#then i was staring out the window in my chair with hot spiced tea looking at the rain falling and the people walking past

[eccedeus]

I'm feeling a sort of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind house on the beach scene, Thinking of a Place by The War on Drugs, nutmeg cinnamon and warm apple, hot chocolate, bright blue and white cast mornings winter coming on...

[storiesofsvu]

Pumpkin Spice

A piece of SSS The Early Years No real pairing. Flirtation with Casey, mention of Rita x reader. Warnings: language, chaos/sass, mentions of Alex’s “death”. Covers the PSL square for bingo.

Autumn had fallen over the city, the air finally cooled enough to leave windows open all day, the nights filled with tea and hot chocolate, walks through the park including going out of your way to crunch on orange and yellow leaves. You were well settled into Manhattan’s Vice squad, your stint working with the FBI having finally come to a close (much to the relief of your Mother).

Today, you’d been called to testify in one of the open cases, spending the morning at the courthouse, managing to slip out for lunch with your work partner Ayanna, gossiping and nearly trash talking over your food. Afterwards, she headed back to the precinct, ready to take a couple of new statements on your most recent case while you took a bit of a longer break, knowing that you should probably stick around the courthouse to see how things landed at the end of the day.

On your way back, you popped around the corner to the Starbucks, thanks to fall, they’d finally launched their autumn menu, and you were eager to get your first pumpkin spiced latte of the season. You ordered a second one on top of yours, knowing that despite not being a coffee drinker, usually opting for tea instead, Alex had such an incredible weakness for the sugary beverage. It had started back when you were in college, before the blonde had moved off to Massachusetts to go to Harvard, the late nights studying, and your love for the seasonal drink prompting her to try one. You often teased her about it, especially once you’d settled into your professional fields, lawyers usually preferring plain or unflavoured caffeinated beverages. It became your tradition, you’d always meet up the first day they launched, chatting animatedly as you caught up over coffee, often ranting about college classes, complaining about work, how certain cases were dragging you down. You wondered briefly if she’d had one already this year since they’d been out for a week or so, but you’d been so caught up in work, you’d nearly forgotten.

Thanks to your Mom, you’d had clearance into the DA’s office since you were around eight, now, if the front desk didn’t know you, a simple flash of the badge was all it would take to be able to make your way to the elevator. You were up on the fourth floor, a smile on your face as you approached Alex’s office, excited, unable to truly remember the last time you’d actually gotten to see her. Your arm outstretched to push open the door when you realized it was shut, and then you remembered.

You let out a disappointed sigh, your fingers softly dancing across the engraved glass, ‘Alexandra Cabot’ had been wiped away two weeks ago. A new name in its place, you did your best to not roll your eyes, not sure who had taken over the office, but ‘Kristen Torres’ wasn’t who you were looking for right now. You glanced at your watch, wondering if your Mom would be in her office or off chasing around whatever baby prosecutors were working SVU right now, figuring you may as well try, you headed back to the elevator, going up a couple of floors.

Thankfully, her office door was open, you knocked briefly on the frame before leaning against it, giving her a moment to wrap up the phone call, seeing if she had a moment to talk or was too busy.

“Are you going to come in or are you just going to stare?” Liz asked dryly, though you knew she was teasing. You let out a small huff of a laugh, stepping into her office, “aren’t you a bit out of your neighbourhood?”

“I had to testify.” You placed a cup down on her desk as you dropped into a chair, “and…that’s not your usual…”

“Oh?” She raised a brow.

“It’s pumpkin spice…” you nearly winced and Liz rolled her eyes.

“It’s not my favourite, but it’s caffeine, so I’ll take it.” She took a swig, grimacing at the sweetness of it, “why did you show up here with two pumpkin lattes?”

“I got it for Alex…” you frowned as you took a sip of your own, “forgot about it til I was at her office door. I guess I didn’t realize I hadn’t been here since it happened.”

“You alright sweetheart?” Liz asked softly, her eyes fixed on you as she watched you play with the hem of your blazer, knowing just how much you missed one of your best friends.

“Yeah.” You flashed her a smile, a genuine real one, “I mean, it took a lot to get over, and it’ll take a long time to cope with these little things we used to do together. But I know things will all work out, certain things will just take some time. I’m good. I promise.”

“You’d tell me if it was bothering you, right?”

“Of course.” You nearly laughed, “Mom, come on, when have I ever been anything but open with you? I miss Alex, I really do. And as much as I wanted to transfer into SVU to try and take down the bastard that…killed her, there were no openings, and that’s whatever life has planned for me. I know that wherever I end up, is where I’m meant to be. I lost a friend, and that sucks.” You shrugged, “are you okay?” You cocked a brow, “it’s not your fault either. It was her job to take the Zapata case, you didn’t force her into it. And lord knows you weren’t the one who made her sass Zapata and bring up his manhood and sex life in an interrogation room.”

“She never was dull.” Liz laughed softly.

“How’s Aunt Lena holding up?”

“She’s alright. It’s still bothering her. I mean she did know Alexandra since she was a baby, but she’ll get through it. Like all of us will.” You let out a soft sigh, taking another swig of your coffee, humming in satisfaction at the sweet little treat before Liz spoke again, “how’s work?”

“Meh.” You shrugged, “I start a new UC op in two weeks.”

“Jesus. Again?!”

“The last one was already a couple of months ago.” You defended.

“Please tell me you won’t be living in some kind of drug den this time?”

“I’m using Dad’s old apartment, just in case.”

“What op is it?”

“I’ll be running a sex ring. We’re trying to pin a couple of the really big pimps.”

“Just be careful.”

“I will. Always am.” You assured her, “we’ve been digging into these guys for months already, we’re prepared as all hell, and we know exactly what we’re walking into.”

“Alright.” She eyed you suspiciously for a moment over the rim of her coffee mug, taking another sip. “This is disgusting.” She grimaced, pushing the cup back closer to you and you laughed.

“Hey, you don’t have to drink it.”

“I don’t know how you’re my kid and can fathom shit that sweet.”

“It’s a seasonal treat!” You laughed, “it’s not like I’m drinking them every day.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

You opened your mouth to sass her back when there was a sudden interruption barreling through the open door in the form of a stunning redhead swiftly moving through the room and tossing a newspaper onto Liz’s desk.

“Carolyn Spencer just shot BJ Cameron in the middle of the street.”

“Is he dead?” You asked out of sheer curiosity, and the complete and utter desire to keep this woman talking, the husk of her voice was like fucking silk. You could already feel Liz’s judging eyes on you from across the desk but like hell if you cared.

“No.” She huffed, “he’s being a whiny fucking moron like always.” She suddenly glanced down, noticing the shield and gun clipped to your belt, her eyes darting over to Liz’s, “sorry.” She winced at the profanity, “and sorry for interrupting, I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”

“Oh it is anything but that.” Liz laughed, “y/n here was just leaving.”

“Rude.” You shot back, “and to think I even brought you coffee.”

“You didn’t bring me coffee! You bought pumpkin garbage for someone else who’s not here.”

Rolling your eyes you huffed, pushing up to standing, your eyes dragging up Casey, “you at least gonna introduce me?”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Liz muttered and you huffed again, extending your hand out to the redhead.

“Detective Winters, I’m with VICE.”

“Casey Novak, sex crimes…obviously.” She half gestured around the office as she shook your hands.

“Are you new? I haven’t seen you around before?”

“I was white collar, I got transferred in when…”

“Alex, yeah.” You pouted for a half second before dropping her hand and turning back to your Mom, “at least sheappreciated my pumpkin coffee.” You dumped your empty one into the trash, swiping the half full one from the desk that she didn’t want.

“Hey! That is too much caffeine.”

“Ohoho…okay.” You mocked, “too much caffeine. Jesus.”

“If you’re going to give me that much attitude can you at least go get me an actual coffee?”

“Don’t you have some lackey to do that for you?” You turned your attention back to Casey, “tell me, thoughts on pumpkin lattes?”

“Love ‘em.”

“See?” You raised a brow to Liz for a moment before turning back to the redhead, pulling a business card out of your pocket, “if you text me sometime I’ll buy ya one.” You grinned across at her, Casey took the card, pocketing it with a small thank you, her cheeks pinking at the fact that all of this was happening in front of her boss.

“Oh good god no!” Liz groaned, “would you get out of my office!?” Luckily for her, your phone pinged before you had a moment to sass her again.

“Whoop. Jury’s back, gotta go. It was great to meet you Case.” You shot her a wink that had her fumbling as you scurried out of the office. Liz dropped her head, pinching at the bridge of her nose while Casey sat herself down into one of the chairs.

“Sorry about all of…that.” Liz’s hand waved towards the door where you’d just disappeared.

“It’s fine. Are you overseeing VICE now too?”

“No.” She laughed, “Detective Winters, is my daughter.”

“Really?” Casey’s brow furrowed, her cheeks heating even more, she could suddenly feel your business card burning through her pocket.

“I was young and dumb once Casey, married an idiot, got her out of it.”

“Oh…I…uh..”

“You can text her if you’d like.” She stated dryly, “just for the love of all things holy do not make her more chaotic than she already is? The two of you separate are enough to give me an aneurysm on a regular day.”

“Oh…okay. Is she…always that…forward?”

“It’s to annoy me.” She rolled her eyes, “now…what do you have for me about Carolyn Spencer?”

The conversation moved back to work as Casey shook off the flustered state you’d left her in, managing to pull through and figure out a way to work a deal that would satisfy everyone on her current case. It was about a week later that she was stuck on something, in dire need of a pick me up, and ended up running into you at Starbucks. An evening of pumpkin spiced coffee spitballing over your separate cases moved over to Beekman, where beers and appetizers were shared as you started to get to know each other. And very unluckily for your Mother, it led to a lifelong, very chaos filled friendship.

No matter what was going on, you always met that first week of September to make time for each other over the autumn beverage. You were more than ecstatic when Alex was back and she joined in on your little coffee dates, and honestly, you were surprised when further down the road you managed to wrangle Rita into coming, although she always insisted on her regular order, the only pumpkin spice she was getting was from little stolen kisses, claiming the only sweetness she needed in her life was you.

_____________ @natasha-danvers @laurenhope13 @imlike-so-gaydude @wannabe-fic-reader @altsvu @disneyfan624 @svulife-rl @svushots @gay-ass-bitch @lesbianspacecowboy @whimsicallymad @mysticfalls01 @oliviaswifey @thatgaygiraffesquirrelgirl @swimmingstudentchaos891 @nocreditinthestraightworld @beccabarba @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @molllss @wosoimagines @lawandorderimagines @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @emskisworld @thestarrynightslover @newyorker14 @ex-uallyactive @mmmmokdok @wandasbrat @lustvolle-liebe @disn3y7 @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @season4scullyhair @narvaldetierra @Annieray2020

[angryschnauzer]

Imagine you're Henry's neighbour, you've heard his conquests, have to admit you're a little jealous as they all sound happy. But it make you wonder if they are faking it.

You chat to friend on the phone whilst in the garden, not realising he can hear you.

The knock on your door later that evening was unexpected but when you see your hot neighbour there you have no idea why.

Until he offers to show you just why those other women were so happy

Okay so i decided to continue my PE Teacher Henry series with this one, previous parts below:

Thigh Riding,  Jingle My Bells , An Epic Quickie

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of Angst, talk of breakups, young idiots in love.

The Boy Next Door

The sun was shining and the sounds of late summer could be heard as the four of you settled on dining chairs that had been pulled out onto the ramshackle patio so you could celebrate moving into the shared house for your last year of Uni and doing Post-Graduate for teaching. Opening a chilled bottle of Echo Falls Rose Zinfandel, Marie sloshed it into the four waiting glasses, handing on to each of you;

“Here’s to just one more year of Uni, then we can be set free onto the world of teaching education rather than being taught!”

The four of you had all done your degree’s together, and by the end of your 3rd year you had moved into a shared house to save on halls of residence costs. When you’d all decided to attend the same Uni for your Post Graduates qualification it was the easy choice to decide to rent together, and you’d manage to snag a gorgeous multi level Victorian town house to rent for the year. The landlord had admitted a few things needed to be updated, but it was a short walk from campus so in exchange for a reduction in rent you’d found the perfect place. 

By the time the 3rd bottle of Zinfandel was opened you were all pleasantly merry, and from the advantage point of the raised patio where the garden dipped away as it went downhill you could see the road that ran alongside the house next door that yours was connected to. The corner house had looked a lot more appealing, but the rent had been considerably higher, so the compromise was that you’d rented the one away from the street corner. Just at that moment another Removals Truck pulled up alongside the corner house, and you could hear various cars park behind it, the sound of young male voices easily heard. It was obvious you had a group of male students living next door.

-

Three weeks into term and you were sat at the desk in your room, glaring at the wall in front of you. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate on how to teach fronted adverbials, the screams of the woman obviously on the verge on an orgasm from the guys house next door just reminded you of your lack of love life. With a sigh you set your pencil down and headed downstairs, away from the obvious now orgasming woman.

“Oh hey Hunny, thought you were catching up on some English Lit stuff?” Marie smiled as she poked at an egg she was attempting to fry on the small electric cooker.

“I was… until there was another screamer next door”

“Oh… another one?” she winced, knowing that from the 2nd day the guys next door had moved in, the one that was in the room next to you had been able to bed a different girl about every three nights or so.

You grabbed a glass of water and stepped outside, letting the sunshine warm your face. Opening your Motorolla Flip Phone you scrolled through your texts, smiling as you saw messages from last years classmates, checking in on how everyone was doing. You were vaguely aware of Marie coming outside, setting a plate down on the patio wall and the click of her lighter as she lit a Royals cigarette.

“You still miss him, don’t you?” she asked.

