#i can’t sleep in silence OR jingling it has to be white noise from my desk fan

[sweetimpurity]

I Think I'll Keep You 4

a/n: Thank you for your patience! More to come for this story, it's only the beginning! Finally got my new computer which will make writing much easier and more fun!! Love ya!

w.c.: 8.3k NSFW MINORS DNI rated p for plot

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

His eyes widen and he has to fight back more tears right then and there. You’re taking him to the hospital after all he’s done? After all he said? “Oh…” He mumbles, standing there ready to follow your lead. He’d follow you anywhere at this point. “I couldn’t sleep so… and I assume you couldn’t either.” You comment softly. The exhaustion written on both your faces. With midterms and classes, bad sleep and the emotional tug of war this week, you’re both due for a nap. But his hand needs to be taken care of first. He can’t keep walking around in pain like that. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask as the two of you start walking down the hall. “No… it’s not that bad.” He mumbles, pulling his hoodie on and clenching his hand painfully in the pocket. “Don’t lie.” You say. Something you feel like you keep saying. Why is it so hard for him to just be honest? Even with himself. “It… it does hurt. A lot.” He finally says in a sigh, both getting to the elevator and going down in silence to get to the lobby. He’s looking down at the floor. Exhaustion etched on his face like yours. But you keep an eye on him. Observing his body language. All the things he’s not saying with words. He seems sorry. He seems heartbroken like you. But it’s hard to trust him after everything. 

The two of you get to the lobby, hearing the rain pouring on the windows. The white noise of the rain would be soothing if it didn’t mean you had to walk out in that storm. “My car’s on the street.” You pull up your hood, keys jingling in your pocket. He just looks up at your face, nodding softly. He just wants to hear that you forgive him. That you don’t hate him. 

You both head out, quickly marching down the walkway to your car. Each shielding yourself from the assault of pouring rain as you rush to the car already running. Finding warmth and safety inside away from the rain. As soon as you can see through the splatters on the windshield, you’re driving off, through the city streets to get to the emergency room. There’s no one on the roads this time of night. And you’re hoping there won’t be tons of people in the emergency room once you get there. 

“Hey so um…” He starts, after a bit of silence, driving through the city streets. “I… I’m-”

“Let’s just get there, okay? Let’s just go and get there and…” You sigh, the words falling off. Not wanting to cut him off but also not wanting right now to be when you both have this conversation. He swallows thickly, nodding and falling back into the quiet of the warm car. Clenching his fingers in his pocket and bouncing his knee gently in anxiety. You notice it out of the corner of your eye. You seem to notice everything about him. 

…

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there. “Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen. “Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak- “Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away. 

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information. 

“Birthday?” You ask, ready to fill it in. “You don’t have to do that…” He mumbles softly, reaching his left hand over to you. “You can write with that hand?” You ask him skeptically, raising your brow. It’s his right hand that’s out of commission. “We need this to be legible, I’ll just do it.” You wave him off and he sighs in sleepy defeat. Although he’s too tired to even care at this point. He’s more grateful that you’re even here right now, that he’s even here right now. That you’re helping him like this, let alone talking to him. 

“October 13, 2001.” He sighs, watching your neat handwriting fill in the little lines. “That just passed…” You mutter in realization, writing the date down. “Why didn’t you tell me when it was your birthday?” You sigh, looking up and gazing straight ahead at the empty chairs across the room. “That was like… two thursdays ago…” You grumble. “Sorry…” He sighs, not knowing what else to say for it. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t think it mattered. His mind is a mess. You look over at him, seeing the look on his face. That he really is defeated. Not his usual self. “It’s fine just…” Your words trail off. The silence heavy between you two. 

“You can tell me stuff like that.” You suddenly say much more confidently. Looking over at him, making him meet your eye. And he swallows hard, not knowing really what to say. “You were leaving the next day and I didn’t want to distract you…” He admits softly.

“Your birthday is not a distraction… it’s special.” 

Special? 

He nods, averting your gaze. Thinking to himself. There’s nothing special about him. 

“Place of birth.” You ask. “Uh… New York…” He replies softly, shaking those thoughts away, adjusting the ice on his knuckles. Bearing through the ache that comes with the cold on the hot swelling. You write down the information, continuing on. He’s quiet beside you, only answering when you ask him for information. Because his mind is occupied mapping out things he needs to talk about. He wants to apologize again, for real this time and explain himself. That’s the least he can do. Even though he feels like he’s 10 years old again for some reason. Feeling like you’ll be upset with him no matter what he says. No matter what he does. And he deserves all of it. 

“Emergency contact?” You ask. Distracting him from his thoughts. “Uh…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like your mom or dad or something…” You encourage, ready to write down whatever he chooses. “I… don’t want them to call my dad…” He admits softly, staring at the sheet on the clipboard. “So your mom then?” You assume, readying yourself for the contact info. “No…” He mutters, shaking his head, leaning back in his seat. Looking up from the form, you look at his face. Not quite knowing how to read it right now. You know he doesn’t like to talk about his parents at all. You’ve only heard about his brother and that’s it. But you didn’t think I’d be so bad that he doesn’t even want to call them in case of an emergency. 

“Okay… that’s okay we can figure out something else.” You offer softly. For some reason, instinctively, wanting to protect him right now from whatever it is he’s feeling. When it comes to his parents at least. “Yeah…” He mumbles, staring down at the ice on his hand and folding the corner of the plastic, fidgeting. 

You sigh. Not really wanting to get into everything right now. Just wanting to get back to your dorm and sleep. He needs sleep too. This week has been hell. So many weighted moments pass between the two of you. Silently sitting and listening to the bubbles in the fish tank constantly going. The bubbles disturbing the still waters surface and yet infusing the water with all the oxygen the life within needs. Disturbance pumping life into the already living. The living need disturbance to know they’re alive. 

He hears the sound of the pen scribbling on the clipboard. Tired eyes looking over to your lap. The emergency contact. A lump in his throat watching you fill in your name, your address, your phone number. All for him. All of this for him? How could he even begin to deserve it? He feels a huge rush of relief and watches the pen tip move across the paper. Until it gets to “Relationship:” 

“The doctor can see you now.” The receptionist suddenly says, bringing you both out of silence. Grabbing the clipboard, your keys, phone, standing up and ready to get this done and get out of here. Although there’s a part of Miguel that feels this is a last goodbye. Like things will never be the same after tonight. Maybe that’s a good thing. 

…

“Alright, so the fractures are here… here… and then a smaller one there. And we’re going to go ahead with the plaster cast so we can make sure everything lines up nicely.” The doctor says, pointing and gesturing to the x-ray on the wall. It’s been about half an hour now of x-rays and examinations. He has two broken fingers and part of his wrist is compromised too. 

“We’ll see how you do with the cast and have you come back in a couple weeks. There should be no reason for surgery if all goes well.” She says. Nodding to the two of you and grabbing some paperwork from the drawers in the room. 

“Will he have any sort of pain relief while this is going on?” You ask, concern on your face. Miguel can see it. It makes his chest hurt. You’re such an angel and he’s such a dick. 

“Yes, I’ll put in the prescription for painkillers and some antibiotics and you can pick it up tonight… I can send it to the 24 hour pharmacy pretty close to your campus if that works?… I recommend starting it as soon as you can and it will really help with the swelling.” She nods and writes down a slip for his prescription. “Thank you.” You smile and take the slip, Miguel soon following with his own quiet ‘thank you’. 

“I’ll be right back and then we can get this cast on, okay?” The doctor clicks her pen, taking her computer and leaving the room to go get the supplies to make up Miguel’s cast. 

If it were darker in this room, you’d be falling asleep. But the fluorescent lights blind you. Sitting in the chair next to the exam table, unable to resist resting your head on the table Miguel’s sitting on. Looking down at the almost finished document on the clipboard. Deciding what to write. It’s stupid, it shouldn't matter that much. It doesn’t matter so much if it’s just for his emergency contact; just that the information is in there. Girlfriend? No. Partner? Probably not. Where do you stand? More importantly… Where do you want to stand with him? It’s not just his decision at the end of the day and you’re trying to stop letting him call most of the shots. What do you want to be? Do you want to be his girlfriend? Do you actually want that? Or has his behavior over the past month and a half shown you that he can’t be a good partner even if he wanted to? It’s late; you’re tired; why must you make this decision right now when everything is still so fucked up? Closing your eyes, laying your head on the edge of the table, you’re playing a dangerous game. Will you be able to open them again once you pass the threshold? 

“I’m sorry.” He says. Coaxing your eyes back open, looking over at him. 

“Miguel-” 

“Please… I need to say something…” He insists softly. Not looking at you, staring at the floor, trying to keep that list in his head. “... a lot of things…” 

He sighs, rubbing his good hand down the fabric of his sweatpants, nervously. Like all the sentences he’s thinking are the most idiotic combinations of words strung together. You watch him a bit wide eyed, just waiting for the words to come out. 

“I’m sorry for the way I acted. What I said. It was the wrong way to go about this… everything.” He sighs. Trying his best to be honest and hoping you won’t throw it back in his face. Why is that always his first thought? 

“I was a jerk. And then when I tried to… apologize I just… was an even bigger jerk.” 

He admits. Glancing over at you to see your reaction. Feeling an odd sense of ease at the soft expression on your face. You’re really listening. 

“I was not drunk on Sunday. I promise you. I went to a stupid party and… had a few beers but nothing… major.” He explains. Checking off the boxes in his head. All the things that went wrong, all the things he needs to apologize for. You look down and back at him. Feeling both satisfaction from his explanation and regret over this entire situation. 

“And Dana… she’s… always hanging around me and… but I didn’t do anything with her on Sunday. I tell her no and she's still just all over me and... I’m not sleeping with her, I’m not sleeping with anyone. It was just you.” He says, looking in your eyes. And you believe it’s true. That’s the thing you regret. Jumping to conclusions the moment you smelled Dana’s perfume on him. That probably wasn’t right to do and there was no reason for it. But his response to it all was still uncalled for. 

“I don’t want you to hate me. Please… I don’t think I can take it. But I know I deserve it.” He whispers. Looking away, staring at the linoleum floor. 

“Can I tell you something… personal?” He suddenly asks. His eyes locked on the checkered pattern on the floor. 

“Of course…” You hum, giving him your full attention. This is a big deal. Getting him to share this much. Connecting with him like this after feeling so far away. He swallows hard. Thinking hard. Why must this all be so hard for him?

“I’ve never really been in a relationship before.” He admits softly. You’re shocked to say the least. He’s always been the player type and had girls all around him. But never a relationship? Not even in high school? Seems impossible for someone like him. “Hm…” You hum. Mostly to let him know you’re actively listening. And not judging. 

“My parents um…” He starts, fidgeting anxiously. “Ever since I was little… like since I was born… my parents always… cheated on each other?” He admits. You’re stunned into silence and he keeps going…

“It wasn’t like… an open marriage or anything…” Your face softens in sadness hearing his admission. Your heart snapping in two. “Now that I’m older I know the language but… as a kid I never understood.” He explains. A thoughtful look on his face like he’s thought all of these things a million times but never uttered a single word about it out loud. 

The correlation between the two admissions is becoming more clear. Never having a relationship because the one relationship he’s supposed to look up to, his parents, is filled with betrayal and distrust. “I’m not saying… that that’s an excuse I’m just… I-I don’t know…” He sighs, shaking his head. 

You just listen and watch him in silence. Feeling three things. Honored that he would share this with you. Responsibility to keep this information guarded. And heartbreak, thinking about that kind of pain, and that he feels the need to explain all of this. 

“You ever think about like… getting too comfortable and then… when everything goes to shit… that’s your own fault right?” He asks more directly now, looking over at you. Maybe he does want an answer. “Like when you tell yourself that someone really cares about you… and then turns out they don’t. Not as much as you think?” 

“No. I don’t think that’s your fault.” You finally speak now that he wants an answer. Genuinely. He looks in your eyes. You want to hear more. It’s the most he’s ever opened up to let you in his head. 

“I can’t let myself feel that way.” He sighs. Looking up at the ceiling and letting out a deep breath. You know this is really hard for him. 

“You think I make you… feel like you can’t be comfortable?” You ask softly, trying to clarify, trying to understand him.

“No you… make me feel… very… comfortable.” He admits in a sigh. Like the words keep getting stopped but he pushes through, forcing them out. The words would be impossible if not for his efforts. 

You pause, thinking about what he said. Remembering when he said you made him feel steady. That moment meaning so much more now. You make him feel comfortable but he can’t allow himself to feel comfortable?

“And when you started… trying to tell me how you were feeling…” He sighs. “I just panicked and…” His words trail off, you take a deep breath. Remembering Sunday night, asking him about Dana, about the beer, on the cusp of telling him you were falling for him. That confusion and anger. Remembering what he said about messy feelings, about not ruining what you two had. When he said you weren’t supposed to happen. It all makes a lot more sense now. "I don't know what I'm feeling... I don't think I ever really know."  

“I think that’s why I usually only… spend one night with someone and then… it’s over. I’m an asshole, I know… I wasn’t thinking of you that first night. At least not at the start.” He admits. Which makes sense. He feels guilty knowing he’s never been fair to his partners or himself. Plowing through any sort of feeling that might arise. But when you came along, that all became much harder. Not harder; impossible. His feelings for you were impossible to ignore. “But you’ve never left my mind since then.”

“You’re the longest I’ve ever… stuck with someone I guess. Or that you’ve stuck with me.” He says softly. Stealing glances at you, fearing your reaction just a bit. You’re shocked to say the least. A month and a half? He’s really never gotten closer to anyone else before?

Being his. That’s what you’ve thought of all this time. Because that’s how it always was. He would ask you to be his, tell you to admit it and you always said yes, you always complied. Because you wanted it to be true.

“Are you afraid that if you and I were together… that I’d cheat?” You ask, being careful around his feelings. Thinking he must be afraid to go back to those feelings brought by his parents. When they cheated on each other, they cheated him too. You want to treat his feelings with sensitivity unlike everyone else it seems. 

He’s silent for a few moments. Thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably.” He admits. Which is reasonable if he’s been dealing with those kinds of trust issues since he was a little boy. “But I think I was… just scared to lose you. Like losing you is scarier than not having you at all.” 

“But I couldn’t not have you. I couldn’t.” He sighs. “I was selfish and I’m sorry.” 

He stares at the floor, all regret and heartbreak. So many things laid out in the open. You almost don’t know what to say. Almost. 

“Miguel…” You address him, standing up and stepping around the small room for a moment. Then focusing back on him. 

“I forgive you.” 

He instantly looks up at you. He could cry. Relief in the purest form shot right into his soul. 

“I can’t relate to your feelings with your parents and… everything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand.” You say softly. He nods in understanding. His heart feeling a lightness he hasn’t felt since… ever. 

“Being with you made me… feel confident and… wanted? I guess… no one’s ever made me feel that way before.” You admit. Sharing your own confessions. His eyes follow you every step around the room as you pace and speak. He’s surprised to have caused you anything but pain.

“I really liked you… even before all this started… even though I didn’t even really know you,” You sigh and chuckle softly at the thought. Knowing you fell in love with him when it felt like he wanted no one but you. And that might have been true but you were in love with the idea of him. The idea that someone like him would be in love with you.

“But I realized that the image of you that I have in my head is nowhere near who you really are. And I think you did the same for me.” You explain. He nods, knowing that’s exactly right. His first chapter with you is an unreliable memory. 

“So I forgive you.” You nod. And he just looks up at you in awe. Like his heart will explode. He’s never felt this way before. Ever in his life. Is this what it feels like to be in love? To fall in love? Has he been falling all this time and now he’s completely fallen? 

There’s a knock at the door. An interruption to this discussion but your words echo in his mind. And he never wants to forget them. “Okay, ready to get started? We’ll do this nice and quick and you guys can be on your way…” The doctor smiles, wheeling in a tray of materials and supplies. “Thank you” You smile and nod, moving over to make room for the doctor’s supplies; standing next to where Miguel is sitting to watch the process; mainly out of curiosity. You keep an eye on Miguel’s face. Seeing he’s still deep in thought. It’ll take more time to understand him, but tonight is a good first step. 

You watch the doctor start the process, absorbing the information she’s explaining, the instructions for care and the longer term things. Follow up appointments and such. You make sure to listen because Miguel doesn’t seem like he can listen very well right now. 

You watch his uninjured fingers still fidgeting with the hem of his pants. And for the second time you want to protect him. You want to make him feel… comfortable. You realize. That’s what he needs. 

You reach across, taking his left hand in yours. Causing him to look up, squeezing gently as his fingers eagerly lace with yours. And it’s like all of a sudden he can feel the table under him, he can hear the doctor’s voice, he can feel the sleeve going on his arm, he can feel the pain in his hand. To get out of his head and come back into the real world around him. That’s what you’ve always done. You’re like an escape and you didn’t even know you were doing it. He didn’t even realize. Imagine how things could be if he just opened up. If he wasn’t afraid of how you’d react. If you’d put him down, chastise him for his feelings. Like he alway has been all his life. 

“Miguel?” You hum, to get his attention after the doctor's attempts. The noise of his thoughts muting at the sound of your voice. “Hm?” 

“What color do you want?” You ask softly, gesturing to the doctor holding out samples of the cast wrappings. Your thumb rubbing gently over the back of his knuckles. He can feel that too. “Oh uh… I don’t know.” He shakes his head slightly, feeling so overwhelmed in both good and bad ways. Overwhelmed with his feelings of love and fear. “You could get blue for the team colors…” You suggest with a soft smile, thinking of his soccer uniform, looking over the options that the doctor has laid out. Treating him with tender care, wanting to do it, no matter the things that have happened. It’s all in the past now. He smiles softly at your cute suggestion. “Yeah sure, blue is good…” He nods a slight smile at the doctor's kindness and patience. She nods and gets to work. Wrapping his cast up and letting it all set and harden. The blue material going from his fingers nearly up to his elbow. 

“Alright, your 4 week appointment is all set, and you have the slip for the prescription. Come back if anything happens, or if you have any questions just call the non-emergency line.” The receptionist says. A kind smile on her face, looking up at the both of you, two kids tired out of their minds, hanging onto life and each other by a thread at this point. “Thank you very much.” Miguel nods with a smile. His injury now supported, already feeling less like it’s just hanging off his body. 

You hand over the clipboard. Realizing you never decided on it. The relationship. Because it’s complicated. And you figured a blank line is better than a scribble of eraser marks. 

“Have a good rest of the night… or morning I suppose.” She nods. Because yes, it is 4 a.m. at this point. 

Leaving through the automatic sliding glass doors, stepping out into the very early morning. A soft glow of the imminent rising sun lighting up the sky. But it’s still very dark out. The birds haven’t even started to wake up and beckon the morning. He walks up beside you as you both head into the parking lot to get to your car. It’s still sprinkling slightly, some far away thunder rolling. 

“How does it feel?” You ask, looking over and seeing the blue material on his arm peeking out from his sleeve. “Feels better than before… still hurts.” He sighs, taking a few longer strides and reaching the driver door first. Opening it for you. “Do you want me to drive?” He offers softly. “No, you only have one hand.” You quickly refuse. 

“I can drive with one hand… and you’re tired.” He insists gently. “You’re tired too. And you have broken fingers.” You smirk, winning this, getting into the driver's seat. He huffs out a breath of laughter and relents, closing the door after you and walking to the passenger side. 

“Take this…” You flail the prescription slip in front of him. His eyes blinking tiredly and he traps the piece of paper between his good fingers. Brow furrowing in focus and reading the information. It’s a bit blurry since he doesn’t have his contacts in. “Let’s go get that acetaprofin…” You sigh, turning the car on. 

“Wait, what did I say?” You look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Acetaprofin?” He asks with a smile. “You mean acetaminophen? Or ibuprofen. I think it says acetaminophen on the sheet.” He can’t help the giggles that erupt in his chest. Beyond exhausted, the both of you. “No! I said that! I said acetaminophen.” you giggle, looking over at him, watching him starting to lose it with laughter. 

“Nooo you didn’t…” He teases, wiping his eyes from laughing. “You said acetaprofin which is like… some acetaminophen and ibuprofen hybrid.” 

“No I didn’t. Gimme that!” You snatch the paper out of his hand and point to the drug name on the sheet. “A-ce-ta-min-o-phen.” You sound it out as he’s giggling, not even looking at the paper, he’s looking at you. “I know what it says. That’s not what you said.” 

Your eyes light up watching him smile and laugh. “Maybe not.” You admit, smiling. You can’t help but laugh yourself. It’s not even that funny, you both know that. But you’re both so tired, everything is funny. “Well science boy, maybe you should do your thesis on acetaprofin…” You joke. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Alchemax would love that. A thesis on combining two drugs that do pretty much the same thing…” He sighs, the both of you coming down from a laughing fit. Sitting in your running car, in the corner of the emergency room parking lot, in the middle of the city, at four in the morning. 

“Hah…” He sighs. That laughter was much needed. For both of you. “Y’know… we don’t have to go get it now. We can just go back to school. I can get it myself another day.” He says. Knowing you’re both exhausted and feeling bad for keeping you awake for so long. Although he does enjoy spending time with you again. Feeling like he doesn’t have to put his shield up. It’s harder to do when you’re not having sex. When he’s just being purely himself. It’s a new feeling.

He feels a little strange. Not just because he’s running on fumes but because of what he told you. But you don’t seem to be treating him any differently. If anything, it’s just making him feel a little closer to you. He’s never felt something like that before. Like you could be… someone he confides in. The first person on his mind. That’s what’s happened for the last month and a half anyway. 

“No way… we’re getting your damn acetaprofin if it’s the last damn thing I damn do.” You protest, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot. On a mission. A mission of pain relief.

“Picking up for O’Hara?” You say at the pharmacy desk, the old woman behind the register typing into the old computer to bring up the prescription. “Date of birth?” She asks, looking at the two of you over the edge of her glasses. Miguel steps forward to answer. 

“08/13/2001.” You state before he can. A satisfied smile on your face for knowing his birthday now. Even if he didn’t tell you the day it was happening. 

“It’s just been sent in… I’ll make it up for you.” The old woman says, her New York accent quite thick. And she moves around slowly to go make up his prescription acetaminophen and antibiotics. “Okay thank you.” Miguel smiles. The two of you having to wait some more this morning. 

… 

“Strawberry or Cherry?” You sigh, holding out two packs of twizzlers in front of him. The two of you migrating to the candy aisle and looking through the endless sweets. “Strawberry obviously.” He nods, pointing at the pack, keeping his cast wrapped arm close to his chest, a sign to you that the pain is in fact bothering him. “Obviously.” You nod. Totally agreeing. 

“Ha. I had to give my brother the heimlich once with one of these.” You cringe and hold up a box of Lemonheads. “Oh no, really?” His eyes widen, meeting your eyes. What if that had been Gabriel?

“Yeah, and then my mom banned them from all the kids…” You giggle, putting it back on the shelf and looking at another candy item. He grins at the thought, imagining what your family must be like. After all the little things you’ve told him. Your parents and siblings. It’s like a different world he’s never stepped into before. 

“This is Gabriel’s favorite…” He nods and points to a box of warhead hard candies on the shelf. “We used to have competitions” He smiles, looking at you. “Oh the ‘see who can hold it in their mouth the longest without spitting it out’ competition? I know it well…” 

“Mhm.” He nods, enjoying feeling like he can be similar to you in some way. He does love Gabriel a lot and hearing the way you’ve always talked about your own family makes him feel good. Even if his own family doesn’t feel like much of a family at all. 

