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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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supernova | jjk (02)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

"When the stars align, I'll meet you then."

Another Life - Surf Mesa ft. FLETCHER, Josh Golden

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: idol au, exes to lovers, fluff if you squint??, angst !! with a happy ending thank fuck, not very edited bc this is me we're talking about!!

word count: 5.3k

note: ahhh so the supernova people can speak lmao this is my only fic where the characters have only had approximately 2 lines of dialogue 🥴 anyway i can't believe supernova has ended up here!! from what was supposed to be an angsty as hell oneshot, she's blossomed into - well, whatever this is bc i don't wanna spoil anything :')

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When the bakery owner – Jiwon is her name, as you’ve come to learn – informed you that she would be closing the place in a month, you could not help but sink.

One month. It feels like a countdown to your ending all over again.

You didn’t tell her that the reason you stayed loyal to the humble pastry shop wasn’t because of their impeccable treats, though they were certainly a huge plus.

You didn’t tell her that this place had become a safe haven for you, somewhere you could always seek refuge in whenever the world became a little too much to handle and all you needed was to reminisce on happier days.

When the smell of cherries on danishes oddly meant apricots and the universe. When stars weren’t just luminous spheroids made of hydrogen and helium but were housed in a pair of dark brown orbs, twinkling even in the presence of the sun. When home was not an apartment with four walls, scattered with crooked picture frames but a person with a bunny smile and a permanent tiger lily on his arm. When love was everything you needed and that was enough to conquer anything at all.

“It’s not easy closing this chapter of my life, but hopefully I’ll be moving onto bigger and better things!” she had told you with a bright smile on her face, eyes crinkling with sheer excitement for happier days in the future, oblivious to the way your poorly bandaged heart started to bleed again.

Your friends, family, and even this middle aged woman who is practically a stranger to you, have carried on with their lives. They’ve all moved onto new chapters, perhaps even onto new books altogether but you’re still here, rooted to the spot on the same page even after all this time. A novel that no one wants to read anymore, tucked away in a corner of a dusty old shelf, hidden from the light of day. Sealed away to be forgotten…

What a terribly lonely place it is.

You tried to mimic that cheery smile and offered her your kindest sentiments – wishing her good luck with her future endeavors, hoping that she will succeed in whatever chooses to do next – but it’s sad that you know you didn’t mean them, not really.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. All rational thoughts were out the window the second that Jiwon announced the imminent closure of your most treasured place.

The tapestry gets pulled apart at the seams. Another puzzle piece that will inevitably chip away until the perfect picture of you and him will revert back to the blank canvas it once was.

What will you move onto?

You didn’t talk to Jungkook for months after your worlds shattered, not until the boys achieved yet another milestone that you had to text him congratulations. There were, of course, many things to be considered before you finally had the courage to send that one simple line.

Thank you, he had replied then, we all miss you.

You were thankful that he opted for a neutral “we”.

Even after that first message, the texts only came every time a birthday or a major holiday rolled around, or whenever something happened in either of your lives that was monumental enough to revisit the perpetually fresh wound of your break to share your excitement for the other’s successes. Mostly Jungkook’s, and mostly because half of his life was on the news anyway. You, on the other hand, never took the initiative to share anything significant in your own life, not unless he asked.

There’s this thing he always did that you think might have been deliberate, but you couldn’t really be sure; maybe you’d have to ask him in another life.

It’s silly to mull over messaging etiquette like you were a teenage detective and your crush’s texting pattern was the single greatest casefile you would ever solve, but he never leaves you on read. He never lets you be the one to send a message last. Even after you both have bidded your goodnights and there is no more small talk to be had. Even when the last thing you sent is a mere lol in response to a stupid comment he made after goodbye, he would still tack on at least a smiley face afterward.

Jungkook could easily chalk it up to his hectic schedule and leave your messages to hang in the dead space of your phone, but he doesn’t though, and you never know how to feel about that.

Sometimes, you’re curious if he’s found someone else yet – a new love to take your place and be everything that you couldn’t be for him – and feel your heart twisting in your chest at the possibility that maybe he has. You’re in no position to care about this; you forfeited the right when you asked him to let you go, but nonetheless the human mind is a funny paradox, and the heart is full of nostalgia.

On nights where you’re brave enough to welcome that familiar ache with open arms, you entertain this possibility. It always starts with a woman, faceless but undoubtedly beautiful beyond words. You want her to be kind, you want her to be gentle, you want her to hold his hand while he’s sleeping and kiss his cheek when he wakes up. You want him to be loved and to be happy regardless of who it’s with, and regardless of how much you wish it could be with you instead.

No matter how much the mere thought of it kills you, you hope she fills his heart with so much joy that he forgets the pain of your departure. You’ve always known that eventually, he’ll have to forget all about you.

Jungkook is the sun to your foolish dying Icarus. You were truly in over your head to think that you could ever fit into his world.

Somewhere down the line, you hope there will only be happiness, and smiles so big that they make his cheeks hurt. It’s the kind of happiness that you had with him, where every moment felt like being on cloud nine and where his name was synonymous with every single wonderful thing that you could ever imagine.

It still does – and it forever will, no matter how hard you try to burn him from your daily routine and fail miserably every single day – but even then, it’s colored with shades of melancholy, every letter tinted blue.

Jungkook means the same thing as love, happiness, complete and utter euphoria, your safest haven. Holding hands with a loved one. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a crisp autumn morning. The magical first snowfall of the season. Feeling the sun shining on your face.

And Jungkook means the same thing as sadness, regret, your greatest heartache, your sweetest downfall… The sudden pang of grief that hits you right in the center of your chest when you pass by a familiar street or hear a bittersweet tune.

It’s hard to comprehend that a person can single-handedly rewrite your entire vocabulary, but he has managed to change you in ways beyond this too.

It took you a while to familiarize yourself with what life was like before Jungkook. You forced yourself to do things that you usually wouldn’t, just so the discomfort of doing things you hated could overshadow the discomfort of missing him.

Black coffee at 9AM had to taste more bitter than not receiving a good morning text, one that’s littered with smiley faces and kisses.

Morning runs and the burning sensation in your limbs had to ache more than coming home to an empty apartment and crawling into an empty bed, knowing that he’s somewhere out there in the same city, only a drive away from you.

Over time, you got used to it.

Over time, you got used to the absence of him.

In this new life of yours, nothing looks and feels the same as it once was. Colors have all desaturated, though not by much but it’s still enough to throw you just enough off balance. Some days, everything is completely black and white.

Black and white, save for the golden key around your neck. The key to the box of memories he gave you that you still have, tucked away in a soft corner at home.

All of your what if’s, your could’ve been’s, your maybe’s… they all lead back to him. There’s no other solution to this equation; it’s just him.

Jungkook has altered the very foundation of your life, wedged in between every crevice of your being, left pieces of himself in every facet of your world. Even when he’s gone, his presence still lingers, sometimes like a ghost, sometimes like the remnants of a tattoo you can never fully get rid of.

Oftentimes, in instances where you don’t have the luxury of being distracted by work, by the hustle and bustle of the city, by just about anything at all, you ruminate on that decision. The one decision that broke two hearts. The one decision that’s still killing you inside.

You aren’t someone who tends to dwell on their past actions, because what’s done is done. No amount of regret or overanalyzing can change what has happened. Life is sometimes cruel like that, and the only thing to do is accept it and move on, learn from your mistakes and try to do better next time.

But Jungkook isn’t a mistake. He isn’t a lesson that you needed to learn because neither of you did anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to love him, and it wasn’t wrong to leave him either.

Perhaps, the only thing you’re guilty of is getting the timing wrong.

You wonder if you should message him now, to tell him that where your love first bloomed will soon be gone. You wonder if he still remembers this place, if it still holds the same meaning to him as it does to you.

It’s terrible if it doesn’t, and it’s terrible if it does.

Before you know it, the end is here.

As you enter the bakery for the last time, your nostrils are instantly filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked goods. Jiwon smiles warmly at you from behind the counter when you give her a small wave. The other patrons here move on with their day as usual, paying no attention to you, like they don’t even care that this is the final moment all of you would be spending here.

You grab a pair of tongs and a small tray as you browse through the selection of pastries, looking for your favorite cherry danishes to pair with the hot chocolate that you’ll order at the counter. You pick up a cinnamon roll and a few macarons too, to take home with you afterward.

You hope, in vain, that Jiwon sees it in the way you’re just a beat slower than normal, drawing things out as much as you can, as if it would somehow make her change her mind and keep this place open. Let you live in this bubble for just a while longer.

It’s the finality of leaving. It’s the finality of being left.

Somewhere behind you, the doorbell chimes, announcing a new customer. You don’t notice the person’s sigh of relief as they escape the cold into the nicely heated shelter of the shop, nor the way they take a couple steps and then stop for a minute before their feet continue to carry them to where you are. You don’t care about any of it, until…

A soft voice revives your heart.

“I hear apricot danishes are much better.”

As cliché as it sounds, you freeze. You almost drop everything in your hands, having been rendered immobile while life goes on around you. Chatter continues like nothing has changed. To the people in this bakery, nothing really has changed. They’re sipping on their lattes and catching up with friends over shared blueberry muffins and banana breads, exchanging mundane tidbits in their daily lives and smiling, laughing, drunk on the cozy atmosphere in this wonderful little haven.

“Oh,” you breathe, paralyzed by the many paradoxical emotions running through you at once. Shock, joy, resentment, relief, sorrow… Even though all of it only comes out in the form of a starstruck Hi, but you have a feeling that he understands.

Your voice is small, timid, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he isn’t someone you once knew better than the back of your hand.

His chocolate eyes lock on yours, and he graces you with a warm smile. You’ve missed the simple quirk of his lips. “Hi,” he parrots.

The bell chimes again, and a couple of strangers filter in. You move along to not hold up the line.

“How– what are you– what are you doing here?” you stutter, heart in your throat just at the sight of him. You try and fail at not thinking about the universe bringing him back to you. Because it’s not. This isn’t a cosmic realignment. You two just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and if you were alone right now, you would probably cry.

“I heard they were closing,” Jungkook answers easily. When you look confused, a silent question dancing on the tip of your tongue – How on earth would you know that? – that you don’t know if you should voice, he supplies, “I saw the announcement a couple weeks ago. I still stop by whenever I have time. ”

He puts a hand on your back as if on instinct, when a woman almost bumps into you on her way out. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright.

You clear your throat and inhale. “Oh, you do? I’m here almost every other day. Funny how we never ran into each other.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it?” he agrees, smiling at you fondly. It’s a little bittersweet too. “We must have kept missing each other.”

Your mind goes to a dangerous place before you could stop it. Your stupid brain digs into the hidden layers of meaning that might not even be there at all.

We kept missing each other.

I kept missing you.

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you gloss over his words, only returning his smile albeit tightly, and continue to move on. Jungkook grabs a tray like you did some 15 minutes ago, and picks a similar danish, foregoing the apricot ones that you tricked him into getting a long time ago, just so you would be able to get your favorites. The cherry danishes that you both have on your individual trays are the last ones. How symbolically cruel.

He hides half his face in the thick wool scarf he’s wearing as you step closer to the counter. When you ask him if the danish is the only thing he’s getting, he nods; and when you tell that you’ll buy him a drink to go with it, he refuses and says he’ll get both of yours, because lord knows he has the money. But you never once gave in, never let him buy you things that you are more than capable of paying for yourself. You don’t this time either, so he relents.

In the end, you pay for the pastries and two hot chocolates, one with extra marshmallows. Once you have your goods, you wonder if he would bid you goodbye and leave, go back to his busy life that demands him to be on the go 25/8.

If you head outside right now, you two would probably part ways. But you came here today with the intention of burning every little detail of the bakery into your brain for one last time. Having Jungkook here isn’t going to derail your plan. You could pretend that things are fine for now, but then what? You’ve already lost him; you won’t let this place slip through your fingers so easily too.

You head to a spot in the corner where barely anyone can see you but you can observe everything, and to your surprise, he wordlessly follows you. If you were a little braver, you would throw him a cheeky I didn’t invite you to join, even though that’s all you want.

You both take a seat at the small table and talk about your lives and everything that happened in each other’s absence. Like you’re just old friends, catching up after forever apart. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, to see if he would mention a new lover and inevitably ask if there’s anyone special in your life too, but he never does.

It’s been years since you last saw him, and a while since he stepped a little further away from the spotlight that he once called home. Jungkook is still so caring – the occasional texts have already told you as much, and you wonder if it’s because he’s talking to you or if it’s just in his nature to be kind to everyone around him.

The cherries taste sweeter today, and the hot chocolate too. But the aftertaste is painful, knowing that your unexpected and limited time is running out.

At one point, you just sit in silence, watching the people leave. You notice that every time a customer exits, Jiwon’s gaze would linger on the door. You feel like you should’ve brought her something today, like a small houseplant or a bouquet of flowers, as a thank you or a goodbye present. After all, this place has been there for you a lot these past few years.

You try to take in as much as you can. How the wooden table feels under your hands. How the bell sounds when it chimes. How the printed logo on the takeaway cup feels when you brush your fingers over it. Their incredible recipes that always make you feel like you’re taking a bite of heaven. All the photos on the wall of Jiwon and her staff throughout the decade that this bakery has been on this street corner. You can still pinpoint the exact spot you stood at when you first saw Jungkook.

You want this to last a little longer, but you don’t know if you should ask. You want to be selfish just this once and drown yourself in his presence, because this might very well be the last time.

When the danishes are gone and the beverages are nearly finished, he asks if you have a minute to spare, to walk around and enjoy the last bits of sun for the day.

“Okay,” you say and watch his face light up. A smile graces his lips again and you suppress the shiver that tries to run up your spine. You can still read him so easily. He wants this as much as you do, and it’s absolutely devastating. Just two people who love each other and a casket full of things unsaid.

Once you’ve collected your things and gone outside, leaving behind your second home for good, Jungkook tips his head somewhere to the right with a question in his eyes, and you know what it means instantly.

You head down a small, hidden street filled with quaint houses that you both used to love. You haven’t been down this road in forever; it feels surreal that the first time you revisit it in ages is with him, and on today of all days. Cosmic realignment.

No. Stop that.

The two of you walk alone down the narrow street, save for the few times that a student in uniform walks by, eyes glued to their phone as they head home after school, or an older woman hurrying past with her bags full of groceries. He lets his arm brush against yours as you stroll and marvel at the way the colors of the sky reflect in the old windows, shifting from blue, to purple, to pink all in a matter of minutes. Ribbons of clouds unravel in the same way you do.

Eventually, you end up at a small park by the riverfront when cement turns into grass. There’s more people here; people walking their dogs, parents and children enjoying hot snacks on nearby benches, couples with their hands in each other’s coat pockets, trying to stay warm. You’re envious of the last ones that most.

Jungkook must have seen you watching them, because his knuckles touch yours tentatively and a long forgotten habit kicks in. When you instinctively pull back and mutter a quick Sorry, it hurts two hearts at once.

Back then, every time that he let you go when there was someone else around, someone who wasn’t privy to knowing about you, you would apologize even though it wasn’t your fault that you were a secret. He would always lightly scold you, telling you that you had nothing to be sorry about, but he could never remedy this. It wasn’t possible back then, and Jungkook never found a way to not make you feel like a problem to be dealt with when all you wanted was to hold his hand.

No one is even looking now, but you guess it’s just muscle memory, even after all this time.

You clutch the paper bag holding the pastries, feeling awkward that you just jerked back like he had burnt you. Eyeing an empty bench, you ask if he wants to sit down. As you cross the short distance over there, you realize that it isn’t big enough for you to comfortably put some space between your bodies. The regret is almost immediate.

You sit down next to him with your thighs touching. He’s close enough that you can spot a fallen eyelash on his cheek, but your hands remain in your lap, busying themselves with smoothing over your bag of treats, fighting the urge to brush your fingers against his face.

You focus on the river in front of you and how the water paints a shimmering picture of the setting sun. On the other side of the bank, cars faintly honk at one another as traffic piles on, a cacophony of noises seemingly so far away from your little bubble right here. You feel Jungkook’s eyes on the side of your face, but you don’t dare look at him.

