#picked her up and get her settled in an empty flower pot with a towel over half of it for protection

[luxaofhesperides]

got home and immediately led a successful bee rescue :)

[rowanaelinn]

Fire on Fire - Chapter Eight

Chapter seven // Chapter nine

Warnings: suicidal thoughts.

It’s kinda rushed but it kinda fits with today’s prompt for rowaelin month! next chapter is going to be way longer :)

————

Rowan took a piece of towel and used it to remove the foam from his client's leg, revealing a tattoo he had been working on for four long hours.

It was a large bouquet of flowers, each one a different color to represent a member of the client's family, with writing in the Old Language with their names.

“Here it is,” He told her, holding a mirror above her leg so she could see all the details. Her smile grew as she took in her tattoo. It was one of his favorite parts of his job, the emotion on their face. He loved to be able to bring such feelings to the people he worked on.

“I love it.” She said and Rowan only nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. He put away his equipment, throwing away the little pots of ink that he hadn't quite finished while his client left, thanking him, before going to sign the last papers at the counter. When he finished, Rowan joined her and gave the invoice to Remelle, their assistant.

He left to clean up his workroom before entering the break room, heading straight to the fridge to take out his food. He had spent an hour yesterday cooking pasta, chicken and cutting up his favorite vegetables to make a salad. Cooking had always helped him to keep his mind busy and these last days it was more than necessary.

A few minutes after Rowan settled down at the round table in the middle of the room, fork in hand and his dominant hand busy holding an Apple Pencil while he multi-tasked eating and drawing for his appointments, Gavriel entered the room.

Rowan tried not to stare at him, exactly as he had done all week. But today it was more complicated as Gavriel sat down next to him, getting his full attention. He tried with all his might to concentrate on the drawing in front of him, but the temptation was too strong. "How's..." He cleared his throat, the words hard to come out. "How's Aelin?"

He avoided any eye contact, his eyes fixed on the tablet even if his drawing hadn’t progressed in the last ten minutes. He hated the feeling of worry in his chest. Rationally, he knew she was physically okay or Gavriel and Aedion would be by her side now. But she had been good at hiding her emotions, so good that her family didn’t see anything worrying. Apparently, he was the only one who saw anything, and it did nothing to help his worry about how she was right now.

After long seconds without a response, Rowan dared to look up at Gavriel. His head was turned toward Rowan, fork a few inches from his opened mouth. His entire face was frozen. Rowan just raised his eyebrows, waiting for anything to come out of his mouth. His boss shook his head, seeming to come back to reality. “Yeah. She is, why?” He could see the confusion on Gavriel’s face but Rowan wouldn’t answer that question so he just shrugged.

Rowan managed to stay quiet a few more minutes, even if he could feel the awkwardness in their air, but another question was burning his throat. “Have you ever met Arobynn Hamel?”

This time he looked up to see Gavriel look at him as if he was an alien, but thank the Gods, he didn’t comment on his interest. “Once or twice, but very briefly. Generally, that was just when he was picking Aelin up.” Rowan nodded, still trying to understand what Aelin had meant by The furthest they are from Arobynn, the safest they are. She hadn’t said anything else, leaving him more confused than anything.

“How did she met him?” He tried to appear casual as he asked that, taking another fork of food in his mouth. The food tasted sour as Gavriel kept watching him suspiciously. He couldn’t ask these questions to Aedion, knowing his friend he would be too defensive of his cousin, especially if Rowan was the one asking the questions. Gavriel knew about Aelin and Rowan’s disdain for each other but he knew less than Aedion, he hadn’t seen the two of them yell at each other or hadn’t witnessed them doing absolutely everything to ruin the other’s day.

He didn’t dare to ask Lysandra either, he was sure the woman would stab him with her hells if he even dared to pronounce Aelin’s name.

So Gavriel was the safest choice.

He seemed to think about who to tell him before opening his mouth. “At a party, when she was sixteen or fifteen, I think.” He took a bite of his food. “Arobynn’s an old friend of her father, both went together to college and were best of friends there, but they lost contact and met again at a gala. They talked about Aelin and found out she wanted to work in the same industry as Arobynn. He’s been her mentor ever since.”

Fifteen? Maybe Rowan’s mind was just fucked up to think it was weird, maybe he was just influenced by what Aelin said the other night. He might not have found it weird if she hadn’t said anything. He was just thinking too hard, trying too hard to find an explanation for what’s happening to her.

“You think he’s good to her?” Gavriel was a wise man, he was trying so hard to be part of his son’s life and it included taking care of Aedion’s cousin. Surely, he didn’t notice the little things Rowan did, but maybe he noticed something else. Rowan’s boss only shrugged.

“He found her a place at her university, made her TA, and gives her a job every summer. So, yeah. I guess so.” And he was paying for her education, a fact Aelin hid from her family. Why would she? It was what didn’t make sense, what was weird with all that. “I’m even sure he’s the first person she went to see when she left her parents in Terassen.”

What?

“What do you mean, ‘left’?” He asked, his brows furrowed. It wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense, he knew for a fact Aelin came to the house first. He hadn’t talked to her that day, he and the boys were sent to their room as if they were teenagers the moment a crying Aelin knocked at the door. He had lingered longer than necessary in the staircase, long enough to see her in a dress, shoes in hands, and cheeks filled with black makeup that had run down her cheeks.

Next thing he knew, Aedion spent a week at his father, trying to get Aelin better. Rowan had thought about this night for too long, Rowan always thought Aelin had partied too hard (because from her outfit, it was quite clear she had partied) and it was the straw that broke the camel's back for her parents. Even without wanting to, it had been impossible not to know about Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

Pictures and videos of her in more than indecent dresses for her age were on page one of every magazine, when pictures of her sniffing coke had leaked it had even been made to National News. She had been sixteen at the time, and it had only been one of many times she had been caught doing what she shouldn’t have.

Before Gavriel could answer, the door opened to let Aelin appear in the doorway. She was holding flowers in her left hand, a smile on her face as she saw her uncle. Unfortunately, her face froze when she saw Rowan. Rowan’s entire body stilled, eyes roaming all over her body. She seemed okay, not skinnier than the last time he saw her, not hurt.

“Oh,” she said, opening and closing her mouth multiple times. She swallowed before clearing her throat. Only a blind person wouldn’t see her anxiety. “I didn’t think you ate there.”

He usually didn’t, having enough time to go back home. It was more comfortable to eat there, but he had been burying himself under work since he woke up in her empty bed. “You thought wrong.”

She was uncomfortable, and he both wanted to make her feel that way for hours and wanted to comfort her at the same time.

Sensing both of their unease, Gavriel stood up and went to leave the room. “I brought you those, your favorites,” Aelin said, giving her uncle the flowers. “I went to your favorite flower shop.”

Gavriel smiled and kissed Aelin’s cheek, earning a smile out of her. “Thanks.” He looked back at Rowan, he knew it was a warning glare but he didn’t care. He needed to speak with her. Gavriel left, pretending to have something else to do but it was all an excuse to let them speak.

“So, you’re alive.”

Aelin snorted. “I don’t know if you look relieved or sad.”

He fought his lips from rising. “Anything to say?”

Aelin looked at him, her bottom lip between her lips and her hands fidgeting. “Your shirt is ugly.”

It was his turn to snort. Of course, she wouldn’t go straight to the point. He arched a brow, waiting for a real answer. Even though he was the one sitting, he held more power than her now.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he said as he closed his tablet, letting his fork down on the plate to have his hands free. “I just want you to act like the adult you are, and it doesn’t include running away in the middle of the night after telling someone you want to die.” His voice was hard, it made Aelin flinch.

“I never said I wanted to die.”

“You said you didn’t have the strength to live, Aelin.”

“Yeah, never said I wanted to die.”

“But do you?” He had to ask, because if she did… He would do what was necessary, he couldn’t let her die. She was already killing herself slowly, between the sex and the alcohol… She told everyone she was sober from drugs but she had been lying for so long to everyone he had a hard time believing it.

Rowan got his answer when she avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor. His heart broke, he needed to help her and he doubted sending her to a psychiatric hospital would help.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice heavy with emotions. With his head, he made her sign to sit next to him, and to his surprise, he complied. She turned her chair to face him, their knees brushing. He could see the dark circles around her eyes from that close, her lips dryer than usual and dotted with small wounds that he knew were due to her teeth.

“I’m coming back home.” He told him, finally looking at him. “I was around, I finished school yesterday and had to sign some things at Arobynn’s office. So I bought Gavriel’s favorite flowers to thank him, I didn’t know you would be here.”

“You hoped I wouldn’t.” He stated and she only nodded. She looked broken as if she knew she could let her guard down after what happened between them Monday. He was happy she knew he would be here for her.

“I was ready to call the cops when I woke up alone, Aelin,” Rowan confessed. He needed her to understand people suffered from her actions. “I was going to until I heard Aedion complain to Lysandra about you leaving him for his father.” He exhaled a loud breath, trying to forget everything he felt that morning. “Aelin, I thought you were dead somewhere.”

Her hand gripped his, he couldn’t hide the surprise from his face. She kept her hand in his, her small fingers enveloping his. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from it, they had never touched like that. “I’m sorry,” her weak voice said. “I panicked. I didn’t think…” He looked back at her, letting her time formulate her thoughts. It was hard enough, she didn’t need to be pressed. “I didn’t think you’d care, to be honest. Nobody ever did, you said it yourself. Aedion was annoyed I was at Gavriel’s, not that I was gone. It’s always been this way, I’ve always been… free.”

It wasn’t freedom, it was negligence. But she didn’t need to hear this now, so he kept his mouth shut, just nodding in understanding. He linked their fingers together, delighted to see the surprise on Aelin’s face, at least they were even now. He squeezed her hand, accepting her apology. Two weeks ago he would have thought Aelin did it on purpose to have attention, but he began to realize he was wrong about her.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.” He said, changing the subject. He had to get back to work soon, and he didn’t have the time to unpack everything he wanted right now. Aelin still looked at their hands, feeling too hard to describe on her face. She nodded.

“Lysandra and Dorian spent the week throwing a huge party for you,” It wasn’t exactly a surprise, Aelin knew there would be a party but probably thought it would just be her and her close friends. Lysandra and Dorian had another idea in mind. “If it’s too much, we can ditch. We’ll find an excuse.”

Finally, her eyes looked back at his face. She had a small smile on her face, Rowan’s heartbeat eased at that. “No.” She shook her head. “A party is what I need right now.”

Rowan wanted to disagree on that, but she was an adult. She knew what was best for her. “Then let’s party.”

Her eyes widened. “You usually don’t come to my birthday.” She was right, he had avoided these parties full of teenagers as much as he could, but he wanted to stay with her.

“I thought were an English major,” he teased her, pulling at her arm slightly making her smile. “What part of ‘you don’t have to be alone anymore’ don’t you understand?”

At that, she smiled so brightly Rowan could have sworn it lighted up the entire room.

————

tag list: @sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @hellasblessed // @danibutterr

[bittermuire]

Turning the page, building a home

Part One

Nesta begins a new life for herself after cutting herself off from Cassian, her sisters, and the rest of the group. Modern au.

---

Saturday, September 25th

The apartment is nearly empty. If not for the half-salvaged cardboard boxes and two cushions on a rocking chair, the spare rooms would have been nothing except walls and a dust-covered wooden floor.

Nesta takes it in; she stares at her shrunken world for an interminable amount of time. Afternoon sunlight streams in from the far window. She goes to it and presses one hand to the glass, her breath fogging it up as she peers out of her perch.

Is this really happening?

She feels distinctly separate from herself as she struggles to process the boxes, the bedframe, the cushions on the rocking chair—her rocking chair. Her bedframe. Her boxes full with her things, scarce as they are.

Her apartment. Her shrunken life… with a big bay window, through which golden sunlight pours in, like honey spilled into a morning coffee.

She turns back from the window and studies her living room. Emptiness has a smell, she thinks, one which she decides she’s going to rid this place of. It’s still the afternoon; she has hours before she has to pull blankets and a mattress together for sleep, and the best thing she can do right now is pull out the broom and sweep.

So she does.

She sweeps up all the dirt she can, catching the corners and edges, until the broom does about all it can do. Then she wipes, scrubbing at stains and spots, moving slowly from the stretching wood floor to the bare countertops, deciding for herself a sparkling kitchen. When she’s satisfied, she wipes down the walls, and starts all over again in the bedroom and bathroom.

Her bedframe is a skeleton in a tiny room, framed on one side with Gwyn’s old nightstand. She wipes the walnut wood down last, then sprays the room with some flowery spray Emerie had insisted on. Deciding she likes the smell, she douses the living area and bathroom in it too.

“Good,” she whispers to herself, quietly pleased.

A new start. A new start.

There’s no one dragging at her legs here. There’s no one showing up at her door at seven in the morning, bearing another invite to dinner. She has all the potential. Her shrunken world contains thousands more, and Nesta feels nothing but relief.

By dusk, she’s unpacked three boxes, all containing various, unorganized things, like clothes, paper towels and pretty bowls, spare parts of cutlery, and a couple of blankets. With a sheer bit of effort, she sets up her bed, struggling but eventually figuring it out, and makes a little nest for herself. A blanket and a pillow will do for now—it had always been enough before.

She places a plastic cup on the corner of the bathroom sink and places her toothbrush in it. On the shelf, she arranges everything to her liking. Shampoo and conditioner go in the shower—which she still needs to get a curtain for.

As she sets down a faded blue bathmat, it feels, somehow, a bit like a home.

Wandering back into the living room, Nesta looks at the few boxes left, trying to read her scribbled handwriting.

Books, books, books, on most of them. The last couple are basic things. Family things. One of Elain’s flower pots, Feyre’s second favorite wine glasses, and a few lamps Nesta’s sure Rhysand won’t miss.

These things can wait, she decides, drifting to the kitchen. Leftover pizza from when Emerie and Gwyn had come over earlier is an enticing thought, and Nesta eats two more pieces before sticking the box in the fridge. There’s not much in the fridge, she notes. She’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. Work begins on Monday.

She washes her face and brushes her teeth, tugging her hair from its braid and watching it swing loose. It’s gotten so long.

By ten, she’s curled up in her bare bed, covered in the blanket. Nesta has long since perfected the art of reading until she’s exhausted, so as to prevent the ugly feeling of lying awake in the dark; she’s exhausted now, and she shuts her book, placing it on the nightstand. With a lazy hand, she flicks off the lamp.

She’s asleep in seconds.

•

Morning comes quickly and early.

Blearily, Nesta checks her phone—it’s seven, and no one’s knocking on the door.

By eight, she’s showered and fresh-faced, and hungry. Common knowledge gained through years in Velaris tells her that there’s a bakery a block away from her building, but nervous reluctance stays her steps like sludge. Instead, she settles for cold pizza, and eats it on a paper towel as she scrolls through her phone.

Velaris wakes up, slowly, as Nesta eats. The human sounds of morning soon join the chirping of birds: voices on the street below, the quiet ticking of bikes, tinkling laughter rising like smoke. Clouds are gathering, and she thinks it’s going to be a rainy day.

Swallowing the last bite of pizza, she stands up and goes again to the window, watching the Sidra ripple to gray beneath the sky. It’s beautiful, ornate and full. She’s always loved the river.

There are so few boxes left and yet so much space to fill.

Empty, empty, empty.

Emptiness is a smell and it’s giving her a headache.

So much space to fill. Despite herself, there’s no sense of despair; only a glimmer of hope. She feels like an artist, free to fill a blank canvas.

Outside the window, a soft rain begins to fall.

Nesta settles herself in the rocking chair and calls Emerie. She picks up in two rings. “Hi,” Nesta says, watching the rain. “I want to buy a carpet.”

---

part one of my self-indulgent nesta healing fic! it’s pretty bare-bones here, but I’m going to do my best to build a fuller life for her in this story.

[tenspontaneite]

Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

-

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

-

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

 -

 (Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

  After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

  -

 (Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

 “That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

  -

 (Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

  He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

 -

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

 “I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

 -

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

 She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

 -

 (Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

 It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

 -

 (Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

 It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

[cupofteaguk]

are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION

[pairing] :: yoongi x fem!reader

[genre] :: kiki delivery service au + fluff 

[word count] :: 6.3k

.

Your eyes flicker open to a window of ocean and summer breeze drifting into your bedroom. One look at the sun tells you that you’ve overslept just a little bit, but the memory of your long travel the previous day justifies the action. You had to fly practically to the other side of the city to deliver a basket of freshly picked vegetables, and it had taken a lot out of you especially under the heat of the sun. 

And yet, today is a new day. 

You let out a sigh. “I should get up,” You tell yourself, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. The morning light has stretched across the space around you, highlighting the little desk and small collection of plants that overtake the remaining walls of your tiny bedroom. In the corner is your broom, looking as if it’s glimmering at the thought of another adventure for the day. 

With a little rub to your eyes, you look down and see the little black cat curled up at your side. Despite its appearance of comfort, the black cat has it’s big navy colored eyes fixated on you. As if it had been watching you for a little while. “Finally decided to get up,” The cat notes, also pushing itself up into a sitting position. 

Your fingers go behind your back, curl together, and stretch at the muscles of your shoulder. “Give me a break, Tobio,” You say, now moving to bring your hands up and over your head. “We had a long day yesterday.” 

At long last do you push back your blankets. You slide your feet down onto the carpet below and continue with the rest of your preparations. You slip on the heavy black dress you have been wearing since your arrival to the city. Fingers gather into the strains of your hair, pulling half of it into a ponytail to keep it out of your face. 

You run a hand through your hair, deeming is acceptable because you immediately make your way towards the bedroom door. “Tobio, I’m going to the shop now!” You call over your shoulder, looking over to find that your cat has settled himself comfortably at your windowsill. At your calling, however, the cat leaps over the ledge and makes his way over to where you’re standing. Tobio climbs up your frame, setting himself atop your shoulder, prepared for the day. 

With your black cat settled, you open the bedroom door and continue down a small hallway. Every few steps is a small window overlooking more of the ocean and cityscape below you, a little vase of plants or flowers growing on each sill. The occasional photo hangs on the empty spaces—a little girl riding her bike, a small family enjoying a picnic, a couple at a beach, that same little girl now with pigtails with you wrapped underneath her arm. Closed doors also line the hallway, all closed and leading to different parts of the house. You brush past all of them. The hallway ends, opening up into a kitchen with more sunlight pouring in through the windows. The stove is off but a pot still rests atop. It must have been used to make some morning tea. 

The emptiness of the upstairs apartment unit gives little indication about where your roommate is. At the end of the kitchen is an incline of stairs that go down, one that you follow and open the door at the end of the stairs. The door reveals a flower shop: the cashiers station in the back, rows of different colored flowers and types along the middle, and windows across the entire front of the store. 

The crowd for the morning is light, just one or two people strolling through the different aisles. The quietness is interrupted by the movement near the cashier. 

The little girl from the photographs stands behind the counter. She’s not a little girl anymore, and her hair is no longer in pigtails—she holds herself as an adult. She even talks like one too, as she opens her mouth to scold you. “You overslept.” 

You sigh. “Not you too, Karly.” From your shoulder, Tobio snorts something underneath his breath. You join her behind the counter, grabbing a bundle of daisies that most likely had come from the morning delivery. “You know how awful my delivery was yesterday! The grandmother made me stay for over an hour so she could tell about all the vegetables she had received and how amazing her granddaughter was for growing them all! Do you realize how exhausting it is to hear about cucumbers over and over again?” 

“Well, do you know how exhausting it is to fill out all your order forms for you because you slept through the opening routine?” Karly returns, not looking at you. Her gaze is too focused on counting the cash in the register. “For your information, it’s very exhausting.” 

You put down the daisies for a second to turn your attention towards the basket of ‘to be completed’ order forms. Raising an eyebrow, you reach your hand into the basket to pull out—! 

“Two order forms,” You report, turning to glare at your roommate. “It was exhausting to fill out two order forms?” 

“So exhausting,” Karly repeats, but a glance at you makes you immediately see the smirk across her lips. You have half the mind to throw the order forms at her, but their value for your business keeps you from doing such a thing. Instead, you nudge her with your shoulder before turning your attention back to the order forms. Of the two, one required an immediate delivery while the other one could be delivered in the later afternoon. Knowing these deadlines helps you construct a mental schedule for the day. “So how does your day look today?” 

You shrug, looking over the order form requiring immediate attention. “Same old.” You brush past Karly away to enter the apartment unit once more, climbing the stairs and pacing towards your bedroom at the end of the hall. You quickly grab your broom from the corner and make your way back towards the shop. 

The door at the bottom of the stairs opens as you approach the kitchen. It’s Karly. “Your favorite customer is here!” She exclaims, broad grin on her face—the kind of grin that shows that she knows something you don’t. 

You frown, playing the broom on your shoulder. A favorite customer? You can’t think of anyone you prefer over the others… “What are you talking about?” You ask, making your way down the stairs. “I don’t have a favorite…” You trail off as soon as you enter the flower shop and see a very familiar figure lingering amongst the flowers. Just as it always does, the words get lodged in your throat and everything around you feels warm suddenly. “Min Yoongi!” You exclaim.

He looks good today with his black sweatshirt and skinny jeans—although you’re sure the boy could show up in a garbage bag and still manage to render you this way. His hair is fluffy, falling across his forehead that looks like he had just run a towel through it. Or his hands. Either mental image is nice to think about. 

Min Yoongi is the shy boy from across the street who was one of the first to greet you after you landed in the city all these years ago. He had been curious about your broom and your background, intrigued by the thought of you being a witch. He had been a lot younger back then, naturally, wide-eyed and shy. He’s still like that: wide-eyed and shy, that is. Except nowadays, he’s grown in certain features that may have previously made him lanky and awkward. He’s taller, older, cuter. It’s a rather troubling thought, one that you more often than not do not spend too much time pondering. 

Min Yoongi is a cute boy: a very cute boy you’ve known since you were thirteen. And yet the only thing you know about him is that he comes in practically every week to request your delivery services. Nothing more, nothing less. An occasional smile once in awhile, a breath of back-to-back conversation, but never anything beyond that. After all, Yoongi never bothers with something more meaningful, because he’s not interested. Right? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? 

Karly’s raised eyebrow directed at you seems to be telling a different story—as do the actual words that come out of her mouth every time Yoongi comes by for a visit. But you ignore all those as you turn your attention to the boy. “Yoongi, hi,” You say, realizing a moment later that you had already said his name and had already technically greeted him. 

Karly was definitely going to use this against you one day, as seen through the way she ducks her head to hide her snort. 

Yoongi stands there, so unassuming and wide-eyed as he looks at you. He utters your name. “Hey,” He returns. He starts to make his way to the counter, already well accustomed with the delivery process you’ve created. 

“How’s it going?” You ask, moving back behind the counter and pulling out an order form. 