…

“These lights are so bright.” You huff, crouching down and looking in the makeup aisle. Miguel leaning against one of the shelves and trying not to fall asleep standing up. “Which one… on my skin?” You sigh, grabbing two blush shades, standing up with whatever energy you have left. Holding them up to him. He blinks tiredly and takes the two small things from your hands, walking right up to you and holding them up to your cheeks. “What am I looking for?” He asks, holding each one on the sides of your cheeks. Your eyes closed. 

“Just for… which one matches best for my undertooooones…” You drawl with eyes still closed, feeling the backs of his fingers on your cheeks. “Undertooooones…” He echos softly and teases. “Hmm…” He hums, looking back and forth and then just looking at your face. Your lashes, your lips. Feeling like he could just kiss you right now. It would be so easy to just peck your lips. 

“So?” Your voice brings him out of his thoughts. “Uh I think this one… I don’t know. That one is pretty.” He sighs, ignoring the urge to kiss your lips. Knowing he probably shouldn’t. But he wants to. Your eyes flutter open, causing his heart to flutter at the sight. Your hands coming to grasp his wrists. The two products in his fingers. Looking down at the one he chose. “Yeah, I like that one.” You nod and he adds it to the small pile of candy and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out around the store. 

…

“Mm this one is good…” Miguel holds a bottle of shampoo over to you. Letting you smell it. “Coconut Milk and turmeric…” You mumble, reading the scent on the bottle before clasping your hands over his hands around the bottle and smelling. The rim of the bottle touches your nose, getting some soap on there. “Ah- yeah it smells good” You giggle, shampoo above your lip. “Oh no sorry…” He laughs, the two of you deliriously tired. His other hand comes up to wipe the soap off, rubbing over the ridge of your lip and getting it off. All while you’re both quietly giggling among the shampoo selections. 

“Are we being too loud?” You giggle, whispering and looking up at him. There’s no one else in here it’s so late but still you’re both giggling endlessly in the aisles. “Probably…” He whispers, putting the shampoo back on the shelf. The two of you standing close, huddled next to the shelves and aimlessly looking around waiting for his prescription to be ready. 

…

 “I didn’t know they sell vibrators at the drug store…” You comment. Wandered into the aisle of sexual health and products. Staring up at the row of vibrators on the top shelf, kept in those plastic cages. Needing the employees' help to unlock it. “I guess… maybe people need it… for medical… things.” He sighs behind you. Like zombies, the two of you. 

“What kind of medical things?” You raise a brow at him, turning around to face him. He takes a closer look at the boxes, lifting one toy and reading the back of it. 

“Mm… neglected clit disease?” He jokes, looking up in your eyes. A smug look on his face and a smile spreading over yours. His eyes gleaming watching you laugh. “Stupid boyfriend syndrome?” He adds. “Yeah possibly…” You nod. 

“Boyfriend with broken fingers disorder.” He smiles a goofy grin, holding up his cast and shrugging. His poor broken fingers. Boyfriend. 

“Yeah you’re right… it’s on the rise…” You laugh softly and nod. He nods, reading the back of the box and turning to look at the other models on the shelf.

 Your eyes scan over the side of his face as he turns. Wanting to reach out and run your hands through his hair like you’ve done so many times before. But it’s never been like this before. Just the two of you like this. Like friends. But there’s something extra obviously because you’ve seen each other naked more times than you can remember. But being away from him was like rehab from an addiction. An addiction to him, the feeling of him, the way he can make you feel.  

You roll your eyes and smile. Turning to leave the aisle. He smiles that same grin. Watching you start walking, he looks down at the box in his hand. Piling the vibrator on the stack of items in his arm with a smirk on his face. Among the candy, makeup, shampoo and miscellaneous things you’ve both picked out, the sex toy like a cherry on top. 

…

He smiles watching you huff and sit down on the floor. Right in the middle a different aisle. Paper and stationary on one side and birthday cards on the other. Tilting his head and looking down at you on the floor. Sharing your exhaustion. “How does it feel?” You ask and he walks over, sitting down in front of you, criss crossed and facing you. Setting the items down on the floor too. 

“It hurts…” He admits, not feeling the need to lie about it. Not anymore. You nod and yawn. Looking over and seeing a pack of black sharpies. Leaning over to grab it. 

“Can I write on it?” You smile and brighten up at the thought. “My cast?” He grins and watches you. Your excitement. 

“Yeah a little message or a doodle” You pull open the pack of markers. Planning to just pay for them on the way out. “Fine, just no dicks, okay?” He teases and you feign disappointment at his request. He scoots closer to you as you hold out the sharpie for the blue material on his arm. “Hmm…” You think of what to write or draw for your masterpiece. Since he’ll have it on there for a few weeks you want to make it count. 

He’s just smiling, watching your pretty face as you think of what to write, his arm draped over your lap and your fingers dancing over his upper arm to hold it in place, pen in hand. 

You start shaking your head and he can tell you’ve thought of something. “What?” He grins. “No… nothing.” You smile, shaking your head. “Come on… do it. Whatever you thought of, just write it.” 

“No I can’t.” You smile nervously, looking up in his eyes. “Yes you can.” He replies in the same tone. Gesturing to his cast. “Write it.”

“Close your eyes.” You demand and he does so. His eyes fluttering closed. A smile on his lips. You debate it for a second. The thing you thought of was originally sort of supposed to be a joke but it could also not be a joke at the same time. You don’t want to make things awkward or more complicated. Shaking your head, you decide to just do it. Maybe he’ll laugh. The felt tip scratches on the hardened blue material. He waits patiently with eyes closed until finally…

“Done.” You sigh, already feeling embarrassed. But it’s on there and it’s permanent. His eyes flutter open, searching the cast on his arm. Eyes scanning over the black cursive letters. Just one small word. 

Mine. 

His eyes lock on the word. Reading it over. Over and over then looking up at you. After all that’s happened, all he said, all that went on. You know and he does too, that you’re being very generous with your heart. As you’ve always been. 

“I like it…” He hums softly, nodding and looking back down at the writing. After seeing that slight blush of embarrassment on your cheeks. 

Is this all he’s ever wanted? To be yours. And for you to be the one to make it so? All the times he made you his, all the times he claimed you, took you, those times don’t compare to this one. This little word, written by your hand, from your mind, your heart. He won’t take it for granted. 

“I should’ve just drawn a dick…” You shake your head and smile. The tension dissolving then. Meeting his eyes for a moment. Unable to hide the bit of embarrassment. You don’t want to repeat patterns of the past. But you also want to be honest about your feelings. “Fine, you can draw a dick.”

”Really??!” 

“No!!” He laughs. “I was just kidding!” 

“No, you said it so I can do it!” 

“No no no, I take it back!” He refuses with a smile, shaking his head and laughing, his eyes locked on your smile. Again, he just wants to kiss you. To kiss you again after feeling like it’s been forever since he’s had the chance. “Come onnnnn…” You smile and he shakes his head, wanting to take your face into his hands and kiss your lips. It almost makes his heart sore, knowing that he really shouldn’t do it. And he’s trying to be careful. Holding so tightly onto this olive branch. 

“Let’s go see if it’s ready now, yeah?” He suggests, needing to change the subject for his own sake. “Fine…” You whine, watching him rise, accepting his hand when he stretches it out to you to get up from the floor. 

…

You both watch the old woman scan the items and the prescriptions. Rolling your eyes at Miguel’s smirk when she scans the vibrator, taking off the protected cage around the box. The woman having absolutely no reaction to the item. She just doesn’t care, not at this hour and probably not at any other hour either. 

You look for some money to pay for the makeup and the things you picked out but before you can he puts his card in the machine, reaching his arm around your waist to press the numbers. His chest pressing to your back slightly. You watch the thick black card go into the machine. The numbers going in and the ding when it accepts easily. “Thank you, have a nice night.” The woman says, her voice low and gravelly but she’s been kind overall. 

“Thank you.” Miguel nods and grabs the bag off the counter after taking his card back. “Thanks!” You smile and start walking, with him right beside you. “Where’s the receipt? I can give you some cash for my things…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He assures. Shaking his head and holding the bag of items in his good hand. 

“If you say so…” You sigh, walking beside him as you both leave the drug store. “Thank you…” 

The sun is just starting to light up the early morning sky now that it’s about 5 am. Birds starting to chirp. “I need to sleep.” You sigh, getting in the driver's seat. And Miguel in the passenger seat with the bag of things on his lap. “I can drive if you want…” He offers again with a yawn, stretching his back slightly, his head against the headrest. “No it’s fine, it’s only a few minutes…” You assure him, buckling up and starting the car to get back to the dorms. 

You start driving, pulling out of the parking lot and turning through the city streets. There are a few cars out but nothing compared to the morning rush to start in a few hours. The city slowly starts to light up with the sun. It’s not even over the horizon yet, just lighting the sky with anticipatory sunshine. He’s stealing small glances at you as you drive. Feeling funny inside. He doesn’t know quite how to place this feeling. It doesn’t feel bad, he knows that much.

“So it says… take two of these… and one of these morning and night.” You read the prescription bottles for acetaminophen and antibiotics. Standing at the door of his dorm room, in the doorway and giving him the slip from the doctor to have. “Thank you.” He nods softly, genuinely. Although that one thank you doesn’t even cut it. He doesn’t think so. 

“I can’t believe we literally stayed up all night doing that.” He sighs, walking into his dorm. Glancing back at you and trying to be subtle, wanting to see if you’ll follow him inside. Only wanting you to do it if you want to. You follow him in, replying in similar disbelief, not noticing his glancing and watchful eye. “I know, well we had to wait so long for everything.” You huff, sitting on the edge of his bed and grabbing the bag of things when he drops it next to you. 

You grab the pack of twizzlers and watch him take the prescription bottles to swallow his pills. Eyes widening in realization when he takes a pair of round framed glasses out of a case on his desk. He puts them on, reading the small print on the bottle. And you try to suppress the biggest smile. He wears glasses? How did you not figure this out? Regardless, he’s adorable. 

“Do you need any help?” You ask softly. Watching him trying to maneuver the lock top with one hand, eventually trying to hold it between his knees and undo it with his good hand. “No thanks, I got it.” He looks over at you, instantly doing a double take seeing the way you’re smiling at him. Or the way you’re obviously trying not to smile. What’s got you smiling all pretty like that?

“I like your frames…” You smile and comment, his cheeks instantly reddening when he realizes that’s why you’re smiling. Looking over at you like a deer caught in headlights and the top of the bottle finally pops off, he flinches trying to keep the pills from spilling all over the floor. “Oh, thanks.” He smiles bashfully, feeling a bit embarrassed but he can’t help stealing glances at your face when you're smiling like that.

You smile softly, feeling a bit sympathetic to him having to learn a whole new way of doing things. Only a little bit though since he is the one that punched his own locker in. 

“Sorry if your sleep is fucked for the rest of the week…” He clears his throat, getting some water to swallow his pills. Turning for a second and trying to stop the hot blush on his cheeks. You’re the only person who’s ever made him blush like that. Just by looking at him. You watch him from the bed, biting and pulling the strawberry licorice candy, the only thing you’ve eaten all night. “It’s fine… it needed to be done.” You nod. Not feeling resentful or upset with him. It was your choice to show up after all. 

“Well thank you” he smiles over at you, situating a few things before walking over to the bed, sitting next to you on the edge and grabbing a piece of candy for himself, biting a piece off and sighing, flopping back to lay down on top of the blankets. You do the same, mirroring his action, laying down on your back and biting your candy as well. The two of you just lying in silence and exhaustion. 

“So… we can be friends right?” He suddenly asks, you look over to see he’s on his side facing you. You take a moment to think. Friends is better than what’s been going on for months. You roll over too to face him, biting your licorice and thinking. “Yeah… I think so.” 

He smiles softly, nodding with relief. 

“Just don’t lie to me again.” You say and his expression turns serious, understanding. “Just be honest with me and I’ll do the same. Tell me how you’re feeling. I’m not the kind of person to… judge you for your feelings, y’know?” You say like it’s some casual thing. Not seeing how it’s affecting him. But he could cry if he let himself. He feels like he’s dreaming.

I should tell you how I’m feeling. I should tell you that I’m in love with you. I love you. I love the way you speak to me. The way you make me feel. I love the way you care for me. The way you think of me even when I can’t think for myself. The sound of your voice, the feeling of your hair between my fingers. The memory of your heartbeat against my chest, your fingers on my back, your breath on my neck. The look in your eyes when you’re laughing; your smile. The tone of your voice when you sigh my name. I thought I wanted you to be mine. And that might have been true. But I wanted to be yours all the more. 

But he doesn’t say any of that. He just nods and smiles softly, grabbing another piece of candy and stealing small glances your way. Laying beside one another as the early morning goes by, the exhaustion overtaking the both of you in time. Soon you’re both asleep. 5 am. 6 am. 7 am and into the morning. Catching up on the lost hours. But not regretting a single moment of this night. 8 am. 9 am. 10 am. 11 am. Noon. Morning classes are long passed and forgotten. Sleeping beside one another on top of his soft blankets. Not even the daylight through the window could wake you from this slumber. 

To be continued...

Reblogs and comments very much appreciated!!

Taglist (hopefully I got everyone let me know if you want to be dropped/added):

@miguels-cock-piercings @queerponcho @club-danger-zone @bossva @softcrayon

@nommingonfood @bruhhvv

@jessies-unrelagated-thoughts @mauvecherie-writes @haveclayeveryday @kimivixen

@jadeloverxd @chiikasevennn @mvlanchqly @resident-cryptid

@x0tw0d57 @vampyboys @miguelspriscilla

@francesca-the-1st @migueloharasbbm @razertail18 @laysmt

@tojiragdoll @maiyart @wazawazooo @mun-2996 @marshhbs

@curious-randomlr @safixiovi @daddyfroglegs @theplaid-wearingmoose @reader-1290

@yeanika @elysiumsangel @rinnako @mangoslushcrush @twwcs

@izakopanyi2 @migueloharasoulmate @slut4oscarissac23

@miss-loomis @genny101

@aphinthestars @webshooterrr9 @m4dyy

@jdbxws @roserfz27 @ohara-whore @oharaslove @daisy-artfield

@mooreaey6yem @peachey-pie @migueloharacumslut @pxtched

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @julia4today

[thezeninclan]

“d-don’t stop.” you moaned. “please I c-can’t take it.” 

he chuckled lowly. “yeah?”

from the moment you had answered the phone the sounds from the other end of the line had been obvious— the soft, slick noises, the breathy sounds, the barely suppressed moans. he was asking you to talk for him, nothing overtly sexual at first, just asking about your day, did you have dinner plans, how did your new shoes feel, how did you sleep last night . he just wanted, needed, to hear your voice. 

“you’ve been working too much.” you scolded. he laughed, the soft sound you had so long ago fallen in love with, and you knew he was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, a telltale sign of weariness. you wanted to be where he was, brush back his hair for him, kiss his tired eyes, undo his tight tie. 

“I always work too much.” he returned. 

“you don’t have to tell me that. my poor vibrator has run out of batteries faster these last few months than all its years combined.” 

“oh yeah?” he questioned. you could hear the grin in his voice. you smiled to yourself, mentally kicking your feet and giggling at the way his breathy voice came over the line. “poor baby. must be so hard when I’m not there to take care of you.”

“I think it’s the lack of hardness that has me reaching for your nightstand.” you returned. the slick sounds continued, obvious in the silence of conversation. 

“miss me that much, huh?”

“I can barely remember what you look like anymore. for all I know you’re just a robot talking to me over a computer speaker.” 

“I don’t think a robot could make you cum as hard as I do.” higuruma said. his breath was heavy, his voice as gruff and hollow as when he first woke up in the morning. “as often as I do.”

you reached for the blue vibrator you’d tossed aside earlier and pressed the power button, lifting it to the phone’s speaker so he could hear. “I dunno about that.” 

“don’t tease.” he said sternly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. 

now it was your turn to smile to yourself, putting your phone on speaker as you tapped into your photo gallery and scrolled through your hidden photos. you had ordered a few new pairs of lingerie and nightgowns, on higuruma’s card, as both a punishment and a reward for his many, many, many nights of hard work. “oh?” you said. “then I guess i’ll put away this new gift i got...”

“well now.” he said. you could hear the sound of fabric adjusting, the sound of metal jingling. “is that what those charges were? I was sure I didn’t buy anything at Le Petit Trou.”

you giggled. you knew he would like what you bought, the thigh high stockings he liked you to wear, liked to kiss your thighs wearing, liked you to leave on even after he had pulled off the rest of your clothes. the garters bit into your soft skin, leaving divots in the meat of your thighs, where he often laved his tongue across after. the panties themselves were pale white and creamy, near see through as they pulled taut across your hips and ass, the position you had taken the photo in just accentuating the tightness of the fit. “you look...incredible...” he breathed. “beautiful. I can’t believe you showed me.” every word was punctuated by a rough slapping sound, a rough groan. 

“I can’t wait to show you in person.” you said, feeling bold. “can’t wait for you to ruin them.” 

“oh I will.” he said. “that lace won’t survive the night. the hour. I’ll tear them off with my teeth.” you nodded, feeling the hazy pleasure in your belly swirl. at first you hadn’t expected to be so turned on by this, by just a simple vibrator and the baritone of his voice, but god you were. you felt like you could come soon, even though it had been barely a minute. 

“what would you do first?” you asked. “m-my bra or my panties?” 

“how could I choose?” he replied. the sounds on the other end of the phone were hot, wet, almost palpable despite the distance between you. “I love your tits and your pussy equally.” 

“oh, yeah?” you asked, circling your clit with the end of he vibrator, pressing and releasing the pressure every other moment. “aren’t you forgetting someone?” 

“how could I forget that juicy fuckin’ peach you have back there?” he laughed. “I can practically taste it now. first thing I’d do is sink my teeth into it and mark my territory.” 

“oh yeah?” you breathed, you could barely respond, barely think, of anything but pleasure. you moaned for him, breathy and sweet, and he groaned out in response, fist dragging up and down his cock. 

“maybe I won’t waste time with my teeth. maybe I’ll just give you my cock-” 

“please.” you sighed. “I w-want it so bad.” 

“fuck, you’re killing me here. I miss you so much.” he said. “I’d fuck you as hard as I did last new year’s, when we stayed at that hotel in the city. fuck, you were so hot with your tits pressed up against the glass, gagging on my cock where everyone in the city could see you. we should do that again, maybe go down to the restaurant this time. I’ll fuck you right on the dinner table so everyone can see how you take my cock.” 

he chuckled again, breath fanning out into the mic of the phone. you wanted to feel it against your skin as he kissed you, as he fucked you, your fingers automatically pressing down on your aching clit and feeling a jolt of overstimulation as a result.

“g-god hiromi-” you breathed, pleasure exploding behind your eyes like a cresting wave as you came. you moaned loud and unabashed, not caring if your neighbors heard you, not caring if anyone heard you. everyone knew your moans were his and his alone. 

“I love you, baby.” he breathed. “I’ll talk to you later-”  

everything came to a halt. “why didn’t you-” you began, confused. hadn’t he started all this? hadn’t he been the one to call you first? 

“isn’t it obvious?” hiromi asked. you tilted your head to the side, confused. had you cum so hard that you’d actually scrambled your brain this time?

“wha-”

the door creaked as it was pushed open and you gasped, jolted out of your post-orgasm bliss by a pang of fear. who could it be at this hour of night? was someone trying to break in? where was the switchblade you kept in your nightstand drawer?

“you didn’t think that was enough for me, did you?” higuruma asked, and you blinked, having forgotten for a moment that you had been speaking to him, had been so thoroughly seduced by him. the call dropped as fast as your stomach did, and the door flew open to reveal a familiar outline. 

“oh my god.” you breathed.

hiromi was already pulling off his tie, shoes and socks left at the door. his pants were undone and tight at the front, hanging off his slim hips as he walked closer. you practically melted into his touch as he caressed the side of your face with a big, warm palm, sinking your weight against him and knowing he’d be there to support it. 

he smiled at you, kissing you deeply and tossing away the phone that had still been hanging in your hand. “when I make you cry on my cock, I need to hear all those pretty little noises right from your mouth.”

also posted on ao3 

[fingertipsmp3]

Positives of today:

—My hair smells nice

—So does my laundry

—Uh...

Negatives of today:

—Everything else

[soshesighs]

Fic: Set The Bad Day By The Bed

Fandom: @speakergame

Pairing: Li/Speaker/Seb poly

Note: Title from the song “Orpheus” by Sara Bareilles. The line I wish I could use (but alas, you cannot use a whole line from a song for a title, as much as I might want to) and that I wanted to vaguely attempt to capture the feeling of in this little ficlet was “If the bottom drops out / I hope my love was someone else’s solid ground.” This is based on a conversation in the Speaker discord about which ROs would enjoy having their hair played with, so the original idea isn’t mine. (I imagine this being set when their relationship is all fairly new feeling, for some context.)

Lily Version here!

---

You startle suddenly from your daydream, feeling as much as hearing the front door slam, almost hard enough to rattle the house. Deft fingers briefly halt their ministrations as you strain to hear who it is that's arrived; you weren’t expecting any of your friends to drop by this afternoon.

A slight jingling, a heavy thunk as boots are set next to the door, and you instantly know who it is.

"He sounds upset," Sebastian murmurs, voice heavy, seconds from falling asleep. For a fleeting moment, your heart dances between feeling rightfully concerned and quietly pleased that you both immediately recognize your partner's footsteps; you can't help but be a little pleased at how far the three of you have come.

Concern eventually wins out, however, and your eyebrows furrow together as you hum a noise of agreement, leaning down to press a kiss to Sebastian’s brow as you think.

"It’s not like him to slam things around,” you agree. Your eyes bounce between the door to the bedroom and the man curled up by your side in bed, a debate warring internally. Sebastian is so content - finally allowing himself to relax some, even if he is still reading through your currently compiled case research - that you don’t want to disturb him.

But Sebastian, also ever observant, reaches a hand up to still the one of yours that’s still trailing through his hair, tilting his head up until his eyes meet yours. “Go,” he says simply.

You slump a bit, worrying your lower lip unintentionally. “But you just settled down,” you protest, sighing. “Besides, you know how he is. He needs his time. I imagine he’s heading to the library.”

As if a manifestation of your unease, your fingers begin to twirl a long strand of his hair again, unable to hold completely still. You respect the fact that Li needs time to himself to uncoil whatever aspect of his day has gripped him so harshly, but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit idly by.

The two of you sit there in heavy silence, the only sound the muffled turning of pages as Sebastian reads on for a solid 7 minutes, before he sighs and sets the file aside. After a pause, he says, not unkindly, “Your unease is slightly smothering, not that I’m able to focus much either. How about I make coffee and you can take some to him? If only one of us goes in, it shouldn't feel too intrusive."

If you practically bolt out of bed in eagerness, he doesn’t mention it, just chuckles to himself as he pushes up off the bed to follow.

---

A short while and one pot of hellish coffee brewed later, Sebastian sends you on your way. As you suspected, you spot Li’s silhouette curled up in a tight ball on a couch in the library. Not wanting to startle him by just appearing at his side, you knock softly on the archway until you get his attention.

His head snaps around harshly, deep, black eyes meeting yours from across the room. Even from here, you can see the bruise-like shadows beneath them, and you try to hold back from wincing sympathetically. To his credit, when he realizes it’s you, his eyes slip shut on a slow exhale, the slightest bit of tension leaving his body. After a second, he nods - the okay for you to come in.