Pulling your gaze up to her, your eyes immediately growing wet. Nodding you swallowed the lump in your throat. Wrapping your arms around your body you looked out over the garden;

“I know… it’s stupid. Its been two years, and it was a mutual decision to part ways, but Henry was my first, you know? He was my first everything. We got together when we were sixteen, we made it through our A-Levels together, we even managed a year doing long distance when we didn’t get into the same Uni…”

“What about that dude… Chris? Didn’t you two have a thing a while back”

You let out a laugh;

“He loves his politics too much to commit to a relationship. If i had to listen to one more rant about Tony Blair whilst we tried to go out for dinner i would have screamed…”

You looked at Marie who was now halfway through her fried egg sandwich whilst her cigarette sat smouldering in the petunias that had mostly gone over for the season, and she gave you the ‘sad puppy eyes’ as she chewed. You let out a grunt of frustration;

“FUCK! I just want to not feel like this anymore! I’ve spent two years moping over Henry-fucking-Cavill, i just want to be able to get on with my post graduate and move on with my life without being constantly reminded of his skills every time i try to do any work in my room!”

-

Henry smiled and waved as Monica, no Michelle, no… wait… whoever made their way down the front steps of the house, closing the door with a sigh of relief. 

“Another one dude?”

Looking at where Anthony was coming down the stairs he nodded;

“Yup. Sorry about the noise” 

He followed his housemate through to the kitchen, switching the kettle on. He was now used to Henry’s conquests screaming the house down, but it was still fun to taunt Henry about the noise they would make;

“So, this was was faking it again?”

Henry looked at him in mock-shock;

“I can assure you none of them fake it”

Chucking teabags into two mugs Anthony chuckled;

“I know man. But i also know you’re still trying to fill the void she left. Its been two years man”

“Yeah, but she’s long gone, i’m her past, i’d only drag her down. She’s probably got some hot politics graduate about to propose to her. She wouldn’t want some dumb physical education ass like me anymore”

Handing him the strong cup of tea Anthony nodded;

“Whatever man, but i still think you should message her, you haven’t spoken in two years and you’re still hung up on her, one last try, huh?”

Heading out to the garden Henry sat on the patio wall and lit a cigarette. He’d sworn he’d never smoke again, what with being a physical education student, but there were still times when he buckled to his nerves and stresses. Lighting up he inhaled deeply, enjoying the quiet of the garden before he heard his neighbours come out onto the patio next door. Through the trellis covered in a thick layer of ivy he could hear everything, as although it did a great job at giving visual privacy, the clear voices of the young women next door carried easily through the greenery.

Ten minutes later Henry almost knocked Anthony over as he bolted up the stairs;

“Sorry man, got something to do… gotta get my Blackberry”

-

The next morning you were on your way to class when your phone chimed, looking at the screen you felt your blood run hot then cold at the name on the display;

“What does he want?” you muttered to yourself, before with a sigh you pushed the phone back into your bag, deciding to look at it later once you had finished your class. The last thing you needed to get your mind off of Henry was a text from him.

-

Making your way out to the patio, you threw your bag onto the sofa and smiled as you saw the rest of the girls already out enjoying the last of the days sunshine;

“Heeeyyyyy there she is” Janelle called, sipping from a bottle of Becks

“Is there any more of those? I need a drink”

Handing you a bottle Marie smiled as you smashed the cap off using the top brick of the wall, sipping the tart bubbles of Lager you let out a sigh;

“Henry texted me today”

The three girls went quiet before Jo spoke;

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it. I’m trying to get over him, the last thing i need is getting my hopes up. He’s hundreds of miles away, no doubt doing something super sporty that only makes him look even better, probably coaching kids rugby or something. He’s not gonna want some boring English teacher wannabe like me”

At the mere mention of the word ‘Wannabe’ the others broke into a poor rendition of the Spice Girls song, unaware of the silent frustration happening the other side of the ivy trellis.

-

After one beer you’d excused yourself, deciding to take advantage of the quiet to get some coursework done, thankful that your room neighbour on the other side of the wall wasn’t entertaining any female guests again, but you had no idea how long that would last so the sooner you got some work done the better. With your bedroom window open you got back to work, getting in a full hour before your phone chimed again with another text. Glancing at the little screen on the front you scowled, another text from Henry.

Setting the phone down you went back to your work, frowning as you struggled to concentrate, until five minutes later your phone chimed again, your eyes going wide when you saw it was yet another text from Henry;

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!” you yelled at your phone.

“A REPLY!”

You sat at your desk, surely your ears were now playing tricks on you, you could have sworn you’d heard Henry’s voice. With a sigh you set your pencil down and opened your phone, reading the messages;

Received 8.46am: Hi. I know its been a long time but i’d love to call you at some point. Would be good to hear your voice. Hen. x

Received 4.55pm: Miss you. Can I call you? Hen. x

The phone beeped whilst you held it, another text coming in;

Received 4.59pm:

Look outside.

Glancing at your window you moved to it and looked out, before a voice so familiar it sent chills down your spine shouted out;

“Down here!”

-

Janelle shouted out as you flew down the stairs, Jo and Marie both staring at the blur you made as you ran past the lounge and out the front door, letting it swing on its hinges;

“Where is she going so fast?”

The three girls stood at the window and smiled as they wanted to run into Henry’s arms;

“Into her future Husband’s embrace” Marie sighed, the three watching as the young lovers fell back into each other's arms.

“Wait, is he the ‘loud’ one?” Jo asked to no-one in particular

“Unfortunately… i spoke to one of the other guys - Anthony - last week, he apologised for his housemates noises”

“Oh well… guess she can get us some ear plugs then”

[crowtrinkets]

A World Knowing You Aren’t in it

Prompt request from @mouselungs​ 

*forehead kiss* ty for that sweet sweet angst 

I wrote this at 1-2 am after watching a sad movie so uh yea I take my angst v seriously lol

Gender Neutral Pronouns for Apprentice, He/They Pronouns for Asra

Word Count: 2,208

I push my way into my shop, unwrapping my scarf from around my face. I take a deep slow breath of the not-so-fresh air mixed with dust and magical goods long since past their expiration. Wearing face coverings, just to go shopping in the market is necessary but I can't help but miss the days I could breathe in the fresh scents of spices and my favorite pumpkin bread without worry of getting sick.

"Asra? I'm back," I call out. I hear thumping traveling from the second floor and down the steps. A cloud of fluffy white hair pokes out from behind a curtain.

"Welcome home," he gives me a warm smile to which I return with my own.

"They were out of potatoes, something about merchants being scared of trade with Vesuvia," I follow them back up the stairs carrying my basket, sparse with groceries.

"I can't say I blame them," Asra mumbles to themself. I only hum in response, not wanting to push this topic further.

Asra has talked about leaving many times, but we had yet to do so, if we had the means we could but, there's no money in magic that can't heal a plague. Placing my basket on the counter of our kitchenette I pull out the food items I bought. Asra snatches an apple and bites into it but then grimaces.

"This apple is soft, like it's been left out," he goes to throw out the apple but I catch his arm.

"Don’t throw it out, if they're too soft I could make a cobbler or something out of them," taking the apple from Asra's hand I place it in a bowl with the other fruit I purchased.

"Oh, but they were out of sugar… maybe they're sweet enough on their own?" I mumble to myself.

"There's no need to go back out just for sugar, I'm sure we'll manage without it," Asra says with a smile that doesn't reach their eyes. They grab the lettuce I pulled from the basket out of my hand.

"Why don't I put these away while you go take a bath hmm? Wash the city air off of you," I give Asra a short nod and head off to the bathroom to wash up.

Suddenly feeling the weight of my day, running all the possible errands I can at once, so I am exposed less to the outside. I grab a towel from our tiny linen closet and pass by to give Faust chin scratches.

"Have you been bundled up here all day?" I question. She only responds by slithering closer so she can lean into my scratches. Her movement causes a blanket to fall, revealing a pile of books under it. My curiosity is piqued and I pick one up to read its cover. "Nopal Desert" it reads. I pick a map that was underneath it, depicting the better part of Vesuvia and surrounding territories. Nopal circled in ink. I hear Asra humming while he opens and closes the cabinets in the other room. I elect to bring it up after my bath.

The water is hot, almost too hot for my liking, but its burn soothes me in a way. Making me feel something other than the heavy burden that lays on the whole city's shoulders. I let myself sink down until the water cradles my head. Curling up so my whole body is submerged. I stare at the ceiling, watching the steam from the bath slowly rise, allowing condensation to sit on the wooden beams. I didn't bother to open the window so the bathroom could stay dry. I'll do that afterward. The water cups my ears, muffling the already quiet streets outside. My mind travels back to the books and maps I saw earlier. Was Asra trying to get us to leave? I explained in the past that I can't afford to pay rent on my shop and pay rent in a whole new area. Vesuvia is unsafe but the shop is my home, my lively hood. I can't give it up. I lie there, pondering and contemplating until the water has become lukewarm. My body aches after laying in the tub for far too long. After drying off my body and getting dressed I exit the bathroom, not bothering to stop my hair from dripping all over me. 

I walk towards my bed, finding the books and maps, untouched, and staring at me. I let out a frustrated sigh and collect the items.

I walk into the kitchen to find Asra nursing a cup of tea, and gazing out the window. They haven't noticed me yet. His eyes stare longingly out at the night sky. Sad and distant. I quietly approach and gently place the items on the table. Asra looks up at me in surprise. Neither one of us talks for a while. I clear my throat.

"What are these?" I motion to the map with the large black circle around the words that very obviously do not say Vesuvia. Asra places his cup down and fully faces me.

"Well I thought we could… stay there, I've heard the plague isn't present there and we could go, we could be safe and not have to worry about wearing face coverings just to go shopping," Asra's demeanor becomes meek the more he talks. I let out a sigh and collapse into the nearest chair.

"Asra I told you, I can't afford to keep my shop if I'm not here to work in it,"

"I can help you!" Asra says, straightening a little. "I-I've been painting masks to raise money, and we could go to Nopal for a few months, I could sell masks out there and you can have a makeshift shop in the desert," Asra reaches for my hand, taking it and rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. I give him a tired look.

"Asra, it's not that I doubt that you couldn't help me pay, it's just… Vesuvia is my home, our home, and I can't just leave at the drop of a hat like you," Asra winces and pulls away.

"Who knew you thought so little of me," he mumbles. I mentally kick myself for my choice of words.

"I'm sorry that’s not what I meant," I bring my head into my palm and lean my elbow on the table.

"What I'm trying to say is this is my home and I want to protect it so… I've decided I want to study medicine, to help with the plague," I look up to meet Asra's eyes. Their face pales and they sit back in their chair.

"Oh," is all he manages to say. I sit up fully and bring my hands into my lap, wringing them nervously together.

"I could use my magic to help too, and I want to be able to help the people, just like I did when I had people coming by regularly for magical ailments," I try to say something, anything to get Asra to stop looking at me the way he is. Scared, confused, frustrated, maybe even a little mad. He suddenly rises, his chair squeaking along the floor as it's pushed back.

"Asra please," I say barely above a whisper. Asra walks over the kitchenette and paces before turning to me, expression full of pain.

"That… That’s a terrible idea," he says. I suddenly feel taken aback.

"What wanting to help?" I say. Asra's face twists.

"You'll get sick, you'll… You will get hurt, you won't be safe!" he exclaims, starting to pace once again.

"There are people dying Asra I can't just sit around and let it happen! I want to do something, we can do something, we're both magicians!" I rise from my chair so I can fully face Asra as he frantically paces and runs his hands through his hair.

"How are we supposed to survive then, being exposed every day?" Asra looks me in the eye, his expression one of distress.

"Asra we're barely getting by as is," I motion to the bowl of fruit that I was organizing earlier. "The food isn't fresh, we have to go shopping all in one day so we don't risk exposure, and I am barely scraping by with my rent on the shop!" I let out an exasperated huff, folding my arms.

"I told you I would help you, I can sell masks, I can do fortune-telling just not here," Asra enunciates that last word by sharply pointing to the ground to make their point.

"I want to help, Asra… I want to be here," I shift awkwardly in place looking down at my feet. A lump begins to form in my throat, making it hard to breathe. Asra approaches me and places his hands on my forearms in an attempt to soothe me.

"Please, we can't stay here, let's just leave to where it's safe," He pleads, barely above a whisper. I slowly shake my head. Asra leans into me, trying to look into my eyes. His violet eyes, specked with tears in the corners.

"Why don't I help the people here? A-and you can stay home and make money off your painted masks," I say meeting his eyes.

"No, no no no," Asra begins to speak over me. He pulls away and faces his back to me, running his hands across his face.

"Asra I can't force you to stay here but you can't force me to leave," I say making my voice stern, hoping he understands my point. Asra quickly whips around tears falling down his face.

"Then how am I supposed to protect you!" he shouts. My breath hitches and I take a step back, my calves hitting the chair I was previously sitting on. The room grows eerily silent from his out burst.

"You can't protect me from everything, especially not this," I say, my own tears threatening to fall.

"Yes, I can! If you would just listen to me and leave! We could be safe," he approaches me, hands reaching out to me. I put my own hand up, stopping him from getting closer.

"Asra, I've made up my mind about this I'm not going anywhere," my chest aches, I want to leave with him, I want to leave because I'm scared. But I know I can help these people and I can't let my fears stop me.

"Please, you'll die," his voice cracks.

"If it saves the lives of even just a few people, then maybe was worth it,"

"No, you are too important to me!" they plead.

"Asra I have made up my mind! Nothing you can say will change it!" my volume begins to rise. Asra pleads my name and approaches once again gently grabbing my hands.

"Please it will kill you,"

"Asra..." my heart pounds in my chest.

"I can't live in a world knowing you aren't in it!"

"No Asra!" tears form in my eyes and my voice starts to crack.

"You will die-"

"Then death is better than this life we are living!" I shout. I didn't mean to. But I became so overwhelmed my temper flared-up. Asra takes a step back, releasing my hands.

"Is that how you feel," he says. I can't bring myself to answer, the lump in my throat has grown 3 times in size, swallowing my voice. "Very well," Asra turns away from me. Grabbing various clothing items as he goes. He disappears around a corner and I can hear him rummaging. I take in a painful deep breath. Wiping my tears as they fall. Asra comes back in with a bag, shoving items inside angrily, my eyes are too cloudy to fully see what he's doing but I can tell.

He's packing to leave.

"Asra," I croak. "Where are you going?" my voice comes out pathetically, as I try to compose myself. But my heart races in my chest. Asra ignores my question and continues to put items in multiple bags. All his clothes, his trinkets, their books. Anything they can carry.

"Asra please," I drag my feet as I try to follow him, but I can't stop the waterfall of tears escaping me. 