“It’s good, how about you?” Yoongi returns, noticing Tobio situated on the counter. “I see Tobio is doing well,” He says, reaching out to scratch the cat behind the ear. Tobio purrs at the gesture and you smile at that. Tobio doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that he’s enjoying himself—not that Yoongi would be able to understand Tobio’s comments anyways. 

“He is,” You say. “We both basically knocked out after this long delivery we had to make. But we’re both good now.” You place the order form flat on the counter and take out a pen. “Alright, so what are we delivering today, Mr. Min?” 

He gummy smiles at your formality, but he digs through the contents of his backpack and produces a small notebook from his backpack. “I just need to have this delivered to my friend,” He says, placing his hand atop the notebook. You stare at his fingers for a second too long. “It’s part of this thing we’re working on together and I just need to get his input for what’s written in here.” He takes his hand off the notebook.

You look at the object, a small black-bound book that looks worn from constant use and travel. Even just from the outside, the pages look pressed into and look so full of life that you cannot help but stare. Not that your usual deliveries for Yoongi were anything out of the ordinary, this feels like the first time Yoongi has asked you to deliver something he’s been working on. 

“This thing looks like it's been through a lot,” You note quietly, picking up a pen and starting to fill out the form. You start with the name, and contents of the delivery: since both answers to those questions are situated in front of you.

“That’s because it has,” Yoongi answers with a smile that looks just a little smaller, just a little shyer. “I bring it with me everywhere. This thing is really important to me.”

The desire to ask about what could be so special that Yoongi feels the need to bring it with him everywhere feels too strong on your tongue. Yet, you elect to keep your mouth shut. It doesn’t seem right to ask something like that, especially during your job. “Sounds good,” You say instead, looking up and noticing that Yoongi’s gaze is still trained on you. “Who is the delivery going to?”

“A friend of mine, Kim Namjoon. He lives just over the river.” He looks down at the map you’ve got taped to the top of the counter. A tiny red pin sticks from the paper, nailed right into the current location of the flower shop. His eyes scan the map for a moment before his eyes find what he’s looking for, because he taps his finger on the surface. “Right here. He has a green roof, and lots of plants around the house. You’ll also see a wooden mailbox with his last name across it. Shouldn’t be too hard to notice.”

You take a mental note of these directions as you nod. “Alright then.” You take the notebook and slide it into one of the shipping envelops you have in the shop to keep certain packages and deliveries safe. “When do you need it delivered by?”

“Preferably just by the end of the day,” Yoongi says with the brush of his hand. “No rush, I know that you can be really busy sometimes.”

“It’s just part of the job,” You reply with a smile as you place the now fully completed order form in the basket. “Well, I’ll have this package delivered, Yoongi. Thank you for coming in. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Yoongi grins. “Likewise.” He utters your name, a beautiful sound that makes feel like the ground has just given up underneath your feet. “I’ll see you around?”

You nod. The sunlight seems to be streaming  directly through the window. Why else would your face feel so warm all of a sudden? “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment longer before he nods, more to himself than to you, and turns around to exit the shop. You hear the ringing of the bell at the door signaling his departure, and yet you remain rooted to the ground, staring at the door.

Karly hits you on the back between your shoulders. “Okay, but what the fuck was that?”

You flash out of your trance pretty quickly and give your roommate a look. “What the fuck was what?”

She jerks her chin towards the door. “Is that what you call flirting?”

You turn hot at the word. “Flirting?” You repeat. “What are you talking about? There was no flirting. In fact, I think you need your eyes checked. Where was the flirting? I wasn’t flirting, and Yoongi definitely wasn’t flirting. No one was flirting. I was just doing my job—stop that!” You push at her shoulder when you realize she’s looking at you like you just pissed in her cereal.

“You know, for a smart witch, you can be really dull sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?”

Karly glares at you. “I'm talking about how Yoongi is looking at you like you personally flew up into the sky to hang up all the stars and you do the exact same, and yet you’re both talking like you’ve never had a casual conversation with a human being before!”

“Not this again,” You mumble under your breath. “Karly, I’m not sure how much I need to tell you this. Yoongi isn’t into me that way. We’ve known each other for so long. If he was interested, we would have had a conversation outside of any new magic tricks I’ve learned or me asking him what kind of package he wants delivered this time.”

“C’mon, even I can tell you what kind of package he wants to deliver—specifically to you—!”

“Karly!”

Tobio perks his head up from the counter. “She has a point—!”

“Not you too!” You snap to the black cat on the counter.

"Okay, okay, fine, I”ll stop," She says, backing up with both hands raised in surrender. “I’ll drop it. But I’m serious! I really think you should consider the idea of Yoongi liking you!”

“Are we really talking about this again?” You scowl, moving back from around the counter to collect the package that required an immediate delivery. It’s a basket of freshly picked strawberries, from a mother to her daughter. “I don’t have time for this. Tobio, I’m leaving!”

Tobio meows in acknowledgment as he leaps from the counter to your shoulder.

“You have time on the ride over to think about Yoongi’s package—!” Karly calls from the shop as you shut the door to the shop before the girl can finish her sentence.

You sigh, cheeks still warm from the encounter and the following conversation. “I can’t believe this,” You mumble underneath your breath.

“I think you should keep him,” Tobio says, licking his paw and running the paw through the fur at his head. “He’s nice. He smiles at you the way Karly smiles at her flowers. It’s a little sad on Karly’s part, but it should prove something.” 

“I don’t want to hear about this anymore,” You protest, instead choosing to shift your attention to the broom in your hand. You ready it, straddling the handle of the broom, before you leap off into the air around you. Nevermind the tiny smile that pitches the corner of your lips the entire time.

.

Min Yoongi is in the shop the next day, hands in the pocket of a denim jacket. Karly looks like she’s about to burst, with her lips pressed together and her wide-eyes observing Yoongi’s wandering. Tobio doesn’t look too far off from saying another snarky comment. 

“He usually comes in once a week, what is happening—!” Karly hisses in your ear. You immediately cut her off with an elbow to the gut. 

“Hey Yoongi,” You greet loudly, hoping to drown out Karly’s coughing. “What brings you in here? I thought you only come by once a week.” 

Yoongi looks at you for a moment before he ducks his head a little, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you kept track.” 

Karly kicks your ankle. She gives you a look, her eyes flashing. You swallow, your fingers immediately curling into the strands of your hair. “W-Well, it’s just that… hard not to do that for you.” 

Yoongi presses his lips together. “Is that so?” He asks, not really looking at you. There’s some pink dusting along his cheeks. 

You feel warm again. Why on earth did you think to say that? Sure, yes, you’ve known about Yoongi’s weekly visits for years but saying it like that? Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? 

“Anyways,” You bring up again after a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Since you’re here so soon after your last, uh, visit, it must be urgent. Something I can help you with?” 

“Oh, right.” Yoongi blinks, seeming to remember what he was doing here. He takes out an envelope, something small enough to just hold a letter. “I just need this to be dropped off at Namjoon’s house—the guy whose house you had to go to yesterday. It’s just some updates to the notebook I had given him. I also need you to bring the notebook back here. Namjoon already knows to give it to you.” 

You nod at that, smiling as you take the envelope. “Been away from your baby for too long, huh?” You ask, looking back up at him. 

Yoongi joins in your laughter, a small breathless sound that includes a slight shake of his shoulders. “Honestly, it feels like a piece of myself has been missing.”

You pull out an order form from the counter, already moving to fill out the different questions. “Do you…” You start, stopping yourself for a moment, realizing that the question you have in mind probably isn’t either appropriate or welcoming. You trail off, thinking that Yoongi would ignore it or not care enough to take notice of your voice cutting itself off. 

“Do I what?” Yoongi asks. He’s leaning against the counter now, arms resting on the surface, close enough that you can see the glimmer of curiosity and encouragement in his eyes. You could pull away, but you don’t. Instead, you smile and look back down at your work. 

“Oh, nothing, I just… I was going to ask you something, but I realize it might be too personal. Or intrusive.” 

Yoongi tilts his head, some of the black strands of his hair falling across his forehead. “We’ve known each other since we were thirteen. C’mon, no question is too personal or intrusive. You can ask.” 

You ponder this for a moment, before you finally decide to give in. You place your pen on the desk and look up to face the boy once more. He’s still looking at you. “I just wanted to know what was so important about the notebook you want back. It seems to mean a lot to you, especially because you carry it around with you.” 

“Ah, that’s a good question,” He replies, taping his chin and looking around the shop for a moment. He returns his gaze back to you. “It’s my writing journal,” He explains. 

“Are you a writer?” 

“Well, kind of. Not really. Actually, um.” He goes back to scratching his ear, biting his lip. “I’m more of a songwriter. I like writing music.” 

You grin. “That’s pretty cool. What kind of music?” 

Yoongi pauses. “Just, personal lyrics, I guess? I don’t really do anything with the lyrics—I haven’t turned it into actual music yet. That’s what my friend Namjoon is around for, we’re helping each other out. I just needed help going over some lyrics I had written, so now that he’s done I need the notebook back to keep going with my work.” 

You nod. “Totally understandable. I’ll have the notebook back later today, so you can come by tomorrow to pick it up if that’s okay.” 

Yoongi smiles. “More than okay. Thank you for doing this.” 

“I’m just doing my job, Mr. Min,” You say. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

He nods. “It’s a date.” He turns around to leave the shop, the bell ringing overhead. As well as in your head. 

The trace of a smile is still on your lips as you place the envelope in your bag and exit the space of the counter. Karly is in the middle of the store, organizing a small collection of lilies that have just come in that morning. She hasn’t said anything about the encounter, surprisingly, but the thought quickly disappears when you see the cat-like grin across her face. 

You tap her lightly on the head with the handle of your broom. 

“Hey!” Karly exclaims, laughing as she watches you make your way towards the exit of the store. “He literally said it was a date, Y/N, you can’t argue with that!” 

“He’s just being silly, alright, goodbye!” You exclaim, shouldering open the door of the shop. You take a glance at the cat on your shoulder, who has been strangely quiet during the interaction. The wide eyes of the cat, though, do not go unseen by you. “I don’t want to hear about it.” 

“I wasn’t saying anything!” Tobio complains. He stays quiet for a moment. “Although he did say it was a date. He looked excited to see you tomorrow, too—!” 

“Alright, enough,” You say, taping the cat on the nose before readying yourself on your broom. It’s a lot easier to take off now—you remember when you struggled a lot in your younger years, how much concentration it took to fly and stay off the ground. Nowadays, it comes like second nature to you as your broom moves towards the sky. There was no need to go over the map, since you still remember the route you had taken yesterday to reach the home of Kim Namjoon. The summer breeze is a little cooler today, a little stronger, as it brushes through your hair and your clothing. 

Today, you spare yourself the momentary distraction in staring out at the ocean in front of you, the bright blue and the line separating sea from sky. 

Tobio nudges into your cheek with his head. “We’re coming up on the river,” He tells you, and you look down to see the upcoming river from memory. 

“Awesome,” You say, passing over the river and beginning a descent back towards the ground. You quickly make out the green roof, the greenhouse in the background, the pathway of weeds. You land on the sidewalk in front of the house, smiling at the terrariums situated along the porch. Kim Namjoon is painted on the mailbox. 

You make your way up the pathway towards the house, knocking on the brown door. After a few seconds, it opens to reveal the man himself. He’s a little taller than Yoongi, fluffy cardigan across his broad shoulders, black framed glasses, and a polite smile across his face. 

“Ah, Y/N!” He greets. “My favorite delivery girl. Come in.” 

“Mr. Kim, I’m the only delivery girl,” You say, placing your broom on the porch and stepping into Namjoon’s house. It’s a small little cottage space, lots of windows and light streaming and highlighting bookshelves and typewriters. Namjoon is a writer, something you learned quickly yesterday from the first impression and from a small conversation with him. He’s actually published a book or two, but lately he’s been diving more into poetry and lyrics—hence, this is where his friendship with Yoongi comes into play. 

“Here’s the notebook Yoongi needs,” Namjoon says, picking up the aforementioned black notebook from a low table and handing it to you. “He should be happy to see it again.” 

You laugh, taking it from Namjoon. “He was already going through some separation anxiety.” 

Namjoon smiles at that. “You’ve known Yoongi for awhile, right?” 

You nod. “Since we were young. He lives across the street from me, so he was one of the first people I met when I first moved into the city.” 

“That’s cute,” He says, that smile still present on his lips. It’s the kind of smile Karly has given you for years in response to Yoongi’s weekly visits. “He does talk about you a lot. He’s pretty quiet though and keeps to himself for the most part. Although I’m sure you know that already.” 

You laugh, nodding again. “I do. But he’s really sweet.” You look down, unable to see the smile growing on Namjoon’s face as you dig through your bag to produce the folded envelope Yoongi had given you yesterday. “He asked me to give you this.” 

Namjoon takes the envelope. “Thanks. Hold on a second so I can get your payment, okay?” 

You watch as Namjoon turns around and takes his leave into another room, leaving you alone in this miniature library. Books cover one wall, and you glance over at the titles before looking back down at the notebook in your hands. You wonder what sort of lyrics Yoongi writes, how much of his heart he pours into pages. 

You look down at it for a few more seconds before you shake your head. It would be rude and frankly, inappropriate to look through something so personal without permission. Regardless of your relationship with Yoongi, regardless of his openness to share things with you, this would probably be crossing the line. You hold the notebook by the spine, the opening to the pages facing the ground as you move to place the notebook into your bag. 

Until a small slip of paper falls from between the pages. 

You blink at the paper, immediately kneeling down to pick it up and slide it back into the notebook. However, the writing at the top of the folded slip makes you pause. It’s your name. You pick it up. 

You hear the growing sound of footsteps from the other room, signalling Namjoon’s return. Quickly, you stuff the paper into your pocket and move to slide the notebook into your bag. Namjoon emerges just as you’re gathering the signature booklet. “This should cover it,” He says, handing you the money. 

You pocket it. “Thanks a lot, Namjoon. If you can just sign this, that’ll be great.” 

He takes the pen from you, signing on the dotted line. “Well, Y/N, it was good to see you again.” He says as he leads you back towards the front door of his house. “I’m assuming Yoongi will come by the shop tomorrow to pick up the notebook?” 

You pick up the broom from the porch. “Most likely. I doubt he can handle another day without it.” 

“Sounds like a date,” Namjoon says, walking you to the sidewalk outside of his house. There’s a teasing curve to his voice as you situate yourself on the broom. It’s a good natured noise, one that is still present in the air as you turn back to look at Namjoon. Maybe you would ask what he meant by that, if he had known Yoongi said the same thing. However, by the time you turn to look at Namjoon, the man is already making his way back to his house. Effectively ending the conversation

You turn back and float towards the sky once more. 

“Namjoon said what Yoongi said earlier,” Tobio notes in your ear once the pair of you reach a suitable height to cruise back home. “What do you think that means?” 

You sigh. “I don’t know, Tobio,” You say. The weight of the note in your dress pocket feels like it’s expanding, drawing your attention more and more to what could possibly be on that note the longer you’re in the sky. For a moment, you think maybe the note had been from Namjoon—but it takes less than a second to debunk that thought. You’ve seen Yoongi’s handwriting for years. It was definitely his note to you. But what could it be? 

You don’t say anything, you don’t admire the view. You just function on autopilot, directing your broom back over the river and allowing yourself to land outside your house without a thought. From the distance, you can make out Karly having a conversation with a customer, laughter evident in her face as she wraps a bundle of hyacinths. You watch the interaction for a moment, before you make your way around the shop, situating yourself at the side of the building. 

“You’re not gonna go in?” Tobio asks, eying you with a touch of concern and curiosity. “Still thinking about that note? It came from his notebook… maybe he doesn’t want you to read it.” 

You take the note out of your pocket. It’s haphazardly folded, crumbled slightly as if he had rolled the paper into a ball before folding it into the uneven square you see before you. “Probably,” You say, turning it over in your hand. “But why would he even write something like this? If he wanted to tell me something, he could just come over and say it. It’s not like distance is a big problem in our ability to communicate.” 

Tobio licks at his paw. “Maybe it’s something he can’t say to you.” 

“Hm…” You hum, staring at the note, a flash of his penmanship catching your attention. A part of the note that his folding didn’t cover up. There’s a line drawn across the words, but it’s clear what he had written. Coffee shop. 

Your narrow your eyes, fingers moving to unfold the note without a second thought. What kind of note would include your name and the mention of a coffee shop?

It’s a whole page, written like a letter. Your name is written at the top, messy flowers and stars doodled around the scribble. 

A few verses of something are written directly underneath your name. 

I’d touch the sky and cross the field, if you were waiting on the other side 

A line is crossed through it. 

You make me feel like I am everything/Teaching me to be the universe/Drawing me the stars and galaxies beyond/All along the palm of my hand

Another line through the words. 

This is only a field of flowers rippling in the wind/But like morning light like it scatters the night/To make the day worth living

And another, but the line doesn’t erase the imagery that sprouts in your heart. It does not erase the corners of your lips upturning, because as small as these lines are, it feels like a window to Yoongi’s world. To have your name associated with these lines of hope and desire feels overwhelming and comforting at the same time. 

Underneath the words is a letter. Your name. 

I’m writing this in the shop right now. There’s a little bench Karly put down, and I think she’s thinking of starting a little cafe in this spot one day. I hope she does it. There’s something comforting about this place, and I think she knows that. You’re here today too. You aren’t doing deliveries today. Today is Sunday, so that makes sense. I’m glad for days like these, when you aren’t being whisked away on your broomstick, traveling hundreds of miles a day to bring people together and make everyone feel connected. You’re like the sunlight, bringing happiness across the sky, down the river, through the windows. Even just right now, you’re just standing behind the counter radiating. You’re wearing the apron Karly made you wear, with these little flowers embroidered across the front and looking so fucking cute. 

Moments like these realize how important you are to me, and why I keep coming into the shop. I do need to make deliveries, but I do also like seeing your face on the mornings I come in. I’ve always wondered what you would do if I asked you out. I’d take you to a coffee shop and buy you any pastry you want. Anything to light up your eyes. I’d take you on a walk around the city, show you the world from my perspective. And maybe we’d be able to see the world from your perspective. These are daydreams I have, and every single one I conjure up of the two of us are very important to me. I don’t think I would ever have the courage to share those hopes with you. For now, I like the talks we have when I come in. I like the talks we have when you drop by. I like you. I want these things to happen, as I have ever since I met you. 

If I can muster up the courage to ask you out one day. 

You don’t realize that you’re in a trance, staring at the letter, smiling to yourself, until you hear the bell ring from the shop. You snap out of it, folding the paper back together just as you watch that same customer from earlier leave. As soon as the customer is on the sidewalk, you make your own way up the pathway and enter the shop. The bell rings overhead. 

Karly is at the counter, arranging a bouquet—an explosion of purples and pinks. “Oh hey!” She greets upon seeing you. “I didn’t see you land. How was your delivery?” 

You smile. “We’ll see tomorrow.” 

.

The shop opens to a bright sunny morning, and you’re drumming your fingers. The place is empty, as it usually is right at opening. This is expected. What is unexpected is how anxious you feel about what is supposed to be happening later today. How much later, you aren’t sure. Maybe that’s why you’re so nervous about the ordeal. 

“Your boyfriend will show up eventually,” Karly butts in, currently situated in the middle of the store with her own personal broom in hand. She’s dusting the floor. “He did say it was a date, after all.” 

You flinch, blinking out of your trance. “I’m not waiting for Yoongi. And just because he said it was a date doesn’t mean anything.” 

Karly’s lips twist up. “I never mentioned a name.” 

Your eyes widen, flush immediately coating your cheeks. You pout, looking back towards the door. “Shut up.” 

Karly’s giggling is the only thing that is heard for a little bit, until you catch sight of the familiar figure making his way up the pathway towards the shop. The way you straighten up and fix your hair happens much quicker than you are willing to admit. 

“Morning, Yoongi,” You greet as Yoongi enters the shop, white t-shirt and denim jeans and an undercut that makes you want to cry. How could someone look so pretty? “Nice haircut.” 

He stills at that, rubbing the back of his head as if he hadn’t expected you to notice. “T-Thanks,” He stammers, making his way towards you. “You look nice too,” He says, gesturing vaguely to the bow you’ve put at the top of your head. “Your hairpiece looks cute.” 

You flush deeper. You had forgotten you put it on. It came with the box of bonsai trees that came in this morning. “Thank you,” You say, choosing to dig around underneath the counter to find what you had been preparing to give over since yesterday. “Your notebook.” You produce the thing, gently sliding it over to him. “In wonderful condition. Namjoon took good care of it.” 

Yoongi takes the notebook, looking pleased with himself. “Nah, I think the credit goes more to you.” He smiles, eyes taking in your appearance once more. 

You shrug. “Just… doing my job, Min Yoongi. I’ll see you around?” 

He hesitates at that, looking like he wants to say something. Your heart skips a beat. He, however, just returns back to his shy smile. “Of course. See you around.” He turns around, making his way back towards the door. 

You almost bite your own tongue, almost keep your words to yourself. The paper weighs like a lead in your dress pocket. 

“Min Yoongi!” You call. 

He stops, whirling around. ��Yes?” 

You take in a breath, looking at Karly, looking at Tobio. For two different creatures, they both wear a similar expression of exasperation, of urge, of encouragement. Swallowing, you reach into the pocket of your dress and produce the folded slip of paper. You hold it up. “Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?” 

[calpops]

stuck in the storm | c.h.

A record shop Calum and baker reader one shot 

Word Count: 1.5k 

@rbforsmileycal Ok I am LOVING the business AU. So to continue with cal and baker reader- let’s say the bakery closes earlier than the record shop so one day reader is locking up and planning to walk home/to the bus stop/ subway or whatever. And it was raining outside and reader thought it would be that bad... but it just gets worse as she leaves and so in a desperate attempt to get dry she runs to the record shop bursts in soaking wet to find Calum who is a very enamored and concerned bub (who knew someone could look so cute all soaked) and he just stands there admiring her for a sec before jumping to action and trying to help her get dried and wait out the crazy weather (geez this is long but SERIOUSLY I LOVE THIS CONCEPT)💖💖

***

A light spattering of rain turns to torrential downpour in the blink of an eye. You’re barely two steps past the awning over the bakery door and blocks away from home; cold rain seeping through your thin jacket quickly. The bakery doors are already locked and set for the night, you feel as if there’s no turning back now to wait out the rain. But with a few steps more and a shock of lightning torching the night sky your heart takes off, racing uncomfortably hard as you sprint across the street. Welcoming lights in the record shop across the way indicate it’s still open, a viable shelter to escape the storm. And maybe, a chance at more conversation with Calum. You don’t even think about it as a rumble of thunder has you pushing open the doors; eyes wide in fear and body shivering from the cold clinging to your clothes.