You pad over, socked feet making only the softest muffled sound on the rugs. Coming up behind him, you slide a hand down over his shoulder from behind the couch and lean down to press a kiss to his hairline. His fingers grip the notebook and pen in his lap so tightly that his knuckles turn white, but you’re glad to see him writing. Hopefully it helps, you think to yourself, filing the information away to ask about later, if he’s willing to share.

“I won’t keep you,” you say, voice equally as quiet as your steps so as not to disturb him more than necessary. “But Bas made you coffee, so I wanted to bring it in while it was warm.”

He takes the cup and opens his mouth like there’s something he wants to say - like part of him wants to overflow and spill out whatever it is that’s strangling him inside - but nothing comes out. After a second, he gives the barest shake of his head, and you know for certain now that he needs more time.

You turn to go, but his hand rises up to cover yours on his chest, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thanks," he finally manages, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

“Of course, love. Anytime,” comes your gentle reply, and you hope he can hear the slight smile in your words and know that you’re fine - that everything is fine - and that you both understand. “Come find us in a bit, okay?”

He doesn’t reply again, but you don’t expect him to. Instead, you wait until he takes a sip and then head out, sliding your hand free of his embrace, content to leave him to his quiet meditation now that you’ve seen that he’s (at least physically) okay.

---

You barely step foot into the bedroom before you hear, “How is he?”

With a shrug, you crawl back up onto the bed, resuming your previously situated position against the headboard. “Exhausted, tense, locked up more than I’ve seen him in a while. But he was writing, which brings me some comfort. He says thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

Sebastian nods, a bit of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not in so many words, I presume.”

“No,” you concede, reaching out a hand to will him closer. “But I could tell he was grateful. And thank you for humoring me. I know you were about to nod off.”

He settles against your side once more, head resting in your lap. “It’s not humoring you if I’m just as concerned. It’s hard leaving someone you care about alone when they’re struggling. Besides, I can sleep whenever."

“You’d think after all these years, I’d have gotten used to it. He’s been like this ever since we were kids, but…” you drift off, struggling to find the words. After a moment, you shrug, shaking your head. "And don't give me that, Mister 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'! You have no idea how proud I was to get you to stop pacing and lie down."

He grins, hand reaching up to cup the nape of your neck and pull you down for a kiss. "I'll rest once I've read through all of this - how's that sound?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," you reply, lips still brushing against his in the ghost of a touch as you do, and you swallow down his replying smirk with another kiss.

Eventually - when the need to take a deep breath begins to win out over the need for each other - you separate, fingers smoothing a lock of his hair back behind his ear despite the fact that its currently messy state is entirely your fault. “I know what you’re trying to do,” you whisper, a sly smile working its way onto your face.

“And what is that?”

You sit up fully and tap a finger on the tip of his nose. “You’re using me to stall. Get to reading, mister. You promised me you’d rest after, and I fully intend to see that through.”

With an over-exaggerated roll of the eyes, Sebastian picks the file up off his stomach and flips back to where he previously had stopped reading. “What exactly are you going to be doing while I’m reading your notes then, hm?”

“Providing incentive, of course,” you reply, as if it should be completely obvious.

Eyebrows raised and feigning indifference, he asks, “Incentive, huh? Remunerative, coercive, moral-?” He flips a page, eyes trained coolly on the words before him and looking for all the world like he’s completely disinterested in your current conversation. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You laugh and don’t even bother to reply, merely beginning to scratch at his scalp, focusing on where his hair had previously been gathered into his trademark ponytail. He bites back a moan, but very quickly makes every attempt to school his features into their previously neutral position. “You drive a hard bargain,” he admits, meeting your eyes and pursing his lips to bite back the smile threatening to reveal itself. “I suppose I have to accept.”

“I suppose you do,” you agree, blatant triumph shining through every word. In time, he relents and pulls his gaze away from yours, focusing back on the work that, unfortunately, must be done.

You settle swiftly into a routine after that, with Sebastian reading and flagging specific aspects that seem particularly important or promising and you bouncing between massaging his head and simply playing with his hair, humming softly as you do - a lullaby from your childhood, you realize, having subconsciously gone for something low and soothing.

Just when it seems that Sebastian might once more be about to nod off, a quiet knock sounds from the other side of the room. You immediately freeze, eyes wide and hopeful, as the door slides open.

“Liam,” you exhale, tension you hadn’t realized you were still holding flooding out from what feels like your very bones at the sight of him.

He holds up the now-empty coffee mug and gives it a shake before setting it down on the dresser, his long and lanky frame leaning heavily against the door jamb. “Finished. Thank you again.”

Sebastian yawns - a rare sight in and of itself - and nods in acknowledgement before turning to angle his body more towards him. “You don’t have to knock, you know. I don’t know how many times we have to tell you that we want you here before you believe us.”

And Li finally cracks a smile at that: a crooked, barely there thing, but it’s there all the same, and it feels like daylight breaking through a monsoon. “Thought someone might’ve finally convinced you to sleep. I didn’t want to wake either of you.”

“Working on it,” you reply faintly. In an echo of your earlier request to Sebastian, you hold out your hand to him, silently beckoning him forward to join the two of you - if he’s ready.

He hesitates a beat too long, and in those few seconds you convince yourself that he’s going to decline.

"It's okay," you whisper, letting your hand drop back to the bed. Liam's eyes follow, watching as you reflexively clench the comforter in your fist; sitting still, especially when stressed or upset, has never been your strong suit.

Adam's apple bobbing harshly, Liam swallows and shakes his head. "I'm sorry for shutting you out earlier."

He pauses again, and you try not to let your heart catch hopefully on that last word.

Sebastian also immediately picks up on the careful phrasing, knowing as well as you do that Li of all people rarely minces his words or says what he doesn't mean. "And now?" he asks simply, setting the file to the side. "Feeling any better?"

Liam ducks his head, hiding his softening expression. When he glances back up, his trademark tilted smile is back in place. "Got room for one more?"

---

“Do you want to talk about it?” you eventually ask, voice barely audible even in the quiet of the darkened room.

Liam tenses a bit from his position now lying at your other side, head pillowed on the thigh opposite Sebastian who has, at long last, finally fallen asleep. “No, not… not yet.”

“Alright, I understand.” You trail off, finding it hard to voice exactly what it is you want to say. Between the three of you, Liam is the one who has the gift with words; you’ve never been particularly eloquent in expressing your feelings. Ultimately, you settle on saying, “Just promise me you’d tell us if it was something serious - if you were hurt or you needed our help? We love you, Li.”

You look down to meet his eyes, holding his intense gaze in the hopes that you can impart how serious you are with every lingering second.

He tears his eyes away after a moment and reaches out to your hand lying in front of him on the bed, slowly and deliberately running his fingertips along your palm as if trying to memorize every dip and line and callus. “I’m not good at asking for help, you know that,” he admits carefully, somewhat reluctantly. “I take care of people, not the other way around. That’s how it’s always been.”

“You have us now,” you reply, gently combing the fingers of your free hand through his forest green locks, attempting to untangle the knots you know he must have formed earlier by anxiously tugging at it. “You don’t have to bear anything alone.”

Liam glances back over his shoulder at Sebastian, whose face is more relaxed and at peace than he’s looked in days now that he’s finally crashed, who is the first to sacrifice caring for his own well-being to do whatever he can to help the two of you and all of your friends, who quickly and quietly wormed his way into both your hearts until he was so deeply entrenched that neither of you can imagine life without him now. And then, he nods.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand that now.”

[softboywriting]

Haven Port | Chapter Three | Shawn Mendes

Summary: Shawn and his pack have moved to your tiny town of Haven Port. You’ve never met werewolves other than your dad before and you’re infinitely curious. You may be only half werewolf but you and Shawn have a connection that will send you on a wild romantic journey in this small town you call home. [hybrid reader] [werewolf shawn] 

Word Count: 2.5k

|Masterlist In Bio|

  You wake up and immediately you're confused, not familiar with your surroundings. Then it hits you, you're at Shawn's place. You sigh softly and relax. You're laying half on his chest, his arms around you, legs all mixed up with yours. He's snoring, soft little noises coming from his open mouth, warm against your cheek. You're not sure what time it is, to guess you'd say it was still some time in the middle of the night.

The wind rattles the windows and from your place in bed you can see the white snow flying about endlessly. The storm doesn't seem to be getting any better. By morning the world will be coated in a fresh several inches of snow.

Shawn stirs, hugging you close, then rolling you under him so he is laying on top of you. “Go back to sleep.”

“The storm hasn't let up."

"Mmm it's fine. I promise I'll make sure you're comfortable if you have to stay."

You duck your head against him and he tangles his hand in your hair. You close your eyes and fall asleep wrapped in his warmth.

When you wake a second time the bed is empty. The sun shines through the window, reflecting off the bright snow outside. Shawn's side of the bed is cool as you stretch and take in your surroundings. It feels so strange being in a bed that isn't your own. It's much softer, warmer too and it smells heavenly, like cologne and fresh laundry. You don't want to get up, but you have to pee and the bathroom is downstairs.

You pass two open bedrooms on the way, one that you guess is Ava and David's judging by the colorful decor you see inside. That definitely seemed like Ava. The bathroom is on the other side of the stairs when you go down and as you turn to go down the hall, you hear Shawn talking. He sounds upset.

"Who wants to explain last night?" Shawn asks just as you slip into the bathroom. You close the door enough so that it doesn't latch but you can still hear and not be seen.

"Explain what?" Ryan asks.

Shawn scoffs. "The greeting you gave our guest."

"We greeted her just fine?" It's Lindsay's voice.

Shawn growls low and guttural, it sends a shiver down your spine. "The two of you were extremely cold to her. Lindsay, Ryan, want to talk about that?"

"I guess she wasn't what we expected." Ryan says nonchalantly. "We were expecting a wolf."

"Is she not a wolf?"

Lindsay scoffs and Shawn must do something because she clears her throat immediately as if covering with a cough. "She's a hybrid, Shawn."

"And?"

"And she's just...not what we expected."

"Listen. All of you, but particularly you two. We do not discriminate against hybrids in this pack. I will not stand for it. If any of you say another word about her or her upbringing and I hear about it, there will be consequences. Am I clear?"

There's a chorus of "Yes Shawn." And then silence. You back away from the door and sit down to use the bathroom. You knew they didn't like you, you just knew it. These wolves were no different than humans, judging you for what you are and how you look. Was there anywhere you'd fit in?

______________________

"You awake?" Ava asks as she opens the door to Shawn's bedroom. "Shawn and Ryan went out to shovel out the cars and I thought maybe you could join me in making breakfast."

You roll over and look at the girl in the doorway. Her pajamas are adorable, little ducks and hearts all over a bright pink and yellow background. "I think I'll just stay here."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Well..." You sigh and Ava steps in, closing the door. "I don't know if I fit in."

"Because of last night?"

"Yeah. I don't want Shawn to make everyone like me."

Ava sits on the bed and lays her hand on your shoulder. "Shawn loves you. He does. He might not admit it yet, hell, he might not even know it but he does."

"That's insane. We've basically just met."

"I know. I know." Ava giggles. "You and Shawn are definitely mates. Not all the wolves understand that, or realize it yet  Lindsay and Ryan are from a pack that used to exile hybrids, they're still acclimating to a different life. And Jo...well I think I know why she was so quiet."

"Quiet?" Jo wasn't quiet, she was just as bad as Lindsay and Ryan. You want to tell Ava what you heard, but what if she tells Shawn? No. No drama.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Jo has been in love with Shawn since she joined the pack. She's the youngest of us all. She is Shawn's friend's sister and left with him when he split from his old pack."

You curl up tighter and sigh. This is so overwhelming. You had no idea wolves were this complicated. Mates, packs, dislike of hybrids. You don't fit in here, you don't fit in anywhere.

"I just want to be alone." You pull the blanket up over your head. "Thanks for talking to me though."

Ava rubs your side and stands up. "You'll fit in just fine. It'll take time."

You remain quiet as she leaves. As soon as the cars are dug out you ask Shawn to take you home. You don't belong with wolves, you belong in town with Parker and your teas and coffees and rugged old boat captains who treat you like a long lost daughter.  

____________________

"Are you sure you don't want me to shovel out your walkway?" Shawn asks, leaning toward you across the center console of the Jeep.

You shake your head, standing outside the Jeep with your hand on the door to close it. "I'm fine. I'll get to it in a while."

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

Shawn furrows his brow. "Something wrong? Did I do something to upset you?"

"No, no...I just think I need some time alone. Meeting everyone was a lot."

"Oh. Uh, well, let me know if you need anything. You have my number now."

You nod and hold up your phone. "Got it right here. Bye Shawn." You close the door and start tramping through the snow toward your front door. It hurts, saying goodbye. It feels so final. He didn't do anything wrong, in fact if you could spend all your time with him you would. But his pack isn't fond of you and he wasn't going to choose you over his pack, you'd never expect him to do that. It was best you just ended this now.

_____________________

A week passes before you see Shawn again. It's your own fault, you've been dodging him. Faye says you're being stupid, that his pack doesn't understand you yet, that you're running away without giving him a chance. At night you can't sleep, body aching for his touch. It's like a drug, once you've had it you can't get enough. You have laid awake every night wondering if he was right about mates, and if there was something to that business.

It's Monday, officially nine days since you last saw Shawn and the bell over the shop door jingles. It's a little late in the day, usually customers stop coming around ten and it's well after noon time. You look up from the coffee grinder you're wiping out and see Ava.

"Hey, there you are!" Ava says in relief. "We thought maybe you left town. I've been so worried about you!"

"No, I'm here." You set the grinder aside and go to the order counter. "I'm fine, just working. Did Shawn send you?"

"No, I came on my own. Shawn is a mess." She sighs and folds her arms over her chest. "He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, he just goes out in the morning and then comes home late. I've got no idea where he's going, but I really hope it's to work."

"He works, he got a job?"

Ava looks around the shop. "Yeah, I think he got a job at the docks. David did too and he works the morning shift, they put him in the parts room. Ryan and Lindsay work out of town at a temp place in Jonesville. But anyway, Shawn has been in a foul mood lately, when he is home he's snappy and annoyed. I'm pretty sure it's because you're avoiding him, he's heartsick."

"I am not avoiding him." You fidget with a paper stir stick, avoiding her eye contact. "I've been working...and so has he obviously."

"But you don't reply to his texts or calls."

"How'd you know that?"

"Because he told me." She leans on the counter and gives you a soft smile. "He wants to see you, why are you avoiding him?"

You cross your arms and start to pace the length of the back area. "The pack doesn't like me. I can't be around people who are going to mock me. I like Shawn, I really, really like him, but it's not going to work. I separated myself to make things easier."

"The pack doesn't know you yet. They didn't even try, but you didn't either."

"They made fun of me!" You tremble, feeling like a child tattling, but you don't care anymore. "They think I'm a freak! Ava they don't like me and they never will."

"Whoa, hold on. Who made fun of you?"

"Jo and Lindsay. They were talking about me in the hall after dinner that night. They were mocking my ears and how they move." You clench your jaw as you bite back tears.

Ava walks around the counter and puts her arms around you. "Did you tell Shawn?"

"No."

"You should have. He's the alpha, he will talk to them."

"No. I didn't want to start drama and make them hate me more."

Ava rubs your back slowly. "You need to talk to him. I can send him to your place when he comes home tonight. Just talk to him."

"I can't. He would never choose me over his pack." You sniff softly. "I'm just some girl he met and I'm way too emotional about it."

"You're his mate." Ava steps back and holds your face in her hands. "Don't forget that. It's not something that's going to just go away. He will choose his pack and his mate."

"How am I his mate? I just...it's so much to understand. We just met and I'm having all these feelings and I don't even know him that well yet." You pull away from Ava and lean against the far wall, hoping the cold of the brick will help relieve some of the stress. "I'm overwhelmed."

Ava nods and smiles softly. "Being a mate can be overwhelming even for a person who grew up with wolves, I can't imagine how it feels for you. But I can tell you that hiding from him is not going to solve a thing."

"What do I do? What do I say?"

"Start with talking to him. Seriously, just talk to him and you'll find things just come naturally. I'll send him to your place as soon as I see him."

"I guess." You sigh and thank her for stopping by. She invites you to the store with her and you close up shop, having filled your online orders earlier in the day. Maybe talking would be good, because hiding sure isn't solving anything.

_____________________

Just as you're getting ready for bed later that night, a knock on the front scares the shit out of you. You're not sure why. Maybe it's because you're not used to visitors, or maybe because you are so on edge about seeing Shawn. You pull on your night shirt and head down the stairs to see Parker sitting at the front door, fur raised on the back of his neck. Strange, he never got this way unless he was stalking a bird through the window.

"Scoot over you crazy cat." You look through the peephole and see Shawn standing on the porch. He's got his hands in his pockets and he's looking around anxiously. "Oh, it's just Shawn," you mumble and pull open the door, shooing Parker away with your foot.  

"Hey, Ava said I should come by." Shawn says quietly. "I've been meaning to but..."

"But I've been dodging you."

"Yeah." He smiles weakly and you open the screen door to let him in. "You're hard to find when you don't want to be found."

You close the door and press your back against it. "I can hide when I need to."

"Why did you need to? What happened?"

"N-nothing."

Shawn steps close, hand sliding along your cheek as he cups your jaw. "Don't lie, I know something happened. Tell me who hurt you."

"I-" You swallow harshly. He's looking at you with so much concern it hurts. You haven't seen a look like that since you were a child and your mom scooped you up after you broke your arm when you fell on your bike. It's a pure form of love and you can't comprehend how he has this look for you. "It's the pack."

"Jo, Lindsay and Ryan?"

"Yeah...Jo and Lindsay." You look away and he moves your head back up to look at him. "I heard them making fun of my ears. It's fine, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm-"

"But it does hurt. I can see it. You're hurt because you thought they'd accept you, I told you that they would." He drops his hand and curls his fingers around yours loosely. "They know better."

"This is what I'm afraid of, making you choose me over them. I was doing you a favor by staying away. I don't belong with wolves, I-"

"A favor?" He laughs curtly. "Staying away did no one any favors. I've been in a shitty mood because I couldn't be with you and I know I've been snapping at my pack since last week. I've been trying to find some way to get back to you and to hold you. This last week has been awful."

You look down, eyes wet. "I'm sorry."

"No," he drops one hand and tilts your chin up. "You didn't do anything wrong. You thought you were doing the right thing, you were scared. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me or come to me about this."

"I don't know what to do. I've never been a mate and I feel like I barely know you, but I've also known you forever somehow. I feel like everything has happened so fast and I haven't had time to process and understand any of it."

Shawn steps back and shrugs his coat off. "We'll talk. I'll answer every question you have."

"But it's late."

"And you need answers. Come on, we can sit in the living room or wherever you're comfortable."

You peel yourself away from the front door and go to the stairs that lead to your bedroom. "My room. The bed is comfortable and if I fall asleep, then I won't get a back ache like I do on the couch."

"You're sure? You want me in your room?"

"Yes...I need it."

Shawn takes your hand and looks up the stairs. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

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

Please send feedback in asks, replies or reblogs. Let me know if you’d like to read more of this story. Thank you so much -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 6/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,597 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: It’s really hard to convey chaotic imagery in text, but hopefully it worked out. 8|

...ps this is dedicated to @mr-geuse because reasonsssss 💜💜💜

Holidae took her time coming down the stairs, running over every response to every possible combination of questions Lydia could ask of her. There were dozens of scenarios which ended with angry Lydia and two that ended with Holidae quitting while she was ahead and retreating back to her room for the foreseeable future. One outcome involved her diving under the kitchen table and just… living there.

The least plausible, she had to admit, but that didn’t stop her from considering it among the list of alternatives.

“Oh! What? A ghost lives here too? How crazy!” Holidae mumbled to herself, stopping halfway down the stairs. “No no. Sounds fake.”

She carefully maneuvered back up a couple of steps before trying again, “What do you mean ghosts are real and there happens to be one living with us?”

“Wow, you suck at lying.” Beetlejuice appeared on the banister, sliding down in tandem with her.

“Wow, you suck in general.” Holidae snapped, moving her hand off the railing before he rolled over it. “Can’t be inconspicuous if you’re just there. Go away.”

She took a breath, continuing all the way to the bottom of the staircase. Beej followed her like a shadow, generally being a pest and causing her to stumble into the kitchen with a well-timed boot to the back of her knees. Lydia stood up from the table, concerned about her friend’s shaky entrance. She watched as Holidae righted herself, noticing BJ giggling up a storm behind her.

“Holli! Are you okay?” She scowled in the ghost’s direction, trying to subtly gesture for him to get lost. “I don’t want you to break your neck in the house. The insurance rates would skyrocket.”

Holidae stuck her tongue out impishly, desperately trying to disguise the fact she knew why Lydia had such a sour expression.

“All good, Lyddy. Must have been these pants… not hemmed yet. Wobbly floorboard maybe? Something I could take you to court over?” she shuffled over to the table, sitting in one of the empty chairs.

Beetlejuice sat down between the two women, apparating a black and white swirled teacup, and slurped from it loudly. His eyes bounced from one girl to the other like a tennis match; each of them trying to hide their acknowledgement of him from the other. It was really a matter of who would crack first, and since he was a betting man, he would be put all of his money on Holidae.

“So, did you get some sleep? You weren’t up this morning,” Lydia kicked Beetlejuice under the table, earning a wheeze from the pained demon.

Holidae nodded, “Yeah, a little bit. Strangest thing though…”

Both Lydia and her ghostly pal trained their gazes on her, but Lydia spoke first, “Oh? What’s that? Did the monster in your closet come say hello?”

“Nuh-uh. But I kept hearing the weirdest noises, you know? More than the normal creaky old house stereotypes. That happen often?” Holidae stared right back at Lydia, her tone taking sharp dive into serious.

Lydia gave a quick glance to BJ, who in turn shrugged in the universal “not me” gesture, “Well, they told us the house was haunted when we moved in, so maybe that’s the reason? Or you were hallucinating again. You really need sleep…”

A muscle twitched underneath Holidae’s eye, “Haunted, huh? By… what… some dead guy?”

Beetlejuice transported himself to sit on the kitchen counter, a bowl of popcorn appearing in his hands. At this point, he really didn’t care how mad Lydia would be with him once the truth came out. He was more interested in how mad Holidae was going to be if Lydia kept dodging the questions. Of course, he would never let any actual harm befall his bestest best friend in the whole wide world, but that didn’t mean he had to intervene now.

“Ha, a dead guy.” Lydia’s voice cracked, unable to stop the lies rolling off her tongue so fluidly, “That’s funny, right? I mean… could you imagine this place being haunted by ghosts? What would you even think about that, Holli?”

“Right. This house. The house I’m living in now. Let’s talk about this house being haunted by a ghost, shall we?” Holidae’s fist hit the table with force, “How crazy would it be if my best friend didn’t bother to tell me if there was a dead man haunting the house I was going to be living in for an extended period of time!?”

The silence hung thick in the air between the two of them, until Lydia finally pointed directly at the ghost munching on popcorn in the corner, “You mean that dead guy, don’t you?”

Holidae pushed herself away from the table, marching over and grabbing Beetlejuice by his tie, dragging him back over to the table. “Yes, Lyddy, this one. The one I had no prior knowledge about. The one I summoned by accident because you neglected to tell me not to summon demon ghost things in the house.”