Asra finally stops in the middle of the room, passing me. He has multiple bags on both shoulders. I stand at the hallway entrance and watch him. Faust quickly slithers out from behind me, Asra crouches allowing her to climb up his arm. He takes his hat off the hook and places it on his head. I stumble towards him reaching out.

"Asra I'm… I'm so-" their eyes meet mine, cold, angry, pained. I stop in my tracks

"This is the grave you made yourself, I will not be there to watch you get buried," he says. His voice cracking. Without another word, Asra turns and goes down the stairs and into my shop. 

I can only gawk in silence, in disbelief that he actually left. The wall-shaking slam of the door breaks me from my shock. I grip the fabric of my top, just over my heart. Feeling as though it has broken in two. I sink to the floor and sob, harder than I ever have because a piece of my heart has left me.

[kythed]

just my cuppa

yamaguchi tadashi x reader

synopsis: a soaking wet, stressed out (y/n) stumbles into cafe-owner!yamaguchi’s coffee shop. 

word count: 1,944

--

The coffee shop is comfortably warm and smells of cinnamon and ginger, a sharp contrast to the heavy autumn rain pelting the pavement outside. Yamaguchi watches water torrent down the windows outside as he meticulously wipes each table, thankful he’s clean and dry rather than braving the storm outside. It’s 9:25pm on a Friday night, approaching closing time. Usually he’d wait until the last minute to start closing up, but there haven’t been any customers since around 8. He hasn’t even seen any passersby since then, just the occasional car splashing through flooded streets, headlights muffled by the deluge.  

So, understandably, he’s surprised to see you stumble in through the door, soaking wet and clutching a sorry looking umbrella. The bell hung on the doorframe jingles cheerfully, and Yamaguchi stares as you exhale heavily and apologetically wring your hands. 

“Uh… hi?” you offer hesitantly, looking rather abashed. “I’m sorry… I was trying to make my way home, but my umbrella snapped and I noticed your cafe was open…” 

Yamaguchi stares at the wet clothes clinging to your frame and the way your shoulders are trembling. “Oh my God. Please, come sit down, let me make you a hot drink or something. It’s gotta be freezing out there; you aren’t even wearing a coat. Come, come.”

“Oh, no, I really shouldn’t track puddles on the floor--”

Yamaguchi ushers you onto a seat at the counter despite your protests and takes your umbrella, setting it to the side. He flies into action, snatching various colored packets and jars of sweet smelling spices. As he sets a kettle of water to boil, you sneeze violently and his eyes widen. “I think I have a towel in the back, I’m gonna go grab it so you can dry off a little.” 

You open your mouth to object but he’s already sprinted into the storage room. In less than a minute he reemerges, cradling a folded towel and a sweater. “Go dry off in the bathroom and change into this sweater. I’m afraid I don’t have any spare pants, but by the time you’ve finished I’ll have that drink ready. Oh, and please, don’t worry about paying-- it’s on me.”

He flashes you a quick smile and you stare, struggling to form words… then you burst into tears. 

Yamaguchi rushes to your side, hesitantly hovering his hands over your shoulders, not sure if he should hug you, comfort you, or what. When he came into work this morning, he did not expect to have a drenched, emotional wreck of a girl stagger into his cafe late at night and start sobbing and dripping on his counter... He settles on patting your shoulder in as motherly a manner as he can muster. “Oh, um, it’s okay, there, there.”

“I’m-- hic-- I’m so sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the edge of the towel. “It’s just, I’ve been having such a hard-- hic-- week, and this is the first nice thing someone’s done for me in a while.” 

“Oh.” Yamaguchi’s heart just melts and he impulsively wraps you up in a warm hug, despite not even knowing your name. This is so improper, he thinks, a little too late. Curse my empathy for crying women. You bury your face in his chest and cry a little more, the exhaustion of the day expelling itself in the form of sobs that rack your body in waves. He rubs your back lightly, something he used to do when his younger sister would cry as a child. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be fine, just dry yourself off and sip a little tea, yeah? Does that sound alright?”

You nod, untangling yourself from his embrace and smiling tearfully. “I’ll go change now. I’m sorry, again, for… everything. I’m pretty sure I got snot on your collar.”

“Stop apologizing,” Yamaguchi scolds, giving you a light push towards the restroom. “It’s not a problem at all.” 

You nod, face hot and eyes puffy, and head into the bathroom, dampening a paper napkin with warm water to dab your face with. You gaze at the girl in the mirror with swollen, tear stained cheeks. How embarrassing to be caught at such a bad time by this kind, attractive stranger… thinking about his gracious smile again sends you into another fit of tears that you quickly brush away.

After you’ve stripped your shirt and dried off as best you can, you slip the sweater over your head. It’s far too large, but the inside is soft fleece and smells of men’s cologne. You inhale deeply, comforted by the spicy, woody scent, and head back into the cafe, where Yamaguchi’s finished up the drink. He slides the steaming mug in front of you, along with a saucer of tiny cookies. 

“It’s Earl Grey,” he says, taking one of the cookies for himself. “You looked like a tea drinker to me. It’s got a bit of milk and sugar, too, so I hope that’s alright.” 

“That’s perfect; thank you so much,” you say, lifting the mug to your lips for a sip. It’s hot and sweet and seems to wash away the acrid taste of the day’s tribulations. “I’m (L/N), by the way. If I’m going to impose on your hospitality a little longer, you might as well know my name.”

“I’m Yamaguchi,” he says, pushing the cookies closer to you. “And I already told you, you’re not imposing. It’s not like I have anything else to do anyways! I was getting bored without anyone coming in-- I haven’t had a customer for hours.” 

“Yeah, it’s no wonder,” you say, eyes wide and nodding vigorously. “It’s practically a hurricane out there. I thought I could make it from work to that bus stop on the corner without getting too wet. I was wrong, obviously.” 

“Oh, where do you work? It’s gotta be pretty close for you to even entertain the idea of stepping out in a storm like this,” says Yamaguchi with a laugh. He takes a hairband from his wrist and begins to absentmindedly tie his long, dark locks into a loose knot, out of which a few strands fall to charmingly frame his face. 

You smile, finally deciding to nibble on one of the cookies. It’s chewy, has a distinctly spiced apple flavor, and immediately boosts your mood. “It’s close enough. I work at the little florist’s shop on Mayweather Ave. You know, near the supermarket.”  

Yamaguchi perks up. “Arrangements by Aiko? The one that always has a few big bundles of bouquets out in front?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve been there before?” you ask, swirling the remnants of your tea around the bottom of the cup. 

“No, no, but I drive by every day on the way here. You guys always have the nicest looking flowers.” Yamaguchi refills your drink from the still-steaming kettle without being asked as you murmur a quiet thanks. “How come you’ve never been ‘round here, then? It’s hardly a two minute walk if you hurry. I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered if you ever came in for a coffee.” 

You laugh softly. “There’s a Starbucks up the street from us.”

“Pssh,” Yamaguchi scoffs, crinkling his nose. He’s had a personal vendetta against Starbucks for years. Stupid chain, thinking they’re all that just ‘cause they have a trademark and a logo. “That Starbucks has gotta be at least ten minutes from the flower shop. Plus, I happen to know my vanilla bean frapp is a hundred times better than theirs. They don’t even use real vanilla! Can you believe that? This cafe is obviously superior.” 

“Oh, my,” you gasp, dramatically holding a hand to your chest. “I’m not really a frappuccino person, but that is quite the scandal indeed. Maybe I should stop giving them my valuable business and start coming here instead.”

Yamaguchi nods solemnly, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I think so. Plus, I heard that they don’t give out a discount for pretty girls like we do, something you’d surely benefit from.” 

He smiles shyly, a little surprised at his own boldness, as a splotchy blush rises to your cheeks. You briefly bury your face in your hands, embarrassed, before popping back up with a huge smile. Unable to compose yourself, your next sentence is punctuated by giggles. “Is that so? Well, I guess that seals the deal then.” 

“Mhm,” Yamaguchi agrees happily, immensely pleased with himself. 

You and Yamaguchi pass the next half an hour enjoyably, pleasantly chatting about your jobs, friends, family, and world news until the clock strikes ten and you give a start, remembering you have work early in the morning. “Ah, I should really get going. But again, thank you so, so much for everything and I’m so--”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he interrupts, leaning over the counter to grab a to-go cup and a plastic baggie of cookies. “It’s been my pleasure, seriously. Do me a favor and take these. Then I’ll dial up a cab and we’ll have you home in no time.” 

“At least let me pay for the cab,” you say, exasperated, as he tucks the baggie into your sweater pocket and shoves the cup in your hand. You slowly extract yourself from the cradle of the tall counter chair, muscles stiff. 

“Not a chance,” he says with a sweet smile. “I thought you’d know me better than that by now.”

When the car arrives, Yamaguchi walks you out to the door. A biting cold nips at your noses, but the rain has subsided, at least for the time being. All that remains are the puddles and the slow drip, drip, drip of water rolling off the rooftops. You sigh, breath curling into the crisp air. You bury your hands in the pockets of the sweater Yamaguchi lent you earlier. “I’ll return this to you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the car door for you. “It looks better on you than it does on me, anyways. You should definitely pop in for another drink soon, though.” 

You climb in, careful not to crush the pouch of cookies. “Absolutely I will. Maybe I’ll even try that vanilla bean frapp you were bragging about.”

“You really should,” he says, beginning to close the car door but suddenly freezing in his tracks. “Oh, wait right here for a second.”

He sprints back into the cafe and rushes out again in a lightning fast thirty seconds, clutching a paper napkin. After folding it into a little square, he hands it to you proudly. “Here. I wrote down the code for the discount. Come back with that, and you’ll get two dollars off your next purchase!” 

“Thanks, Yamaguchi,” you laugh, gingerly taking the napkin and sliding it into your pocket, right next to the cookies. Then you close the door, roll down the window, and wave cheerily as the car pulls away from the curb. “I’ll see you later!”

“See you!” Yamaguchi waves until your cab turns a corner, leaving just the faint scent of exhaust. He pumps a fist in the air before spinning on his heel, heading back into the embrace of the warm cafe with a bounce in his step. 

It’s not until you arrive home twenty minutes later, shower, and sit at your kitchen table with a pack of instant ramen on the stove that you remember the little napkin. Unfolding it, you discover that it's not quite a discount code like Yamaguchi claimed. Instead, it’s a phone number accompanied by a poorly drawn teacup with steam rising from its rim. 

You’re a hot-tea! - Yamaguchi Tadashi (part time comedian)

P.S. I lied. Sorry. Not a discount code. But maybe we can arrange some way to get you those two dollars off if you go on a date with me? Let me know.

Shaking your head with a grin, you pull out your phone and punch in the number.

[faustian-familiar]

Lunch Break - Asra x Apprentice

Pairing: Asra x Female Apprentice

18+. A nice, zesty lemon. Asra brings home a gift with an unusual effect. 

The city was bathed in a soft pink hue when I awoke, radiant from a sunrise that cast the buildings in gentle pastels and watercolor shadows. Even at this early hour, I could hear the sounds of activity - children shrieking and giggling at one another as they pounded down the street below my window, chickens clucking for their breakfast, a mirthful conversation struck up between two vendors setting up their stalls for the day. Asra’s spot in the bed was already empty, replaced with a tangled mound of colorful blankets and pillows. It was not unusual for him to be gone by the time I woke up, but I stretched out my hand regardless, smoothing it over the sheet where he would be laying if he was there. I imagined his soft, caramel skin beneath my fingers as they slid across the blanket, the rise and fall of his chest and the shared heart that drummed there, the fond gaze under a mess of platinum curls. I missed him.

Our life had always been sweet and content, but since I learned the truth about my lost memories and discovered the love between Asra and I, I moved through my day in a cloud of happiness. I sat up in bed and my eye was drawn to the plush chair against the opposite wall. My thoughts went back to the previous night. I could see us there in my mind’s eye, the matching bliss on our faces as our bodies moved together, our heart racing and skin glistening, the desperate groan that Asra had uttered as he spent himself deep inside me. I missed him.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and noticed the steaming cup of tea on the nightstand, tucked beside a folded piece of paper. I smiled to myself reached for the note, unfolding it on my lap and bringing the cup of tea to my lips. The brew was golden, with a refreshing, delicate floral fragrance - Bai Mudan, I realized with surprise. He had made me one of my favorite teas that we usually saved for occasional treat, since there were many long miles between Vesuvia and the tea’s origin. My heart swelled with a deep ache of love.

Beloved, ♥‿♥

I received word that a package I was expecting is here. Gone to the docks to pick it up. I can’t wait for you to see it.     ヽ(^◇^*)/

-Asra

P.S. Faust says she wants to snuggle later

I folded the note and placed it back on the nightstand, smirking. What could he be up to now?

I prepared for the day and headed downstairs to open up the shop.

We were open for business and I was arranging a display of crystals when Asra swept through the front door, grinning brilliantly. He stretched out his arms when he saw me, bouncing over to me and gathering me up into fierce hug. I feel a strong wriggle against my chest, and move back to let Faust slither out from between us. She appears on Asra’s shoulder, flicking out her tongue to tickle my cheek. Asra bends down and kisses my other cheek with a smile, then cups my face in his hand and presses a long, warm kiss to my lips.

“Hello, you two,” I said.

“Have you had a good morning?” Asra asks, uncoiling his scarf from around his shoulders as Faust slides down his arm and deposits herself on the counter.

“It was wonderful,” I replied, smiling. “Some secret admirer made me my favorite rare tea. I think he may like me.”

Asra’s eyes shine with tenderness as he watches my face for a long moment.

“More than like,” he says, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Asra.” I breathe his name as he leans down to nuzzle into my neck and brush his lips under my jaw. I dig my fingers into the fabric of his shirt as his lips move down my neck. His breath is warm and feather-light against my skin, his curls brushing against my face and filling my senses with the scent of wild musk and spice. His tongue darts out from between his teeth, tracing the line of my collarbone. He pulls me closer to him, his hands firm in the small of my back, so that my hips are flush against his. I moan, tilting my head back to invite his mouth further, then think better of it. I put my hands against his shoulders and press gently, making him lift his head to look at me. There’s a slight pink tinge in his cheeks that deepens to a blush.

