 

`It’s not something you need to know about, drop it please?` 

Namjoon had not brought it up again, it clearly upset Yoongi and he didn’t want that. He wanted Yoongi to know he can trust him. He let Namjoon into his room, eventually. The others had gone out for a trip into the town down the cliff, a chance to get out for a while. Namjoon decided to stay behind, wanting to catch up on his reading, that’s what he said. In truth, he just didn’t want to leave Yoongi inside the house alone, he’d been alone enough. Namjoon had wandered through the house searching for the ghost, and when he didn’t find him in his usual haunts, he had thought of the one place he hadn’t checked. 

He was hesitant to knock on the door, he knew Yoongi now only shut himself in his room when he was particularly down and didn’t want to be bothered. He rapped softly on the door, his voice finally coming to him.

 `Yoongi, are you alright?` 

Nothing. No answer.

`I just want to know your alright… If you don’t want to talk that’s fine…`

He waited a couple of seconds, before deciding to leave him alone, when the handle clicked, and the door slowly creaked open. Namjoon hesitated before stepping over the threshold. He didn’t know what he expected, but the room was almost like his own, the curtains were still immaculately white, the bookcase and desk were riddled with all kinds of books, the beds were perfectly made and the clothes in the closet were neatly folded. Namjoon also noted the other furniture in the room, two empty beds, two empty closets. 

He approached Yoongi, who was sitting on the window ledge looking out of the window that overlooked the sea, in his hands was a photo frame. Namjoon sat by his feet, Yoongi looked deep in his own thoughts that Namjoon thought he didn’t notice him, but he let him into the room.

He didn’t speak, he waited for Yoongi to open up to him, he let him in for a reason, he just knew it.

` Do you ever think about what would have happened if you decided something different.`

`sometimes`

`I find myself thinking more and more about what would have happened in my life if things worked out differently… I would be 63 today if i was alive. I’d probably have been teaching you and the others in this coven.

His eyes didn’t leave the sea, his head pressed against the glass as Namjoon looked out to see the waves crashing on the rocks.

`Yoongi, you’ve never told me. You know, how you died. I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s pretty obvious it was what you were thinking about…`

Yoongi’s eyes downcast to the photo in his hands, and then to Namjoon. He held out the photo frame for Namjoon to take, He saw the photograph, it was Yoongi, and two other young men at a bar, they looked happy, these must have been his roommates.

`they were my best friends, we all came to the academy together.`

`Are they, were they involved?`

`yes, and no… it was, something else.

`something, else?`

Yoongi sighed, he sat straighter now, his legs crossed and he rubbed his face with his face. 

`It was something dark. My roommates, they had been looking at some dark stuff, black magic and conjuring spells. Our coven had been under attack back then, witch hunters.`

`witch hunters?` 

`yeah, they were nothing but persistent, no one got hurt but it was getting worse and worse by the day. They wanted to conjure a protection spell that would ward the house against the hunters. When I was alive, my gifts were a lot like your friend, Jungkooks, I had an ability to see into the veil, to see spirits and commune with them. My friends found if they could channel me and my power, they would be able to conjure a protective spirit. But I saw the books they were reading, there was no certainty that the spirit that would come through would have been a good one.`

Yoongi had gotten up by now and got a book from the shelf, he opened the book and handed it to Namjoon.

`This, this is dark stuff, where did they even get this book.`

`The coven used to teach dark magic and its history back in my day, a way to make us aware of the danger, fat lot of god it did right? I told my friends they were getting into some dark stuff but I didn’t want to leave them, if something went wrong they would need someone versed in magic of the veil to help.`

Yoongi sat down near Namjoon, their knees touching as Namjoon listened to every word with sympathy.

`what happened.`

`The spirit they conjured, it was anything but good. It attacked one of my friends, He didn’t even have time to defend himself. We tried to send it back but it kept getting more aggressive. I used my powers to look through the veil and see what it was… it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve never felt a spirit that dark before, a black heart surrounded with occult magic… but I knew what I had to do, being versed in the veil, I knew I could send it back, but when I tried to force it through the veil, it attacked me, it let the others go, but, I guess I wasn’t lucky….`

Namjoon could see Yoongi shaking slightly, his smile was undermined by his eyes watering. Namjoon couldn’t imagine what Yoongi had seen that night, but it clearly left him fearful, even decades later. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around the shaking spirit. Yoongi takes a breath and continues.

`By the time it was forced back through the veil, that thing did enough damage to me to make me bleed out, the others tried to stop the bleeding and get help, but by the time the supreme came running in, I was already standing over my body. I knew I had died. My friends said nothing, they knew how the coven viewed dark magic and conjuring, they would have been blamed for my death, and exiled from the coven completely. They told our supreme that I conjured it.`

That was a surprise he hadn’t seen coming. Yoongi’s best friends had blamed their dead friend?! Namjoon would never meet them, and he was almost glad he never would. His blood boiled at the thought of friends betraying someone whose death they caused.

Eventually the blood was cleaned up and the room was closed up, they said my things were probably riddled with black magic, and best to shut the room up and let it be forgotten. I saved my best friends, I died for them, and they blamed their stupidity on me, that hurts you know. I just tried to keep them safe.`

Yoongi had broken down at this point, he didn’t know he could cry this much being dead, his retelling the events had caused the phantom wounds to itch, by the time the whole ghastly event was finished, his chest was ripped up, the scratches inflicted upon his arms and legs had nicked an artery, He remembered every tear of his flesh and the sticky warm liquid soaking his shirt. And when it was all over, when the supreme listened to his so called friends retelling of events, he felt his ghostly heart break. 

Namjoon didn’t say anything right away, but held Yoongi, what could he say? He had no idea Yoongi’s death would have been shrouded with deceit and betrayal. Yoongi was a gentle soul, he died protecting his friends, and they spat in his face. Namjoon held Yoongi and let him cry as much as he needed to. He ran his hand through Yoongi’s hair, a small comfort to the spirit. Night had fallen without other noticing, and Namjoon still held Yoongi, the only light in the room was the candles Namjoon had lit. In spite of his little breakdown, Yoongi now felt calm, he almost felt at peace. It was Namjoon, he was comforting. The most comfort he’s felt In years.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 10 – Progress

“Well?”

<Where’s your patience, boss? How could you cut straight to the point without even saying hi? And you happen to be talking to me.>

“Exactly. You’re the one person who would reply to ‘hi’ by recounting the number of times M-21 spoke for the day, the dessert presented at school lunch the other day, and the average size and volume of the crumbles the children spilled at my mansion during their snack time with my master the day before.”

<Aww, don’t be so mean, boss. You know I’m only looking out for you when I relay the updates on Seoul.>

I know. Of course I know. But no thanks. Otherwise I’ll start missing what I’ve decided not to.

Frankenstein choked his inner voice and nodded at Tao’s awkward face blinking inside the monitor.

“So, how did Rael’s meeting go yesterday? I doubt there was trouble. At least not on Rael’s side. Not with you preparing everything for him.”

<He was fantastic. As soon as he takes to Lukedonia the KSA researcher assigned for the job, we’ll get on with the ‘QuadraNet’ project.>

“QuadraNet. Huh. Though it’s a temporary name you came up with, I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever get used to it. But what do you mean, tomorrow? What’s the rush for?”

<This researcher that KSA nominated for the task is really gifted. He specified 2 days would be enough for him to get everything ready. I checked the files from the USB he provided, and I’d say 2 days are more than enough.>

“If you say so. How long would he stay at Lukedonia?”

<He’ll have to see for himself, he said.>

“It’d be best to make it done as quickly as possible. Because werewolves have already booked the same appointment. Speaking of which, how is he? What is that researcher like?”

The question was as harmless as it could be, yet Tao started shifting his gaze, away from the monitor. Frankenstein’s blue eyes steeled in reaction.

“Is there a problem?”

<No. At least, I don’t think he has a problem that can affect this project in a bad way.>

“What do you mean, you don’t think? What’s the issue?”

<Uh... Well...>

With a bashful smile, not so big, not so small, Tao unraveled what Rael told him after his trip to KSA.

*****

The day before, at KSA Headquarter

“It appears the recovery has been going on progressively. That’s good.”

“S-sorry? Oh, uh... I... Yes. Thank you.”

Sangin hurriedly produced a reply, whom Yeonsu gawked at as if holding back the urge to snap at him. Nevertheless, her eyes were basically no different from those of her husband – tap-dancing to the silent tension.

“So, uh... How long are you planning to stay in Seoul...?”

“I will be on my way as soon as your researcher is all set to leave.”

“I... I see. I cannot imagine how... Uh, I mean...! I do not mean to be nosy! I...!”

This time Yeonsu feigned nothing. She happened to be just as nervous, with the director’s office just two steps away.

“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.”

Upon Rael’s entrance, the director rose and smiled, so stiff that it almost seemed he was doing it on purpose. He was not alone; the doctor in charge of Yeonsu and Sangin’s body modification was attendant.

“On behalf of Lukedonia, I’d like to give my deepest apology for proceeding with the project too hastily.”

“N-no, it’s nothing. Quick progress would only do us good.”

“So, is your doctor the one appointed in representation of KSA?”

“Uh... Unfortunately, no.”

The director waved his head apologetically, and the doctor stepped in.

“We’ve decided I cannot leave my lab, not even for a moment, since I’m in charge of all technological aspects of KSA. It’s not that it’s utterly impossible for me to provide any help or advice, but I don’t believe I can leave this building. I am very sorry.”

“In that case...”

“We have chosen the best of the lead researchers among us. Had he been employed before me, or had I resigned from my seat as the head of the technological department, this researcher would have been made in charge of body modification and regular checkups for these two agents. When it comes to his competence, we are more than ready to guarantee it.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“I should.”

The doctor walked past Rael to guide him through the corridor, with Sangin and Yeonsu striding by Rael’s sides for more details.

“‘Yuhyung Jang.’ Age 28. He is currently the lead technological assistant and one of the lead researchers of KSA.”

“He used to major in Bio And Brain Engineering at KAIST, but he was considered a freak among his classmates due to his theories, brilliant if put in a good way, unrealistic if put bad. But 6 years ago, I had a chance to speak to him in private during my visit to KAIST as a guest lecturer. At once I realized I was met by a genius and offered him a position at KSA.”

“Immediately he dropped out and filed an application to KSA. And when it comes to research, he has never failed us.”

“Which is why he is the only researcher, excluding me, with a personal office and a lab.”

Rael recalled the time when he just made himself an occupant at Frankenstein’s house. First there was not much he could do, so when he had no chores at hand he used to pull out several books from Frankenstein’s library, to which he was granted access by the man’s courtesy.

Some of the books he read included an introduction to astronomy (with which he taught himself about geocentrism and heliocentrism) and a couple books on “universities.” From the latter, he learned that KAIST is always listed as one of the top prestigious institutes in Korea, which allowed him to comprehend the level of intelligence and expertise this researcher would possess.

The moment Rael inwardly sighed in reassurance, Yeonsu, Sangin, and the doctor scrunched their faces in an uneasy, unnatural way.

“Uh, there is one thing we must tell you...”

“First of all, we’re sorry.”

They were staring at Rael with eyes teeming with ruefulness and pity, which raised concern in Rael’s clueless heart.

“No matter what kind of stupidity unfolds, I’d like to ask you to please be patient and understanding.”

“This fella can be sort of... Ridiculous. And crazy.”

“But he means no foul whatsoever, so please. Be generous.”

Rael was trying his hardest not to let his disquiet-slash-panic get ahold of him, as the three humans fanned his puzzlement with eyes spawning apology.

“Here we are.”

The doctor cleared his throat before he knocked a sliding automatic door.

“Aaack!”

Rumble. Clang.

Clank. Screech.

Rael wondered for a moment if his ears were deceiving him. Normally one would not be met with such noises in a series after a knock. He realized that the three KSA personnel conveyed nothing but tranquility, with ‘here-we-go-again’ grimace.

“Coming! Coming right up!”

Thuds of footsteps escalated, only to be interrupted by an ear-splitting siren inside the room, which caused vortexes in the KSA officers’ eyes.

“What is this?! Don’t tell me...!”

“Aaaah!! I-it’s nothing! It’s nothing at all! Everything is okay!”

“Okay my ass!”

Faithful to her temper, Yeonsu nailed the door with her foot. The broad piece of metal fell flat on surface with a deafening ‘bang,’ promptly unleashing pungent smoke onto the entrance and part of the corridor.

“Ugh!”

“What is this smell...?!”

Yeonsu and Sangin darted their eyes around the room in search of the source of pitch-black cloud and charring stench relentlessly assaulting their eyes and noses. They spotted a ball of flame overgrowing in midst of a lab table at the corner, with a man pouring out all the sweat he could ever secrete, while clutching a fire extinguisher that was equal to a pesticide in terms of size.

“N-nobody panic! Please, nobody panic! I... I’ve got this perfectly under control! So... So please, remain calm and...”

Swoosh.

An abrupt current of wind blasted at the table. The air compactly brushed the fire that was by no means miniature, instantly smothering sparks and smoke that filled the chamber, and the remainder of smoke began to subside, now that its origin was gone.

“Thank you.”

Sangin and the doctor nodded their heads at Rael, who managed to douse the flame with the wind pressure from a mere act of slashing the air with his hand. Not feeling the need to reply, the Kertia took a step closer.

The first thing he could make out was a pair of rectangular glasses thicker than any other pairs he had seen. Then stood out brown curls of hair visibly in dire need for nutrients, and Rael’s gaze lastly arrived at the man’s lips arched in a sheepish, silly curve.

“Allow me to introduce our researcher – Yuhyung Jang.”

“Oh... So this must be...!”

Yeonsu nodded, and Yuhyung urgently jutted out his hands for a shake. That was when he noticed that he was still clinging onto the fire extinguisher. Out of haste he flung the object towards the bookshelf behind him, packed with utensils and books of various types and uses. He waited to witness the crimson cylinder very precariously settling on the bookshelf before re-sticking out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you. Yuhyung Jang is my name.”

Recollecting that this is one of human etiquette in introductions and greetings, Rael held the man’s hand as gingerly as possible.

“I... I have heard so much about you. I was told you are one of the heads of clans from Lukedonia.”

“Indeed. And I will escort you safely to my homeland. I wish to leave as soon as you are ready. How long do you think it would take?”

“Uh... Uhm, two! Two days would be enough! Yes, of course! I, I only need to pack a couple more equipment, so...”

Almost making a show out of himself trying to express how honored he is, Yuhyung suddenly lunged at his desk and rummaged through his drawer. Once he excavated from his drawer a variety of stuff – such as, and not limited to, mechanical pencil, tape, a bottle of half-empty gums, and tiny rubber ball – the researcher brought back a USB for Rael.

“Could you please deliver this to the, uh... Whoever’s in charge of technologies among your team? This contains a program required to set up a connection with KSA’s network, with a couple files that I chose as reference. You’ll need this to install and launch the new communicative system.”

“Very well. I’ll make sure it reaches the right person.”

“You should start packing. Now. The director officially granted you permission for a business trip. Now all that’s left is for you to be ready.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll go ahead and do that ri...”

Yuhyung threw himself towards the bookshelf to drag out a tattered traveler’s bag. And the next moment –

CLANK!!

The man was hammered on the head with the fire extinguisher that was stationed too unstably to withstand the tremor from his action.

The two agents sighed in unity as they watched Yuhyung slumping unconscious, his eyes already rolled towards the back of his head. The doctor collected his hands as a display of embarrassment.

“We’re very sorry. Could you spare a few moments, please?”

“...It’s fine as long as he wakes up by the end of the day.”

*****

What a dumbest genius I’ve ever seen. Or should I say smartest dummy I’ve ever seen?

Frankenstein was educated enough to know that it is not courteous to dub someone dumb. Alas, his mental dictionary failed him at the moment.

“I have a feeling this trip will be a nightmare for Rael.”

<But let’s trust him, shall we? He said he can do this.>

“We should do that. There’s nothing else we can do for him on that matter, anyways. So pack him a nice lunchbox or something on his way back. The boy’s got a long voyage ahead of him.”

<Aye, aye, captain!!>

After an exchange of couple more comments, Frankenstein exited his communication chamber, only to freeze roughly at the same time.

His eyes were drawn to a bundle of grey hair, a hue now highly familiar to him, draped where it could not even reach his waist.

‘Seriously? She’s sleeping here?’

The consistent, soft ups and downs of her shoulders and rhythmic ebbs and flows of air through her respiratory system signaled that she was asleep. Frankenstein was not surprised to see her in the building, for he did notify her that there are only two places he will ever be while the sun is alive – his communication chamber or his lab.

What did catch him off guard was the fact that it presumably took only 10 minutes for her to fall in slumber, not sleep. It is possible for people deprived of rest to doze off when there is a brief opportunity, but Lunark is a werewolf. Expecting a werewolf to be exhausted is like expecting a cat to enter the tub on its own paws for its bath. Not downright impossible, but awfully rare.

‘Just what on earth is she tasked with when she’s away from this place...?’

Frankenstein stared down at Lunark, debating with himself whether he should wake her up or take her to one of the bedrooms so she could recharge herself.

He decided at least he should not leave the guest crouched at the corridor, when he cannot remember when was the last time he ever swept or mopped this place. Without further ado, Frankenstein kneeled and placed his hand on Lunark’s shoulder as lightly as possible.

There was no push or pull in his motion; it could be barely defined as a touch. However, Lunark’s head wobbled in the air like a roly-poly toy and dove straight towards Frankenstein – right onto his chest.