“Beetlejuice! What did you do?” Lydia was up out of her chair now, momentarily distracted by the rage directed at the ghost. “What did I tell you over and over about this? Didn’t you listen to me?”

“Hey hey, easy on the name, babes.” He was trying to pry his tie from out of Holidae’s iron grip. “I always listen to seventy-five percent of what you say. Holiday Road here was the one that said my name; you know I couldn’t tell her to do it. If anything, I’m the victim here! She forced me to appear and break your rules. You should stay mad at her and not me and- let go of my tie before I eat your hand.”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth wide, snapping at Holidae’s hand with his sharp teeth. She gave a yelp as she let him go, attempting to shove him backwards in a defensive motion. He had some height on her, as well as weight, so her attempt was short-lived. He grabbed both of her wrists, holding them away from his face as she attempted to scratch at him like an angry cat. The smaller woman was spurred on by his laughing, letting out a string of curses which included the phrase “dollar store poltergeist”.

Lydia tried to get their attention, calling out their names to no avail. Beej didn’t seem too angry by Holidae’s attack, but she knew at any moment he could change his mood on a dime and really cause some damage. Although it killed her inside to waste such a precious resource, she grabbed the container of lukewarm coffee, climbed on top of the table, and poured the liquid over top of both of their heads.

The effect was immediate: both Holidae and Beej stopped their squabbling, turning their heads toward Lydia in – disturbing­ – unison.

“Children, the kitchen is not a gymnasium. Now you,” She pointed at Holidae first, “Sit.”

Having all the fight thoroughly soaked out of her, Holidae quietly sat back down at the table, folding her hands in her lap.

“And you.” Lydia addressed Beetlejuice, who had been casually trying to make his way out of the room. “Sit.”

Beetlejuice vanished, reappearing across the table from Holidae, folding his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Lydia hopped off the table, but didn’t sit down with them, choosing to stand to try and be intimidating, “I knew this would happen, but I didn’t think you two would actually get into a brawl this early. Serves me right for trying a calm, logical approach with a dead sociopath and an easily agitated ball of nerve endings.”

Wisely, neither of them chose to interrupt.

“Yes, I should have discussed the situation with you before you agreed to move in with us, Holli. I’m really sorry, but you can kinda see why I wouldn’t be forthcoming about the whole ghost thing. So… Holli: ghosts are real, there’s one living in the house with us, and his name is Beetlejuice. Beej, this is Holidae Bell, and she will be living here as well. There. Now are we all good?”

“…I just have one question.” Beetlejuice leaned forward, barely hiding his snickering. “You’re last name is Bell? As in jingle bell? Your folks named you Holidae Bell? Do they hate you? They have to hate you, right? No one names their kid something that blatant.”

He burst out in laughter, clutching his sides and doubling over in the chair. Holidae gave Lydia a look, to which Lydia leaned over and whispered something into her ear.

With a Cheshire cat grin, Holidae leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “Laugh it up, Lawrence.”

Beetlejuice’s hair alternated through various hues before settling on a mix of magenta and yellow, “H-hey…”

“Maybe I should call you Lawrencio? Lawrencier? Larry?” She continued, glancing at Lydia with a smirk.

“Ohh, maybe Laird?” Lydia added, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“No, wait! Lars is a nickname, I think. Might have to look it up, but I’m pretty sure it counts.” Holidae nodded.

Beetlejuice got up from the table, his hair now a bright red, “That’s it! I don’t have to take this from two little breather girls. I’m a goddamn demon. You all want to sit here and have sleepovers and talk about me behind my back, fine. I know when I’m not wanted. Don’t you dare come running up to me on the Other Side when you snuff it like ‘oh hey Beej, my friend, help me out’ because… because you are no longer my bestest best friend or my pal. You’re just my best friend and a casual acquaintance.”

With a puff of red smoke, he vanished, leaving the two women awestruck in his wake.

“…I’m guessing that’s not a good thing?” Holidae turned to Lydia sheepishly.

“…no, no it’s not.” Lydia sighed.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Christmas without Miracles

I’ve fallen a bit behind on my contributions to @drawlight’s Advent Calendar, but behold!

One fic using two prompts so I feel less guilty!

This one takes place in the early 1800s. No specific location - just isolated, outside of England, and cold.

This is supposed to be a few years before the 1862 argument, but if you want to headcanon a universe where this happens instead of the 1862 argument, that’s cool, too.

06 - Sleigh Bells/07 - Silent Night (2,630)

Snow had started to fall.

Just lightly, each white flake twisting down from a sky dark with clouds.

All the usual nighttime noises – insects, animals rustling in the undergrowth, even the wind in the trees – were silenced. Just the gentle hush of snow accumulating, molecule by molecule.

Aziraphale knew he should be inside. There was a fire blazing in the hearth, the cabin bright and warm and empty. Two of the three would be an improvement on what he had out here, standing on the porch, looking across the rolling, tree-dotted hills.

Cold. Empty. Silent.

He hated the silence most of all.

--

Crowley didn’t hate snow, so long as he didn’t have to travel in it.

Walk, and your boots filled up with snow.

Ski, and you looked ridiculous anywhere outside the Alps. And in them, too.

Riding a horse was out – if he went the rest of eternity without ever sitting on one of those again, he’d be happy.

But anything with wheels was also out – carriages and wagons and carts could barely handle clean city streets.

Trains were good, if the tracks were cleared, but so far Hell had not been interested in his proposal to build a train line that stopped at every human residence in the world. Which was fine, that had only been semi-serious, anyway.

The only remaining option was to use some form of sled.

He glared at the…sled? Sleigh? Whichever. It was small, just enough room for one person, or a small pile of supplies, to sit in it the seat, but whoever drove it had to stand behind on the runners. It was pulled by some kind of long-maned pony or very small horse that looked like it had its own ideas about who was in charge.

The bridle and reins were covered in bells.

“Do you have one without the bells?” he asked, not even really hoping.

“Nope,” the man said with the cheerful joy of one who knows he has the transportation market cornered for the next few months. “Those bells let people know you’re coming even when they can’t see you. And anyway, they keep off the evil spirits.”

“So I’ve heard.” Crowley reached over and flicked a finger at one of the large silvery bells.

Chk-chk-chk

The whole line jingled, sending shivers up and down his arms, settling at the back of his neck.

He hated that noise most of all.

--

Too many frivolous miracles.

First, a letter full of such threatening language that only a trek through a revolution-torn city to find his favorite pastries – as well as a not-quite-chance encounter with a certain demon – had been able to calm him down again.

Then, a commendation. Congratulations on performing your job perfectly as always.

And now, a “meditative retreat” – five months alone to think about what he should and shouldn’t be using his powers to achieve. No miracles allowed.

A month and a half in, he’d decided – he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Take the most simple of duties: sometimes, he was assigned to keep a person safe.

Did that mean use a miracle to stop them from being injured? Or to heal them afterwards? Or was he supposed to guide them, miracle-free, as if he were another human? Do what seems best, he’d be told, but what seemed best to him never seemed best to anyone else.

Or protecting himself – his corporation, rather, since Aziraphale’s true self was rarely in danger. Could he use a miracle to avoid a dangerous situation? Heal himself from an injury? Was his body the same as a human body, or less valuable? Was all this a waste of Heaven’s resources when he could simply get a new body? How many miracles were equal to one body, anyway?

Questions he shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t have to ask. He should just know. Angels received their orders, obeyed them, and chose the best course of action, because that’s what angels did.

Angels weren’t supposed to get confused.

But Aziraphale did. All the time. What did that make him?

--

Crowley preferred to do everything by miracle.

Need new clothes? Manifest them.

Need money? There it is.

Food? Never bothered to learn to cook. When he was hungry, he pulled fully prepared meals out of the nearest cupboard.

Hell rarely tracked exactly what he did, as long as he could demonstrate evil had been accomplished.

But they did track where he was, using miracles. It didn’t do to be more than a few miles from where you were supposed to be.

This wasn’t anywhere near Venice, which was a pity, because he’d rather like to be in Venice right now.

He stared around the bakery. “I don’t know. Just get me several things that are hot and edible.” He had a list, but it wasn’t helping. “Do you have a…stuffing? Or butter?”

“You can get butter from the general store,” the baker’s wife offered, putting together his packages.

“No. The shop person said they didn’t have any dairy.”

“He just meant milk and cream. They’ll have butter, and cheese if you want it.”

Crowley dragged the heel of his hand across his forehead. He’d lived in agricultural societies. He knew perfectly well that butter and cheese were both dairy. “Fine. I’ll go back. How about the stuffing?”

“You’ll want to make your own.”

“Really don’t.”

“I can give you a family recipe!” She started writing in pencil on the brown wrapping of one of the packages. “You’ll need ground beef, sausage…”

A few minutes later, Crowley opened the door to the bitter cold wind outside, making all the bells in the wreath jangle up and down his already-raw nerves.

Chk-chk-chk

He paused, cracked his neck, and kept walking.

--

Aziraphale finally had to return to the cabin, as the snow had piled up higher than his feet.

Only a single room – wood stove, table and benches, rug; there was a bed even though he didn’t sleep, a few pots and pans even though there was no food. 

No chair. No books. Well, one book.

Gabriel had left him a journal, and pen and ink. Encouraged him to write down his thoughts.

Aziraphale thought best when he was reading, talking, engaging with someone or something. For the first few weeks, he’d talked to himself a lot, arguing with the empty room, having mock conversations, even reciting poetry he had memorized.

But slowly the oppressive quiet had settled across his soul. And he found himself picking up the pen to write –

What? What could he write about? His doubts? His confusion? What would he even say?

When it got to be too much, he tried drawing, sketching out what he could see. That helped a little, but once he’d scribbled down images of the room, the hills outside, the one tree he liked to walk to…well, he was back to the same dilemma, what to write?

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to list a few questions. Just so he could think about the answers.

--

Chk-chk-chk

The door of the last shop slammed behind Crowley, bells clattering. Shaking his head to clear it, he checked his list one more time. It looked like he had everything, though the ink was already smudging where snowflakes fell on it.

He settled the packages into the sled, tucking a blanket all around them, and pulled up the collar of his coat against the biting wind.

“Better leave room for yourself,” said the kid.

Crowley looked him up and down. Seventeen or so, son of the man who had rented him the sled and horse. He was supposed to drive it out and return with it.

“Nope. I’m driving, you’re staying.”

“That’s not how this works. We only have a few, and we need to be able to get supplies out in an emergency –”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Crowley handed over a pile of money. “This should cover the sled and the horse, in case I don’t come back. Plus a bit. Give it to your dad.” He considered the kid another moment. “You have, I don’t know, a girl you like? Boy? Anything?” The kid tried to give him a stubborn, blank look, but some of that pink wasn’t just from the cold. “Whatever, not my business.” Crowley handed over the rest of his money, saving only what he would need to get back to London. “Give him, her, or them something nice. Cheers.”

While the kid was still staring at the pile of money, Crowley climbed onto the runners of the sled and took the reins in both hands.

Chk-chk-chk

He felt that one in his stomach.

With another jingling of sleigh bells, he shook the reins –

And nothing happened.

“Go.”

Nothing.

“Move, horse!”

Now it was just embarrassing.

The kid leaned against the sled. “Are you sure? I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I don’t!” He jerked the reins back, trying to ignore the way the sound of bells hammered into his spine. “But no one can know where I’m going.”

With a shrug, the kid shoved the money into his pocket. “Pull on one side, gently, to turn. Not too sudden, it’ll tip over. Whoa to slow down, walk to go, and remember, you’re in charge.” He winked, and walked away with a swagger that wasn’t quite as good as the demon’s, but better suited to over six inches of snowfall.

Clutching the reins again, Crowley called: “Walk.  WALK!” He shook them hard. “COME ON YOU BLESSED HORSE, WALK!”

Nothing moved.

--

Once Aziraphale had started writing, it was hard to stop.

Page after page. Whatever entered his mind.

It was nice just seeing the ink flow.

Hearing the scratch of the pen fill the silence.

--

Crowley got off the back of the sled and walked up to the horse, grabbing it by the bridle. “Listen, here, you, I am in charge!”

The horse snorted and stomped directly onto his foot.

“Nghaa that was not – ugh!”

The horse shook its head, jingling the bells again and again until Crowley was ready to tear his own ears off, until Crowley let go and stepped back.

The horse lashed its tail.

“Look, fine.” Crowley grumbled trying to stand where the horse could see him clearly, despite the snow that was now falling thick. “You’re in charge if that’s what you want. But I need to get somewhere. I should have been there hours ago. Days ago. You are my only way of getting there. I have nothing to bribe you with. I promise, you get fed either way, you get brushed either way, and you will absolutely get enough apples and sugar to make you sick because I’m not doing anything else with those.”

He reached out a hand to touch the horse. He had lived in agricultural societies, but he was much more comfortable around the crops and plants than the animals. Still, rather to his surprise, the horse let him stroke its nose. “Please. This is more important than you can imagine. Just get me there.”

He stepped back onto the runners, picked up the reins. “Walk.”

The horse didn’t walk. It moved much quicker than that.

--

Aziraphale lay down his pen, wiggling his fingers after all that writing. There were a lot of words on the page. Perhaps he should read over them.

He found himself walking back to the door, stepping into the silent night outside again.

The snow was falling so fast it was almost a physical thing, blocking his view even where the light from the door should have been enough to see the edge of the woods. It spilled across the porch, piled at the corners of the cottage.

And still, everything was so quiet. Even the wind, which had picked up, seemed to carry only the flakes and not any sound –

Were those sleigh bells?

A moment later a horse came into view – one of the small, sturdy northern breeds – pushing on through the unbroken snow, pressing through the storm with determined strides, pulling behind it a small sled and clinging to the back of that –

“Crowley?”

“Whoa,” called the dark figure. “Whoa – I said whoa! We’re here!”

With a final jingle of bells, the horse stopped in front of the porch, and Crowley fell backwards, off the sled runners and into the snow.

“Crowley! What the Hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Angel.”

“You’re supposed to be in Italy!”

“Yeah, I am. No, don’t worry, I can pick myself up.” He started to rise, then stumbled again.

Aziraphale rushed forward. “I’m – I didn’t realize – what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Bloody sleigh bells. Chase off evil spirits.” He clasped Aziraphale’s hand, pulling himself up. “I’ll be fine, just need to get a drink and warm up.”

“Of course, but – I don’t have any food or drink.”

With a very tired grin, Crowley tossed aside the blanket in the sled. “Happy Christmas, Angel.”

--

Crowley had needed to compromise on a few things.

He had the goose, and what he was assured were all the ingredients needed for stuffing and gravy.

Potatoes, brussels sprouts, and parsnips had been easy to find; and something he was almost certain was redcurrant sauce.

There had been no plum pudding this far from England, or mince pies, or fruitcake – though he wasn’t certain fruitcake was something you bought, it was possible all fruitcakes already existed and were simply eternally exchanged. He had managed to get a variety of sweet pastries.

Lots of wine.

And two bundles of books – the ones he had picked out at stops on the way, and the ones he had taken from the shop. Aziraphale shouldn’t have been surprised Crowley knew his favorites, but the demon was pleased at his smile either way.

There were two things to take care of first.

Crowley spied the notebook as soon as he stepped in. He only glanced at it long enough to see that Aziraphale had written a lot.

Then he picked it up and dropped it into the flames of the stove.

“Crowley! That was a private journal!”

“No it wasn’t.” He pulled off his glasses and glared at Aziraphale. “What did you think, they were going to let you keep that? Ask you to tell them the important parts? They left you here alone to write your own confession.”

Aziraphale clenched his teeth, didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like it.” Crowley grumbled. “They’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what’s changed.”

The other issue was the horse.

“No, I can’t have a horse in the cabin!”

“You can’t leave it outside, Angel, it’s a storm!”

“I thought you didn’t even like horses.”

“I don’t! But this one got me here and…” Crowley shrugged. “And it’s as much of a bloody-minded stubborn bastard as you are, so you’ll probably get along.”

Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley could see him start to give in. “How am I supposed to hide the fact that there’s been a horse in here when Gabriel gets back? We can’t miracle it clean.”

“Eh, just tell him some traveler lost in the storm stayed here a while. It’ll be true enough.”

--

And so, with the horse in the corner working through its feed bag and having the night of its life, Crowley and Aziraphale set about figuring out how to make a Christmas dinner.

It wouldn’t be perfect.

Neither of them had ever cooked without miracles before. There was immediately an argument over how one peeled a potato, and what exactly stuffing was for, really.

It wouldn’t be perfect.

But the jangle of the bells had ended, the silence had been driven from the cabin, and once again they were together.

And that, in a way, was perfect.

[theotherbloodfart]

Hey there! I love your blog and the way you write IT. I was wondering if you'd do a fic where he reunites with a victim he knew as a child. Maybe she wasn't afraid of him so there was nothing in it for him? Idk i just, am really in love with this idea and would love to see ypu bring it to life

ITinktober Day 15 Token

Yes I'm shamelessly killing 2 birds with one stone lol. This is also a part one. Wrote this to Falling Down by The Deadlights

The child stumbles in the darkness. She is long past screaming. For days she has wandered in the sewers. Lost. Missing. Her hunger has ebbed her to trembling weakness. And, although she thirsts, she cannot bring herself to drink the grey water she hobbles thru. Her little fingers trace shapes in the slimy walls of the pipeline as she walks along. She has long grown accustomed to the stench of this place, her watering eyes already nearly swollen closed from crying. And she doesn’t realize……. She is being watched.

…………………………………………….

It slathers hungry foam into the water below It’s jaws. This child is practically salting herself! For days It has watched her. For days It has restrained Itself from consuming her. Possessed by an insectile curiosity, It has observed her reactions to this very literal and tangeable sensory deprivation. Has watched her sob for the light. Beg for her birth giver. Has slapped It’s knobby claws to It’s maw to stifle It’s delighted chitters.

This, It’s brutal and cruel experiment, this missing child crawling around in the pitch darkness of these sewers. It’s realm. Searching for hope. Searching for the light.

And she shall certainly find light. It snaps It’s fanged buck teeth into It’s knuckles, sniveling thru the droplets of blood which float into the nostrils of It’s button nose, relishing in the cracking sound of breaking bone, in a nearly vain attempt to silence It’s wicked joy. Oh yes. She shall find light. Deadlight. It scampers off, the sound of It splashing away making the child swoon with terror at its echoing liquid noise.

It feeds now. Sating It’s eternal hunger momentarily on a whelpling foolish enough to stray too far from his mother. These blithering mortals are nearly too easy. But that’s why It likes them so well! Easy pickings! It picks loose flesh and sinew from It’s fangs to chew on them again. So sweet! Luscious innocent fear! Yet It returns to her quickly. She is rarely alone in this darkness, tho it might very well be better for her if she was. It feeds off of her terror, slurping and suckling off the raw emotion which peppers the air. Until one day……. The fear is gone.

It hisses and twists in the grey water of It’s abode as she passes mere meters away. Where has the fear gone? No more sweet pristine fear is this emotion. Only hollow coldness. The thing has finally given up. Such a shame. It supposes It must eat the thing now. No more fun. Can’t have the thing stumbling out into the world. Can’t have the thing recovering to live out its pathetic existence. Such a waste! But perhaps a few more drops of succulent fear can be wrung from the thing.

…………………………………………

A tiny light appears before her. She rubs her eyes with her grubby fingers before looking upon it fully. It buzzes and bips along… like a firefly. She should feel joy. Relief even. But even in her child’s mind she knows this cannot be so. Does not trust this. Yet follows anyway. This tiny light draws her onward, she stumbles over debris in the water and nearly falls, yet clambers upright and continues onward. Reaching out, supplicating with her hands. She doesn’t realize she’s out of the water until the tiny light fades away. She cries again, waterless thirsty sobs. Until she realizes she is no longer in complete darkness. There is a light, dim but sure, drifting down from a source far above.

Her eyes widen and her little mouth parts in dumb joy. She slowly makes her way into the vast room. There is a massive pile of old discarded objects in the middle of this place.

The next thing she sees makes her freeze. There are people floating! They appear to be sleeping. He childish mind wonders if this is what happens when one dreams. Does she float as she sleeps?

The sound of tiny tinkling bells brings her eyes to a large wagon. The paint on the side is faded but she can barely make out the letters. She spells it and sounds it out as she approaches it.

“P. E. N. N. Y. W. I. S. E. Penny. Wisey.”

“Very good, Ellie.” The sing song voice makes her jerk around. There standing spotless among the refuse, is a clown. Not like any clown she’s ever seen before tho. Lanky and thin, crouched on one knee, his hands folded primly on his upraised knee. He is dressed in a silver costume very much like the very old dolls she had seen in an antique store once. His eyes are the most brilliant periwinkle blue she has ever seen. They shine from his white painted face, nestled above cherub like cheeks. His red lips are parted in the most unusual smile she has ever seen. The lower lip droops almost in a u shape.

She laughs, claps her hands delightedly and runs to him. His smile fades for the briefest of moments before immediately righting itself. He holds his arms open to her approach as if waiting for a hug.

………………………………………..

It allows her embrace, not returning it, merely draping It’s arms around her as she cries into It’s neck ruff. Where the fuck is her fear? It knows children are trained from birth to avoid strangers. And It’s favorite form is garish even for a stranger. And yet this tiny thing radiates…… not fear……. Something else. Something It has never felt from a human. It has scented this before. It has scented this from the creatures prostrate at their houses of worship where they supplicate some nameless thing. Some ancient deity in the stars. Foolish.

And yet this emotion radiating from this tiny human is……. Flattering…… it feels pride. A different pride than the paltry smattering after a kill. This…… this is heady. ‘She thinks I am a god.’ It chitters and shakes It’s head, causing It’s bells to jingle and spittle to drizzle into her hair.

…………………………………………..

Ellie pulls back arms length from him.

“You’re not a clown are you.” It was a statement rather than a question. “You saved me. Are you my guardian angel?” He hisses in barely repressed laughter.

“Hardly child. But I shall be your friend if you wish?” He places his massive gloved hands on her shoulders and turns her to face the wagon. He then places his chin on her shoulder, making his sightline only a little higher than hers. His soft ginger hair tickles her ear. Raising a silk finger he points at the letters and says the words slowly.

“Pennywise The Dancing Clown.”

When she turns to him again his eyes are glowing golden orbs, one still looking at the wagon, and the other focusing on her eyes.

“Your eyes are pretty Mr Pennywise.” This makes the straying eye snap to hers as well. He tilts his head, looking down at her.

He jerks and snorts from some internal struggle, his face losing its solidity for a moment before righting itself. Lines of spit drip onto his neck ruff.

“Are you hungry too? I….. I don’t have any food. I’m sorry.” Her face lowers.

He uses a hooked gloved finger to tip her face back up.

“Noooooooooo.” He freezes. Much too long, his irises wandering outwards before refocusing. “But I bet you are, aren’t you Ellie?”

Her stomach growls loudly as she nods. He stands stiffly lifting her as well. Lifting her high to sit on his shoulders. She can not possibly know that this was because this entity knows It will devour her if she remains in line with It’s mouth.

They are silent as he walks her out of the sewers and into daylight, before setting her gently near the edge of the barrens where It knows that an adult will soon find her.

“Aren’t you coming too Mr Pennywise?” Her eyes are soulful.