You’re not too familiar with the store, having only been in once when Ashton gave you a gift card. But you know the register sits at a straight across from the bay window of the bakery, sometimes sneaking glances of Calum stood behind the desk as you roamed past cases of already made desserts; sometimes pretending to work and take stock, other times being a little more obvious in your endeavor. You crane your neck toward the register but Calum’s not there. You turn, conceiving a plan of roaming the aisles and pretending to look through albums you have no interest in until someone comes through. But you jump in surprise when you’re met with concerned brown eyes and unsure hands timidly reaching out to you and dropping instead of being met with wooden crates of albums.

“Are you okay?” Calum asks after a moment, eyes taking in your shaking cold frame and the fear that’s still evident in your eyes. “What happened?”

You’re still a bit breathless from your run across the street, from the heart pounding scare of lightning and thunder coming out of nowhere.

“Got stuck in the storm,” you explain hastily, watching Calum’s eyes flicker to the window and realize the severity of the rain, just in time for another strike of lightning. “It wasn’t so bad when I locked up. Then it was. Real quick,” you finish in a staggered rush.

Calum nods in understanding and waves you further in. You take small steps, wet shoes squeaking on the tiled floor and arms wrapping around your body to beg for warmth. A shiver pushes past your lips and Calum looks back at you with eyebrows furrowed, inquisitive in his thoughts as he leads you towards the back of the store. He disappears behind the desk, ducking down for a moment before popping back up with a small towel. He offers it to you, eyes skirting down your soaked clothing, lips pursing as he formulates a plan.

“I can hang your jacket to dry,” he offers, hands outstretched to exchange the towel for your jacket.

You peel off the soaked material, goosebumps dancing across bare skin, thankful for the towel though it only dries you minimally. You wipe down your arms and neck, squeeze some water from your hair and bite your lower lip as Calum turns back around to you after hanging your jacket. Your feet are freezing, shoes soaking through your socks and numbing your toes. Your T-shirt and pants are still wet but the warmth of the store aids the drying process.

In a quick moment Calum rounds the desk and shrugs out of his jacket. He offers it to you wordlessly, placing it over your shoulders with such sincerity and kindness clouding his eyes it takes your breath away momentarily. Your heart rate that had finally settled from the shock of the storm picks up again, racing at the small contact of Calum’s fingers brushing your shoulders.

“You don’t have to-“ you begin but Calum clears his throat and cuts you off.

“Need it more than me.”

You can't argue with that, are appreciative of the warmth the leather jacket gives you. It’s lined but you figure most of the warmth comes from Calum’s body heat as you sink into the worn material. Your toes scrunch in your shoes, body reacting to the pleasant warmth and before you can even voice thoughts of cold feet Calum’s offering for you to go behind the desk and take your shoes and socks off to dry by the heat vent on the back wall. You take him up on his offer immediately, an immense amount of gratitude coating your thank you to him. He brushes it off and tells you it’s not a problem, that he’s just glad you’re safe from the storm and the cold. Your cheeks heat at his admission, a twinge of something unknown making your stomach flutter. You decide finding refuge within the record shop was one of your best ideas.

You find yourself sitting behind the desk with Calum, coat hung up and shoes and socks laid out by the heat vent, as you wait out the storm. You make idle small talk as he sifts through business papers and you watch his minute reactions to the music still playing from the speakers. Most of it is easy going, soft songs with serene melodies and beautiful lyrics. Calum catches you staring but you don’t mind; having caught his glances through the windows times before. He smiles and you smile back, the empty store close to quiet aside from a love song as white noise.

“You know,” you begin, a new round of small talk entering your thoughts. “For a store name  synonymous with chaos, it’s quite calm in here.”

Music Mayhem is quite the contrast to its name. Soft wood tones and low lighting give the store a welcoming and comfortable presence. Overstuffed chairs dot the store randomly, welcoming patrons to stay a while. Vases and pots of flowers and plants—some less kept and alive than others—are strewn about shelve tops every now and then. Select instruments are set for display and obscure band posters plaster drywall. Everything about the shop is inviting; personal for all yet somehow still specialized to the tastes of the owners. You don’t know Calum all that well yet, but you can still catch glimpses of his personality in the store.

Calum smirks at your remark; his voice nearly in harmony with the music in the background. “Ashton says it’s supposed to be ironic. I think he just likes alliteration.”

You laugh; a floating feeling capturing your chest, making your heartbeat feel free. You continue the conversation and it’s so easy it feels right.  You wish the rain would never stop, that time could still and your private moment with Calum could last. But you can hear the rain outside, it’s lessening by the minute. You haven’t seen a flash of lightning or heard a rumble of thunder in nearly ten minutes. A desperate feeling washes through you at the realization—Calum disappearing from the desk to start closing up—that your time tucked away in the deserted record shop with him is coming to an end.

Calum comes back to the desk; you having taken a hint and getting your socks and shoes back on, swapping jackets—donning your still slightly damp one and  moving from behind the desk.

“Let me drive you home again,” Calum says and it feels much less a question or request and more a matter of fact that sets the disappointment of a disappearing storm at bay. “You probably shouldn’t wear that yet.”

Calum lightly pinches at the sleeve of your jacket, feeling the damp with the pads of his fingertips.

“You could catch a cold. You can borrow mine for the ride.”

And so you do. And you both accidentally forget you're still wearing it when he walks you to your steps and tells you goodnight. Only once you’re back inside do you realize you have a reason to see him tomorrow; leather still draped across your shoulders.

***

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[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee- Ch. 13: Purple Hyacinths and White Orchids

Chapter 13: Purple Hyacinths and White Orchids A/N: I’m sorry in advance Masterlist

Cate awoke the next day with a headache from drinking so much wine. Her alarm was chiming through her phone and it felt like the sound bounced between her ears. Pressing her palm into her forehead to create a pressure that wasn’t her headache, she let out a large sigh as she sat up in bed. It was her mistake to keep drinking with Spencer’s friends when she knew she had to work the next day. Even though she was paying for it today, she had a really fun night at Rossi’s. 

Spencer had driven Cate back to her house last night. Instead of the usual comfortable silence, Cate was blabbering the whole ride in Spencer’s car. Not only was she the chattiest Spencer had ever seen, she was also the touchiest. Not always touching him, but fiddling with the radio, opening all the compartments to see what was inside. A wine-drunk Cate was brazen and not nearly as quiet as she normally was. 

“Want to know my favorite flower?” Cate said out loud to Spencer, while rummaging through the pockets of his suit jacket that she was still wearing. Spencer glanced over to her.

“Of course.” He smiled at her. Every few seconds, a street light would shine an orange glow in the car, and Spencer swore this was the most beautiful he had ever seen her. 

“It’s Asters. I like all colors but pink would be my favorite I think.” Cate started to take off her shoes in his car. She was struggling with the small buckle on the heel. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.” She sat back up, defeated by the small metal buckle. There was a silence as she thought of what to ask him. “What’s your middle name?” She decided. He had just pulled into her parking lot. 

“Walter.” He quickly said, before getting out and walking around to open her door.

“Spencer Walter Reid.” Cate tried his full name out. She took Spencer’s outstretched hand and stepped out of his vehicle. She eyed him up, repeating his full name again. “Yeah, that seems about right.” She interlaced their fingers.

Spencer thought that the elevator would be their best option to get Cate safely to her floor. She dug in her clutch for her keys and passed them to Spencer to put into the lock. The two walked into Cate’s apartment just as Shrimp was walking past the hallway with one of the little toys Spencer had gotten him. Cate sat on the bench in her foyer and extended a leg to Spencer. 

“Please help.” Cate stuck her bottom lip out. Spencer grabbed her ankle and his nimble fingers just barely struggled with the buckle. He laughed and motioned for her other foot so he could take the other heel off. When Cate stood up, Spencer admired the height difference between them. He could tell Cate was getting tired by the way her bubbling conversation faded. She slid his jacket off, holding it out to him. In the soft light of the hallway, Spencer could see her freckles that peppered the top of her shoulders.

That night was the first time that Spencer had seen her room. It suited her. He pulled back her black and white comforter. Cate laid down, still in her dress, getting settled in. Spencer kissed her forehead and gently took the bobby pins from her hair. He rested another yellow throw blanket over her body. On his way out, he gave Shrimp a scritch and quietly shut the door behind him. 

“I feel like we haven’t worked together in forever!” Marta said loudly. Cate walked into The Empty Mug with her sunglasses on. She scrunched her face.

“Why must you be so loud?” Cate closed her eyes, pausing in her step. Marta chuckled. 

“Hungover on a weekday? You’re becoming quite the rebel, Catherine.” Marta was putting the last of the chairs down. “It’s getting colder, my parents were thinking of retiring the cart for the season.” Marta informed Cate. 

“Aw, I’m gonna miss my cart!” Cate was walking to the back room to put away her things and put on her apron. Like clockwork, soon after Marta flipped the sign on the door from closed to open, Spencer walked in. 

“Hey, Sweater Vest, when are we gonna get a visit from Morgan for a change?” Marta joked with him, starting a pot of coffee. Cate came out of the back, her face lighting up when she saw Spencer. 

“How are you feeling?” Spencer laughed. He had moved so he was standing in front of her. Cate brought a hand to her temple.

“Oh, you know, dealing with the aftermath of your friends. Remind me not to try and keep up with them again.” Cate laughed. Spencer shifted his weight from heel to toe.

“Would you like to go to the new Italian restaurant on Jefferson street later tonight? Like a proper date?” Spencer looked hopeful. Cate’s smile grew.

“I’d love to.” Cate nodded. She was mentally picking out an outfit already. The end of her shift could not come fast enough. As soon as Spencer mentioned Italian, Cate was thinking of an alfredo dish with bread sticks. Cate felt like she was back in high school, giddy like a schoolgirl for the first real date she’s had in awhile. She supposed she could count the museum date as a date, but she categorized it as friends, since that was all they were at the time. This time, though, their feelings were aired out and on the table and they were exclusive. That’s what made it a real date. 

Cate just about ran home, her scarf blowing behind her as she rushed to her apartment. She showered and washed her hair to fix her hat hair. She shaved her legs, even though she planned on wearing tights. After her shower, she walked to her room in a towel, laying out her outfit she had curated all day. A dark green sparkly dress that had long sleeves. It fell above her knee, so she had black tights to cover legs and a black pair of ankle boots with a small heel. She curled her hair for the first time, managing to only burn her fingers twice. She facetimed Marta to show her the outfit and swoon over this date. Seeing the time, she wondered why Spencer hadn’t been to pick her up yet. 

She remembered that they hadn’t decided on how they were meeting. Cate figured she’d shoot him a text and let him know she would meet him at the restaurant. Cate’s nose was red and a bit runny from the walk to the restaurant. The restaurant was all lit up with soft yellow lights and it was everything Cate imagined a real date would be. 

Cate gave the hostess both her and Spencer’s names. He had made a reservation under his name in advance, despite the full house and the hostess informed Cate she was the first of their party of two to show up. The hostess led the way to a table for two, in a more secluded part of the restaurant that was more dimly lit and the tables in this area all had candles on their white table cloths. 

It had been about fifteen minutes before Cate let some negative thoughts cross her mind. She tried calling Spencer, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Cate was on the second basket of breadsticks, pleading with the waiter for a few more minutes. After ten more minutes, Cate had decided to order her meal, not wanting the reservation to go to waste. 

She could barely eat. Half of it was boxed up for Cate to eat for lunch the next day. The waiter had come back, telling her there was already a card on file to pay for the meal. Out of pure pettiness, Cate did something she never usually did. She ordered dessert for herself. A chocolate lava cake was brought to the table. The servers were now sneaking peeks at Cate sitting by herself. She pretended not to notice and picked at her chocolate cake that only tasted like spite. Cate finally gave them her own card to pay and left the restaurant with her leftover box. 

She hauled a cab to go home, since it was now dark and freezing out. While she was in the backseat, her phone rang. Spencer’s name flashed on the screen. She wanted to answer and give him hell, but she left it for voicemail. She chuckled bitterly to herself thinking of Derek already chewing him out- wherever they were. It’s not like he would tell her what state they were in or where they were headed. Her phone finally stopped ringing, and a new voice message notification showed. 

“I am so sorry. I know I promised you a date tonight. What I did was inexcusable. I’m on the jet and I’m an hour and a half out. Can we talk?” Spencer’s voice was rushed with embarrassment. Or was it guilt? After she texted Spencer to meet her at her place the taxi pulled up to her building’s entrance. Cate paid and got out of the car. 

She left her box on the counter. She wanted to stay in her outfit so Spencer could see what he missed, but she didn’t want to be too mean. A part of her felt bad for being mean. She knew he had a demanding job and she was lucky to have spent so much of Spencer’s free time with him so far. She knew he was out there, getting the bad guys and making the world a safer place. With a sigh, she changed into sweats and a t-shirt and plopped on the couch with some reality show to fill the silence. 

A knock on her door made Cate jump from a sleep. She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes. She could hear Spencer frantically knock again. His voice coming from the other side of the door. 

“Cate? If you can hear me, please let me in.” Cate looked through the peephole. He was still in his FBI windbreaker. Still feeling mad at him, she opened the door just enough so he could see one eye. “Oh, thank god. I really am an asshole. I’m so sorry.” He started to say.

“Just tell me you got the guy.” Cate’s face was still hard with anger. She sighed. “Tell me you solved the case and it was good for you guys.” Cate blinked.

“Yeah. Yeah we did. It was tough, but we did it. That’s why I was late.” Spencer’s shoulders slugged.

“You weren’t late. Late implies that you would’ve showed up at all. You didn’t. I sat there by myself for an hour.” Cate spat. She took a deep breath in, fingers tapping the door while she made a decision. Opening the door wider, she let Spencer in. He followed her to her kitchen, where she took out a plate to reheat the leftover meal she had. “You must be hungry.” Cate said. Knowing that there was one less killer loose made Cate feel less angry at Spencer. She took out two forks and the two picked at the alfredo pasta together in silence. As they ate, Cate moved closer to Spencer, slowly pressing into his side. She was glad he was safe and home. 

Spencer stayed the night, the two snuggled up in Cate’s bed. Cate’s head rested on Spencer’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. In the morning, he had to get up before her and he gave her a quick kiss before leaving to go back to the bureau for another day. 

On another occasion a few weeks later, Spencer had promised Cate to another date at a different restaurant. Like before, Cate had gotten dressed and ready- waiting for Spencer to pick her up as promised. She facetimed Marta as she waited for Spencer to arrive. They discussed some new baked goods to try at the shop for the winter. She hung up the call when her doorbell rang. 

She excitedly opened it, but it wasn’t Spencer on the other side. It was Penelope. She looked guilty, and when she saw Cate, she looked at her with pity. 

“I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Penelope said. In her hands, were a bouquet of Cate’s favorite flowers: pink Asters. Cate sighed. “I can’t stay for long, I have to get back to my batcave, but I also brought you this.” Penelope handed a pint of chocolate ice cream to Cate. Cate smiled sadly at Penelope and thanked her for stopping by. 

Spencer’s poor attempt at trying to mend his mistakes was to invite Cate over for more sleepovers and movie nights. He had even given Cate a key to his place. In the cases where he knew he was staying overnight, Cate would let herself in and water his plants for him. Sometimes she would wrap herself in his housecoat. She loved Spending time with Spencer and she was grateful to have met a wonderful male specimen, but she was growing tired of the kisses in passing and waking up alone in a bed where they had slept together. Cate bitterly thought of how she used to be happily single and how she became a wreck of a woman in love.

It happened one day when she came home from The Empty Mug. Spencer had beaten her to her apartment door. She smiled, excited to see him at a reasonable hour for the first time in a while. In his hands, he held a bouquet made of purple and white flowers.

“What’s the occasion?” Cate questioned with a small laugh. “Not that I’m not happy to see you.” She smiled at him, opening the door for the two of them. Spencer brought the flowers to the island. Cate could tell he was nervous. “What’s up?” now she was growing anxious. 

“I know these aren’t your favorite flowers. They’re purple hyacinths and white orchids. They both mean sorry. Well, the orchids mean I’m sorry and the hyacinths are more of a please forgive me.” Spencer spoke with his hands, playing with his fingers.

“Forgive you for what, Spencer?” Cate placed her hands on the countertop of the island. “What are you talking about?” Cate shook her head.

“You deserve more than this. I feel awful when I have to leave for a case. You don’t deserve being stood up or waking up alone. And as bad as I want to be what you deserve and what you need, I can’t quit doing what I love. I wish I could but I can’t.” He stammered out. Cate grew angry at him, the floodgates had opened and everything she felt was coming out.

“You don’t get to tell me what I need! You don’t get to decide how I feel!” Cate started. She had come to terms with how their relationship was and how important Spencer’s job was. He was keeping people safe and Cate knew what she signed up for.

“Stop being so understanding, you’re making this harder than it has to be.” Spencer closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and index finger into them.

“Fine. I won’t say that it kills me not knowing where you go. Or if you're safe. I won’t say that it’s been easy, but I've been here, spencer. and I was planning on being here!” Cate yelled. Her throat burned. She didn’t want it to end like this. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t figure out why Spencer wanted to end this so bad. 

After a silent standoff between Cate and Spencer, he curtly nodded and turned out the door. Cate let herself sit on her kitchen floor and Shrimp finally came out now that the screaming match had subsided. 

Spencer was off his game at work. The team had spoken amongst each other and had come to the conclusion that Spencer and Cate were no more. That was a lie, Derek had visited the shop to get the details from Marta. Even though things were tense between Spencer and Cate, Derek wasn’t the only one visiting the shop.

“How long are you gonna let him just sit out there?” Marta asked, peering out the window to Spencer, sitting on the bench across the street from the coffee shop. He had been spending all his free time on this bench that faced the coffee shop. He hated how cold he got on the bench. Winter was in full swing now. He hated even more how things ended between himself and Cate. He tried reaching out to her, but Cate wouldn’t answer her phone or her door when he knocked. He knew he royally messed up.

“Until he freezes” Cate replied, not looking up from prepping a coffee order. She tried her best to ignore him. Talking to him or even seeing him would break her. She knew she would let him back in and she would just suffer again.

“Just because it’s cold outside doesn’t mean you have to be cold hearted” Marta told Cate. Marta felt bad for the two of them. And not just because all the scheming her and Derek had gone through to get them together had failed, but because they were good for each other. Marta made Spencer his usual coffee order and walked across the street to the bench. 

“She hates me doesn’t she?” Spencer asks. Marta sighed.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say hate but maybe strongly dislike” Marta said, trying to lighten the mood.

[incoherentbabblings]

An Endless Hope (1/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

New fic time! Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

“Can’t believe he’s gonna be forty-five.”

“I know, right?”

“Bruce’ll be an old man soon.”

Tim tutted, herding Stephanie down an aisle with the metal cart he was pushing. “Don’t tell him that.”

Stephanie scoffed. “What? Has he got a younger clone of himself in a giant egg somewhere ready to pop when someone utters those words?”

Tim stopped pushing the cart, turned ninety degrees, and gave Steph an indescribable look.

“I was being sarcastic, Tim.”

Tim said nothing, then slowly rotated back to push the empty cart, Stephanie trailing behind.

They’d gone to the garden centre because Stephanie was willing to look everywhere and anywhere for inspiration for Bruce’s upcoming birthday. Tim, ever dutiful, followed along. It was a rubbish time of year to go to a garden centre – late January – as the entire place was filled with on sale Christmas decorations and half dead flowers that would no doubt complete their journey to the grave if buried in the frigid soil. The poor choice of plants was reflected in the number of customers, of which there were maybe three others trailing up and down the greenhouse aisles.

“I guess that’s not fair,” Stephanie continued to voice to the relative silence, only the distant tinny music and the dodgy wheel squeaking as they rolled along filled the lulls in conversation. “That would make Alfred positively decrepit.”

“And that he is not.” Tim said very firmly.

“No…Oooh?” Stephanie became distracted. “Oh, Tim look at these!”

Heaving the cart round the corner after her with an almighty sigh, he found her standing next to small potted flowering plants. Stephanie was pilfering through them, looking for particular colours.

Tim peered at one of the little cards slotted in the soil and chortled.

“Roses? Really? Steph I’m not sure roses are gonna cut it for Bruce’s forty-fifth.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that you big baboon—”

“’Scuse you.”

“– I’m looking at these for us, not him.”

Tim gazed at Stephanie. Stephanie, in her bright blue hand knitted beanie that she had made for herself over the Christmas break to distract from finals. Stephanie, in an oversized fluorescent plastic jacket (the kind that belonged in an early episode of Power Rangers) that somehow managed to make her look twice as wide than she truly was. Stephanie, with her flushed cheeks from the cold and little pearly teeth showing off in a big grin, golden hair bunched up into two pigtails that fell down her back.

Tim couldn’t help it; he melted a little at the sight of her.

“You’re staring.” She murmured, not looking away from her task.

Tim sucked on his teeth. “Maybe I want to. That allowed?”

“Sure. You have my permission.”

“Gracious.”

Tim pecked her on the cheek, causing Stephanie to laugh like a snorting pig. With a little happy noise, she found the two plants she wanted. One lilac and one deep red bunch. They didn’t look like ordinary roses to Tim, not like the kind you would pick up from a convenience store in a small bundle for an anniversary. No, these roses were flatter and broader, and he could see a number of buds on both sets of plants.

“I want these.” Stephanie said. “Help me pick two nice boxes to put them in?”

“Do we have space on the windowsill?”

They didn’t have a garden. Not truly. Though Tim’s apartment did allow roof access, it was not really the place to be growing a little garden. They also didn’t really have a balcony to fill with plant pots. Places for greenery were limited in their home.

“They’ll fit.”

Tim nodded, and she sat them down in the cart. A moments silence passed, and she pouted.

Sighing, Tim breathed, “What is it?”

“Ask me why I want them.”

Nodding with his entire torso, Tim moved off, heading towards glazed plant pots and boxes.

“Why do you want them?”

“’Cause they’re pretty.” She skipped after him and saw as he ran his tongue along his teeth, amused at her glib nature. “Aaaaaand, I wanna do an experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yes. I gathered you like those.”

“Steph.” His tone was a gentle warning.

“’Kay, ‘kay. Sorry. I just thought…” She paused, tapping her nails against a terra cotta pot. The sound was nice to listen to. “Well, you know how people say you should live together before you get married? To make sure you can actually stand being around each other twenty-four-seven?”

Tim clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yes?”

Stephanie said nothing, gnawing her lip. Tim tried to comfort her, to reassure her, by smiling, but even he felt it come across more like a grimace. Setting the empty pot back down, Steph leaned over and selected two narrow glazed boxes, ones long and slim enough to slot on their windowsill.

“It’s the same with kids. You gotta do a test run first. A proper test run. And I don’t mean what I did when I was fifteen.” She laughed uncomfortably, then looked very sad. Tim went to grab her hand, but she snatched it back and snorted, bravado back in place. “It’s a challenge. We can’t have a kid until we can keep a pet –”

Tim couldn’t help it, he finally butt in, exclaiming, “Who said we’re having children?”

But Stephanie soldiered on, “—And we can’t keep a pet until we can look after a plant. Both of us.”