(Illustration by. RyO - you can find her DeviantArt page here)

In a flash, the pulse from his heart thundered through his vessels, and the entire world quaked with an electrifying ‘thump.’ At least that was what he could make most out of his gut reaction.

The man was startled not by the unforeseen contact but by a phenomenon that made him question his cardiac status; he was lost at what to do. At then Lunark’s eye slid open, and light slowly dawned upon her pink pupil. Her gaze was not yet focused, enthralled by sleep, until it landed upon Frankenstein’s face.

“...Am I dreaming?” Whispered Lunark, her voice a hush no greater than flaps of butterfly’s wings.

Being a human whose abilities far surpass those of humans, Frankenstein should have captured every letter she spat out. And he would have, if only he did not happen to be writhing in a pit of confusion. The most he could manage therefore was narrowly getting himself out of his chaotic preoccupation.

Concentration kicked into Lunark’s eyes as soon as they met his cerulean eyes. Simultaneously, she apprehended the fact that she was laying her head on Frankenstein’s bosom and scrambled to her feet straight away.

The only problem was that she was not awake enough to perceive that they were so close. Close enough to smash her lips into his with little adjustment to the angle her head was taking.

WHAM.

“Ugh!!”

“Aack!!”

They avoided violently brushing their lips, to their relief, but they could not avoid ramming into each other’s forehead, thereby producing reverberation of a sound that only an Eiffel Tower would yield upon breaking one of its legs.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!!!”

Lunark first and foremost fired an apology, even though she could not grasp the right direction and was busy trying to steady her head.

“Ugh... You okay?”

“Uh... Yeah......”

His voice told her exactly where he was standing, but Lunark could not dare lift her eyes at him.

‘What happened? Why was I squatted with him half-embracing me...?’

Lunark visited with a new piece of data, unlocked by Adne after he went through pains. When she could not pick up his trail anywhere outside the building, she figured he would be at the lab or the communication chamber.

Her plan was to wait until Frankenstein was done. Just then the fatigue from days of insomnia threatened to raze her mind, and a blink of an eye was all it took for her to black out.

The void of her memories was made null by a concoction of Frankenstein’s natural scent and aroma of wolfsbane. Hence she woke up to this disaster.

“Just how many tasks do you have at hand these days? I’ve never dreamed I’d get to see a werewolf warrior fall asleep in daytime, albeit shortly.”

Lunark could not bring herself to answer. It was true that this secret ambassador was not the only role she assumed. After all, a Union elder is listed as one of her career; it is only reasonable that she takes a major component in tracking down and eliminating what is left of the Union.

However, that is not the only reason why she fell defeated to drowsiness today. Recently she was made victim to the lack of sleep. Because of the man right in front of her.

And she could not tell him why. She could not admit that ever since she began to see him on semi-regular basis, she could not help getting conscious of his every single day, if not his every whereabout. She could not complain that her eyes just would not stop taking a snapshot of him into her brain and put it on infinite replay. She could not confess that lately he began to infiltrate her dreams, some of them definitely deserving at least a hundred slaps in the face.

“I-I’m fine. I’ve gotten busy, so I had to give up on sleeping for the past few days. And it looks like I really need some sleep.”

Ultimately she chose to keep the truth to herself, and Frankenstein’s forehead furrowed much more precipitously than she had imagined.

“You’re not getting any sleep? Why?”

“There’s a good reason.”

Lunark painstakingly ironed her face to stare at him, lest they get caught in an endless banter of questions and excuses. Thankfully for her, it worked.

“I’m not sure what’s keeping you awake, but you’d better get some sleep as soon as you return. It’s much bitchier than you’d think to stay awake for an inevitable reason.”

Frankenstein turned away as he spoke, because of which Lunark did not need to hide the flinch of her shoulders. She has never seen him handling his tongue so ferociously, unless he were in the middle of a battle or crisis. Which meant he was close to torturing himself by staying awake.

So why would you go this far?

Lunark was nearly yelling at him in her mind, but her mouth generated something very far from a reprimand.

“Here. And Dr. Adne said he’s sorry. The locks on Ignes’s data are turning more and more complicated, as if they learned they are being manipulated by someone other than their master.”

“I see he’s working very hard. I owe him so much, so I’d appreciate it if he does not let his duty harm his body.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him that. Now see you.”

“You’re leaving already?”

Lunark had already spun on her feet when he finished his sentence.

They would have had time to exchange a few more words, if not a complete conversation, if only he had left his communication chamber a little faster. In fact, Lunark was grateful that she could avoid lingering for the remainder of the day to talk to him.

“I told you I’ve gotten busy lately. Which is ongoing. And don’t give me that look. I’ll do as told as soon as I’m done with the most urgent ones.”

Lunark twisted her tone as she left, a deliberate action intended to be relieving, even jesting. Contrary to her intention, Frankenstein stood fixed to his spot even after she was gone.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. She sounded quite offended.’

Her action begot an effect not at all like what she had hoped. Which at least did not last long.

‘Who am I to care about someone else?’

Shaking his head, Frankenstein walked to his lab.

Before taking a seat at his desk, as disorganized as always, he poured out the liquid from the flask he held ready at all times. He downed the cup of wolfsbane tonic in a gulp before flipping the first page of a document, and as if on a cue technical terms and explications, so complex only the professionals in body modification would make out, commenced attacks.

Of course, it is impossible for printed letters to actually attack his eyes. Nonetheless, Frankenstein had to repeatedly blink and force his pupils back to the file.

I feel like my eyes are being less cooperative today. Am I imagining things?

His groggy head mumbled after he wasted 5 minutes while trying to dissect the first line of the next paragraph. Yet he tried again.

Again.

And again......

*****

Frankenstein blinked. He could seldom remember the last sentence he was reading. It was as if his brain cells had been buried in mist.

He attempted to stretch and straightened his back. Then he noted how he was on his feet in the middle of a dark purple space.

The dark purple that he would never fail to recognize.

Right at that moment, ice exploded through every crook and junction of his capillary vessels.

‘No, this cannot be...!’

(next chapter)

I give you my second OC - Yuhyung Jang.

He is my OC from KSA side who also happens to be a perfectly ordinary human. I tried to make this chapter comical on purpose to show what he’s like - genius but crazy XD

Also, I was super-excited to add a little Frankie-Lunark moment in this chapter lol. I know it’s not much, but they can always make a progress XD

The illustration was provided by RyO, my wonderful friend AND one of the most talented artists I know. Try visiting her DeviantArt page (the link under the image) to see what kind of wonders she has created! Thank you again to my friend RyO for the illustration!

Additionally, here is a background story on how come Rael, a native of Lukedonia, knows about Copernicus and Ptolemy and their respective astronomical theories. Frankie let Rael read in his personal library on the first few days upon his arrival to Seoul, and an intro book on astronomy happened to be one of the books he read. Hope this clarifies! Lol

[pennywisesbarbie]

Nothing left [1/3]

A/N: So this was written while I was very very sleepy. You may agree or not witth Reader´s behavior/ideology but keep in mind this is fiction. 

The manager name is written as “M/N” because I didn’t remember his name.

Words: 1.6 k

Summary: Reader has lost her house due to a fire. She is the owner of “Jajas” and meets Arthur when she comes to the manager of the shop to ask for his help. Her luxurious world suffers a sudden collision against the clown´s one. 

Warnings: mention of tragedy related to fire, wealth/poverty, rudeness, angst & funny at the same time.

Arthur is the last person left at the agency. Well, with the exception of the manager and you who are at the back office. It´s been a very long day, only alleviated by the cool weather typical of coming winter that doesn´t make the streets a hot oven anymore. He is leaving the green wig and the white uniform he used for the hospital inside his locker while hearing your loud argument:

-Honestly, M/N? What are you trying to tell me?

-Nothing, Y/N. What you are understanding right now. I can´t give you any money.

-Well I have rights over this. This is my business. I own this fucking place. And you are technically under my commands, my friend.

-Yes, my dear. But you opened this place a long time ago just like you take a candy out of your pocket. You didn´t even came here once. And that´s why now you find out we are in no position to give you money. There is none – he speaks slowly word by word trying to set the fact into your brain. We run this day by day.

-Well, what am I supposed to do then? How am I going to rent something?

-I don´t know.

-You can´t do this to me. My fucking house is burnt down! I need a place to go.

-Oh no, don´t even look at me like that. My wife would kill me.

-It´s just till my lawyers solve this with the insurance company.

-Oh yeah? From what I´ve heard they don´t  want to pay you anything, dear, because they say the accident was your fault.

-Please, M/N, you can´t leave me alone in here. It´s night time. You know what Gotham has become.

-Yes, and that´s why you shouldn´t stay here with all the thieves and crazies out there.

-But, M/N! You are saying it yourself! Please help me! I wasn´t even able to grab anything when the firefighters came!

-Good night, Y/N. Do whatever you want but again, I suggest you not to stay here. There´s the key of the shop – the manager greets you and leaves through the back door.

You breathe heavily for a few seconds, panic rushing through you. You look at the key and grab it, pressing it tightly inside your palm. When you walk out of the office and go to the frontal part, the image of Arthur taking off his make-up causes you to jump scared.

-Oh my God! I thought everyone left.

Arthur clears his throat eyeing your from your expensive shoes you were lucky to have on when the fire started to the now messy silk neck of your blouse.

-          Sorry, Miss, didn´t mean to scare you – he replies watching you balance back and forth on your spot trying to see if you could sleep in one of the benches – Is everything alright?

-          Mind your own business – you bark at him and go to the table at the corner that has a telephone on it – Mary? Hi, it´s me, Y/N – you say when you hear a voice on the other side of the line – Listen, I had an accident. M-my house burned, something with the gas, I-I´m okay, but I have nowhere to go. No money, nothing. I was thinking… Oh your family is at home oh… okay. Thank you – you dial another number – Stephanie…, oh yeah, M/N told you. Yeah… would you mind if I stay at your house for the night? Oh, your husband is with a lot of work. I won´t bother you… Oh, I see. Thank you – you put the phone aside and rest your weight on your hands against the table to not collapse right there. Then you hear the locker door closing so you turn around slowly – What are you looking at?

-          Nothing, Miss, I was just listening to…

-          Nobody invited you to hear my conversations.

-          Sorry, Miss. Have a good night – Arthur replies and starts walking the corridor to the back door while you look around the dark place that resembles a wolf mouth under the night.

-          Excuse me – you call him back – I´m sorry if I was being rude. I´m sure you´ve heard the chaotic nightmare I´ve been through – you explain yourself as he turns around to contemplate you with shiny eyes – I was wondering… maybe I can borrow some money from you. I assure you I´m going to give it back to you as soon as I can. I´m the owner of this place but it just happened to be that M/N didn´t want to give me access to the cash register. I-I don´t need much. Just sixty dollars would be enough.

-          Sixty dollars? – Arthur starts laughing genuinely pinching the space of his nose between his eyebrows – Oh you Misss are clearly from another planet. Where do you think a street clown could get sixty dollars from? – he talks as you watch him with clenched jaw due to his laugh.

-          Well, that´s what a hotel room costs for the night.

-          Oh, yeah, the hotels you visit. But no, Miss, I´m afraid I don´t even have money for a cheap low ending hotel.

-          Fine. Thank you – you reply and give your back at him to sit on the bench near you.

-          Why don´t you come with me?

-          Are you kidding? – you chuckle sad – A woman spending the night with an unknown man?

-          I´m technically not unknown. I´ve been working here for years now. I mean I can be all the nosy you want but I assure you I won´t disrespect you in any way.

-          No, thank you.

-          As you wish, Miss – he walks to the door and exits the place.

It doesn´t take more than a few seconds for you to start feeling the coldness of the empty shop coming up your ankles to land, uncomfortably, at the pit of your stomach. You stand up abruptly and take the key you´ve left on the table to get out, locking the door behind you. You look everywhere lost and petrified: the poor lightened street, garbage bags, a drunken guy on the ground till suddenly you spot Arthur at the subway entrance.

-Hey, wait! – you shout at him, running as fast as you can to his spot

-Have you changed your mind about the nosy clown, Miss?

You stay silent and the travel on the subway is silent as well. Still not fully convinced and perfectly aware of the danger you could get yourself into, you´ve accepted the offer, the only one you had. Arthur doesn´t speak either. He only told you his name and that he lived at the last subway stop.

When you enter the building, your expensive shoes are greeted with a big trail of mud someone has left on their way to the elevator or, as you call it mentally, “a ramshackle box”. Arthur is already used to the machinery shaking off but you spend the minute to his floor with cross arms against one of the walls, praying to god not to let you die like that.

-Home, Miss – he opens the door laughing while you follow him.

-I don´t see what´s funny.

-Oh, no, I´m sorry. I have a condition in my brain that makes me do this.

Great. I´m indoors with a crazy man.

-Set yourself comfortable. Can I offer you a glass of water?

Sewer water he might have wanted to mean.  

-No, thank you, I just want to be able to rest.

-Yes, of course. I´m sure you can take the sofa. I´ll bring you a blanket.

But the blanket is not enough to prevent you from shaking so you stay there half-awake while he is sleeping in the bedroom. A small apartment, as small as one of your less luxurious bathrooms you used to have before it all went down. You scrub your eyes hoping your lawyers could solve the situation quick before you have to spend another night in these conditions or, even worse, to consider yourself homeless if the insurance company doesn´t agree on paying you everything. And even if they do so, where are you supposed to go while your house is rebuilt if none of your people help you?  They´ve left you alone, to die if it were for them in a rotten hole. In this rotten tiny hole with no more facilities other than a fridge and a TV in front of you. A TV that has something black stuck on the screen. Something that´s moving.

-AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! – you scream waking up Arthur in a heartbeat who appears in the dining room in boxers.

-What happens?!!!

-A cockroach!

He turns his head to look where you are pointing at and closes his eyes to sigh.

-Oh god, now it´s you who scared me – he says, grabbing one of your shoes to kill the insect – Better now? I´m afraid there could be some more... – he continues but stops once he realizes you are crying behind the palms that cover your face – Hey, Miss… I didn´t… I know this abrupt change of world can be hard for you but it was a just a cockroach. It´s over now.

-It´s not that. I have nothing left. No money, no house, no friends – you explain uncovering your puffy cheeks.

-Okay, okay, well… -he is about to hug but realizes that he is almost naked so he excuses himself and goes to the bedroom to put on some clothes.

-I´m sorry – you say when he comes back – I didn´t mean to cause trouble. I´ll be fine.

-But I can´t leave you in that state. I mean, what kind of nosy clown would I be if I leave someone crying like that, don´t you think? – he asks earning a smile from you – Please sit down.

You take a sit on the sofa and he follows you doing the same on the left side.

-I don´t know what TV programmes you must like but I enjoy this guy. You know him?

He turns on the TV and puts on Murray´s show accommodating the blanket he gave you to cover both of your laps.

[suddeninklings]

Update!

Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort.               

(Part 1)

Tuesday. 

Helen Abbott-Howser. The fourth of twelve victims. Between October 1997 and March of 1999, the incongruously named Roadside Ripper had been active across the counties of Centerfield, Cambria and Conyer’s own Middlesex. A round dozen, the killer had proclaimed in a typed letter posted in rest stops across the state in the early hours of April 1st, 1999. Some called it a manifesto. In it, he attempted to rationalize the attacks. At the time, there was no word for a man like the Ripper. With the turn of the century and the rise of the internet, there now was. All of the victims were women between the ages of 25-40.  In the letter, he cited years of rejection and humiliation as proper cause. It wasn’t until 2012 that similar attacks brought the Rippers killings back to light and gave him a more suitable label. He was an incel.

One of many men who practiced what they called “voluntary celibacy” due to the lack of romance or sex in their lives. In their minds, women were to blame and many of them believed that women should be made to suffer. As they had. To most, they were angry young men, dangerous and ruled by hate, but heroes to some. Sixteen years had passed since his last victim had been found off the interstate, ten miles outside of town. Despite the PSP and the FBI’s involvement in the case, there was no evidence other than the circumstantial. No leads. The few suspects the police had managed to find had all of them been disproved by DNA. The case was open, but practically dead in the water. 

David could remember his foster mother, Teri (or was it Denise then? They all blurred together in his memory) watching the story play out on the news with equal parts disgust and fascination. Women were told to take caution driving on the highway alone. Some police departments advised against it altogether. Even after the manifesto had been found, in which the killer claimed he had been absolved of the shame and pain of living as “subsidiary male in a society that set him up to fail,” people were on edge for many of the years that followed. It wasn’t until the string of missing child cases grew more and more frequent that public focus shifted and the Ripper was more or less lost to time.

Shit. David thought, the weight of his offense still weighing on him. Maybe it’s too early. I should come back later. 

He stood on the Howser porch, fighting the urge to pace. Sleep had not been easy to find that night and the lack of it made him restless. He blinked, his grip on the paper wrapping in his hand tightening. He had been up before dawn trying to craft an apology in his head, but anything he managed to come up with felt hollow on his tongue, lacking the sincerity he knew he owed her. It was a problem he had dealt with since childhood. Even now, he still struggled to engage with people outside of work. He couldn’t interrogate them. Couldn’t order them about or adhere to their orders. There were no such hierarchies in life, or at least, if there were, there shouldn’t be. 

He took to observing from a young age, desperate for social cues and leads. He attempted emulation, but as a child often failed, leading him from home to home. Shuffled through a broken system that neither liked nor cared for him. Those years were not ones he wished to linger on, but he couldn’t deny that they had helped him build an arsenal of tools that allowed him to excel at his work. Being guarded and watchful were gifts professionally. But personally? So many relationships were shot before they could even properly begin. He convinced himself it wasn’t troublesome. That it made life easier. Easier to push through life from one day to the next. 