“I’m afraid not Ellie. I am an angel of the sewers unfortunately. But here. Take a little Token to remember your friend Pennywise by won’t you?” He proffers a large red balloon. She takes it and smiles up at him before turning to walk away.

……………………………………….

“You visit ole Pennywise any time!” It’s hold on this town, and a quick sweep of the mind of the whelpling's father tells It that as soon as the girl is returned they shall be leaving Derry.

It feels inner confusion and rage at It’s own actions. It had released a perfectly good meal! No matter. It waves a hand in a huff before slinking back into the sewer.

[softlyblues]

The music wraps around the trees, hanging off the branches, playing with the dangling leaves and teasing the sky. It pours down to meet me, hanging off my fingertips, dancing along my shoulders, and the cold heat of it makes me shiver, makes me yelp in fear and discomfort. Something is running to find me, and I am out of breath - I can no longer outrun it.

I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I need to escape it, them, him, her, or I won’t leave the woods alive. 

***

The first impression I get of Ireland is the first impression most people get of Ireland. It is raining and it is cold, and the sun is hidden behind thick grey clouds, and the wet is seeping into my boots and through the strip of fabric between my hood and my neck. My knuckles are blue around the handle of my suitcase, and my thumbs have turned white without circulation. 

“This is the house,” says the man driving the car we’re in, the window-wipers scraping tunefully across the windscreen every half-second to combat the downpour.

He is called Joshua Raleigh, and he’s who I’ve been in contact with over the last year to finalise the purchase of the aforementioned house. Today is the first time I’ve met him, and I’m surprised - my head had conjured a greasy estate agent, red-cheeked and wet-haired, hair dye and cheap suits, and Raleigh is none of those things. He’s young and sandy blonde and he’s wearing an unbranded red polo neck with bleached blue jeans, muddy at the cuffs. A wedding ring on his finger, and a hole in his left ear where a piercing must normally sit. 

Part of our agreement had been that he pick me up at Dublin Airport and drive me the rest of the way to the house, and I’d been dreading small talk with the real estate agent of my nightmares, but the drive has been quite pleasant - weather chat, talk about families, about Ireland, about how much Raleigh enjoys working around the little village I’m moving to. About his wife, his newborn baby. 

“Where?” I ask. All I see outside are trees, turning golden. Toast in the mornings.

Trees, and rain. 

“Through there - the drive is pretty long, but you’ll see it in two seconds,” Raleigh leans forward over the steering wheel and smiles, top teeth sticking out over his bottom lip. “There!”

I copy his pose, peering around the trunk of a peeling tree, curiosity itching out at me. I’ve only seen the house in pictures, and Raleigh’s been more than accommodating with a digital camera and the services of gmail, but seeing it in person is different. The house, the whole reason I’ve uprooted and left without much of a word to anyone. 

He says house, but in truth it’s more of a cottage. Nestled in the woods near the village of Kilnaloe, it stands a little rough and ready, surrounded by hedge plants gone wild, birch trees far taller than the house itself, ivy wrapping around the doorframe like a green embrace. It’s grey stone, and would look a bit forbidding if not for the shiny yellow door, the cheerful square windows, the red bricks squaring off the corners. The leaded roof; the squat chimney. It peers from between the trees like a curious animal, not particularly frightened of us, like it knows it’s stronger than us.

“Is it what you thought?” Raleigh has pulled up on the leafy patch by the door, a place I can imagine parking. He’s smiling across the car at me. 

“Absolutely,” I breathe, my hands fisted in the material of my shirt so as not to do something really stupid, like flail and whack Raleigh in the face. “It looks just like the pictures!”

He laughs softly. “I can give you your key now, if you’d like. You can ring me if you want a lift into town proper - I know you didn’t get that much notice, and if you want to sort something out at the car dealership -”

“I’ll ring you,” I promise. I’ve google-mapped it, and the walk from the cottage into Kilnaloe is just less than an hour, doable if I fancy killing time. Raleigh has already done so much for me, from the pickup at the airport to the endless emails and negotiating on my behalf, and I fancy the idea of a walk through the place I intend to stay in, and finally make home. 

“So you want the keys now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Raleigh gets out of the car and slams the door, and I follow suit, my brown boots crunching the brown leaves into the brown mud, different shades convalescing into one. “Miss Delilah Hale,” he says, jokingly sincere, “It is my utmost pleasure that I, Joshua Raleigh, should present to you the keys of your new estate. My deepest wish is for you to enjoy it as the occupants of the mists of time did before you-”

I hold my hand out, palm up, smiling. “Thanks for the speech.”

When he drops the keys into my hand, already keyringed with a little Raleigh & Simpson Estates fob, I shake them to hear the jingle. “Call me Lilah,” I add, as I’ve already had to remind him once at the airport. “Please.”

“Lilah, then,” he says. “Do you want me to show you around? Check everything is in order? The movers came a bit earlier than we thought, but we got the boxes in all right and there’s no damp in the house.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I assure him, and although he seems eager to help me I can’t help but notice the way he shifts from foot to foot. It’s been a three hour drive from Dublin, and he must have been up ridiculously early to make the drive on time and collect me. “I can show myself around just fine if you want to go home-”

“But ring me-”

“And I’ll ring you if I need anything,” I finish. “Thank you.”

“You have my number?”

“I have your number,” I wave my phone at him. Joshua Raleigh New House is how he’s saved in my contacts, although there isn’t anyone else I could confuse him with, what with the embarrassingly short length of the list of numbers. “Can I grab my-?”

“Oh, yeah!”

He lifts out my travelling case from his boot, setting it gently in the frosted mud, the airport stickers already peeling and fraying from the curled handle. “Grand?”

“I’ll ring you,” I say again, and he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his short-shorn hair. In the three hours we’ve spoken in person, he’s come across as friendly to the extreme, careful and wary, and pleased to have finally met me. 

The sound of his car is quick to fade through the woods when he’s finally reassured enough to leave, the trees swallowing the noise whole with their rustling, smoothing it over like disturbed dirt after a funeral. Back to silence. Not quite - back to the noise of the woods, and the trees, growing and whispering and settling in their own pace, taking no notice of me or my case or the cottage or the keys, a world so removed they couldn’t care less. It’s peaceful. 

It’s exactly what I asked for. 

Inside the cottage is just like the pictures I made Raleigh take for me, countless angles and times of day and positions of furniture and so on, from the first time I saw the cottage on his website until just a few weeks before my plane landed in Dublin. Part of the charm was - is - that it comes furnished, and I don’t have to mess around with visits to Ikea and DFS and Argos and the Salvation Army looking for discarded chairs and ugly tables and stupid novelty light fixtures to turn something bare into a home, something I know I don’t have the energy for. 

So. The cottage. Inside the door I kick off my boots, setting them under the little hall table, a place where a landline phone sits off its hook, a little sticky notepad rests dust-covered and half-used, and a mirror hangs over, framed in silver wiring and hardly spotting at all. It’s too dusty to properly see through, though, and I wipe my finger on the surface: Lilah, I write, like a child breathing on a bus window to draw pictures on a cold morning. Through the lettering I see only glimpses of myself; the orange scarf I’m wearing, the red cold of the tip of my nose, the wisps of reddish-brown escaping from the ponytail I tied my hair in this morning.

I move further in. 

Raleigh is right, my moving boxes have arrived before me; they’re strewn halfway up the carpeted stairs, all across the hall, and spill into the two doors on the bottom floor as well. I never thought I had that many things until I had to pack them all away, silly useless collections that come from having been alive for a decade or three, things I couldn’t get rid of. Books and toys and clothes and clutter. 

I pop my head into the dark kitchen, cast my eyes over the oak table, the few chairs scattered around the flagstone floor, the oil cooker nestled in the hearth, ash turned to rock there from years of abandonment. Familiar to me from Raleigh - 

As is the other room on the ground floor, a large wooden-floored living room with seventies sofas spread out in front of the empty fireplace, paintings of muddy cows hanging on the wall, embroidered home samplers framed in their messy hoops, hung on withering strings. Now I’m excited to explore, and now I know I’m properly alone - 

Up the stairs. They creak comfortingly under my socks. Bedroom, bathroom, tiny study, a little storage space for the clutter. Spiders move away from my invasion, my rude disturbance into their home, and I do my best not to knock them from their spaces. There’s a bed, a heavy queen nestled in the crook of the far wall, where the roof slopes most severely, and I’ll need to get sheets and a proper duvet before I can sleep there tonight. Chest of drawers, wardrobe, mirror, carpeted floor, another fireplace with the grate hooked high against the empty space. A bookshelf mostly empty. 

The study is much the same, a sturdy oak desk under a window that gives me a view of the trees outside. Branches tap at the glass, seeking entry. A bookshelf, a few paintings, dark wooden floorboards. It’s pretty and airy all the same, the wallpaper yellow with a pattern of faded pink roses, delightfully seventies. 

Although none of it is really new to me, what with Raleigh’s pictures, it’s enough to make me smile happily, spread my hands over the windowsill burdened with bluebottle corpses. At last I’m here - here to stay. 

__________

so that’s the intro! i’m doing something completely new to me, which is original fiction in first person with a female main character... so i have to keep on brand in the big things. ireland, celtic gods, the woods, you know the drill. i had a lot of fun writing delilah and though she’s a little stiff in these first few parts, she comes into her own! joshua raleigh is also a cool dude. i hope you enjoyed this little excerpt! 

(twitter sweetlyblue) (ao3 softlyblue) (dm for commission details)

[ventrue-rosary]

A Flower of a Different Colour

A re-upload of this post since its broken on tumblr mobile

Autumn is mine, Kevir belongs to @theravensprince

Ko-Fi

Beepbebebeep!  Beepbebebeep! 

Autumn flings her arm ungracefully out to the alarm obnoxiously intruding upon her morning. Her fingers scrabble for the off-button, leaving her in blessed silence. 

She rolls over with a sigh, her eyes peeking open. The digital clock reads 6:30.

Autumn stretches her sleep-heavy arms and sits up, rubbing at her swollen eyes. As always, she crosses her bedroom to her windowsill, watering her cacti, succulents and pot of creeping ivy climbing up the wall next to her window. She smiles as she gently traces the leaves with her hands. Satisfied with her work, she readies herself for the day. By 7:30 she is out of her apartment, and making her way to work. Though young, she is the proud owner and worker of her own florist shop: A Rose Without Thorns. She opens shop as the sleepy neighbourhood rouses, workers sleepily stumbling to their workplace and parents sheparding their children to school. 

As with most weekdays with no major holidays on the horizon, the morning crawls by, only a few of her regulars coming by for a single flower or pot or just for a chat. As usual, her mother stops by late morning for a bouquet of roses and to drop off some of her favourite snacks.  By lunch time, work crawls by to a complete stop, but it does give her time to perfect the arrangements of the flowers outside, then slowly work her way through the inside of the shop. 

The bell above the door rings. Autumn looks up from her work to see someone a far cry from her usual clientèle.

A purple winged tiefling steps into her establishment; black jeans, black leather jacket and black combat boots that stomp heavily across the wooden floor. Tousled hair perfect frames his angular face, and impossibly dark eyes sweep across the room until they find Autumn. 

She then realises she is still knelt on the floor, openly staring. 

‘Oh--’ She averts her gaze and jumps to her feet, smoothing down the frills of here mini-apron as she hurries behind the counter. 

‘Welcome! Let me know if I can help you with anything.’

‘I’m looking to buy flowers for a pretty girl,’ he says, his voice pleasant and accented. 

‘Oh? How lovely! Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?’ Her shoulder unclench as some of the anxiety drains from her body. If he came to make trouble he likely already would have done so.

‘Not yet. What would you recommend?’

‘Roses are always a safe bet. Red roses, if it's a romantic gesture. You see, different colour roses have different meaning behind them. Pink for friendship, orange for familial bonds, white for purity and spirituality--’ She tapers off with a blush as she beholds his amused smile. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling.’

‘That's alright. I was enjoying listening to you.’

Autumn feel her blush deepen. 

He picks up a large red bouquet. ‘May I ask your name?’ he asks as he hands her the money. 

‘Huh? I-oh. My names Autumn.’

‘Autumn? Fitting. I’m Kevir. Keep the change.’

‘O-ok, thank you.’

He grins at her one last time before he leaves her shop, leaving a very flustered Autumn. 

~

As 5pm rolls around, Autumn begins to close shop, still thinking about her encounter with Kevir. She doesn't like to think of herself as judgemental, but she had thought of him as trouble when he first walked in. How wrong she had been. 

She finds herself wondering about the girl he mentioned. She hopes she appreciated his gift. 

Autumn double checks the doors are locked and turns around--right into Kevir. She squeals in shock, nearly falling right to the ground. 

‘S--sorry!’

‘I didn't mean to scare you. I did call your name a few times, didn't you hear me?’

She notices Kevir still holds the bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

‘Oh, did you want to return them? I’m sorry, you’ll have to return tomorrow--I just closed up.’

‘No, I didn't want to return them--I wanted to give them to you.’ He holds out the flowers to her

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I bought them for you. Take them.’

‘T-thank you?’

He gives her a wink and walks away, eventually heading into the tattoo parlour further down the road. 

When Autumn examines the bouquet in her hands she spots writing on the card:

07113246589

Call me! ; ) 

-Kevir

Autumn makes a noise of disbelief. He couldn't be serious. He isn’t.  Is he? She  shoves the card in her bag before making her way home. 

~

The TV drones on in the background, going unnoticed by Autumn who stares at the roses that have found a home in the vase on her coffee table. She glances at her bag across the sofa. 

She abruptly drags her eyes away, trying to focus on the drama playing on the screen. Trying and failing. 

Autumn snatches her bag and drags it over to her, pushing aside her purse, makeup and the snacks her mother had given her until she finds the small, crumpled card. 

She smoothes it over her thigh as she holds her phone in her other hand. Her finger hesitates over the digits on her screen as doubt begins to cloud her judgement.

‘Oh just do it,’ she hisses at herself

She dials before she changes her mind. Each enduring trill of the ringtone quickens her heartbeat. Then it stops with a click. She holds her breath. 

‘Hello?’

Autumn hangs up with a scream. Her head falls into her palms with a groan. She has basically committed social suicide with this guy. A good-looking seemingly kind man interested in her and she screamed down the phone at him. 

The ringing and vibrating of her phone draws her attention back to her coffee table, Kevir’s number displayed on the screen. 

She watches it ring in silent panic until it stops. She breathes in relief. Then it rings again. She turns off her phone, ending the predicament altogether. She likely had already put him off, what further harm could she do by ghosting him? 

Autumn hugs her knees to her chest, wishing she had the courage to hold a conversation with him. She let's herself fall limp on her side, still clutching her knees. Eventually, sleep finds her. 

Autumn returns to work the following morning, business as usual minus her sullied mood. She is still mad at herself for being an awkward coward. 

Around 2 hours after she opened, Kevir enters. A thousand emotions fly through her at once at their meeting, mostly abstract fear. 

‘O-oh , mood gorn--good morning!’

‘Morning yourself.’ He leans his elbows on the counter, mere inches away from her. ‘Did you, uh, did you call me last night?’

‘H-huh?’ Her voice is a few octaves higher than usual. ‘No, of course not!’ 

‘Oh,’ Kevir deflates. ‘I see.’

‘I--I mean, I wanted to!! I, um, I dropped my phone yesterday. Screen-down, it shattered, totally unusable.’

Kevir doesn't look convinced. Of course he isn’t, she's a terrible liar. 

‘I’m… I’m glad you came to see me today.’ Autumn’s changing of subject is likely very obvious, but at least she is speaking honestly now. 

‘I’m glad to see you.’ His smile is disarming. ‘Say, wanna get lunch together?’

‘Y-yes I would like that.’ She smiles shyly, toying with her hair to avoid looking him in the eye. 

‘Perfect. See you in a few hours.’

Autumn doesn't look up until she hears the bell jingle as he leaves, the smile still stuck on her face. 

She looks up at the clock. Midday can’t come soon enough. 

~

Kevir returns around 12, and Autumn feels her heart flutter as he enters. 

‘Ready?’

‘One moment!’ She pulls on her apron strings, folding it onto the chair behind the counter. She fetches her shoulder bag from the back room and takes a moment to check her reflection. She shakes her bangs and uses her fingers to even them out over her brow, smoothes down her hair and applies just a bit of lip gloss. She only wishes she had worn something a bit more exciting than a white blouse and black mini-skirt. 

‘OK, ready!’

‘Let's go. I know a little place.’

Kevir takes her to a cute cosy cafe a few blocks down, named The Pot and the Kettle. Not many patrons inside, but it means they can snag the cosiest chairs; two impossibly soft, large armchairs close to the fire with a large table between them. Being a rather tepid spring, there is no fire but there is still something comforting about it. 

A cute elven waitress takes their orders. Kevir orders black coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. Autumn asks for a white chocolate mocha and matcha pound cake. 

Kevir tilts his head at her order. ‘Sweet tooth?’

‘Very much so! I love sweets, chocolate and baked goods… Oh that must seem childish.’

‘Not at all! Food doesn’t have an age limit. I have a soft spot for them myself.’

The waitress returns with their orders. ‘Let me know if I can get you anything else,’ she says in a husky purr, talking exclusively to Kevir.

‘Thanks,’ Kevir answers, giving her only a cursory, polite look. 

He takes off his leather jacket, revealing his tattoo sleeves. Autumn daintly gasps as she beholds the artwork displayed in his skin; twisting, connected pieces of dragons, weaponry like arrows, tortured faces, skulls and even some flowers interlocked and interwoven into one overarching gothic scene. The collar of his shirt is open enough to see the tip of a black feathered wing brushing just beneath his collarbone.

‘You have so many tattoos,’ she says in awe, reaching out for his skin before remembering herself. ‘Ah, I’m sorry!’

Her hands returns to her lap, where she tugs and fiddled with the rings on her fingers.

Kevir laughs in response, straightening his arms out on the table for her. ‘It’s alright. Touch me if you like.’

Autumn hesitantly reaches out with one hand, the other clutched into a fist over her chest. Her index fingers brushes against the smooth skin of his forearm. Where the tattoos are, the skin is slightly raised, but still just as soft. Her finger follows the design of the sleeve down to the back of his hand, impossibly smooth. 

‘No one has hands this soft!’ The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself. ‘Oh God, that was a very weird thing to say...sorry. I just…’

Kevir rotates his hand on top of hers, smoothing his fingers over her skin. ‘Your hands are this soft.’

She glances up shyly, her flustered mind failing to come up with a response. She slides her hand out from under his, returning it to her lap, once more fidgeting with her rings. What is happening here?

‘Did it hurt?’ she asks after a short silence, still staring at his arms.

‘A little. Tattoos don’t hurt as much as everyone thinks they will. Would you like one?’

‘Eh!?’

‘I’ll give you one for free if you give me some flowers. How about it?’

‘...Could I choose what to get?’

‘Of course. And where you get it.’

‘O-ok...I guess I could get a little one somewhere...a flower maybe?’

‘Perfect! We’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘T-tomorrow? So soon?’

‘Would you rather wait?’

‘No, no tomorrow is fine.’ Her heart thunders in her chest as she says those words.  Autumn has never had good experiences with needles. ‘What kind of flowers would you like?’

‘Hmm…’ Kevir drums his fingers as he considers. ‘Surprise me. Get me some flowers you think I’d like.’

He reclines in his chair with an easy smirk, Autumn’s mind already firing off numerous ideas for species and colours.

She smiles as an idea occurs to her. ‘I think you’ll like what I have planned.’

‘Am I that easy to read?’ He sounds amused.

‘I mean...when I first saw you I thought you were going to be some ruffian who would make some trouble for me or destroy my shop’

Kevir looks less amused now, quizzing her with a raised eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry! I was wrong to be so judgemental! I don’t usually get many young people in my shop, And you carried yourself with such confidence, almost cocky. Clearly I read you wrong. So no, not easy to read…’

‘And what do you think of me now?’

He’s enjoying this, she realises. She is so very obviously crushing on him.

‘Um…’ Her fingers clench into fists as they clutch the soft material of her skirt. ‘Well, I don’t know you very well, but obviously you are very kind, a-and…’ 

‘You’re right, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Swap stories?’

‘I’m not terribly interesting…’ she murmurs, her hnads clenching even tighter.

‘I’m sure I would disagree. Tell me about yourself.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘Well, you know my name is Autumn. My parents, half-elf and tiefling live on the outskirts of the city. My mother is a model, my father her bodyguard. I have a twin brother in university. I like cute animals, sweet food and flowers. See? Not interesting…’

‘You're so cute.’ Kevir smiles genuinely, his head tilted as he stares at her. ‘Your mother is a model?’

Autumn nods, blushing. ‘My mother is Amaranthe Darcelle. You might have heard of her.’

‘Your mother is Amaranthe Darcelle? That must be where you got your beauty.’

‘Beauty?’ Autumn sputters.

Kevir nods. Autumn takes a large swig of her coffee, trying to buy herself some time as she tries to think of some sort of response.

She places her cup back on its saucer. ‘I, um. I think you're very handsome.’

‘Thank you. It makes me happy you think that.’

‘So you never told me about yourself,’ she says, busying herself with her cake to avoid having to look him in the eye. At this rate she was going to explode.

‘You’re in luck. I love talking about myself to beautiful women.’ Kevir reclines in his chair with a smile.

~

Autumn let's out a gasp as she looks at the clock. ‘It’s already been two hours??’

Kevir follows her gaze to the clock, looking as shocked as she feels. ‘It really doesn't feel like its been that long.’

‘Uhm, bill, please!’ She calls to the waitress. ‘I should be getting back to my shop.’

‘As should I.’

The waitress puts down a small silver tray with their bill on top. Kevir shakes his head at her as she pulls out her purse.

‘Put that away. I’m paying.’

‘I should at least pay for myself…’

‘This was my idea. So it’ll be my treat.’

‘Ok, thank you.’

They hover for a moment outside the cafe, neither really wanting to go back to work.

‘Thanks for today. I had fun getting to know you,’ Autumn said.

‘And I you.’

Kevir leans down closer and presses a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek. Autumn let's out a small gasp as her entire body freezes. The heat crawls up her neck up to her face and even her ears.

Kevir clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I should have asked first. I’ll see you tomorrow?’

He stumbles off without awaiting her reply. Autumn slowly raises one hand to her cheek, caressing the space his lips had just touched.

‘See you soon,’ she whispers absently to empty air.

~

Autumn takes a bunch of white roses home with her, remembering her deal with Kevir. She sets up large glasses of dye; black, purple and blue, cuts open the stems and evenly divided the rose's between them. Curling up on the sofa, she stares at the roses, hoping he will like them, until the call of sleep is too strong to ignore.

The next day arrives, bringing with it sunshine and happy thoughts. Autumn hums a small tune to herself as she goes about her morning routine, all her thoughts focused on yesterday's...date? Was it a date? Is it too early or presumptuous to call it such? 

Autumn ties the rose's together with a red ribbon, tying it into an attractive bow. Then she sets off for the day, making her way past her shop to the tattoo parlour several doors down, Devil’s Ink. The outside certainly has a gothic look, coffin-shaped windows  the opening hours painted gold onto the glass. Pushing open the heavy door, she comes onto a wooden-floored room, dimly lit by two low-hanging chandeliers. Heavy metal music thumps through the speaker system.

A bored-looking human with bubblegum pink hair mans the dark wooden counter, fingers jabbing away at her phone screen.

‘Um, excuse me?’