All the times that you have spent, caged in the solitude of your bedroom, wanting to call him and knowing that he would be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He would be there, and he would hold you until the sun rises, until you stop shaking and crying, until everything feels like it’s going to be okay again even though you both know it isn’t.

Because missing him comes in waves. And why more often than not, you want nights to last longer and days shorter, you want the sun to sink under the horizon faster so darkness can embrace the sky. Because when the stars come out, it feels like being wrapped in his warm embrace again, feels like staring into those twinkling eyes again, feels like he’s right there with you as if you don’t carry him in your heart everywhere you go. You started dreading summers and relished in harsh, long winters – it’s ironic how the cold can make you feel such warmth.

Jungkook is right next to you, and you still miss him.

Some say watching the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice is the most beautiful sight one can ever hope to witness. Others say the most wonderful experience is to take in a sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence, with a glass of wine in hand.

Jungkook has done it all – Rome, Paris, London, all the most marvelous cities to have ever existed. He’s been all over the world and witnessed the endless beauty that it has to offer, but you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s seen by far.

Here, holding a bag of baked goods and leaning against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. The wandering sun casts a golden glow upon your profile, though he would think that you look ethereal regardless.

It’s a sight that he’s too familiar with. He’s seen it many times in his dreams, but the last time he got to have you like this was years ago.

“Do you ever…” Jungkook starts and then stops for a bit, like he’s deciding if he should go through with the question. “Do you ever wonder… what could’ve been… with us?”

All the damn time.

“Do you?” you ask instead, eyes still on the water, how it ripples when the wind blows. The cold nips at your skin, making you shiver.

“Every single day,” he answers earnestly, like you had expected him to. “You’re not someone I can forget about that easily.”

Some kid throws a pebble into the river. Your heart, like the pebble, sinks to the bottom. The sun sets eventually, to give the sky to the moon.

You don’t know what to say to him next, so you just hum softly. One of your hands rubs absentmindedly between your collarbones, where the key rests under your sweater. You trace the outline of it over the fabric, hoping to soothe the ache you feel.

Jungkook continues, saying something that you wish he hadn’t.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes well up and your chest feels impossibly tight. It’s getting dark now, but the moon is starting to peek through. There’s not a lot of stars tonight, though you can never really see them in the city anyway. You want to tell him to stop, to tell him that neither of you can take this anymore because wasn’t it enough the first time around? It doesn’t matter if you still love each other. It doesn’t matter that you’re both a little older and wiser, and have thicker skin now to weather heavier storms, because the world hasn’t changed. It’s still rooting for your demise at every turn.

But… all that comes out of your mouth is this, cracking foolishly at every syllable: “I’ve missed you too.” I’m missing you right now.

Jungkook nods slowly, mostly to himself. It’s so cold now without the sun, and especially when you’re sitting right by the waterfront. The wind is so cruel, picking up speed when it knows you just want to reach out for his warmth. You want to go home.

“What if we give it another try?”

A tear escapes. You lick your dry lips. “You know we can’t,” you tell him.

“Why not?” he asks, a sense of urgency in his voice now. “I love you. I’m still in love with you, and I know you feel the same way. Don’t even lie to me.”

You frown, not even bothering to wipe the moisture from your face. “Because love is not enough! I don’t fit into your life. It’s never going to work. We’ll just end up here again.”

You feel his shoulders sag against yours, and when he speaks next, his voice is considerably more quiet, deflated, “You are my life. I haven’t been myself ever since you left.”

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whisper. “You have your dreams. I’ll always get in the way of that.”

Jungkook twists the rings on his fingers, a nervous tick. The conversation pauses, and you think now is probably a good time to just get up and leave. You’ll get nowhere arguing with him about this. It’s been a long day.

You will your legs to stand, already thinking if you should walk a safe distance away from him and call an Uber there, but he tugs at your coat, standing up too.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing is fucking worth it if there’s no you. Why do my dreams matter if you aren’t there? I regret letting you go all the time. I regret always putting my dreams before you.” Jungkook stops to chuckle bitterly before stepping closer. His eyes, filled with all the resolution in the world, pin you to the spot. “I was too stupid to think that I could have it all. But I would leave everything behind if you’re willing to give this another go.”

You’re only aware that you’re crying because he reaches up to wipe the tears away.

“You don’t mean that,” you say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll let everything go if you say yes.”

You utter the same words as you did back then. “You’ll resent me one day.”

“No,” Jungkook says, water pooling in his own eyes as he tells you, “I won’t. Because I’m with you. I’m still with you.”

He takes one of your hands, timidly at first, lacing your fingers together, and your eyes widen slightly, blinking at his face in surprise. You’re looking at him, really looking at him, maybe for the first time today.

And… he’s here.

He’s still the same Jungkook you knew.

His eyes are still the stars. His smile is still the sun.

There’s no love lost here, only found.

He looks so sure of himself, like he believes so ardently in you and him that it makes you want to believe too. That things will work out this time around, that you will never have to lose each other ever again.

Stop, is what you would tell him if this were a phone call, or a text message, where you don’t have to feel his skin on yours or look into his eyes, so full of conviction, or be able to clearly hear every cadence of his voice as he promises you a future where you don’t have to hurt.

It’s what you would say if you were capable of thinking with your head right now.

But in the end, all you have is a heart that loves him.

“Okay,” you say, and Jungkook actually does cry. You wipe at each other’s faces with freezing hands, not caring that people might think you’re a couple of weirdos, crying in the middle of a park in the cold. You notice that the wind has calmed, like it’s stopping to watch how the story unfolds.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, with the weight of the world no longer on his shoulders.

You think back to the start of your relationship, when a silent question arose in a bout of insecurity. It’s a question that would cross anybody’s mind when they’re merely mortal, a speck of dust compared to the entire Milky Way.

You could have anyone. Anyone at all. Why is it still me?

You didn’t have the courage to voice it aloud, but he understood. It’s funny how he always understands the thoughts in your head that you never have the strength to speak into the universe. Jungkook took your hand then too, just like how he’s doing it right now. He turned your head to look at him, into those starry eyes that he made sure you knew shone just for you.

He utters the same sentiment that he did way back when. The last time you heard it, the statement – however true it might have been – was merely a bandaid over gaping wounds. It had appeased you in the moment and managed to calm your raging sea of anxiety and heartache for a split second, but you saw how that turned out to be. You both know that ending all too well.

This time, for some holy reason, his words feel just right as they nestle within your ribcage and settle next to your heart. The meaning behind his simple declaration holds you together and patches up the parts of you that were shattered long ago – infinitely small pieces of your heart and soul – into a mosaic worthy of being loved and adored by him.

Jungkook is the sun, yes, and Jungkook is the moon. He brings light and love into your life just by existing. He breathes, and your world is better for it, endlessly so.

Jungkook is, and always will be, your entire universe.

Cosmic realignment.

I want you, is what he tells you. I’ve always wanted only you.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines #btshoneyhive #btswritingcafe #bangtanbathhouse #btscarnivalnet #clubzerooclock #52hertz #fic: supernova

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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Kelly!! I’m going to NY for an extended work trip and my mind is SPINNING thinking about walking around the same places birdie and ez are, the nyc magic, feeling the love in the springtime air 🥹 I can’t remember but do you have a post sharing all the locations you mentioned or thought of while writing? Would love to walk in their footsteps 💕

omgomgomgomg — you are living my DREAM 😍 I’ve often daydreamed about going back and taking a sort of “In The Dark” tour

Here is the official In The Dark Guide:

Chapter One:

NYU (Cee and Birdie's college)

The Guggenheim (Birdie's dream museum)

The Bean (the coffeeshop where Birdie and Cee eat lunch together for the first time)

Chelsea (the neighborhood Ezra's brownstone is in)

Chapter Four:

Chelsea Farmer’s Market

Strand Books (bookstore where Ezra corners Birdie)

Chapter Five:

Brighton Beach (neighborhood where Ezra scouts antiques)

Tribeca, Greenwich Village, West Harlem, Midtown (all neighborhoods)

Chapter Six:

Sofreh (Persian restaurant where Ezra celebrates his birthday, and drinks their signature cocktail: a Sekanjabin Martini)

Breads Bakery (French lunch stand in Bryant Park)

Chapter Seven:

The Library (punk bar in East Village)

Chapter Eight:

Central Park, the section along 59th and 6th, The Museum of Modern Art and La Bonne Soup (Ezra and Birdie's date weekend)

Chapter Nine:

The New York Public Library, East Wing (where Cee hides after finding out)

Chapter Ten:

The Museum of Modern Art (specifically the painting, The Dream by Henri Rousseau, which is actually also Pedro's favorite and he used to visit it a lot when he lived in NYC). Inside the museum, there is a section of windows that face a courtyard and that was where Ezra was pacing during his phone call with Birdie.

Chapter Eleven:

Hudson River Park, between 100th-125th St (cherry blossom lined paths where Ezra and Birdie walk)

The High Line (they also take walks here, you should def check this out)

Chapter Twelve:

NoMo SoHo (hotel where Ezra and Birdie spend their last night - it's gorgeous)

I think that's everything! A lot of the inspiration for this story came from just walking around the city with @krissology - the graffiti, the sounds, the endless streams of people, the architecture, the train, etc. A lot of the photos I used in my moodboards for this story were taken directly from my camera roll. ❤

If you end up going to any of these places, let me know!! I wish I could come with you and I hope you have a ton of fun! ❤

#in the dark ask #in the dark guide #nyc

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 years

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chamomile, chapter three

A/N: the gif in the moodboard is by @fightingdragonswithwho

summary: the age-old tale of I like you, here, have a muffin

warnings: references to 6x08, tw food, flirting via baked goods, rain, mild embarrassment, dream analysis, kinda like that recurring dream where you show up to school or work naked?

word count: 1188

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Why had you thought that the journey to work would be okay with just an umbrella? It was pouring down rain, borderline a storm, why had you thought that you didn’t need the whole shablam in order to not get soaked?

Stopping at a bakery, making your walk that much longer, didn’t help matters either. But you’d wanted to do something nice for Reid, you were almost convinced that the doctor survived purely on coffee, so you bought him a muffin. Of course, you weren’t gonna tell him that you’d gone all the way to that colourful little bakery that Garcia had recommended to you just for him. No, you’d bought yourself one as well, then it would just look like a simple act of kindness and not make you out to be some silly little girl with a crush.

Standing in the elevator, you felt the cold water drip from your hair and onto your already wet collarbone. You probably looked like you’d just taken a shower fully clothed. Shrugging your bag back into place on your shoulder, you hoped and prayed that the baked goods were still safe and dry inside it.

With a low ding, the elevator doors opened. It was still fairly early so there weren’t that many people here yet. Walking down the hall, you saw a dark cardigan round the corner. Perking up as he saw you, Reid greeted, “hi Y/l/n, good morning!”

“Reid, hey! Just the man I was looking for.”

Taken aback, he smiled softly, “you were looking for me?”

Opening your bag, you fished out one of the thankfully still dry paper bags. “I really wanted a muffin this morning, but then I thought about you and how I don’t think in the time that I’ve known you I’ve ever seen you consume something other than coffee, so I got you one as well.”

His eyebrow shot up in surprise and his smile grew wider, “oh.”

“It’s blueberry if that makes a difference…” you handed him the small crinkly bag.

“Thank you, really, this is so sweet of you.”

Regaining a bit of warmth now that you’d been indoors for a minute, you peeled off your soaked jacket, “you’re welcome. Thought it wouldn’t be the worst tactic to attempt to become more a part of this family you have here.”

“Well, I don’t know about the others, but if you bribe Garcia with baked goods, she might ask you to marry her.”

“And what about you? Should I expect to see you get down on one knee anytime soon?” you joked, draping your dripping jacket over your forearm.

“Uhm…” he blushed, eyes widening, “I, um, what?”

“I was just kidding, don’t worry. Giving you a muffin isn’t my way of professing my undying love for you or anything,” you rambled, giggling nervously.

“Oh, okay,” he breathed out, seeming rather distracted, his eyes kept flickering from your face to your chest, then at anywhere but your person.

Furrowing your brows, you glanced down at yourself, gasping slightly at the sight. Your jacket truly hadn’t protected you from the rain. Your white blouse was drenched enough for you to clearly see the black lacy bra you had on underneath. Swiftly lifting your dripping jacket up to cover yourself, you cursed, “oh fuck,” squeezing your eyes shut, you tried not to panic, “okay, alright, you know what, I have some dry clothes in my go-bag.”

Then a voice behind you made your eyes shoot open and catch the doctor’s wandering vision.

“-Prentiss and Morgan are already in Georgetown taking a look at the new body. As soon as Y/l/n gets here, the rest of us will gather to get familiar with the case,” you heard Hotch say behind you.

Your body reacted before your mind could do anything, practically sprinting to the nearest door to hide. Almost tripping over a broom, you realised that your hiding spot was a supply closet. You struggled for a moment to find the light switch, but when you did, you let out a huge sigh and slumped against the door.

After maybe a minute you heard a soft knock behind you and then Reid’s quiet voice, “Y/n? Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to go get your go-bag?”

“Yes!” you squeaked, “in my office! It’s in my office!”

It didn’t take long for you to hear the muffled footsteps return and yet another knock. Cautiously creaking the door open, you saw him standing there, partially turned all the way around to avert his gaze, your familiar black duffel bag stretched out towards you.

“Reid, you’re a lifesaver!” you snatched it out of his hands and closed the door most of the way, still leaving it ajar so that you could continue the convocation. Ripping the zipper open, you grabbed the first top you could find within it and started unbuttoning the one you were wearing. “Really, you have saved me from the real-life manifestation of that classic nightmare where you show up naked at work or school or whatever.”

“If you believe in dream analysis it could mean that you’re feeling vulnerable and exposed, or that you’re concerned about how others perceive you here at work,” he rambled nervously through the cracked door, as you now stood in only your bra, shoving the damp white fabric down into the dark bag, “does any of that ring true for you?”

Were you feeling vulnerable and exposed? Your new job was both relatively dangerous, but also you were in a way the new public figure for the BAU team, so talking to lots of reporters and journalists properly did make you feel a bit exposed…

And the thing about being concerned about how others perceive you here at work? Of course, you could be general and say that you were still new here, so you wanted everyone to like and accept you, but you could also swing in the direction of the very co-worker that was standing on the other side of this door… you certainly did spend too much time thinking about him and whether or not he liked you and to what degree.

God, what were you, 16?

Attempting to clear your head with a small shudder, you brushed him off, “nope, I feel completely comfortable here,” and did up the last few buttons on the new dry shirt.

Tugging the bottom into your pants, you opened the door again completely, and asked with a sigh, “do I look okay?”

Inhaling sharply as his eyes finally fell upon you once more, he muttered slowly, “yeah… you, um… you look great.”

“Cool,” bending down to gather up your things, “thanks again.”

“Y/n, don’t thank me, it’s really nothing.”

“Still…” you walked out, coming dangerously close as you slowly slid passed him. Letting your eyes flutter shut just for a moment as his calming sent hit your senses, but only for a second, then glancing over your shoulder to force yourself back into the responsibilities of the day, “anyway, Hotch and the others are waiting for us, so we should properly…”

“Yeah, we should…”

next chapter

#chamomile #lea’s writing #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

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multishipperofgaydeadwizards · 2 months

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I have returned. And today I come with quite a number of ships so like brace yourselves, I'll keep popping in between my work. Speaking of prongsfoot, can we talk about just how perfect Remus/Peter would be?

1. They'll be the EPITOME of soft cottagecore. Baking, reading, picnics, growing plants, taking care of any wounded animals in the nearby area they'll just be so sidnsmsjdlsnsjdb

2. Peter knits. And he makes all the sweaters for Remus. And Remus absolutely adores watching him walking around with yarn and needles just going at it whenever wherever he gets the chance to

3. Cut to Remus being absolutely destroyed when it gets to him that Sirius killed his boyfriend but not being able to do anything as he sinks into his mind and never comes out. The reason he goes to Hogwarts in Harry's 3rd year is because he knows Sirius will be there. Him trying to kill him and Sirius trying to explain what really happened. And him demanding proof cause he's never seen Sirius be more... serious about anything else. And then the betrayal he feels when he sees said proof. Cut to him burning all the sweaters.