He lifted his hand, to knock on the door one last time, when he picked up the sound of light footfalls behind him. 

“Are those for me?” 

David turned. Grace stood at the bottom of the small staircase leading up to the porch, having just returned home from a morning run. Her cheeks and forehead flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She wore a loose grey t-shirt and leggings, a thin hoody was tied around her waist. Strings of loose hair clung to her temples or floated like a strange crown around her head. Small clouds of smoke escaped her lips as she slowed her breathing. He looked down to his hand, where her gaze was focused. An early morning drive, to help better his thinking, had resulted in, not the right words, but flowers. The market on the corner of Main and Bradshaw had been stocked full at opening and he had had his pick. It was a small bouquet; sprigs of white daisies and purple hoary stock in place of olive branches. He nodded, opening his mouth in hopes that the right words would just tumble out. 

“I’m an asshole-” He felt his own cheeks go hot. 

Grace shook her head, hitching her hands on her sides with a breathy sigh. She looked towards the ground. “David, it’s fine-”

“No really, I-wasn’t even...My head’s be so full of-”

“David!” She laughed this time.

He stopped, blinking twice before daring to look her in the eye again. They were light, almost amused. Yesterday they had looked hazel, but under the glow of the early morning sky they seemed almost green. She smiled and stepped up to meet him, snatching the flowers from his hand and holding them up to her nose. 

“They’re nice,” She said, whole-heatedly.  “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

David dodged her eye, the heat spreading from his face down his neck. A mixture of relief and nervous energy still broiling. It seemed too easy. All the officers at the station, they talked about their wives and girlfriends as if apologies were impossible. 

“You…want to come inside? I have coffee.” Grace said, her voice lilting as she placed her hand on the door and pushed it open. 

-

David settled into a chair at the head of a small oval table off the kitchen, waiting for Grace to return. After ushering him through the narrow front hall, passed the steps to the upper floor and into the family room off the kitchen, she had brought him a cup and excused herself to change. Out of habit, he began to appraise the home. It looked as though no work had been done to it since it had been built. The formal dining room across the hall had been converted into an office; stacks of papers and books were littered across a small folding table that doubled as a desk. A computer that looked to be older than anything he had come across in the precinct was already sitting in a box. The kitchen was small, with bulky walnut cabinetry and aging appliances. The family room was equipped with a small television, couch and recliner that seemed to have labored through the most use. There were few photos on the walls. A watercolor painting of a marina scene hung over a small electric fireplace in the corner next to screen door that led out to the backyard. There was a stale scent in the air. Dust. He could see it floating slowly, as if practically frozen in time, catching the light of the morning sun as it filtered lazily through the glass. 

“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” He said when she returned. She nodded, her eyes rolling back as she settled into the chair across from him. Simultaneously, they reached for their cups and drank. The coffee was black as night. Just how he liked it. Apparently how she liked it too. 

After a moment’s quiet, Grace said softly, “I feel like I’m the one who should apologize.”

David sat up straighter. “No, Grace, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s alright, really. I don’t know why I reacted that way.” She lifted the mug to her lips again, but paused before taking another drink. “I mean that was one of the reasons I left,” she took a sip and continued. “...And didn’t come back. Some people, that’s all they want to talk about. Martin never seemed to mind it but...I couldn’t stand it. Being the dead woman’s daughter. All that pity and nosiness...disguised as niceness. People I never knew would approach us about it. As if they had any right or reason other than morbid curiosity.”

David understood the feeling. It wasn’t often that he dated. Or even met with friends. They all wanted to talk about his work. Especially after the Dover case. He could sense when they were about to bring it up. Their eyes would take on a strange light. He could practically see the gear in their heads twisting and turning, trying to find a way to steer the conversation towards the case. 

Grace set her mug down, exhaling. Her shoulder dipped down as if they had been pushed by some invisible weight. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all of this. Hell, I don’t have time for it. The junk company is coming tomorrow and then the realtor and-”

“I can help.” David said. 

Grace stopped, fixing him with a look of confusion. “What? No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, really.” David said, leaning forward. He thought of his empty home across the road. The lack of errands. He thought of his desk at work and how he had been more or less banned from returning to it until the following Monday. “I know it won’t make sense, but...you’d be doing me a favor.” 

-

It didn’t take much convincing, despite the oddity of the request. Once he was able to convince her that he wasn’t aiming to help simply out of guilt, they began to rifle through each room of the house. Boxes were filled, piles of papers tagged for lawyers, furniture pushed towards the center to account for the painters coming later in the week. To David’s relief, the day didn’t drag and before they knew it, the evening had home. Endlessly grateful and thoroughly exhausted, Grace put in an order for pizza. At David’s suggestion they crossed the street over to his house, where a refrigerator stocked with cold beer and a welcoming deck were waiting to be taken advantage of. They sat outside, watching a thin bank of clouds drift slowly over the lake, their colors shifting from a soft white to a pastel yellow to an alarmingly vivid shade of orange as the sun drifted further and further down. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to do this all without you.” Grace said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “But...I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news?” David asked, reaching for his beer. 

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, the corners wrinkling as she indulged in a playful wince. With a shake of her head, she buried her face into her knees for a moment before continuing bashfully, “There’s a basement.”

He smiled. It was small and fleeting. He wasn’t sure if she had seen it. They remained outside, talking softly and long into the night, until the all manner of sunlight dipped down below the treeline and the sky above became an inky blue sea of stars. As though they were, and always had been, old friends. 

-

Wednesday.

David wandered over to her house at 12:15, after he saw the realtor pull out of the drive and drift down the road, out of sight. She opened the door at first knock, wearing a smile that was quickly becoming familiar to him.

“Afternoon,” She said breathlessly. She hitched one arm against the door, her hip jutting out in the opposite direction. A large box, filled with books and bearing the label Goodwill sat at her feet. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, wisps and strings falling loosely around her face. 

“Look at that, you have arms.” She joked, with a nod of her head. David looked down, feigning a laugh. The day was uncharacteristically warm and humid. A silver sun glared down through a layer of paper thin cloud cover, coating the land below with an odd, muted shadow. He left his jacket and button ups at home this time, instead sporting a jersey t-shirt and ravaged pair of jeans he pulled out when working on his own house. She was dressed similarly, wearing the same leggings as the day before and a cutoff shirt with thin, horizontal pinstripes. 

“How’d it go?” He asked, following her through the narrow front hall. 

“Oh, fine,” She said, making a hard left. “His dad was friend’s with Martin’s, so he’s going to cut me a deal which is nice. Now, I’m almost completely sure that everything down here can be trashed.”

She opened the door to the basement, absentmindedly pulling at a string of ribbon hanging just inside the doorway. A small bulb flickered on with a crackling snap, but it did little to properly light the wooden steps that led down. 

“I’ve been too scared to look, but hopefully there’s not too much do-Ah!!”

A creak and a crash, followed by several smaller thumps and finally a sickening shatter, sent David rushing around the corner after her. 

“Grace!?” He barked, bracings his hands against the frame of the door. 

“Fine! I’m-I’m fine.” Came a garbled response from the shadowy depths below. David reached for the handrail. 

“Wait! Stop!” She called, halting him in his tracks. “There’s a faulty step. I...forgot.”

“Are you alright?”

“-fourth one down, be careful.” She continued. “Ouch. Fuck me.”

He leapt passed it, taking the next few two at a time until he reached the bottom. 

“There’s a switch. On the wall.” She mumbled, looking more like a mass of black shadow as David’s eyes attempted to adjust. He pressed his hand to the wall, flicking it on. A bank of old fluorescents buzzed to life. Grace was hunched over on her knees, her hair having fallen loose from the scrunchie. 

He tried again. “Are you hurt?”

“Uff,” She breathed, pushing her hair away from her face. “I mean, my pride is yeah...and maybe my knee. Ow!”

She hissed, drawing her hand away. The tips of her fingers were coated in blood. 

“God...dammit.” She said, shifting up so that she could sit on the last step. The unmistakable sound of glass scraping against concrete filled the room. David knelt down in front of her. 

“Language, Abbott, please.” He tutted, with a wry smile. Grace huffed a laughed, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as she tried to shake off the shock and the embarrassment. God, I hope he didn’t see. She thought, as the fall played back through her mind. She was fairly certain she had looked as graceful as a penguin tottering off to sea. She watched as he assessed the damage, trying to push the image far away. 

“Looks like you landed on something.” He said, finally, his fingers gingerly pushing at the now flattened box that sat where she had fallen. It felt necessary, if not useless to state the obvious. 

“Looks like it.” Grace said, her hands hovering over her knee. Sure enough, a few bits of grainy glass had torn through her leggings and looked to be embedded in her skin. 

David stood, offering her his hand. “Here.”

She looked up, her face flushed red. She took it and he pulled her up, winding her arm around his neck so that he could better help her hobble up the stairs.

-

Grace sat atop the kitchen counter next to the sink, situated so that David could tend to her knee. He pulled a chair in from the living room and set it in front of her. She watched quietly as he rifled through a first aid kit. Where he’d managed to find it, she didn’t know. It must have been older than the pair of them. He still looks so young though. She thought, her eyes drifting down past his face to his neck. Except for the tattoos. Did he have those in high school? I can’t remember. That she recognized him, or anyone, was a surprise to her. Her senior year and been a blur of grief and determination. Conyers felt more like a prison then. A barrage of whispers and glance she was desperate to escape. When she couldn’t sleep she studied, earning herself valedictorian status and a full ride ticket out of town. She promised herself she would never look back. It meant losing touch with long kept friendships and starting from scratch. But it felt worth it. Now it seemed a little dramatic, but she was a teenager then.

Maybe it’s because he seems...the same, in some ways, She thought. Quiet and sedate. Many girls in her grade had spent some time nursing a crush on David Loki. He was the ‘new kid’ after all. A broody boy from the outskirts of town. No one had known him before he showed up on the first day of school. He was a loner. A mystery. Grace understood the appeal then, but never enough to act on it. Very few of them had. Even then, as an underweight, seemingly insomniatic teen, he had a strange air about him. As if he were haunted. Or the one doing the haunting. Grace had never been sure which. He had filled out since those high school days, but he still looked saturnine, as if a good day’s rest eluded him entirely. 

She leaned back, her head hitting the cabinetry behind her. She looked around the room, feeling suddenly impolite for staring. The kitchen felt so small, smaller than she remembered. Her legs dangled off the edge of the counter, her feet swaying gently from side to side, as if caught in a breeze. She felt very much like a child, having tripped in the backyard and come bursting through the door with tears streaming down her face and crying for a parent. She could practically feel the heat of the tears, the wobbly path they would make before drying against her skin. She had been holding them back. Fighting them really. Since entering the house after so long. Despite her best efforts, there were still memories here. Small signs of her mother that Martin hadn’t willed away. 

“Grace? Do you mind if I-?”

“Oh! No, I can-” Her hands went to her leg, fingers pulling at the torn fabric of her leggings, until she gathered all of it above the knee. She winced as she could now clearly see the bits of glass, tinged scarlet. 

“This might sting,” David said softly. With surprising tenderness, her carefully pulled loose the pieces of glass, before pressing a damp cloth to the torn skin. Grace’s hands balled into fists as the antiseptic sunk into the shallow wounds. He let it sit for several seconds, before pulling it away and letting it fall into the sink at his right side. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Grace said, trying to fill the silence. 

“We all go through some basic training at the academy.” He explained as he began to wrap her knee with a thin layer of bandage. She felt his finger brush the back of her leg and deftly lift it slightly. Quite strangely, she thought of Cinderella with her leg poised to receive the infamous glass slipper. 

Christ Grace! She thought to herself, feeling her neck grow warm. You are no put upon damsel and he’s no...daring prince…

She looked down at him again, her eye catching sight of a small divot just above his left temple. Were it not for the closeness of his cut, she may not have noticed it at all. 

That must be...She thought. “The bullet wound.”

“What?”

Oh shit. Grace thought. Did I...say that out loud? 

With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. I just keep digging myself deeper. Well...what is it they say? In for a penny... 

“I may have, um,” She flushed, leaning her head back against the cabinet again and gazing up and away. “-looked you up. Last night.”

He didn’t seem surprised.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The Dover-Birch case? That’s...quite a story.”

Dammit. She thought, eyes flicking shut as she prepared for the backlash. Why’d I say that?! I’m going to scare him off. As if he wasn’t wary already. Being a cop and all. She had seen the way he’d blanched at the bar. It wasn’t much more than a blink but it was all she needed to draw the proper conclusions. She had enough dealings with cops to know how they felt about her work. It didn’t bother her if they despised her. But David was...well, not a friend but...he was something. 

He exhaled, long and low, but the breath didn’t carry the disdain or annoyance she expected. He almost sounded amused. That can’t be right. She looked back down at him. Surprisingly, a wry shadow of a smile ghosted across his face. 

“Force of habit?” He said, almost teasingly as he tucked the remaining wrappings back into the kit before snapping it shut. 

“I guess, yeah.” She said, sheepishly, feeling well and truly chastised. 

He paused a moment, a far away look in his eye before standing up. Instead of moving away, he leaned towards her, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, each one positioned a respectful distance from her legs. His face was level with hers now. And close. Almost uncomfortably so. At least it should have been. But it wasn’t. 

His eyes. She thought, pressing her lips together in a thin line she could only hope was unreadable. They were deep and dark, as blue as oceans. She could see fleck of brown in the irises. He was close. So close. But not close enough. She swallowed hard as the realization came slowly. She wanted him closer. Needed it. 

“Your exposé on the DWP was good.” He said, finally. “Really something,”

Her brow shot up. 

“I...looked you up, too.” He said, a knowing smile flashing across his face. 

Grace reciprocated. “Really?”

“Really.” The smile remained, tugging at one side of his mouth. Grace felt the yearning in her chest begin to churn and warm. 

“Guess we’re both a little too curious, huh?” She said, lifting her hand up. “...May I?”

He tipped his head down. Ever gently, her fingers brushed the longer lengths of his hair up and back so she could better see the scar. Instinctively, he drew closer as her legs slid further apart. She could feel his breath, slow and warm against her neck. Her own breath hitched as she took in the angry, craggy line. It had mostly healed over, but she knew enough about these sorts of wounds to imagine what it had been. He tilted his head up again. She could feel his hands dragging across the counter, drifting closer and closer to touching her. Almost. But not quite. She let her fingers slide through the tendrils of his hair. Back and down until they could more easily cup the back of his neck. It was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in, his lips pressing against hers. Softly at first. Her fingers tangled in the hair and pulled. Closer. They thought, almost in unison. She could feel his hands on her thighs now, clamping down and drifting upwards. Her hips rocked against him. Once. Twice. The next thing she knew she his hands were underneath her, pulling her up easily. Her legs wrapped around him tightly. Her arms reached around his shoulders and pulled at his shirt. His lips pulled away from her mouth for only a second. Enough time for her to whisper the question they both knew the answer to. 

“Bedroom?”

He drew her off the counter and her legs unhooked, but his arm stayed tight around her waist, keeping her mouth in line with his. Her toes barely made contact with the floor as they moved down the hall. He paused just before the doorway, spinning her round. Her back hit the wall. He muttered an apology as he peppered kisses up her jawline. His hands were splayed on either side of her shoulders, his body pressing up against hers. She could feel the hardness of his form, from his chest all the way down. 

“Don’t be-” She heard herself whisper, her breath ragged and raw. “Just keep going-”

She fumbled with her shirt, trying to loose her arm free. He was there, his hands pulling it up over her head. She followed suit, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over. 

They disappeared through the door, unable to wait any longer, the basement well as truly forgotten. 

-

Just a little tease this time around, but there will be more soon! It’s been a while since I’ve written these kinds of scenes. I feel out of practice. >.< Thanks for reading! Hope to update very soon. 

[moonysfrexckles]

“I lost a sister.”

September 1977

She was staring again.

She knew because the rest of the world appeared rather abruptly around his head, and the din of the Great Hall assaulted her ears the moment she blinked. Lily cleared her throat, shaking her head to try and dispel whatever had been running through her mind and straightened up in her seat.

Honestly, she couldn’t quite pinpoint why she was staring at James Potter. Sure, he was pretty, with his dark hair, strong jaw, and hazel eyes that sparked every time the grin was lit at his lips. But he was also a bully. An arrogant, self-righteous bully-

“I can be better for you.”

Only Lily wasn’t sure that was true anymore.

After the incident at the end of their fifth year, when he’d chased her through the school and promised with sincerity ringed eyes to be better, he hadn’t accosted Snape once. Nor any other poor unsuspecting child as it was. For a year, Lily had been privy to a boy she had only seen snatches and glimmers of, and it surprised her.

Lily Evans had known James Potter for nearly seven years now. She had known he was in love with her for almost four. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out- for all his strengths, he was terribly obvious, and she’d had to get used to the lingering stares, the bashful smiles, the sudden comments and vies for her attention. At first, Lily had actually found it quite flattering. She’d blushed and laughed and gossiped, and then she stumbled upon him tormenting Snape, the latter stripped to his underwear in front of corridors full of people, and her stomach had felt heavy and light at the same time and she’d wondered how she could hope to fall in love with anyone so vile.

Regardless of any shows of civility they had attempted over the years, their relationship had always been a rocky one. She clashed with his arrogance, his foolhardiness, his ignorance, his easy-going earnestness that always seemed to get him off the hook, even with McGonagall. He clashed with her righteousness, her morals, her religion, her inexcusable belief that everybody deserved a chance, despite how they treated others. He found her increasingly irritating and loved her for it. She found him ever the bully and hated him for the fact that he didn’t seem to care.