“I… I’m nineteen Steph. We can get a plant in ten years or so.”

Weird conversation.

Stephanie sighed, setting the plant pots in the cart. “I feel old. Much older than twenty sometimes.”

“We’ve been through more than what some people experience in a lifetime.”

She patted his cheek. “I guess so.”

“You can still be a kid.” Tim said later as they loaded up his car. No luck with finding anything for Bruce, but at least their living room windowsill would look nice. “There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff. Well, in your own head at least… society may side eye it but honestly –”

Stephanie slapped the trunk down with a loud slap and changed the subject. “I’ll think of something else. Don’t suppose he’d want a scarf or anything?”

“If you made him one Steph, I’d think he’d like that.”

“Huh.” They both got in the car, Tim in the driver’s seat, Stephanie googling nearby craft stores. “There’s a thought. I can pick up some nice wool round campus on Monday.”

Tim paused after he lit the ignition, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment passed, then he turned the car back off, and rotated to look Stephanie in the eye. Warily, she watched him.

“You mean it,” He asked, “about the whole plant thing?”

She growled, growing defensive. “I want to look after something and do it well. Sue me that it’s just starting off with a plant.”

“No, no. I get that. I mean do you not feel like a kid anymore?”

The bubbling anger melted away, and she cooed sympathetically. “Do you?”

“Did I ever?” Huffing, he tapped the steering wheel, then he looked distinctly guilt ridden. “No. That’s not fair. I did. Especially compared to you.”

“My childhood was mediocrely bad, Tim, but I did have one.” She tugged his earlobe. Tim frowned at her downplaying her pain, as always. It was impossible to get her to be serious about herself nowadays. Tim’s pain she took seriously. Cassandra’s pain she took seriously. Damian’s pain she took seriously. Her own pain though… “No comparing hurt. How does that help you or me?”

“I know, I know,” He conceded. Then he was silent, musing something still.

Stephanie’s hand moved from his ear to his jaw, cradling it. Lowering her tone, she asked,

“Where’s your head taken you?”

“I’m gonna be twenty this July.”

“Mhhmm! It’s a big one. The end of your teenage years.”

“I just… don’t know if we’ve got to do everything we should have done. I mean, so much of our adolescence was taken up with…” He trailed off. “And what makes an adult an adult anyway? I mean, look at Bruce.”

“I try not to.”

Tim actually giggled. “I just mean, he has the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.” A sudden idea came to Tim, and he perked up in his usual manner once hit by his clever notions. “Hey, how about we travel over the summer?”

“What?”

Tim started the car back up and began the drive to his apartment on Park Row.

“It’s your final year at college, and you’ll be turning twenty-one in August. I’ve got my twentieth in July. Let’s do one last hurrah. Go to Disneyland.”

As they exited the parking lot Stephanie burst out laughing.

“Is that what childhood is? A trip to Disneyland?”

“No!” He exclaimed, face red. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just mean… I just mean…”

“Be selfish for a while. Forget all those responsibilities for a few weeks?”

“Yeah. You deserve that.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. Stephanie had a knack for cutting through to the bone of an issue. She understood what he was trying to say.

“So do you.” She smiled and tapped his cheek fondly, then settled in for the drive.

They got stuck for twenty minutes trying to cross from one island to another, but it didn’t bother either of them. Stephanie playfully being bad at singing at whatever nineteen eighties anthem came on over the radio. Tim knew she was just playing. She was as good a singer as she was a pianist – unpractised and a little clumsy – but it caused Tim to stop and watch every time. Her screeching to Take on Me was not her best effort, but it made Tim smile all the same.

She snatched the keys and rushed inside when they got back, leaving Tim to trundle behind her, balancing pots and flowers in his arms.

“I seriously have to look after this plant?” He moaned. With a grunt he got down on the floor by the window, setting everything out in place.

“Yes,” muttered Stephanie, throwing towels on the floor and reading instructions online of how to transfer plants from pot to pot. She had thought ahead – for once – and realised that maybe flinging dirt around would damage the living room rug.

Stephanie had moved into his apartment last August, about four months after they had returned to being a couple. For honest and goodness for real this time.

Dick and Babs had made many a teasing (but fond) comment. Cassandra and Duke had been happy, but largely unaffected by the decision. Damian had not been impressed. Jason really didn’t care.

Bruce had said nothing, which was somehow more worrying than his usual disapproving grunts.

So they had, for the most part, been left to it. Stephanie had swiftly turned the apartment (and the Nest) into as much her space as Tim’s. He didn’t mind, as she had a knack for clutter which made the town house feel less like a base and more like a home. Nothing made him feel more happy than coming home from Wayne Enterprises to see Steph sat on the floor, battered laptop on the coffee table, highlighted pages and mugs scattered everywhere, as she screwed up her face trying to write another essay on John Locke and Jean Jacques Rousseau’s theories on social contracts. The normality was an anchor, one he had so desperately needed in recent years.

Stephanie, meanwhile, had relished the chance to have her own space. To leave her mother had been hard, harder than she had realised at first, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t on the phone with her twice a week, and still compelled to attend scrabble night every Friday (Tim semi reluctantly in tow occasionally). She just hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to leave again. Even if it was, this time, under totally normal circumstances. Every kid has to move out, right? And it’s not like she’d never see her mother again, right? Stephanie’s mother was an adult, she could take care of herself. Steph wasn’t needed to watch her night and day.

But still, there were days when she craved her mother’s morning waffles, or warm shaky hugs.

Tim was a pretty good substitute though.

Speaking of, Tim crawled over to her, snuggle bug that he was, not so subtly looking for affection. He grabbed one of her pigtails and tugged the elastic off so he could braid her hair. She really had let it grow to a ridiculous length, long enough for Bruce and Babs both to chide her. One day it would get caught, or someone would grab it, or it would catch fire or something. The honest reason for letting it grow was…well it was embarrassing and shallow.

Steph sat quietly, letting Tim very carefully and methodically Dutch braid her hair, as she read. Even now, after several months reunited, she could tell he was still testing boundaries. Not just with what she was comfortable with, but also himself. Casual intimacy. Frightening stuff. Well, maybe for him. Steph adored the attention and giving attention in return. Tim’s affections were not to be tolerated, or even endured. They were something to enjoy and indulge in. They were something to grow obsessively fond over, especially after the dry spell of their late teen years. She had got it back and was not going to let it go again so easily.

So, she let him hold her hand whenever he reached for it. She let him lean against her during long hours of stakeout during patrol. She let him kiss her whenever he wanted. She wanted it too. Constantly. Like she was playing catch up with the last three years.

Tim finished one braid then shuffled around so he could start the second. Stephanie sat still until he finished his task, then signalled for him to pay attention as she moved her lilac roses into their new home. He observed carefully, as Tim never half-assed anything, then he cautiously began to pack fresh soil into his glazed box. Stephanie watched him and his concentrated face. Furrowed brows, chewed lips, unsure but steady fingers. Very slow. Very methodical. Textbook job.

He looked at her when he was done though, expectant of some sort of comment. Still desperate for approval.

“Good.” She said, raising her eyebrows. She sat the two boxes on the windowsill, slotting them into place. “Now don’t let it die.”

*****

“Before you all head out for the night, I believe you have some gifts that require opening Master Bruce.”

Bruce peered over the half-eaten slice of cake Alfred had baked yesterday evening and swallowed dryly.

“Right.”

Tim could tell Bruce was just a little disappointed at the showing for his birthday. He would never admit it, no, no, but still. Dick, Jason, and Babs’ absence was noted. They had been good though and posted their presents ahead of time. Well, Dick and Babs had. Jason had sent a card. Which was both more than he had done some years and less for others, so the family all took a card as a good thing. Babs had wrapped up a large basket of bat memorabilia that would unironically get usage up and downstairs.

Dick had forwarded a photo album. Bruce’s lower lip had wobbled (once) on the first page, then he did not look any further into the album and shut it. Probably would cry over it at four am later this morning bundled up in bed. Or at least that’s what Tim imagined he would do.

Cassandra had made an actual teapot during her day classes. It was very cute, albeit just a little lumpy. Damian had done a painting. Duke had bought a pair of nice cufflinks. Tim had been as subtle as a brick to a glass greenhouse and had bought two vouchers for a fishing trip. Bruce had noted to check his diary tomorrow, hearing the pleading in the present for alone time.

Stephanie rested her present reverently on the table in front of Bruce. He eyed it and her a little suspiciously, which Tim tried not to get offended over on Steph’s behalf. He knew she had worked stinking hard on the present. Harder than anything she had ever made for herself. Not as hard as the gloves she had made Tim late last year though. No, he had seen her cursing up a storm trying to get those black and red fingerless mittens right, but she had – just in time for Christmas.

Point was, Stephanie worked hard when she sewed/knitted/embroidered, and Tim hoped Bruce wouldn’t do anything too callous when he opened the gift.

She had indeed knitted a grey-blue zig zag patterned scarf. It was thick, warm, and long. She had carefully embroidered the edges with golden thread. It was nothing short of a labour of love.

Bruce saw this, did the thing where his lip quivered, and quietly thanked Stephanie.

“Happy Birthday!” She replied, smiling brightly.

“It’s very well made.”

“I tried.” She teased gently. Tim squeezed her hand.

“Can I see?” Duke asked, to which Bruce handed it over. Duke whistled. “Can I get one too?”

“Sure.” Stephanie shrugged, still grinning. “It will cost you though.”

“Aw, no fair.”

The wind picked up then, howling louder than it had all day. The windows of the manor creaked, and even in the dark, everyone could see the sudden blizzard that had begun.

“Snow?” Cass asked. “Since when?”

“The weather does that. It changes.” Duke noted with a shrug. Even so, he seemed to regret speaking the more the wind screamed.

“No. Not like this. Rain sure. Sleet sure. Not a blizzard.” Tim peered out the window. “That doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Tim watched as there was already a solid layer of ice on the floor, the snow less like fluffy crystals and more like hail. The skies above churned rolled up clouds. It was harsh and ugly.

“No way.” Duke murmured, seeing the weather deteriorate.

Stephanie did not miss Bruce silently sigh at his pile of presents, the physical proof of how fortunate his life had become in recent years, despite the sometimes oppressive setbacks. It was just a moment, then the Bat was in place.

“Let’s head out. This doesn’t look natural. Split up and hunt for causes. Manmade or otherwise. Help anyone who seems stranded.”

Damian finally piped up. “Are we splitting into pairs?”

He crept towards Stephanie. Without Dick in Gotham she remained the person he was most keen (if Damian could be such a thing) to work alongside. Bruce notwithstanding.

“Damian go with Duke. Cassandra with me. Stephanie and Tim.”

Well never mind.

Stephanie pinched Damian’s cheek, and he groaned and twitched away, running downstairs.

They all made their way to the cave, Alfred opening up the clock, when Stephanie looked back, seeing Tim was still stood, still as a statue, watching through the glass.

“Tim?” She called.

His right hand twitched, hanging limp next to his thigh, at the sound of her voice. Almost reluctantly, he replied,

“…Yeah?”

“Ready to go?”

She held out her hand for him to take, though he was still looking out the window. Slowly he turned at the hips, head remaining still, staring at the storm. When her hand found his, he shuddered, like the warmth of her fingers and palm shot straight through his arm and up through his chest and head. He finally whipped round to look at her and smiled tightly.

“Ready. Sorry.”

Stephanie said nothing and pulled him away from the window.

[alinette-coccinelle]

Written in the Tea Leaves

Hey Katelyn! I was your MLB Secret Santa, Merry Christmas! You said Lukanette was your favourite so I hope you like this little meet cute ficlet; I tried to pick two complementary cute AU's for this fluff piece so i hope you like it!

AO3

Despite the lack of sleep and her usual hatred for mornings Marinette had woken up long before sunrise today, her mind caught up in the opening of her and Alya’s very own Tattoo shop, their dream come true after years of hard work. She’d attempt to plan her outfit out the night before but with hours to kill in the morning she’d gotten changed a further six times, her nerves and excitement refusing to let her sit still. In the end she settled on a lacy dusky pink sundress that was both her favourite colour and still flashy enough to show off the art she wore on her own skin proudly.

And Marinette was no stranger to Ink, her fingers itched daily to add to the scrawling elegant display of watercolour flowers that spiralled both her arms and nearly met across her shoulder blades and collar bones. It was getting to the point where she struggled to add to the piece herself, instead bothering Alya to copy out her designs onto skin; Alya who was almost as talented with ink, though she preferred to stab people with jewellery usually.

The most recent addition to Marinette’s piece had been three small gold washed marigolds across her shoulder blade, to represent her and Alya’s creative dream coming true, every single one of the flowers she wore held a meaning of some kind, literally wearing her heart on her sleeves for all to see.

With the healing process finally over and the urge to show off her skill for the opening Marinette decided she was brave enough to skip the coat and bare the brisk spring air, after all it looked warm enough with the rising sun and it would be a shame to cover up the art she wanted to show off. With her heart still fluttering somewhere rapidly in her throat in excitement she decided she couldn’t wait any longer to get into the shop and so for the first time in forever she set off from her apartment ridiculously early, Alya would be pleased.

In her unrestrained glee Marinette had failed to notice the sky darkening or even the air growing cold as she practically skipped down the cobbled streets to their shop. When the rain finally broke overhead the squeal that ripped from her throat was genuine shock and despite trying to keep under shop awnings she was truly and unsurprisingly soaked, hair plastered to her face within minutes and her whole form violently shivering as she dripped.

Sheltering herself against the side of the building Marinette found herself cursing her luck and scowling down at the ‘lucky’ ladybug tattooed on the outside of her wrist, as if it was going to give her a solution; she was only about half way between home and the shop and in either direction laid more rain. In the end Marinette made the split-second decision to duck into the only open looking coffee shop on the corner, the lights glowing warmly through the window into the rainy gloom. Sure she wasn’t far from the safety of her own shop but the hottest tea she could stand sounded like a good pay off to her rain soaked self and maybe she could even miss the rest of the downpour safely inside, it wasn’t like she was running late.

Feeling a little more hopeful Marinette dashed back out into the rain and darted through the coffee shop door blindly, water dripping in her eyes as the bell chimed above her. As soon as the door shut and the warmth hit her and she stilled leaning back on her heels just slightly as her shivers subsided and her eyes slid closed happily, rubbing her arms a little for warmth as she adjusted.

“You’re dripping on my floor.” came an amused voice from her left, startling her eyes open.

Marinette immediately rushed to apologise, hands fluttering and her whole face turning scarlet but before she could mumble the words aloud a soft towel was being pushed into her hands, stilling them.

“It’s clean, dry yourself off and go sit by the guitars, it’s where the heating vents are.” He winked at her like sharing a secret before turning back to head towards the counter. “I’ll bring you something warm; tea?”

The unbelievably flustered Marinette just nodded in response, eyes wide and face burning but he at least seemed amused by her speechlessness, smiling as he left.

Despite still dripping with rainwater her brain failed to jump into action, instead allowing her eyes to follow the baristas retreating form unbidden, the teal tips of his locks reflecting in the lights and the muscles under his black button up flexing casually as he moved. ‘He’s Cute’ was the first thing to flash forward followed in the empty silence of her thoughts followed rapidly by ‘I look like a took a swim in the Seine! Argh!’

Finally kicked into action she immediately began towelling the rainwater off her face and shoulders before gently rubbing her hair, careful to try and make herself as presentable as possible by pulling her fingers through the now wavy damp locks. She eventually remembered to move from the door, eyes darting back to the Barista as she walked, this time watching as he selected tea leaves from a variety of jars on the counter adding them to a glass teapot. She was pretty sure could hear him humming as he worked which caused her lips to twitch into a small involuntary smile.

For a beat she hovered next to the table unsure if she wanted to get the comfy looking fabric seats all wet but when she next glanced up she could see the barista’s dimpled smile sent her way across the counter and as their eyes finally met her suddenly weak knees decided she needed the seat after all. So Marinette perched gingerly on the edge of the chair, fingers worrying in the damp fabric of her skirt as she waited, the returning smile on her lips refusing to be squashed by her embarrassment even if she couldn’t quite look his way again.

She instead cast her eyes about the café quickly catching on to the musical theme as she spotted all sorts of instruments mounted to the walls, not just the guitars she was sat near. There was even the odd album poster dotted around and she couldn’t help but smile as she spotted her own Jagged Stone cover amongst the rest; Uncle Jagged had like the design so much he’d let her tattoo it on his arm years later and she wondered idly if the barista was a Jagged fan, maybe she could ask him, If she could find her words again.

Marinette was startled out of her thoughts by a polite clearing of a throat. The Barista and his warm eyes were back, and he was baring a steaming teapot that smelled divine.

“I thought you might like-“ he began,

“I’m sorry about your-” she clattered over him.

His easy smile as he gestured for her to go first calmed the pulse ringing in her ears and Marinette found herself able to meet his lovely teal eyes as she spoke her own soft smile blooming in response.

“I’m sorry about the floor and thank you.” she finally breathed, relieved.

“It’s no problem, we’re not really open yet but you looked cold and a just little damp, so I thought I’d offer you a place to warm up.” He spoke lightly with just a hint of friendly teasing as he placed a musical note patterned mug before her.

“I really appreciate it, thank you! I, um, well I wasn’t quite prepared for the weather.” She admitted. And whilst Marinette had meant to be witty or charming, to try hard and make a good impression something about him put her instantly at ease; happy to just be herself for once, exactly as she was, even if that was a little bashful.

It seemed to be the right move as he grew flushed by her sincere thanks a small blush spreading across his cheeks as his eyes dropped from hers. In fact, Marinette got the distinct impression he’d rub his neck in shyness if his hands weren’t full of teapot, the thought alone caused a warmth to grow in the pit of her stomach; he was as adorable as he was kind.

“I thought this would suit you, jasmine and sakura blossom with curl of apple.” He nodded his chin to the leaves and fruit floating clear teapot before reaching across the table to pour, unintentionally causing his long sleeves to ride up baring the edge of a tattoo to her.

Like a predator spotting pray Marinette instantly zoned in on the tattoo, her bashfulness vanishing in curiosity, her hands reaching forward without thought to push the sleeve further up baring the beautiful design. It was some sort of snake surrounded by fresh tea leaves and music notes, the colours greyscale but with a watercolour wash of blue and teal; very much like her own preferred style.

“Oh! its beautiful.” She gasped delightedly, gently lifting his hand off the lid of the tea pot so she could turn his arm to view it better, revealing a burn scar running through the back of the design.

“I could fix this!” she blurted out, eyes darting across his skin mentally designing and recreating the piece with new details to cover the scar.

In the responding silence she finally glanced up to meet his startled but soft gaze when she remembered they were practically strangers; she didn’t even know his name and she’d gotten carried away again! Quickly releasing his arm, she sat back, linking her fingers together to stop the fidgeting as she turned slowly scarlet from head to toe her eyes fixed somewhere around his chin, no longer brave enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, that was so rude! I’m a tattoo artist and I get carried away and I shouldn’t have and–“

He cut her off with the scrape of the chair next to her as he took a seat, carefully arranging the music note patterned apron on his knee, as if giving her a chance to breathe before ducking slightly to try and gently catch her gaze.

“It’s okay but maybe we should start again properly. I’m Luka.”

His voice was so warm, like honey, that it took her a moment to realise he was offering his hand to shake; her daintier hand engulfed by his as she finally reached out and shook. She forced herself to untense and to meet his eyes with a smile despite the tingles in her fingertips of the hand he still held.

“I’m um, I’m Ma-Ma-Marinette! Pleased to meet you!” she stumbled the moment his eyes connected with hers, really at 26 she ought to be better at this, but Luka just chuckled softly squeezing her fingers but seemingly in no rush to let go either.

“Well Ma-Ma-Marinette, let’s talk about these tattoos...”

And they did her mouth spiralling out of control as her nerves calmed when supplied with a topic she loved, quickly explaining her skill and style before expressing exactly how she’d like to cover the scar in his design, absently tracing her plans with her fingertips on his skin. Luka in turn explained exactly how the scar came to be and how he ended up trading in music and fancy tea leaves, before shifting closer and gently touching the flowers across her arms, quizzing her on the meaning behind the art and how she’d come to be an artist in ink.

In the end he ended up getting down his favourite guitar off the wall and playing her some pieces for inspiration as she rapidly sketched out his new tattoo design on a napkin in biro; she couldn’t wait for a sketch book not when the idea was so perfect.

Before they knew it, hours had passed, the sun was breaking through the clouds and Marinette was getting a frantic call from Alya about being late to opening day as Luka realised that he should have opened the store front an hour ago. There wasn’t time for awkward lingering goodbyes, Marinette instead throwing her arms around the taller boy in a soft slightly to long hug before she was dashing out of his arms and running out of the door, wearing his borrowed jacket. A jacket that she’d later find a hastily hidden note baring his number in the pocket of.

So, when Marinette happened to get a craving for tea the next morning and returned his jacket with the pocket now hiding a preliminary sketch of his new design and her own number neatly in the corner it was only natural. As it was when she was invited back day after day, after all it was on her way and they had design to settle on.

Nearly a month later when that design was finally on his arm but now also baring greyscale sakura blossoms amongst the scattered tea leaves, it seemed almost logical for matching tea leaves to appear on Marinette’s design in return too, it was such an aesthetic combination after all.

And months after that when a beaming Marinette moved into the flat above his cosy tea shop to live with an overjoyed Luka no one even blinked, it seemed some people’s fate were written in the tea leaves after all.

[hyggeligbirch]

Poppy Red

An EXO Fanfiction

pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 2 637 warnings: none

summary: Everyone knows that being twenty-three and terribly ill only means one thing.  You’ve put off finding your soulmate for a little too long.

The apartment comes cheap. Excessively cheap. But Jongin doesn’t really have room to worry about it. Excessively cheap is the only thing he can afford on the tiny savings that have brought him here.

It’s a tiny place, barely room to breathe, much less live. The bed is lofted above a small table, which presses against the chest of drawers that make up the only storage in the place. The swing of the door takes up the rest of the room; the bathroom is shared, at the end of the hall.

But he can live with that, he supposes. It’s not like he has much to his name anyway. And when he’s pulled in what little he has - thrown his blankets on the bed, set his rice cooker on the table, tucked his plants on the chest of drawers - it feels a little more like a home.

He starts work that first morning, pulling an opening shift at a friend’s shop. Only place he could find work on such short notice. It’s not as bad as he’d feared.

Sure, there are a lot of slow periods, a lot of rude customers. But Jongin likes sitting in the back with the flowers, and some of the customers are sweet.

Days come and go. He tires. He pales. Miss Sophie, who comes in every day at noon wearing a blue dress and straw hat to buy exactly three sprigs of baby’s breath, notices. She buys a little red poppy, and tucks it in his hands.

“She wants to protect you,” she says, in the way of wrinkled old women. “Let her try.”