4. In this scenario, I like to think Peter started our as a spy for Dumbledore but he got turned into a death eaters for reals. Or he thought that the baby Voldy was targeting was actually Neville and he convinced himself that once Neville was taken care of, all his friends and his boyfriend will be safe. I have no idea where I'm going with this

5. They're both not players but they'll go up to the stands whenever prongsfoot is practicing and it'll be a cute double date

6. Remus can't figure out his feelings and talk about them for the life of him. But Peter, even tho shy, is very honest and cut the crap kind of person. With a little encouragement from Jamie, it works out really well.

7. Peter started getting into poetry because of Remus. (I actually was gonna type books there but my fingers just went and said poetry so we're going with it) He first started reading them to impress Remus but he couldn't actually understand them much. Later he fell in love with them. Or more specifically, he fell in love with how excited Remus got when talking about them. They'll both be in the kitchen and Peter will be walking around doing whatever needs to be done for what he is baking and Remus will be sat in one corner of the tabletop and talking animatedly about whichever poem he read/ was reading.

8. Ohhh they'll be so soft with each other I'm gonna cry. Sorry I'm making my point again. But like imagine like blurry sunlight coming in through paper thin curtains and baby's breathe flowers nestled between sunflowers and the smell of a bakery and the comfort in old sweaters and soft shy glances and pinkies intertwined and wishing on dandelions. That's them.

Ok I actually really likes doing that (8). It was kind of like a moodboard but with words. I'm gonna start doing it for all the ships now hehe. I'll come back later and do the same for the older ships I was ranting to you about (do you maybe happen to remember which ones they were? Or do you have them tagged?)

9. Their shipname would probably be "Moontail" I think... other possibilities are wormy which just sounds like a nickname for Pete. Or moonworm which isn't that bad ig but idk.

10. I think their ship is the one with the least possibility of an angsty beginning. Hit me with whatever you got tho. I think I'm slowly seeping back into my fluff phase from my smut phase (dw the cycle will continue and I'll be back to angst again lmfao)

Pls keep popping up I love it when you do :D I sadly won't be able to reply tho bc I have cooking today 😔 so you'll have to wait until I'm back home

HSJEBSONEO REMUS X PETER!!! I LOVE YOUR MIND!!

1) they so are, you are so correct!

2) omg he doesssss. it's his go-to gift for everyone, but especially for remus <3

3) oh fuck... that's so heartbreaking wtf :( but I can absolutely see it happen

4) I don't think that it would make sense that he thought the baby he was talking about neville at the beginning sure, but he told voldemort where the potters where so obviously he knew that it wasn't neville

5) absolutely. they wear matching sweaters :)

6) yesss. like I said before peter confesses first

7) awweee that's so cute! I can totally see that happen omgg

8) I love this. every time I see ships or characters described like that I melt. pls do do that :D

9) moontail sounds so cute omg >w< but moonworm is kinda cute too

10) "unrequited" that's all I'm going to say (it's my go-to lol)

I can't wait to see what else you come up with :)

#the lover with the great ideas #marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #remus x peter #moontail #moonworm #wow... you're bad at parking

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cauliflowertree · 1 year

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┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ 400 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION—

navigation

hello everyone :D thank you so much for 400 followers. this is amazing & i can’t thank you all enough for being here in my little corner of tumblr. i’m combining this celebration with a birthday celebration too (it’s not my birthday yet). and for the past 2 years on my birthday i’ve gone to this little town nearby and we get a milkshake and go to a cafe for a pastry so this theme was quite an appropriate thought from @velvetcloxds, ty <3

welcome to the bakery ! would you like anything to eat?

🍞 [sourdough bread] — give me an au or fic title + a character and i’ll give you a summary for what i’d write for it.

🥐 [croissant] — tell me your fav music artist / band and i’ll tell you my fav song of theirs.

🍫 [pain au chocolat] — [moots only] tell me your favourite colour & your name & i’ll make you a small moodboard.

🍰 [lemon drizzle cake] — tell me your gender preference, fandom preference & a small description of yourself & i’ll ship you with a character with 3-5 headcanons.

🥯 [onion and chive bagel] — send me a fic of yours (1.5k or under please) and i’ll make a 3 picture moodboard based off it.

perhaps something to drink?

🧋 [hazelnut iced latte] — tell me about your favourite birthday and i’ll tell you who’d plan your party (please include fandom).

🥛 [peanut butter milkshake] — games: fmk, this or that, would you rather, cym.

☕️ [hot chocolate] — send me a character and i’ll recommend you a fic for them.

[tagging mutuals] sorry if i missed anyone!

@unadulterated-syd @masivechaos @foralwaysandforever @harrysweasleys @natashxromanovf @cherrystrees @ell0ra-br3kk3r @sw34terw34ther @puppy-coded @imabee-oralizard @cremexcoffee @starconfettii @juneberrie @henqtic @maricoolerthanme @loveeharrington @valluvsu @mad-elia @mystic-writings @dead-pcets @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @lazydreamer19 @jackys-stuff-blog @honeysuckleharrington @lauralestrange7 @cherryys-stuff @gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley @fairydxll @luvterature @auroracalisto @blondedmuse @starstruckwillows @entishramblings @princess-paramour @locke-writes @heartfucks @saraheartsxavier @george-weasleys-girl @whoooooisthis @rottingkisses @nyxxxxxxxx @honeymunson @fizzyxcustard @sotwk @omenhel @someoneinthestars @diorgirl444 @scr4pbaby @sectumsempraaa

#400 follower celebration #❜ ─ 🍾 ─ ❛ celebrations #❜ ─ 💌 ─ ❛ mutuals

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harrypocter · 1 year

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Dean Thomas Masterlist

Here is a list of Dean-centric stories submitted during our Winter Sun fest. 💞

moodboard by @lanaturnergetup

A Letter. by @merlins-sequined-hotpants

Dean Thomas writes to Andromeda, post war.

Equus by @ashesandhackles

Dean, Ginny and Luna hang out in Forbidden Forest.

Before and After by @lanaturnergetup

Dean reflects, post war.

Understanding by @alohaemora

Post outing of Remus' werewolf status, Dean understands.

The sum of all parts by @incalculablepower

Dean, art, and everything else. With every lunge towards refuge, something in him crumples.

Hogwarts' Biggest football fan by @merlins-sequined-hotpants

Football and Quidditch - the way Dean comes to straddle the two worlds.

Signature by @floreatcastellumposts

Dean offers to forge signature for Harry.

Saudade by @ashesandhackles

Dean enters a bakery while on run.

A Mournful Portrait by @maknoll

Kingsley and Dean meet, post war.

Drafts by @turanga4

A bit of Dean's experience during the time of Deathly Hallows.

Laid to Rest by @bluethepineapple

An exploration into Dean's gentleness and grief.

Lifelike by @evesaintyves

Dean Thomas studies the theory & practice of moving portraits, and wonders if they might help him understand his father.

Winter Sun fest may be over, but Festival of Colours is round the corner! This is your chance to write or create fanart for POC characters from the HP series (can be canonically or headcanoned POC). Check out the fest details here

#harry pocter #hp fanfic #dean thomas #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #moodboard

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suituuup · 3 years

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a batch made in heaven

Beca is a chef on one of the most prominent up and coming restaurants in Brooklyn. Chloe has been running her family’s bakery for over five years now. They spend their first date trying to teach each other their specialties.

Word count: 7,077

Rating: T

for @snowonebutyou (who made this amazing moodboard) as a thank you for being an awesome beta and dealing with my nonsense! Special thanks to @lilhan for proofreading this one and bouncing ideas around with me 🥰

AO3 link

“Shit.”

You would think that after living in NYC for twenty-eight years, Chloe would know by now how unpredictable the weather can be. Yet, here she is walking in the pouring rain, her strides quickening as she tugs her coat over her head as much as she can, because she didn’t spend twenty minutes styling her hair for it to resemble a frizzy mess upon arriving to her destination.

Luckily the restaurant is just a block away, its sign glowing in the distance. High heels hurry over the wet sidewalk, a sigh puffing past Chloe’s lips as she makes it inside the warm and dry lobby.

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to Mamie,” the host greets with a polite smile and a head nod. “Do you have a reservation?”

Chloe steps closer. “Yes. I’m meeting Aubrey Posen? She should be here by now.”

The young man nods. “Right this way, please.”

As she follows the waiter, Chloe lets her eyes wander. The restaurant is a blend of chic and industrial, with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, factory windows and brick walls. Electric swing music drifts through the main room, intertwining with the hum of patrons chatting at their tables.

She is expecting to find Aubrey around the corner, a loud gasp turning heads at the sight of all the Bellas sitting around a large table.

“Oh my god!” Chloe cries, a hand flying up to her chest as her jaw drops in shock. “You’re all here!”

“Happy birthday!” They call out in unison, wearing beaming smiles.

Stacie stands up as Chloe hurries over to hug her, then goes around the table to greet each girl in the same manner.

She shakes her head when she gets to Aubrey, embracing her tightly. “You’re something else. Thank you.”

Aubrey simply smiles. “Happy birthday, Chlo.”

Chloe shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the empty chair left between Aubrey and Stacie, sitting down. She shakes her head once more, awe painted across her features. “I can’t believe you’re all here.”

“Don’t get emotional on us already, ginger,” Amy warns, holding up a hand. “I don’t have enough alcohol in me to get through one of your creepy speeches about you being inside all of us.”

Chloe grimaces; she’ll probably never live that one down.

READ THE REST ON AO3

#bechloe #bechloe fic #pitch perfect #chloe beale #beca mitchell

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jobean12-blog · 4 years

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Top Shelf: Chapter 17- Muffin But Books

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Bookshop/bartender/baking AU)

Word Count: 2,050

Summary: You go out to celebrate the reopening of the bookshop and have maybe a bit too much fun...and before you know it’s the day :)

Author’s Note: So I hope you guys can get the feel of what the bookshop looks like now, I used some pics in the moodboard that give you an idea :) I also could not resist some sexy fun with Bucky because I never can. The bar they are at called The Park (pic is in the center of the moodboard) is unfortunately closed now but here is an article about it so at least you can see the space and know the story. Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me and a day early today! 😁 I love you and I’m sending you all my love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: soft fluff, fun with friends, smut, teasing, flirting, all the emotions (the good ones :) 18 + only please ;)

Top Shelf Masterlist

You and Bucky are tucked into a booth at The Park, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. It’s the Saturday night before the reopening of the bookshop and Sam suggested everyone take the night off to celebrate. The two of you arrived early on purpose, enjoying some alone time while sipping your drinks and talking quietly together in the corner booth.

“Do you wanna sleep over at the bookshop tomorrow night? Or will it be too much to get up, go home and shower and then come back?” Bucky takes a sip of his drink while he watches you consider his question. “Let’s stay over. It will be our last night before it officially becomes “The Bookshop Bakery!” He agrees with a smile, leaning in for a kiss that he quickly deepens when your hand runs up his thigh under the table.

“Starting the party without us I see.” Sam’s loud voice breaks the two of you apart. “You have the worst timing Wilson,” Bucky groans before standing and pulling him in for a hug. Everyone finds a seat and orders some food and drinks. The next few hours are light and worry free. You talk about the excitement over the reopening, Peggy and Steve’s upcoming wedding and everything in between.

You’re halfway through your third drink when you hand starts inching up Bucky’s thigh again. He grabs your wrist, stilling your movements and whispering in your ear, “what are you up to, baby?” Striking up a conversation with Nat you ignore his question and wiggle from his grasp. He let’s your hand continue its path until it’s hovering over the growing bulge in his jeans.

He nearly spits out his drink when you start to gently rub him through the thick fabric. It’s hard to stop when you can feel him throb beneath your fingers, but you can tell it’s really getting to him. “Hey Buck, you ok. You look like a deer in headlights.” Steve’s question makes you bite your lip to stop from giggling. “I’m good. Yea, fine, thanks.” Steve raises a brow but doesn’t push it, turning his attention to Peggy.

“Doll face. What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?” This time it’s more of a growl than a whisper and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Just having a little fun is all.” With one more firm squeeze you remove your hand and slip into the conversation between Sam and Nat. Before you know it Bucky’s hand lands on your bare thigh and his fingers dance along your soft skin.

“Hey Nat, Peg, bathroom break?” You eye the two girls and they both nod, squeezing around the guys to get out. You give Bucky a wink and saunter off toward the back. “Fucking hell.” Sam smirks. “What was that Barnes.” Sliding out his middle finger, Bucky doesn’t answer, just takes another sip of his drink. Sam tries Steve. “So, how’s the beard working out for you?” Bucky can’t hold back his snickers and he dips his head, “we are never gonna let you live it down.”

When the three of you return the boys are still smiling and Steve’s face is red. “Oh god,” Peggy complains, throwing her hands up. You all laugh and slip back into your seats. This time you decide that Bucky’s lap is better than the booth. He definitely doesn’t mind and now you can continue your little game. Shifting back and forth you do your best to push your ass back and grind over him. His hands are digging into your hips and his breath is hot in your ear.

“What time is it?” he grits out. “Almost 1 am,” is your sultry answer. He reaches back to grab his wallet. “Ok gang, we’re out. We have some stuff to finish at the shop tomorrow and dinner with Grandma.” The boys boo but Nat and Peggy give you a sly smile. “See you all at the opening!” With that Bucky slides out from under you and grabs your hand.

The bar is only a few short blocks from your apartment and you both keep your cool until you’re in the elevator. The second the doors shut Bucky has you pressed against the wall, his hands slipping under your dress. “You’re a fucking tease, you know that.” Your sassy response dies on your lips the moment his fingers ghost over the wet patch on your underwear. He hums into your mouth, pushing the satin aside and gliding his fingers through your folds.

The elevator dings and he pulls away, letting your dress fall down and pulling you out and down the hall. You try to find your keys but it’s taking too long. Bucky turns you around and kisses you against the door. Breaking away he takes his fingers and traces them over your lips before pushing them past. You both moan as you suck them clean, tasting yourself.

“Fucking keys,” you breathe out, finally finding them at the bottom of your bag. The door flies open with your combined body weight and Bucky quickly slams it shut. You’ve barely dropped your bag to the floor, and he’s got your dress up above your hips. Trailing soft kisses along your neck his fingers hook into your underwear and pull them down your legs.

Your hands fumble with the button of his jeans, eventually working them down his thick thighs. His boxers are next, and you wrap your hand around his hard cock, slowly pumping the length of him. He parts your legs with his knee, removing your hand and running his cock through your arousal. “Is this what you want?”

He pushes into you every so slightly before pulling back out, loving the whine that leaves your parted lips. “Yes. I want you to fuck me.” He teases you one more time before slowly filling you up. He lifts one of your legs and goes deeper, causing your head to roll back against the door. His lips are on your neck as he thrusts into you hard enough to shake the door on its frame. His hand reaches between your bodies and it isn’t long before you’re clenching around him, chanting his name with your release.

Once you both catch your breath, he carries you to bed, covering you before he gets in and holds you to his chest. You can feel your eyelids grow heavy with sleep, the steady beat of his heart matching your own. Kissing his chest and snuggling closer you whisper, “I love you,” barely hearing his same words as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

Sunday is a flurry of last-minute preparations and dinner at Grandmas. She’s practically humming with excitement and makes you promise not to give too much away about tomorrow. “I want to be surprised and I have full faith in you all.” You help her clean up and sit and talk for a little longer before heading back to the bookshop.

You and Bucky stand by the door and look out and the new space. “Wow. I can’t believe we did it.” Bucky hums his agreement, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his head atop yours. “We did it.” You take a deep breath, loving how it smells like pumpkin and spice and coffee beans with the light scent of old books somehow weaving its way through in a perfect balance.

The books have been neatly shelved on the beautiful new dark wood bookcases, all the mismatched piles gone and free of dust. You wrote all the aisle and shelf labels by hand and encased them in brass adornments that match the new lighting fixtures. The front of the store was cleared out and now houses a completely new display case for the baked goods as well as some tables, chairs and a couch with soft cushions.

Behind the counter there are shelves for coffee mugs, teacups and plates, all of which you and Bucky picked out at antique stores, estate sales and consignment shops. The labels for the desserts are hand-printed on antique looking paper, framed by more brass and the new countertop is a dark oak wood with lighter grains running through it.