Except that wasn’t true.

Her recent piqued interest in him wasn’t anything more than that. Lily was simply surprised that James Potter was human, after all. But she had to stop staring-

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Dorcas was saying when Lily next blinked. She was spreading strawberry jam on her toast, surveying a flippant Marlene with arched eyebrows.

“What’s not fair?”

Marlene looked at her in surprise. “Well, it’s nice of you to join us! How was your trip? Did you get all the pining done you wanted?”

“I-” spluttered Lily. She closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “I was not pining.”

“You were. And drooling,” said Dorcas, taking a bite of her toast when the scowl was redirected to her.

Lily frowned. Absently, her eyes drifted back down the table.

“And we’ve lost her again-”

“What’s not fair?” Lily repeated, switching her attention to the two of them. They shared an amused glance but didn’t comment, allowing her abrupt change of topic.

“Nothing important,” shrugged Marlene.

“It sounded important.”

“It wasn’t,” Dorcas smiled.

Lily picked up her spoon and waggled it between them. She said warningly, “I know you’re both lying to me.”

“That makes three of us,” said Marlene sweetly.

“You’re infuriating,” Lily told her. She wasn’t particularly hungry and her cereal had gone soggy, so she pushed back the bench and climbed out. “I need to go to the Owlery anyway. I’ll see you in Potions.”

“No, you won’t. I’m in Herbology,” said Dorcas.

Marlene pulled a face. “And I might not turn up just to prove a point.”

Lily was already half way down the table, but they managed to make a small smile curl her lips. She didn’t stop but twirled round to face them, holding her arms out and singing, “Wankers!”

Marlene’s laugh carried around the hall, following her until the doors had shut behind her.

She didn’t stop as she crossed the entrance hall, jogging up the stairs in the direction of the West Tower. Her bag felt heavy on her back, and regardless of all of her books and quills and spare quills and ink, Lily thought the letter placed carefully on top of everything else was the weightiest.

Her eyes stung. She’d woken up earlier than usual that morning, before the sun had even touched the skies. Lily had sat up, leaning against the headboard, heart fluttering dangerously in her chest, and waited for the light to break through the slit in the curtains before she’d folded back her sheets, made her bed and slipped into the Common Room. She had sat on the crimson settee, staring into the fire. And then when her feet grew cold, she collected some parchment from her trunk and her quill and returned to kneel on the floor by the ash fire.

The paper had remained blank for some while. Every time she reached for her quill, her fingers would shake so violently that she gave up and traced the grooves of the table instead.

Every year, on this day, Lily would wake up early, having not been able to sleep, and stare at the blank bit of paper, wondering what acceptable thing you could write to a stranger on their birthday. Although, Petunia wasn’t a stranger-

Her sister was the first thing she remembered. Memories that were saturated and hazy, bleached with light and faded by time. She was her first friend, her first playmate, the first person to make her laugh. Lily knew that Tuney liked running around because the flimsy pain in her side always made her feel victorious. She knew that her favourite colour was peach because it was the colour of the dahlia flowers that grew by the stream in summer back home in Nottingham, and she liked liquorice tea when she was ill.

She wasn’t a stranger.

Lily just didn’t know her anymore.

She sighed into the warm palm of her hand, eyeing the blank paper with a frown. Forcing her hand to grip her quill, she sighed again and proceeded to write.

The letter was now tucked into her bag, sealed with the red wax and stamped with the Hogwarts crest Marlene had bought her for Christmas in her Second Year. Lily walked quickly. The Owlery was located in the highest corner of Hogwarts, the West Tower, separated from the rest of the school by a heavy wooden door, and set at the top of fifty three stone steps (she and Mary had counted them on their first trip there). The pillars stretched to the sky, holding up the roof, with nests and perches lining the walls. There must have been a hundred, maybe two hundred, owls, swooping in and out as they pleased, preening and plucking themselves, watching her with disinterested eyes.

Her mother hadn’t let her buy an owl, despite Lily’s sincerest efforts to convince her that they were a necessity in the Wizarding World, because she’d said it would eat her budgie. In the summer, she’d had to rely on her friends’ owls to be able to reply to their letters. Now, she’d have to use a school one.

It was cold up here. October was right around the corner, in the crisp wintry air, in the late dying of the night, and Lily made quick work of undoing her bag, offering the letter to the friendliest looking owl she could find along with a treat as thanks. She watched it as it took off, spreading its large wings and taking to the skies. She didn’t look away until it had disappeared into the clouds, feeling as though it was taking a crucial part of her heart with it, and even then, when the tiny black speck of undulating wings had faded away, she waited a few moments more.

Then, she tore her eyes away. The owls squawked above her head, cooing and nipping each other when they encroached on their nests. Lily swallowed and found that although her throat felt dry and rough, she could breathe a lot easier, like the air had cleared. She fastened back up her bag, swinging it onto her shoulders and checked her watch-

She froze. She was going to be late.

Lily swore, bolting down the stone steps, and bursting through the wooden door at the bottom. She quickened her pace, and noticed faintly that her heart felt significantly lighter as she rushed down the corridors to her Potions lesson, falling through the door and onto her stool just as Slughorn emerged from his office.

Marlene glanced at her, smirking at the pinkness of her cheeks and raggedness of her breath. She murmured, “Did you send it?”

Lily froze. She played for nonchalance. “Send what?”

“Whatever it is you send every year,” she explained simply, ignoring Slughorn as their professor set them their coursework task and let them get on with it.

She didn’t elaborate past that, and Lily was secretly relieved that her friend was never nosy when it mattered. She set her station up, laying out her notes and checking them once over to make sure everything was correct.

“What assignment have you chosen?” asked Marlene, sitting back in her chair and watching her friend tie up her flaming hair and bustle around their desks.  She’d already collected her ingredients, although she made no move to do anything of particular importance.

“I decided to merge the Draught of Living Dead with Altheda’s Potion,” replied Lily.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed and a small frown creased her forehead. “From Beedle the Bard? I didn’t realise that was a real potion. I always thought it was just a fairy-tale.”

Lily paused. A wry smile curled her lips and she said whimsically, “After finding out about magic, I learnt very quickly that fairy-tales are more often than not based on some semblance of truth.”

She smiled, squeezing Marlene’s fingers before she said, “I’m going to get my ingredients. Are you planning on starting any time soon?”

“Not particularly,” retorted Marlene, wrinkling her nose. “Though then again, I don’t tend to plan ahead. After six years, you should know that.”

Lily laughed, and she headed towards Slughorn’s cupboard. She made a mental checklist of everything she needed, beginning with the leftmost bottom shelf and working her way round like that, perusing each jar and vial with squinted eyes, chastising herself for not bringing her glasses and above all, cursing her Professor for the chaos of his disorganisation. She’d offered once before to put his cupboard in order for him, but Slughorn had laughed it off and said that he knew where everything was and that was all that mattered. Short-sighted and with the dim light of her wand, it took her longer than usually to find all of the ingredients bar one she needed, but she did so, pooling them into a bag she had transfigured from a pencil. She stood up from where she had been crouched on the floor, extinguishing her wand. Resolutely, Lily reached for the handle but before she could, the door swung open and a hard, tall body collided with hers, sending her grappling to press her bag firm against her leg lest she lose any of her ingredients.

“You haven’t seen any Chizpurfle fangs lying about, have you- oh, Lily. Evans, hi.”

James cut himself off, neck flushed, and Lily smiled a little at his flustered state. This particular cupboard, separated from the more general one due to the increasing rarity and expense of its assets, was perhaps a metre and a half squared in area, and Lily could feel every one of his breaths against her skin.

“Chizpurfle,” she repeated suddenly, eyes raking the shelves, chewing on her lip. “No, I can’t see it. Maybe Slughorn’s used the jar and didn’t put it back?”

He nodded, and she realised that in the few moments she’d been searching for the ingredient, his eyes hadn’t moved from her face. James coughed and said, “Thanks, yeah. I’ll check.”

Arms full of various sized vials with various coloured liquids, James turned and headed for the door. Lily swallowed and queried, “Are you making a Befuddlement Draught?”

He spun around, eyebrows raised. “A Wiggenweld Potion.”

Lily wasn’t quick enough to conceal her surprise and if the quirk of James’ lip was anything to go by, he noticed. She picked off the last sloth brain on the shelf and said lightly, “It’s a difficult potion, is all. Are you feeling up to the challenge, Potter?”

The hint of a smile that had threatened to spill across his face gave way to a grin. “You’ve known me for nearly seven years, Evans. You should already know the answer to that.” He paused, as if gauging how far he could push it, before James added, “Why? Are you impressed?”

“Maybe I just didn’t have that much faith in your ability,” retorted Lily, feigning her features to stop herself from smiling. She gave him a dainty shrug.

James’ mouth dropped open. Wounded, he cried, “How very dare you! The audacity! If my hands weren’t full, I’d challenge you to a duel.”

“You’d lose,” she warned him.

“Oh, Evans,” he said in a low voice and the smile dropped from her face. “I’m not the same foolish, skinny boy I used to be.”

“No,” she conceded softly, and James’ eyes changed too. She cleared her throat. “But you still have his legs.”

With James’ rich laugh echoing through the jars and making the spider webs shake in her wake, she edged past him and walked back to her table, beaming at Remus as she passed, who offered her a gentle smile in return. Lily laid out all of her ingredients, skim-reading her instructions to double check that she had them all before she began her prep work.

“So,” began Marlene, finally unloading her equipment from her bag. “You and Potter, huh?”

Lily’s head whipped around so that she could stare incredulously first at her friend, and then at the rest of the class, just to make sure nobody had heard. “No. Never. Not in a million years. Not if we were the last two people on the planet-”

“Okay, I get it!” exclaimed Marlene, holding her hands up in mock surrender. Lily relaxed a little. “You dig him.”

She jumped at the insinuation and nipped her arm. “Don’t freak out over dust, Marls,” she told her, lighting her cauldron. “We’re just friends.”

Marlene scoffed. “’Just friends.’ Chick, this is the same boy that’s been in love with you for seven years.”

“Four,” Lily corrected automatically. She blushed.

“Four that you know of- my point being why are you ruling something out that you’ve never even tried?”

Lily’s eyes drifted across the room almost instinctively, finding him out so easily you’d have thought she was drenched in coldness and he was the only morsel of warmth left in the world. She always found it bizarre how easy James was, easy to talk to, easy-going, easy to spot in a crowd full of people (although that last one was usually because he was the reason for the accumulation of an audience so she didn’t know if it counted).

“I’m not ruling anything out, Marls,” said Lily. “I just- it’s different now. Last year, he was different. And now we’re working together with all the Heads business that I can’t avoid him like I used to.” She swallowed, softening. “He treats me like a normal person. Not like a schoolboy crush, or an object, or an outsider. I respect that.”

Marlene didn’t reply, and when Lily glanced at her to check if her friend was still there, the other girl nodded slightly. She let out a whistle. “Must have been some apology.”

“I can be better for you.”

“I guess it was,” replied Lily vaguely, eyes straying to the boy on the other side of the classroom. He had his head ducked low over his work station, elbow tucked in as he added the ground up Chizpurfle fangs to his potion.

“What were you and Dorcas talking about this morning, anyway?” asked Lily curiously, pouring the infusion of wormwood into her cauldron and flicking her wand to increase the heat.

Marlene’s face tightened ever so slightly. To anyone else, the act would have been imperceptible, but Marlene was a character of grand gestures and melodrama, so every small motion seemed out of place on her, almost wasted. Maybe Lily had just known her for too long.

But she played it off, nonchalantly starting her potion. “Dorky has a date.”

The knife in Lily’s hand slipped and she looked at her. “A date?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Lily pressed her lips together. “What did you say?”

“I said she shouldn’t be stringing him along if she didn’t like him,” said Marlene, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder and fixing Lily with a look.

“What did she say?”

“She said it wasn’t fair to assume she didn’t like him.”

Lily turned back to her potion and said lightly, “Well, at least she took your advice. She’s not ruling anything out until she’s tried it.”

There was a clatter of silver as a knife was abruptly dropped on the table. Marlene regarded her shrewdly. “Get back to your bloody potion, Evans.”

The two girls stared at one another, and Lily felt the smile tug at her lips. She tried biting it back, but they both gave way to laughter at the same time, sharing a grin before they got back on with their assignments.

Lily had always liked Potions. She liked the precision, the right and wrong of it all. You couldn’t argue with a set of instructions and if you went wrong somewhere along the way, you only had yourself to blame. She preferred subjects like that, where success relied on you and nobody could argue against it.

Slughorn made his rounds half way into the lesson. He made a beeline for her, beaming fondly, and asked which potion she had picked and why.

“I’ll say it again, Miss Evans,” boomed Slughorn once she’d told him and shown him her instructions, jovial voice alight with merriment. He ducked his head low as though he were letting her in on a secret nobody else could hear. “It’s a pity you weren’t sorted into my house.”

Lily smiled despite herself. She shook her head, scooping the pieces of the Sopophorous beans into her hand and then squeezing them into her cauldron. The juice hissed and spat when it reacted with the wormwood. “Professor, you and I both know a lion’s roar cannot be confined to a dungeon.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Perhaps not, but your ambition would thrive spectacularly.”

“My ambition is not your common ambition, Professor,” she replied, pausing to count in her head the seven counter clockwise stirs she needed, adding one clockwise stir for good luck. They both followed the motion with their eyes and when the potion shimmered and had turned the right shade of pink, Lily dipped her vial into it and held it between them. It glinted in the light.

“My, I never,” he mumbled in marvel, and the light cast glistening reflections to dance across his walrus-like cheeks. “Miss Evans, you’re the first student I’ve ever taught to brew this draught so successfully in under an hour! And to complicate it too! It’s a masterpiece!”

Beaming, Slughorn moved to take her assignment off her but she moved before he could, holding it out of his reach and ignoring the blush that hurried to her face..

“My ambition is my biggest act of bravery, sir,” said Lily solemnly. “I’m clever enough to know it, and foolish enough, it seems, to continue even when this world tells me I shouldn’t.”

She flicked her wrist back and held the vial out for him to collect. Slughorn stared at her for a few moments before his lips split into a smile beneath his bulbous moustache and he burst into that booming laughter that echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls and eliciting more than a few surprised glances. Lily smiled at him, before she vanished her draught and cleared her work station.

“Clever indeed, Miss Evans,” agreed Slughorn, and she felt a rush of pride fill her gut.

Lily spent the rest of the lesson finishing her Transfiguration essay, which transpired as spending all her time trying to move it out of the way quick enough before Marlene spilled something on it, or her potion bubbled over because she’d done something terribly wrong. They were dismissed when the lesson ended by a harried looking Slughorn who had had to put out a total of three fires and send Frank Longbottom to the Hospital Wing for minor burns when he added moonseed (which is highly poisonous and volatile) instead of moonstone.

“You were finished before everyone else had even collected their ingredients!” laughed Marlene, linking their arms when they eventually left the classroom. “You’re a wonder, woman, you know that? The least you could do is cushion our egos by showing us you’re human and get an A like the rest of us.”

“I’ve never gotten less than an E on any of my Potions, like the rest of you,” teased Lily, biting back a smile.

“Honestly,” said Marlene, throwing her hands up with all the melodrama she could summon. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s like Slughorn is in love with you.”

Lily pulled a face, prodding her friend in the ribs. “Marls, you’re disgusting.”

Marlene just grinned, unlooping their arms so she could throw hers around Lily’s shoulders to pull her close. She planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“You know, I was just saying the exact same thing.”

The two girls paused. They spun around and their smiles dropped at the sight of Evan Rosier sauntering towards them. He was a sly boy, tall and slim, with immaculate dark hair that was always combed a certain way, and lips so shrewd it looked as though he was perpetually dissatisfied with general conversation, or perhaps it was life in general that tasted so sour to him. The green tie gleamed from his chest.

Lily’s eyes drifted just past him and her heart tightened in her chest. Snape skulked far enough away to be inconspicuous but close enough to remain affiliated. He loitered in the shadows. She quickly looked back at Rosier.

“Not the bit about McKinnon, though I do admit my stomach heaves at the sight of her,” Rosier continued. A muscle twitched in Marlene’s jaw. Her eyes rolled back into her head. If Lily hadn’t felt her entire body tense up then she would’ve laughed. His dark eyes flicked to her. “I meant the bit about Slughorn. You’re always been a bit of a teacher’s pet, Evans.”

“I’m flattered you’ve been paying such keen attention to me, Rosier,” retorted Lily. Marlene snorted. “Is there a point to all this or were you simply expressing your infatuation with me, because if that’s the case, I’m afraid I have to put you out of your misery when I tell you you’re not my type.”

Rosier let out a harsh, derisive laugh. He stalked closer. “Believe me, Evans, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Not even if my life depended on it.” He tiled his head in mock-consideration. “But I does beg the question. If you’re so willing to offer your services to me, who else have you offered them to?”

Any amusement or fleeting sense of victory died in her. Lily willed her tongue to say something but she could only stare at him, feeling a sickening heavy dread settle. The smirk that curled Rosier’s thin lips suggested he could feel it too.

“I always did wonder why Snape was friends with you,” he said. Lily’s nose twitched. “And now Slughorn. What, are you fucking him for extra credit? Spreading your legs like the freak you are-”

Something hot dribbled through her, something familiar and seething, and she stormed towards him, stopping only when their noses were inches apart, and she could feel every one of his rancid breaths fan against her cheek. Rosier’s eyes widened fractionally.

“What, Rosier? Threatened because a Mudblood is showing you up, again-”

“Rosier! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!”