“Sorry,” he says good-naturedly.  “You’re right. We have a business to run. You’re just so beautiful, I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

I chuckle and push him teasingly. “I guess we’ll have to start taking lunch breaks.”

The smile that comes across his face is so mysterious, I narrow my eyes at him.

“What?” I ask.

He gives me a taunting expression, still smiling at some secret of his own, and shakes his head.

“Do you want to see what I got?” he says casually.

“Yes, of course!”

Asra reaches into his bag and takes out a small cloth pouch closed with a drawstring at the top. As he opens the pouch, the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and patchouli rises to my nostrils, as well as a low, enticing thrum of magic. He plucks something from the bottom of the pouch and lifts it out for my inspection.  A cone of incense is pinched between his thumb and forefinger, intricately carved into the shape of a man and woman’s naked torsos twined around each other. I glance at Asra, grinning wryly.

“What is that for?” I ask.

“You’ll find out,” he replies, winking at me. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He moves to the counter and places a small metal tray on it, lighting a match and holding it to the cone of incense until a stream of fragrant lavender smoke rises from it. He drops the cone onto the tray as a knock comes at the door.

Asra goes to the shop’s door and opens it to let in the person on the other side. “Come in!” He says brightly to our customer.

As they begin to converse, I walk to the counter and lean against it near the incense, curiously breathing in the scent. It’s mellow and sultry, at once rich and earthy but sweet, like the heady smell of the spice market on a warm Vesuvian night. My eyes flutter closed as the magic washes over me, tingling over my skin with delicate tendrils. My nerves hum pleasantly in response. I take in another deep breath, the conversation in the background reduced to a murmur in my mind, and feel the magic and scent course through my body, pooling into a swirling heat between my thighs.

I open my eyes to see Asra staring at me from across the shop as he listens to the customer. A flush has appeared over his cheeks and ears, and he quickly looks away, almost bashful. I watch the curve of his mouth as he says something to our client in reply, the strong grace of his hands as he points something out to them. His shirt is so thin, I can see the outline of his slender figure, the soft skin over supple muscles. It’s my turn to look away when Asra glances up at me. A knowing look comes across his face, his eyes half-lidded and his smile lazy as he walks up with the customer, sliding behind the counter and standing hip to hip with me as they pay for their goods. His proximity has a powerful effect.

I have to catch my breath as a jolt of pleasure overtakes me, bubbling in the pit of my stomach and whirling down to my sex.

I retain my composure, even when Asra looks down at me with pupils blown out with lust. I break the spell of his gaze by tearing my eyes away and going to the door to greet another customer.

“Satya, welcome!” I greet one of our regulars with careful nonchalance, hoping that my arousal isn’t obvious. We make small talk as Asra’s hot gaze follows me around the shop, gathering spell components for Satya’s home remedy. When she asks for mugwort, I have to cast a searching look around the shelves until I see a jar on the highest ledge, far above my head. I step over to the shelf and reach up, then raise myself up onto the balls of my feet, my fingertips brushing the side of the jar. I struggle for a moment, and then sense the heat from Asra’s body before I feel him.

He comes up behind me, resting a hand on my waist as he presses himself into my back and reaches above us to retrieve the jar. His hardness against my haunches is unmistakable. I’m intoxicated by the sensation, dizzy as he moves away to measure out the mugwort for Satya.

My folds are already slick when he closes the door behind her and whirls around to stare hungrily at me, crossing the room in three paces and pinning me against the counter with his body. I brace myself on its edge as he loops an arm around my waist and his other hand glides up my shirt, groping at the swell of my breast while his mouth seals over mine, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses. He grinds against me with urgent need, growling low in his throat.

I break away from the kiss breathlessly. His expression is full of lust, his full lips parted, the flush of desire coloring his face and neck.

“I take it the incense is an aphrodisiac?” I ask.  

He replies by burying his face in my breasts, kissing a wet trail over the sensitive skin, his voice muffled.

“It’s working really well,” he groans. “I want you so bad.”

We both jump when a knock sounds at the door again, and disentangle our bodies to straighten out our rumpled clothes. He steps behind the counter with a hand cupping the front of his pants, rearranging his bulge in an attempt to obscure it. His mouth is pink and puffy from the fervor of our kiss, matching the blush on his face, and I smile at him fondly while I wonder if I look equally flustered.

The morning crawls by with a steady stream of customers, the incense working us both into a haze of yearning. He steals kisses and caresses when the shop is empty, and parts from me with a huff of irritation every time there’s a knock on the door.

It’s nearly afternoon when a man comes in to the shop with his hat in his hands, asking for a tarot reading. The mysterious smile crosses Asra’s face again.

“MC here is a natural with the cards,” he says proudly. Asra looks at me when he speaks again. “You’ll be in excellent hands.”  

Asra lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Give me just a moment to prepare the room, then you and our friend here can come back.”

I furrow my brow at him, confused, as this is a statement he’s never made before, but Asra merely smirks at me and slips into the back room.

When I follow a few minutes later, Asra is nowhere to be found. The room looks the way it always does, dominated by a round wooden table covered by a purple tablecloth. I sit at the round table and invite the man to sit across from me as I reach for the deck in the center of the table and begin to shuffle the cards. I startle slightly when something taps my knee, and I look down to see that Asra is crouched under the table between my legs, his finger pressed to his lips and an impish expression on his face.

I quickly turn my attention back to the customer and split the deck, asking him to choose one of the halves.

As he points, I feel my skirt pushed up my thighs and a pair of hands pushing my legs apart. I swallow thickly as I feel Asra’s breath against my labia.

I lay out several cards facedown in a fan shape.

“Please clear your mind and focus on the specific question you have of the cards,” I say, my voice slightly higher-pitched than usual.

I have to focus on keeping my breath steady as Asra’s tongue swipes across my clit. He laps my bud lightly at first, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, spreading my juices until I’m dripping onto my seat.

I gesture to the cards.

“Choose ten cards while you focus on your question,” I say, concentrating on keeping my voice steady.

Asra’s mouth is working over my clit with slow, deliberate strokes, making my nerves throb with pleasure.

The man across from me is none the wiser, carefully surveying the cards with a thoughtful expression.

I grasp the edge of the table when Asra starts to circle my bud with quick caresses of his tongue. He clamps his lips over my folds and sucks on them gently, stirring the thrill within me so I have to bite my lip to keep a moan from escaping me.

I feel a finger at my entrance, gently coaxing my labia apart and sliding it in to the knuckle.

“Excellent!” I remark to the customer as he sets his cards aside, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Asra picks up his pace, licking me so that every movement brings me closer to the edge.

I arrange the cards into their proper positions, concealing a tremble in my hands as Asra adds a second finger to my hole and fucks me with them ruthlessly. I feel the knot of pleasure behind my belly button starting to unravel.

“Give me a moment to confer with the cards,” I murmur, grateful for an excuse to close my eyes.

I clasp my hands in my lap as my orgasm swells to its limit and crashes over me. My breath catches in my throat while Asra massages the throbbing climax out of me. I squeeze my eyes shut harder and suck my breath in between my teeth as my body is pulverized with the ecstasy. Asra rides the orgasm out with me, keeping his mouth on me until my muscles start to relax around his fingers.

When I open my eyes, the man across from me is staring at me with mild concern.

“Is it bad?” he whispers.

“Oh!” I chuckle nervously, embarrassed. “No, no. I’m sorry. It’s...good. It’s really, really good.”

I clear my mind and give him a proper reading while Asra gently pulls his fingers out of me.

When I’m finished, the customer gawks at me in amazement.

“Wow,” he remarks. “Your connection with the cards is so powerful! Could I get another reading for a different question?”

I smile gracefully, rising from the table and gesturing towards the door.

“Actually,” I reply, “the shop will be closing for a lunch break.”

[kickingitwithkirk]

The Coupon Book Of Love

Summary: Dean and Y/N have a falling out during a hunt and return not speaking. This upsets Jack who decides to help fix their relationship.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Confused Jack Kline, Mentions of Sam and Cas

A/N: for @winchester-fantasies  #winchesterfantasies1000followerschallenge.

Word Count: 2623

Warnings:  fluff, some arguments, ogling of m/f body, necking, mild language, implied sex

Prompt: 10. “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” 

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fluff so hopefully it doesn’t suck and there was to be coupon photos included but I couldn’t get them the right size and had to delete.

*No beta, all mistakes are mine

*****

Jack Kline was sad. 

Dean and Y/N had returned from a hunt not speaking to each other. This was not completely abnormal for them. Their relationship is one of extreme passions, running hot or cold depending on the day.

It was when Y/N moved back into her old room and Dean started drinking all the whiskey in the bunker they all knew something very bad had happened. Sam tried to find out what had happened but all he could get out of either of them was ask Dean or ask Y/N. 

After Sam retired for the night, Jack went to his father Castiel and asked why do people who are in love like Y/N and Dean hurt each other? 

He said that human love is complicated and had no definitive answer.

Jack could not let them go on like this. Y/N was perfect for Dean, she could help with his highs and lows, make him smile when he was in one of his dark moods and had an off kilter sense of humor that matched his.

So Jack turned to the internet looking for the answer. 

He found all sorts of sites with recommendations how to: repair relationships, muddle through misunderstandings, blogs from magazines like Cosmo on how to fix things with your significant other, spice up your love life, even watching Dr. Phil on YouTube.

But most of the advice given was about vocalizing thoughts and feelings and Dean doesn’t do those things.

Jack starts thinking when they return from a hunt Y/N will say to Dean, “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.”  Dean’s eyes always lit up like the displays at Christmas when Y/N asks him for a cuddle. Which is weird because Dean is vocal that he doesn’t cuddle.

Sam teases Dean that Y/N’s secret code for nookie didn’t fool anyone. Dean tells him to shut up while smiling.

Jack shakes his head, is cuddle and nookie the same or are they different things...humans are very confusing.

He’s about ready to quit when he notices a tab for Pinterest that wasn’t closed yesterday and clicks on it. There were a few boards; cooking, pies, vintage cars, pinup girls.

Unlike what Sam is always saying, Dean does use the internet for more than watching porn. 

Jack scrolls around for a while looking at other pins when he sees something. Tapping on the photo he reads the description. He likes the idea presented but it’s not quite right for Dean and Y/N...

...so he comes up with his own plan.

******

The Next Morning

Dean staggers into the kitchen looking for coffee. Lots of coffee after another night spent with Jack, Jim and some wild turkey. Going over to the pot he wonders why Sam hadn't made it after his morning run like usual. Dean sees a piece of paper taped to it with a typed message.

Please go to the library ASAP.

Dean ponders the note while the coffee is brewing and grudgingly heads there after pouring a mug. He is surprised to see Y/N standing by the table looking as tired as he felt. Then he notices a paper in her hand. “Got one too?” He asks, slowly moving to the other side, the table separating them. 

She nods once in acknowledgment.

On the table between them is a letter and two small boxes with their names written on them. Dean slides the letter towards him and reads it out loud.

Dear Dean and Y/N,

I don’t like it when you fight, it makes me sad. You're treating your love as something disposable. I want you to be happy like before and since both of you are stubborn so I’ve come up with a way to help. 

Each box possesses a specifically tailored coupon for each of you with extra, individual instructions accompanying it and must be completed together once a day in order. 

Sam, Cas and I are on a hunt so you have the bunker to yourselves. Have fun.

PS: No peeking ahead-this means you Dean. 

*****

CAR WASH

I can't believe I agreed to do this repeatedly going through Dean's head as he entered the garage after they had opened the boxes and shared their first coupons.

He’s grabbing the paraphernalia kept there for bathing his Baby when Y/N walks in wearing...oh crap...that button down plaid shirt tied up under her bust and those cutoffs made from an old pair of jeans of his that hug her curves just right.

Okay, if that’s how she want to play…game on baby.

Dean hands her a sudsy bucket giving her the look. Y/N blinks perplexed as he walks over turning on the faucet and starts wetting down the Impala. 

She pulls out the sponge and starts soaping down the passenger side as Dean works on the drivers side. They watch each other, quickly looking away when caught.

By the time they meet at the trunk they're both wet, Dean’s t-shirts clinging, accentuating his torso and his jeans have molded to his bowed legs and scrumptious bum. Y/N abruptly hurries to the front of the car.

Dean, smirking to himself, makes the mistake of looking up through the windows. He can see Y/N stretching over the hood as far as she can reach, water and bubbles sliding over the slope of her breasts, nipples pebbled up under the material.

She bends down in front and he quietly steps to his right looking down the side of the car and can see her pert rear swaying in the air as she's scrubbing the grill. Dean reaches over the top of his jeans, pushing down his harding length.

“Okay, she's clean enough, I'll finish up here.” Dean gruffly states. Y/N pops up confused, “Um, are you sure, we haven't waxed yet.” 

Dean feels himself flushing, that’s the last thing he needs right now is Y/N’s breasts bouncing as she's vigorously buffing his...car. “I forgot to get a new can, we’ll do it later.”

“I’ll go get cleaned up and meet you back here in an hour for the next part.” Y/N says as she leaves the garage hips swaying as she walks up the steps. 