The lighting is soft with hanging lamps and candle holders that line the walls while the accents are bright and colorful without being overpowering. You got rid of the old blinds that covered the windows and went with light and flowing curtains that are pulled back with antique hooks. It has a charming and soft look that’s both comforting and classic.

You and Bucky head toward the back staircase, which is now closed off with an iron gate to prevent people from going up to the attic library. Once you’re upstairs you plop yourself down on the fluffy blankets, watching Bucky as he scans the bookshelves. “What are you looking for handsome?” He smiles but doesn’t answer as he stops in front of one and grabs a book. “Remember this?” He turns it around to reveal the cover. Your eyes land on the Auryn garnishing the cover. “Of course, I do. You read some to me the first day we met.”

He props up some pillows and leans back, opening his legs so you can sit between them. You lean your back against him and he cuddles you close, placing the book in your lap. “Ok, I still have the bookmark from that day.” He starts to read, and you feel yourself relaxing, his soft voice lulling you to sleep. When he realizes you’re out he sets the book down and shifts so you’re both laying down, kissing your shoulder before resting his head on the pillow.

Bucky wakes before the alarm, moving carefully and sitting up. “Hey baby, pssst.” Gently running his hands over your hair, he tucks it away from your face. “Sleepy head, hey, come on, time to get up.” You mumble something incoherent and roll over, smacking at the air. You took the week off from work using your vacation days so you could help Bucky with the launch as much as possible and getting up early just doesn’t sound appealing right now.

“Today’s the day!” he chuckles, “gotta get up.” His hands reach down and squeeze your butt and he watches a smile creep over your face. “I know you’re awake now. I’ll resort to tickles if you don’t start moving.” Trying to smack his hands away you curl into a ball, hiding in the pillows. “Ok, I’m up! I’m up!”

The two of you change and head back to his apartment to shower and get ready. You only have to grab a few things before heading back to the store and checking it all over for the last time. You have a couple of hours before the doors open, so you head to the back to throw some things in the oven, hoping to have them as fresh as possible.

“Hey, baby?” You hear Bucky’s voice from outside the door and immediately panic at his tone. “Bucky.” You quickly head out and around the counter staring at him first before following his line of sight. The line of people outside has you muttering, “holy shit,” under your breath, grasping for Bucky’s hand before you turn to him.

His smile hits you like a ray of sunshine and before you know it, you’re kissing and hugging him and jumping up and down in his arms. “There must be 25 people out there already Buck!” He keeps smoothing his hands down your hair and rests his forehead to yours, “thank you. Thank you for everything.” Tracing his lips with your finger you kiss them softly, “Bucky, I love you. Now hurry, we gotta get the muffins and cookies out of the oven!”

Once everything is out and properly displayed you straighten a few cups hanging along the wall and attempt to check your hair in your phone. “Are we ready?” Bucky gives your hand one last squeeze before you make your way to the door. You can already see Steve, Peggy, Nat and Sam and right beside them is Grandma Betty. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and when they land on you and Bucky you know you won’t be able to hold back your own.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckys-henley @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @buckyandbowties @buckosawrus @chuuulip @eurynome827 @emilylyoness @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @ikaris-whore @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @scarletsoldierrr @tuiccim @this-kitten-is-smitten @the-wayward-robot @yansi1923 @flyawaybay @throwmyheartawayagain @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @godofplumsandthunder @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods @inflxmes @curlyred2020 @lauratang @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @buchanansebba @addikted-2-dopamine @lady-pswrld @lookiamtrying @tales-of-spring @lokilvrr @mishaandthebrits @hopefuldreamers-world @rebekahdawkins

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134340am · 2 years

Text

anyways just for fun, does anyone want a moodboard? (here are some i did previously!) ☺️

feel free to send in a character + a place (e.g. library, corner bakery, cereal aisle of the grocery store, school, traffic light junction, retirement home, etc.) if you want one!

#was kidding bout the retirement home btw i don’t think i know how to make a mb for that #point is: any place!!! like… space!!! that’s fine 2 i guess #could be an astronaut au…#okay yes that’s all :-) thank u thank u #if this flops u didn’t see this #m gonna eat breakfast now #and i’ll work on this throughout the day #bye!#hello yuna

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liamloveslarry · 3 years

Text

Baker! Harry & Primary School Teacher! Louis

so, a couple of weeks ago i made a little post about how i’d love for people to send me prompts/writing ideas and the lovely @louistsbravery sent me one based off her moodboard she so kindly made, here!

my brain kind of ran away with me and so i hope you like this, i tried to stick to the theme as best i could, enjoy! :)

Harry eyes the man from behind the counter.

He watches him as his eyes scan the board above from where he’s standing, sleepy blue orbs blinking tiredly behind the square glasses perched upon his nose.

His heart thumps something fierce when he notices the tufts of brown hair sticking out slightly from behind his ear, a noticeable trait he assumes from lack of sleep and too many early mornings.

It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and the sun is barely edging over cobbled streets and tall buildings, its shimmering waves casting a pale glow over puddles on the pavement and bouncing off lampposts.

‘Babs Bakery’ is nestled between a small row of shops along the Northern Quarter. Its quaint, rustic exterior leads itself into a small tea room and peaceful eating area. Potted plants line the windowsill outside while the smell of fresh baked scones and coffee beans pulse and weave through the air, an atmosphere Harry’s prone to taking naps in.

He’s been here for about a year now, taking over from his Nana when she’d gotten too old to carry on the business, but he hadn’t changed a thing. It might be slightly old fashioned but it reminds him of his grandparents and how he used to sit at the table in the corner by the window with his colouring book and jumbo crayons, while being served hot vimto and iced fingers.

A small cough nudges Harry from his stupor and he blinks, realising he’s been staring. The man is smiling slightly, the last traces of sleep pull at his lips as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth while he lets out a yawn.

“Morning.” He says, his Northern twang is raspy and gentle, a higher pitched lilt whispering through words.

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his apron and steps forward, fingertips drumming along the counters edge. He can see the man’s wearing a light blue button up underneath a soft, grey jumper. Pale pink tie burrowed in between. A shoulder bag is situated over his left arm and there are textbooks, papers and pens bursting through the zip.

“Hey. G’morning.” He replies, fingers aching to touch him. “Find anything you like?”

The man squints one more time at the blackboard, eyes moving over loopy words and today’s specials.

“I think,” he says, dragging out the ‘I’. Harry finds it that endearing he has to grip the countertop and remind himself to keep breathing. “I think I’m gonna go for a latte and a cheese and ham toastie, please. Is that alright?”

Harry nods and reaches for a paper cup. “Is that to go or stay in?” He asks.

“To go, please. Need to make sure I get to work before the little monsters. If I time it right, the caffeine rush lasts all day.” The man responds, smirking a little. “I swear I love my job, but sometimes they can be a handful.”

Harry nods and spins on the spot, turning the face the coffee machine and placing the cup underneath the metal nozzle. There’s a spurt and a groan before hot milk starts to pour into the cup.

“Am I right in assuming you’re talking about children, not animals, right?”

The man laughs and Harry blinks up towards the ceiling, whispering a quiet ‘fuck’ as his knees buckle.

“Yep! Early years. I work at the Primary School just down the road. The only animal I have is Eden here, and she’s still asleep the lucky buggar.”

“Eden?” Harry asks, as he places the cheese and meat on top of the bread baked only this morning, crumbing bits of pepper on top and drizzling balsamic vinegar over the sharp cheddar.

He places it into the small oven and turns the timer on.

“Yeah, heh. Sorry. She’s my pet rabbit and the kids go crazy when I bring her in. I hope you don’t mind me bringing her in here? She’s in her carrier so she can’t escape.” Louis looks sheepish, and he rubs the back of his neck while he flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s; but the look is quickly dissolved when Harry dashes around the counter and asks if he can see her.

Louis nods and steps aside, giving view to the medium sized carrier sat next to his feet.

Harry crouches and sees through the bars, a small golden rabbit, tufts of white fur peeking through the strands. Her nose twitches in sleep and her soft whiskers brush Harry’s fingertips lightly where he’s resting against the metal bars.

“Oh my, she’s so cute.” He whispers, not wanting to wake the sleeping animal.

He peers up at the man from where he’s situated on the floor and realises he’s eye level with the fly of his work pants. He flushes and bends his knees, standing up.

This only makes things worse as he’s now directly facing him, no counter in between their bodies. If Harry were to inch his fingers out, he’d feel just how soft his jumper is. He flexes his knuckles and reminds himself not to think about if his skin is as soft as his voice.

He coughs into his fist and steps back.

“Sorry – uh. I just love animals. And I don’t mind them in the shop,” he nods his head to where a small tank rests next to the till. “I have one of my own to keep me company, too.”

A plump goldfish swims happily from rock to rock, bobbing his tiny mouth as he scoops up the remaining pieces of fish food Harry had sprinkled in earlier.

Louis spins to face the tiny morsel, but only after his eyes drop down to where Harry’s biting his lip, a small bridge of pink scattered over his nose and cheeks.

“Nice.” He says, smiling at Harry once more. “What’s its name?”

Harry walks back around the counter and scoops the cup from underneath the machine and presses the button on the timer, stopping the chirps that are signalling the food is ready.

He places the items down in front of the man and bends to rest his elbows on the counter, reaching one finger out to follow the fish through the glass.

“Phillip.” He huffs, the sound sculpting into an embarrassed laugh.

Louis looks at him with his eyebrows raised, a small grin quirking his lips.

Harry groans quietly and rolls his eyes.

“Please don’t ask – my niece named him and I couldn’t say no.”

Louis laughs and reaches a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet and sliding his card out of the slot.

“Mate, you don’t need to explain anything to me.” He says. “I deal with 15 of them on a daily basis, why d’ya think I bought a bloody bunny?”

He smirks as he places the card into the reader and enters his pin, and Harry stares at the way the sun is peeking its way in through the windows, causing the man’s hair to shine, highlighting his cheekbones and lightly freckled skin.

He stands there for another couple of seconds before the reader beeps and he pulls his card out.

“Cool, well - I think that’s me.” The man says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket and gathering the items in his hands. “I guess I’ll see you around, uh?” he looks a little expectantly at Harry and smiles, a tiny quirk of his top lip.

“Harry.”

“Louis,” he replies. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then, Harry.”

Harry manages a wave before the man is out the door, smiling at him through the window one last time before he disappears down the street.

It isn’t until Harry’s shutting up shop and wiping down the counters that he spots a small folded piece of paper, wedged in underneath the till.

He frowns and drops the cloth, peeling open the sharp edges until scrawled black writing looks back at him, reading:

“Nice Buns!”

Harry stares at the letters and the scribbly, rushed image of two iced buns smiling and feels a flush work its way from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes.

The thing is, is that Harry doesn’t know who could’ve done this.

The bakery’s been busy non-stop all day and plenty of customers have been in and out over the last eight or so hours, and so he’s confused as to who left him the note.

He pockets the piece of paper and picks up his cloth, continuing to clean.

This time with a small smile etched onto his face.

The notes keep appearing after that.

Once a day, in the same spot as before.

Usually, Harry only notices them at the end of his shift, treating them as little surprises after his busy schedule.

Some days there are short sentences, wishing him a good day, and other days there are lyrics from songs that make him smile, every now and then there’s a cheeky one liner that makes him blush.

There’s a small glass jar that sits beside the toaster where he keeps them, day in, day out, the glass gets fuller. Sometimes Harry, after a bad day, will twist the top off and read through them one by one, curling up on the chair by the window and instantly feeling the stress of the day melt from his shoulders, sated happiness washing over him.

He hasn’t yet managed to find the person on the other end of the notes, always too busy to stop and look. And anyway, what would he say if he found out? Yes? Maybe? ‘No Jonathan, if this is you, I’m not into threesomes so stop asking me?’

He kind of likes there being an air of mysteriousness to them.

But he guesses, it wouldn’t be so bad if it turned out to be a certain someone, now would it?

It’s after an unusually busy day that has Harry rushing around on his feet and trying to serve a long line of customers that seems never ending, flour dusted through his hair and balancing both dishing out food and cleaning up after people, that come 5 o’clock, he’s exhausted and practically dead on his feet.

He slumps against the counter and rests his head down between his shoulder blades, having a minute to himself and heaving a big sigh, when he hears the telltale sign of footsteps approaching him, shuffling he thinks, a little slowly.

“Hey.”

He whips his head up and sees Louis.

His hair is a mess and there’s a line of purple felt tip staining his cheek. His tie is skewed and the top button of his shirt is undone, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallows, lightly dusted with midnight scruff.

“Sorry, I know you’re uh-technically closing soon,” he says, “I just wanted to pop in really quick for one of those chocolate chip muffins? My sister’s coming up for a few days and I need something sweet to get me through, long day ‘n all. Which I’m sure you can relate to.”

Harry huffs a laugh and nods his head, turning to face the cabinet full of pastries and frowns when he realises there aren’t any in there. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Ah, sorry. It looks like we’re out, I have a fresh batch of blueberry in the back if that’s okay?”

Louis nods and smiles and Harry wanders into the back, letting the smell of bread and cookies sprinkle over him as he pulls out one of the trays and picks a particularly plump muffin, bouncy slightly in texture.

He finds Louis in the same spot as he was before, only this time he’s rubbing his eye with his fist, looking even more tired than when he first padded in.

He waves the muffin at Louis who grins in response, arm falling back to his side and walking closer to the counter.

“Let me just wrap this up for you.” Harry says, and places the muffin in a small decorative box, closing the lid and taping it with a sticker.

When Louis’ walking towards the door a couple of minutes later, he looks over his shoulder and says,

“You might wanna check something over there,” nodding his head to a small counter display full of flapjacks, where a piece of paper looks to be slotted in between, sticking up as if waiting to be plucked, “looks like you missed something.”

And then with one last smile that’s bordering on slightly nervous, he’s gone.

Ten seconds later when Harry unpicks the paper, the words ‘you bake me crazy, wanna grab a drink sometime?’ look back at him.

He thinks back to the other day and presses his lips together, suppressing a smile and biting his lip.

He knows just what to say.

And then, three years later when he stares down at the ring and card with two pieces of bread on the front and reads, ‘I loaf you very much, shall we grow mould together?’

And he looks into teary blue eyes.

He knows just what to say then too.

#this was pure fluff #tooth rotting #wow #i hope this was ok!!#i honestly didn't mean to write over 2k words on this #but here we we are #if you like little prompts like this #please let me know and i'll be happy to write them!#send them to me anytime and i'll post when i have the chance #:)#larry fic #hlcreators #i don't know how else to tag this #fic rec

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

i noticed the piggy back picture in the jake and chris moodboard... is there any chance we’ll get a drabble with that happening? 👀

CW: Nothing really. Does sickening fluff need a warning?

Jake makes breakfast on the days he doesn't have class. Well, he makes breakfast on the days he does, too, but that's throwing together premade breakfast sandwiches, assembly-line style - bottom half of English muffin, circles of egg whites already cooked, cheese slices, top half of English muffin, done - and then cooking them all at once in the industrial toaster oven some bakery had donated before he left, for the rescues to reheat as needed when they came straggling downstairs.

On the days he doesn't have class? Jake has fun.

He's the first one up - the rescues sleep weird hours, but they always stay in their rooms until 9 or 10 unless they hear Jake moving around. He has a whole routine now on his shelter-life days.

He sets the music player up on his phone and settles it into the little cradle that connects it to the speakers. He bought those with scholarship money but fuck it, why the fuck not.

He'd be paying student loans for the rest of his natural life, since this didn't count as "public service" according to the government, so why not have one good fucking thing?

Once he finds the playlist he wants - Saturday Night Dancin', like Jake has ever gone out on a Saturday in his life... well, he has, but not lately... He sets it to play and then?

Jake makes pancakes.

There are four rescues now, and Kauri's in some strange asshole's bed or sleeping on a park bench again, Jake doesn't know and he doesn't ask. But he won't be here for breakfast either way.

He pulls down the pancake mix from the shelf and hums along with the music as he stirs in the milk and eggs and bit of melted butter the mix calls for, preheating the big griddle he's laid out across the stove and plugged in. The coffeemaker is hard at work, and the sun is shining, and it's gonna be a good day for him, and for them. He can just tell.

Nobody's going to relapse today. Nobody's going to have flashbacks. Just a normal day.