She does a double take at Autumn. Dressed in pink frills and a petticoat she probably is a far cry from their usual clientele.

‘Yes, sweetie? How can I help?’

‘Is Kevir here?’

‘One sec.’

She picks up a phone, which Autumn assumes is part of an internal communication system.

‘Yeah, Kevir? Some girl is here to see you, too much pink, wings--hello?’ She hangs up with a sigh. ‘He’ll be down in a minute.’

Autumn watches the set of stairs, which is in fact a two flights that lead to the same balcony, nervously thumbing the petals of her dyed roses.

Kevir appears moments later, jogging down the stairs with glee.

‘Hello, Autumn. You're earlier than I thought you'd be.’

‘Oh, sorry. I guess I’m used to the life of an early bird now.’ She holds out the bouquet of flowers to him. ‘These are for you!’

‘Thank you! Are these...did you dye them?’

She nods with a touch of pride. ‘Yep. I thought  you might like them.’

‘I do. Have you thought about a tattoo designs?’

‘I did. And I thought I’d pick one of your designs. I-if that's ok?’

‘Of course. I’m flattered. Follow me.’

He leads her up the stairs into a  private room. A large leather reclining chair takes up most of the centre of the room, set up next to Kevir’s workstation. On the left-hand wall a black leather sofa is set up in front of a long, narrow coffee table, bare except for a heavy folder. 

Peeking at the walls, she sees countless upon countless of designs, some black and white, other full colours. All of them more magnificent than the next.

Autumn looks about in awe, Kevir watching her with light amusement. 

‘You see anything you like, let me know.’

She nods, her eyes still taking in her breathtaking surroundings. Eventually she settles down on the sofa, flicking through his partfolio. She finds each and every one wonderful in its own way but one above all others draws her in. An open pocketwatch swinging on its chain, wrapped around by roses and thorns stems, a few butterflies taking flight away. It is nothing short of perfection.

‘See something you like?’

She jumps, not realising Kevir is leaning on the back of the sofa to her side, peering down over her shoulder.

‘A nice choice. Also none of my other customers have chosen it, so it’ll be unique. Now, where would you like it?’

Autumn pats the upper half of her left arm. ‘Here…’ Then realisation dawns. Her chosen outfit, though lovely in appearance just had one problem--wherever she chose to have a tattoo, something had to be taken off. 

‘Alright, I’ll get the ink and stencil ready. Just sit on the chair when you’re ready.’

‘R-right.’

Autumn walks over to the chair, hitching herself up on it, wondering if she should take her shirt off now or wait until prompted.Her heart thuds in her chest as she considers it. No one, not ever, has seen her in her underwear before. 

She decides to do it as she waits, now Kevir’s back is turned to her. She pulls the bow around her collar loose, then undoes the buttons on by one, letting it slide off her shoulders and pool around her waist. 

Kevir turns on the chair to face her. ‘Ok are you--’

His words stop as he looks at her, his eyes dropping from her face down to her torso.  She feels suddenly very embarrassed and has to stop herself from wrapping her arms around herself. Kevir quickly regains his composure, pushing a cushioned stand for her to rest her arm on as he gets to work. 

He presses the stencil to her arm, gets her to check the size and placement. After a few minor adjustments, he pulls out the needle, and her courage seems to fail her. Her breath becomes heavy and laboured, unable to take her eyes off the implement in his hand. 

‘All those are going into my arm?’

‘Are you having second thoughts?’ 

‘N-no.’

‘Are you sure? Once I start I can’t stop unless you want an incomplete tattoo on your arm.’

‘No, it’s fine. Go ahead.’

Four hours and many shed tears later, Autumn now has a fresh and wrapped tattoo on her arm.

‘I’m sorry for crying. That was embarrassing.’

‘It’s alright. I know it’s a scary and painful thing. A lot of first timers cry.’ He gently wipes away her residual tears away, his fingers lingering on her skin. ‘I’ve had big, burly grown men cry harder than you.’

She laughs softly through her sniffles. ‘Thank you.’

‘Take it easy for the rest of the day, Autumn. Wash it in two hours time, then wash it and pat dry twice a day.’ He hands her a small, white tub. ‘Apply that after you’ve washed it.’

‘Ok, thank you.’ With some difficulty due to her sore and quite tightly wrapped arm she begins to pull her shirt back on.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Amusement tugs at the corner of his lips. He pulls the shirt up onto her shoulders, fingers tracing every so slightly across her collarbone as he fastens the top button. 

‘Oh you don’t have to…’ she trails off when his fingers brush against her skin, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Then it is over all too quickly, Kevir cleaning his tattoo gun as though he hadn't fastened her shirt. She lingers awkwardly for a moment before she slides off the chair.

‘I’ll see you out.’

He takes both of her hands in his once they are outside, taking a moment to stare in her eyes before he leans in to kiss her cheek. Autumn frees one of her hands from his and places it on the side of his face, pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. They remain interlinked there, arms wrapping around each other as their lips lock together.

Once they part, they are breathless and she feels dizzy. Her eyes remain closed for a few seconds after, savouring the lingering feeling of his lips on hers.

When she opens her eyes, she meets Kevir’s, dark and alluring as a moonless night.

‘Your eyes are beautiful,’ she breathes.

‘Not as beautiful as yours. See you tomorrow?’ he asks hopefully.

She nods, beaming. ‘See you tomorrow.’

[avidfanficwriter]

Failed Repetition (Chapter 2)

Characters: Chris Evans X OFC!

Summary: For as long as Chris can remember, he’s wanted to get married. He has wanted the white picket fence, beautiful wife on his arm and a house full of kids unlike his counterpart who isn’t thrilled with the prospect of marriage.

Rating: T.

Warnings: Cursing.

Tags:  wolflhards.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4.

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. 504 hours spent living separately; a perfectly timed press tour of Reagan's had came up, forcing her to leave just two days after their argument. Which ended on as much of a sour note as it began. The tour came as a sign from God, allowing them both their much needed separation. They didn't kiss, hug or even say goodbye when she left. They seemed to avoid one another both terrified the inevitable truth would come to light. Even with their distanced goodbye, it didn't mask the pain that filled Chris' heart at the sight of her leaving.

"If that's not going to happen...Then maybe we're not going to work." A devastating revelation. Gut wrenching, earth shattering and heartbreaking statement that put their future, their lives and their relationship into perspective.

Six years worth of a relationship was being threatened by thirteen words.

Thirteen words, Chris never should have said. Words that he soon find himself regretting after looking into her green eyes. Pain, heartbreak; agony; distress? He couldn't pick which emotion it was but it killed him. The way she stepped back, tore her eyes from his and her breathing quickened. It was a sight he would never forget. A sight he would never be able to live down.

In reality, three weeks was nothing to sweat over, they'd spent months apart while working but this was the only time both parties neglected to contact one another. There were attempts, Chris would begin dialing her number but find himself unable to put in the last digit. He'd written twenty pages worth of text messages only to erase every word. Reagan found herself in a similar situation, calls that never happened, messages that were never sent. They were stuck.

While Chris' conscious was eating at him, it was the public that was berating Reagan. Each and every interview had at least one mention of Chris, questions full of how they were doing, if he was with her, what he thought of the movie all of which she struggled to answer. 

While there was an insatiable urge to contact one another, there was another bubbling at the surface, a much somber one. They didn't want to talk to each other. It wasn't because of anger or grief but that they both knew, the second they heard each other's voices the same fight would simply resume. Creating new issues and another set of problems that neither of them needed. Their relationship was in tangles and a simple mistake could be the end.

Chris returned home on the sixteenth day to a empty home where memories of their fight played on a never ending loop, every night he rested his head on the pillow. He'd made a mistake, he knew that and he was paying for that. Yet there was truth in his words and maybe the possibility that finally saying those could -- in the long run --be a good thing. Maybe that was what they needed, the truth to finally be said between them. Maybe this was the closure, he needed. 

He missed Reagan, missed her voice even found himself clutching one of her books to his chest trying to remember one of her many rants. He missed her but he was glad she was gone. Time apart meant they had time to think it over so they didn't do anything rash.

Sleep seemed to be difficult to conquer, each night he tossed and turned; frustrated groans pass through his lips and just when he begins to give up, sleep takes him hostage. in the morning, he never woke rested, his eyes felt weighted; his body weak and he longed to curl beneath the covers once again. No matter the hours of sleep, he managed to get, he was always tired.

Chris is facing another ruthless night, sleep isn't coming and his annoyance is growing. He’s to invested in his fight to sleep that he neglects to hear Reagan's arrival. Their obnoxiously loud garage door opening goes unnoticed as does the jingle of her keys being placed on the counter. It's after she lets out a sigh and feels the bed shift does he realize she's home. He's laying on his side, blankets wrapped around his waist as he faces the window unsure of what's going to happen. 

There's multiple scenarios that could play out: They talk and apologize for things that were said. They don't talk but lay in their bed and let the silence play out. They lay in bed and hold one another then he whispers an apology for his foolishness. They talk which turns into an argument and then he's on the couch. Or maybe-- and he knows this is unlikely --she says she'll marry him, that she thought it over and they should wed.

None of them happen.

Reagan doesn't move, doesn't speak; in fact he's positive if he wasn't awake, he wouldn't have realized she was home. She rises to her feet with another sigh, he hears their dresser open, the roll from the closet door and then the bathroom door open and close.

Even when they are together, they've still managed to ignore the others existence. Chris' is at fault as much as she is, not that it's a blame game but they both had ample time to do something. He could've greeted her, hugged her or even said he missed but instead continued to pretend he was asleep. The same can be said for Reagan, she could've done something but chose to get a shower instead.

When she exits the bathroom, the heat from the shower fills the room mixing with the scent of her body wash: grapefruit. A fruit he's never been to fond of but found comfort when the smell lingered on their bed. 

An hour had went by when Chris' blue eyes open, his original intent was to rest his eyes for a moment instead he fell asleep.. Immediately he reaches out behind him for Reagan as he usually does. She was his comfort, a night he woke up to early to start his day, he would pull Reagan close to his chest and fall back asleep. This time when he reaches behind him, he's met with a cold spot.

She’s home, he knows she’s home. He heard her. Why isn’t she in bed?

The blankets are undisturbed, her cell phone isn't on the charger, she's not in the room. He’s not panicking yet, she’s fallen asleep in the living room in the past, maybe she was there. It’s possible, she went to watch television out there to not disturb him but wound up falling asleep. 

He searches the living room, she’s not there. The kitchen is empty. The dining room is empty but her luggage is still sitting behind the couch. She’s home, that much he knows. The last place he checks is the guest room where he finds her curled up beneath the cotton blankets, he lets out a deep sigh and leans against the door jamb. 

He contemplates joining her or convincing her to come back to bed with him. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t do it. They aren’t ready for that. She’s not ready for that thus the reason she opted to sleep in another room. Asking her to come with him or even joining her would be foolish. This wasn’t a fight they could simply ignore or pick up the pieces and move on without discussing. 

They had to discuss this. He needed to apologize. In the end, he returns to bed and falls asleep waiting for morning to arrive. 

The next morning, Chris is awoken by the bright beams of sunlight streaming through the window. He expects to hear noise throughout the house, the t.v. in the living room, music playing or even the smell of coffee but the house feels emptier. He puts on a fresh T-shirt and heads to the kitchen, making a pot of coffee to bring Reagan, she’s either sleeping in or hiding in the guest room. With a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, he goes to the room and nearly drops the mug when she's not here. It's almost an exact replica of last night, the bed is made, the sheets untouched, nothing looks disturbed. Once again he searches the house for her, trying to find her only to come up empty.

He checks the garage, her car is gone. Her luggage behind the couch is gone. Her keys are missing. Then he notices upon checking their room just to be safe, more of her clothes are gone as are a few more of her suitcases.

He returns to the living room, hyperventilating. She didn't have anything else work related coming up there was no reason for her to be gone. Then on the counter, he notices it.

It's cash, a key and note.

"Chris, I've left you $140 dollars for this months phone bill, I'll be canceling my line in the next few weeks. I left the key to the house on the counter and the garage door opener is in the drawer.

Take care, Reagan."

[yeetusthymeatus]

Well... im getting kidnapped

It isn't the worst start to a day that I've had but being stuffed in a red sack, tied up like a Sunday roast isn't exactly far off, and after some kicking and a few unsuccessful bites i was in the sack being dragged along the cold tile floor, getting hit by the lift door on the way in and after a brief few moments of jamming out to Kevin Booths set me free, i was tossed in the back of a vehicle as we set off

I couldn't tell you how much time had passed, but enough for the cold and damp to seep through the wet sack, the wind and snow whipping the now bordeux sack, cursing the day people decided open top cars in winter are cool, and why i didn't sleep with more cloths on, but finally we stopped, the sound of the wind changed to... bells? Those tiny bells you find on stockings that your cat always finds a way to take off and play with them in the early hours of the morning as if to remind dawn its time to show its colours

As the jingle came near i was grabbed out the car and dropped on the sidewalk, and after a buzz of a doorbell the bells turned to the sound of hoofs striking the road and a door opening, the sound of snow crunching under someones shoe slowly approaching

They opened the sack, letting me see for the first time where i was, tossed on the pavement in front of a house i didn't recognise, shaking from the cold as the wind hit my bare chest, snowflakes stinging my already numb skin, that's when i saw her, her brown eyes hidden by her mist covered glasses as she quickly dragged me into the house and unceremoniously dumped me in the living room, before in a hurry darting off to the kitchen

The house itself wasn't anything big, just big enough for one, a few Christmas lights draped over the curtain poles, a couch backed up into the corner barely large for two, a small dining room table covered in papers and books with a laptop open playing a video about napoleon backed up to the bar separating the living room and the kitchen where she was frantically searching through drawers, the sound of the kettle being made in the background, a single door going out to a small balcony in the far side of the kitchen

As i try to sit up i see the knots around my my ankles has chewed through the skin, tainting the white rope a light shade of red, as i began to try to untie my hands from behind my back, flopping around like a fish on a boat trying to work some slack into the rope only to have my leg cramp as she walked outside the kitchen with two mugs of hot water and a box of tea bags on a tray

Cursing she set the tray down and yanked the tape off my mouth, smirking lightly from the not so quiet ow that escaped my mouth, slowly loosening the knot around my hand enough for me to grab it

"Go make what you were making in the kitchen, i got it from here" i said as i slowly untied my hands, my countless hours tieing knots in scouts and sailing making it relatively straightforward, as she quietly left through a door i hadn't previously seen, only for her to emerge back into the room with a couple blanket and a small first aid kit i got her as a joke

"Here you go Mr tough guy, do you want me to make you something to eat or am i still too clumsy to handle hot things?", you could almost hear the smirk in her voice as she went back into the kitchen, grabbing some pot noodles to make along the way

"If you have something warm you can make it would be appreciated, but try not to burn yourself this time" i said as i heard a thud and swearing come from the kitchen "How did you hurt yourself this time?"

"Oh shut up.... I knocked the cat water bowl with my foot, that's all", i grabbed the first aid kit and after some disinfecting cream i wrapped my ankles and arms in some gauze and tried to get up to go to the kitchen only to stumble a bit and fall on the couch

I got back up, making sure to support myself off the couch, and i carefully made my way to the kitchen, where i was greeted with the sight of her grabbing a fork and putting it the noodles before turning around to head out again, only to stop in her tracks as i slowly approach and give her a hug, a few errand tears streaming down my face relishing in the warmth of her embrace

She slowly looked up at me, letting me look in those beautiful brown eyes, concern still lingering in them, her hand rubbing my back to ease me, quite ironic after the countless times I've comforted her, but after a while, and a few rumbling sounds from my stomach we went to the couch, where i inhaled my noodles, getting a few drops of the broth trail down my face to her amusement, where we sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak, no one brave enough to make the first move

"So, while i appreciate your company, do you have any idea why you were dropped on my doorstep, during a lockdown no less?"

"I... I don't know, i mean, i can't think of anyone who has the man power to do something like this, or let alone why, i couldn't see there faces but... But they were in an open top ride, and i probably hit my head somewhere but and i heard bells and hooves when they left"

"Hooves, as in horses? I heard them too but i thought it was probably from the documentary, but who would kidnap you and just dump you here?

I mean, it's quite a random place to drop you off, they could have gone a few hundred metres either side and no one would find you till weeks after, so why here, and why ring the bell? "

We sat there in silence, thinking of why it would happen, each question bringing with it five more, she opened her mouth as to say something on a few occasions but never spoke in the end, this went on for what felt like hours, till i went to take a sip from my tea and sneezed at the same time, spraying it all over me as she sat there giggling

"You never learn do you?" she walked into the kitchen and emerged after a few moments with some paper towel handing it over for me to clean up, as she brought the cups and bowls back into the kitchen, and grabbed a few biscuits, only for her to thwack me across the head when she walked back out

"Why did you do that?" i said while rubbing the back of my head

"You small brain monkey, you are still half naked wearing wet clothes, you'll catch a cold at this rate" she threw me the blankets she took out before, and tossed them into my face only to disappear through the doorway snd emerged with an old sweater of mine and a clean tracksuit

"I was wondering where i had left that sweater"

"Well wonder no longer, out these on and give me the wet stuff to wash"

"Right here? Shouldn't i go to a bathroom or something?"

"Through the door to your left, and try not to slip on the floor, it's like ice sometimes"

"Thank you" i went to the bathroom and true enough, you could almost skate on the floor it was that slippery, it would be embracing to fall and get injured, so i tried my best to stay upright by holding on to the sink, but i fell and whacked a glass covering the floor in glass and falling into it

Hearing the noise she ran into the bathroom to check on me, only to sigh and give me a hand up,she brought me into the kitchen under the bright light and with a pair of tweezers started plucking small bits of glass out of my arm and shoulder

"Why do you find new and creative ways of hurting yourself?"

"I don't always get injured"

"The lollipop incident?"

"How was i supposed to know that bard sugar can make stabby things"

"Sandpaper"

"You poked me"

"Recorder"

"Ok yeah, that's on me"

"Mashed potatos, plastic knife, a pen"

"ok ok you have a point"

"Now don't get injured while i grab whatever bandages are left"

I sighed in defeat, as i slowly inspected myself, looking for any other possible injuries, the clean sweatpants are a bit small, but that's to be expected, i was a head taller than her and women's clothes are a pain in the ass in terms of sizes, ill need to thank her properly tomorrow for all this, as she came back into the kitchen and finished bandaging me up while mumbling how stupid i was for getting injured all the time we sat down on the couch, blankets draped over us watching an old Christmas movie

Next morning we woke up on the couch cuddled up, her arms locked around me as if i would disappear if she let go, her drool on my chest as she slept peacefully for once after her recent spell of nightmares, i lied there, feeling relaxed for once, until she moved and jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, my small groan of pain waking her up, giving me the opening to give her a quick kiss on the head, startling the daylights out of her as she looked in my direction with a surprised expression on her face

"You're actually here, i thought i dreamt the whole thing"

"Yeah im here, why do you ask?"

"I think i know who kidnapped you then"

"what do you mean you know who kidnapped me"

"You remember the old tale of the Christmas lovers?"

"Yeah, you used to groan that it's random nonsense and why do they have to be lovers and you can't just wish for anyone you care about to have them brought to you"

"Well, since March when lockdown started i kept on wishing that for Christmas my gift would be a hug from you..."

"So you think this was..."

"Yeah..."

"that does explain the hooves and the bells... And sleighs are open to the elements... The sack, why i was left here of all places"

*how does the story end? "

"They check the stokings amd there is a key to the others house for him to grab his stuff and move in"

"Did you put up any stocking this year?"

"Not really no"

As i slowly move around and hear my joins crack i notice that there is some Christmas stocking on the table, as i slowly pick it up and put my hand inside i find my wallet and my keys, with a note that said :

Sorry for the ruff treatment, we were very close to falling beginning schedule, we locked you apartment up so you don't have to worry about your stuff getting stolen

Merry Christmas

[cgpsimpromptu-blog]

Psychick (Pt. 1)

By Ben Togut

Snow sugarcoated the towering evergreens. The man lay sprawled on the cool pavement, his limbs twisted beyond recognition, forming an ironic snow angel in the dusted fluff, a pained expression on his ghostly face. The Shell gas station sign flickered above the words “never forget” spelled out in a gasoline rainbow semicircle around the body.

I never expected him to come. I never expected the friendly creaking of the bright orange door to awaken me from my morning daze. I thought I’d sit on a coy, oak stool near the window, my pale face pressed against the frozen glass, the dark clouds forming an eerie halo over the sleeping city. I had just started unpacking after returning from my three month tour of India, teaching ESL and making underprivileged children feel like they’re worth something. A wispy voice whispers my name Vera in my ear like a distant lullaby I had once known. I spin around but no one is there. Must be the wind, I think. Must be the soft welcoming of the tiger we call morning, purring, inviting you into that indigo crescent of silence known as peace. I continue nibbling at my bland, lumpy oatmeal, unperturbed. Hughes, an Abyssinian cat I’d adopted from Chennai, purrs, curling his velvety body against my bare leg. I haven’t taken the poison in ten days. I’m ready. I pace to the bathroom, and flinging open my medicine cabinet, slam down the remaining three bottles of Zyprexa onto the countertop. Opening the lid to the toilet, I waterfall the pills into the bowl, each falling with a soft thunking sound. “Bye bye,” I wave as the toilet swallows my last remaining chance at sanity.  I grab the wrinkled note off of the coffee table and find Hughes’ favorite blue-tinged magenta pashmina underneath the expensive meerkat rug in the living room, wrapping it around his shivering skin. I can feel his walnut sized heart beat through the thin fabric as I walk out the door, leaving Hughes ensconced in his little nook where the wall meets the forest green Steinway piano before tapering into the claret walls of the hallway.

I live in the beating heart of Seattle, where the brisk ocean breezes fuse with musky pine cones, making a mélange of salty, wasted tears that fall in the unrelenting torrents of mid-October rain. Leaves of many colors, crimson, pumpkin, purple, casually coast to the ground, making a crunch squeak crunch against my beige UGGs as I clumsily fumble with my oversized velvet purse for the heck of it. Something my psychiatrist suggested was to keep myself occupied. Then again, my psychiatrist is a bald, oval headed man named Carl who always wears hideous maroon sweaters from the Gap. He thinks that “kick-ass brunette, schizophrenic, aspiring playwright, ” is an “unwise and detrimental personal description on your résumé,” but I disagree. I think it’s brilliant.

The rusted brick building is hugged by dead ribs of ivy and moss. Above the rotting rainbow wood door hangs an askew, pipe-cleaner sign that reads Saving Yourself from Yourself. I stare at the man who calls himself Devon, with the misshapen, closely cropped cherry mohawk. He leads me into the mismatched corridor of aubergine and peach and into the room of bleached concrete. People of varying degrees of chaos sit on dark bean bag chairs, sipping steaming beverages out of styrofoam cups. The calm one, Orion, sits in the center, raven hair elegantly framing his piercing emerald eyes.

“Welcome, welcome,” Orion projects.  He then goes into a recap of last week, hands whirling around each other, a clumsy windmill. “Janice,” gesturing to a wrinkled women with dirty, blond hair, “overcame her fear of… Goldfish?”

“No, no, NO ya silly!  Trail mix,” she screams; “TRAIL MIX!” she shrieks with more intensity, a witch burning at the stake.