--

Baekhyun has always been active. Sitting still just doesn’t seem to work. There’s always something to do and something to see. Normally it doesn’t cause too much trouble, this need to move. At least, not since he graduated school. He had immediately picked up a job at a local nursery, and it fits perfectly. The little kids certainly don’t mind having someone to run around with, and the teachers appreciate the time to work in peace.

He goes from work to his second job, a few hours in the evening at a little cafe, and then he usually goes out with friends. Sometimes just himself. And then he stumbles in a little before midnight, finally tired and a little bit drunk, stopping just long enough to take his shoes off before collapsing on his bed. He’s not a complete heathen, after all.

But then the third week of November rolls around and it’s like he hits a brick wall. He’s tired, like he’s never been before. He begs off of drinks to go home and read. He calls in sick to the nursery because he can’t pull himself out of bed. He figures it’s just a bug. He’ll sleep it off soon enough.

--

Nothing is appetizing, and Jongin knows it shows.  His clothes are starting to get baggy and he can count his ribs when he stands in front of the mirror.  Junmyeon stops him as he’s clocking out, the fourth Tuesday of January, and invites him to dinner.  Miss Sophie gives him cakes every Tuesday and another flower every Friday and comforting smiles the rest of the week.

But it’s not like it’s worth anything.  Food just isn’t appealing.  Still, Jongin tries.  He wakes up and makes breakfast.  He makes extra rice for his dinner and packs a large lunch.  He forces his food down until he feels sick, and then a little more. There’s still always some left.

When he was fifteen, it was just one of the magics of teenage boyhood, eating mountains of food and still managing to lose weight.

When he’s twenty-three, it’s a little more worrisome.

--

In the middle of February, Baekhyun quits the nursery, collecting hugs and crumpled drawings from dozen tiny hands.  His energy still hasn’t come back from November and it’s finally time to give in to reality.  His new job consists of sitting in a cushioned chair and answering phones for eight hours a day.  It’s honest work.  It pays the rent.

As he crashes into bed at half past eight on a Friday night, exhausted to his very bones, he realizes that he’s scared.  He’s already twenty-five.

--

(Fifth grade health courses all look the same.  An old woman wearing too much perfume walks into the classroom with gym teacher.  She takes the girls to another room, where she teaches them about the horrors of life. The boys get to stay and hear about their own growing pains from a man who survived them himself.

When the groups are brought back together, the atmosphere settles from general disgust to solemn contemplation as the projector hums to life.

“Soulmates,” the film always starts, a deep voice that booms through tinny old speakers, “are a fact of life.  Each of you has one; it is your duty to find them.”  As scenes of domestic bliss play out, it continues. “When you are with your soulmate, there will be no pain.  The world is a beautiful place when shared with your soulmate.  Everything is brighter.  The birds sing sweeter and the wind blows gentler….”  It continues, extolling the virtues of a soulmate.

There’s always one kid who raises their hand at the end of the video and asks, “What if we don’t want a soulmate?”

The adults are always aghast.  

“Soulmates,” they warn, “are necessary for life.”)

--

Jongin lives alone in an apartment that is barely big enough for himself and his forest of potted plants, and it’s his own damn fault.  The thing is, he doesn’t particularly care.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being twelve and wondering why his classmates had become obsessed with every mark on their skin, wondering if it was a message from their soulmate.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being fifteen and watching his best friend crushed by the realization that his soulmate was an empty-minded girl who could think of little more than when she could next get high.

He doesn’t care because he remembers being eighteen and finally finding the strength to voice his greatest belief.  “I don’t want a soulmate,” he had said, quietly at first and then forcefully, again and again into frozen air in the middle of the night.

And he doesn’t fucking care because he remembers making a panicked phone call at half past two in the morning, when he was twenty-three and homeless.  “If you really want to be alone so badly,” his father had said, when Jongin finally refused to pretend to care any longer, “then you can leave.  I’m not boarding suicidal idiots.”

Jongin is twenty-three and he still doesn’t want a soulmate.

His apartment is small but it’s cheap and it’s his and he’s happy with this life.

And then he wakes up on the eighteenth of February with a thick black streak across his forarm.

--

Baekhyun stares at the mark on his arm.  The marker drops to the ground as he realizes what he’s done.

He’s never seen a mark like that on his skin.  It’s a child’s game, drawing shapes on your own skin in hopes that your soulmate will respond.  He’d never done it as a child, preferring to mess around with his friends when they weren’t looking.  And no marks had ever appeared on him.

By his seventeenth birthday, he was too afraid to even try. What if he was the one person in the history of the world not to have a soulmate?

But now he’s twenty-five and so, so exhausted.  It’s worth the shot.

Soulmates are necessary, after all.

--

Jongin wears long sleeves to work the next week, terrified of the marks on his arms.  There’s a new one every day and he doesn’t know what to do.  He doesn’t want a soulmate.  He’d even gotten a lifetime of the hope that he’d gotten lucky and didn’t have one.  Now he’s not sure what to do.

Miss Sophie notices, of course, wrinkled hand seizing his wrist and pushing up his sleeve as he hands her her flowers.   “Someone’s a little antsy,” she observes.  “You should probably reply.”

He tries to pull his hand away, refusing to look her in the eye. After a moment, she lets him.

She pauses at the door, old fingers curved around the bottom of the glass vase.  “He just wants to protect you.”

Friday comes.  Miss Sophie buys exactly three sprigs of baby’s breath, and leaves.  Jongin gets no flower today.  Miss Sophie doesn’t even have to say the words; the silence as the door closes speaks them loud enough.

Let him try.

--

Monday morning brings torrents of rain and an ache in his bones, but Baekhyun is too distracted to particularly care.  He’d gotten up before dawn and stumbled blindly into the shower, cursing his stupid job.  Nothing’s strange then.  He’s exactly as pale as he’s always been, save for the black marks up and down his arms, but he knows every one of them, each straight line and careless dot.

And nothing is strange when stumbles back out, skin reddened by the far-too-hot water and the roughness of his towels.  He dresses quickly, carelessly, pulling on a pair of not-too-wrinkled pants and a shirt that’s definitely seen better days.

The only thought he has is of coffee; while the pot brews, he reheats yesterday’s dinner, hoping that maybe it’ll taste better today.

Things only get strange when he drops his fresh coffee on his almost-presentable pants.

Baekhyun scrambles out of the sodden pants, near tears because fuck that was hot.  He drops his pants on the table and stands stock-still in his briefs as his exhausted mind tries to catch up.  It clicks through slowly.  Picked up coffee pot.  Poured coffee into cup.  Wait.  Forgot cup. Poured coffee onto – and cuts off abruptly.  That is not what his thigh looks like.

--

Jongin panics.  Just a little.  Just for a day.  It takes three heartbeats after he’s scrawled three stark words – Where are you? – on his thigh for him to scramble into jeans and sweatshirt and not take them off again.  He’s twenty-three and he’s wasting away into nothing and it’s scaring him, but it scares him even more to reach out.  It feels fake.  He’d rather die alone.

But that’s not really an option.  Death goes both ways, when it comes to soulmates.  And Jongin is no murderer.

--

Where are you? Baekhyun had been asked.  He answers, immediately.  And then he asks When can we meet?

The response comes just before midnight, a hasty scrawl in a spotty blue pen.  It feels like a feather brushing just inside of his skin and there’s the most absurd urge to claw the words out of his skin.  But he doesn’t.  It’s been a long day of stressed waiting and now it’s nothing but relief.

Friday, his thigh reads.  Noon.  Outside the flower shop on 3rd.

--

It’s chilly, but not cold.  Sharp winds tear through the streets, upsetting bins and tearing away awnings.  Jongin taps his fingers anxiously on the countertop as the clock ticks on.  He can’t run.  He can’t hide.  He can’t pretend that this was all some big mistake.  He watches the world swirl by the windows and wonders absently if the window boxes will survive.

The immediate snaps back into focus with the soft jingle of the door.  Miss Sophie walks in, her low heels clacking on the floor.  She looks at him though her thick glasses.  He starts.  It must be noon.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sophie, I have to step out for a moment.” And he’ll swear his voice doesn’t crack.

She smiles at him.  “Of course, dear.” She smiles at him.  “Oh, but wait a moment.  Take this with you.”

He reaches out without even thinking, mind already a thousand steps away.

--

They say that you just know when you meet your soulmate.  They say it’s not a jolt of electricity or niggling feeling in the back of the mind, but a quiet certainty.

Baekhyun thinks it’s like looking in a mirror.

The streets are surprisingly crowded for how chilly it is, this late in February, and he’s been jostled back and forth for almost ten minutes while he’s strained to see faces.  Hoping he doesn’t miss his soulmate.  Whoever they are.

He catches a glimpse of yet another mop of black hair and the whole world slows.  Stops. The man’s two feet away from him, just stepping out of the flower shop, dressed in jeans and a pale sweater. He’s taller than Baekhyun had expected. And then he turns, casting nervously about and Baekhyun could swear he can hear the world click back into place.

Baekhyun is pale and tired and this man is dark and dangerously thin.  It still feels like he’s seeing his reflection walking towards him.

He steps forward.  Introduces himself.

--

Jongin has no words.  They’ve all been stolen away by this intense feeling of belonging.  It doesn’t seem to matter, though.  Baekhyun’s got enough words for both of them.

“Poppies are my favourite,” he says, pointing at Jongin’s hands.  “You like them, too?”

Jongin looks down, confused.  Smiles at the poppy in his hands.  “Yeah.  But this one’s for you.”  It has to be.

Baekhyun’s smile doesn’t quite clear the bags under his eyes. “So, do I get a name with the poppy, or what?”

--

Baekhyun’s thrilled at Jongin’s apartment.  Jongin never thought it was much, just small, and cramped, and horrible, but Baekhyun’s glowing.  He buries himself in the flowers, drifting his fingers over their delicate petals.  He looks blissful.  Due mostly to finding his soulmate, Jongin is sure.  

But Jongin feels like hell, because this isn’t something he’s ever wanted.  But he doesn’t want to break this moment.  Baekhyun is happy, and that feels almost like peace.

Best to ruin everything now, he figures.  It’ll only hurt more, later.

“Baekhyun,” he says, and almost chickens out, “I don’t want a soulmate.”  There’s more to say, there’s more he needs to say, but he can’t find the words.  So, he waits.

“Then what do you want?”  If Baekhyun’s hurt at all by Jongin’s words, he hides it impeccably.

“I don’t know.”

Jongin’s panicking and the room is too quiet and too loud all at once.  This is not how it’s supposed to be.  You’re supposed to want your soulmate.  You’re supposed to feel like your life is complete.  You’re supposed to want the perfect life with them, children and a marriage and holding hands as you die.  And he does he does he does, but he doesn’t. Baekhyun feels right and complete and his, but none of that is happy.

But then there’s a hand in his.  “That makes two of us.”

The world settles.  Again.  Baekhyun’s smiling and Jongin can’t help but smile back.  It’s a little ridiculous.  He’s willing to try, just to keep that smile going.

“Poppies will protect you,” he says, and what kind of idiot just says stuff like that?

Baekhyun doesn’t seem to mind, tilting his head and considering the table full of poppies with drifting fingers.  “Will they really?”

“As long as you let them try.”

--

Their apartment comes cheap.  Cheap is good.  Cheap means a plant on every surface.  Cheap means dates to local restaurants where they drink a little too much and fall into bed laughing, after.  Cheap means only two jobs between them and food still on the table and a furnace that works.

It’s not orthodox, not in the least.  There’s a fish, but no children.  There are books, but no marriage.  There’s a bedroom, but two beds.

But they’re happy and they’re healthy and nothing but themselves.

It’s all the poppies’ fault.

Ende

[spoookymuulders]

you make my heart beat like the rain

read it on ao3 here word count: 3600 warnings: mentions of abuse summary: The air smells damp - it definitely rained last night, and it’ll probably rain more today, judging by the dark clouds above and the gloomy gray sky. As he trudges through the dewy grass, the sounds of the cows waking up makes him smile. He tugs the doors to the barn open, inhaling slowly. He takes in, for the millionth time, just how lucky he is to be where he is. This ranch has been home for the past ten years, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the universe.

chapter one. i’m a new soul i came to this strange town. in which spencer reid makes a friend.

           Early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, dust motes dancing in the rays as they make puddles of light on the floor and across the bed. Spencer Reid rolls over with a yawn and smacks at his alarm clock, burrowing his face back into his pillow for a few more minutes before he drags himself out of his cozy nest of blankets and shuffles to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He pokes at a few buttons on the coffee maker, waiting to make sure it’s actually brewing before padding back to his room to get dressed for the day.

           By the time he emerges again, this time fully dressed and at least a little more awake thanks to the cool morning air, the coffee is done brewing. It fills the whole house with its heady scent, and he hums sleepily. Pouring some into his faded travel mug, he dumps his sugar in and swirls it a few times before setting it on the counter. As the sugar dissolves, he tugs on his muck boots and jacket, zipping it up and heading outside.

           The air smells damp - it definitely rained last night, and it’ll probably rain more today, judging by the dark clouds above and the gloomy gray sky. As he trudges through the dewy grass, the sounds of the cows waking up makes him smile. He tugs the doors to the barn open, inhaling slowly. He takes in, for the millionth time, just how lucky he is to be where he is. This ranch has been home for the past ten years, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the universe.

           “Morning, ladies.” He calls, moving through the barn and patting each of his cows on the nose gently. They moo in response and he grins when Rosie nudges her head against his hand. He scratches between her ears lightly before going to open the doors leading out to the pasture. He repeats this motion on the other side of the barn, letting the horses out as well. He shuffles around doing what needs to be done - cleaning up the stalls, refilling the feed - then heads back inside.

           Spencer’s ranch sits on 40 acres of land - it’s a lot for one man to handle, but he handles it just fine, thank you very much. Having the cows and horses helps with the mowing, at least. His house is modestly sized - too big for one man by himself , JJ had said once, but he’d countered that with the fact that most of their get-togethers are held on the ranch so having a bigger house means he can accommodate more people, as well as the fact that most of the kids in their little makeshift family love having sleepovers at the ranch.

           Shuffling back inside and nudging the door shut behind himself, Spencer tugs off his muck boots and abandons them in the mudroom. His coffee has cooled off enough now that he doesn’t scald his tongue when he takes a sip. Settling at the kitchen table, he drags his notepad closer and scribbles down what he needs to do for the day;

Grocery shopping

Send mom’s letter

Stop by flower shop, bring Will’s birthday present

           Not too many things to do, thankfully. He starts on his grocery list next, mumbling under his breath as he putters around the kitchen and adds things to it. Looks like a big shopping trip this time. Which is fine, he doesn’t mind. And he’s hosting Will’s birthday party on Saturday anyways (with Dave’s help, of course), so he’ll need things for that, too. JJ had assured him she’d bring the decorations, and Dave had insisted on cooking as always, which Spencer has no problem with. Cooking for himself he can do. Cooking for himself plus almost thirty other people on the other hand..

           Stifling a yawn behind his hand, he tosses his notepad back onto the table and pads into his room to change again. He abandons his heavy flannel and scuffed jeans, tossing them into the hamper and climbing into the shower. He hums to himself as he washes his hair, trying to think of anything else he might’ve missed when making up his grocery list. Satisfied that there’s nothing, he hops out of the shower and shakes his hair out, wrapping a towel around himself and padding out to his dresser.

           He pulls on fresh jeans and a button down, digging a cardigan out of his closet and pulling his Chucks on. He stuffs his wallet into his pocket and heads back out, grabbing his peacoat and keys and heading for the truck. He flicks the radio to a classical station, humming along softly as strains of Beethoven fill the cab of the truck. The drive into town takes about ten minutes, and with the leaves changing the way they are, it’s gorgeous.

           Driving through Callahan, Maine (population 400) before everyone wakes up is one of his favorite things in the world. It’s seven-thirty now, most of the town waking slowly, kids getting ready for school, parents getting ready for work. His first stop today is JJ’s flower shop. She’s outside already - Will must be at home with Henry this morning - and she looks up from where she’s setting out a wooden crate as the truck rumbles to a halt outside, waving with a broad smile.

           “Morning, Spence.” She calls as he climbs out of the truck. She turns to pick up another crate, passing it to Spencer when he returns her greeting and holds his hands out. “I see we’re going full Doctor Reid today, huh?” She teases gently.

           “Where d’you want this one?” He asks, laughing softly, then sets it behind the one she’d just put down when she points. “How are Will and Henry?”

           “They’re good! Henry’s all excited about Halloween.” She says, dusting her hands on her jeans. “Wonder who’s fault that is.” Spencer grins at her, his nose crinkling - as godfather, Spencer had taken it upon himself from the day Henry was born to instill a love of all things spooky in the boy.

           “Did he decide what he wants to be yet?” He asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as JJ scoops up the hose and starts misting the flowers.

           “Not yet. We’ve narrowed it down to Spiderman or Luke Skywalker.” JJ laughs. Spencer chuckles, then jogs back to the truck and grabs Will’s present from the passenger seat. He holds it out when he returns and JJ takes it, looking it over. “Oh, he’s gonna love this, Spence, this is great!” Spencer grins proudly, stuffing his hands back into his pockets and rocking on his feet.

           They chat for a few more minutes, and as Spencer says goodbye and goes to leave, JJ makes a sudden noise and calls for him to wait a moment.

           “Hey, are you gonna be driving by the B&B by any chance?” She asks, tipping her head. Spencer nods.

           “I’ve gotta go that way, yeah. You need me to drop something off?” He asks.

           “Would you mind?” JJ asks. Spencer shakes his head and she grins, hurrying back inside and returning a moment later with two bouquets. “Thank you so much, Spence, I’ve been meaning to bring these by but I just haven’t had a chance.” Spencer waves a hand, taking the bouquets and moving back to the truck. JJ calls a farewell as he climbs in and pulls away from the curb, one he returns with a wave. In his rearview mirror, he can see an old VW Bug take his spot, a young brunette climbing out and hurrying to hug JJ.

           The bed and breakfast is across town, at the corner of Wilson Street and Harker Road. The house it occupies sat empty and abandoned for a long, long time - up until Aaron Hotchner (call him Hotch, please and thank you) and his son Jack moved in a few years ago. They’d moved to town after Hotch’s wife had been killed in a home invasion, something which Penelope Garcia had found after about five minutes of searching. They needed a fresh start, Hotch had said when Penelope had insisted on throwing them a welcoming party - at the ranch of course, because where else would it be?

           The B&B had become something of a passion project for Hotch. Spencer had been more than willing to let Hotch and Jack stay with him while Hotch worked on fixing up the old Mills house in town, with the help of their very own Derek Morgan. Hotch and Jack had endeared themselves to their little family quite quickly, and they had been welcomed in with open arms.

           As he parks, Jack is leaping down the porch stairs and sprinting to the corner, waving over his shoulder as Hotch stands at the railing. Jack shouts a greeting as he runs past Spencer, backpack bouncing against his back as he hurries to catch the bus. Spencer gathers the bouquets from the front seat and heads for the stairs.

           “Morning, Reid.” Hotch says as Spencer makes his way towards him.

           “Hey, Hotch.” Spencer returns, holding out the bouquets. “JJ asked me to drop these off.” Hotch swallows his mouthful of coffee and takes a bouquet, gesturing for Spencer to follow him inside. Spencer trails along behind him, looking around absently as Hotch leads him into the kitchen.

           “Can I get you some coffee?” Hotch asks, reaching for the pot on the counter.

           “Oh, no thanks, Hotch, I’ve gotta run some other errands.” Spencer says, setting his bouquet on the table. Hotch nods and gives Spencer the check for the flowers, then sees the younger man out. He hovers on the porch as Spencer pulls away, honking the horn once and waving out the window.

****

           When Spencer returns to Roz’s Garden some two and a half hours later, it’s to see JJ standing at the counter with a young woman with a yellow cast on her left wrist and a pale pink sundress that just barely brushes her knees. As JJ sees him and waves and the young woman with her turns around, Spencer feels his heart jump into his throat - because good God she’s gorgeous .

           Her dark hair is pulled into a braid over one shoulder, tendrils of curls framing her face delicately. Her eyes are impossibly blue and warm and her lips are impossibly pink and the white cardigan she wears over her sundress complements the tan of her skin so beautifully Spencer thinks he could weep. He clears his throat a little and moves further into the shop, holding out the check Hotch had given him earlier and making note of the way the girl keeps her eyes on him, her whole frame tense.

           “Hotch asked me to drop this off on my way back out to the ranch.” He says, stopping beside the girl. JJ thanks him and tucks the check into the register and leans on the counter again.

           “Spence, this is my best friend from Pennsylvania, Zoe. Zoe, this is Spencer Reid.” JJ says, looking between the two of them with a smile. Zoe offers a small wave, shifting to face Spencer properly.

           “It’s nice to meet you.” She says, her voice soft and gentle and exactly what Spencer imagines a fairy might sound like.

           “I - yeah, you too!” He says, giving her a small smile. She returns it almost nervously and Spencer shuffles his feet. “Are you just visiting, or?”

           “Zoe’s moving to town!” JJ says brightly, reaching over to squeeze Zoe’s shoulder lightly. Zoe looks at her with a small smile and nods. “She’s gonna stay over at the B&B.”

           “Just until I can find a place of my own.” Zoe says quickly, looking at JJ. “I don’t wanna intrude or impose or anything-”

           “Oh, don’t be silly.” JJ tells her gently. “Hotch says you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Zoe nods and Spencer shuffles his feet again, then looks at JJ.

           “I’ve got cold stuff in the truck so I should head home, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” He says. JJ nods, grinning at him.

           “The boys are excited for brunch!” She says eagerly. Spencer nods and grins, heading for the door.

           “It was nice to meet you.” He calls to Zoe. She nods, watching him go. As soon as the door is closed and Spencer is climbing into his truck, Zoe whirls back around to face JJ, her eyes wide.

           “ That’s Spence?!” She cries quietly, “Genius-IQ-photographic-memory Spence?!” JJ nods, laughing softly and moving around to the front of the counter to stand beside Zoe. “You didn’t tell me he looked like that !” JJ laughs again, shaking her head fondly.

           “He’s cute, right?” She says, nudging Zoe gently. She’s not going to try and force Zoe into anything anytime soon - God knows the poor girl doesn’t need it - but she can’t say she’d be upset if Zoe and Spencer got together. They’d make a cute couple, she muses internally, and makes a mental note to bring it up at the next girls night.

           “He’s beautiful.” Zoe says softly. JJ chuckles, winding an arm around Zoe’s shoulders gently and leading her towards the front door.

           “C’mon. Hotch has a room waiting for you at the B&B. You can daydream about Spence while you unpack.” She teases. Zoe sputters, shaking her head as they go.