“Good thing were not leaving right away.” Dean mutters to himself grimacing at how his wet jeans have become way too constricting.

~~~~

Y/N slid the prepacked basket onto the trunk and shut it, hearing Dean come to a sudden halt and peered over the roof at him, taking in his flushed expression.

“Something wrong?” She inquires.

“I.. uh..I haven't seen you in that in a long time.” Dean stammers out awestruck waving his hand at Y/N’s appearance. Her hairs pinned up in loose waves and dressed in the tea length, off the shoulder summer dress he loves on her.

“Not the most practical thing to wear when chopping off a vamps head.” She quips.

“So, where are we going?” Dean asks, pulling the key out of his pocket.

“I’m to drive us...” she starts, “Nope, not happening sweetheart.” Dean steely interrupts. 

Sighing Y/N walks over, “My instructions say I'm to drive to a predetermined location and I can't tell you where it is so I need the keys,” holding her hand out, “Please.”

Dean clenched his jaw reluctantly handing her the keys and got in the passenger side.

They drove for about an half hour, Dean glaring out the front window the entire time. Y/N turned onto a tree lined gravel road going a quarter mile before stopping. They sit in silence gazing out the front window astounded.

In front of them is an abundantly flowering meadow surrounding a small, private lake. 

Jack couldn't have picked out a more perfect place.

“Sooo...what are we supposed to be doing?” 

Y/N hands him the coupon reading…

ROMANTIC PICNIC

*****          

MOVIE NIGHT                 

Y/N enters the Dean Cave not surprised Dean’s already settled in one of the recliners with pizza, popcorn and various other snacks spread out and a twelve pack Margiekugel cooling in the iced tub between the chairs.

They had spent the day doing various choirs separately around the bunker to give each other some space after yesterday. Y/N admitted to intentionally teasing Dean while washing the Impala and vice versa. During their picnic, something neither of them would ever normally do, they had fun together.

Dean seemed to be enjoying spending time together like they haven’t had much of lately but when they got back he decided to go out for a few cold ones instead of spending the evening in and pissing off Y/N.

“Ready for a marathon of The Man with No Name sweetheart?” Dean smugly asks trying to get a rise out of her. Y/N’s grabs some pizza and settling in the other chair takes a big bite of the meat lovers slice and chews slowly. Dean stares wondering why she hasn’t reacted, well aware Eastwood is not a favorite of hers.

Y/N finishes chewing, fishes a beer out of the tub opening it and after taking a long draw finally glances at Dean and flashes her coupon.

CONTROL OF THE REMOTE

“Sonovabitch,” Dean spits out, sinking in the chair cause knowing Y/N she’ll pick some long-ass, drawn out British dramedy that Sam’s the only one willing to watch with her, “I'm gonna get that Nephilim for this,” he pouts but will never admit he’s actually pouts.

A saccharin smile crosses Y/N’s lips as she takes the remote from him and brings up the menu to select a movie. Dean kills the beer in his hand and grabs another as she continues searching, occasionally clicking on one before going back undecided.

“Will you just pick something so we can get it over with.” Dean surly growls out, opening his fifth beer. Y/N gives him an annoyed huff pressing start. 

Dean jerks upright in surprise at her choice, “Seriously, we're watching...”

“...I don't like spaghetti westerns but seems you forgot I do like slasher films,” Y/N interrupts, “and don't you dare tell Sam, he already thinks I'm off my beam since we got together as it is.”

“Alright and I'll not take that last part as an insult.” Dean happily agrees, snagging the popcorn/M&M’s bowl shoveling in a mouthful as Y/N rolls her eyes, settling in to enjoy an evening of some slice and dice together.

 *****    

HOME COOKED MEAL       

‘’Argh! This is ridiculous, what made Jack think I could cook anything?” Y/N yells at the tablet sitting innocuous on the counter in front of her with the recipe Jack had picked out, taunting her.

Dean stopped in the doorway observing the mess Y/N is making of his kitchen. The flour bag is tipped over one counter spilling on the floor, the cutting board has something green cut into so many different shapes it's unidentifiable, other various items scattered about as the skillet on the stove is starting to smoke.

Then the alarm goes off screeching throughout the kitchen.

“Turn the stove off!” He yells over the alarm rushing over switching the stove off and grabbing a lid to smother the fire. Once it's out he turns on Y/N, “Are you trying to burn the place down? Don't you know not to set the heat on high under oil?”

“Yes Dean, I'm trying to burn the bunker down so I can get out of doing this!” Y/N screeches loudly waving the coupon in Dean’s shocked face.

He's never heard her like this, Y/N is one of those people that nothing outside of hunting makes her lose her cool, it’s one of the reasons he fell for her.

Dean approaches cautiously, reaches out placing his hands on her shoulders and slowly running his hands up and down her arms. “Baby, it’ll be fine but you need to calm down,” softly speaking in the soothing voice he used to use to calm Sam down when he was little and having a nightmare. “Now, what are we fixing for dinner?”

“Salmon Croquettes with wild rice and steamed asparagus.” Y/N glances over at the tablet, “I can’t understand why Jack would give me this, he knows I can’t even boil water outside of a tea kettle and...what do you mean we?”

“You really think Jack would intentionally let you cook anything outside of a bowl of cereal after the Cajun waffle incident?”

“They weren’t that bad.” 

“Sweetheart, we had to buy a new waffle iron.”

 “Alright Guy Fieri, what does yours say?” Dean pulls the coupon out of his pocket.

DESERT NIGHT

“I got your favorites and if you're a good girl,” Dean pauses, licking his lips teasingly, “I’ll let you decide how to devour them.”

*****                           

Dean grabs his jacket off the chair back and heads to the library looking forward to tonight's activities. Well, he’s part of it anyways since Y/N hinted hers was something he never ever did.

Dean steps up into the room and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Y/N sitting at the table in her outfit for evening. 

“Damn sweetheart.” 

“You don’t clean up to bad yourself Winchester,” Y/N remarks as she gets up walking around him, seeming to be mentally undressing him, “and since I don’t know where we’re doing tonight I was thinking that if you play your cards right,” she leans up, her voice husky next to his ear, “you might get lucky.” 

Dean takes his plump lower lip between his teeth and slowly lets it slide out making Y/N’s breath hitch as they stare into each other's eyes.

“So what are we doing tonight?” Y/N inquiries in a slightly breather voice than normal.

DATE NIGHT

Dean slides his arms around her waist, “I was thinking of taking you somewhere you haven’t been in a while,” he leans down kissing along her collarbone, moving up the side of her neck, “depends on what your half of the evening entails.” 

 Y/N retrieves the coupon from her jeans back pocket and Dean groans, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

SLOW DANCE

 “I was thinking we can do what this coupon literally says or we could interpret it a different way.”

 “Okay, I'm listening.” Dean mumbles.

“Well, there was no specific instruction from Jack as to what type of slow dance...” Dean’s head snaps up, his pupils dilating to the point the mossy green color has all but disappeared as Y/N keeps talking about the different types of slow dancing they could try.

“What are you asking?” Dean interrupts, his whisky roughened voice is even more gravelly sounding as his aching with desire.

Y/N walks backwards till her hips bump against the library's table, hops up on it leaning back onto her elbows, “I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” 

~~~~

Later that night

“So we agree we're not gonna tell them the real reason for our fight?” Y/N asks as she finishes braiding her shower damp hair, sitting at the foot of the bed. Deans leaning against the headboard with their last two coupons sitting upside down next to his sweat pant clad hip.

“They’ll think it’s stupid, especially Sam,” Dean remarks, “so, you ready to admit that Die Hard is a Christmas movie.” 

“Nope, you're never gonna convince me,” Y/N pronounces as she climbs onto Dean's lap leaning forward to softly brush her lips over Dean's before sitting back and picking up the coupons turns them over...

YOU WIN THE FIGHT  

YOU WIN THE FIGHT

“I think we better hang on to these, ya know, just in case.”

[confused-android]

Day 19: Dirk- AU

"He's coming in," Panto says, a little too loudly, and Dirk shushes him frantically as the bell on the door handle jingles and a blast of cold October air rushes in. Todd, the busker from across the plaza, walks in, guitar slung over one shoulder and eyes fixed on his phone screen. Panto shoves Dirk behind the register and vanishes into the back room.

"You're back!" Dirk exclaims, and then stammers, "I mean, you're here! No, I mean – hi!" He flushes and stops trying to talk, and Todd looks up from his phone and huffs a tired laugh, shoves his hands deep in his jacket pockets.

"Hi," he says. His beard is a little bit longer than usual, and his lips are visibly chapped. He looks – he looks cold. Tired.

"The regular?" Dirk asks, hands already grabbing a hot cup and turning to the espresso machine

Todd stammers "um," and shakes his head, looks a bit abashed. Dirk pauses and tilts his head to the side. Todd looks at his feet. "Um," he says again, and pulls one hand back out of his pocket, clutching a fistful of change. "Not a lot of people out today. I don't think I have enough for a latte." He pokes through the change in his hand, and grimaces up at Dirk. "Can I get, uh – a small black coffee?"

"Of course," Dirk says, turning to the coffee pot. "You know, a small black coffee is the most common order we get here. Every third person that walks in asks for a small black coffee. Sometimes, I see someone walk in and I think to myself, 'Dirk, this person is going to order an oat milk latte, or a hazelnut mocha, or some lovely chai,' and then boom! I'm wrong! Small black coffee." He smiles admiringly at Todd, passing over the cup. "You're making a popular choice. A good choice."

Todd puts the cup down on the counter and picks through the coins in his hand, and hands Dirk $1.60 in dimes and nickels, and then drops the paltry few remaining coins in the tip jar. Dirk tries to give Todd a reassuring look, but Todd avoids his gaze, just mutters, "thanks" and takes his coffee to the table farthest from the door.

Dirk sighs and Panto says in his ear, "that was well done of you, Dirk."

Dirk yells, and whips around to glare at his manager. "Panto!" he hisses. "You can't just… sneak up on me like that! What if I'd been holding something hot?"

"You weren't," Panto says simply, and shrugs his stupidly broad shoulders. Dirk glares up at him and mutters under his breath while he turns away and wipes down the counters and the fridges. When he peeks up at Todd, he finds the smaller man hunched into his chair, guitar case leaning up against the wall, hands wrapped around the cup of coffee. He's discarded the cardboard sleeve, and seems to be trying to soak up all of the heat in the cup of coffee, and Dirk's heart gives a pang of concern. It really is cold outside, and Todd plays his guitar for hours at a time, huddled into a doorway near the entrance to the plaza. He tries to keep a watchful eye on the back table, but after a long rush of customers comes through, Todd is gone, and strains of guitar music trickle in each time the door opens.

––––––––––––

The next time Todd comes in, the coffee shop is busy – it's just after the Saturday morning shopping rush, and the line is long, the tables are full, and there's a whole huddle of customers waiting for their drinks. Dirk and Panto are both making drinks and taking orders in turns, and Mona is bringing drinks and food out to tables. Todd waits in the line until he gets up front, and Dirk dallies his way through making a simple hot tea to make sure that he's the one at the register when Todd gets up front.

"Hello!" Dirk says brightly, trying to look like a not-idiotic human being, and is rewarded with a quick at the corner of Todd's mouth. His heart skips a beat.

"Hi," Todd says, hitching his guitar higher on one shoulder. "Busy, uh, busy day, huh?"

"It is," Dirk agrees, nodding.

There's a pause that's just a bit too long, and then Todd blinks and realizes that he's standing in front of a line of un-caffeinated customers, and hasn't ordered yet. "Almond spice late," he says, all in a rush, and plunges his hand into his pocket, pulls out a crumpled five.

Dirk quirks an eyebrow, impressed, and trades Todd the five for his change. "Someone must have really liked your playing," he says admiringly, tucking the bill in the cash register. Todd looks like he's going to try and stammer out some kind of response, but Panto hip-checks Dirk away from the register, beckons forward the next customer, and Dirk staggers over to the espresso machine. He knows his face is beet red, but Todd's is also flushed, so probably he doesn't look like a complete idiot, right?

His hands know the motions, and he whips together Todd's usual drink. When it's finished, he darts a furtive glance up, making sure Panto and Todd both aren't looking directly at him, and pours a foam heart onto the top of the latte, before clicking a plastic lid on top. There, but never to be seen.

Dirk places the drink on the counter, allows his voice to warm when he calls out, "Todd, almond spice latte!" and gestures towards the cup before hurrying back to the register. He just catches the look of enjoyment on Todd's face as he inhales the bit of steam escaping from the lid, and then another customer is ordering.

––––––––––––

It's another cold day and when Todd walks in, he looks miserable.

There's no line, and Panto is chatting with his husband at one of the tables near the front, ready to hop up if he's needed, but the café is near to empty. Todd is wearing what looks like a collared shirt and two sweaters, and has a threadbare scarf tucked roughly around his neck. He looks sweet, all bundled up with a red nose and ears, but he's clearly drained and cold.

"Hi Todd," Dirk says sunnily, and gets a weary nod in return. Poor boy.

"Can I just get, uh –" Todd looks into his palm, jiggles his hand to get a better view of the coins, and presses his lips together in disappointment. "Just a small black coffee. Um, please." He hands over exact change, and drops a single nickel in the tip jar. The flush on his face spreads, and not from being cold, and he steps away from the counter with his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes. Dirk tries to smile at him, but Todd doesn't look back up, and makes his way quickly to what's become his usual table – furthest from the door and directly under a heating vent. He leans his guitar up against the wall and crams his hands in between his thighs, hunches his shoulders against everything.

Dirk's eyebrows snap together in disappointment. It's terribly cold outside, and he's heard Todd's guitar music drift into the café every time a customer has walked in, but he doesn't seem to have gotten enough money for his favorite drink. Which is a bit odd, to be honest – when Dirk was able to spy him through the front windows, it seemed like some people were dropping bills into his coffee tin – but Dirk isn't here to question what Todd does with his money.

He sneaks one more look at Todd – still looking miserable and cold – and then Dirk gets An Idea. Carefully, slowly, making sure Todd doesn't see, Dirk slips his hand into the top jar and pulls out another two dollars, then slides them into the register. He clicks the drawer shut, just as sneakily, and then looks up to find Panto and Silas staring at him.

"What?" Dirk mouths, trying not to look too sheepish.

"For your crush?" Panto asks, voice low, but Dirk and Silas both shush him anyway. Dirk is glad to have Silas on his side.

Dirk stomps over to their table and makes a face. "Yes," he hisses snippily. "And I took it from my tip money, so don't say anything."

Panto holds his hands up in defense. "I was not saying anything. Merely that this man, Todd, comes in here often enough that I do not mind if you comp him a drink, and keep your tips."

"Oh," Dirk says, deflating. "Erm. Thank you." He shoots both men an awkward, grateful look, and then hurries back behind the counter to make Todd's drink. It's an easy one, and he's standing at Todd's elbow within two minutes, paper hot cup held carefully by the sleeve. "Todd," he says quietly, and Todd jerks to attention, looks up at Dirk with a startled expression.

"Oh," Todd says. "I was expecting you to, like, call my name from the counter."

"No such luck," Dirk teases, setting down the cup in front of Todd, and whisks back to the counter before Todd can respond with anything but a stammered, "um."