Lily stumbled backwards at the abrupt arrival of James Potter. He strode towards them with all the time in the world on his side, like it was his castle and they were all entreating upon it. Sure enough, his usual companions were fast in his wake: Black, sauntering with his shoulders back, chin tipped daintily (or arrogantly) to the sky; Lupin, slouching, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a robe that was fraying at the edges and brushing the higher end of his calf; Pettigrew rounded the four off, scurrying along with a slight skip in his step to keep up.

“And Snivellus!” Sirius announced. “My, this is a party.”

A look as black as the greasy hair on his head crossed over Snape’s face, and he sunk deeper into the shadows, eyes trained on Sirius.

James took no notice. He smiled cordially. “What are you doing, Rosier?”

Rosier’s eyes flicked to him and back. “That is none of your business, Potter,” he drawled.

“On the contrary,” replied Sirius. He made an over-elaborate display of pointing at James’ chest. “He’s Head Boy. That makes everything his business.”

“He’s right,” said Remus genially. “In case you weren’t aware, ‘everything,’ quite literally, refers to everything. What colour your socks are-”

“What you do after hours,” added Sirius, counting them off on his fingers.

“When you’re accosting people in the hallway,” finished Peter. He raised his eyebrows knowingly.

Rosier narrowed his eyes at him, then he looked back at Lily. “It’s not an ambush. It’s a chat between a concerned student and his Head Girl, right Evans?”

His stare turned expectant. Lily didn’t break eye contact with James. “Right.”

A small frown appeared between James’ eyebrows but the space smoothed over quickly after and he smiled at the pair of them. “Well, I’m glad, but as your Head Boy, I must profess my concern over your truancy for your next lesson, Rosier. I’m sure Evans can give you a note.”

“No need,” Rosier replied. He smiled tightly. “I’ll explain the situation to Binns myself.”

“Perfect.”

Rosier gave her one last glance, and Lily met his gaze head-on, before he flicked back his cloak from his legs and turned on his heel. He jerked his head at Snape, who glared at them a final time before he followed.

“How obedient,” commented Sirius. James looked at him. His friend’s black eyes didn’t leave the two retreating figures until a few moments after they had disappeared around the corner.

Lily watched them both walk away. Her heart was beating horribly fast in her chest and she knew there was heat in her cheeks and neck because her skin felt to be burning. She wasn’t scared. She’d endured this for seven years, and whilst it was always an unfortunate occurrence, she was used to it. No. Lily was angry. In fact, she was furious.

Freak.

That word had also shattered some part of her, and she could feel the shards digging into her flesh, sending out darts of twisting pain. She didn’t know how to stop that, how to block out that word, that memory, and of all days-

Anger, she could control. She whirled on her heel and marched straight up to James Potter, prodding him in his tall, solid chest.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” she fumed. She didn’t know why but the ire was hot and writhing within her, and she couldn’t bite her tongue. Adrenaline coursed through her veins.

A genuine flash of surprise crossed James’ face and he shook his head quickly. “No, Lily. I was just-”

“Just what?” she demanded. Marlene touched her wrist, muttered her name, but Lily ignored her. “I’m not some little girl. I can handle myself! I have proved for seven years that I can handle myself!”

“I never said you couldn’t,” he murmured gently.

Sirius’ eyes flicked between them both, before he said in a low and quiet voice, “Why don’t we leave our Head Boy and Head Girl in private.”

“Good idea,” agreed Peter, and his transparency meant the concern and bewilderment was streaked across his face. “I’m sure they have lots of… Head business to do.”

Marlene closed her eyes in exasperation. Remus sighed. Nevertheless, the four of them left for Transfiguration, but not before Marlene squeezed Lily’s fingers.

Lily didn’t even glance at them. She kept her eyes fixed on Potter, because she thought that if she moved, she would cry.

“I’m fed up of people acting like I shouldn’t be here, like I can’t survive in this world. I can get the grades. I can do the magic. I belong here. I have proved that I deserve to be here-”

“Evans,” he said, a bit more forcefully, though the hurt still managed to seep into his voice and eyes. “I don’t see why you’re biting my head off.”

Lily swallowed hard. It scraped her throat. She traced the cracks in the stone floor and the curve of her shoes and then the frills at the hem of her socks and all the while, her heart grounded itself in her chest.

“Do you even know what it feels like to be an outsider?” she asked in a strangled voice. “To not belong? You’ve always had everything, Potter. You’ve always had friends and a place in this world, and I have to fight for that! Every day of my life, I will have to fight for that and you just have it handed to you on a golden platter, just like Black, just like Rosier-!”

She noticed the way he winced a little, and her shoulders slumped, heart dropping in her chest. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, imagined stirring counter clockwise and once clockwise for good luck until all the haze had disappeared from her mind. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean-”

James got closer, reaching out hesitantly to touch her arm. When Lily didn’t move away, he held both of her shoulders, rubbing her arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “What’s wrong? You hardly ate anything this morning.”

Lily sighed, reaching up to press her fingers into her eyes so her vision would go fuzzy before everything would clear up sharper. She peered at him. “You watch me eat?”

James’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. He dropped his hands and stumbled, “No. I mean, yes. That sounds weird. Not every day- I just-”

Lily looked away and laughed weakly. She prodded his chest. “I was messing with you.”

He visibly relaxed, a relieved grin slipping into place. He said, “I noticed you were quiet at the Head’s meeting last night too. Do you want to talk about it?”

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting to her feet. James stared at her, before he glanced down the corridor, licking his lips nervously. Then, he took her hand and started walking.

“Where are we going?” Lily asked, walking quickly to keep up with him.

“We are going for a walk,” he told her. “To clear our heads.”

“We can’t skip class!” she stressed, digging her heals into the floor so he couldn’t drag her along. “We’re Heads! It sets a bad example!”

“It’s McGonagall,” James replied in the same tone of voice. “Minnie is a real cool cat, you know? I’ll just tell her we had Head business. She’ll understand.”

Lily frowned, slowing down a little. “She’ll know we’re lying.”

James nodded, and he adjusted his grip on her so that he could keep them moving out of the dungeons and onto the grounds. “Sometimes, Evans, it’s not about the words themselves, but the implications behind those words, you know? Yeah, she’ll know we’re lying, but she’ll also know that we wouldn’t be using such an obvious lie if it wasn’t serious.”

“It’s not serious,” protested Lily.

James relaxed his arm around her once the October air had swallowed them and they were far enough away from the castle that she couldn’t change her mind and run back. It hung loose around her shoulders so there were still fair inches of open air between them.

He sighed. “Lily,” he began. “You’re beautiful.” Her breath hitched in her throat and she really hoped he hadn’t heard it. “You know I know that. I know you know I know that… But you are quite the ugly crier. Honestly, I think maybe the Giant Squid would be a prettier crier-”

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him for a second, before slapping his arm repeatedly. “Why, you chump-”

But she couldn’t stop the laughter from pouring from her, as James attempted to twist his body out of the way of her hits, mewling and complaining when her fists landed, catching her hand and laughing with her.

“See!” he said, waving her hand. “You have a beautiful smile.”

Lily pulled her fingers from his, shaking her head and unsuccessfully trying to bite back the smile tilting her lips. It broke out, however, blossoming like a meadow in spring, thriving in the light and heat of James Potter.

She followed him without another word as he led her further into the crisp, chilly grounds, skirting the lake and past Hagrid’s hut until they got to the Quidditch Pitch. Nobody was out here. They were all inside, basking in the warmth of log fires or working furiously in the classrooms. They skirted under the stands, the ghost of a million cheers falling deaf on their ears, steeping them in the peaceful silence of the day.

James didn’t stop. He walked away from her and laid down in the middle of the field, ignoring the way the cold seeped into his skin and made his uniform damp and freezing. He peered up at her, and patted the space next to him.

“Come on,” he said.

Lily didn’t have to be told twice. She laid down beside him, feeling acutely each blade of grass and drop of winter dew against her cheek, gazing up at the sky.

James’ finger pointed upwards suddenly. “That cloud looks like a dragon.”

A faint smile curled her lips. Sure enough, when she followed his finger, she could see the body, the curve of the wing, the stumps of the feet, the tail that dissipated into nothing.

“I suppose it does,” she agreed.

“And that one looks like a octopus riding a centaur.”

“Now, you’re just pulling them out of your arse.”

“No, no. Look,” assured James. He traced the clouds. “There’s tentacle one, tentacle two, tentacle three, tentacle-”

“It’s my sister’s birthday today.”

He fell silent immediately. Lily kept her eyes trained on the sky, trailing the tail of the dragon and wondering what the fire it breathed would look like, whether it would be the same fading white of the clouds that form its wings or if it would be the faded pink, still scattering from the break of that morning. James looked at her in surprise.

After a moment, he said, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“No,” said Lily. “I don’t talk about her very much.”

Before James could say anything else, she continued hurriedly, “We used to play Pooh Sticks when we were younger. Oh- I don’t suppose you know what that is.” She laughed a little, tilting her head towards him and smiling brilliantly. “There is a stream at the bottom of my garden, and on a summer’s day, my sister and I used to go down the little bridge and drop sticks into the water and see which one would cross under the bridge first. I was… seven. Tuney was nine. We went to play.

“You get to pick your sticks, you see. You want to go for long ones- they cross the line first, thin enough to travel quickly but thick enough not to stray too far from the current. We were very competitive. We stood on the bridge and we dropped our sticks, shouting and screaming. I could see through the wooden cracks beneath our feet that Tuney’s stick was winning, so I tried to… make mine go faster. I acted as though I could push it along with my hand if I waved it frantically enough, screaming and yelling like a child-”

Lily broke off. James was staring at her. “I froze the entire stream, apart from my stick which skidded along the ice… First bit of magic I ever did was to win Pooh Sticks.”

She laughed and James smiled lopsidedly at her, though maybe that’s just because she was looking at him sideways.

“Naturally, my parents didn’t believe Tuney when she told them. So we kept it to ourselves- our little magical secret. I used to bloom flowers for her, Dahlias because they were her favourite, and make it snow in spring.”

“That’s advanced magic for a seven year old,” James told her.

Lily smiled at him. “Charms has always been my strong point.”

Her face hardened, became almost wistful, when she said, “I was nine when I first met Severus Snape. He held out his hand and created the same flowers I had always made for Tuney. They never got along. She would make jibes at his hair and clothes, and he would use magic to rip her new dresses. I always thought she was lying, you know. I thought she was jealous because I had a new friend and our magical secret was no longer just ours. It was only when I came to Hogwarts that I realised how cruel he could be, how malicious. My sister and I fell out a lot. We wouldn’t talk for days at a time.

“It got worse when I finally got my Hogwarts letter,” continued Lily. The story became difficult to tell, memory making her choke. Her face screwed up and she said in a small, wounded voice, “She called me a freak…”

James didn’t say anything. Lily knew he was still listening though. His body was warm and present next to hers, and every now and then, she would hear a breath escape gently from his lips. She closed her eyes and tried to inhale quietly, so he wouldn’t hear the way the air shuddered.

“Petunia moved out when she was 18. Now, she’s engaged to some hotshot in drills. I haven’t spoken to her since fifth year.”

There was a quiet between them. It settled over them like snow does in the fledgling days of winter, peacefully and comfortably, and neither one of them looked to indent it for a few moments.

Finally, James said, “Drills sounds like something that could kill you.”

Lily laughed loudly. Of all replies she had anticipated, she couldn’t say that was on the list. She looked at him. “I mean, if it has the grit and dedication, a duck could kill you, so I can’t exactly refute that.”

He looked at her, soaking in the amused smile still fading into her skin. James drew a line from each freckle to each hair in her eyebrows to every eyelash and fleck of gold in her eyes.

“We should be dancing,” he said suddenly.

Lily let out a short, surprised laugh. She tilted her head to look at him. “What?”

“Well, if it was my birthday, I’d want everyone to be dancing. It’s not a party if you’re not jiving.”

“James,” she was still smiling, looking at him with something shining in those wide eyes. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her look like that. He wanted to spin her around and make her laugh and immortalise that light in her forever.

James nimbly hopped to his feet, holding out a hand to pull her up. Lily eyed him oddly, but she took it nevertheless. She couldn’t have found him too weird, or maybe she did and it liberated her to realise she really wanted to dance with him in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, when they were both bunking off school, on her estranged sister’s birthday.

There was no music playing, but James spun her anyway, and Lily laughed. It spilled from her lips, flying off into the air around them. He kept twirling her until her hair whipped his arm with the winter wind, and her laugh was one continuous squeal.

“James!” she gasped.

He pulled her into his chest then. The world danced for her, pirouetting and spinning, and James remained the one constant thing in her vision. She clutched onto his shoulders tightly, lest she lose her balance.

Lily didn’t think about the owl carrying her sister’s letter once that day. She didn’t think about the way Petunia would see it flying towards her bedroom window and freeze, breath trapped in her throat. She didn’t think about the inevitable tower of scrunched up paper balls in her sister’s bin that his year’s unwanted letter would add to.

And she most certainly didn’t imagine Tuney opening her window with trembling hands to let the bird in, stroking its head and staring at the nickname she hadn’t been called in five year, written in thick, black strokes on the envelope. She didn’t see Petunia smoothing out the creases in the parchment, running her thumb over the seal wax, soaking up the words as she read it, then read it again, closing her eyes for a few moments, before she crossed her room and kneeled on the floor beside her bed, where she would slide out an old musical box.

The music played as soon as she opened it, but Lily wouldn’t play that song in her mind or close her eyes and see the way the ballerina danced. She would therefore miss the hundreds of other letters all written in the same hand, with the same red wax seal on the envelope, wishing her happy birthday and telling her about everything: the boys; the magic; her new friend Marlene who wore a leather jacket instead of her cloak and got detention for it. And she wouldn’t see the way Petunia caressed the letter a final time before she locked it safely in her box and carried on with her life as though she didn’t have a sister, when she did and she always would.

[seijuurouxryuu]

Thirst

Title: Thirst Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: T Pairing: Reborn/ Ricardo Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: First Date/ Blind Date | HP AU Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Day 2: Sky Day

Why, of all things, must Giotto be so bothered about his love life? Heck why must anyone be a busybody about his love life? His parents, his uncle, his guardians, Giotto, Giotto’s guardians, why are they so nosy?!

And why, of all people, must it be Giotto?!

A BLIND DATE OF ALL THINGS?!

For once, Ricardo wished for long canines to rip Giotto’s neck off since curses wouldn’t do anything.

AND A MUGGLE!

AO3

Ricardo sneered at his cousin, Giotto, who cheerily pulled him a muggle café. He was very, very tempted to hex his stupid hair into dust. If only his wand wasn’t confiscated. (“I agreed, so why must you take my wand?!” “As if I’m stupid enough to let you keep your wand just so you can turn the other person into a rat.” “I’ll turn you into a rat, you stupid troll.”)

“Don’t put up such a sour face! You’ll scare him away.”

“Even better.” Ricardo seethed. Why, of all things, must Giotto be so bothered about his love life? Heck why must anyone be a busybody about his love life? His parents, his uncle, his guardians, Giotto, Giotto’s guardians, why are they so nosy?!

And why, of all people, must it be Giotto?!

A BLIND DATE OF ALL THINGS?!

For once, Ricardo wished for long canines to rip Giotto’s neck off since curses wouldn’t do anything.

AND A MUGGLE!

Ricardo was still cursing up a storm inside him as he glared daggers at Giotto. If only looks could kill, Giotto would have been dead a thousand times. Giotto dragged him into the café—Arcobaleno?—and started looking around, searching. He looked at ease, as though he had ventured to the café more than once already. He probably did, that stupid nerd.

Ricardo scoffed, couldn’t help but look around the place out of habit. He had to say, however, that the place was really nice. Homey. A point for the muggles, he guessed. “Ah—” Ricardo bristled at Giotto’s sudden sound. ‘Oh no—’ “Reborn!”

Then his face morphed into disbelief at the name. Why Reborn of all names?

Then his eyes widen.

Then he almost gaped—almost.

Near the window where the sun shone through, warming and lighting up the café, sat a man with fedora in black, pressed suit, drinking a cup of coffee. Tall and slender, yet muscular enough that Ricardo knew he can easily crush someone with his biceps. With the ray of light shining down on him, he looked like an angel—no, a demon with a pair of wings. Reborn looked up and saw them, and for the short moment Ricardo’s eyes met those pair of dark orbs, he knew he was doomed.

“Yo.” Reborn greeted—drawled, as Giotto pulled the stunned-dumb Ricardo to the table, pushing him onto the chair opposite of Reborn and plopped down in between, that stupid lightbulb troll.

“Sorry for making you wait! My cousin was making up a fuss for dragging him out of his bat cave.” Ricardo hissed and stomped on Giotto’s leg, unwillingly flushing. “Oh?” Reborn sounded amused as he smiled at Ricardo. “I’d like to see the bat cave someday, to see if Bruce Wayne is in there.”

“Why?” Ricardo managed to choke out, throat dry, not knowing if Reborn was messing with him or he was serious. Reborn chuckled. “To punch him, of course, for not getting together with Superman.”

Oh, merlin. Reborn was flirting with him! “Well you can come and punch him.” The moment those words left Ricardo’s mouth he screeched like a banshee inside. Reborn’s eyes glinted at that. Apparently, it was the right thing to say. Which was surprising and delightful because as far as Ricardo knew and as far as the disapproving look Giotto was shooting him, it wasn’t.

“I’m Reborn. Nice to meet you.” Reborn reached a hand over and Ricardo quickly grasp it, shaking it while secretly feeling him up. His hands were calloused, the same was as Ricardo’s, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It told a lot about what Reborn did for living, but Ricardo couldn’t pinpoint what. It wasn’t like he knew much of muggle’s job, anyway.