Once he has the first round of pancakes going, the rest is easy and thoughtless. Pour batter, wait, flip, put on warming plate and slide into the slightly heated oven. Rinse and repeat. Again and again, plates stacked high, and Jake is dancing to the beat of the song - some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights I call it a draw - when he hears a shuffle from the doorway and comes to a stop.

He turns just as the final plate of pancakes is set to warm and sees Chris watching him, leaning against the doorway. His narrow face is solemn but his green eyes are bright, and half his strawberry-blond hair is smashed flat against his head while the other half stands nearly straight.

"Hey, man. Good mornin'." Jake grins and turns to hit the stop button on the music as he unplugs the griddle.

"Don't make the music go away," Chris says, softly. "Please. Please, Jake, um, Jake don't, um, don't don't don't turn it off."

Jake can barely hear him over the song - I was never one to believe the hype, save that for the black and white, try twice as hard and I'm half as liked - but he nods and all he does is turn the volume down. "You like this one?"

"Um. Not, not, not really." Chris twists his hand in the shirt he's wearing - one of Jake's, he must have dug it out of his clean clothes pile - and looks down at the floor. His bare legs stick out from the boxer shorts he's wearing, a flash of plaid just showing under the hem of the shirt.

Jake blinks, confused. "Then why-"

"I remember this song."

Jake blinks. "You do?"

Chris nods, swallowing hard. "I, I remember it in the car but I I I don't know why or um, or when, I just, um, I just just remember it. I, I want to."

and some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again

"Okay, we'll let it play." Jake considers, then leans over and hits the back button to start it over from the beginning. "Wanna dance to it?"

Some nights I stay up, cashing in my bad luck

Chris shakes his head, but when Jake does a little spin - all 6'3" of him, so tall his head seems perilously close to the ceiling fan- he puts a hand up over his mouth to hide a shy smile.

"Well, then..." Jake trails off. Then he brightens back up and turns around, crouching down and lowering his hands, palms bent. "Hop on."

Chris makes a sound from behind him that Jake can't read. "You, you want me to, to to to do what? To, to-"

"Climb on my back, man. I'll do the dancing."

There's a pause, long enough that he thinks maybe Chris isn't up for it, and just as he's ready to straighten back up he feels Chris's arms go around his neck fr behind and catches his knees with his hands, bent at Jake's waist.

Chris sets his chin on Jake's shoulder and he seems nearly fucking weightless as Jake stands up and Chris tightens his arms reflexively, letting out a squeak.

"Don't don't don't let me, let, don't let me fall-"

"I never would," Jake says firmly. He moves over to the counter, swaying his hips, and it'd feel fucking ridiculous with anyone else but with Chris giggling at every movement, Jake feels like maybe this is what being somebody's brother is like.

He pours himself coffee one-handed, Chris nervously squeaking with every shift as he holds him steady with the other, skinny arms tight around his neck but never tight enough to hurt. Flashes of coppery hair in the corner of his eye, Chris's bright white smile - do they whiten their teeth in that fucking hell? - and when Jake sings along with the song, Chris hums it, too, right against his ear.

My heart is breaking for my sister and the con that she called love

His voice is soft, and sweet, just like everything else about him.

but then I look into my nephew's eyes

Jake wonders if he has parents somewhere who miss him still. If they'll ever find them to send Chris, or whoever he actually is, home.

Man, you wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from some terrible nights

Jake does a spin with Chris shrieking and holding him so tightly Jake briefly coughs at the pressure against his throat, and both of them are laughing breathlessly when he stops.

"Jake, Jake, hey hey hey, Jake, hey Jake! Jake, too fast!"

"Sorry, buddy, couldn't resist. Won't do it again, I promise." He shifts Chris to get a better hold on him and sighs as the song ends. "Any other songs you remember from before?"

"Um." Chris is quiet, for a second, fingers picking at the fabric on the front of Jake's shirt. His chin is a warm, gentle weight on Jake's shoulder, his large eyes full of perfect trust.

If only Jake felt like he deserved any of it.

"I, I, I remember one song."

"What is it? Is it a dancing song?"

"Dunno. But, but, but it's um, it's..." Chris is grinning again. Jake can just barely see his smile. "It's um. It's... from a lady with something wrapped around her head. I can't remember the name but I remember um I, I, I-... It goes, um..." He hums a few bars, spot-on perfect pitch.

Jake blinks. "Chris, are you singing Lauren Daigle?"

"I, I, I don't know who that is, um, do you you you, I think someone, um, someone listened, to, to that song around me and, and sang it, and-"

"Is it this song?"

Jake's voice is shaky but solid, and he has to pitch the whole song in a lower key. He hasn't even heard this song in forever, it feels like. Weird how he remembers all the words. "There is no distance that cannot be covered over and over, you're not defenseless, I'll be your shelter, I'll be your armor..." He pauses. "Is that it?"

For a second, silence.

"Yeah," Chris breathes. "Can can can you sing some more? Of, of the song?"

Jake clears his throat, shifts Chris again. "Want me to put you down?"

"No," Chris says, softly. That's all. He rests against Jake's back, legs up by his ribs, arms around him.

Jake huffs a bit of silent laughter. "Okay but my voice might be weaker-"

"Don't, don't care." Chris is nearly whispering now. "Just, just just sing, please. Some more. Of, of the song."

Jake looks out the window at the sun rising, the purple and orange sky.

"I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night, it's true, I will rescue you... I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight, it's true, I will rescue you..."

Chris hums along with him, and when Jake stops, Chris sings alone in his soft, high-pitched tenor.

"I will rescue you..."

#tw: trauma recovery #trauma recovery whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #whump #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #box boy #fluff scene but sad music

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years

Photo

Extraordinary

from An Adventurer’s Guide to Romance Part 2 of the series collaboration between myself & @guardians-of-exo! Please go check out her blog! Her moodboards are *chef’s kiss* magnificent and she listens to me scream about plants while she fixes all of my horrific punctuation! She is wonderful. <3 Pairing: Yixing x reader Rating: M (for mentions of sexual activity and semi-graphic gore). Words: ~10k

The sun is just bright enough to be an annoyance to your eyes. Bringing your hand to shield your eyes in a mock salute, a smile graces your lips anyway at the thought of your herbs appreciation for the burning star. During your route, you wonder if your Coneflower and Thyme are ready for pruning. Chewing your lip, you worry they aren’t but hope they are. As more soldiers return injured from outside the city limits, your stocks of herbs have begun to run low. Dealing with the current threats to the Kingdom, you’re concerned that the growth of your medicinal herbs won’t be enough to heal everyone. Just one week ago you’d expressed such concerns to the Lady of the Palace, who promised to bring them before the King. For days you stressed, fluttering about the ward and checking your inventories twice, thrice, just to keep busy when you were not tending to the wounded. If your calculations were correct, you would run out within the month. Especially with the pesky Knight Captain and his recklessness. You vividly remember the moment the Lady of the Palace returned to you with a smile gracing her lips. Elegant and regal as she may be, her professional exterior faltered just enough to let you see the pleasant side of her happiness when she came to tell you the King had found a hopeful prospect of resolution for your concerns. Seeing the value of his people’s safety, he sent a guarded caravan to collect an Apothecary living outside of the city's walls to the North. One with a quirky but excellent reputation. That was three days ago, explaining that they’d just arrived and in two days’ time it would be the first day of a new contract between the palace and this new Apothecary. You giggle to yourself at the events that followed. The Knight Captain barging into the ward carrying his Lieutenant as they bickered like siblings. You learned she was part of the caravan and somehow managed to fall from her horse and break her leg.

She was frustrated by the situation and was every bit as loud as her temper, complaining about being bedridden for a couple of days. She went on a rant about who was going to babysit the Knight Captain while she wasn’t there, Chanyeol huffing with an offended look on his face.

Loud peals of laughter startle you from your memories as a pack of children chase one another across the street ahead of you. A shaggy black mutt runs between them with a tongue too big for its muzzle flopping out of one side. You see Frost Flower Inn on the opposite side of the street, laughing at the irony of its name while it’s lit up in the warmth of the sun. The owner moves across the porch, sweeping before the crowd picks up later. Sensing your eyes on him, he turns his feline gaze to you with a kind smile.

“Good morning Y/N!” he calls across the expanse of stone, waving a hand at you excitedly. Removing a hand from your skirts, you wave back as you pass, “Good morning, Minseok!” From the directions you were given by the palace Cartographer, the new shop should be just around the corner from the bakery. You sigh contentedly as you draw closer. The smell of freshly baked goods gets heavier the closer you come to its source. Several women are loitering around the outside, their eyes trained to the open walls of the building for something. Just as you’re rounding the corner you hear an angelic male voice greeting them, and they swoon. Immediately, you trip over something large, “Oh!” Careful not to land on it, you straighten and look back to see a man lying asleep on the path. A pair of round wire-framed eyeglasses lays cracked on the dirt beside him. Surging forward, you watch his chest rise and fall before touching his cheek gently a few times, “Sir?” He's out cold. He doesn’t respond to your touch or your voice, but you’re satisfied he’s alive. Looking around, you notice he came from the open door of a shop not ten feet away. You need to get him up. While you’ve had your share of moving dead weight into the medical ward at the palace, you’re not sure you can do it alone. Weighing your options, girlish laughter comes from the corner once more. None of those women would be of assistance, but perhaps the man from the bakery would help you move him without much fuss. You rise, looking around the quiet alley before you move back out onto the main stretch of road. It takes a moment of polite pushing to reach the door of the bakery, but you manage. Entering, you spot two men standing behind the counter, one older and one younger. You’re aware the establishment is owned by a father and son, and you can see the resemblance. “Ah, excuse me?” you call to them. There isn’t anyone else standing at the counter other than you. The older of the two notices you first. “How can I help you, miss?” he asks. His smile crinkles his eyes. Twisting your body backwards toward the door, you’re not sure how to begin without causing a commotion, “Ah... you see, I actually need some help? Something... heavy, fell over and I can’t move it by myself. Would you mind assisting me? It will only take a moment.” Considering your request, he turns, “Son, can you help this young lady?” The younger man looks up from the dough he is kneading on the counter with a curious expression. He pats his hands on his apron aggressively and rinses them before coming around the front of the counter. “Can you help me lift something for a moment?” you inquire. His smile also crinkles his eyes, like his father’s. “I can,” he confirms, gesturing for you to lead the way. The moment you’re outside, you realize the commotion the women are causing is for him. None of them make a sound as they watch him follow you around the corner. Shuddering, you feel their heated gazes like daggers in your back. “Ah...” you begin, scratching at your head and pointing at the man still sleeping in the street. The young Baker gawks, “What happened to him?” Heaving a sigh from your lungs, you pluck the glasses from the ground and pocket them before you crouch and hold each ankle in one hand, “I don’t know, I nearly tripped over him. I think he came from this shop,” you explain, tilting your chin toward the open door. With a strong, furrowed brow, your assistant moves to the man's head, gathering his shoulders into his arms. Lifting him together, you move him through the door. Taking in the chaos of boxes and crates scattered around the main room, you notice an abundance of shattered glass vials and a mess of brown colored powder on the floor and decide to investigate later. A staircase is behind the counter. “There’s got to be a bed upstairs,” you suggest. “Here,” replies the Baker. “Let me carry him then.” Together, you maneuver the sleeping man onto his back. As you move up the staircase, it creaks beneath the combined weight of the men, and you’re grateful for the help. Surely as you thought, a single bed rests below a window on the second floor. With your aid, the man is eased down onto it and laid on his side. The young Baker rolls his shoulder, releasing a huff, “Well then. What are you going to do with him?” Twisting your lips, you consider your options and decide to stay until this man recovers, “I’m the Head Physician at the palace. I can sit with him until he wakes up. I'm here to meet him anyway.” Running a hand through his hair to push it off of his forehead, the man nods, “Ah, I see then. You must know the Lady of the palace.” “Oh? Yes, I do,” you begin, pausing to question. “Do you?” His bottom lip juts out and his eyes flick around the room. “I met her last week,” he says. “She came to check out this shop. Something about an Apothecary to help the sick and wounded. She got a little lost and asked for help.” “I see,” you nod in understanding. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name,” you realize. He smiles politely, “It’s Junmyeon.” Nodding, you return the sentiment, “Thank you, Junmyeon. I'm Y/N. I appreciate your help.” He hums in reply, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’ve got to get back to work then. It was nice meeting you,” he states cordially as he leaves. Just before he disappears on the staircase, he adds, “Tell him to be more careful when he wakes up, please.” It makes you laugh as he leaves. For a few quiet moments, you watch the sleeping man. Or rather, sedated, is your best guess. You're nearly positive the powder on the floor downstairs is Valerian Root. Nobody sleeps that heavily under natural circumstances. You watch him rest quietly, taking note of his features. His ears are pointed just slightly, and his cheekbones are high, with a straight nose, curved slightly at the button. Even with relaxed features during sleep, he’s handsome. The line of his lips makes a shape you find cute. Having ogled him enough, you look around the room. A bookshelf full of journals and a desk are set up against the opposite wall of the bed, and a chest of clothing sits open at the far end of the room. Several pieces are spilling over the edge of it, and various types of accessories are gathered on a low table beside it. A large woolen rug swathes the floor beside the bed, and a washbasin kisses the edge of it where it stands along the wall. There’s also an impressive oval mirror leaning against the corner of the room next to it. You can see your reflection clearly in its flawless surface. The sound of stirring among sheets pulls your attention back to the bed, where the man is moving. Awkwardly, you stand in the center of the room hugging your arms to yourself. He blinks a few times and takes a large breath, yawning. The man sits up and puts one palm to his head, groaning. “Take it easy,” you comment quietly. His attention snaps to you, finally noticing he isn’t alone. Curiously, he looks at you, “Hello, can I help you?” You laugh. It’s not that you meant to, but his kindness immediately pulls the endearing sound from your chest, “Are you alright?” “I’m sorry,” he begins, coughing slightly. “Who are you and what happened?” You sit beside him at the foot of the bed, “I’m Y/N. I tripped over you lying in the middle of the street and brought you back here with some help.” He nods, knitting his brow as he remembers, “Ah, yes. I think I knocked over a crate of Valerian powder. Tried to get outside but I guess I breathed in too much.” That would explain the vials of broken glass and the powder on the floor downstairs. A swell of pride wells in your chest at your correct deduction. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble and thank you for helping me,” he begins quietly, still rubbing his head. “I just moved in and it’s been a little difficult.” He pauses when he squints at you, “Have you seen a pair of glasses, by the way?” “Oh,” you jolt, snapping your fingers together. Reaching into your pocket, you procure the pair of frames with the damaged lens that were lying outside. “They’re a little broken,” you state in a sad voice. He smiles as he takes them from your hands, holding them up to inspect the crack, “I can fix these.” Your mouth drops open in shock, “Really, how?” The man grins at you with mischievous eyes, “It’s a secret I’m afraid.” He rises and moves to the stairs, turning to look at you expectantly before descending. You stand a little too quickly, nearly tripping on your own skirts to follow him. Down in the shop, you hear him click his teeth, finding him crouched over the pile of wasted dust. “It’s no good anymore,” you muse aloud sadly, remembering why you’re here in the first place. The man stands up again and smiles at you. A dimple forms in one of his cheeks. “Perhaps not all is lost,” he reports wistfully. “Why are you so sad?” “Oh...” you suddenly remember you’ve yet to introduce yourself to him, “I’m Y/N, the Head Physician. That Valerian powder was something I was hoping I could purchase from you, among other things.” The man perks up, his eyes bright with understanding. “Oh! Has it been two days already?” he chuckles to himself, looking around the room sheepishly. “I got so busy trying to set up the shop I hadn’t realized it was time for you to come already.” “It’s okay, I understand,” you reply. He turns toward you fully, extending a hand. “I’m Yixing. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I look forward to working with you,” he smiles kindly. His dimple appears again when you take his hand and return the gesture with a warm smile of your own. “What else were you hoping I have? It's yours if I’ve got it. I can have more Valerian powder for you by this time tomorrow if that’s okay?” he asks, moving to the counter and reaching for his ledger. “I’m not open for business with anyone else yet, but the Royal contract starts today of course. I won’t charge you for anything you take with you today,” he turns around and pauses to meet your gaze. “As thanks for your help.” You realize your cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling for so long, “It’s really no trouble. I’m glad you’re alright.” Yixing, as you’ve learned, grins back at you with a wink, “Never slept better.” Both of you laugh at his jesting. You think the sound of his laughter suits him. Taking a peek around the room, you spot something you’re looking for. Yixing’s eyes chase your form deeper into the room where you reach up to pluck three sprigs of dried Thyme from the ceiling, “These will do.” His smile falters momentarily, “That’s all?” “Well,” you hum, looking around the room while tapping the dried herbs against your fingertips. “This?” you question, moving to a crate of Yarrow root. Yixing moves to your side with a small burlap sack, “Take however many you like.” You count two, letting them sink into the bag he holds out for you one at a time. Up close, now that’s he’s awake and standing in front of you, his attractiveness comes to life with the mid-morning sunlight casting oddly shaped shadows against his skin. When you look up at his face, he’s wearing the same smile and waiting patiently. You step away to pluck a string of garlic bulbs from the opposite end of the wall. Yixing follows, grinning as you drop them carefully into the bag, “Always a good choice.” “Can never have too many,” you agree with a smirk that matches his own. Both of you pause, smiling like idiots. You admit to yourself Yixing certainly seems interesting. You find yourself curious for what this new partnership has in store. “I think that will do for today,” you announce. Nodding, he shuts the drawstring tightly, offering it to you. “Thank you,” you express, taking the bag and turning to leave. When you turn around to look back at him, he’s leaning on a stack of books nonchalantly. Slowly, it begins to slide with his weight. “This time tomorrow?” you ask just as the books give way and fall from under his palm. He catches himself, standing up straight and looking at you with wide eyes, ignoring the mess of books on the floor, “Yes.” You laugh, shaking your head and waving to him, “I look forward to working with you, Yixing.” Passing by the front window as you leave, you catch sight of him inside the store. He’s talking to himself, repetitively pushing the heel of his palm against his forehead. Then, he disappears to the floor, probably to pick up the pile of books. With a smile, you make your way back to the palace. __________________________________________ The following morning, just as promised, Yixing has a basket with vials of Valerian powder wrapped neatly and ready for you.