****

           That night, as Spencer gets ready for bed, his mind keeps wandering to the girl from the flower shop - Zoe. The top of her head had barely come up to his chin, and something about her had seemed so.. Timid. There’s something that makes him want to wrap his arms around her and promise that he’ll protect her from the rest of the world, that he won’t ever let any harm come to her. At the same time, however, something about her seems strong. Resilient. He’ll have to remember to ask her how she got the cast the next time he sees her. As he lays down in bed and burrows under his covers, he finds himself thinking about blue eyes and pink sundresses and the sun.

           Fifteen minutes away, Zoe sits in the middle of an almost annoyingly soft mattress in her room at the bed and breakfast. The pace of her day is catching up to her quickly, and she lays down, burrowing into her blankets and pressing her cheek to her pillow. She yawns into the fabric, sniffling quietly and trying to let herself relax for the first time in years - she’s safe here. He can’t find her, he’d never think to look for her here.

           And maybe, just maybe , she muses as her mind drifts to JJ’s genius-IQ-photographic-memory friend, she can let herself be truly happy here.

           She dreams that night, but for the first time in years, they aren’t bad dreams. When she wakes up in the morning, she doesn’t really remember them, but she remembers enough to know that they were good dreams for once, and the face that’s been tormenting her for so long now wasn’t there. Her phone dings merrily on the nightstand and she grabs it, squinting at the message displayed on the screen, then slides out of bed. JJ had said something to her yesterday before she’d left the B&B about brunch, so Zoe gets herself dressed quickly and heads downstairs.

           “Morning.”

           The voice makes her jump about a foot in the air, and Zoe whirls around, putting her hand to her chest. Hotch is perched in a chair, holding his hands up innocently to show he means no harm.

           “Sorry.” He says quickly, offering a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

           “It’s okay.” Zoe says, willing her heartbeat to return to its normal pace. Hotch closes his newspaper and stands, moving to stand beside Zoe and look out over the town square for a moment.

           “Did you sleep okay?” He asks, glancing down at her. Zoe looks up and nods after a moment, offering a small smile. She wonders briefly how much JJ told Hotch about her situation. As if he’s reading her mind, he continues. “JJ didn’t tell me much about what you’re going through, just that it was an emergency and you needed somewhere to stay.” Tipping his head, he watches her for a moment, considering the way she seems to shrink away from him as he looks at her.

           “Yeah.” She says quietly after a moment, watching a few kids across the street run back and forth across their lawn. “Mr. Hotchner, I can’t thank you enough for giving me one of the rooms.”

           “Any friend of JJ’s is a friend of ours, and if I can help, then I’m more than happy.” He says, smiling gently. His smile widens just so when she gives one in return, and he nods. “And please, call me Hotch.” Zoe nods again, shuffling her feet on the floor of the porch.

           “JJ invited me for brunch.” She says softly. It almost sounds like she’s asking for permission, and he hums.

           “Well, if Will’s making his New Orleans French toast, you’re in for a treat.” He says, leaning on the railing. Zoe hovers by the stairs for a moment before moving down them slowly. “Have fun.” Hotch calls after her. She waves over her shoulder as she goes, and Hotch wonders momentarily what exactly she’s gone through.

****

           JJ is in the front yard with Henry and Spencer when Zoe arrives, Henry settled in Spencer’s lap as they read a book together, and Henry shrieks at the sight of her. He worms his way out of Spencer’s arms and collapses into the grass before jumping to his feet again and running full-tilt towards Zoe. She drops into a crouch instantly, glad she’d chosen jeans this morning as Henry knocks her on her ass.

           “Zoe, I missed you!” Henry yelps, clinging to her. Zoe laughs softly, a small smile touching her lips as she hugs the boy close.

           “I missed you too, bug.” She hums, squeezing him tightly for a moment. He returns the squeeze with one of his own, unaware of the way she winces just so at the pressure he applies to a bruise on her throat, then leans away and smooshes her cheeks.

           “Uncle Spencer is here!” He says, leaping off of her lap. She stands and Henry grabs her hand, yanking her down the walkway and stopping in front of Spencer, who looks up with a small smile and gives a wave. Zoe waves back, scooping Henry up and settling him on her hip when he raises his arms at her.

           “It’s nice to see you again.” Spencer says, standing and dusting his jeans off.

           “You too.” Zoe says, resting her cheek to Henry’s hair. She sways with the boy slowly and Spencer watches with a small smile. He glances over his shoulder when Will shouts from the kitchen that brunch is ready. Spencer steps aside, gesturing for the girls to go in ahead of him, then follows them in. They gather around the island in the center of the kitchen, Henry bouncing on Zoe’s knee lightly as they all dig in.

           Zoe listens more than she talks during their meal - something she’s used to, but in this setting, it’s a welcome thing. She’d rather listen to JJ and Will and Spencer chatter about work and the flower shop. She tips her head down as Henry starts babbling about school, playing with his hair gently as he talks. As they finish, Spencer and Henry rush back outside with Will, and JJ and Zoe stay in the kitchen to clean up.

           With the dishwasher full and running, Zoe trails after JJ to the front yard again, hovering on the steps as JJ hops down them and joins her boys, stealing a soccer ball away from Will and kicking it towards Henry gently. Spencer is perched on the steps as well, and Zoe sinks down to sit beside him lightly.

           “How’s your move going?” Spencer asks suddenly. Zoe glances at him, surprised, and shrugs lightly.

           “I settled into the B&B okay.” She hums, rubbing her knees. “Hotch is really nice.”

           “Yeah, he’s great.” Spencer says with a grin. “Everyone around town is pretty nice, really.” Zoe nods, resting her chin on her good hand, and Spencer glances at her. “Can I ask what happened?” He asks, gesturing to the cast on her left wrist.

           “Oh. I fell down the stairs.” Zoe tells him. The lie comes easily, as easily as they all have over the past two and a half years, but she can tell Spencer doesn’t quite believe her. He doesn’t push it though, just nods his head and looks back out over the lawn.

           “Hey, if you ever want a tour or something, I’d be happy to show you around town.” He says, looking at her again. Zoe looks up at him, stays silent for a long moment. He holds her gaze evenly, and she searches in his eyes for some sort of ulterior motive, something to tell her that she should be running in the other direction as fast as she possibly can.

           She finds nothing; nothing but honest goodness and gentle smiles. So she smiles back, just a little, but it’s her first real smile in ages, and it feels strange on her face, but in a good way.

           “I’ll think about it.” She says softly, and she has the same thought she did last night in bed. The thought that just maybe she can let herself be happy here.

[thosequeenboys]

Love Is Love Is Love (Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello) - Chapter 2

A/N:  This story started as one shot for the Hardzzello Week “Missing” prompt - Missed (link below). The story unfolded as a series, which I named after a phrase in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s 2016 Tony acceptance sonnet that paid tribute to the victims of the Orlando, FL, night club shooting. Because of my commitment to gay marriage and LGBT rights I wanted to share a story of family joys and challenges through them.

Chap. 1:  Missed  

Summary, Chapter 2:  Puzzled:   Ben and Joe learn new information about Alex, and Joe receives a surprise that promises to complicate their lives.

Warnings:  Doctor’s visit for a check-up; angst

tagging: @warriorteam1924 @heybuddy-drabbles @oniriquex @igotsuckedintothevoid @watercolouredreams @roger-taylors-car @nightoftheland @lapofthemusicgods

The new year unfolded, and the days became longer demarcated by pink, lavender and gold sunsets. Their lives felt pretty stable and had a certain rhythm. Joe was serving as a consultant on a Netflix show, which required travel to LA a week each month.  With his own next gig requiring intense travel slated for later in the year, Ben cherished watching winter slip into spring on walks with his trusty, observant companion by his side, touching the cracked ground where bulbs sprouted, watching birds build nests and smelling flowers.   On a mid-March afternoon that was remarkably spring-like, Ben and Alex returned from playgroup, though this walk was silent and tense.  As they entered home, Joe was wrapping up a call.  

“Alex, how about watching some PBS?”  Ben said, entering the living room and turning on the TV. “Dad and I need to catch up on boring grown-up stuff.  I’ll bring you a snack in a few minutes.”

“OK”, Alex said, knowing he didn’t have a choice and that the ‘boring grown-up stuff’ probably included him. Before Ben left, he tried to change their dynamic by running his hand through his son’s hair.  “Alex. I love you.” Alex gave his dad a side glance, feeling lingering sadness from their earlier interaction when his dad was mad at him, but relieved to hear his dad’s affectionate words.  

Ben sat at the island counter in the kitchen facing Joe who had moved to the other side of the counter, peeling and cutting vegetables for chicken cacciatore.  

“So that thing happened at playgroup.”  Ben looked up at Joe.  Joe felt his chest tighten.  Again? He knew where this was going; they had been there before.   Ben sighed and continued:  

“The toys were laid out on the floor, and he and the other kids were playing.  It was going really well.  They were talking, and he seemed into it.  I thought, ‘Finally! He’s getting how it should be.” Suddenly he went over to the bookshelf and started looking on the shelves.  He pulled out a puzzle box.  I said he had to put it back; we can’t take things without asking. I told him we weren’t playing with that today.  He clutched it and refused.  He sat down with it, and when I tried to take it, he pulled it away. He actually scowled at me.  I gritted my teeth and told him to give it to me. I had smoke coming out of my ears, but I tried not to make a scene.  Fortunately, Becca, you know Georgie’s mom who was hosting, came over and said Alex could look at the puzzle - it belonged to Georgie’s older brother, Jeremy.  I thanked Becca and asked Alex to thank her too, which he did.”

“So, he dumps it out. Ok, so no surprise there.  But then he starts his sorting thing, and he’s holding up the pieces to the box in front of him and I’m kind of trying to block him, listening to the other parents.  And, he starts putting pieces together, making the border, and suddenly, one of the moms sees it and, like, gasps.  “OHMYGOD, Ben, he’s doing THAT puzzle?’  Then everyone starts looking.”

“We’re all always comparing notes:  What are the kids eating and not eating? What classes are they taking? Who’s looking at pre-schools?  It’s supportive, but everyone’s trying to make sure their kid is, you know, ‘on track.’”  

“Yeah,” Joe nodded, switching knives to cut up an apple. “My sister told me all about that.  It can get ugly.  Some parents brag, and parents whose kids are at a different stage try not to freak out. You can feel the anxiety bubbling up. Sometimes it’s just better to talk about politics, honestly.”  

Sighing, Joe plated the apple slices and spooned some peanut butter on the side of the plate.  Ben grabbed the plate and the water bottle. He slid off the stool to deliver it to Alex. Joe started to build the dish, sautéing peppers, carrots, onions and garlic.  After they softened, tomatoes, wine, stock and chicken would join the party.

Returning, Ben continued. “So, I just brushed it off. Talked about his older cousins teaching him, how he tries to copy them, you know, he just fools around and gets lucky.  Then it was time to leave.  He only did a little of the puzzle.  Jesus, it was like 50 pieces.  I said we had to clean it up.  He was all with the ‘no’s’, but finally I glared at him – I swear I almost lost it - but he relented.  I feel so out of control when this happens and not sure what to do.  And, Alex gets laser-focused and detaches. I had to tell him to say good-bye and thank you.  I could tell he was still thinking about that fucking puzzle as we were saying our goodbyes….”

Joe stopped chopping the basil and put his knife down, wiping his hands on a towel. He ran his fingers through his hair.  “He is who he is.  And we shouldn’t be too surprised about his laser-focus -- and his smarts -- knowing his two sets of genes,”  Joe said, with a wink, before continuing, “You handled it well, Babe. Really well.   You shouldn’t feel defensive.  We need to figure out how to deal with this.  Take him for the check-up… better late than never.”

Suddenly Alex came in holding the empty plate and bottle.  ‘Hey, Buddy,” Joe said.  “The chicken is almost done.  Want to finish it up?”  

Alex nodded. He went over to Joe who took the plate and bottle and put the stool in front of the stove, helping him up.  “OK,” Joe said, pointing to a pile of chopped greens on the cutting board.  Here we have some basil and parsley.”  Alex grabbed the greens and sprinkled them into the pot.  Joe handed Alex the wooden spoon and he stirred them in, as he planted a kiss on his son’s neck.

A week later they were in Premiere Pediatrics, and the medical assistant took Alex into a small room. Ben and Joe waited outside. She tested his vision, and they overheard her asking him about colors and numbers but they got into a discussion and didn’t pay attention.  

Suddenly, the assistant tore past them and approached the doctor down the hall, showing him the paper in her hand, as a nurse quickly escorted Alex and his parents to an exam room.  

Joe helped Alex undress and put on the robe.  He whipped out a book, Ocean Creatures, from his backpack. Alex settled into his lap and Joe started the story.  They got halfway through the book and in walked Dr. Herbert “Call Me Herb” Markman, holding a slim file in his left hand.  

Dr. Markman was there from the beginning.  Before the beginning. Ben and Joe had to have a local pediatrician vouch for their sincere interest to be parents and their stability.  And they had to show there was a doctor at the ready as soon as the baby arrived.  When Joe called the practice and asked for an experienced doctor, explaining the situation, the receptionist set up an appointment with Dr. Markman right away, noting he was the most senior member of the practice.  A Google search showed they hit the pediatrician lottery: degrees from Ivy League universities; a professor at the local Medical School; a successful researcher; and a former President of the American Society of Pediatrics.  As a person, he was warm, calm and conversational. As a doctor, he was thorough, smart and sensitive to both his young patients and their over-concerned parents. At their first meeting, Dr. Markman insisted they call him Herb, but Joe and Ben settled on Dr. M. To keep the relationship on an equal playing field, Dr. Markman followed the more formal naming convention.

“MR. JONES-MAZZELLO!” Dr. M. greeted Alex like a long-lost friend.  “So nice to see you!  You’re here for your 2-year check-up, I see. Let’s get you up on the bench. He patted it and helped Alex up.  Then he turned and offered a warm nod and outstretched hand, “Mr. Jones.  Mr. Mazzello.”   He placed Alex’s file on the desk.

Ben chimed in somewhat guiltily, “Actually, we missed the 2-month mark. He’s almost 2 and a half now.”

“No harm, no foul.” Dr. M. responded with a reassuring smile as he applied hand sanitizer.  

Dr. M. addressed his patient.  “Alex, are you having any concerns about your body, anything hurt?  Anything you want to ask?”

“No, thank you. I’m well, thanks.” Alex replied.

The three adults laughed. Ben beamed, proud at his politeness.  

“Good to hear.” Dr. M. commented. Turning to Joe and Ben, Dr. M. asked, “Any concerns? How’s he been?” Any more high fevers?”

“No, no fevers. Thankfully.” Joe said.

“He’s fine, seems good, really.” Ben added.

“Is he good, really or really good?” It was a play on words, a rhetorical question, but Dr. M. was on to something.   “Ok, let’s take a look.”

He examined Alex thoroughly, prodding his organs eliciting a stream of giggles. He checked his heart, ears, eyes, blood pressure, spine and reflexes, making notes on his I-pad as he went along.

“All good!” He said.

Dr. M. opened the file folder on the desk and pulled out the report the medical assistant handed him earlier. He went over to the shelf that held some books and games and pulled out 10 black checkers.  “As I put these down, Alex, can you count them for me?”  Alex counted 1 through 10 as the checkers were placed on the exam bench. Then, Dr. M. picked a few up and asked him the total number remaining on the bench. Then he put some back, asking for a total.  He did this a few more times, moving quickly.  Alex hesitated at times, thinking it through, but didn’t get flustered. Joe and Ben looked on with awe. Was he really adding and subtracting?  Dr. M. collected the checkers and put them aside on the bench.  

“What did you think of that?” He asked Alex.

“Fun!” Alex said.  

“Good to hear we have a satisfied customer.   We always try to provide patients with some fun during visits.” Dr. M. said, typing into his I-pad and winking at Joe and Ben, making it clear that round of ‘fun’ was not offered to most patients at their 2-year visits.

“So, what do you like to do, Alex?”  Dr. M. asked.

Alex thought for a minute and answered, “The library.  We take out lots of books.  I like ocean animals.  And gymnastics. I like to sommersault.  And parachute lift - some of us run into it, and we have to run back before it falls on us!” Alex smiled, sitting up straight, swinging his legs, picturing the activity.  

“Wow, that sounds really thrilling.”  Dr. M. said, giving Alex his full attention.

Alex nodded and then looked at the ceiling thinking about what else filled his days. “Puzzles!  I really like puzzles.”

Ben looked over at Joe encouragingly, wanting him to take the cue, as he twisted the band on his left ring finger with his thumb.  Joe looked up, rubbing his chin.  It was the perfect opening. “Uh, yeah, about puzzles. We should let Dr. M. know what happens sometimes.  Like at playgroup.”

Alex looked down, remembering how angry his dad was with him that day.

Ben continued.  “Remember at Georgie’s, you got the puzzle off the shelf and started doing it when there were lots of other toys out.  You can’t just go into someone’s stuff.”

“I was bored!” Alex said with a raised voice, annoyed that his dad didn’t understand.

Dr. M. nodded.  “It’s hard to feel bored, isn’t it?”

Alex nodded emphatically, and Dr. M. continued, “When you feel bored, Alex, it’s good to tell one of your dads, and together you can discuss what to do. Maybe you can ask for another toy.  But, sometimes, you may have to be bored.  Lord knows, I am more than I’d like!” he laughed, trying to lighten the tension, but came back to the point.  “Do you think you can talk about how you feel before acting?”

Alex nodded, looking at Ben, who gave him a smile.

“Good!” Dr. M. said. “Your dads can remind you.  So, what else happens in the Life of Alexander Jones-Mazzello?”

“I help Papa cook.” Alex smiled at the recent memory.

“Cooking is fun!  How do you help?” Dr. M. asked.

“Add basil and…pars and stir.” Alex said.

“Basil and Parsley,” Joe clarified, “My Italian influence.”

“I’m a big fan of Italian food!”  Dr. M. said.  He smiled, directing his next question to Ben and Joe. “Any other activities your fine young man is involved in?

“He just started music class!” Ben added enthusiastically. “I read about the strong association between math and music, so we thought it would be good…” his voice trailed off as he looked over at the doctor typing into his I-pad.

Call Me Herb looked summarily unimpressed, perhaps the most unimpressed he’d been in his 35-year career as a pediatrician.  Ben and Joe exchanged glances.

“Alex, you are well on your way to becoming a fine 3-year old.  One day, I’d like you to meet my friend, Wendy.  She’ll show you some other fun puzzles and games I think you’ll like.” Dr. M. said as he helped Alex dress.  Then Alex leaned over and grabbed the checkers and started to play with them. 

Dr. M. then spoke softly to Ben and Joe, “I’m going to give you the number of Wendy Chambers. She’s an educational psychologist. She’ll do her assessment and have some ideas.”  He wrote her name and number on his prescription pad. “Do it this year, before the pre-school search heats up. The information she provides will help,” he said in his gentle tone as he handed the slip to Ben, who looked down at it.

“Is…Did…Is what we’re doing not right?” Ben asked hesitantly in a whisper.

“You’re doing great.” Dr. M. reassured.  Sensing Ben’s concern, he walked over to him and Joe and said very softly.  “It just may not be enough. In the long run. He’s precious.  And,” he added, “Gifted. With all joys and challenges that come with it.  I’ll let Wendy know I’ve referred Alex; you’ll be in good hand with her. Let’s stay in touch.”

After a round of handshakes, Dr. M. departed to a chorus of thank you from the boys.  

As they left the doctor’s office, Ben mentioned they needed to pick up some groceries.   “We’ll meet you home, then?” He said to Joe, their eyes lingering expressing they were in this together, whatever ‘this’ turned out to be.  Ben bent down to zip Alex’s jacket, his knee resting on the sidewalk, and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “You were such a good patient with Dr. M.  Ready to go, Buddy?”  Alex smiled and nodded, leaning in to hug Ben, who welcomed the embrace.  As usual, Alex’s hug stopped Ben in his tracks, and he had to force himself to stand up and proceed, grasping Alex’s hand.

“Thanks for shopping.  See you guys at home,” Joe said.  As they peeled off in opposite directions, Joe suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out.  The area code was vaguely familiar but he didn’t recognize the number, and there was no name associated with it.  

“Hello, Joe Mazzello.” He answered, stopping.  Joe nodded slightly as the name was revealed.  

“Oh. Hi.”  He said, in acknowledgement, suppressing his surprise. The voice relayed information, and Joe juggled his phone, trying to shift gears quickly and process the unexpected information.

“Really?  Seriously? Wow. That’s…terrific. Have to say, wasn’t expecting it.  I mean…” his voice trailed off as more information was relayed.

“When will…?” He registered the response with a nod, his eyes darting side to side.

“Uh, OK! Sounds good….” His voice faded as he tried not to express any concern or hesitation, though logistical wheels were turning in his head, as they always did.  “Ok, uh, let me … can I give you a call tomorrow and we can discuss the details? This is…Great!  Thanks. Thanks for the call.  Take care…Talk tomorrow. Bye.”

Joe clicked off the phone, his eyes opened wide.  A surprised grin emerged while he shook his head.  If life, acting  – and parenthood – taught him anything, it’s you can’t always predict what’s around the corner.  Life doesn’t ask to ‘put time on your calendar’ or ‘is this convenient?’  You have to keep calm and make it work.  As he walked home, Joe started to strategize about how to do that with this surprising news.

[imagineredwood]

***Sorry for the delay guys. As always, the moment I give a timeline of when something will be out, something always goes wrong. Anyway, here it is. I hope y’all enjoy the first chapter 💖***

Pairing: Eventual Camila x EZ Reyes 

Warnings: None yet 

Word count: 2.6k

"Alright, you have a great day and enjoy the house. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Camila nodded gently and returned the realtor’s smile, holding the new keys tightly in her right hand. Her own keys to her own home. It was such an unfamiliar but gratifying feeling and she smiled as she looked back up, the realtor on her way out of the house. The woman exited through the front door and tapped at the wood softly with a wink as Camila watched her.

"Lock up sweetheart. Call me if you have any questions."

"Yes, ma'am."

Camila nodded, following her. She waited for her to close the door before she locked both locks and turned back to look around her new home, walking until she was at the back of the house at the sliding glass door, looking out at her new backyard. It was a nice two-bedroom two-bath home with a decently sized kitchen and living room. Roomy, but still small enough to easily maintain and perfect for her. The spacious backyard was what she was excited about most though. The moment her realtor had taken her out and shown her the yard, she was in love. 

Gardening had always been a major hobby of hers, arguably her passion. She loved to take the tiniest of seeds and plant them, watching as her love and attention made them grow and flourish into something beautiful. In her old apartment, she’d had simple potted flowers here and there, small containers with various herbs growing for cooking, but she was never able to garden like she had always wanted to. Like she always said she would when she was on her own. Like she had done with her Abuela.

Her old apartment complex didn’t even have a yard. It went from the concrete of the building to the asphalt of the parking lot. No grass or green. Now as she looked out at the bright emerald colored grass, she felt a bubble of excitement swell at how beautiful she would make the yard in time. She could already see the garden in her head, envisioning where she would put what and how useful she was going to make the space. Spinning back around and facing the inside of the house once more, she felt a little less enamored, though she knew she would be able to fix that in time too.