“Ricardo.” He had to clear his voice a few times, reluctantly pulling his hand away when Reborn’s firm grip relaxed, mourning at the lost. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So,” Reborn’s head tilted, giving him another look-over. “A policeman?” Ricardo did a double-take at the question. Policeman? Of all muggle-job? Well, Ricardo supposed? His position in the magic world is similar to a policeman, no doubt, but still. Still.

“No—” Giotto stomped at his feet, to which he snarled back at his cousin. “Well—yes, I supposed.”

A glint flashed through Reborn’s eyes, sort of wary towards him and his cousin. “You don’t really look like one.”

Because he really wasn’t one??

“He gets that a lot.” Giotto interrupted, laughing. “He looked like a murderer instead, am I right?” Reborn raised an eyebrow, lips tugged up. “A hot one.” Giotto immediately wheezed loudly that it sounded like his lungs punctured while Ricardo was stunned frozen.

“Merlin—”

Reborn just smirked.

.

“A policeman.”

“Well—”

“Reborn, really. A policeman.”

“Hey, you have to blame Giotto on that.”

“You could’ve just—reject it!”

“Or not. He’s hot.”

“I’m done.”

.

Their first date, wasn’t exactly a first date. Ricardo was actually tailing a wizard—a wanted wizard—when he bumped into Reborn, who was tailing a mafia man. The both of them were surprised and long story short, they decided to pair up together. Because both their targets are in a ball, and they both lack of a partner for entry. So, why the heck not?

Oh, and did Ricardo mention that Reborn was actually cross-dressing as a woman?

The man was wearing a tight black dress with open back, long enough to sweep the floor. He was wearing a wig as well, but Ricardo recognized him immediately because of his cute curly sideburn. He was so gorgeous that Ricardo was stunned stupid yet again.

When the walked into the ballroom and despite donning a blank face, Ricardo was panicking inside. He had to do breathing exercises to calm himself down at the exposed back he was holding and how Reborn was pressing against him, looping a hand over his arm.

As they walked, he noticed that he was slightly taller than Reborn a little. And Reborn was wearing heels, which meant that Reborn was shorter than him by a few inches! Cute!!

Ricardo kept chanting ‘calm down’ in his heart as he swept his eyes through the crowd, easily picking out the wanted-wizard while wondering if he should cast a spell on Reborn for a short moment to catch the asshole and tossing him straight into Azkaban via teleportation spells. Or maybe Giotto’s office just to mess with him. Reborn was the same, cunning eyes locking onto his target as he chattered nonsense with Ricardo. He was trying to distract him plus planning how to ditch him halfway to take the head. (If things go well, he might even get a night with him, Reborn licked his lips.)

Why, of all times, must they meet each other now?

Just as a waiter passed by, Reborn swiftly plucked off two red wine from the tray and handed one to Ricardo. He twirled the cute, curly sideburn of his, smirking at Ricardo, his every action attracted Ricardo’s attention.

“I didn’t ask, but I’m too curious. Is there a criminal in the room, Mr Policeman?” He drawled the last part, playful and teasing but not without the small, tiny murderous glint in his eyes. If Ricardo showed any indication that he was here for him, or anything that would push Reborn into the public political eyes or whatsoever, he would kill him. Reborn had decided that since he started planning on hooking Ricardo.

But if he wasn’t, however, Reborn would happily feign that everything was fine, even though it would probably bite him back in the ass.

Ricardo, not fully registering the dripping poison, nodded. His eyes dilated slightly as he stared at Reborn, entranced. If he didn’t remember that he was still on duty, he would’ve probably drop kneel in front of Reborn and beg him for—for what, Ricardo didn’t know.

“A runaway.”

Reborn’s eyes narrowed a little before he relaxed, smiling. “Ah.”

“What about you?” Was Ricardo’s attempt to keep the conversation going, which was already a huge effort seeing that he would just ditch talking altogether if he could. The dangerous look appeared again for a split second. “Hmn, I’m hunting.” Reborn hummed, leaning back slightly as he sipped on the wine, arms crossed and back straight.

He was too beautiful, too graceful, too—

Bewitching.

“Oh?”

“Uhum.” Ricardo swallowed, throat parched. He downed the wine and forced himself to look away, hand trembling so slightly that he himself didn’t notice. Just as he scanned through the room briefly again, he spotted his wanted-wizard.

He squinted, and frowned, which attracted Reborn’s attention who had turned to the same direction. There, he spotted his target. He raised an eyebrow. His target was considered a runaway criminal. So, was he who Ricardo was tailing? Reborn hoped not because otherwise, he would have to fight Ricardo to kill him, and Reborn didn’t want to fight him under this circumstance, though he probably wouldn’t mind it after they finished everything.

“Is that him, your man?” He casually-not-casually asked. “The one with gaudy white suit and pink tie?”

Ricardo’s gaze switched to the one standing next to his target. “Not my man,” Was his first answer, out of reflex or what, he didn’t know. “And no.”

Reborn hummed, smiling against the wine glass. “Good.”

Ricardo twitched. “He’s yours, then?” He asked, but not without heat or jealousy that started boiling inside. It almost overflowed when Reborn nodded, sparks and electricity tingling on the tip of his fingers. He almost—almost—set himself on fire, something that he had not done since his teen years, at the thought of Reborn being together with someone else.

Then he noticed the bloodthirsty look that Ricardo was so familiar with, not on Reborn but on himself.

‘Ah.’ The flame in him quieted down, not fully extinguished, but calmed. He stared at the man’s face a little longer, drinking in the sight. Unbelievably, he fell deeper for the other. Unconsciously, he reached out and touched the other’s left cheek, skin paler than his hand. The eyes shifted their sight to him and sent electricity down his spine at how focused they were.

A smile played on Reborn’s beautiful lips.

They moved.

And Ricardo burned.

.

A dull thud against the wall followed by a groan echoed in the dim, silent room. Clothes rustled along with muffled moans, soft hums of appreciation and satisfaction. Calloused hands mapped the skin, caressed the scars, kissed the template.

Reborn gasped at a bite on his shoulder as he chuckled breathlessly, tugging Ricardo’s black hair and smirking at the grunt. “Eager, are we?”

Ricardo huffed and licked the wound, pushing the shorter man and kissing him in the mouth again. “I could say the same to you as well.” He grumbled. “And we haven’t even had a date.” Reborn laughed and tugged harder pulling him away from his face for a few more centimetres. His eyes glinted in heat and genuine interest as his lips tilted up, amused. “Old school.” He teased, but didn’t object it. “Tomorrow then.” He proposed.

Ricardo’s heart thumped at that, swelling in ecstasy. He kissed Reborn again and again. “Yes.” He managed, words slipping out of his mouth only to be captured by the other.

Reborn simply just pulled him closer.

.

Giotto looked at the paralyzed man covered in blood, wounds and—fur?—with disdain as he rang up G.

He was so not going to let Ricardo and Reborn meet during working hours

.

“And so you’re saying that you’re not ‘Active’ but is actually a wizard?”

A sigh. “For the nth times, yes.”

Laughter rang out. “A policeman! You’re such a bad liar.”

“I wasn’t the one who said that.”

A kiss. “Hmn, but you agreed. Anyways,” Rustles, shifts and groans. A whisper. “Show me your magic.”

.

A gunshot rang out in the air and piercing screams filled the air. Reborn clicked his tongue as the people around him ran, the guards pulling out their own gun as they worked together on evacuating the guests, protecting the host, and slowly advancing on the culprit. Who was apparently an amateur assassin. Who made a mistake by screwing a good mission up.

Like seriously, who the hell fires in open air with so many people around, much less without a silencer?!

Reborn wanted so badly to just punch some sense into that kid. He will, when all this shit was over.

On one hand, Reborn could just leave them to kill his target because Ricardo was beside him but on the other, his pride wouldn’t let him do such thing. That was his prey, goddammit. Stop. Trying. To. Steal. His. Food! For fuck sake, he was so going to ask for more money. He was not payed enough.

Ricardo was holding onto his right hand tightly, glaring at the assassin who was panicking but stupidly determined to finish his job. Reborn was reminded yet again that he was a policeman—of sort—and cursed colourfully under his breath.

He had to separate from him.

Ricardo was muttering something under his breath, a hand slipped into his suit jacket and for a second, the thought of knocking the man out flashed through Reborn’s head. But he didn’t manage to do so when suddenly, a flash of light blasted towards them and the world tilted.

He was aware that Ricardo was still holding his hand tightly, and he was also aware that they were no longer where they stood a millisecond ago. Also that his dress had a rip in it now because of that stupid flash.

Ricardo turned to him with—with a wand in his hand and asked if he was alright, concerned even though their enemies were right in front of them… When did they—? What?

Then Ricardo’s eyes flashed in red and orange—oh, a sky—when he saw the rip in his dress. He growled under his breath and turned, glaring.

“Petrificus totalus!”

“…” Reborn blinked as Ricardo’s target turned so stiff that balance was no longer there and they fell flat faced onto the ground. It was funny. “If it wasn’t for the fact that Giotto wanted you alive, I’d have blasted you into bits and pieces.”

Ricardo turned to him and took off his jacket, placing it over Reborn’s shoulder, seemingly ignoring the stares from everyone around him as they stood in place, stunned shock. Not one was braved enough to advance forward. So much for being trained security. Reborn rolled his eyes at both Ricardo’s fusses and the sheer absurdity.

“You’ve a lot to explain, handsome.” He drawled, far too calm compared to his raging questions that rang in his head. (And oh god, was he so surprised by the sudden wand thing and stuff. It wasn’t dying will flames, oh no, it was something else. Something that tingles. Reborn didn’t doubt that he would’ve doubled over if he wasn’t so numbed at all the unexplainable shits that he had encountered.)

He pulled out his gun, strapped to his leg and pulled the trigger at his target, making sure to put more than enough flames into it and blasted the head into million bits and pieces. He then pulled once more, but this time it was aimed towards the stupid assassin. Fortunately for them, he did not blast them apart but merely shot them at their shoulder, making sure not to puncture the main arteries. “That’s how you kill someone, you waste of space.”

Ricardo snapped out of it and brought them—along with the wanted man—away.

A/N= As you all can see, I got lazy at the last part. I'm not gonna change anything else tho.

Giotto became the best wingman who regretted everything as both Ricardo and Reborn cause destruction in both the magic and muggle world. Tsuna who's only mentioned in this story wanted nothing but to punch Giotto.

Also everyone in the ball was obliviated except for Reborn because Ricardo wouldn't let them and the wizards and witches have to compromise or not only him but the mafia world controlled by Tsuna would descend on them and tear them apart. Okay I'm rambling.

[I apologize for any grammar, spelling, etc. etc. mistakes]

[craniumculverin]

Bound Rencounter

The first of a few fics of @donc-desole‘s Ripper!AU I’ve had in the works for a while. They act as a sort of prologue to the actual events of the AU.

The breeze is pleasant and the air remarkably clear on this Autumn afternoon in Yharnam. The constant cloud cover that accompanies the season is missing, leaving the sun free to warm the brick and stone of the city, along with the multitudes of people enjoying the respite from New Pthumeria's typically gloomy weather. Here and there along the main avenues, where streets branch off into the more residential areas, conversations can be heard, and the occasional sound of instruments or boisterous laughter from the locals' rarely-opened windows. Such a beautiful day was not to be ignored in the valley-bound capitol, especially with the ever-daunting Winter just around the corner.

Despite the out-of-place cheeriness all around, Alfred is in a downright foul mood. As he walks through crowds and down bustling streets his focus is entirely elsewhere, ignorant of how nice the weather is or friendly the faces are. No, his mind is still back at the University, in the meeting he's just come from.

"Why I'm even required to attend any of Byrgenwerth's administrative functions is beyond me - I rarely ever have anything to add to the proceedings, and rarer still are the times I'm asked to share if I do! I'm just another student more than anything, not some official!" If his unnecessary inclusion were due to anything he'd hazard a guess it has to do with his late mentor's status, what with how highly revered his work and contributions still are to the Healing Church, and thus Byrgenwerth University. As proud as he is to be the great man's last and only living protégé, the status has certainly brought on… unexpected expectations from his new peers and superiors. And far too many questions.

Alfred scowls and grips his cane even tighter as he mulls over the Professor of Theology's most recent salvo of disparaging remarks and sly insinuations. Since the very first day he'd been introduced to the department head, the shriveled old coot has had it out for him. A pompous, rigid gaffer born into both his money and position, with nary a lick of work put in to get him where he is - and he has the gall to ridicule Alfred's work, offhandedly or not!

So what if his dissertation is taking longer than their arbitrary time limits - lulls in productivity affect every great work in progress! Regardless of how old you are, or who your mentor was, or how long you've technically been attending! Everyone is prone to a block from time to time! And his topic of study is not a pointless cause! As if it wasn't bad enough that the Professor and a few other Byrgenwerth fellows have taken to belittling Alfred, they're also incredibly nosy. Every time he's forced to attend some event or meeting the questions come, every one of his answers scrutinized and dissected. Why can't they just take him for what he's been proven to be? Why can't they just accept him as what he is now instead of seek out what he once was? It's all so damn infuriating! If not for having to finish this bloody doctorate by their rules, he'd have given those bastards what for ages ago!

Pausing his brisk pace near an overlook, Alfred realizes he's letting himself get riled up again. With a harsh sigh he decides to take a break to calm himself down before unnatural thoughts start creeping in. That's always been a problem for him, ever since he was young; anger boiling over into something truly… disagreeable.

He steps off the path to lean against the warm stone of the balustrade, only now noticing the rarity of the day's direct sunlight. Looking down on the buildings and streets below helps him to calm and refocus, the comings and goings of the city's denizens a welcome distraction. After a while Alfred sighs again as the last of his tension dissipates, this time almost wistful in nature. It used to be so much easier to keep from falling into such negative lines of thought. When there was always something to be doing, somewhere they had to go, people to be met, knowledge to be shared…

He promptly pushes away from the edge and continues walking. No need to dwell on the past in such a melancholic fashion - it does nothing and no one any good. And the acceptable time for mourning is passed.

Alfred's fumbling to find a new topic to ponder is cut short as he rounds the next corner. Mid-stride, he manages to quickly sidestep just in time to avoid a gaggle of screaming children as they bound up the sloping street, cheering and ordering each other on. Watching them go with a frown, he just catches sight of a little mongrel as it tears away from the rowdy bunch and down an adjacent alley. As they disappear his annoyance is replaced with amusement, the idea of such a tiny mutt evading so many tenacious hands drawing a chuckle out of him. His expression slowly shifts the longer he looks back. Brows knitting together, he turns in the direction he'd been going to take in the buildings and businesses around him. The frown slowly returns the longer he takes in his surroundings. Nothing here is familiar.

He hasn't a clue where he is.

His frown turns to a scowl as he steps and weaves through the crowded area to search the skyline. His target is quickly found - the enormous Astral Clocktower, his and just about everyone else's go-to landmark when trying to navigate the bizarre city. Alfred curses under his breath. It wasn't at an angle or distance he's used to seeing - which means he's nowhere near the district he was supposed to be headed! And if the tower's time is to be trusted, he's been walking for hours! Anger wells up, hot and tempting as Alfred curses even louder, causing a couple passersby to nervously glance his way. With a harsh exhale that sounds more like a snarl he swiftly stifles it, eyes closing as he tries to reason with his temper.

There's only himself to blame for such a stupid mistake, and it was his own damn anger that caused him to get lost in the first place! Getting angrier will just make things worse, like usual. Besides, this is a chance to explore new territory, something he wouldn't have done otherwise - at least while there's daylight. Maybe he'll find a shorter way to get to and from the gate he must take to reach Byrgenwerth, cut down on the time he has to dedicate to those blowhards. Plus it's not like he has anywhere to be for the rest of the day - his dear Siegward has gone much longer than this without a walk, and is too well-trained to make a mess indoors. In fact, an unplanned walk on a lovely day might be exactly what he needs to loosen his persistent writer's block! The hands of fate have changed his path in greater ways before, with far worse situations than this!

With that Alfred smiles and opens his eyes, ready to continue his jaunt now that the urge to hit something is gone. He looks up and down the street before heading for the nearest corner, eager to put a name to wherever he is. It's definitely a more business-oriented area as there's plenty of glass-fronts with displays and placards denoting different services, but with how many people are loitering there must be housing very close by. Many of the buildings are of the New Pthumerian style, the ornamentation and stonework as distinct as any Pthumerian handiwork. Most bear the scars and scorch marks to prove they've stood since prewar. Other buildings are obviously newer being of a plainer European or English style, while a few scattered lots are still in the midst of being rebuilt or renovated.

Turning down another street, Alfred notes both sides are lined with uniform New Pthumerian terraces, roofs like stairsteps as they follow the curving, slanting street. The paths aren't nearly as busy as on the last stretch, and as he peruses the various forms of signage he sees why - most of these appear to be private offices. A good deal of them look to have been at least partially rebuilt or repaired, as many of the roofs and windows are noticeably newer. Likely whatever fire or barrage that took the other buildings stopped before it could finish these off.

Alfred shakes his head at the thought of so much being lost for such ridiculous reasons. "The sick people would've died anyway - why let so much of historic worth be destroyed in the process? There may have once even been a library or museum with records of the Old Pthumerian religion, destroyed as if it were some plague-ridden hovel! What a terrible waste…"

Coming to the end of the street Alfred turns his mind to figuring out which avenue he's about to enter, when something in his periphery grabs his attention. His pace slows considerably until he comes to a halt at the corner, now a ways beyond his new focus. Above the doorway of the end terrace hangs a bracket sign, much like many others along this street, except that it's an eye-catching off-white instead of the usual black or brown. Even from across the street every word is legible, the large, neat letters painted in a deep Prussian blue. There's an English surname at the top, which isn't uncommon to see nowadays in the capitol, but it's the familiarity of it that has Alfred lingering.