There’s a gentle smile on his face when he passes them to you, and it grows wider with joy when he hears your soft gasp of delight. “Oh these are perfectly well balanced! Thank you so much,” you praise him, meeting his eyes as you pull one out and hold it closely to your chest. He laughs softly, maintaining the same happy expression. “You’re very welcome. I’m happy to help,” he says. Your eyes follow the movement of his delicate fingers as they push his glasses up the length of his nose. There’s a dusting of rose color to his cheeks. Before the moment lulls for too long, you wonder aloud, “Where did you learn such perfect skill?” Yixing blinks at you once, twice, opening his mouth and furrowing his brow before he sighs, “Ah, I just have a lot of practice.” “Was it a family practice?” you ask. His smile falters for a moment. He looks at the floor and sadly meets your eyes, “Uh, no. My family is long gone.” Frowning, you touch at your own chest, “Oh… I’m sorry for asking. I di-“ “It’s okay,” he waves a hand at you with wide eyes. Then he moves to sit on the high stool behind the counter, “They died when I was three or four. Occupational hazards.” “I see,” you nod sadly. Yixing clears his throat then, standing. “I um,” he begins, folding his arms across his chest and looking seriously at you. “I wonder if I might be able to come and watch you work? Or see your ward?” You were not expecting him to ask these kinds of things, but you pause, “Why would you want to do that?” He unfolds his arms and stuffs his hands in his pockets, “It will help me conclude what I need to focus on to help you to the best of my ability.” You’re touched by his willingness, “Yixing, you don’t need to do that.” “I want to,” he immediately responds. He refuses to let you deflect his wishes. “Would it make you uncomfortable?” You flush, though you’re not sure why. It’s a simple request to watch you work for the sake of providing the best resources for medicine. Medicine and healing are not something most people would think of as intimate, but most people aren’t in the field. There’s something about it. Something calm and quiet and yes, you would say intimate, about carefully practicing medicine and healing to ease the suffering. The compassion and bonds you make with your patients. Regardless of your feelings, you know it would be good to do this, “No, it’s okay. You can come.” His single dimple forms in his cheek with his smile. “Tomorrow?” he asks. “Alright,” you nod. ________________________________________________________________________ Tomorrow comes, but your stomach is too nervous to have any food before you begin your rounds. Three more soldiers were admitted to the ward overnight, having sustained Drauger-related injuries. You’ve finished redressing wounds on two of them when a knock on the ward’s door interrupts you from the third. “Master Physician, the Apothecary has arrived,” says the guard, turning to leave the moment Yixing walks through the door. He waves briefly to you before holding up a book of parchment and pointing to a seat at the desk beside the door. You smile and nod at him before turning back to your task. You pick up a mortar and pestle from the cart beside the patient’s bed, crushing and grinding a clove of fresh garlic. With a match, you then hold the flame out to kiss a pair of forceps for a few seconds before whipping it with your wrist to extinguish it. You pinch some garlic with the instrument and give the soldier a stern look before you drop it into the wound on his abdomen. He hisses and you can feel Yixing’s eyes shift from his notes to your frame. “Hush now and let me wrap you up. This will help,” you mutter to him. “Next time don’t go picking fights with undead, lest you end up like they do.” “Yes ma’am,” the soldier grunts. He watches you pluck a bandage from a bowl, steeped in thyme paste before he holds his breath. You lay it over the wound as gently as your hands will allow, patting the man on the shoulder when you’re done. You can still feel Yixing watching you as you pull out a roll of thick, soft gauze from a drawer lower on the same cart. Even though you can’t see him, you know his gaze lingers on you as you touch the half-naked man in front of you. You ignore the flush it brings to your cheeks as you nearly press your cheek to his pectoral, struggling to reach behind him as you wind the gauze carefully around his torso. Finished, you turn back to your mysterious business partner. Before either of you can say a word, another Physician moves into the ward with a woman retching into a bucket. The rest of the day carries on this way, until you’re exhausted, but you continue to work diligently to relieve the pain of the suffering. It’s well passed supper and the moon is rising to the peak of the sky before you are finally finished. Yixing, patient as ever and thirsty for fulfillment, has not left you. He did give you some space to deliver a baby for a woman earlier in the afternoon, but even the food he returned with for you remained there beside him at the desk. In the quiet stillness of the late evening, you approach his side, noticing the way the orange candlelight casts warm shadows across the bridge of his nose and gives a soft glow to his dark eyes. You pull a chair up beside him and collapse into it rather unceremoniously. There’s little grace left to be had when you can’t feel your feet beneath you anymore. “Long day?” he guesses with a dimpled grin. His eyes watch you expectantly as you nod, yawning into the back of your hand, “Something like that.” “You should get some rest,” he says. “A wild guess but I think you need to eat, bathe and sleep.” You roll your head back across your shoulders, smiling at him from the odd angle of your head, “He’s cute and smart? Who would have guessed.” He laughs happily at your flirtatious sarcasm but says nothing else, “I should probably let you get some rest.” “Wait,” you whisper when he stands to leave. “At least let me see what you’ve come up with before you go.” His smile crinkles his eyes this time, conceding to your wishes. Yixing turns to move the cold plate of forgotten supper into your lap with a raised brow, effectively fixing you with a daring look as he smooths his notes across the desk. You eat as he begins speaking, pointing out things he noticed about your preferences to different herbs and treatments and laughs as he explains an expression of disgust you always make when dealing with Ginger root. “I don’t like the smell,” you laugh and take a bite of bread. He continues, but you stop him when his fingers crosses a particular herb, “Ah, not Goldenseal, please. I don’t use it for a reason. The effective doses are so close to the line of poison and I have other remedies for what it treats. It’s also endangered.” Yixing nods, carefully pulling the quill from the ink bottle and crossing out the word on his list. “I would also suggest cutting back on the mount of Winter Savory you’re using. You can mix it with other herbs to help it last and it will have the same benefits,” he says before adding, “But it’s just my opinion. I can get you more Summer Savory if you need it.” You shake your head at him, “No, you’re right. I should cut it back. I just don’t have enough time to do the cutting so I mix it all at once just so I have any salves at all.” He smiles at you, picking up his papers and taking the empty plate from your hands to set it back on the desk, “Well that’s part of why I’m here now, so let me worry about that. You just focus on treating these poor people.” “What about the Fennel? Why do we need that?” you ask curiously, tilting your chin toward the page. He turns to you fully and regards you with a blank expression momentarily, “Well they’re delicious, that’s why.” You bark out a loud laugh and give him a soft smile, “Thanks, Yixing.” He nods and leans forward to pat your shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow.” Turning to watch him go, you notice your feel more awake since he put his hand on you. Willfully, you try to pretend your heart also doesn’t race. ____________________________________________ Yixing comes the next morning and settles into this routine for eight more days as well. Every day you feel nervous about him watching your movements and curiously scribbling notes about your work. Always, after a few hours you forget he is there and act more naturally. He seems to have made some friends among other palace staff members. You had even seen him delivering a letter to your friend the Lady of the Palace once three days ago. Her smile upon seeing the folded parchment made you suspicious, but you’re much too busy to do anything about it other than be happy for her. By the time the sun is at its peak in the afternoon, you’re reminded by his gentle fingers touching lightly at your elbow to ask you if you could pause to eat. He always reminds you your health is important, too. What are these poor people to do if their greatest source of healing is out of commission. In the afternoons he works from the room adjacent to the ward, working hard to mix salves and cures and prep jars of steeping bandages. He also tends to your garden of herbs, watering and pruning at the right time. Twice you’ve caught him talking to the plants and giving them extra attention although at first you were not sure if he was talking to them or himself. You grow weary as the days drag on and neither of you wants to admit that there has been an increase in patients admitted for wounds caused by the Draugers. Neither of you acknowledges that the injuries are graver as the days go on. Somehow, he has met Kyungsoo, the Head Chef, and the pair have become fast friends. Kyungsoo spoils him with food every day as thanks for his help. You’re thankful to Kyungsoo in return. Since Yixing began helping out and making most of your salves and remedies for you, he has also made deals to ensure you have a hot meal at the end of your shift. Today, in spite of the fear beginning to seep into your tired bones, Yixing surprises you. He walks in and greets you as usual, but held in the crook of his arm are not only his notebooks, but a large selection of flowers are wrapped in a lovely color of paper and tied with twine. His eyes flick to yours briefly across the room while you place stitches in the thigh of a wounded soldier, and your eyes widen when you see what he’s carrying. Yixing avoids your gaze until you finish your procedure and are stepping closely into his personal space. You lean over him deliberately to look at the arrangement, “Did you bring me flowers?” He balks, clearing his throat, “They’re for medicine.” He pretends to look over his notes, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Feverfew?” you ponder aloud. “Migraines and headaches,” he clarifies offhandedly. You smile, “Passion flower?” You let your fingers pass delicately over the colorful petals as you wait for his reply. He grins but still refuses to meet your gaze, “Depression and blood pressure.” “Hm…” you muse. “What about the Paganum Harmala?” “The seeds are good for your skin, among other things,” he says with a shrug. “Camomi-“ you try but he cuts you off. “Same thing but better,” he states. With each flower your smile grows. “What about Sunflowers,” you ask. He scoffs, laughing and finally looking up, “You already know most of these. Why are you asking?” You shrug in return, “I don’t know all of their uses, and I just like to hear you talk about them.” He nods, lips tightening as a grin splits across his face. “What about the lavender?” you pry after a moment passes, even though this one you already know. He smiles wider at you, “Calming.” “The Sunflowers are beautiful,” you comment, running the pad of your index finger through the center of one. Yixing agrees. “They’re good for supporting digestion and your immune system. Promoting healthy skin, too,” he says matter-of-factly. “And the eucalyptus?” “Stress,” he whispers. You’re not entirely sure how all of these are going to help patients, and you panic briefly if there isn’t anything else left in his shop. Yixing, attuned to you after so many days of observing, immediately catches your rising concern, “These are for you, not the patients.” He pushes his glasses higher up his face again. He doesn’t say anything else for a few moments, letting you think back through each one and what he means until you realize how caring he is. Each and every one of these flowers is beautiful, and he picked them all based on their benefits specifically with you in mind. Regardless of your professions and the relation they have to your partnership… the gesture feels very romantic to you. Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks when your head snaps to his and you stare at the dimple in his cheek while he smiles at you kindly. “Yixing…” you try, needing to swallow through the dryness of your throat. “You don’t have to say anything,” he assures you quietly. A pained moan pulls your eyes away from him again, and you smile gently at him before you turn back to your patients. _____________________________________________ All night you tossed and turned, your head full of Yixing and what his gesture meant to you today. For days now he has done nothing more than quietly observe you. No, that’s not all he has done. He has quietly observed you and acted on his findings. Making sure you’re eating and advocating for your well-being on behalf with other palace staff members. He has worked tirelessly to make proper treatments and remedies and even improved upon some of your recipes. He has admired you. You’re very grateful to him. From your bed, your eyes settle upon the sprigs of eucalyptus you hung from the side of your bath earlier, letting the steam of the water pull essential oils from the plant to help you relax. Slowly, you let your eyes wander away from the basin to the bundle you pulled the plant from. It rests, still wrapped in twine, on the plush cushion of an armchair near the door. Furrowing your brow, you realize you don’t know how to crush some of those flowers into effective benefits for yourself. Closing your eyes and turning over, for another hour or so you contemplate taking them to Yixing in the morning and asking him to teach you how. Surely he knows if he gave them to you from his own supply, and you happen to have a day off tomorrow. ____________________________________________________ The sound of someone shouting stirs you from sleep in a panic. Lifting your head from the pillow, you realize it’s nearly midday. “I told you to put it over there, not here!” another voice hollers back. With a sigh, you will your heart to calm its racing upon your realization that it isn’t anything to panic about; just staff going about their normal duties. You roll out of bed and hiss as the cold stone bites at your toes, padding across it with large strides to stand on the woolen rug in front of your armoire. Tying the knot of your corset, your eyes finally land on the wrapped flowers still sitting right where you left them. Your lips stretch into a giddy smile, and you quickly finish dressing and brushing back your hair. There’s an extra bounce of excitement and butterflies in your stomach as you take them into your arms and bring them to your nose. You laugh and pull open your door, intent on making your way to his shop, officially named The Honeyed Ram. The moment you step onto the main stretch of road in town, warm summer rain begins to pour down. It catches you off guard since the sun is still shining brightly, and you are helpless to escape it. Instead, you laugh as you ball your skirts in one fist and run down the street with your flowers. By the time you make it to the Apothecary’s door, you’re nearly soaked. Protected under the awning of the shop, you take a moment to collect yourself and adjust your wet hair as best you can before you push open the door. Hearing the bell, the handsome owner emerges from the room behind the counter with a his ledger balanced on one splayed palm and a quill in the other, “Welcome to The Honeyed Ram. How may I-“ He stops in his tracks when he meets your eyes over the top of his glasses where they’ve slid down his nose. He moves them from your face to take in your wet appearance, smiling as he sets his things on the counter, “Oh, let me get you a towel.” You don’t move or say anything, standing there dripping rainwater onto his floor while he hastily climbs the stairs two at a time. A moment later he returns with a large towel, immediately stepping toward you and taking it upon himself to cage your head in it with both hands. You can hear him laugh as he squeezes your hair in his hands, gently rubbing the sides of your face and neck with it to dry you off. With the barrier of the towel, you can feel his fingers run along the exposed bit of your chest to wipe away the water and your eyes snap to his the moment the towel is moved. His smile is gentle and kind and for a moment you wonder if he also finds you as attractive as you find him. You wonder if his fingertips brushing your collar bone and over the tops of your bosom make his heart race like it does yours. “Thank you,” you murmur to him when he is finished and satisfied, stepping back to look at you again. Yixing gently laughs, “You’re welcome. But why are you here… is everything alright?” His eyes move to the arrangement in your hands nervously, curious why you’ve brought them back to him. Nodding, you tuck them close to your chest again. “I um…” you try, but your pride makes it difficult. Yixing tilts his head, waiting politely for your answer. You sigh, “Can you teach me how to use some of them?” His eyes widen momentarily, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask him that. “If you want to, I mean. I don’t want to waste such a kind gift,” you blurt out, unsure of how it might make him feel or if you’re just reading into it too much. The man in front of you says nothing for a long moment, eyes narrowing as he considers you, standing there looking like a lamb. “I’d be honored to,” he finally admits quietly. The sun is suddenly