“Chill out,” Orion responds, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Chill out…? Chill out…! Ok, ok. I’ll chill out when you stop patronizing me. You’re not my dad. I run the show, mister! I don’t need some teddy bear to cuddle…” With a crazed but collected look in her deep, sea blue eyes she jerks her head to the left, a glass doll with a broken neck, and begins talking as if to a small child. “I don’t need some low-class, wannabe therapist to tell me how to live my life. My psychosis is a beautiful thing, and who do you think you are, in your right mind, to try to take that away from me. Huh? HUH?!” Janice clutches a fistful of his shirt, squeezing with such intensity her inflamed knuckles turn a ghastly shade of white. With the other hand, she traces the outline of Orion’s olive features, gliding in circles around his prominent jawbone, where the hints of dark stubble have begun to creep along his face like a spider.

Orion maintains a serene expression, and staring straight into her poisonous glare, retorts, “Take your paws off of me and get out.”

“Fine. FINE!  Henry,” she shouts into space, “you can come out now. It’s time to go.” A prickly silence envelops the room.

“Leave now.”

“I’m looking for my son. I’m looking for my son. I’M LOOKING FOR MY SON!”

“Well, keep looking. The door is that way.”

Janice briskly strides across the room in four paces before whipping her head around from behind the door. She opens her mouth, but is silent. The look of a puzzled monkey comes across her face and she deftly shapes her fingers into small circles over her eyes, before ducking out of the room.

Silence is a funny thing. Not the absence of noise, but the stillness of being: when thought thins out into a fine layer of steam, reducing to the nervous grinding of gears, before ceasing to exist. Silence haunts you, a specter caressing your face with the back of its hand, invisible, but you almost shiver from its presence. Not me. Never. Silence is my soul mate, as I drape myself across my white-feathered ottoman, holding my hand as I stare at the peeling navy paint of my ceiling. A leak in one of its corners has caused a single drop of water to continuously drip, turning the carpet soggy. Its constant, pendulous motion almost hypnotizes me. Drip. Drop. Drip. My eyes become heavy and start to flutter.

Flashes of black and white blur before me, rapid at first, animated cartoonish legs pinwheeling across a blinding surface, slowing down to the clicking of a film reel in an antique projector. Click. Click. Vera. The voice  nears me, encroaching on the most distant corners of my mind. I try to move away from this devil, this monster, but my legs are suspending in time, swimming in syrup. My eyelids soar open, eyes transfixed on my rusting red alarm clock, registering 4:15 , before locking shut. Vera. Open. 4:28. Shut. Vera. Open. 5:00. Shut. Vera. Click click click. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. Click click click click click. My body is paralyzed in an awkward fetal position, only my fingers in motion skittering across the couch, whose once soft fabric pricks my skin. A cool sweat breaks out across my body. I jerk my head against the solid arm of the couch, pain blossoming from my head as I feel it smack into a substance with the metallic consistency of monkey bars. Finally, after what feels like centuries, I wake up. The alarm clock reads 9:00. Shit, I’m already an hour late for work.

I’ve worked at Dripping Hand Candles for six months now, named after our logo, a hand holding a candle with wax that drips down from the bottom and envelopes the hand. Approaching the store, I can already spot the manager, Phil, a man with faded paper white skin and stringy blond hair, glaring at me. The bell fixed to the top of the door jingles as I enter. Phil sets down a dark blue candle before coming towards me.

“Vera-”

“Chuck, I’m sorry-”

“It’s Phil.”

“Right, Phil, I’m sorry. This won’t happen again. I think my alarm clock is broken or something-”

“Vera, I am tired of you making excuses. It’s the third time this week that you’re more than an hour late.”

“I-”

“Sorry won’t cut it. Go in the back and help Regine with the candle puns.”

I step out of the aromatic store and into the brisk night air, my light, maroon sweater doing nothing to shelter me from the wind-chill. Vera. I turn around, but nobody is there. I keep walking, thinking my mind is just playing tricks on me like it always does. Vera, you know I’m here. Don’t deny it. I start walking faster, covering my ears with the palms of my hands to stop the noise. Vera. Don’t be silly. You know you can’t shut me up. I start screaming, screaming for him to stop talking, but he won’t, he never will. I frantically take my boots off, leaving them on the ground, and barefoot, I start to run. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care, as long as it’s away from him. I run from bright yellow taxis and angry mobs that don’t exist. I run from dirty old men and beech trees and shrieking babies and black cats, but it’s no use. You can’t run away from me.  My head smacks into a black telephone pole, and my body violently jerks backward towards the ground.

[soshesighs]

Fic: Set The Bad Day By The Bed

Fandom: @speakergame

Pairing: Li/Speaker/Seb poly

Note: Title from the song “Orpheus” by Sara Bareilles. The line I wish I could use (but alas, you cannot use a whole line from a song for a title, as much as I might want to) and that I wanted to vaguely attempt to capture the feeling of in this little ficlet was “If the bottom drops out / I hope my love was someone else’s solid ground.” This is based on a conversation in the Speaker discord about which ROs would enjoy having their hair played with, so the original idea isn’t mine. (I imagine this being set when their relationship is all fairly new feeling, for some context.)

Liam Version here!

---

You startle suddenly from your daydream, feeling as much as hearing the front door slam, almost hard enough to rattle the house. Deft fingers briefly halt their ministrations as you strain to hear who it is that's arrived; you weren’t expecting any of your friends to drop by this afternoon.

A slight jingling, a heavy thunk as boots are set next to the door, and you instantly know who it is.

"She sounds upset," Sebastian murmurs, voice heavy, seconds from falling asleep. For a fleeting moment, your heart dances between feeling rightfully concerned and quietly pleased that you both immediately recognize your partner's footsteps; you can't help but be a little pleased at how far the three of you have come.

Concern eventually wins out, however, and your eyebrows furrow together as you hum a noise of agreement, leaning down to press a kiss to Sebastian’s brow as you think.

"It’s not like her to slam things around,” you agree. Your eyes bounce between the door to the bedroom and the man curled up by your side in bed, a debate warring internally. Sebastian is so content - finally allowing himself to relax some, even if he is still reading through your currently compiled case research - that you don’t want to disturb him.

But Sebastian, also ever observant, reaches a hand up to still the one of yours that’s still trailing through his hair, tilting his head up until his eyes meet yours. “Go,” he says simply.

You slump a bit, worrying your lower lip unintentionally. “But you just settled down,” you protest, sighing. “Besides, you know how she is. She needs her time. I imagine she’s heading to the library.”

As if a manifestation of your unease, your fingers begin to twirl a long strand of his hair again, unable to hold completely still. You respect the fact that Li needs time to herself to uncoil whatever aspect of her day has gripped her so harshly, but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit idly by.

The two of you sit there in heavy silence, the only sound the muffled turning of pages as Sebastian reads on for a solid 7 minutes, before he sighs and sets the file aside. After a pause, he says, not unkindly, “Your unease is slightly smothering, not that I’m able to focus much either. How about I make coffee and you can take some to her? If only one of us goes in, it shouldn't feel too intrusive."

If you practically bolt out of bed in eagerness, he doesn’t mention it, just chuckles to himself as he pushes up off the bed to follow.

---

A short while and one pot of hellish coffee brewed later, Sebastian sends you on your way. As you suspected, you spot Li’s silhouette curled up in a tight ball on a couch in the library. Not wanting to startle her by just appearing at her side, you knock softly on the archway until you get her attention.

Her head snaps around harshly, deep, black eyes meeting yours from across the room. Even from here, you can see the bruise-like shadows beneath them, and you try to hold back from wincing sympathetically. To her credit, when she realizes it’s you, her eyes slip shut on a slow exhale, the slightest bit of tension leaving her body. After a second, she nods - the okay for you to come in.

You pad over, socked feet making only the softest muffled sound on the rugs. Coming up behind her, you slide a hand down over her shoulder from behind the couch and lean down to press a kiss to her hairline. Her fingers grip the notebook and pen in her lap so tightly that her knuckles turn white, but you’re glad to see her writing. Hopefully it helps, you think to yourself, filing the information away to ask about later, if she’s willing to share.

“I won’t keep you,” you say, voice equally as quiet as your steps so as not to disturb her more than necessary. “But Bas made you coffee, so I wanted to bring it in while it was warm.”

She takes the cup and opens her mouth like there’s something she wants to say - like part of her wants to overflow and spill out whatever it is that’s strangling her inside - but nothing comes out. After a second, she gives the barest shake of her head, and you know for certain now that she needs more time.

You turn to go, but her hand rises up to cover yours on her chest, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thanks," she finally manages, her voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

“Of course, love. Anytime,” comes your gentle reply, and you hope she can hear the slight smile in your words and know that you’re fine - that everything is fine - and that you both understand. “Come find us in a bit, okay?”

She doesn’t reply again, but you don’t expect her to. Instead, you wait until she takes a sip and then head out, sliding your hand free of her embrace, content to leave her to her quiet meditation now that you’ve seen that she’s (at least physically) okay.

---

You barely step foot into the bedroom before you hear, “How is she?”

With a shrug, you crawl back up onto the bed, resuming your previously situated position against the headboard. “Exhausted, tense, locked up more than I’ve seen her in a while. But she was writing, which brings me some comfort. She says thank you for the coffee, by the way.”

Sebastian nods, a bit of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not in so many words, I presume.”

“No,” you concede, reaching out a hand to will him closer. “But I could tell she was grateful. And thank you for humoring me. I know you were about to nod off.”

He settles against your side once more, head resting in your lap. “It’s not humoring you if I’m just as concerned. It’s hard leaving someone you care about alone when they’re struggling. Besides, I can sleep whenever."

“You’d think after all these years, I’d have gotten used to it. She’s been like this ever since we were kids, but…” you drift off, struggling to find the words. After a moment, you shrug, shaking your head. "And don't give me that, Mister 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'! You have no idea how proud I was to get you to stop pacing and lie down."

He grins, hand reaching up to cup the nape of your neck and pull you down for a kiss. "I'll rest once I've read through all of this - how's that sound?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," you reply, lips still brushing against his in the ghost of a touch as you do, and you swallow down his replying smirk with another kiss.

Eventually - when the need to take a deep breath begins to win out over the need for each other - you separate, fingers smoothing a lock of his hair back behind his ear despite the fact that its currently messy state is entirely your fault. “I know what you’re trying to do,” you whisper, a sly smile working its way onto your face.

“And what is that?”

You sit up fully and tap a finger on the tip of his nose. “You’re using me to stall. Get to reading, mister. You promised me you’d rest after, and I fully intend to see that through.”

With an over-exaggerated roll of the eyes, Sebastian picks the file up off his stomach and flips back to where he previously had stopped reading. “What exactly are you going to be doing while I’m reading your notes then, hm?”

“Providing incentive, of course,” you reply, as if it should be completely obvious.

Eyebrows raised and feigning indifference, he asks, “Incentive, huh? Remunerative, coercive, moral-?” He flips a page, eyes trained coolly on the words before him and looking for all the world like he’s completely disinterested in your current conversation. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You laugh and don’t even bother to reply, merely beginning to scratch at his scalp, focusing on where his hair had previously been gathered into his trademark ponytail. He bites back a moan, but very quickly makes every attempt to school his features into their previously neutral position. “You drive a hard bargain,” he admits, meeting your eyes and pursing his lips to bite back the smile threatening to reveal itself. “I suppose I have to accept.”

“I suppose you do,” you agree, blatant triumph shining through every word. In time, he relents and pulls his gaze away from yours, focusing back on the work that, unfortunately, must be done.

You settle swiftly into a routine after that, with Sebastian reading and flagging specific aspects that seem particularly important or promising and you bouncing between massaging his head and simply playing with his hair, humming softly as you do - a lullaby from your childhood, you realize, having subconsciously gone for something low and soothing.

Just when it seems that Sebastian might once more be about to nod off, a quiet knock sounds from the other side of the room. You immediately freeze, eyes wide and hopeful, as the door slides open.

“Lily,” you exhale, tension you hadn’t realized you were still holding flooding out from what feels like your very bones at the sight of her.

She holds up the now-empty coffee mug and gives it a shake before setting it down on the dresser, her long and lanky frame leaning heavily against the door jamb. “Finished. Thank you again.”

Sebastian yawns - a rare sight in and of itself - and nods in acknowledgement before turning to angle his body more towards her. “You don’t have to knock, you know. I don’t know how many times we have to tell you that we want you here before you believe us.”

And Li finally cracks a smile at that: a crooked, barely there thing, but it’s there all the same, and it feels like daylight breaking through a monsoon. “Thought someone might’ve finally convinced you to sleep. I didn’t want to wake either of you.”

“Working on it,” you reply faintly. In an echo of your earlier request to Sebastian, you hold out your hand to her, silently beckoning her forward to join the two of you - if she’s ready.

She hesitates a beat too long, and in those few seconds you convince yourself that she’s going to decline.

"It's okay," you whisper, letting your hand drop back to the bed. Lily's eyes follow, watching as you reflexively clench the comforter in your fist; sitting still, especially when stressed or upset, has never been your strong suit.

Swallowing harshly, Lily slumps a bit and shakes her head. "I'm sorry for shutting you out earlier."

She pauses again, and you try not to let your heart catch hopefully on that last word.

Sebastian also immediately picks up on the careful phrasing, knowing as well as you do that Li of all people rarely minces her words or says what she doesn't mean. "And now?" he asks simply, setting the file to the side. "Feeling any better?"

Lily ducks her head, hiding her softening expression. When she glances back up, her trademark tilted smile is back in place. "Got room for one more?"

---

“Do you want to talk about it?” you eventually ask, voice barely audible even in the quiet of the darkened room.

Lily tenses a bit from her position now lying at your other side, head pillowed on the thigh opposite Sebastian who has, at long last, finally fallen asleep. “No, not… not yet.”

“Alright, I understand.” You trail off, finding it hard to voice exactly what it is you want to say. Between the three of you, Lily is the one who has the gift with words; you’ve never been particularly eloquent in expressing your feelings. Ultimately, you settle on saying, “Just promise me you’d tell us if it was something serious - if you were hurt or you needed our help? We love you, Li.”

You look down to meet her eyes, holding her intense gaze in the hopes that you can impart how serious you are with every lingering second.

She tears her eyes away after a moment and reaches out to your hand lying in front of her on the bed, slowly and deliberately running her fingertips along your palm as if trying to memorize every dip and line and callus. “I’m not good at asking for help, you know that,” she admits carefully, somewhat reluctantly. “I take care of people, not the other way around. That’s how it’s always been.”

“You have us now,” you reply, gently combing the fingers of your free hand through her forest green locks, attempting to untangle the knots you know she must have formed earlier by anxiously tugging at it. “You don’t have to bear anything alone.”

Lily glances back over her shoulder at Sebastian, whose face is more relaxed and at peace than he’s looked in days now that he’s finally crashed, who is the first to sacrifice caring for his own well-being to do whatever he can to help the two of you and all of your friends, who quickly and quietly wormed his way into both your hearts until he was so deeply entrenched that neither of you can imagine life without him now. And then, she nods.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand that now.”

[readbookywooks]

THE LION ROARS

WHEN the whole party was finally awake Lucy had to tell her story for the fourth time. The blank silence which followed it was as discouraging as anything could be. "I can't see anything," said Peter after he had stared his eyes sore. "Can you, Susan?" "No, of course I can't," snapped Susan. "Because there isn't anything to see. She's been dreaming. Do lie down and go to sleep, Lucy." "And I do hope," said Lucy in a tremulous voice, "that you will all come with me. Because - because I'll have to go with him whether anyone else does or not." "Don't talk nonsense, Lucy," said Susan. "Of course you can't go off on your own. Don't let her, Peter. She's being downright naughty." "I'll go with her, if she must go," said Edmund. "She's been right before." "I know she has," said Peter. "And she may have been right this morning. We certainly had no luck going down the gorge. Still - at this hour of the night. And why should Aslan be invisible to us? He never used to be. It's not like him. What does the D.L.F. say?" "Oh, I say nothing at all," answered the Dwarf. "If you all go, of course, I'll go with you; and if your party splits up, I'll go with the High King. That's my duty to him and King Caspian. But, if you ask my private opinion, I'm a plain dwarf who doesn't think there's much chance of finding a road by night where you couldn't find one by day. And I have no use for magic lions which are talking lions and don't talk, and friendly lions though they don't do us any good, and whopping big lions though nobody can see them. It's all bilge and beanstalks as far as I can see." "He's beating his paw on the ground for us to hurry," said Lucy. "We must go now. At least I must." "You've no right to try to force the rest of us like that. It's four to one and you're the youngest," said Susan. "Oh, come on," growled Edmund. "We've got to go. There'll be no peace till we do." He fully intended to back Lucy up, but he was annoyed at losing his night's sleep and was making up for it by doing everything as sulkily as possible. "On the march, then," said Peter, wearily fitting his arm into his shield-strap and putting his helmet on. At any other time he would have said something nice to Lucy, who was his favourite sister, for he knew how wretched she must be feeling, and he knew that, whatever had happened, it was not her fault. But he couldn't help being a little annoyed with her all the same. Susan was the worst. "Supposing I started behaving like Lucy," she said. "I might threaten to stay here whether the rest of you went on or not. I jolly well think I shall." "Obey the High King, your Majesty," said Trumpkin, "and let's be off. If I'm not to be allowed to sleep, I'd as soon march as stand here talking." And so at last they got on the move. Lucy went first, biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan. He turned and walked at a slow pace about thirty yards ahead of them. The others had only Lucy's directions to guide them, for Aslan was not only invisible to them but silent as well. His big cat-like paws made no noise on the grass. He led them to the right of the dancing trees - whether they were still dancing nobody knew, for Lucy had her eyes on the Lion and the rest had their eyes on Lucy - and nearer the edge of the gorge. "Cobbles and kettledrums!" thought Trumpkin. "I hope this madness isn't going to end in a moonlight climb and broken necks." For a long way Aslan went along the top of the precipices. Then they came to a place where some little trees grew right on the edge. He turned and disappeared among them. Lucy held her breath, for it looked as if he had plunged over the cliff; but she was too busy keeping him in sight to stop and think about this. She quickened her pace and was soon among the trees herself. Looking down, she could see a steep and narrow path going slantwise down into the gorge between rocks, and Aslan descending it. He turned and looked at her with his happy eyes. Lucy clapped her hands and began to scramble down after him. From behind her she heard the voices of the others shouting, "Hi! Lucy! Look out, for goodness' sake. You're right on the edge of the gorge. Come back - "and then, a moment later, Edmund's voice saying, "No, she's right. There is a way down." Half-way down the path Edmund caught up with her. "Look!" he said in great excitement. "Look! What's that shadow crawling down in front of us?" "It's his shadow," said Lucy. "I do believe you're right, Lu," said Edmund. "I can't think how I didn't see it before. But where is he?" "With his shadow, of course. Can't you see him?" "Well, I almost thought I did - for a moment. It's such a rum light." "Get on, King Edmund, get on," came Trumpkin's voice from behind and above: and then, farther behind and still nearly at the top, Peter's voice saying, "Oh, buck up, Susan. Give me your hand. Why, a baby could get down here. And do stop grousing." In a few minutes they were at the bottom and the roaring of water filled their ears. Treading delicately, like a cat, Aslan stepped from stone to stone across the stream. In the middle he stopped, bent down to drink, and as he raised his shaggy head, dripping from the water, he turned to face them again. This time Edmund saw him. "Oh, Aslan!" he cried, darting forward. But the Lion whisked round and began padding up the slope on the far side of the Rush. "Peter, Peter," cried Edmund. "Did you see?" "I saw something," said Peter. "But it's so tricky in this moonlight. On we go, though, and three cheers for Lucy. I don't feel half so tired now, either." Aslan without hesitation led them to their left, farther up the gorge. The whole journey was odd and dream-like the roaring stream, the wet grey grass, the glimmering cliffs which they were approaching, and always the glorious, silently pacing Beast ahead. Everyone except Susan and the Dwarf could see him now. Presently they came to another steep path, up the face of the farther precipices. These were far higher than the ones they had just descended, and the journey up them was a long and tedious zig-zag. Fortunately the Moon shone right above the gorge so that neither side was in shadow. Lucy was nearly blown when the tail and hind legs of Aslan disappeared over the top: but with one last effort she scrambled after him and came out, rather shaky-legged and breathless, on the hill they had been trying to reach ever since they left Glasswater. The long gentle slope (heather and grass and a few very big rocks that shone white in the moonlight) stretched up to where it vanished in a glimmer of trees about half a mile away. She knew it. It was the hill of the Stone Table: With a jingling of mail the others climbed up behind her. Aslan glided on before them and they walked after him. "Lucy," said Susan in a very small voice. "Yes?" said Lucy. "I see him now. I'm sorry." "That's all right." "But I've been far worse than you know. I really believed it was him - he, I mean - yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and - and - oh, I don't know. And what ever am I to say to him?" "Perhaps you won't need to say much," suggested Lucy. Soon they reached the trees and through them the children could see the Great Mound, Aslan's How, which had been raised over the Table since their days. "Our side don't keep very good watch," muttered Trumpkin. "We ought to have been challenged before now - " "Hush!" said the other four, for now Aslan had stopped and turned and stood facing them, looking so majestic that they felt as glad as anyone can who feels afraid, and as afraid as anyone can who feels glad. The boys strode forward: Lucy made way for them: Susan and the Dwarf shrank back. "Oh, Aslan," said King Peter, dropping on one knee and raising the Lion's heavy paw to his face, "I'm so glad. And I'm so sorry. I've been leading them wrong ever since we started and especially yesterday morning." "My dear son," said Aslan. Then he turned and welcomed Edmund. "Well done," were his words. Then, after an awful pause, the deep voice said, "Susan." Susan made no answer but the others thought she was crying. "You have listened to fears, child," said Aslan. "Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?" "A little, Aslan," said Susan. "And now!" said Aslan in a much louder voice with just a hint of roar in it, while his tail lashed his flanks. "And now, where is this little Dwarf, this famous swordsman and archer, who doesn't believe in lions? Come here, son of Earth, come HERE!" - and the last word was no longer the hint of a roar but almost the real thing. "Wraiths and wreckage!" gasped Trumpkin in the ghost of a voice. The children, who knew Aslan well enough to see that he liked the Dwarf very much, were not disturbed; but it was quite another thing for Trumpkin, who had never seen a lion before, let alone this Lion. He did the only sensible thing he could have done; that is, instead of bolting, he tottered towards Aslan. Aslan pounced. Have you ever seen a very young kitten being carried in the mother cat's mouth? It was like that. The Dwarf, hunched up in a little, miserable ball, hung from Aslan's mouth. The Lion gave him one shake and all his armour rattled like a tinker's pack and then - heypresto - the Dwarf flew up in the air. He was as safe as if he had been in bed, though he did not feel so. As he came down the huge velvety paws caught him as gently as a mother's arms and set him (right way up, too) on the ground. "Son of Earth, shall we be friends?" asked Aslan. "Ye - he - he - hes," panted the Dwarf, for it had not yet got its breath back. "Now," said Aslan. "The Moon is setting. Look behind you: there is the dawn beginning. We have no time to lose. You three, you sons of Adam and son of Earth, hasten into the Mound and deal with what you will find there." The Dwarf was still speechless and neither of the boys dared to ask if Aslan would follow them. All three drew their swords and saluted, then turned and jingled away into the dusk. Lucy noticed that there was no sign of weariness in their faces: both the High King and King Edmund looked more like men than boys. The girls watched them out of sight, standing close beside Aslan. The light was changing. Low down in the east, Aravir, the morning star of Narnia, gleamed like a little moon. Aslan, who seemed larger than before, lifted his head, shook his mane, and roared. The sound, deep and throbbing at first like an organ beginning on a low note, rose and became louder, and then far louder again, till the earth and air were shaking with it. It rose up from that hill and floated across all Narnia. Down in Miraz's camp men woke, stared palely in one another's faces, and grasped their weapons. Down below that in the Great River, now at its coldest hour, the heads and shoulders of the nymphs, and the great weedy-bearded head of the river-god, rose from the water. Beyond it, in every field and wood, the alert ears of rabbits rose from their holes, the sleepy heads of birds came out from under wings, owls hooted, vixens barked, hedgehogs grunted, the trees stirred. In towns and villages mothers pressed babies close to their breasts, staring with wild eyes, dogs whimpered, and men leaped up groping for lights. Far away on the northern frontier the mountain giants peered from the dark gateways of their castles. What Lucy and Susan saw was a dark something coming to them from almost every direction across the hills. It looked first like a black mist creeping on the ground, then like the stormy waves of a black sea rising higher and higher as it came on, and then, at last, like what it was woods on the move. All the trees of the world appeared to be rushing towards Aslan. But as they drew nearer they looked less like trees; and when the whole crowd, bowing and curtsying and waving thin long arms to Aslan, were all around Lucy, she saw that it was a crowd of human shapes. Pale birch-girls were tossing their heads, willowwomen pushed back their hair from their brooding faces to gaze on Aslan, the queenly beeches stood still and adored him, shaggy oak-men, lean and melancholy elms, shockheaded hollies (dark themselves, but their wives all bright with berries) and gay rowans, all bowed and rose again, shouting, "Aslan, Aslan!" in their various husky or creaking or wave-like voices. The crowd and the dance round Aslan (for it had become a dance once more) grew so thick and rapid that Lucy was confused. She never saw where certain other people came from who were soon capering about among the trees. One was a youth, dressed only in a fawn-skin, with vine-leaves wreathed in his curly hair. His face would have been almost too pretty for a boy's, if it had not looked, so extremely wild. You felt, as Edmund said when he saw him a few days later, "There's a chap who might do anything absolutely anything." He seemed to have a great many names - Bromios, Bassareus, and the Ram were three of them. There were a lot of girls with him, as wild as he. There was even, unexpectedly, someone on a donkey. And everybody was laughing: and everybody was shouting out, "Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi." "Is it a Romp, Aslan?" cried the youth. And apparently it was. But nearly everyone seemed to have a different idea as to what they were playing. It may have been Tig, but Lucy never discovered who was It. It was rather like Blind Man's Buff, only everyone behaved as if they were blindfolded. It was not unlike Hunt the Slipper, but the slipper was never found. What made it more complicated was that the man on the donkey, who was old and enormously fat, began calling out at once, "Refreshments! Time for refreshments," and falling off his donkey and being bundled on to it again by the others, while the donkey was under the impression that the whole thing was a circus and tried to give a display of walking on its hind legs. And all the time there were more and more vine leaves everywhere. And soon not only leaves but vines. They were climbing up everything. They were running up the legs of the tree people and circling round their necks. Lucy put up her hands to push back her hair and found she was pushing back vine branches. The donkey was a mass of them. His tail was completely entangled and something dark was nodding between his ears. Lucy looked again and saw it was a bunch of grapes. After that it was mostly grapes overhead and underfoot and all around. "Refreshments! Refreshments," roared the old man. Everyone began eating, and whatever hothouses your people may have, you have never tasted such grapes. Really good grapes, firm and tight on the outside, but bursting into cool sweetness when you put them into your mouth, were one of the things the girls had never had quite enough of before. Here, there were more than anyone could possibly want, and rib table-manners at all. One saw sticky and stained fingers everywhere, and, though mouths were full, the laughter never ceased nor the yodelling cries of Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi-oi, till all of a sudden everyone felt at the same moment that the game (whatever it was), and the feast, ought to be over, and everyone flopped down breathless on the ground and turned their faces to Aslan to hear what he would say next. At that moment the sun was just rising and Lucy remembered something and whispered to Susan, "I say, Su, I know who they are." "Who?" "The boy with the wild face is Bacchus and the old one on the donkey is Silenus. Don't you remember Mr Tumnus telling us about them long ago?" "Yes, of course. But I say, Lu " "What?" "I wouldn't have felt safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan." "I should think not," said Lucy.