The walls were bland, a plain flat eggshell and the tiles a cool toned ivory that could use a good wax. The place was fully furnished, all of her old furniture having been delivered earlier this morning. It still felt foreign though, no personal touches or individual creativity making the house look like a home. Apart from the furniture being in place, everything else was still entirely empty, all of her belongings still in the boxes that were stacked against the far end corner of the living room where the movers had put them for her. Her clothes were still packed up, toiletries, towels, décor. There was no food, not even water to drink, and she acknowledged that the very first thing she needed to do was go grocery shopping to stock up the fridge and bare pantry.

With both her house and car keys in hand, she turned back towards the front door and grabbed her purse as she made her way out of the house and down the few steps that lead onto the driveway. Along the way, she waved at the two small children that were right next door, tossing a ball back and forth in the driveway. They stopped to wave back at her, small smiles on their chubby faces, their dark hair stuck to their foreheads in the California heat. A woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties and who Camila assumed to be their mother was sat on the porch. They made eye contact and she smiled at her as well and waved as Camila made her way over across the grass to the porch where the woman sat. As she got closer, she saw that the woman’s cheeks were just as full and her hair just as dark as theirs, though it was sparsely streaked with a few greying hairs.

“Good morning.”

The woman’s smile widened at the striking of conversation.

“Good morning. You are our new neighbor?”

The kids continued to play amongst themselves and Camila gave her a nod, glancing back towards her door.

“Yep, that’s me. I’m Camila.”

The woman smiled warmly as Camila spoke, hearing the Spanish accent in how she pronounced her own name. Camila had done the same, noticing the Spanish accent that the woman had as well, though it was there all the time.

“I’m Elisa. ¿Eres Mexicana?”

It was Camila’s turn to smile now and she nodded proudly.

“¿Y tu?”

The woman nodded as well, her smile bright, bringing out the crinkles in the corners of her eyes.

The two of them continued speaking amongst themselves while Elisa called the boy and girl up to meet her and say hi. She introduced Camila to the children, Esperanza and Edwardo, who they called Eddy.

Camila squatted down to their level, saying hello and inspecting the small firetruck the Eddy pulled from his pocket and the half-eaten animal cracker Esperanza pulled from hers. The children ran off to play catch once more and she stood with Elisa to make small talk for a bit before they parted ways, Camila telling her that she had to go into town for some groceries. Making her way to her car, she climbed in and turned the air all the way up. A contented sigh left her lips as the cool air hit her skin and she grabbed ahold of her espresso hair, pulling it back and up into a ponytail before tossing it up into a bun. Brushing away a stray piece of hair that slipped out, she buckled up and started pulling out onto the road, laughing softly as she looked up to see Eddy and Esperanza enthusiastically waving their tiny hands at her in a goodbye as they stood looking down the driveway. Camila smiled as she drove off down the road and into town, happy that if nothing else, at least she had good neighbors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Camila let out a grunt as she lifted the heavy case of water from within her shopping cart and put it down onto the conveyer belt, the cart finally empty. The young cashier was slowly ringing up the last of the items as Camila pulled out her debit card, ready to insert it into the machine. Looking over everything that she had bought, she cursed under her breath.

“Shit, I forgot to grab some meat. Do you think I can run back there real quick and get some before you finish charging?”

The teenager with purple hair shook her head, loudly popping her gum before continuing to chew it exaggeratively.

“Don’t bother, the meat here sucks. Plus, it’s usually out of date. I wouldn’t eat it if they gave it to me free, and I get an employee discount.”

Camila rose an eyebrow, shocked that the girl would admit that to a customer, but still grateful for the honesty. If there was one thing she could appreciate, it was honesty, and between the realtor who had sold her the house that told her which companies not to use for lawn service and this girl now, she could tell that honesty seemed to be common in the town of Santo Padre. Either that or they couldn’t be bothered with the bullshit.

With a nod, she pushed her card into the chip reader, giving the cashier a small smile.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“No problem.”  

Loading up the last of the bags into her trunk, Camila closed the door and returned the shopping cart before stepping into her car. After starting it up, she sighed and started pulling out of the space, exiting the parking lot. She really didn’t want to have to come back out shopping tomorrow just for meat. She just wanted to spend the next few days getting the house together and settling in, but she didn’t feel like driving out of her way just for meat after such a long day either. Settling for just going back out some time later in the week, she kept driving down the road. It was getting late, the sun probably only minutes from starting to set and there was practically no one out on the road. She dropped to 5 below the speed limit of 30 and took in the scenery of the little shops and outlets along the main road, one in particular catching her attention.

CARNICERIA REYES

She smiled happily to herself and pulled into the parking space right in front of the store, hoping they weren’t closed yet. Looking into the window, she saw the open sign still facing out. Hopping out of her car quickly and walking up the storefront she put her hand on the door handle and pulled it open, grinning as she read the banner along the window. Camila walked into the store and looked around. It was smaller but big enough to have a decent selection, at least of what she usually ate.

In the back, Felipe heard the bell of the door being opened and looked down at his watch. It was a little late, people rarely came in at this time. Technically he was closed, he just hadn’t gone to flip the sign and lock the door yet. He picked his pistol up from the table in front of him and walked out to the doorway that lead into the store. He peered out slowly, always prepared. The tension in his shoulders released as he looked in and saw a young woman there, looking at the meats through the glass. He put the gun back down onto the table and walked out slowly so as not to scare her as she turned around, hearing his footsteps. She smiled as soon as they locked eyes and Felipe returned it, walking around to get behind the counter.

“What can I get for you?”

Camila looked around some more, eyebrows scrunched as she looked over everything.

“I’ll get churrasco, uh…some chorizo and some fresh salsa verde if you still have any left.”

Felipe nodded pointed to the one canister of salsa verde left in the fridge.

“You’re lucky. Last one.”

She grinned again and so did Felipe, beginning to pull out and packaging the meat as Camila walked around, looking at the rest of the store.

“Are you new here?”  

She chuckled and confirmed, sending a look his way.

“Is it that obvious?”

Felipe shrugged and gave a half smile.

“Not exactly. Just a smaller town. Haven’t seen you around before.  I’m pretty good with faces.”

“I just moved here. Well not to California but to this town. I used to live in San Jose so this is…different. I like it though.”

“Yeah, that is a change.  Gotta get used to not falling asleep to the sound of sirens.”

The two of them laughed together and she walked back up to the counter as Felipe put the salsa in the second bag, reaching over the top of the counter to hand them to her.

“Gracias.”

“De nada, niña.”

She handed over a twenty and looked over at the door, she squinted trying to read the business hours sign as Felipe got together herd change.

“What time do you close?”

“About 5.”

Looking down at her watch, she winded and looked up at him apologetically.

“Damn sorry, it’s 5:45 now.”

Felipe shrugged and gave a dismissive motion with his hand.

“Sometimes I can make an exception.”

Camila smiled and folded her hands together in front of her in gratitude, walking backwards towards the door.

“Well thank you. I promise I won’t make a habit out of it. Keep the change for the trouble. Adios.”

“Nos vemos.”

Felipe watched as she walked out, unlocking her car and placing the two bags in her trunk before going around and getting in. He walked over to the door, finally turning the sign over to the ‘sorry, we’re closed side’ and locking the door, looking out the door again just in time to see her wave goodbye as she drove off. He chuckled to himself softly and switched off the light in the front, walking to the back of the store. He hadn’t been around someone so friendly and polite in a while. Some of the customers that came in were rude and in a rush, no time for small talk while the others had been coming to him for so long, there was no more small talk left to be had. The new kid was a change in the monotony and that was something Felipe could appreciate. In a way she reminded him of EZ, being sweet even to strangers.

With all the lights off and his jacket on, Felipe walked out through the back door of the shop and locked up before getting into his truck. No doubt the boys would be getting to his house shortly for the dinner he had promised them, that was if they weren’t there already.

“Where you been pop? We’ve been waiting 30 minutes here already.”

Felipe rolled his eyes at his oldest son and took off his coat, hanging it on the back of the chair next to him before locking the front door behind him.

“If you knew how to cook, you could’ve gotten it started for me.”

EZ chuckled from his spot on the couch, dodging the pillow that Angel had thrown at him with a scowl.

“If I would’ve gotten it started for you, you wouldn’t have had a house to come back to. You remember last time I tried to fry up the tortillas?”

Felipe nodded, recalling the time he’s had to finally use that 10-year-old fire extinguisher that was in the corner of the counter after Angel had nearly engulfed the kitchen.

“That’s why I said if.”

EZ laughed again and stood, making his way into the kitchen behind his father while Angel relaxed back into the couch, grumbling to himself as he kicked his boots off and turned on the TV.

“How was your day, pop? Busy?”

The older man shook his head, going into the fridge to grab three beers.

“No actually, it was a pretty smooth day.”

EZ nodded, taking the beer from his father’s outstretched hand.

“I just figured since you were late. Everything’s ok at the shop?”

“Everything’s fine, just had a new customer. She didn’t know the hours and I forgot to lock the door so she came in as I was going to come home, that’s all. Nice kid.”

EZ took a swig of his beer with a nod, just happy that his dad was doing ok. He was on edge all the time, worried about this DEA deal going south and blowing up. Felipe seemed to be the calmest out of the two of them though and EZ was thankful for that.  His dad was his rock and no matter what he would always make sure that he was safe. Him and Angel. The two people he loved the most.

Felipe kept quiet after that, in his own head as usual as he chopped up the poblanos. EZ watched him for a couple seconds more before opening Ange’s bottle and heading back into the living room to him, handing it to his big brother before taking a seat beside him. Angel thanked him with a wink and held his bottle out, EZ clinking the glass against his and watching the movie along with him in peaceful silence.

[tmarie82]

Alone at Last

Pairing: Dr. Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Blake Reyes)

Book: Open Heart

Word Count: ~3,900

Rating: NSFW

Author’s Note: Blake and Bryce finally get some time alone together and things get heated real fast. This one turned out way longer than I anticipated, but hopefully that’s a good thing.

It's what we’ve all been waiting for … just in time for Thirsty Thursday. 😉

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list. You can find all of my fics in my Masterlist on my homepage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Gauze, tape, wipes … “ Blake mumbled her checklist under her breath, absentmindedly grabbing each item from the shelf under the dim fluorescent light. “Heat pack, bed pan- “ She was startled from her supply retrieval mission by the click of the door opening behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she found Bryce discreetly closing the door, his long hair pulled back under a surgical cap and wearing his surgical scrubs along with that mischievous grin she’d come to look forward to.

She turned slightly to face him, her arms still full of supplies. “Hey Lahela, what are you doing in he- “ Bryce took two long strides across the small room to meet her, gripping her face in between his broad palms and cutting her off mid question by crashing his lips against hers fiercely. Blake emitted a muffled cry of surprise before returning the kiss, lifting her arms to loop around his neck and pull him closer. All recollection of her responsibilities were quickly forgotten, the only thing mattering in that moment was Bryce … the feel of his body pressed against hers, the way his lips glided and his tongue danced with her own. A shiver ran down her spine as his hands grazed down her sides, his fingers kneading the supple flesh of her hips through her clothing and stoking the fire deep in her belly.

With one final grunt Bryce nipped at her lower lip and then pulled away, a playful smile on his face. “Hi.” He said casually, his eyes glimmering as they flitted back and forth between hers.

Blake giggled, her heart warming at his playful display of affection. “Umm, hi. What was that for?” Not that she minded his occasional surprise kisses in the supply closet … they had quickly become some of her favorite parts of her workday.

Bryce took a half-step back, thoughtfully running his thumb along her cheek. “About to go into surgery and I wanted a good luck kiss. For good measure, you know ...”

“Well I am always happy to help, Dr. Lahela.” She answered, her insides still fluttering with excitement. “For the patient, of course.”

“Of course …” Bryce gave her a cheeky grin before dropping his gaze to the floor around them with a chuckle.

Blake looked down at her feet, laughing out loud when she noticed the medical supplies scattered where she’d dropped them during their impromptu embrace. “We really gotta stop meeting like this.” She dropped to the ground and started picking up the items, Bryce swiftly joining her to assist. “You get a good-luck kiss, and I end up doing extra work.”

Bryce placed the last few items in her arms as they stood. “Well good thing I get to see you other places too. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, definitely. My place at eight? I’m cooking.” Blake responded with a warm smile, hoping it would mask the anxiousness lurking beneath the surface. My place … alone.

“You’re beautiful, smart and you can cook? I’d have to be an idiot to pass that up.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned in to press one more light kiss to her lips. Pressing his forehead against hers he lingered there for a moment, his warm breath fluttering across her skin as he spoke in a soft tone. “I’ll see you at eight.”

Unable to fight the giddy smile plastered across her face, Blake watched as he backed his way reluctantly to the door. “See you then.” With one last wink he opened the door and slid through, leaving her alone again.

Inhaling a deep breath, Blake attempted to get her mind back on work. It was an admirable yet futile attempt as she had found herself fantasizing about tonight ever since they’d made plans yesterday. Several weeks into dating Bryce, the pair found themselves spending as much of their spare time together as possible … grabbing a drink after work or getting dinner, going to a concert or a movie, hanging out with mutual friends from the hospital. Blake had even started looking forward to her alarm every morning before work … a quick good morning text from Bryce as he left the gym. Yet finding time alone, truly alone, was rather difficult given the six roommates they had between the two of them‍. So when by some glorious miracle Blake found herself with an empty apartment tonight, there was no way she way going to let this opportunity pass her by. After weeks of heated kisses and some light groping that they unfortunately never had the chance to finish, she felt like she was about to combust from the sexual tension between them.

Tonight couldn’t get here fast enough.

~~~

Blake lifted the lid of the slow cooker, the steam and savory aroma of her favorite family recipe wafting across her face. She stirred the Mexican stew then lifted the spoon towards her lips, blowing gingerly on the mixture before taking a taste. Mmm, perfect. Setting the pot to simmer and returning the lid, she proceeded to grab the produce from the fridge to make a salad. She had just finished chopping the bell peppers when the doorbell rang. Tossing them in the bowl on top of the lettuce, she wiped her hands on a towel before making her way to the front door.

The vision she encountered as the door swung open was one she could never imagine tiring of. Bryce leaned coolly against the doorframe, his broad shoulders and muscular arms filling out his crisp white shirt in a way that made it impossible not to do a double-take. His dark rinse jeans hung loosely from his hips, dropping to the floor in a clean line and then pooling around the brown leather of his boots. His hair, still slightly damp from his shower, was flipped in his signature surfer-boy ‘do, a few strands hanging across his temple. But the best part of this whole package, the detail that shot an instant pang of warmth through her chest, was what he held in his hand … not the bottle of Cabernet he carried, but the single red rose in his other. “Hi.” She couldn’t seem to find additional words in her vocabulary at the moment.

“Hey you.” His voice was low, but still tinged with playfulness as his eyes roamed her body as well. The appreciative look in his stare when he finally settled on her face reassured Blake that she had made a wise selection with the subtly sexy off-the-shoulder black sweater. “You look great.” He paused, his eyes drifting again to the bare skin of her neck and décolleté before he reached forward to offer the flower to her. “Here, this is for you.”

Blake smiled coyly as she took the flower from his fingers, bringing it to her nose to inhale the luxurious scent. Looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes, she arched a brow inquisitively. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were trying to butter me up.”

He chuckled softly, stepping forward and wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Maybe … is it working?” He leaned down, bringing his lips to hers and capturing them in a slow kiss. As he gradually pulled away, his eyes met hers with a gentle sincerity. “It’s a reminder. Don’t you remember?”

Blake recalled his teasing when they first met, less than two months ago yet it felt like so much had changed since then. “Of course … stop and smell the roses. I remember.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, the closeness of his body causing every nerve in her body tingle.

“Good.” He shifted away, the sudden distance between them leaving her cold. He raised the bottle of wine before her, gesturing inside. “I brought wine as well. Can we open it?”

Clearing her throat, Blake tried to reign in her wandering mind. “Of course, come in. You know where the glasses are.” She stepped aside allowing him to brush past her, her gaze unintentionally falling to the curve of his jeans around his backside. Damn, it should be illegal to look that good. With a deep breath in and then out, she closed the door and made her way to the kitchen behind him.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here.” Bryce praised, setting the wine bottle on the kitchen counter before leaning over the pot and inhaling the fragrant food deeply.

“Thanks.” Blake beamed proudly at his compliment, placing the rose in a glass of water before retrieving two wine glasses from the cupboard. “It’s mi abuela’s recipe … she taught me to cook when I was just a little girl. It’s called Carne Guisada, a Mexican beef stew. I just hope I can do it justice.” She poured them both a generous glass of the crimson liquid, handing one to Bryce and allowing her fingers to trail delicately along the inside of his wrist. A tiny gesture he definitely seemed to notice.

“Well if it tastes half as good as it smells, I know I’m in for a treat. Cheers.” His eyes were darker now as he raised his glass to meet hers, the clinking sound reverberating in the air.

“Cheers.” She met his unfaltering gaze, relishing the tension between them as she slowly raised the glass to her lips and swallowed down the velvety wine. She loved this flirtatious little game they were playing, the way he looked at her with such desire and set her body on edge without so much as touching her.

His eyes remained trained on her as he took a long sip from his own glass, then set it down on the counter beside him. Stepping forward he closed the distance between them, his gaze never leaving hers as he took the glass from her hand and set it aside as well. Blake could feel the warmth radiating from his body as he lifted one hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, then trailed it lightly down her jawline. When he reached her mouth he ran his thumb softly along her bottom lip, sending a jolt of arousal straight through her body to settle in between her legs. She whimpered at his touch and at the hungry look in his eyes as they bored into her own. His voice was deep and huskier than usual when he finally spoke. “Can I make a confession?”

Blake released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, shaky and desperate as she peered into his eyes. “Hmm?” Words were beyond her now, her stomach fluttering with delicious anticipation.

She felt his other hand slip past her side, gripping her lower back and easing her flush against his torso. “As wonderful as that stew smells, I’m having a really hard time thinking about anything except how gorgeous you are right now. It’s making it very hard not to just grab you and kiss you.”

Blake inhaled sharply, his words resonating deep within her. If she was completely honest she could care less about eating, the only thing she wanted to taste was standing right in front of her looking like he walked straight out of an issue of GQ. She peered up at him, shallow breaths escaping her slightly-parted smirking lips. “Well, I’m not really hungry yet.”

In one swift movement he leaned down to capture her lips, muffling the deep moan from her throat in his kiss. Gripping him by the collar she kissed him back furiously, opening her mouth slightly to tease the seam of his lips with her tongue. He groaned in approval, his hands sliding down her back to grip her by the thighs and lifting her to sit on the countertop. He pressed into her, his hips aligned between her legs where she wanted to feel him most. Her head fell back at the feel of his lips traveling down her neck and across her collarbone, nipping the tender exposed flesh and causing her to writhe with need. She dropped a hand to brace herself on the counter-

CLANK! They both jumped at the loud noise of the salad bowl making impact on the floor, lettuce and peppers going flying across the kitchen. Blake blinked as she stared at the mess, then burst into laughter gripping Bryce by the shoulders to keep her steady. “We need to stop making messes everywhere we go!”

“Shit, yes we do.” Bryce chuckled and sunk to the floor, beginning to pick up the strewn veggies as Blake slid back to stand on the ground. She watched him fondly as he scrambled to retrieve the produce, then tapped a finger on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Stop, we can do that later. Come on.” She offered him her hand, tugging her lip between her teeth expectantly.

Bryce glanced up at her, then back down at the lettuce in his hand, then back up again … then threw the lettuce on the floor and jumped up to take her hand. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

Blake giggled and tugged him forward by the hand towards her, her laughter vibrating against his lips as she pressed a quick kiss there. “Follow me.” She tugged him again behind her, leading the way to the private haven of her bedroom.

They had barely closed the door when Bryce grabbed her again, holding her tightly and kissing her with such need that it made Blake a bit dizzy. “Wait.” She pressed her palms against his chest, halting his movements and meeting his gaze. She allowed her eyes to drop to her hands, observing the way the white cotton fabric was pulled taut under her fingers against the firm plane of his chest. Finding the first button, then the second, she took her time unfastening each tiny obstacle that stood between her and his bare skin. Her eyes flicked to his as she worked, his pupils dilated so large as he watched her intently that his eyes appeared black in low light of her room. It sent a thrill through her, seeing how much he wanted her through only a glance. After the last button was undone she slid her hands across his skin, the feel of his muscles tensing under her touch exciting her. She tugged the shirt from his shoulders, allowing him to remove it the rest of the way and drop it to the floor. If she hadn’t had other plans for him she could have stared for hours, admiring the curvature of his chest and biceps, the way she could see each distinct ripple of his abs beneath his tan skin, the shadowy lines that formed a V at his waistline and trailed down into the depths of his pants … “Sit down.” She whispered in a raspy tone, nodding towards the bed. He gave her a smug grin as he sauntered to sit on the edge of the bed.

Moving to stand before him, she looped her fingers under the hem of her sweater. “I have a confession, as well.” She admitted, pulling the dense material up over her head and throwing it aside.

Bryce’s gaze raked across the swell of her breasts peeking out of her bra, his hands instinctively moving to cup the bare flesh of her waist. “Oh really? And what is that?” Even with his arousal obvious in his voice, it was still tinged with his characteristic playful tone.

Smirking as she reached behind her back, Blake unhooked her bra and let it fall to the ground, not missing how his eyes widened at his first glimpse of her rosy peaks. “Well …” she started, her hands dropping to her jeans and deftly unbuttoning the fly, “I have to admit that I’ve been thinking about what would happen tonight. Us finally being alone.” She hooked her thumbs in her jeans and slid them down her lean legs, stepping out of them to kick them aside.

Sliding his hands down to cup her ass in his hands, Bryce pulled her to him and pressed his mouth to her belly. Blake curled her fingers in his hair as his breath tickled her skin. “And is this living up to your expectations so far?” He trailed languid, wet kisses from one hipbone to the other, pausing at her belly button to dip his tongue in the crevice.

“Mmm …” she responded with a low appreciative moan, before lifting his head and pressing him down on the bed by his shoulders. “Almost.” She settled down on his lap and laid on top of him, bringing her mouth to meet his and appreciating the way his bare chest felt against hers. His fingers tickled her flushed skin as he ran them down her back, finally resting on her hips firmly as he pressed his growing bulge against her dampening panties. The sensation sent a surge of need to her core, triggering an ache that only grew stronger with each touch.

They explored each other slowly, taking their time to run their hands and their lips to all the tantalizing areas they yearned for and absorbing every delectable moan and growl they earned. Blake found herself on her back, her eyes fluttering in ecstasy as Bryce ran tiny licks down her chest, finally taking one sensitive nipple between his lips as his hand cupped the other breast. She couldn’t decide what felt better, the alternating nips and licks of his mouth or the gentle massage of his talented hands. It was almost more than she could take, the need to feel him inside of her growing with every touch. Her hand found its way into the front of his jeans, his hard tip peeking out of the top of his boxer briefs and twitching against her palm when she wrapped it around him. He took the hint quickly, reaching one hand down to remove his pants and kick them off.

Bryce moved up on the bed to lay beside her, cupping her cheek and tilting her face to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. Blake felt herself melting into his touch, his hand running over her skin and leaving a trail of heat in it wake, finally meeting the damp silky fabric of her panties. She felt him growl into her mouth when he found the wetness there, the sound only exciting her further as he tugged them from her hips and his fingers met the slick flesh that had been hiding beneath.

Blake had always thought Bryce was joking when he said he was good with his hands, chalking it up to a cocky joke that a confident man used to stoke his ego. But damnit … he wasn’t kidding. His fingers were surprisingly gentle yet thorough, sliding into her center so smoothly and reaching that sweet spot over and over again. When he added his thumb to the equation, lightly rubbing it in perfectly synchronized circles around her sensitive nub, the combination sent her quickly barreling towards the edge. She felt her legs start shaking as she neared the precipice, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she finally fell over. Her eyes glazed over with a blinding white light, her body arching off the bed as she cried out in allconsuming pleasure, the residual tremors wracking her body from her center out to her limbs. As she came down she felt boneless, the light pressure of Bryce’s soft kisses finally bringing her back to the moment.

“Oh my god.” She exhaled, running a hand over her face. When she looked over she found Bryce staring at her intently, his eyes still dark with hunger.

He leaned down to place a rough kiss to her mouth, a soft appreciative noise rumbling deep in his throat. “You’re fucking beautiful when you come, do you know that?” He murmured in a growling tone against her lips.

His words awakened her body once again, so satisfied only a moment ago and now aching to feel him. She gripped him by the back of his head and kissed him fiercely, letting him know in no uncertain terms how badly she wanted him. Her hand found its way to his boxers again, this time taking charge and swiftly removing the impending article of clothing in one fell swoop. She moaned against his lips as she gripped his cock, the weight and the girth of it in her hand making her core quiver. The way he thrust his hips into her palm just intensified her need, her body so tightly wound that she felt like she would burst if she couldn’t feel him inside of her soon. “Bryce …” she whimpered, “I need you now.”

Pushing Bryce to lie down on his back, Blake straddled his hips and aligned herself against him. She rocked against him slightly, her wet core sliding easily along his length as she braced herself with her palms against his chest. She eased onto him slowly, watching him with fascination as he closed his eyes to savor the feel of her enveloping him.

Blake rolled her hips against his, starting out slowly as she adjusted to his generous girth but quickly achieving a steady pace as he began thrusting in sync. His hands gripped her hips, the feel of his subtle control as he guided her along with him making it all the more pleasurable. But the look in his eyes, so primal yet filled with awe as if she were the only woman in the world … that look set her body on fire, pushing her closer and closer to sweet release.

As she felt the delicious pressure growing again in her center, Bryce’s movements became more erratic and his breathing more labored. “Oh yes! Bryce!” She moaned loudly as she felt her center start pulsing, then an explosion of pleasure burst from within as her walls fluttered around his cock. With three more powerful thrusts Bryce lost control, spurting his release inside of her with a deep growl.

Sweat-slicked and panting, the two settled onto the bed still wrapped up in each other. When Blake’s heart rate had almost returned to normal, she tilted her head back to peer up at Bryce, eyes closed and visibly relaxed. The image made her grin, this normally assertive and playful man so calm and at peace.

“Stop staring at me, Reyes.” He mumbled, still not opening his eyes.

“I can’t help it, you look so cute when you’re pretending to be asleep.” She chuckled, raising a hand to run a finger down his nose. When she reached the tip he lifted his chin swiftly, chomping his teeth in a mock-bite of her digit.

He looked over at her, his eyes sparkling with affection. “You’re something else, Reyes.” He met her stare with a satisfied grin, a contented look cast upon his features.

Grrrrrr. Bryce’s eyes looked down at his bare torso, chuckling. “Umm, so about that dinner?”

“You are in luck mister … Carne Guisada reheats really well.” She leaned down to place a chaste kiss to his forehead, then jumped up from the bed to retrieve her panties and a baggy t-shirt. “Put something on and I can finally feed you.”

Bryce slid to the edge of the mattress, slipping his boxer briefs up his legs and buttoning his shirt haphazardly around himself. “You better eat something too, you know.”

Blake paused in the doorway, raising a brow at him inquisitively. “Oh really … and why is that?”

Bryce sauntered towards her, cocking his head to the side and smirking devilishly. “Because you’re going to need energy for what I have planned for afterwards.” Met with a playful giggle from Blake, he crouched down and took off in her direction, sending her squealing down the hallway as he chased after her.

END