overtaken outside as clouds move in and pour more rain over the kingdom. It pounds heavily on the roof as Yixing turns away with a smile, hooking a finger and beckoning you to follow. His work room is small but cozy. Perhaps a little tight for two people to work together all the time, but for today you will make do. There are no windows in this room, but several sconces are placed around the walls with candles lit to provide a warm glow. A gathering of them rests on the table as well, dripping wax onto the wood. There’s a small alchemy table in one corner of the room, already warmed where a bright blue elixir rests in the center well, flanked by coneflower petals and an amethyst crystal in the opposite circles. A blue butterfly’s wing rests off to the side, ready to be added. “Come over here, please,” he requests, motioning for you to stand at the work bench on the other side of the room. He pulls some tools from their resting places hung on the wall above it and passes you a pair of small scissors. The next hour progresses this way, as he teaches you how best to prune the flowers and dry them out effectively without burning them. Yixing shows you how to grind the lavender, but your technique isn’t grinding the buds fine enough. He steps behind you, gently taking your hands in his own and showing you a better technique, curling your wrist as you press the blunt head of the pestle down, and shaking the mortar around after each press. You’re not paying attention though, too distracted by the feel of his body so close to yours, and his hands guiding yours through your work. You realize that he smells like nature, calm and fresh. “That’s it…” he praises quietly. His head is just over your shoulder, leaning into your frame so he can see. The sound of his voice in your ear so pleasantly makes your heart thunder in yours ears and your cheeks feel as if they might burst into flame. Yixing moves to lean beside you briefly. His hand settles on your waist naturally, thinking nothing of it as he reaches over to fetch a glass jar full of a white substance. He sets it in front of you and moves his palm back to your hand again. “Now let’s combine these,” he whispers, plucking the cork from the glass jar. The sound of the pop makes you jump, whipping your head back against his mouth. Yixing makes a sound of pain and leans back, holding the cork as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. You turn around in the space between the table and his body, watching in horror as his hand comes away with a smear of blood. “Oh damn the Maker, I’m so sorry!” you curse, leaning up to take his face with both hands. He stills as you examine his mouth. The center of his bottom lip is split open, and without thinking you hook the end of your sleeve around your thumb and dab it gently against the plump skin. Yixing’s eyes search your face while you tend to his wound. “Where do you keep your thyme balm?” you ask him, eyes lifting to meet his, realizing what you’re doing with your fingers pressed delicately to his lips. Embarrassment creeps up your neck and you release him, attempting to duck out of the space. Yixing grabs your wrist gently in his free hand before you can run from him, holding it to keep you there between himself and the table. Your eyes snap to his tongue as it slowly peeks out from his mouth to swipe over the wound. You stare, transfixed as the wound disappears in the span of a minute. “Magic?” you whisper, immediately intrigued again by the quirky talents of this handsome man. “Just a little,” he confirms. Setting aside your budding feelings for him, you rise on your toes and grasp his face between your hands again, swiping your thumbs and fingers across his lips and inspecting them closely. The lips you’re surveying stretch into a smile and you catch yourself, feeling foolish as you release him. Yixing chases you, leaning fully into your frame against the table and forcing you to lean back as he moves closer and studies your face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to him, suddenly feeling foolish. “For what? You’re very cute when you’re interested in something,” he admits in the small space between you, and you can faintly smell the mint he chews every day. The care that he expressed the words with is not lost on you. Yixing is patient as he moves languidly, letting one hand rest on the table behind you while the other settles against your waist once more. His words paint your ears and cheeks in a rose blush, and his hand feels soothing where it rests on your side. His lips hover over yours and the warmth of his eyes is kind as he meets yours and waits for you to decide. The moment your lips touch you feel like you’ve been shocked. Guilt and shame flood through you and you gasp, covering your own lips with your fingertips. Your body screams at you to run. So you do. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” you choke out, turning on your heel to leave Yixing and The Honeyed Ram. ________________________________________ Yixing doesn’t come to the palace for the next two days. Part of you wonders if he feels upset with you or if he is just as kind as ever and wants to give you space. All of you wonders if you’ve screwed it all up because you let your job get in the way of your feelings for him. Or is it the other way around? Refusing to stew in your turmoil over the situation, you work. Around the clock you tend to the wounded and sick. It’s nearly midnight when you close the curtain on the last patient you needed to see, after giving him a heavy dose of Valerian powder and Poppy to knock him out while you sewed his shoulder shut. You’ve just sat down at the desk when someone quietly enters the ward. “Y/N,” the voice calls. It’s deep and husky; one that you know as you look up to see the Knight Captain standing inside the room. “Chanyeol?” you question, curiously looking him over. “What can I do for you now?” you shoot him a grin even though you’re exhausted. He isn’t dressed in his uniform, off duty for the evening, as he lifts his shirt to reveal a nasty bruise blooming across his ribs and abdomen. “Just got back today,” he says bitterly. “And?” you ask, curious about the battles he has fought. “Still no good. We didn’t lose anyone, but they’re getting smarter. I don’t think it’s just Draugers acting on their own. They’re too coordinated for that, it’s unusual,” he admits, looking sour. You nod at him, “Roll that cart over, will you? Pull up a chair, too. I don’t think you need to stay.” He does as requested and pulls his tunic over his head to let you work. “Anywhere else I need to see?” you ask as you attach bandages soaked in blended Aloe Vera and Catnip to his ribs. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are red as he shakes his head at you. “What about that bruise?” you wonder aloud, pointing to a dark circle in the space between his jaw and ear. He sighs, grinning with defeat, “Ah, no. That one’s okay.” You rise, motioning for him to stand as well so you can wrap the dressing around his torso. Chanyeol lifts his arms to allow you the freedom to work. He hisses as your fingers press the dressing into his back. Curiously, you peek behind him to see long lines of red scratches down his shoulders. “Maker’s breath Chanyeol. What did she do to you?” He laughs gruffly, “She begged me to fuck her into oblivion, so I did.” His comment earns him a smack across the top of his head and a sharp glare. “What about you, then, huh?” he mocks instead, “Don’t act like you haven’t got it bad for that Apothecary.” You gawk at him, floundering for words until none come and he blinks at you expectantly with his wide eyes. “What?” Chanyeol inquires, aware by your actions that something has happened. “He um…” you try, fishing for words to explain. “We…” You huff, looking at the floor and covering your face with both hands. “I’m not even sure if I can call it a kiss,” you trail off. “A kiss?” Chanyeol says loudly through the fabric of his tunic as he attempts to get it back over his head. You hiss at him, “Quiet.” “Sorry.” With a deep sigh, “Kind of, I don’t know. It was like the moment our lips touched I freaked out.” Chanyeol hums, “Why?” Your hands sweep widely around the ward to all of the closed curtains of occupied beds, “This is why. I can’t be off doing that when all of this is so important.” “Do you like him?” he quizzes instead. You nod in response, pouting at yourself. “Then let it happen. You’re not the type to shirk your duties, you’re too responsible for that.” Chanyeol’s honesty about your ethics makes you smile even if you feel like a fool. “Thanks,” you say. Chanyeol nods at you as you help him adjust his clothing over the bandages, plucking the fabric to fall correctly on his frame. “He brought me flowers,” you muse quietly. Chanyeol’s brows raise, “Oh?” You fight a gentle smile breaking across your cheeks, “It was more than just flowers.” The man in front of you remains silent, waiting for you to explain. “Every flower he brought is a remedy for something he thought I might be suffering from. Fatigue, stress, imbalance, anxiety.” “Oh,” Chanyeol says with a quiet whistle. “That is something,” he confirms. “Yeah,” is all you can manage. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?” says the Knight Captain as he reaches for the door. ______________________________________________ The following day everything seems to be normal, sans the presence of the curious Yixing. Well, as normal as they can be when your kingdom is suffering a scourge of undead Draugers that seem more powerful and numerous than usual. That is, until the evening rolled around and two Physician assistants and another soldier burst through the door of the ward carrying a man screaming in agony. Dark blood, nearly black, spills from his sides along with… oh. Oh Maker that’s his intestines. Your body reacts automatically, propelling you forward to help them heave his convulsing form onto a bed. “Get that cart over here now and give me a basin of water!” you shout at the assistants. They disperse, leaving you and the soldier at opposite sides of his bed. “What happened?” you bark at the healthier man. “Um,” he starts, lip quivering as he doesn’t know what to say in his shock. Your tongue feels as sharp as your eyes as you begin cutting away the clothing of the bleeding man, “Spit it out.” “He was fine,” he tries. “Just got back from the latest battalion. Had some minor wounds and scratches but he wasn’t sick.” Water sloshes over the side of the basin as you dunk a rag into the depths of steaming water with urgency, squeezing some out onto the floor before you press it as gently as possible to his side. “I need a spool of gut thread and a candle,” you order the assistants, ripping open a drawer and procuring a vial of dried minced garlic. The soldier continues, “We were just walking back from the mess hall when he doubled over and then his skin burst open like this.” ________________________________________ Six hours later, you’re seated in Frost Flower Inn with three empty pints in front of you. You twirl a goblet of mulled wine between your fingers, staring into the deep crimson liquid. A bad idea to switch to this since it reminds you of blood. You’d seen too much blood today. Too much blood that ended in a loss of life anyway when you couldn’t get the tissue to stitch. You replay the scene in your head over and over. Hearing him scream as your thread ripped back through the necrotic skin of his side like butter, no matter how gentle you tried to be. It makes you shiver, fighting down the bile that rises in your throat. “Y/N, are you going to be okay?” a voice asks. You glance up to see someone leaning toward you from the opposite side of the table, but you don’t raise your head. Thick leather cuffs garnish the wrists of this man. Whoever it is, they sit, and two feline eyes peek into your field of vision as he drops his head onto the table to look at you. “I’ve never seen you in here drinking more than one pint, and certainly not of your own will,” Minseok observes as he watches you. A miniscule part of you hates how observant he is. You groan around another mouthful of wine, raising your brows at him as you knock it back, “I just want to be left alone.” “Trouble in paradise?” Asks a new voice. One you don’t recognize as well, but when you meet the eyes of its owner, you are vaguely familiar with his face. Something about arrows calls to your mind when you see him. Minseok sighs, “I’m not going to let you have another if you don’t tell me what’s got you so drunk.” You lower your head, jutting your bottom lip in your best pout to serve him a glare, “Don’t you like coin though?” The shorter man laughs happily at your honesty, “Of course I do. How do you think I run this fine establishment without it?” The second man drops down onto the bench beside Minseok, motioning for drinks at the bar. “I’ll buy the next round, but only if you tell,” he promises with a curled smile and crescent eyes. “I hate you,” you mumble into the last dredges of your wine. Minseok laughs again, drumming his hands on the table, “No, you don’t. You hate drinking and yet here you are anyway.” A face without a name brings three frosted pints to the table and before you can reach for yours the arrow boy grabs it and tuts at you. You pause briefly, looking at the condensation begin to drip down the side of the mug. “Fine,” you breathe, and he passes it to your waiting fingers. “These Draugers are awful. Knight Captain Chanyeol says they’re not like anything he’s ever seen before. They’re too smart and too coordinated to be regular old undead,” you say. The men nod in understanding while you continue, “I believe it, too. More and more soldiers are coming back with wounds that are becoming truly problematic.” A dog whine breaks out as you pause. Turning your head, you see it sitting at a table with four women begging for a piece of meat from a plate in the center. All of them women are watching you, clearly invested in your story. None of them are wearing typical ladylike attire, either. In different styles of armor with gear and weapons- they look like an adventure party, passing through. Ignoring them, you turn back to the men. “I don’t know much about war or about Draugers but I do know what kind of wounds they inflict,” you say, vividly remembering for the fifteenth time this evening what you experienced only hours ago. “Chanyeol didn’t report any dead and all of the soldiers that were gravely wounded came straight to the ward when they got back from outside the walls,” you whisper. With a deep breath, you clutch the icy glass in your palms and take a deep swig. Closing your eyes, you explain in the simplest terms what you saw. “A soldier was rushed into the ward today with his intestines hanging from a gaping hole in his side. I tried to sew it shut but,” you choke, shaking your head and feeling the frustration and despair of the afternoon amplify with the alcohol. “His companion said he had returned with the party with minor wounds. Some scrapes and bruises, nothing too bad, so he never came to the ward. But then it burst open suddenly this afternoon. The skin was so black and dead my stitches wouldn’t hold.” You don’t dare to glance at the faces of the men sitting across from you. “It smelled terrible. Not like a normal healthy body. It smelled like rotting corpses,” you explain to them. “Then he died, screaming in agony and bleeding out all over the floor while I couldn’t do anything to help him. I didn’t even have time to give him a sedative and stop the bleeding.” When you lift your head just enough to peek at Minseok’s face from under your lashes, he’s wearing an unreadable expression. The sharp-eyed man with dark hair beside him looks like he might be sick. The youthful owner extracts himself from the table, leaving you to watch his back with a knitted brow. From your peripheral, you can see most of the adventure party eyeing your table. One of them is watching Minseok with a look of worry. He returns to your side moments later, expertly balancing a platter full of frothy mugs on one palm. He slams three down on your table and carries the remaining to the table of women. You watch, surprised when he bends down to give the same woman a lopsided half-smile and her expression lights up. In all the years you’ve known Minseok, he’s never been interested in women affectionately. Looking at the golden liquid in your melting glass, you think perhaps it’s been too long since you visited. The mood is still sour but Minseok and Jongdae- you’ve learned- have sat dutifully with you through two more drinks. You know for sure that if you try to stand you’ll surely fall. You feel emotionally charged. Like you’re hopeless and courageous all at once. Ignoring the warnings in your head, you heft your body upright. The hands that steady you are not your own. Nor do they belong to your companions. Instead, it’s the woman that keeps staring at Minseok. “Easy there,” she chuckles happily. Up close, drunk or not, you think she’s absolutely beautiful. She smiles easily at you and steps away once you’re steadied enough she’s sure you won’t fall over. You try your best to mutter a simple thanks, and she laughs cheerfully again. “Don’t worry too much,” she chirps. “We’re actually here to help out with your Drauger problems,” she grins, giving you a thumbs up with a hand on her hip. Another pair of hands takes yours and you immediately feel less like a piece of shit. “Yisthing,” comes out more slurred than you care to admit to yourself when you see his face. He smiles, “Yes, I’m here.” “Why?” you breathe. His presence feels calming beside you. Irrationally, you’re still irritated with yourself for responding to his affections the way you did. His voice is like honey dripping over your ears when he answers, “I’ve been here all along, dove.” The way he says the pet name is both softly pleasant and exhilarating. Through the haze of alcohol, you believe he isn’t upset with you. He wouldn’t be here with his hands steadying you so affectionately if he were.