[ventrue-rosary]

'Nobody in the world has hands this soft' for sof beans :3

Hope no one minds I answered two with one with a new tattoo artist/florist AU and that it is suuuuuper long. Autumn is mine, Kevir belongs to the asker!

Beepbebebeep!  Beepbebebeep!

Autumn flings her arm ungracefully out in the direction of the alarm obnoxiously intruding upon her sleep. Her fingers scrabble for the off-button, leaving her in blessed silence.

She rolls over with a sigh, her eyes peeking open. The digital clock reads 6:30.

Autumn stretches her sleep-heavy arms and sits up, rubbing at her swollen eyes. As always, she crosses her bedroom to her windowsill, watering her cacti, succulents and pot of creeping ivy which is starting to climb up the wall next to her window. She smiles as she gently traces the leaves with her fingers. Satisfied with her work, she readies herself for the day. By 7:30 she is out of her apartment, and making her way to work. Though young, she is the proud owner of her own florist shop: A Rose Without Thorns. She opens shop as the sleepy neighbourhood rouses, workers sleepily stumbling to their workplace, parents sheparding their children to school.

As with most weekdays with no major holidays on the horizon, the morning crawls by, only a few of her regulars coming by for a single flower or pot or just for a chat. As usual, her mother stops by late morning for a bouquet of roses and to drop off her favourite snacks. By lunch time, work crawls by to a complete stop, but it does give her time to perfect the arrangements of the flowers outside, then slowly working her way through the inside of the shop.

The bell above the door rings. Autumn looks up from her work to see someone a far cry from her usual clientèle.

A purple winged tiefling steps into her establishment, black jeans, black leather jacket and black combat boots that stomp heavily across the wooden floor. Tousled hair perfect frames his angular face, and impossibly dark eyes sweep across the room until they find Autumn.

She then realises she is still knelt on the floor, openly staring.

‘Oh–’ She averts her gaze and jumps to her feet, smoothing down the frills of her mini-apron as she hurries behind the counter.

‘Welcome. Let me know if I can help you with anything.’

‘I’m looking to buy flowers for a pretty girl,’ he says, his voice pleasant and accented.

‘Oh! How lovely! Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?’

‘Not yet. What would you recommend?’

‘Roses are always a safe bet. Red roses, if it’s a romantic gesture. You see, different colour roses have different meaning behind them. Yellow for friendship and joy, white for purity and spirituality, lavendar for love at first sight–’ She tapers off with a blush as she beholds his amused smile. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling.’

‘That’s alright. I was enjoying your rambling.’

Autumn’s blush deepens to match the bouquet of red roses he picks up.

‘May I ask your name?’ he asks as he hands her the money.

‘Huh? I-oh. My names Autumn.’

‘Autumn? Fitting. I’m Kevir. Keep the change.’

‘O-ok, thank you.’

He grins at her one last time before he leaves her shop, leaving a very flustered Autumn.

As 5pm rolls around, Autumn begins to close shop, still thinking about her encounter with Kevir. How wrong she had been on her initial judgement of him. Part of her expected him to ruin her shop, or to just be rude and difficult. How wrong she was. 

She finds herself wondering about the girl he had mentioned. She hopes she appreciated his gift.

Autumn double checks the doors are locked and turns around–right into Kevir. She squeals in shock, nearly falling right to the ground.

‘S–sorry!’

‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I did call your name a few times, didn’t you hear me?’

She notices Kevir still holds the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

‘Oh, did you want to return them? I’m sorry, you’ll have to return tomorrow–I just closed up.’

‘No, I didn’t want to return them–I here! He holds out the flowers to her. ‘I wanted to give them to you.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I bought them for you. Take them.’

‘T-thank you?’

He gives her a wink and walks away, eventually heading into the tattoo parlour further down the road.

When Autumn examines the bouquet in her hands she spots writing on the card:

07113246589

Call me! ; )

-Kevir

Autumn makes a noise of disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. He isn’t.

She scoffs as she carelessly shoves the card in her bag before making her way home.

The TV drones on in the background, going unnoticed by Autumn who stares at the roses that have found a home in the vase on her coffee table. She glances at her bag across the sofa.

She abruptly drags her eyes away, trying to focus on the drama playing on the screen. Trying and failing.

Autumn snatches her bag and drags it over to her, pushing aside her purse, makeup and the snacks her mother had given her until she finds the small, crumpled card.

She smoothes it over her thigh with one hand as she holds her phone in the other. Her finger hesitates over the digits on her screen as doubts begin to cloud hermind.

‘Oh just do it,’ she hisses at herself

She dials before she changes her mind. Each enduring trill of the ringtone quickens her heartbeat. Then it stops with a click. She holds her breath.

‘Hello?’

Autumn hangs up with a scream. Her head falls into her palms with a groan.

The ringing and vibrating of her phone draws her attention back to her coffee table and her overwhelming mortification, Kevir’s number shows on the screen.

She watches it ring in silent panic until it stops. She breathes in relief. Then it rings again. She turns off her phone, ending the predicament altogether. She likely had already put him off, what further harm could she do by ghosting him?

Autumn hugs her knees to her chest, wishing she had the courage to hold a conversation with him. She let’s herself fall limp on her side, still clutching her knees. Eventually, sleep finds her.

~*~

Autumn returns to work the following morning, business as usual minus her sullied mood. 

Around 2 hours after she opens, Kevir enters. A thousand emotions fly through her at once at their meeting, mostly abstract fear.

‘O-oh , mood gorn–good morning!’

‘Morning yourself.’ He leans his elbows on the counter, mere inches away from her. ‘Say did you, uh, did you call me last night?’

‘H-huh?’ Her voice is a few octaves higher than usual. ‘No, of course not!’

‘Oh,’ Kevir deflates. ‘I see.’

‘I–I mean, I wanted to!! I, um, I dropped my phone yesterday. Screen-down it shattered, totally unusable.’

Kevir doesn’t look convinced. Of course he isn’t, she’s a terrible liar.

‘I’m… I’m glad you came to see me today.’ Autumn’s changing of subject is likely very obvious, but at least she is speaking honestly now.

‘I’m glad to see you.’ His smile is disarming. ‘Say, wanna get lunch together?’

‘Y-yes I would like that.’ She smiles shyly, toying with her hair to avoid looking him in the eye.

‘Perfect. See you in a few hours.’

Autumn doesn’t look up until she hears the bell jingle as he leaves, the smile still stuck on her face.

She looks up at the clock. Midday can’t come soon enough.

~*~

Kevir returns around 12, and Autumn feels her heart flutter as he enters.

‘Ready?’

‘One moment!’ She pulls on her apron strings, folding it onto the chair behind the counter. She fetches her shoulder bag from the back room and takes a moment to check her reflection. She shakes her bangs and uses her fingers to even them out over her brow, smoothes down her hair and applies just a bit of lip gloss. She only wishes she had worn something a bit more exciting than a white blouse and black mini-skirt.

‘OK, ready!’

‘Let’s go. I know a little place.’

Kevir takes her to a cute cosy cafe a few blocks down, named The Pot and the Kettle. Not many patrons inside, but it means they can snag the cosiest chairs; two impossibly soft, large armchairs close to the fire with a large table between them. Being a rather tepid spring, there is no fire but there is still something comforting about it.

A cute elven waitress comes to take their orders within seconds of sitting down. Kevir orders black coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. Autumn asks for a white chocolate mocha and matcha pound cake.

Kevir tilts his head at her order. ‘Sweet tooth?’

‘Very much so! I love sweets, chocolate and baked goods… I’m sure that must seem childish.’

‘Not at all! Food doesn’t have an age limit. I have a soft spot for them myself.’

The waitress returns with their orders. ‘Let me know if I can get you anything else,’ she says in a husky purr, talking exclusively to Kevir.

‘Thanks,’ Kevir answers, giving her only a cursory, polite look.

He takes off his leather jacket, revealing his tattoo sleeves. Autumn daintly gasps as she beholds the artwork displayed in his skin, twisting, connected pieces of dragons, weaponry like arrows, tortured faces, skulls and even some flowers interlocked and interwoven into one overarching gothic scene. The collar of his shirt is open enough to see the tip of a black feathered wing brushing just beneath his collarbone.

‘You have so many tattoos,’ she says in awe, reaching out for his skin before remembering herself. ‘Ah, I’m sorry!’

Her hands returns to her lap, where she tugs and fiddled with the rings on her fingers.

Kevir laughs in response, straightening his arms out on the table for her. ‘It’s alright. Touch me if you like.’

Autumn hesitantly reaches out with one hand, the other clutched into a fist over her chest. Her index fingers brushes against the smooth skin of his forearm. Where the tattoos are, the skin is slightly raised, but still just as soft. Her finger follows the design of the sleeve down to the back of his hand, impossibly smooth.

‘No one has hands this soft!’ The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself. ‘Oh God, that was a very weird thing to say…sorry. I just…’

Kevir rotates his hand on top of hers, his thumb smoothing over her knuckles. ‘Your hands are this soft.’

She glances up shyly, her flustered mind failing to come up with a response. She slides her hand out from under his, returning it to her lap, once more fidgeting with her rings.

‘Did it hurt?’ she asks after a short silence, still staring at his arms

‘A little. Tattoos don’t hurt as much as everyone thinks they will. Would you like one?’

‘Eh!?’

‘I’ll give you one for free if you give me some flowers. How about it?’

‘…Could I choose what to get?’

‘Of course. And where you get it.’

‘Alright, deal.’

‘Perfect! We’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘T-tomorrow? So soon?’

‘Would you rather wait?’

‘No, no tomorrow is fine.’ Her heart thunders in her chest as she says those words.  Autumn has never had good experiences with needles. ‘What kind of flowers would you like?’

‘Hmm…’ Kevir drums his fingers as he considers. ‘Surprise me.’

He reclines in his chair with an easy smirk, Autumn’s mind already firing off numerous ideas for species and colours.

She smiles as an idea occurs to her. ‘I think you’ll like what I have planned.’

‘Am I that easy to read?’ He sounds amused.

‘I mean…when I first saw you I thought you were going to be some ruffian who would make some trouble for me or destroy my shop’

Kevir looks less amused now, quizzing her with a raised eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry! I was wrong to be so judgemental! I don’t usually get many young people in my shop, And you carried yourself with such confidence, almost cocky. Clearly I read you wrong. So no, not easy to read…’

‘And what do you think of me now?’

He’s enjoying this, she realises. Her so-very obvious crushing on him.

‘Um…’ Her fingers clench into fists as they clutch the soft material of her skirt. ‘Well, I don’t know you very well, but obviously you are very kind, a-and…’

‘You’re right, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Swap stories?’

‘I’m not terribly interesting…’ she murmurs, picking at her nail polish.

‘I’m sure I would disagree. Tell me about yourself.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘Well, you know my name is Autumn. My parents, half-elf and tiefling live on the outskirts of the city. My mother is a model, my father her bodyguard. I have a twin brother in university. I like cute animals, sweet food and flowers. See? Not interesting…’

Kevir smiles genuinely, his head tilted as he stares at her. ‘Your mother is a model?’

Autumn nods, blushing. ‘Her name is Amaranthe Darcelle. You might have heard of her.’

‘Your mother is Amaranthe Darcelle? That must be where you got your beauty.’

‘Beauty?’ Autumn sputters.

Kevir nods. Autumn takes a large swig of her coffee, trying to buy herself some time as she tries to think of some sort of response.

She places her cup back on its saucer. ‘I, um. I think you’re very handsome.’

‘Thank you. I'm glad you think so.’

‘So you never told me about yourself,’ she says, busying herself with her cake.

‘You’re in luck. I love talking about myself to beautiful women.’ Kevir reclines in his chair with a smile as he prepares to regale her with stories.

~*~

Autumn let’s out a gasp as she looks at the clock. ‘It’s already been two hours??’

Kevir follows her gaze to the clock, looking as shocked as she feels. ‘It really doesn’t feel like its been that long.’

‘Uhm, bill, please!’ She calls to the waitress. ‘I should be getting back to my shop.’

‘As should I.’

The waitress puts down a small silver tray with their bill on top. Kevir shakes his head at her as she pulls out her purse.

‘Put that away. I’m paying.’

‘I should at least pay for myself…’

‘This was my idea. So it’ll be my treat.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’ He places down a few notes on the tray, far more than what two coffees and cake costs.

They hover for a moment outside the cafe, neither really wanting to go back to work.

‘Thanks for today. I had fun getting to know you,’ Autumn said.

‘And I you.’

Kevir leans down closer and presses a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek. Autumn let’s out a small gasp as her entire body freezes. The heat crawls up her neck up to her face and even her ears.

Kevir clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I should have asked first. I’ll see you tomorrow?’

He stumbles off without awaiting her reply. Autumn slowly raises one hand to her cheek, caressing the space his lips had just touched.

‘See you soon,’ she whispers absently to empty air.

Autumn takes a bunch of white roses home with her, remembering her deal with Kevir. She sets up large glasses of dye, black, purple and blue, cuts open the stems and evenly divided the rose’s between them. Curling up on the sofa, she stares at the roses, hoping he will like them, until the call of sleep is too strong to ignore.

~*~

The next day arrives, bringing with it sunshine and happy thoughts. Autumn hums a small tune to herself as she goes about her morning routine, all her thoughts focused on yesterday’s…date? Was it a date? Is it too early or presumptuous to call it such? She hopes not.

Autumn ties the rose’s together with a red ribbon, tying it into an attractive bow. Then she sets off for the day, making her way past her shop to the tattoo parlour several doors down, Devil’s Ink. The outside certainly has a gothic look, coffin-shaped windows, the opening hours painted gold onto the glass. Pushing open the heavy door, she comes onto a wooden-floored room, dimly lit by two low-hanging chandeliers. Heavy metal music thumps through the speaker system.

A bored-looking human with bubblegum pink hair mans a dark wooden counter, fingers jabbing away at her phone screen.

‘Um, excuse me?’

She does a double take at Autumn. Dressed in pink checkered shorts and a long-sleeved blouse she probably is a far cry from their usual clientele.

‘Yes, sweetie? How can I help?’

‘Is Kevir here?’

‘One sec.’

She picks up a phone, which Autumn assumes is part of an internal communication system.

‘Yeah, Kevir? Some girl is here to see you, too much pink, wings–uh, hello?’ She hangs up with a sigh. ‘He’ll be down in a minute.’

Autumn watches the set of stairs, which is in fact a two flights that lead to the same balcony, nervously thumbing the petals of her dyed roses.

Kevir appears moments later, jogging down the stairs with glee.

‘Hello, Autumn. You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.’

‘Oh, sorry. I guess I’m used to the life of an early bird now.’ She holds out the bouquet of flowers to him. ‘These are for you!’

‘Thank you! Are these…did you dye them?’

She nods with a touch of pride. ‘Yep. I thought  you might like them.’

‘I do, I love them in face. Have you thought about a tattoo designs?’

‘I did. And I thought I’d pick one of your designs. If that’s ok?’

‘Of course. I’m flattered. Follow me.’

He leads her up the stairs into a  private room. A large leather reclining chair takes up most of the centre of the room, set up next to Kevir’s workstation. On the left-hand wall a black leather sofa is set up in front of a long, narrow coffee table, bare except for a heavy folder.

Peeking at the walls, she sees countless upon countless of designs, some black and white, others full colours, each of them more magnificent than the previous.

Autumn looks about in awe, Kevir watching her with light amusement.

‘You see anything you like, let me know.’

She nods, her eyes still taking in her breathtaking surroundings. Eventually she settles down on the sofa, flicking through his portfolio. She finds each and every one wonderful in its own way but one above all others draws her in. An open pocket watch swinging on its chain, wrapped by roses and thorny stems, a few butterflies taking flight away. It is nothing short of perfection.

‘See something you like?’

She jumps, not realising Kevir is leaning on the back of the sofa to her side, peering down over her shoulder.

‘A nice choice. Also none of my other customers have chosen it, so it’ll be unique. Now, where would you like it?’

Autumn pats the upper half of her left arm. ‘Here…’ Then realisation dawns. Her chosen outfit, though lovely in appearance just had one problem–wherever she chose to have a tattoo, something had to be taken off.

‘Alright, I’ll get the ink and stencil ready. Just sit on the chair when you’re ready.’

‘R-right.’

Autumn walks over to the chair, hitching herself up on it, wondering if she should take her shirt off now or wait until prompted.Her heart thuds in her chest as she considers it. No one, not ever, has seen her in her underwear before.

She decides to do it as she waits, now Kevir’s back is turned to her. She pulls the bow around her collar loose, then undoes the buttons on by one, letting it slide off her shoulders and pool around her waist.

Kevir turns on the chair to face her. ‘Ok are you–’

His words stop as he looks at her, his eyes dropping from her face down to her torso.  She feels suddenly very embarrassed and has to stop herself from wrapping her arms around herself. Kevir quickly regains his composure, pushing a cushioned stand for her to rest her arm on as he gets to work.

He applies the stencil to her arm, getting her to check the size and placement. After a few minor adjustments, he pulls out the needle, and her courage seems to fail her. Her breath becomes heavy and laboured, unable to take her eyes off the implement in his hand.

‘All those are going into my arm?’

‘Are you having second thoughts?’

‘N-no.’

‘Are you sure? Once I start I can’t stop unless you want an incomplete tattoo on your arm.’

‘No, it’s fine. Go ahead.’

Four hours and many shed tears later, Autumn now has a fresh and wrapped tattoo on her arm.

‘I’m sorry for crying. That was embarrassing.’

‘It’s alright. I know it’s a scary and painful thing. A lot of first timers cry.’ He gently wipes away her residual tears away, his fingers lingering on her skin. ‘I’ve had big, burly grown men cry harder than you.’

She laughs softly through her sniffles. ‘Thank you.’

‘Take it easy for the rest of the day, Autumn. Wash it in two hours time, then wash it and pat dry twice a day.’ He hands her a small, white tub. ‘Apply that after you’ve washed it.’

‘Ok, thanks.’ With some difficulty due to her sore and quite tightly wrapped arm she begins to pull her shirt back on.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Amusement tugs at the corner of his lips. He pulls the shirt up onto her shoulders, fingers tracing every so slightly across her collarbone as he fastens the top button.

‘Oh you don’t have to…’ she trails off when his fingers brush against her skin, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Then it is over all too quickly, Kevir cleaning his tattoo gun as though he hadn’t fastened her shirt. She lingers awkwardly for a moment before she slides off the chair.

‘I’ll see you out.’

He takes both of her hands in his once they are outside, taking a moment to stare in her eyes before he leans in to kiss her cheek. Autumn frees one of her hands from his and places it on the side of his face, pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. They remain interlinked there, arms wrapping around each other as their lips lock together.

Once they part, they are breathless and she feels dizzy. Her eyes remain closed for a few seconds after, savouring the lingering feeling of his lips on hers.

When she opens her eyes, she meets Kevirs, dark and alluring as a moonless night.

‘Your eyes are beautiful,’ she breathes.

‘Not as beautiful as yours. See you tomorrow?’ he asks hopefully.

She nods, beaming. ‘See you tomorrow.’