Hewlett Private Practice.

"Surely it's- it couldn't be… There's plenty of outsiders in Yharnam, it could be someone else entirely…" Alfred worries his bottom lip as he stares, people and the occasional cart milling between he and his conundrum. "But he did say Yharnam… and it is a private practice, with that name. It must be Percy…Well, good! Did what he set out to do and… and did it well, by the looks of it! Good for him!" He firmly nods as if in conclusion before turning away to continue along the busy avenue. A scant distance from where he'd stood he suddenly stops, wringing at the head of his cane as he starts worrying his lower lip again. "Would he… I wonder… It's been years since we saw one another, and so much is different now…"

Looking back, Alfred finds himself unsure of what to do. He'd like to go visit his old acquaintance, but what he needs is to maintain as much distance from his past as possible. The doctor only knows him as a man that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists - a past life those Byrgenwerth bastards would gleefully use to destroy his current one. To reintroduce himself would be terribly unwise. However…

Alfred's been rather lonely since his move to the city. Though he'd never trade in the life his late mentor afforded him, he has to admit it's become less than ideal as of late; between his superiors' barely disguised aggression and the persistent lull in his work since arriving, living in Yharnam hasn't been the most pleasant experience thus far. Someone he knows he could trust would make everything so much more tolerable… And who better to put his trust in than someone that saved his life? "What was it the old man used to say? A wise decision doesn't mean it's a good decision, a foolish decision isn't always a bad decision… It went something like that…"

His mind made up, Alfred turns and makes his way back to the end terrace, a giddy smile on his face despite himself. As he comes to the entrance he pauses as a woman exits, tipping his hat with a small bow as she passes. With a quick glance up at the sign to solidify his resolve, and then through a curtained window to no avail, he enters the doctor's office. Immediately behind the door are a few steps down, leading to another door which opens to a small landing that gives him an elevated view of a surprisingly light and airy space.

Directly below and in front of him sitting at a tidy desk is one Dr. Percival Hewlett, his features hidden as he looks down, intent on his writing. The physician must have heard him on his way in, as he glances over his spectacles before continuing his paperwork. "My apologies sir, but office hours are over for the day. If you're able to come back tomorrow, I've plenty of times available to schedule an appointment."

Alfred's smile broadens as he hears the familiar baritone voice after so many years. With a flourish he whips off his hat in one hand, and with his cane in the other holds them aloft at his sides as he practically shouts, "Percy!"

The other's head snaps up in response, one eyebrow dangerously quirked. His expression of perplexed annoyance quickly shifts to one of scrutiny as he takes in his visitor. Silence hangs between them as the moment lasts a beat too long, but then the doctor's features soften into bewilderment as he slowly sets aside his pen. "…Alfred…?"

A hearty laugh erupts from the blond before he swiftly takes the stairs down, utterly delighted to be remembered and amused at the other's shock. "Percy, my good man! It's been so very long!"

"…Yes it has," Percy says rather absentmindedly, removing his lenses as he stands to come around the desk, "my word, I hardly recognize you!"

Another bout of jubilant laughter escapes Alfred as he leaves his effects on a chair and comes to stand before the shorter man, immediately raising his arms to draw him into a hug. Just as the doctor stiffens he remembers himself and pulls back, instead extending a hand in proper greeting. The tension in Percy's shoulders evaporates on accepting the firm handshake, further relieved when all the younger man does beyond shaking is to place his other hand atop his own. On noticing how ecstatic Alfred is to see him he can't help but break into a smile as well. "Goodness - how have you been?"

The blond can hardly contain himself as he shakes with renewed vigor. "Very well, Percy - very well!"

"I can see that!" Percy chuckles as he places his other hand atop Alfred's before gently pulling away. He gives him another subtle once over. "You've certainly done well for yourself, haven't you! I must admit I'm surprised to see you here, let alone in such fine attire and with- ah…"

The blond shakes his head, grinning at the other's discretion. "A tolerable sense of propriety? Even a hint of gentility? I can't blame you at all - I'm a very different man from last we met!" They both laugh, the doctor more out of relief.

"What happened to bring about this change, if you don't mind my asking?"

Alfred's mind flies into a flurry of possible explanations, none of which feel adequate. With a grin, he settles on giving the simplest for now. "I met a most amazing man that took me on as his assistant. I owe him everything, truly. But what of you Percy, how have you been? You've followed through on your plans, I see! How goes the practice?"

The physician's head tilts slightly at the vague answer, but his smile only wanes when questioned. "You've a good memory - I have gotten my practice established here, yes. Sadly I've not as many patients as I did back in England, but I suppose that's to be expected with such a large number of practitioners all in one city… I've decided to see it as more time to dedicate to my research, rather than a hindrance."

"Mmm, I suspect you've received the same sort of hospitality that many others have from the locals - cold shoulder and then some toward any 'outsiders,' from what I've gleaned," says Alfred, frowning for the first time since entering the office. "I'm lucky to apparently look quite like a native from the countryside, so I haven't suffered as much. Let me guess - most of your clientele are foreigners and not Yharnamites?"

Percy sighs wistfully. "You've guessed correctly. I'd hoped at first it was simply my being new in town, but the longer I'm here the more I see otherwise. I can comprehend the sentiment behind their actions, what with recent history, but it's still such a silly way to express their contempt. Ill-conceived and shortsighted, if nothing else."

"And bothersome."

"Ha! Yes, that too..."

Now that his excitement has abated, Alfred is settled enough to really take a look at his old acquaintance. His silver-white hair is of the same style and cut, now perhaps a tad more white than silver. If the passage of time has touched him at all beyond that, it's with wrinkles too well hidden by his wry grin to be seen. In fact, there's barely any evidence of the years since they met! What is evident, however, is the sense of weariness Percy exudes - different from if it were just the end of his shift, or if today had been taxing. It's more the sort of weariness Alfred has been feeling as of late; the sort that lingers, builds up over a long period thanks to constant hardship and dissatisfaction. Perhaps he's putting too much emphasis on what the doctor had said about lacking patients - and thus funds - or their shared but slightly different troubles with the prejudiced locals. Maybe he's simply reading too much into a tired man's manner…

Whatever it is that's different about him, it doesn't suit Percy in the slightest. Alfred comes to a decision suddenly as the doctor shifts to lean against the desk - one he's sure is both wise and good. He leisurely makes his way back toward the stairs and nearby chair. "Well Dr. Hewlett, with your office hours over, I shan't keep you any longer than I already have."

Percy looks up from the papers he'd begun to straighten, more curious than surprised. "So soon? Here I thought you'd want to catch up, extrapolate on all that's happened!"

"Oh-ho I most certainly do! But I don't want to keep you from your off-hours. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk, following my appointment? I know of the most delightful bakery… somewhere close by. I think. How about I bring something along for us to enjoy during our chat?" As Alfred turns from retrieving his hat and cane he catches a glimpse of a rather wide-eyed Dr. Hewlett. He swiftly regains composure, clearing his throat and pulling out a pocket journal as he dons his spectacles, utterly nonchalant. "You'd like to schedule for an appointment? Is there something ailing you?"

"Yes - and no, not really. It's just, despite having the funds and being in a city full of practitioners, I find I've neglected to find myself a personal physician. Irresponsible, I know…"

When Alfred looks up from fiddling with the brim of his hat he's greeted by a knowing smirk from the physician, a touch warmer than he ever recalls seeing. The taller man quickly looks away and masks his own grin by donning his hat. A hum comes from Percy as he looks through his schedule. "If it's an appointment to get you established… How does eleven o'clock sound? By the time we're done and the paperwork dealt with, it'll be about the time I close for lunch anyway. You may stay for that time."

"Wonderful, that works splendidly!" Alfred beams down as he ascends the stairs. He stops on the landing to lean against the rail, meeting the doctor's eye as he peers down. "I'm so glad I've found you again, Dr. Hewlett. A friendly and familiar face is just what I've been needing. Truly fateful!"

A chuckle floats up from the older man. "Fortuitous indeed, Alfred."

"Right - tomorrow at eleven! I look forward to it! Goodbye Dr. Hewlett!"

With that Alfred ascends the remaining stairs and is beyond the inner door in a heartbeat. As the outer door shuts behind him, the physician remains leaning against the desk, lost in thought as he looks up at where the blond had stood. Another chuckle escapes him, shaking his head as he moves around to his chair. Pulling out a blank file for his newly returned patient, he can't help but smirk to himself. "…Fateful indeed…"

[reddeadchesha]

That Was Mine

Author’s Note: More Vanderbee content! Ginnie tackles Dutch twice before ever knowing his name and I think that's beautiful

Summary: This is how Dutch and Ginnie first meet each other. 

Warnings: Gunfight, swearing, flirting, drinking, Ginnie radiating BDE

Ginnie hated Valentine, she really did. It stunk of manure and the streets were thick mud that sucked at her boots and splattered against her pants. It was small and the people here were far too nosy for her taste. The only thing this town was good for was banks and a drink. Which she deserved right about now. The saloon is crowded, it should be considering it’s noon, so she weaves through the tipsy men toward the bar. Her knock on the bar calls the bartender over, and she orders herself a whiskey. The past couple of days had been eventful, but fruitful, and her body was left tired and sore from the heist she’d done. A shot of whiskey is placed in front of her and she throws it back, thankful for the burn it sends through her body.

The heist was easy, a caravan of wagons holding bonds was making its way toward Valentine and it was going to be an easy enough score. They’d gotten to the caravan, killed the guards and had started looting when they showed up.

“Ginnie, we got company!” She looked up from the case she was looking through and let out a long sigh. Approaching them was a group of what appeared to be several bandits. They halted their horses a few yards away. Ginnie stood slowly, weapons being drawn from both parties. Her gaze met the leader’s on the white horse. He wore a white shirt and a silky vest, rings adorning his right hand, and red bandana obscuring his face. They gazed at each other for a beat, the tension palpable, waiting for each other to make the first move.

She lunged, diving behind the wagon beside her and opening fire on the men. Dutch swore as bullets flew by and he shouted for his men to surround them. He’d come looking for an easy score and instead was in the middle of a gunfight against a woman bandit. He aimed toward a tall man behind one of the wagons, firing toward him. He was so preoccupied with the bullets flying and trying to scare off the other gang he didn’t notice the leader approaching from his right until she had jumped up the Count’s side and grabbed him by his shirt, yanking him down to the ground with her. They crashed to the ground, his shoulder jamming into the ground and pistols tumbling from their grasps. He shouted and lunged, swinging for her. She scrambled back, dodging his fist and kicking out, hitting his shoulder and shoving him backward. Dutch landed on his back before the blonde woman is on top of him, one hand curled into his shirt the other pulled back to punch him. She’s about to strike when Arthur warns, “Officers comin’ in!”

His attention is turned back to the woman on top and they meet each other's gaze. Her hat and black bandana obscure most of her face, but he won’t forget her eyes anytime soon. They’re a deep, striking blue with icy flecks toward her pupils. She snarled and threw him down, leaping from him.

“Raiders!” She shouts, scrambling to her feet before whistling for her horse. “Move!”

Dutch scrambled to his feet, grabbing his pistol and aiming for her. He sees her belt buckle, big and silver with a longhorn etched into it. He nearly pulled the trigger as she takes off in a gallop, but a shout from Hosea stopped him. With a swear, he lept back on the Count and took off, the others following close behind.

Now here he was, back in Valentine days later heading to the saloon. He had spent the past few days brooding over the lost score and trying to figure out how he would steal it from the woman. Eventually, Hosea had told him to, “Get off his ass and get a drink.”

Dutch sighs, pushing open the doors to the saloon and scanning the room. His eyes land on a woman leaning on the bar. His eyes drift down her body to her ass, and he smirks. He straightens his vest, striding toward the bar and stepping up beside her. She gives him a side eye look before returning to her whiskey. The bartender approaches and Dutch orders a whiskey, noticing the way the woman beside him sneers. He nods to the bartender when his drink is placed before him, and he turns to the lady beside him.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before.” He greets, leaning on his left elbow as he swirls the amber drink.

“And I don’t believe you ever will, again.” She retorts, throwing back her shot. Dutch chuckles lowly, he always did enjoy a strong woman.

“Now don’t tell me you plan on leavin’ so soon?” He grins. “This town could use a pretty face such as yours.”

The blonde straightens out and turns toward him, her eyes squinting with annoyance. The stunning blue pools seem oddly familiar. His eyes travel slowly to her waist and he nearly chokes at the belt buckle. It’s a large silver buckle with a longhorn etched in. With a sharp inhale he drinks his shot. Of course, of course, it was the same goddamn woman. He almost leaves, when a plan sparks in his head. He turns back to her, as she’s paying her tab, and sets down his glass.

“I suppose a pretty lady such as yourself wouldn’t divulge her name to a lonely man such as I.”

“If you think that’s a good way to attract a woman, I suggest you go back to the drawing board.” She scoffs at him, and walks away, making several men jump out of her way as she strides out of the saloon. Dutch sighs, knowing his next actions would probably be some of his stupidest. He waits by the bar for a few moments longer before quickly leaving the saloon and scanning the streets of Valentine. Down the road, he sees her, the bandit, riding away on her horse, the same horse she used to escape with his score. Hastily he mounts the Count and takes off after her. He follows her for a while, heading toward the lake into the woods. While he keeps her in his sight, Dutch tries to keep his distance and is doing it well until they enter the woods, and she is suddenly gone.

“God damn it.” He swears, stopping the Count, looking around desperately for her trail. There’s a roar of fury from his left and he whips around in time to see her charging toward him. She leaps from her horse and tackles him from his own mount. For the second time since he’s known her, Dutch is thrown to the ground by the raider’s leader. She straddles his waist, pressing a sawed off shotgun pressed to he chest. She looks furious, lip curled back into a snarl and eyebrows pinched together. Dutch, as much as he wants to be mad for being outsmarted by her, can’t help smirk.

“I ain't ever had a lady on top before, can't say I mind though.” He purrs. The blonde growls and digs her barrel into his chest, hissing, “Who the hell are you ‘n what do you want?”

He debates telling her her truth, that he was Dutch van der Linde and he was going to try and steal the score back from her or lying. Finally, he gives in and explains, “I believe we were both after the same score, and that you took what's mine.”

The wheels turn in her head, trying to piece together the information before her eyes widen with realization. He’s expecting her to roll her eyes, or shoot him, instead, she grins and starts laughing.

“I earned that fair ‘n square if you want it back you'll have to steal it from me.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Dutch grins. She pulls her gun away, clicking the safety on before standing and offering him her hand. Dutch takes it, surprised as she easily hefts him to his feet. The grip she has on his hand doesn’t stop as she says, “What should I call my future thief?”

“Dutch,” He introduces himself, squeezing her hand. “Dutch van der Linde. And what name can I couple with my future quarry?”

A smirk pulls on her lips as she responds, “Call me Ginnie Bee Banzette. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Ginnie holsters her gun, mounts her horse and turns to look down at Dutch. Her smile warms his core and twists his tongue as he tries to bid her goodbye as she rides off. He watches her until her form disappears in the foliage, heart hammering and he knows he’s in for it.

“Ginnie Bee Banzette.” He murmurs to himself, letting it roll off his tongue. A shudder goes down his spine and he starts grinning. “Oh we are gonna have some fun.”

My Ko-Fi | My Patreon | My Ao3

[eerythingisshaka]

The Coffee Prince Pt. 1

Word Count: 2.6K

T’Challa x Reader

Plot:  Stuck in your ways of living, one day at the coffee shop, you run into a tall dark roast that threatens to wake you up from your romantic hibernation.

You are a notorious homebody; your laptop, bed, and streaming sites are all you need make a Friday night litty titty and you took pride in your introversion.  Growing up, school is all about who you know, what clique you are a part of, what parties you get invited to, clothes you wear, etc.  It was tiring on your psyche back then, and some complexes had formed due to all of that keeping up the the jones’ crap.  Nobody has time for that when you’re an adult, so you fully enveloped your true hermit lifestyle.  Then this nigga comes along, 6’0, adorable accent, beautifully crafted body draped in the finest clothes. Intelligent, with a crooked smile that could light a fire underwater.  

Y’all first met in line waiting to get coffee.  You had your headphones in, common defense to make sure no one fucks with you on a regular basis.  Once you made your order, you stood off to the side waiting for you order.  He was next but when the barista had a look on her face that was completely confused and more than annoyed.  You let one earbud hang as this intrigued you, especially since this was a white barista and a Black man at a Starbucks you had to make sure everything was cool, for the culture.  By the time you had an available ear, he was waving his hand at the exasperated worker and walking toward the area you stood.  

He looked at you for a moment as he made his way over, and you gave that tight smile that said ‘I am friendly but don’t expect anything more than this smile’, instinctively.  He nodded in your direction and stood about five feet from you.  

“Order for…..” the male barista squinting at his own writing.  “Uhhh, caramel macchiato, double shot?”

“That’s mine!  Thanks!”  you stepped up to the counter to pick up your drink, but checking him out your fellow patron in your peripheral.  You turn to take a quick sip and steal a glance at the same time, noticing him giving you a sideways smile before saying, “You too, huh?”

His accent caught you off guard for a second before you computed what he said.  It wasn’t hard to comprehend, but it’s very noticeable.