He keeps a careful eye on Todd through his usual routine of pulling off the cardboard sleeve and wrapping his hands around the searing cup, and the tension in Todd's back fades a bit at a time as the heat soaks into his skin. Dirk perks up, too, pleased that Todd is warming up, and excited for the moment when Todd realizes that his drink isn't what he'd expected.

It takes a little while – Todd is warming his hands and letting the drink cool down to drinkable temperatures – but when he does, the payoff is excellent. He raises the cup to his lips and takes a deep breath of the steam, and his eyebrows quick in confusion. He takes another breath in, through his nose, then shoots Dirk a look of utter confusion. Dirk is, of course, carefully looking not at Todd, but still peeking at him from the corner of his eye, and has to tamp down on the bubble of glee in his chest. When Todd takes a sip of the almond spice latte, though, and his eyes widen, Dirk can't help flapping his hands in joy. Subtly. Below the counter.

Todd stands up from his table and carries the drink over to the counter, where he gently wraps his knuckles.

"Oh!" Dirk says, spinning around. "I didn't see you there! How can I help you?"

"Dirk," Todd says, the corner of his mouth twitching. "This isn't a black coffee."

"Oh?" Dirk says again, feigning a look of great surprise. "My mistake! I must have made you the wrong drink, entirely by accident."

"By accident, hun?" Todd takes another sip of his latte, and now his eyebrows are quirked.

"Of course!" Dirk promises. "I would never make a customer the wrong beverage on purpose! That would be a violation of the Code of Baristas."

"Doesn't exist," Panto calls from the table nearby, and Dirk shoots him a look of utter scorn.

"Does too," he insists. "Just because you're a terrible barista who never signed the Code doesn't mean it doesn't exist." He turns back to Todd and smiles sweetly. "So. Please forgive my terrible accident. I hope you don't mind what you ended up with too much."

"I don't mind it too much," Todd assures him, and now he's leaned up against the counter, taking another sip. "Fun fact, this is actually my favorite drink, you accidentally made me."

"Oh, did I? How marvelously fortuitous!"

"Mmhm. A real neat coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences," Dirk says. He picks up a rag just to have something to do with his hands and starts wiping down the counter. "Everything that happens is connected to everything else that happens. Nothing occurs in a vacuum."

"So this accidental latte happened for a reason, huh? Wonder what that reason was." Todd is fully smiling now, like he's got Dirk trapped, and Dirk's heart gives a traitorous thump.

"O-oh," Dirk says, and now he's the one who's flushed. He ducks his head and wipes the same spot next to the register over and over.

Todd reaches his hand out, the one that isn't holding the latte, and touches two fingers to the back of Dirk's hand. Dirk freezes. "Thank you, Dirk," he says softly. His touch lingers long enough that Dirk looks back up at him, through his lashes, and sees a glint in Todd's eye.

"You're, erm – you're welcome," Dirk says, and his voice is just a bit strangled. Todd pulls his hand back and tilts his chin up, drains the latte in a few deep swallows. Dirk watches his throat move, and he knows his eyes are wide but can't do anything about it. When he's finished, Todd tosses the cup a few feet into the trash can by the counter.

"I have to get back outside now," Todd says, with no small amount of regret. "But thank you, again, for that non-coincidental accident."

"Certainly," Dirk replies promptly, and watches Todd gather his guitar and fluff up his scarf, then venture back out into the cold.

"That was very well done," Silas says to Dirk, fond and kind. Dirk just buries his face in the rag he's holding and groans wordlessly.

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

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU day thirteen, Todd - Family day fourteen, Todd - Pride (to be written) day fifteen, Dirk - Youth day sixteen, Dirk - Dance day seventeen, Dirk - Gore (to be written) day eighteen, Dirk - GNC fashion (to be written)

prompt list

[remmyswritings]

Coffee or Tea? Part 4: Earl Grey

Hello my Puffs! Here we have part 4 of “Coffee or Tea?”

Just so you know there is gonna be some angst at the beginning but no worries it will go away soon. I hope y’all enjoy it, cause I’ve really enjoyed writing this series.

tag list: @willowbleedsonpaper​, @summer-writes​, @obsessedwithrandomthings​, @firewhisky-kisses​, @potterverseimagine​, @in-slytherin-we-trust​, @masterofthedarkness​, @imboredandneedalife​. @strawberriesonsummer​, @kalimagik​, @62442-am​, @curious-curios​

part 1: chai tea latte

part 2: lavender matcha tea

part 3: pumpkin spice latte

*Not my image, credit to Creator, found on Unsplash*

It wasn’t until Teddy returned to his flat that night that the revelation of Y/N’s status as an exchange student hit him. One day, in the next couple of months, she’ll have to leave London… and him. The second the thought appeared in his mind, his eyes watered, tears threatening to break past their barrier and flow down his cheeks and while he didn’t want them to, he couldn’t stop them either. Standing there in the middle of his living room anyone would have believed him to be deep in thought until they saw the wet streaks covering his cheeks and the trembling of his lower lip. 

It seemed as though he stood there for hours, his mind just repeating Y/N’s words from earlier that day… “I’m here in London as an exchange student”... not even the remembrance of her gaze or the warm feeling from her hand when she cradled his cheek as she said goodbye for the day could tear him from his thoughts. No… nothing could stop the gasps of air that came out of his throat, the shaking of his hands as he reached for the chair to ground himself. 

The next morning, Teddy arose to a bright light, which a couple seconds later he realized as the sun, blinding his eyes, and the cracking and popping of his joints as he sat upright once again in his living room. At some point, in all of his agony, his body must have tired out and he fell asleep. He knew that Draco and Blaise must have gotten in at some point as he felt the lavender blanket his mother had made for him fall off of his shoulders and land in a pile on the floor next to him. He was grateful that the boys had, for once, not bothered to wake him up and ask questions. He didn’t know why they hadn’t. Whether it was because they recognized that he was in quite a state or it was just too late for the three of them to have that type of conversation, but nonetheless he was grateful. 

His mind too bleary to pay attention to the time, Teddy dragged his body to his room hoping that a hot shower would at least make everything feel more coherent. Even in the shower, he had no concept of time. His mind returned once again to Y/N, but no longer to the statement from yesterday, instead to the little details that he cherished since the day they had met. 

First, he thought of her smile. The way her lips first upturned and as it grew so came the dimples and then her cheeks became even rounder and fuller then how her eyes became lighter making the already bright smile appear even brighter than before. 

More of her smile, more of her gaze, more of her touch. Teddy never had anyone admire him the way Y/N did, so standing there reminiscing their previous encounters he decided he’d enjoy them to the fullest no matter what… and hopefully, just hopefully, she wouldn’t leave him when her exchange semester ends. 

With his decision made, Teddy prepared for his day. Locking the door of his flat with a *click* and shoving the keys into his pocket, he started down the street as if on autopilot. His body taking him to the one place he wanted to be at that very moment. As he made it closer to the cafe Teddy looked up with a start, there unlocking the door to the cafe was Y/N. 

Unconsciously, Teddy began to run his hand through his unruly locks and she hadn’t even seen him yet. No, instead she seemed to be absorbed in a conversation with another woman standing beside her, holding the basket he had seen her carry the second time he saw her. The woman’s hair reminded him of Draco’s and for a millisecond his brain thought that maybe they were related, but then Teddy actually looked at the woman and realized that there was an air around her that Draco never had… 

He shook his head at the thought, “no those two aren’t related whatsoever,” it was then that he realized that maybe this woman was the friend that Y/N had mentioned during their second encounter. Before he could remember what her name was, the woman motioned Y/N to something in Teddy’s direction and as she turned around to look, a smile appeared on her face.

It took Teddy a couple seconds to recognize what she was waiting for. “Oh… I hadn’t even realized the time. I- um- I woke up really early and decided I’d stop by before I do some work for my classes.”

“Well, I’ll be the only person opening up today, why-,” she hesitated, “why don’t you join me then?” 

Teddy considered saying no, but then he looked at her and saw the way her eyes quietly begged him to say yes and the pout that slowly grew across his mouth. Next thing he knew he was nodding his head and in a flash Y/N practically dragged him from the spot where he stood to the middle of the cafe. 

The two of them stood face-to-face, just a couple feet apart. Close enough for Teddy to reach out and cup Y/N’s cheek, the same way that she had done to him the night before, and he did. There they stood, once again oblivious to the world around them. It didn’t matter that none of the lights were on, or that the chairs were resting on top of the tables. The only thing that did matter in that very moment was Teddy and Y/N… them… together.

Abruptly, Y/N pulled away, “I should get started on opening the cafe.”

“R-Right,” Teddy stuttered, “I think I’ll just go sit by the window and do my work.”

While Y/N dashed around, seemingly in a daze, Teddy took out his books and worked, actually worked. For once, he didn’t observe Y/N, didn’t stop to think about her, no… he just sat there and read. At least he did until in front of him appeared an Earl Grey Tea, a blueberry scone, and Y/N standing next to the table.

“Can I sit here?” she whispered, as if trying not to ruin the sense of calm lingering in the air. 

Teddy merely nodded in reply, not trusting his voice. 

She placed herself in the seat across from him and for once Teddy could tell that Y/N looked nervous. He could feel her fidgeting in her seat, see her biting her lower lip every couple of seconds, watch her untangle and tangle her fingers together. But he didn’t know why… 

Until suddenly, “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, covering her face with her hands the second she did.

Teddy slowly reached across the table and grabbed ahold of her hands bringing them down to the table slowly, forcing Y/N to look up at him. 

“Why?” he asked confused, “What are you sorry for?”

She took a breath, then bit her lip again as her eyes started to wander over Teddy’s face, as she searched for the words. Slowly, she started, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for not telling you about me being here as an exchange student.”

Teddy chuckled, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Besides, I never asked you about it.”

“But I decided not to tell you,” the pit in Y/N’s stomach growing as she continued, “because, well, I like you… a lot. And I felt like maybe you’d think that all I would want with you was some semester fling… which is not at all what I want… not saying that flings are bad or anything but, but…”

Teddy stood up, an arm outstretched to Y/N, “Would you care to dance?”

“What?! Did you listen to anything I said just now?” she stared, partly in shock and partly in anger. 

Teddy held his ground now with a smile gracing his lips, “I heard it all! And before you say anything, I feel the exact same way. I want to enjoy every single second I can with you. So, I ask again, would you care to dance?”

With their feelings for each other finally out in the open, Y/N reached out, grabbing ahold of Teddy’s hand, letting him lift her out of the seat and wrapping his arms securely around her. Slowly, her arms lifted up past Teddy’s chest and found themselves wrapped around his neck. And there they stood, swaying around in one another’s embrace. No more words needed to be said between the two of them because they understood just how much the other person mattered to them. 

[vixxscifiwritings]

and the leaves turn in september

Length - 3670 words

Characters - Hakyeon x Sanghyuk

Rating - General

Summary - Late summer passes in yearning for a love that Sanghyuk believes is elusive and Hakyeon wishes for.

Series

Tag List -  @tomatoholmes @merlionmen @seraphistols  @k-craze-97 @blossomtearsleo

-

01

“We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer’s wreckage. We will welcome summer’s ghost.”

— Henry Rollins

The morning after the storm is bright and golden. Sanghyuk wakes up when the sun is well above the horizon. The rattling of the windows in the storm has kept most of the manor's occupants awake and he only manages to sleep once the storm passes, well into the night. He makes his way down the halls to the kitchen. The house is quiet, as if slumbering after the stormy night like its inhabitants are. All except one Sanghyuk discovers as he finds Hakyeon in the kitchen.

“Good morning” Hakyeon greets him and Sanghyuk greets him in response. His throat is constricted in the mornings and his voice sounds husky with sleep. He makes a beeline for the nearest chair and tries not to rub his eyes and fails.

“Did you sleep well?” Hakyeon asks, brewing tea and adding some extra water to the kettle for Sanghyuk. He slides onto a tall stool by the counter, sitting next to Sanghyuk who yawns sleepily when handed his mug. Hakyeon almost melts at how soft Sanghyuk looks right now with his hair mussed, eyes half closed and sweater pulled down to cover his fingers as he warms them on the mug with the hot tea. He stuffs the warmth in his chest deep down and tries not to let the sudden overwhelming amount of affection show.

“More or less,” Sanghyuk says before yawning again. Hakyeon smiles knowingly and Sanghyuk sighs, admitting to the truth.

“The storm was really loud yesterday,” Hakyeon says, staring out of the window. In the distance, Sanghyuk can see the garden filled with leaves and jumbled flower beds and feels terrible for Jaehwan who has been slaving away in the gardens since he came home.

“I hope the farm is better off” Hakyeon says, knocking on the table thrice. Sanghyuk’s family’s farm has many open fields and Hakyeon doesn’t believe flowers are as sturdy as some other crops grown around town. At least vineyards have wooden frames supporting the growing plants.

“Our fields and greenhouses are sturdy, don’t worry,” Sanghyuk says. The rain storms of Amboise are not new to his family and the farm has safeguards in place to protect the produce. The great storm during his great grandfather’s time had been a hard lesson with an entire year’s worth of crops lost.

“You know” Hakyeon starts and his smooth voice pulls Sanghyuk out of his reminiscing. “On a more peaceful day, it’s refreshing to sit outside in the garden in the mornings.”

Sanghyuk hums in agreement and Hakyeon wistfully stares outside. He turns to Sanghyuk who looks at him thoughtfully. He raises an eyebrow and Sanghyuk shakes his head. Sanghyuk sets his mug down, idly running his finger around the rim as he rests his head on his other hand.

“The rains will stop once September starts” Sanghyuk says. “And we’ll have a few days of sunlight in early fall before the cold creeps in.”

“That’s my favourite part of the year,” Hakyeon confesses. “When it is a pleasant temperature and there is still sunshine to warm you up.”

“We should go on a picnic then like we did last week. Or simply walk by the river. The trees along the banks turn orange and look beautiful” Sanghyuk proposes.

“I’d like that,” Hakyeon says, smiling brightly. “We should make a plan once everyone else wakes up. But I don’t know if Hongbin and Jaehwan are staying in Amboise that long.”