~~~~~~~~~~

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OH (Bryce) Tags: @keira1416 @mariamulroney @simsvetements

[kootenaygoon]

So,

The sky glowed light purple as Chelsea wandered down the train tracks to Red Sands. Our friendship had fizzled a bit over Christmas, while she engaged with a short-term boyfriend, but as summer approached we’d been hanging out again. She lived in a party house up in Rosemont that was covered in psychedelic paintings, and through her I’d been introduced to a local tattoo artist named Joe Nillo who specialized in avian artwork. He was in the midst of creating a trippy metaphysical version of Mother Nature, using one of her roommates as a model, and I’d written a glowing feature about him for the Star.

"There’s two quotes from that Joe Nillo story that I really love. There’s one where he compares watching Alex Grey work to ‘watching God with a sore back watering some flowers’,” I told Chelsea.

"Then the other was: ‘God made man in his image, but that doesn’t mean he looks like us and wears T-shirts. It means he’s a creator and he wants us to create.’”

Chelsea took a slug from the beer in her hand. “I like that. Except God is a she, for sure. The divine feminine giving birth to the universe.”

“I’ve always figured God would be a mix of both, like masculinity and femininity mashed together into a giant cosmic mix. Do you even believe in God?”

She shook her head. “Not God like most people understand it, but there’s definitely an energy that’s bigger than all of us. A power to the universe that’s beyond our comprehension.”

“I like that quote ‘a God comprehended is not God’.”

She turned to me, intrigued. “I’ve never heard that.”

“I picked it up in this comparative religions class in college. It’s this German hymn writer named Tersteegen. I get a kick out of that idea, that we can’t even try to wrap our heads around God, like we shouldn’t even try.”

“But we do anyways.”

“Exactly.”

As we rounded the bend towards Red Sands Chelsea was balancing on the track with her arms out, clearly tipsy. We’d been drinking for a few hours and had smoked three or four joints during that time. She always had killer weed. At least one of her roommates was a pot dealer, if not all of them, and they sustained a party lifestyle I was already too old for. At one point she lived with Blayne, who was now permanently settled out in Victoria, but now the house was occupied by her, her adorable friend Aussie Chris, and Joe’s ex Kylie.

“For me, it’s not even a choice,” she said. “I just have to create. My work just sort of flows out of me without my permission. I don’t even like thinking about a life without that creative outlet, without my writing, because it would just be empty.”

I nodded. “Plus you have that performance element. Most of my work is designed to be read in silence, but your poetry begs to be sung.”

She laughed. “I’m not singing for you tonight. Not while I’m drunk. I’d be too embarrassed.”

When we reached the opening in the forest that led to the beach, I walked in front of Chelsea so she wouldn’t slip out of her sandals as we worked our way down the slope. The horizon had darkened to a royal purple that made the ground lilac.

“So how does your friend feel about Joe spending all this time painting her? They broke up, right? Isn’t it kind of awkward he’s obsessing over an art version of her?”

“Kylie was kind of weirded out at first, but she gets it. His art is his whole life. And I think secretly she’s flattered. Even through all their fighting, he’s still spending all this time trying to get her exactly right. And I bet when he’s finished he’ll give it to her.”

“I saw the painting in his studio, with the universe growing out of her palm. Trippy shit.”

“Yeah, it’s dope. He’s been slaving over it for like a year now, adding details and layers and new elements. He works on it live at music festivals, feeding off the energy of the crowd.”

“That’s so cool. He told me he’s going to be at Kamp and Shambhala this year, and I’m going to both. I told Ed that this is the year I want to go to all the major festivals, become the resident expert.”

Chelsea took another long haul of her beer as we settled on a spot, right in the middle of the beach, to lay down a towel. This was becoming an increasingly romantic encounter and I was feeding off her flirtatious energy, even though I knew she was on the verge of road-tripping down to California for the summer. We’d established the platonic nature of our relationship many times, but tonight felt like a good opportunity to nuke that plan. I maneuvered my body under hers and she settled on my chest with her eyes heavenward.

“I heard you took naked pictures of Blayne here,” she said, after a long comfortable silence. “She showed them to my roommates.”

I took a sip of beer, not sure how to play this. “She asked me to do a photo shoot with her last year and there were just a few, yeah, that were nudes. She wanted to show off her new tattoo. I knew her from burlesque world.”

“And you guys weren’t even hooking up?”

“It wasn’t about that. It was the images I was most interested in. I feel like it’s more intimate than sex, letting someone see you like that. I actually wrote a non-fiction piece about it while I was at UBC years ago called ‘What I look like naked’.”

She rolled over, pressing her body tight to mine. She was close enough that I could smell the alcohol on her breath. “Have you done that a lot? Taken erotica shots for women?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think of them as erotica. I mean, I’ve sexted before and I’ve taken photos that are pornographic, but shoots like that are about worship. I want the women to feel worshipped. I want the images to reflect that. Reflect my obsession with the female form.”

She blinked for a long moment, her eyes in shadow.

“I hooked up with this girl in Thailand right around the end of my trip overseas a few years ago. She was a geneticist from Berkeley and she showed me these nude photos her boyfriend had taken of her in Yosemite Park,” I said.

“She took them in the exact place her mother had taken nude photos thirty years earlier. Her mother had told her that when she grew older she would want these mementos of how she looked in her prime, with the flush of youth and love. They weren’t crass or sexualized at all. They just showed this empowered girl mid-hike in love with her body and in love with life.”

“Cool.”

“I figure if that’s a gift I can give someone, then that’s pretty fucking meaningful. And honestly, those pictures of Blayne are some of the most beautiful images I’ve ever captured in my whole life.”

“I didn’t actually see them, but Kylie described them to me. She said there was one where you had her hold a little leaf to cover herself, Eve-style?”

I laughed. “Yeah, and I used the smallest leaf I could find. The whole shoot had a Garden of Eden vibe, an innocence to it. It was like going backwards in time back to Genesis, before the shame God rained down on us, and finding something pure.”

For a while we were quiet, as the wind picked up and pulled at our clothing. Chelsea kept her face against my chest, one hand stroking my ribs, as we segued back to the topic of God. I told her about my Christian upbringing, about Camp Qwanoes and how I lost my faith. I told her about how I’ve never really gotten over it.

“You’re going to find a way to believe again. I’m sure you will. I don’t know what you’re going to believe in, but you’ll find something.”

I sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Then she was kissing me. We rolled together until I was looming over her on the blanket. She watched as I undid her jean shorts and shimmied them down her legs. Our mouths surged back and forth while my left hand stroked her legs, massaging them. I hooked her underwear with a thumb and pulled. When she began to moan moments later it sounded exactly like her singing voice, a rhythmic ululation.

“Hold on,” she said. “Hold on, hold on.”

I stopped, pulling my head back.

“I’m really into this and everything, but I can’t go there tonight. I’m sorry. My heart’s too raw, I don’t want to leave for California with any attachments, I just need to stop here, okay? Is it okay if we stop?”

I nodded. “Of course. That makes perfect sense. We’re okay.”

For the next few moments we fumbled our way through getting her clothes back on, my erection screaming disappointed. I stroked Chelsea’s hair and held her face with both hands. Sometimes I forgot she was a decade younger than me, but it was very apparent in these moments. She was a girl, open-minded but still inexperienced. I’d been consumed in the grey chaos of the Kootenays’ sexual landscape, but ordinary monogamy was the only mode she understood. It was either fall in love or don’t engage at all, which was how I used to be when I was her age. Her purity was heart-breaking.

“You’re such an awesome guy, really,” she said, apologetic. “It’s not about you.”

“Don’t say anything else about it. I understand. No worries.”

Chelsea stood up, cracked a new beer, and gazed up at the black silhouette of Elephant Mountain. She was visibly trembling. I wondered if I’d done something wrong here, if I’d fucked up our friendship irrevocably. Was everything going to be different now? It had felt right, connecting with her, but maybe I needed to fundamentally course correct how I approached relationships. I finished my beer, threw it down, then walked over to embrace her from behind. She sighed into my hug, pressing her face against mine. Then she turned to face me.

“One day I want you to take my picture.”

The Kootenay Goon

[imguilty]

Proposal

Schuldig stood in the kitchen staring down at the percolator, he wished that machines had minds he could read so he could see why the damn thing was taking it's damn time in making coffee this morning. He had been clean and sober for a while now, but that didn't mean he still had an itch for caffeine in the morning, he had started taking his coffee black, he didn't particularly love it that way, but it felt the most potent to him, the most poison-like thing he was allowed to let spoil his body. He waited for his afternoon walks with Maggie to the park to indulge in a sugary coffee treat from a local shop, they always topped it with extra whipped cream for him, but that may or may not have been due to his own supernatural influence. Nagi came in, muttering a soft morning as he scratched at his unkept hair. He needed a hair cut, the undercut had started to grow out, he'd do it for him later. there were still lines from the pillow on his face as he opened the fridge to get his own cream, and a little bit of dried spit at the corner of his mouth. Schuldig smiled at him, as he gently poked into his morning thoughts, a jumble of what his day would consist of, of what he wanted for breakfast, of when they should get maggie up, and still thinking of their night prior, wine on the porch, a tangle of limbs together, and the way he had laid in bed and watched Schuldig sleep before he drifted off himself. This thought turned into smoke pretty quick when the younger psychic saw Schuldig staring at him. "What?" he asked his thoughts becoming a little defensive. "Is there something on my face?" He asked wiping it from the corner of his lips. "Yes." Schuldig said with a nod "But thats not why I was staring." he said softly with a sly smile that made Nagi blush a little. His thoughts instantly turned from the pure romantic feelings he had to something a bit more lustful, and he cast his eyes away but did nothing to conceal his thoughts, daring the other to act on them. "See anything you like?" he asked sidling up to him to slip by and grab the coffee pot. an unecessary move on his part as he could have just used his ability to pour it, but the closeness was welcomed and Schuldig leaned into him. "I see a lot that I like." he said smiling down into his partner's face. He waited until the coffee was back in it's place. "A lot that I'm loving actually." "You going soft on me?" Nagi asked him as he used his powers to pour Schuldig a mug, it would be cool enough to drink whenever they were done whatever they were moving toward. "Yeah, thats what happens when you quit hard drugs. You go soft." He said reminding Nagi of his sobriety, he was proud of it, even if half of him was still bitter at the same time. But he did it for Nagi, and it had been hard on both of them. Nagi placed a hand on his chest and rubbed him through his under shirt. "I like you soft" his hand moved lower, slipping into his boxers "Well, I like most of you soft." he said playfully and gave him a squeeze. 

Schuldig pressed into him and smiled "Should we go back upstairs, or you want to chance a walk in." Nagi hummed "I like a little danger in the morning." he said knowing their daughter could be up any moment as he sunk down to his knees. "Thats not what you were thinking of a moment ago." Schuldig reminded him, putting the idea back in his head of Nagi bracing himself against the counter top while Schuldig pulled his hair back. He enjoyed the rush of thoughts and pleasure he received in return. "If you've got two rounds in you, you can fuck me like that after." He said slipping the boxers down to expose him. "Such language so early in the morning." Schuldig teased watching his lover start to massage his shaft, kissing along the side of it. "I must have been something else last night to deserve this." Nagi grinned "Would have woken you up like this if I got up first." he told him, before his mouth became busy with something more exciting than talking. Schuldig sighed a little and let his head fall back. "You know what I've been thinking about?" he asked Nagi, hand going to the back of his head and rubbing his messy hair, this would be a psychic conversation, he didn't have to answer verbally and could keep using his mouth as he was. What?  came the response from Nagi even as he did his best to guess, throwing more dirty thoughts of what they could do in the kitchen after he was done pleasing him in this way. "I was thinking we should get married." Schuldig said as casually as he was discussing what their breakfast should be. Nagi paused, his mind skipping a beat, and he pulled back, a fine line of saliva still connecting to Schuldig's dick. "We're already married." he reminded him looking confused and a little annoyed wondering for only a split second if he was really back on taking things, or also a slight tinge of worry that maybe he had forgotten, that thought was stronger than the worry of the drugs. "I know." Schuldig said still with that same smile. "I want to have a wedding this time though." "Are we seriously talking about this right now." Nagi said motioning with one hand back to the cock in front of his face. Though his worries were washing away and he was thinking of what this could mean, some cautious hope mixed in with his confusion. "Oh please." Schuldig said gesturing in the same manner "Continue" he said politely as he welcomed Nagi to it. The psychic contemplated for a second and then leaned back in to continue, his hands going to his balls to massage those slowly. "We've made a lot of friends now that we've settled, and you deserve better than just a court house ceremony...thats what I was thinking about because I uh-" Nagi had picked up the pace a little, he was liking what he was hearing. "I love you and ah-" he gave him a nice squeeze. "Jesus babe...." Nagi was looking up at him, taking him all in and he closed his eyes and picked up the pace, bobbing fast and Schuldig's knees barely buckled and he moved to brace himself on the counter as his husband used his abilities to press against his prostate, "Ahh." Schuldig bit his lip, trying to keep himself muffled as Nagi's activities and thoughts took over his mind, full of dirty thoughts and boquets of white flowers, and of course how turned on he was getting just from his knees hurting from the tile floor. "Fuck" he nearly barked as he came, and Nagi swallowed all of it, his free hand gripping Schuldigs back side and holding him in close. He let him slip away once he was done and he wiped at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Sorry I interrupted you." Nagi said "Go on, because you love me and?" he asked looking up at his panting partner. Schuldig shook his head and Nagi was about to goad him on but Schuldig took a breath. "Maggie." he said a warning that their daughter was up and on the move. Nagi quickly stood, adjusted Schuldig's boxers back in their proper place, his own tented from their activities and he stood facing the window overlooking the bay as he grabbed his coffee. His daughter, their daughter, entered the room a moment later, sleepy eyed and yawning. "Papa." she addressed Schuldig, "I had a dream about pancakes" she told him. Schuldig knew that wasn't true but he looked amazed anyway "You must be psychic" he told her with a smile "We were about to make some!" Maggie looked delighted at this and Nagi gave a little nod, still facing the sink. "It's beautiful out." he told her "Why don't you run to the workshop and get your tea party china? We'll have a fancy breakfast on the deck?" "Can we have the linens?" She asked sounding more excited by this idea, as if she couldn't believe she woke up to such a dream. "Of course, and all the whipped cream you want." Schuldig nodded, hoping they had whipped cream, asking Nagi silently if they had whipped cream, Nagi nonverballyconfirmed they did, and then planted a secondary use for it in his mind as well. "You take your time, make sure everything is perfect." Schuldig said with a nod and watched as Maggie rushed from the room and out the sliding glass door. in her rush she left it open and Nagi closed it from where he was standing, then locked it as well. "You're evil." Schuldig said turning toward him with a little laugh, finding it amusing he locked their daughter out of the house to get some more alone time. "You've just gone soft." Nagi said reminding him again, and then there was a force around his cock again getting him to groan, Nagi pulled on his t-shirt bringing him in for another deep kiss. "Lets get married." he said outloud finally agreeing with him, and he pulled him down to the floor, pushing him to his back as he climbed on top of him, hurriedly stripping them both of their clothes much to Schuldig's delight. "I didn't expect this reaction from you." He said honestly, though not finding a problem with it. "Shut up. I'm just horny." "Horny for looove" he teased, even as knew it was more than that. Schuldig had asked him a long time ago to be married to him, while he was puking again from a hang over, and Nagi was patting his forehead with a cold towel, He felt the care from him then and blurted it out, Nagi having not taken him seriously at all in the moment, but he asked him again once he had been tucked in bed with his empty stomach, and tried to pitch that they should do it for Maggie, their jobs were dangerous, if anything ever happened to him, and Nagi had thought about it for a while, hurt that it wasn't because he loved him and agreed it was probably the smartest move. Even if Nagi could fudge all the documents anyway, even if he could slip off grid and make them virtually disappear in a moment if he had too, he loved Schuldig and he wanted to wear the ring. Later Schuldig had tried his best to convince him it wasn't just for that security that he did love him, but there was always a doubt there, there was always remembrance of others he had loved, and even if they didn't work so hard to convince each other anymore, even if Nagi still thought sometimes on a hard night that Schuldig just used him all these years, this was validation. Schuldig would never want a wedding just for a show. He wanted a wedding because he wanted a wedding, and this had opened Nagi up completely and validated some emotions he had buried for so long. Nagi had gotten him hard again and guided his shaft into him with a gasp. He wasted no time in starting to ride him as hard as he could on the kitchen floor, Schuldigs head bumping against the tile as he arched. "You want me to wear white?" Nagi asked him stroking his cock for his husband to watch. "Even if you turned me into such a slut?" he asked him breathlessly. "A fucking cock-whore" Schuldig grunted grabbing his thighs. "Say it again." "A fucking whore." Nagi moaned and moved faster, his cheeks flushed body shaking. "White...everything is white..." he nodded planning their wedding as pleasure rushed through him. Schuldig saw the visions coming together in his head and he nodded. "choke me." Schuldig grunted and his air cut off as Nagi's psychic powers obeyed. Nagi bounced, and cried out as he came all over Schuldig's stomach, feeling the german finish deep inside him as well as he whimpered and rocked his hips dutifully. A gasp of breath came from him and Nagi leaned down to kiss him passionately, hips still moving slowly as a few tears fell from his face. "God, we deserve each other don't we?" he asked him with a smile. Schuldig gasped and gave a little nod "After everything, I think we do." Schuldig smiled at him and leaned up to kiss him, bringing him down into a passionate embrace and letting the feeling of love circle through them before Nagi broke away in a series of small kisses and did his best to find his footing. Schuldig also climbed to his feet and they cleaned each other off in the sink before they started to make breakfast, flushed and shaky. "My coffee is cold." schuldig said looking sadly into his cup. Nagi grinned at him. "Suffer." he said before shooing him out of the kitchen to go and help Maggie with the table outside. Though he couldn't stop smiling. A wedding. A real wedding. After everything they had been through together this felt real and blissful and he was so proud of everything Schuldig had accomplished over the past few years, his mind was a tizzy, a guest list, the arrangements, when they would have it, Maggie dressed as a flower girl, and he couldn't stop glancing out the window and seeing Schuldig smiling too.