“Oh, yeah, I get this drink all the time.  Not like I’m here everyday, but…”

“Order for Thomas!” the male barista says loudly.

He walks up to the counter grabbing his cup.  He goes over to the side table to pick up some sugar, napkins, and a stirrer.  You follow picking up some napkins, before he begins again.

“I mean the barista; he has a problem reading your name.  He didn’t even try.”  He says as he add the sugar.

“Yeah, which could be a blessing or an insult.  But I’m used to it.”  You both share a sip of your caffeinated concoctions.

“But what was the problem with your name?  Was she not able to get past your accent or something?”

“What accent?”  He said, with a serious look.

You almost choke on your coffee when he said this.  What accent?  Did you just strike up a conversation with one of those people that went into a coma and woke up talking different?  You would get the cute and crazy type of nigga.

“Umm, I don’t know…” you stutter.

He looks away laughing to himself, “I’m only kidding.  My apologies for startling you.”  He says with a slight bow to you.

You nod in return to him, “It’s ok, I’m pretty damn gullible at times.  Good one!”

He smiles down at his cup, “Thanks, but my accent was not primary issue, no.  It was my name, like you.  So I just gave her the name Thomas to move things along.” he says bringing the cup to his mouth again.  You notice the length of his fingers…and no ring.

“Ah, I’m always nervous about giving a fake name.  Like, if they check my card and it isn’t the same they’ll question me or refuse service or something.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would ever get that serious; it’s not a military base.”

You give a side eye, “How long have you been in America?”

He smiles, nodding, “I’m learning new things everyday.  But it’s been a little over a year now.”

“Are you from an African country?”

“Yes, a small village  near the central, eastern part.”

“Nice.  That’s so cool to know where you’re from, ancestrally.  It seems like everyone reps their set. But I still can’t get past the Southern states.”

He nods, checking his timepiece next to a beaded bracelet around his wrist.

“Oh, I’m sorry, if you need to be somewhere.  I’m not usually talkative with strangers.”

His mouth goes agape for a moment, “Well I don't think we could call ourselves strangers.  We are bonded by the oppression of our caffeine dealers who refuse to look us in the eye or remember our names.”  He holds his cup out and you meet his to cheers.  You feel a jolt when your finger brushes his.

“But I must confess that I do have other engagements to attend to, so please forgive me.”

“No, no problem at all, I’m needing to get back to the office.  But see you around!”  You do a quick about-face and walk away quickly after that, giving no time for a response.

Once you made it down the street, your heart palpitations start to subside but now the self deprecation begins.  Why did you talk so much?  And the worst part, all that conversation and you’re left with more questions than answers.  Where in Africa is he from?  What did he do for a living?  Him telling you he had a prior engagement was your way in!  OR would that have been too nosy?  No phone number, or an attempt to get one.  Y’all were highkey vibing and you got no questions in to gage his status or if he was willing to see you somewhere else.  And the biggest sin:  What the hell is his damn name?!  Thomas was a fake name. But the conversation never led to the real one, or yours.  You can’t even look him up!  And who the hell knows when you’ll see him again, so good job.

You text your friend when you get back to your office.

Girl!  I ran into this fiiiiine man at the coffee shop.

A few minutes later she responds,  Yaaaass!  Did you talk to him?

Child, yes. I don’t know what got into me.

Well hopefully him in a minute.  What did you say to him?

Lol, I thought he was being racially profiled so I am really in his business but it turns out the coffee girl couldn’t understand him.  He’s kind of foreign.

Oooh, that foreign though??  Where he reppin?

Somewhere in Africa, I didn’t get a country.

The motherland?  Was he wearing them sandals and shit?

I didn’t even notice! I feel like I would’ve if he was but idk.

Well which country is he from?

Idk!  I know I shoulda asked but I was caught up, not thinking straight.  

Well, is he light skinned with good hair or nah?

Ok, now don’t ask it like that.  He not light skinned but his hair was beautifully trimmed.

Ok, so he probably right on the equator then.  Well look at you, tryna get you an African King lol did you get the number though?

Noooo, so I don’t even know if I’ll see him again girl.  I fucked up!

Lmaooo, GIRL!  Well, don’t worry about it.  One thing about coffee shops is that they get regulars often so you’ll probably run into again but don’t be obsessive…

Truuuuue, if it’s meant to be, it will be.  I don’t get obsessive though.

Girl, you already planning your future for a practically imaginary relationship, I know you! Lol  Keep it together and live your life, but this was good practice for you.

Yeah it was.  I never approach guys but this was exciting!

You put your phone down and finish up your afternoon reports.  But the thought of “Thomas”  was still in the back of your brain.  He was soooo cute to you, but with your track record he could’ve easily been gay, taken, or just being nice with no other intentions.  But the universe owed you a win.  It had been so damn long since you had a thing to go to your friends about.  

At the end of your shift, you go straight home, kicking your shoes off at the door.

“Hey Tavia!”  You yell to your friend who is cooking something you wish was your meal in the kitchen.  Smells like some chicken or spaghetti thing.

“Wassup Queen Mother!  I was going to get rose petals but they too damn expensive for a joke.”

“Right, don’t try it!”

You make your way to your room, closing the door and taking a much needed breath.  You kick off your pants and and shirt, swan diving onto your bed in your undergarments.  The stress of the day just melts as you lay there and breath in your lavender and peppermint scented air from your oil diffuser.   You slowly peel yourself up from your covers and load up your laptop.  Checking your social media and queueing up some music as usual, you look around your room.  It’s completely cluttered with clothes from the week piled in the corner.  Your hamper is overflowing, as well as your trash.  Suddenly, you feel a sense of purpose, cleaning and straightening your hoarding mess.  When your shuffle hit a bop, the clean up became especially fun as you sang along and shook that thang as you picked through dirty clothes and maybe-one-more-wear clothes.  

Now that you have some order to your area, you have space that you didn’t have before.  Looking around with pride, you catch your reflection in the mirror, draws and all.  You touch your stomach, tracing the dark brown stretch marks that crack through your skin around your concave belly button.  Pushing down on your love handles, you iron out the folds to be smoother from your waist to your hips.  Your breasts are of a decent size as far as the numbers game goes, but the do not sit perkily in front of you, and a cleavage still takes effort to achieve since they sit apart from each other.  Dreadfully, you turn sideways to check your body from the profile.  Your belly hangs in front of you instead of flat like you’ve always prayed for since childhood.  The deep fold from your back to your side sneers at you.  Your ass isn’t non-existent but if only your waist was smaller, that could make those hips and cheeks really pop.

You had been giving yourself mantra pep talks on a regular basis to keep toxic thoughts from entering your brain.  You look up at the notes lining your walls.  “Keep your head up.”  “You are a Warrior.”  “You are beautiful.”  You get it, people have told you the same things before, it’s just hard to convince yourself that you're not imagining things.  

Your mind still wanders on about your day.  When would you see something that fine again?  And if you do, the fuck are you going to do about it?  You start up your shuffle of bops and make your way to your closet.  You were going to curate some outfits to be a dick magnet.  No way in hell there’d be a question of his interest once you see him again.  Go over some lines in your head to break the ice, figure out how to touch his bicep in mid-conversation, shit like that.  It would work, he knows who you are...facially anyway.  You just gotta run into him again.

Next day, you make your way out the door a little early.  Making your way to the office, you get a head start on making your calls so you can make your way to the coffeeshop.  You put on a navy blue pencil skirt with a gold zipper going down the back.  You layered a mesh lace blouse over a black cami and black pumps.  You usually stick to flats but today was the first of many for change.  If it wasn't “Thomas” someone was gonna get a look at this new fit!  Opening the door, the bell jingles, announcing our arrival to the patrons.  You look cooly over the people in the shop, but no one was there you care to see.  Making your way up to the counter, you make your order and stand to wait.  You pull out your phone to mindlessly entertain yourself for a minute, looking p periodically to survey people entering.  Every jingle of the bell made your heart jump.  

“Order for Tom!”

You look up a little too quickly but are disappointed when some balding white men in cargo shorts picks up his order.  You have had enough, you almost walked out right then when your order gets called: the order, not your name.  Nearly out of breath from stress, you pick up your drink and leave in a rush.  Breathing in the outside air, your heart rate begins to slow in pace again but you have got to get back to work.  Fuck that shop, and fuck this mission.  You already missed your chance so what is the point of it all.  Going back home, you have a cloud over your head.  You throw your clothes over to a pile on the side and flop onto your bed.  You deserve happiness, you deserve love, but don't get wrapped up in fantasy.

You still go to the coffeeshop the next day, but that was for a snack because you didn’t give yourself time to fix yourself breakfast.  Still no Thomas.

You don’t go back to the shop the rest of the week, You can’t go broke over a crush, plus, you had really no other reason to go so, you stopped.

By next week, you feel a lot better about yourself and your blood pressure isn’t skyrocketing at the thought of entering the shop anymore.  You didn’t go in depth with Tavia about your problems since meeting Thomas because even if she gave the perfect encouraging friend response, you’d die of embarrassment for feeling so caught up on nada.  She was only slightly right:  you lowkey obsessed over that 5 minute interaction and broke down the details or what you did right and wrong.  It was terrible, and you knew it, so no need to be reminded.

You got an email about a happy hour promo at the shop, so you decide to go cash that in.  It’s a Wednesday and it's been an especially trying week.  You need to wash your hair, so you have them pulled back in in two struggle braids.   Simple cardigan over a white tank and black slacks with your trademark flats.  You pick up your order and sit on a nearby stool to catch the free wifi signal and download your favorite podcast to listen to back at the office.  

“Order for Thomas!”

You are unphased and not listening when you get up and see this 6’0 man picking up his drink and turning towards you.  He makes his way to the side table, and your heart literally stops pumping for a split second from the anxiety.  He hasn't seen you yet and he could easily leave very soon without your acknowledgment,  What if he doesn’t recognize you?  The L’s you could take outweigh the dubs by a mile.

You get up to go get an unnecessary sugar packet.

“Excuse me,” you say.

He looks to you and gives you a crooked smile.

*Part 2*

Other Works:

King Kil’mawalls

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

T’akia

Commencement Day (Chadwick Boseman fic)

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others -- *Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* (M’BakuxReader fic)

[jiangsspace]

Jeon Jungkook | Photograph

Pairing: soldier!jungkook x fem!reader

Word count: 1,5k

Genre: angst, fluff

Young air force soldier Jeon Jungkook gets the opportunity of his dreams to explore the world on a 48 month deployment. In the end only photographs are left to remind of him.

“Baby?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Y/N. Listen to me…” he buried his face on your lap and wrapped his arms around you. The gesture of surrendering. You petted his head and let out a sigh.

“This isn’t exactly how I planned to spend the next four years of my life, Jungkook.” The hurt in your voice sent shivers down the male’s back. This wasn’t what he had planned either. But when the contract was set before him, he couldn’t refuse. 

And he really wanted to go. You could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. The way he always seemed to light up when you talked about the future and his possible deployment.

“You need to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen so soon.” Jungkook lifted his head searching for forgiveness. Clasping your hands in his warm palms he needed your forgiveness to go with a light heart. Otherwise he would resent himself for hurting you.

“You need to know I love- ” In a heartbeat the room started shaking. The framed pictures fell to the floor sending pieces of glass everywhere. The noise was deafening. The smoke that entered from open windows hanged in the room making it impossible to see further than two feet.

“Jungkook? Jungkook!” Your blood raced in your veins. Jungkook had disappeared into the smoke and fire. Your lap was turning cold from his absence. The smoke was now so thick it was suffocating you. Where was Jungkook? Where was he? Jungkook! What the hell?

You opened your eyes in a flash. Sweat dripping down from your forehead you attempted to steady your racing heartbeat. It seemed impossible. Breathe in. Breathe out. Brea- breathe.

You got up to clear your head. The cold floor made you gasp in shock. You wrapped your shivering body with the first shirt you could find on the floor. As you draped the large dress shirt over your shoulders, Jungkook’s scent engulfed you.

He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. His cologne pushed into your nostrils and his lips kissed your cheek. You felt his arms wrap around your trembling body. He was here to comfort you, tell you he hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Baby,” he gently kissed your lips and tucked you back to bed. “It was all just a bad dream. I’m here now.”

Jungkook leaned down to kiss your nose when his face distorted in a painful expression, long black wings spreading out of his back. He opened his mouth to growl out in pain, but no sound was heard.

“Jungkook?” you grabbed his shoulders, but he started fading out again. The black wings were taking him away from you. The last thing you saw of him were his glistening eyes mixed with fear and agony.

“Jungkook!”

Your eyes flew open, your hand on your chest. Your breathing was ragged and you felt like crying. Salty tears had stained your pillow and your hands were sweaty. You weren’t certain if this was another dream or if you had woken up for real this time.

“I can’t do this,” tears sprung in your eyes “I can’t- I can’t do this.” Rubbing your neck you got up, the cold floor waking you up immediately. Glancing down at the alarm clock you yelped. It was nine in the morning. You were late from work.

Hurriedly waking the coffee machine to life you grabbed an apple from the counter and threw it in your bag.

Time seemed to move slowly as you brushed your hair and twirled it in a messy french twist, slapping some makeup to mask your paleness.

You walked left and right in the house getting ready for work, trying to forget the fact that Jungkook basically lived here with you. His stuff adorned the shelves and some of his clothes were hung in the walk-in closet.

Finally out the door you rushed to the garage and unlocked the car. It was then your Samsung began crying in your bag. Slightly annoyed you groaned but checked who was calling.

“Hello Mrs. Jeon...” you were baffled. “No, no I was just on my way to work.” Her voice was broken and you had trouble understanding what she was saying. It took everything you had not to break down and cry your heart out.

“I suppose you already know what happened- what happened to Jungkook.” She couldn’t say her son’s name out loud instead she opted to whisper it. Your hand had stopped on the door handle when you received the call. Now it felt like the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“I- I’m aware of the situation, yes.” You sobbed yet wanting to appear strong. Your knuckles were turning white and you were late from work, but you stayed on the phone listening to Jungkook’s mother’s cries.

“I’d like to meet you. Collect some of Jungkook’s items from your house. Now that he’s not here they might bring too many sad memories.” Attempting to sound soothing she failed miserably.

“Excuse me?” Collect some of Jungkook’s items? From your house?

“I figured you’d want to get rid of them now that he’s not with us anymore.” She had composed herself and now sounded stern. Almost cold.

“I don’t know what to say to that.” You laughed dryly.

“Look, can we meet? I’m running late and I just wanted to check up on you.” You could sense the venom in her voice but then again, it could just be your mind playing games with you.

“Sure. I’d love to meet,” you blurted out. “How about next Friday?”

Everyone at work were acting like they didn’t know you and Jungkook were once a couple. Instead you were treated like a time bomb, ready to blow up at any time.

As soon as you set foot at the 10th floor you wanted to turn back and run home. But it wasn’t until lunch break that you really ached to leave.

Your heart jumped to your throat. The entire office burst into talk about enemies and secret plots of sabotage while your body wanted to shut down and collapse from the pain and grief. You had to go home. Now.

You walked over to your desk and hurriedly gathered some papers to take home. You could work from home and mourn Jungkook in private.

Your eyes wandered around for a few times to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything and then you left the building as quick as possible.

When you were only a few minutes away from home, you received a text from Jungkook’s mother.

If you were honest, the thought of Jungkook gone hadn’t hit you yet. There was no way he was gone. It had to be just a misunderstanding and a confusion between regiments. You tried to cling onto the last flicker of hope, that Jungkook was safe.

You pulled up to the driveway and got out of the vehicle locking in it the process. This was something you had done so many times that you no longer had to think about it. But something was different today.

There was a man standing in front of the main doors with a serious expression. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. Looking at the officer in his adorned suit made you sick to the core.

Suddenly you felt like you were eleven again. It was then the news of your father’s death reached home.

The casualty officer hugged your mother and supported her when her legs couldn’t. There you were standing behind your mother confused and scared. Why was she crying? Should you be crying too? Deep down you knew what had happened but you wanted to appear strong in front of her.

This seemed like the exact same situation and you feared your legs weren’t going to carry you further. You stood in front of the car holding your breath. You didn’t know what to do with the car keys so you just gripped onto them.

You both stood there for a while until the casualty officer took a step towards you. His eyes tried to convey compassion but you were too concentrated on steadying your breath. With every step he took you felt more and more suffocated. You wanted to ask him to stop before you would run out of oxygen.

“Mrs. Jeon?”

“I’m- I’m not- we weren’t married,” you managed to whisper. It felt like a punch to the stomach to speak of him in the past. The man bowed in front you and then hesitantly took another step towards you which made you want to back off. But you were already leaning on the silver vehicle. Damned car.

“Ms... I’m here to deliver news.” His voice had gone quieter as if to mimic your tone. He tried so hard to be polite and understanding. However, you knew he had no idea what you were going through. He had no idea what loss you had to endure. You were so young. Jungkook, he was at the peak of his health and a wonderful career ahead of him.

“What if we went inside?” you stopped him and motioned towards the house. “I have nosy neighbors.”

Ironically, this felt like the perfect circle. The same living room where Jungkook revealed his deployment was also going to be the place where his death was announced. You motioned the officer to sit down on the chair opposite you as you sat down on the same leather sofa you had sat on three years ago with Jungkook resting on your lap.

It felt like a dream. Jungkook, who had promised to come back in one piece, had broken that promise. And when the casualty officer finally broke the news of Jungkook’s departure and offered his condolences you cried heavily just like your mother had cried all those years ago.

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picture of the airplane doesn’t belong to me, only the text (?)