“Ah” Sanghyuk says, looking at his own mug. He doesn’t meet Hakyeon’s eyes. How could he have forgotten about Hongbin? Taekwoon and Jaehwan’s enigmatic guest who seems to have captured all of Hakyeon’s attention with his easy and friendly going charm. Jealousy is an ugly virtue but it hits Sanghyuk full swing.

“Hopefully the weather clears up before he has to leave” Sanghyuk says out loud without truly meaning it.

-

02

"Notice that autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

It’s Sunday and Sanghyuk chooses to stay behind at the farm. He intends on spending the day in bed, wallowing in self pity. Now that Hakyeon has company of someone he likes, it feels stupid to continue meeting him at the farmer’s market and giving him flowers.

In hindsight, it sounds like an absolutely stupid plan and Sanghyuk is embarrassed by his past self. Who would think that flowers are a good indication of affection in this day and age? For all he knows, Hakyeon probably thinks flowers aren’t even that significant to him since he grew up on the farm.

Sanghyuk rolls around on his bed and lets more mortifying scenarios pop up in his head. It’s acutely painful and Sanghyuk thinks romance is just not worth it and he should wash his hands off it before he does any more damage to his dignity.

His phone chimes when he receives a message from Jaehwan asking him where he is and why he isn’t at the market downtown. Sanghyuk racks his brains for a plausible excuse and settles for being needed to help his mother at the farm. The sunflowers need to be harvested and he really should lend her a helping hand and he resolves to do so once Jaehwan replies.

Perhaps he should have immediately left his phone behind because Jaehwan messages him to say that Hakyeon missed him and Sanghyuk almost cries in frustration at his own feelings.

-

"I know what you are doing, you know" Jaehwan says, using a clipper to snip at the thorns of the rose in his hand.

"What am I doing?" Sanghyuk asks, focusing on the task at hand instead of focusing on Jaehwan.

It's the starting of September and these will be the last batches of roses to bloom on the farm. His father puts him to work on removing the thorns from the flowers before they can be sold to the town florists. It's time consuming work but it is perfect to avoid your thoughts and Sanghyuk agrees to do it.

That is, till Jaehwan shows up.

Jaehwan is a persistent man (and a good friend for checking in on him). Sanghyuk doesn't like to admit it but he has been moping ever since he returned from dinner at Taekwoon's house. He doesn't think he was that obvious but here Jaehwan is, sitting in his greenhouse and dethorning roses and looking at him knowingly.

Jaehwan's scrutiny makes him feel foolish and silly and Sanghyuk decides not to look his way.  Jaehwan isn't deterred by this. Sanghyuk doesn’t hold a candle to the flame that is Taekwoon avoiding talking about feelings.

"You're being foolish" he says plainly. The sky is blue, the wind is chilly today and Sanghyuk is being foolish. All three sentences can be expressed to the same effect in Jaehwan's tone. Sanghyuk splutters and snips a leaf off by accident. The leaf falls to the ground, its existence mocking his lack of subtlety.

"You should be glad Hakyeon is here with you and not cities away, too busy or too tired to talk some days" Jaehwan says bitterly.

"I know…" Sanghyuk starts. He sympathizes with Jaehwan. He doesn't know Wonshik but he must be a wonderful man to have Jaehwan so devoted to him even when there are miles between them. But he doesn't have the assurances for his affection that Jaehwan has from Wonshik.

"I don't think… I don't think he likes me the same way I like him" Sanghyuk admits. The words hurt and he busies himself with sorting through the bundles of flowers and arranging them into neat bouquets.

"You couldn't be further from the truth" Jaehwan scoffs. "Anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can tell Hakyeon likes you."

"Maybe he used to but-" Sanghyuk cuts off. If Jaehwan doesn't know about Hakyeon's actual object of affection then it is not his place to tell him. To be honest the idea of Hakyeon liking him, even if it is once upon a time is quite incredulous.

"But?" Jaehwan prompts.

"Nothing" Sanghyuk lies. He sighs and lets his shoulders drop. It really is starting to get colder. Amboise doesn't have cold winters but Sanghyuk wonders if this season just reflects the heartbreak he feels.

“Well, he likes you and you like him and you are being stupid by not asking him out when you can” Jaehwan says and Sanghyuk sighs.

-

Sanghyuk doesn't plan on hiding forever. The town is small and he will eventually run into Hakyeon. If not at the farmer's market then at the small movie theatre by 2nd Street that Hakyeon frequents whenever there is a new movie released or at the amphitheatre in the Town Square where the travelling troupe performs when they are in town. Hakyeon really loves plays and you can see his eyes lighting up when he watches performers deliver unrealistically dramatic lines.

Sanghyuk knows that running into Hakyeon is inevitable. But he doesn't expect to run into him at the delicatessen because it is so far from the area Hakyeon lives in. (A part of Sanghyuk wonders if he pays too much attention to Hakyeon or if it is normal to know so much about a person after knowing them for so long.)

"Hi" Hakyeon says, as surprised as Sanghyuk feels.

"Hey" Sanghyuk says, pushing his hands into his pockets. Blunt ending to a long lasting crush or not, it still is a pleasure to see Hakyeon. It's cold enough for him to start wearing thin sweaters and he smells of earthy spices and his favourite wood scented perfume.

"Haven't seen you in a long time" Hakyeon says, paying for his order and putting the wrapped meats away in the basket he is carrying.

"End of summer harvests usually means a lot of work at the farm" Sanghyuk tells him. Hakyeon steps back to let him order but hangs close by, unwilling to end the serendipitous meeting first.

"Well, if you are free this Wednesday then we were thinking of a small wine tasting outing to the vineyards in Bordeaux. Nothing fancy" Hakyeon tells him.

"So no dressing up in suit and ties with Taekwoon quoting great dead French poets of the past?" Sanghyuk asks teasingly.

"I'm afraid not" Hakyeon laughs. "Hongbin is going back home by the Sunday train. We wanted to take him there before he goes there because he doesn't know when he will return."

"A shame" Sanghyuk says. His order is ready and he pays for it. This is a perfect cue to escape this conversation. Sanghyuk isn't inclined to be the third wheel to a getaway where his crush can be stolen from him. But he makes the mistake to linger because he has missed Hakyeon too much to cut him off.

"Taekwoon and Jaehwan are clearly distraught. But what do you say? Would you like to come along?" Hakyeon asks hopefully.

Sanghyuk has never been able to say no to his doe like eyes.

-

03

“The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.”

― Tennessee Williams

"I'm glad you decided to come along" Jaehwan says as Sanghyuk helps him load their luggage into the car trunk.

The trip is short and the company settles on using Jaehwan's convertible for the trip. The amount of bags makes Sanghyuk question their decision but Jaehwan insists that his baby can make the trip and so he defers to his judgement.

"Are you going to go to Paris with Hongbin on Sunday?" Sanghyuk asks Jaehwan.

"No. But I am leaving on Sunday too. I am going to Manchester to meet my father. Business stuff" Jaehwan says. Sanghyuk doesn't know what exactly Jaehwan does but he knows his father works in the fast fashion business and assumes it must be something related to that.

"How long are you traveling for this time?" Sanghyuk asks, making idle conversation while they wait for others to show up.

"A few months. I think I'll be back in spring next" Jaehwan says, counting and estimating in his head.

"On the plus side, you will be with your family for Christmas," Sanghyuk points out. Jaehwan smiles and Sanghyuk is glad. He thinks he will miss Jaehwan and finds that he genuinely means it.

"Can’t say that will be a blessing. I guess it's time to go" Jaehwan says, watching as Hakyeon and Hongbin emerge from the house followed by Taekwoon who locks the door behind him. The two laugh at something while Taekwoon indignantly protests. Hakyeon puts his hand around Hongbin's waist and Sanghyuk looks away wondering if he has made a mistake agreeing to this outing.

-

“I don’t know why we travelled all the way to Bordeaux when we live right next to Loire Valley” Sanghyuk confesses as they unpack their luggage in the shared room. The group stops at a motel for the night. The two cities are not far by road but no one wants to drive for hours after a long day and in the middle of the night.

“We travelled because Taekwoon believes Bordeaux red wines are the best when clearly Samour sparkling wines are superior but then Taekwoon just said I had cheap taste buds” Jaehwan scoffed. He flopped around on his side of the bed before pouting and burying his head in the pillows.

“So you basically agreed to travel here to prove a point to Taekwoon” Sanghyuk says, amused at the elder’s antics.

“Would have snuck in a bottle of bubbly too if it wasn’t ‘in bad taste’ and ‘not allowed Jaehwan’” Jaehwan says, imitating Taekwoon’s disapproving voice and adding air quotes for emphasis. Sanghyuk laughs and Jaehwan continues his impressions, happy that he has an audience in a person who isn’t clearly protective of his brother.

Their reverie is interrupted when Jaehwan gets a call from Wonshik and Hakyeon steps out of the shower, announcing it is free for whoever wants to use it next. Jaehwan steps out into the balcony to answer it and Sanghyuk looks to Hakyeon who simply has a towel wrapped around his waist. His features are softer than what Sanghyuk imagined and Sanghyuk commits those lines and curves to memory.

“You’ll catch a cold like that” he says when Hakyeon catches him staring. Hakyeon blushes and pulls a t-shirt over his head. Sanghyuk looks away and gives him the privacy to get dressed. His cheeks have a matching flustered shade of pink and he focuses on picking at the frills of the pillow instead of looking at Hakyeon.

The bed dips and Hakyeon sits next to him. The two of them look at the balcony where they can see Jaehwan smiling as he talks, parts of his conversation reaching them through the open window and the dusk frames his visage. The sky visible above the neighbouring buildings is already blue. The sun is setting and Sanghyuk feels the night wash over. Next to him, Hakyeon is warm and smells of berry scented shampoo. Their shoulders brush and knees touch. Hakyeon doesn’t move away so Sanghyuk stays too.

“We have some time before the wine tasting” Hakyeon says.

“We do” Sanghyuk agrees.

Hakyeon puts his head down on Sanghyuk’s shoulder and the younger tenses up. “Wake me up when we need to leave” he says, closing his eyes and resting against Sanghyuk. His frame is sturdy and his body is all muscle and broad shoulders after working on the farm for years. It feels warm and safe. Hakyeon’s own skin is cooler after the shower and the contrast feels pleasant.

“Okay” Sanghyuk agrees. Hakeon feels him relax and hunch a bit so he can rest properly. He puts an arm around Hakyeon and Hakyeon places a hand on his thigh and slowly falls asleep the way blooming flowers close at the end of day.

-

04

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar."

- Delia Owens

As predicted, Taekwoon and Jaehwan argue the moment the sommelier withdraws after pouring the first round of wines. Hakyeon shushes them to get them to behave the two huff petulantly. Hongbin looks at Sanghyuk and the two try not to laugh too hard. Taekwoon and Jaehwan restrain themselves till the third wine is served and then break into barbs and jibes at the other’s taste with no hope of reconciliations any moment in the near future.

“Are they always like this?” Sanghyuk asks Hongbin as Hakyeon sighs and drags them away from the high table to a more peaceful corner where they won’t disturb their fellow diners.

“Hakyeon tells me that Taekwoon is only this lively around Jaehwan. I am inclined to believe him” Hongbin says.

“You and Hakyeon seem close,” Sanghyuk casually comments. He shouldn’t be petty but he is and slightly jealous too. But Hongbin doesn’t notice the bite in his voice.

“Hakyeon is like an older brother to me now. We get along better than I thought we would but Hakyeon is just so friendly you know?” Hongbin tells him.

“A brother?” Sanghyuk asks in surprise.

“Trust me, I was surprised too” Hongbin agrees. “I don’t make friends this easily. But then again I don’t normally travel to far away towns with people I have only known for a few days or fall in love with someone I just met.”

“In love… with someone you just met? Taekwoon?” Sanghyuk asks, multiple pieces of the puzzle clicking into place together in his head.

This explains the odd glances and the way Hongbin and Taekwoon always gravitate to each other when Taekwoon is normally so reserved. All of a sudden, Sanghyuk feels foolish for not knowing this sooner because it has always been in front of him as plain as day.

“Yeah” Hongbin confirms, glancing over at his lover who stands to the side with his hands folded and glaring at Hakyeon and Jaehwan who are in a deep discussion about something else. Hongbin walks over and rescues Taekwoon from the conversation that will have no end and Taekwoon puts his hand around Hongbin. Sanghyuk feels very silly indeed.

“Between the two of them, I am going to age faster than I should” Hakyeon says when he comes over to talk to Sanghyuk. “I swear I have a few grey hairs already.”

“I think they would suit you” Sanghyuk says. The realization that Hakyeon does not like Hongbin because Hongbin likes Taekwoon gives him a rush of bravery that no wine can. The merlot is potent but the intoxication of affection is deadlier.

“Grey hairs?” Hakyeon asks, amused at Sanghyuk’s declaration.

“I think you’d still be pretty after aging for many years” Sanghyuk tells him.

The sincerity of the statement makes Hakyeon blush. He seems to be doing that a lot around him. Crush or no crush, Hakyeon thinks Sanghyuk will be terrible for him. The indulgence and affection will spoil him beyond measure. If only Hakyeon has the courage to reach for what he wants.

“Ah well, it’s only till Sunday I guess. Then it will just be me and Taekwoon again” Hakyeon says ruefully.

“I’ll miss both of them” Sanghyuk says. This time he means it genuinely. Hakyeon hums in agreement and the two of them sip on their wine in a companionable silence.

“If you ever feel alone at the manor, you can come down to the farm sometimes. There’s always people working on something or the other and the sights from the fields are pretty” Sanghyuk offers. “Jaehwan comes over all the time now. We always have room for one more if you want company.”

-

Sanghyuk sees Hakyeon next in October, two weeks after their trip to Bordeaux. The homogeneously green trees give way to a mix of brown, orange, yellow and green and the summer rains give way to clear blue skies where the white clouds float, content to just exist and drift.

Sanghyuk waits for Hakyeon, this time carrying a bouquet of roses. It’s a surprise batch of late bloomers and his mother allows him to take a few. It’s too cold for roses but the sun shines bright on some days and the flowers thrive and Sanghyuk thinks that this is reflective of his own feelings for Hakyeon. He’ll never verbally admit to Hakyeon, but he can’t think of any alternative except to give them to him.