“I’ll take her back to the palace,” he announces to the group. Minseok nods with a deep sigh, getting up from the table.

Yixing still holds your hand, afraid you might fall as you sway back and forth in the street. You trip over your own feet, bumping into the hard plane of his chest with a giggle. He smiles at your drunken antics, and you can very clearly smell the mint leaves on his breath with his soft laugh.

If you’re sure of one thing in this moment, it’s the feeling of this man holding you up, and how right it is. With as much grace as you can muster, you lean into him on your toes and let your lips touch his.

A surprised gasp leaves his lips. Slowly, gently, he moves you back to stand solidly on both feet. Clicking his teeth he asks, “Oh? So now you want to kiss me?”

You smile at him, nodding rather than using your words. Your pounding heart catches up with you and you feel dizzy suddenly. It feels like you’re spinning, until you see the blur of Yixing’s body rushing forward to collect you in his arms.

Although you wouldn’t know it, he carries you the rest of the way to the palace. He makes his way past the guards who try to rush at him until they realize who he is and who he is carrying. Yixing doesn’t know where your chambers are, but he can put you in a bed at the ward. Maybe that’s not the best idea though.

While he deliberates with himself, slowing his pace as he wanders down the corridor, two men step out in front of him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yixing politely smiles.

The taller of the two grins wickedly, “Oh, my.”

“Ah…Knight Captain Chanyeol, correct? Prince Baekhyun?” Yixing ponders, “Could you help me?”

The shorter man looks at you, cradled against the Apothecary’s chest, “What happened to her?”

“She drank too much. Passed out as I was walking her back,” he explains to the men.

The Knight Captain shakes his head, “But Y/N never drinks unless I force her to. What happened?”

His frown grows deeper as Yixing explains about the dying soldier earlier that afternoon. He nods, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “One of my own. We’re all a bit affected by the news.”

There’s an expression Yixing can’t pin down glazing over the Prince’s face when he glances at him.

“I can take her back. Go on ahead Baek, I’ll meet you in the training pit,” says the tall man after a deep sigh.

The smaller man nods curtly, offering no smile as he rolls his neck and departs down the corridor.

“Thanks,” Yixing replies, slowly maneuvering you into his arms.

Just as he’s about to part ways, Yixing smiles at your form snuggling into the warmth of the silver-haired man.

“You know she’s crazy about you, right?” he asks with a smile that looks a little sad in Yixing’s opinion. “She just has a hard time putting her work aside. Don’t give up though, she’ll come around.”, Chanyeol assures with a dimpled smirk.

Nodding, Yixing smiles gently, touching at his lips as he turns to leave, “I know.”

#yixing x reader #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #lay #yixing #exo fluff #exo angst #exo smut #exo series #an adventurer's guide to romance #collab with Mie

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bee-kathony · 5 years

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Kneading Love | Ch. 5 “Undone”

a/n: thank you so much for reading! I think there will just be one or two more chapters! thank you as always for the moodboard @julesbeauchamp

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

April 28th, 1946

Claire’s flower shop was opening in three days. But there was still one thing left that needed to be done, and frankly, should have been done a long time ago — painting the exterior.

At the moment, the outside of the small shop was a dingy brown, which wasn’t very welcoming to anyone that wanted to come and buy flowers or herbs. So Claire had bought a very pale light blue that would hopefully entice people to stop by.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too hot — but it was Scotland so it was really never too hot. Claire was wearing an old green cotton dress with buttons all down the front. Her helper once again, Jamie, had come dressed in old looking trousers and a plain white button down.

“You do realize that shirt will not be white when you leave,” Claire smirked, pointing her paint brush at him.

“Well, it willna wi’ ye behind the brush,” Jamie laughed, dodging her brush. Claire was thankful that Jamie had come back to help her with this task considering he was tall enough to reach all the spots that Claire couldn’t. She was working on the lower half of the wall, while Jamie focused on the top.

“When we’re all finished here, I’ll let you pick out some flowers to take home to your mother,” Claire said, squatting to paint near the front door. “I think she’d like some of the roses. I saw the roses at your house.”

“Aye, she loves them,” Jamie smiled fondly. “She planted them herself when they first moved in to the place. You can always find her tending to her roses on a sunny day.”

“I’ve been thinking about asking her to help me with the shop,” Claire said and looked at Jamie to gage his reaction. His face was always unreadable to Claire, whereas she was an open book whether she liked it or not.

Jamie stood on the tips of his toes to reach a difficult spot. “I think ye should, Sassenach! It would give her somethin’ to do. No’ that she doesna have enough to do wi’ the farm, but she enjoys yer company.”

“And I enjoy hers,” Claire smiled up at him and he smiled back. “That’s settled then. When she comes to the opening on Wednesday, I’ll ask her.”

“Wednesday ye said?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, the first of May,” Claire said and then moved to the other side of the door. “You know that old saying, “April showers bring May flowers”. I thought it was appropriate to open it on the first of May.”

“Aye,” Jamie said and Claire thought he sounded a bit funny. “We’ll be there,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

They continued to paint until they had only one part left — a small section on the left side of the building. Claire squatted down again, dipping her brush into the paint as Jamie reached above her. A moment later, Claire felt something drop into her hair. When she reached up and pulled her hand back, it was pale blue paint.

“Oh Christ,” Jamie said immediately. “Oh God, Claire, I’m so sorry! I didna mean to get any in yer hair. Ah Dhia!”

Claire wanted to be upset, she wanted to be furious that she now had paint in her hair that would most likely be very difficult to get out, but she started to laugh. Apparently her silent laughter looked like she was crying and Jamie bent down to wrap his arms around her gently.

“Sassenach, I’m so sorry. I canna believe what I’ve done,” he said, sounding worried. “Will ye forgive me?”

Claire laughed audibly this time, and looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes. “Forgive you? Oh Jamie,” she laughed. “It’s perfectly all right! It’s just hair after all. It’s actually quite funny.”

“What?” Jamie sat back on his butt. “Tis really okay then?”

“Well, it’s not okay,” Claire said, motioning to her hair. “But it’s fine, Jamie. Don’t worry yourself over this. Because I’m going to have you help me wash it out!”

“Aye,” Jamie laughed now, taking another look at his handy work. “I suppose we really should have thought over me painting over ye, mo nighean donn.”

“What does that mean?” Claire asked.

“Oh,” Jamie’s cheeks turned red. “It, um, means my brown haired lass.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to blush a crimson red. “I always thought brown a rather dull color.”

“Nah,” one side of Jamie’s mouth lifted up into a small smirk. “It’s like the water in a burn. The way it ruffles down the rocks,” he lifted his hand to touch a stray curl near her face. “The dark spots wi’ wee bits of auburn. Tis beautiful, Sassenach.”

“Well, we better keep it beautiful by washing out this paint,” Claire smiled.

Jamie stood to his feet and held out his hand for Claire. They still had one small spot of paint to finish, but Claire’s paint covered hair was a more pressing matter. Claire led him into the shop and up the stairs. This would be the first time that Jamie would see her room.

It wasn’t much. Just a small room above the shop, complete with a stove, sink, bed in the corner and a bathroom fit with a clawfoot tub.

“I’ll just lean my head over the water, and if you can use the shampoo to help get the paint out?” Claire held out a bottle of homemade shampoo.

“Aye, of course,” he took it as Claire knelt down and turned on the warm water. “Let’s just hope I dinna mess it up more than I already have.”

Once the water was warm, but not too hot, Claire placed her full head under the rushing water. Realistically, she would have taken off her dress before doing this, but with Jamie here with her, she thought it best to keep it on for the moment. Seeing that her hair was wet, Jamie poured a nice dollop of shampoo into his hands and reached down to Claire’s head.

His hands were large, and covered her skull as he massaged the shampoo into her hair. Despite the slight crick that she was getting in her neck, it felt heavenly — it always did feel nice to have someone else wash your hair.

“Tell me if I’m bein’ too rough,” Jamie said and Claire nodded. “The paint is bein’ a bit stubborn.”

Jamie continued to work the shampoo into her hair, rubbing out the paint and washing it slide down the drain. Water trickled down Claire’s neck making her shiver and Jamie pulled his hands back.

“Ye okay?”

“Yes,” she said softly. In all reality, she was more than okay.

Finally, the last of the paint came out of Claire’s hair and she told Jamie where to find the towels in the cupboard. He brought one back and Claire wrapped her hair into it, twisting it so it rested tall on her head.

“Well, thank you,” she smiled. “I bet you didn’t think you’d be washing my hair when you stopped by today.”

“No,” he chuckled, rubbing his neck with his hand. “I canna say I did.”

“You know,” Claire said shyly. “If you wanted to kiss me again, you don’t need an invitation.”

One of Jamie’s brows arched in surprise before he grinned and leaned down to kiss her. His large warm hand that had just been in her hair touched the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

“Are ye cold, Sassenach?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not cold at all.”

There were no words that needed to be spoken for what they both wanted. As they looked into each other’s eyes, Jamie’s hand touched the towel on top of Claire’s head and untwisted it, letting it fall to the ground. Then his hands went to the first button on her dress.

“Maybe we should step out of the bathroom?” Claire suggested.

“Aye,” Jamie laughed with pink cheeks. He backed up slowly, not wanting to take his eyes off of Claire. They came to stand in front of the bed, and Claire stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

“Are ye sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in all my life, Jamie,” Claire whispered against his lips. His large hands returned to the buttons on her dress, unfastening each one. Now, Claire wished she had worn something that didn’t take so damn long to take off.

“That’s a lot of buttons,” he joked as he bent down to reach the bottom ones. He stayed on his knees as the last one came undone. He slowly ran one hand up the back of her leg, feeling the smoothness of her skin.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat. She shook off her dress and let it flutter to the ground around them. Jamie looked up at her, his mouth partially open. She was wearing a bra and panty set she had bought in Paris — a light cream silk.

“Christ,” Jamie muttered and returned to his full height. “Yer the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Claire.”

“Thank you,” Claire blushed. “But I do feel slightly under dressed.”

He glanced down at himself, realizing that he was still fully clothed. Not bothering with all the buttons on his shirt, he yanked it over his head once the first few were undone. That’s when Claire gasped.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said softly as she looked at him.

“I meant to tell ye,” he said, looking down at his left arm. It was burned. “This is why I couldn’t fight in the war.”

“What happened?” Claire reached out and carefully touched his arm, feeling the bumpy and healed over scars.

“I was in the bakery alone one day,” Jamie said, his eyes shut as he remembered. “I was still new to everything. Our oven had been acting up and I had noticed a few sparks earlier in the day, but I thought nothing of it.”

Claire ran her finger tips lightly over his skin, seeing gooseflesh rise in their wake.

“When the fire started, there was nothing I could do,” he continued. “It caught on my shirt and I was in so much pain that I just fell to the floor. That’s when my Da ran in — he heard my screamin’. They managed to put out the flames, but it was too late for my arm.” He turned now, showing her his back. “It burned the top half of my arm as well as a bit of my back.”

“I’m so sorry,” Claire said softly, feeling her chest tighten at seeing him this way. “I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.”

“Twas the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” Jamie said and turned to face her once again. “But yer touch, Sassenach…” he cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb against her lip. “It makes the pain disappear.”

Their lips sealed, gentle and slow at first, but quickly became hungry. Jamie pulled his trousers off, tossing them somewhere in the room and he wrapped both his arms around Claire. She fit perfectly against him, and they both moaned whenever she flexed her hips and felt how hard he was.

“I need you,” Claire said and took a step back, all while unfastening her bra and letting it fall to the ground. She took a seat on the edge of the bed and Jamie fell to his knees before her to worship her, love her, touch her.

His hands slid up along her bare thighs, touching the silk of her panties before moving up her stomach. Claire could hardly breathe as she watched him, his eyes exploring her body with a look between lust and love. Her legs were on either side of his body, and he lowered his lips against her neck, softly sucking.

“Jesus,” Claire muttered under her breath. For almost two months now, Claire had been wondering what it would feel like if he touched her with his tongue. Now that she knew, she never wanted him to stop. He kissed his way down to her collarbones, flicking his tongue out as if he was saying a prayer.

When he reached her breasts, he pushed his hands underneath them, weighing them as he caught his breath.

“Ye have no idea how beautiful ye are, Sassenach,” Jamie said.

“I do believe you said that already,” Claire laughed, sliding her right hand into his curls.

“I’ll keep sayin’ it until the day I die,” he smirked and then bent his head back down and placed a gentle kiss to her left breast. Her nipples became hard and he closed his mouth over one of them, his tongue flicking the bud. For such a large man, he was quite a gentle lover.

The scruff of his beard made a tingling sensation shoot all over her body and Claire began to squeeze her thighs around him. Jamie pushed her breast further into his mouth, beginning to suck harder. Moans left Claire’s lips as he did the same to the other one. She would have happily sat here for hours with Jamie between her legs and his mouth at her breasts, but her belly was tight and she needed to feel him.

“Take these off,” Claire tugged at his boxers and Jamie reluctantly pulled off of her chest, leaving her nipples red and swollen.

As Jamie removed his boxers, Claire moved backwards on the bed, taking her panties off as well. She reached beside the bed and grabbed a condom, laughing to herself that it was finally coming to use.

Her eyes trailed greedily down Jamie’s long body as he climbed onto the bed. She couldn’t help the wetness that was between her legs whenever she saw his cock for the first time. It was hard, pressed against his stomach, and with one long throbbing vein.

Jamie moved between her legs, positioning his forearms on either side of her chest. Claire reached between their bodies and rolled the condom on, watching as Jamie’s eyelashes fluttered at her touch.

“Yer goin’ to kill me, a nighean,” Jamie said softly. He cupped her cheek, and Claire turned her head slightly to capture his thumb in her mouth, sucking lightly. “Christ,” he mumbled.

Their bodies were flush, warm and Claire flexed her hips, communicating with her body was she so desperately needed. Jamie leaned up and he took himself in hand to guide into her slick folds.

“Oh God!”

“Mmmph.”

Claire hooked one arm around his neck, letting her body adjust to him inside of her. Once he was pressed fully against her, he pulled back until just the tip was inside of her before pushing forward. His belly pressed down against hers and soon he began to roll his hips in a steady rhythm.

Feeling like something would explode inside of her at any minute, Claire moved her hands along his back, feeling the light sweat that covered him. Her hand lingered on his hurt arm, squeezing lightly as he hit a deep spot inside of her.

“Jamie,” she whispered, searching for his lips. Their moans died in each other’s mouths as he rolled his hips again and again. With a final thrust, Claire came absolutely undone underneath him, her body twitching and as her walls clenched around him, Jamie followed her into the abyss.

They lay there for quite some time. Jamie’s head on Claire’s chest as their hearts returned to a normal rhythm. Claire’s hand found his curls, running her fingers slowly through them. His breath was hot against her skin. A smile formed on her lips as she glanced down at the state of them — one of Jamie’s legs covering her as he lay on his side, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“This is no’ what I thought would happen at all,” Jamie finally said a few moments later.

“Oh, you didn’t think you would end up naked in my bed?” She chuckled, tugging on his hair. “Because that’s exactly what I planned on.”

“I don’t put it past ye,” Jamie smirked and kissed her neck before moving to rest his head on his hand. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here wi’ ye in my arms.”

Claire felt like anything she would say wouldn’t be enough, so she just sealed their lips together and rolled into his side.

“I fear your mother and sister will know exactly what we’ve been up to once they see us again on Wednesday,” Claire buried her face into his chest.

“Oh aye,” he laughed. “I have no doubt they’ll give me a hard time for it. There’s nothin’ that those two women canna figure out.”

Claire felt positively wonderful, and it didn’t matter to her that she and Jamie weren’t married or that they hadn’t waited until their wedding night. There was nothing in the world that could have stopped them — not a priest, a disgruntled mother or a natural disaster. There were forces working together to bring Jamie and Claire together, that she was sure of.

“Speaking of Wednesday,” Jamie said, letting his fingers trail slowly down Claire’s arm. “Tis my birthday.”

“What?” Claire abruptly sat up and looked down at him. “Your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He shrugged, “I usually dinna go all out for my birthday, and I’d rather spend it wi’ ye and seein’ yer shop open.”

“I can change it to Thursday,” Claire said. “It’s really not a problem. I don’t want to take up the day!”

“Nah,” Jamie brushed his finger over her nose. “Seein’ ye happy is all I need on my birthday. The first of May is the perfect day and ye willna change it, I won’t let ye.”

Feeling like it was pointless to argue with a stubborn scot, Claire fell back against him. She placed a kiss to his neck and Jamie squirmed.

“That tickles, Sassenach,” he laughed.

Claire did it again, flicking her tongue against his neck. He kept wiggling underneath her and Claire moved until she was sitting on top of him and kept kissing his neck just under his ear. Jamie’s hands gripped her sides, trying to pry her off of him as he laughed. Quite unintentionally, his cock brushed against her, making them both stop.

Silently, they stared at each other. Claire placed one hand on his chest and with her other, she intertwined their fingers. They were both still aroused and so Jamie pushed his hips upwards and slid inside of her. Claire’s hips rolled as she adjusted the angle. Jamie sat up, his hands sliding down to grip her lower back.

Both of Claire’s legs wrapped around him as they slowly and tenderly pulled each other apart. There in Jamie’s arms, Claire gave her heart to him, feeling that there was no safer place in the world for it to be stored.

#kneading love #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie x claire #outlander #chapter five #undone

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