“You have roses!” Hakyeon exclaims in happiness when he walks up to Sanghyuk. His arms are full with his purchases and Sanghyuk takes a few bags from him so he can hold the flowers.

“Late bloomers” Sanghyuk tells him by way of an explanation.

“Still very pretty” Hakyeon says. The roses aren’t red and this isn’t a tacky love confession but he finds the light pink colour pretty and any gift from Sanghyuk is a gift he will treasure.

The two walk down to the parking lot and Sanghyuk helps Hakyeon put things away. Hakyeon holds onto the flowers, insisting that they are too pretty to part with. Sanghyuk loiters and they make idle talk about the weather and the townsfolk they know and how the winter this year seems colder than the previous year. When they run out of topics to talk about, they talk about more trivial things till Sanghyuk looks at his watch and realizes he must go back to help his family.

“I also have tickets to a play by the travelling troupe you love” Sanghyuk says, shuffling his feet like an awkward child. “If you’d like to go with me.”

“I don’t think I would like anything more” Hakyeon declares. He smiles and Sanghyuk thinks he looks prettier than the flowers he is holding. In fact, Hakyeon’s smile might be the prettiest thing in the universe. A sign of the spring of the heart in the midst of the somber autumn all around that seems to gain colour as the old leaves softly drift through the wind.

-x-

[lonelypond]

Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 20

NozoEli, NicoMaki, Love Live, Love Live Sunshine, 1.7k, 20/?

Summary: Nozomi and Eli's date is not what Eli...or Nozomi expects at all. And can Nico and Maki have one uninterrupted meal?

What The Hell, Eli?

““Hey I recognize this neighborhood.” Eli sat up, sniffing. She could smell the Russian spices in the air. Nozomi had brought her back to Nozomi’s shop/apartment.

Nozomi giggled.

“This has the best chocolate in LA?”

“No, I picked it up from Jin’s Patissierre before I picked you up.”

“So no restaurant.” Eli felt overdressed and suddenly on the spot. She could feel her neck get prickly.

Nozomi laughed, “I thought we could talk more privately.” Nozomi parked and when Eli didn’t get out of the car walked over to open her door, “Plus, is it my fault all the best places are takeout?”

Eli sat, stiff, arms crossed, “I dressed up.” Eli glanced at Nozomi, “You dressed up.”

“And you look lovely.” Nozomi grinned, “Why can’t we have a date here?”

Eli pouted.

“It really is the best chocolate in LA.” Nozomi sighed, “I will drive you home or to any restaurant you want, if you really want that.” Nozomi crouched, her green eyes worried, “You just seemed like you needed to talk about something. And I wanted you to feel safe. You trust me don’t you?”

Eli heard Nico’s voice in her head, “You trusted Nico. Trust Eli.”

Nozomi stood, about to close the car door. Eli put out her hand. “I do like chocolate.”

“So I heard.” Nozomi stepped back, “We can watch a movie or something. You don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.” Eli got out of the car, Nozomi giving her space.

And then Eli felt herself being grabbed in a strong, warm hug, Nozomi’s voice soft in her ear. “But when you want to talk...”

###

Booksmart was a good choice, Nozomi thought. Eli was relaxing, the chocolate had been a hit. And now that the final credits had rolled, there was opportunity to get to know Eli better.

Eli stretched and turned to Nozomi with a smile, “That was a relief.”

“How?” Nozomi leaned in. Her couch was more of a love seat so there wasn’t much space between them. She’d sat first and let Eli choose between joining her or the beanbag chair.

Eli chuckled, “Usually when I’m watching a movie it’s for the podcast so Nico keeps up a running commentary.”

“Nico huh,” Nozomi poked Eli in the ribs, “I remember hearing your voice on those podcasts.”

Eli blushed, “Well, I have gotten used to keeping up with Nico.”

‘I guess you can get used to anything.”

Eli’s face darkened for a second, but then she smiled brightly, “So did you like the movie?”

“You heard me laughing.”

“Yeah. It was pretty good. Can’t imagine things like that happening.”

“Didn’t you go to parties in high school?”

“No.”

Nozomi’s smile was wry, “Me neither. But I bet Mari partied like that.”

“Yeah, I think that was actually the weirdest party I’ve been to…” Eli shrugged, “Nico drags me to some, but they’re premieres so more red carpet, less dance on the pool table in some fancy mansion.”

“But you dance so well.”

Eli blushed again, ducking her head, but then staring into Nozomi’s eyes, “Any chocolate left?”

“So you’re only here for the chocolate?”

Eli shook her head.

“How about some tea too. I picked up some from next door I thought you might like.”

“Ooohh, that sounds good.”

Nozomi stood up, ready to bustle in the kitchen, and Eli glanced at her phone.

“Expecting a call.” Nozomi couldn’t help the disappointment.

“No, no.” Eli bounced up, “Just curious how Nico’s date is going.” Eli paused, “I’ve kind of been in the way and I feel bad.”

“So you want it to go well.”

“Nico deserves someone who appreciates her.”

“Don’t you?”

“It’s different when a person’s in love with you.”

Nozomi had her back turned as she measured out tea, “Which you know from experience?”

A pained laugh, “No. I guess actually that’s the romantic in me coming out, thinking it’s better if you’re in love. I wouldn’t know. Haven’t dated since college. Got dumped.”

Nozomi turned to take a long, appreciative look at Eli, “They weren’t into super hot blonde dance goddesses? Because, spoiler, I am.”

Cute girls blushing was pretty much everything that was right in the universe, especially right here on Nozomi’s home. Eli seemed to be getting more restless though, pacing, rubbing her forehead…

“Getting a headache?”

“Yeah. It happens sometimes.” Eli flumped onto Nozomi’s couch, frowning as she leaned her head into her hands, muttering to herself.

“Need aspirin or…”

“No.” Eli shook herself, “Maybe the tea will help?”

“Here you go.” Nozomi poured a steady stream into the cup but Eli’s hands on the saucer were shaky, not graceful. And then the saucer dropped, spilling tea everywhere and Eli pitched forward, curled up in a ball on the ground.

“Eli?” Nozomi was on her knees, reaching out to Eli.

“Call Nico.” Eli’s eyes were wide and panicked, her mouth clamped down on what Nozomi was sure were whimpers.

###

"So Nico was sprinting through the airport chasing this driver for someone named Nik Yazik, while Nico’s actual driver was chasing after me, while Nik Yazik was chasing after her...”

Laughing, Nico leaned forward, sparkling, ruby eyes burnished and bright, strawberry lips carved into a smile, and Maki had never been happier. So, of course, that’s when Rin’s business emergency ringtone went off.

Nico frowned.

“Sorry, Nico. That’s our emergency ringtone. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Maki pulled out her phone.

Nico nodded, taking the opportunity to steal a bite of Maki’s dessert.

“What’s the matter, Rin...yes, Nico’s here with me, why…”

Nico froze in mid chew.

“What did you say...Eli?...okay, okay…”

Nico grabbed Maki’s phone out of her hand, “What happened to Eli?”

“Huh...Oh, Nico! Hi, Nico! Maki thinks you’re really cute. How’s your date going?”

Nico gritted out each word, “What happened to Eli?”

“This Nozomi person wouldn’t say, just that Eli was at her place and said to call you. Sounded like she was in some kind of trouble. Do I need to call the cops?”

“DON”T CALL THE COPS!” Everyone in the restaurant was now looking at Nico, who grimaced, tossed Maki’s phone back at her, “We have to go. NOW.” Nico waved at Mama Gianelli, “Put it on Nico’s tab.”

Mama Gianelli nodded, “Take care of Eli.”

“Nico always does.”

And now they were sprint walking toward where the cars were and Nico was keeping up a constant flow of commentary, “I knew there was going to be trouble....Eli just can’t cope….how much of a disaster lesbian do you have to be....stupid Eli wrecking Nico’s....” Nico stopped and Maki ran into her, causing both of them to stumble down the sidewalk. Fortunately, Nico managed to stay on her feet.

“Maki.” Turning, Nico had Maki’s hands, “I’m so sorry. But....”

“Eli’s family.” Maki finished Nico’s sentence, grinning as Nico’s eyes widened and a smile replaced the grumpy wrinkled frown.

Nico grabbed Maki in a huge hug that made Maki grunt as the air escaped her torso. When Nico released her Maki decided they were taking her car. “Nico, I’m driving. You’re too emotional.”

###

Nozomi dealt the cards, pushing away the wet nose that kept pushing into her hands to be petted.

“Let’s see what the cards have to say about your future now.”

The creature that had finished where Eli started sat next to Nozomi, watching the cards as she dealt them out face down on the low table and then flipped them. Nozomi could feel the intelligence so she just explained like she would if the Eli she started the afternoon with were sitting next to her.

“Four of Cups, reversed.” Nozomi turned to the angular, almost foxlike face, somehow different from her first encounter with four legged Eli, a difference more than lighting. “Are you ready to be brave?”

The reply was a sharp yip.

“Good girl.” Nozomi turned over the next card, “Queen of Swords. Reversed. Someone hasn’t been the best influence on you.”

No response.

“And finally, The Star.” Nozomi giggled, “It looks like you, well, non furry you. Blonde and strong and focused.”

Eli barked.

Nozomi reshuffled. “Sometimes, there’s some more information needed so we have one more card.” Nozomi revealed the Two Of Pentacles, a lively fellow with a pentacle in each hand. “This means balance, Eli. It’s a good sign.”

Nozomi considered the array of cards she’d drawn. Eli had obviously had a strong female influence in her life who wasn’t supportive and made Eli wary of new connections, but by reaching out Eli could have a bright future, with happiness and balance.

“Who hurt you, Eli? Was it Nico?”

Eli cocked her head at Nozomi, bright blue eyes confused. Nozomi reached out a careful hand, wondering if she could touch Eli’s ears, but the creature shied away. This was why Kanan and Yoshiko had dragged Eli down to the beach. But what were they up to? Did they transform as well? Some of the Yoshiko-Yohane confusion would make more sense then. Nozomi was going to have a serious talk with Hanamaru as soon as Eli was safe and restored to what Nozomi suspected was her native form.

Frantic banging on the door downstairs, and Nico’s voice carrying through the open window. “Hey, open up, Eli, where are you?”

Eli recognized Nico’s voice and howled. Nozomi hurried downstairs, Eli carefully following, sniffing everything in reach of her nose, even if they were the same things she’d sniffed on her way upstairs.

Nozomi opened the door, Nico rushed past her, Maki stepping in with a polite nod. As soon as Eli noticed Maki, there was a throaty gekkering noise and Nico frowned.

“We talked about this Eli. Maki is not a threat.”

Maki took a step back, leaning against the archway, watching Nico.

Nico was staring at Eli, who was still sniffing her way around the room.

“Three?” Nico muttered, turning to confront Nozomi, “What did you do?”

“A Tarot reading.”

“Did that give her extra tails?”

“When she changed…” Nozomi was not going to forget that scene anytime soon, “this is how she looked.”

Nico dropped to the floor, legs crossed, “What the hell, Eli? What are you doing?” Eli, responding to her name, trotted up to Nico, nudging at her.

“I might know people who can help.” Nozomi’s voice attracted Eli’s attention back to her, and Nozomi knelt to pet the friendliest of her visitors.

Nico sighed. “Kanan, right?”

“And Yoshiko.”

Nico rolled her eyes, “Oh this’ll be fun. Another party.” She facepalmed, muttering. Maki began to look concerned and stepped forward, kneeling to hug Nico.

“Call ‘em,” Nico said through her fingers, “Call any damn body who might know what’s going on.”

A/N: Tired, but here you go. Take care.

[ruinerofcheese]

So OC time for my Baker! Let me tell you the story of how the Baker started the bakery...

Hint: with the help of (meaning a kick in the ass) from my lovely friend Joel @themechaneer

It all went to shit. The job she was supposed to do was much more difficult than it was supposed to be, and then the guy she was supposed to meet didn't show up, and finally Timefall started coming down hard. As she quickly tried to find a spot to wait it out, she saw a ruin of some kind close by. She sat down on something that once perhaps was a stool of some kind inside the ruins and heaved a deep sigh.

Before all of this started, this whole Death stranding thing with the timefall and the voidouts causing whole cities to go down within half an hour, before all of that she had a life. She had a beautiful wife and a wonderful little boy all for herself. They lived in a city, she was a linguist and her wife was an agent for Bridges, back when there was still something like a police force.

When their city was completely wiped off the map, she was visiting friends to help with a linguistical problem. When she learned from the news that no one survived, she collapsed knowing the love of her life and their little boy were gone forever. Knowing she was a widow at just 20 years old.

She couldn’t just continue her normal job anymore, and she took off for a while. She lived in a cabin for a while, but soon found she couldn’t sit still and took up portering.

And now here she was. Sitting down on a ruined chair, waiting for timefall to stop. She tried contacting the guy again, hoping he was delayed and not lying in a ditch somewhere, half molested by mules, but he didn’t pick up. She sent him a mail saying she was going to wait for another hour, but no more. She was about to get some shut eye, when she heard a sound and someone coming inside.

“Fucking finally!” she exclaimed before she realized it wasn’t the guy she was waiting for.

“What?” came the confused reply.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else. Someone I was waiting for.” She looked down, but kept an eye on the stranger.

“Ah. D’you mind if I wait out the Timefall here with you?”

“No, sure come in”

There was a bit of an awkward silence after that, where the guy sat down and stared at his hands for a while.

“so…”

“yeah”

“The name’s Markins, by the way.

“Tish”

They shook hands, then went back to awkward silence. In the end she started wandering through the room, where she could reach through the debris and collapsed parts. She soon saw it used to be some kind of eatery. There were the ruined remnants of a deep fryer, and several ovens that seemed to be in various states of disrepair. One of the ovens looked to be reasonably okay though. She looked at it from every side, deciding then and there to come back with a car tomorrow to bring it home with her. Maybe she could actually try and bake something instead of printing everything.

She went back to her seat after she’d seen all there was to see. Markins had followed her movements.

“find anything useful?” he asked

“Maybe. It’s an old oven I’m going back for it tomorrow. See if I can get it to work at my home. It would be nice if I could bake some cookies like my grandma used to.”

“Good god! It has been ages since I had anything like that, you?” he replied with a smile, seemingly thinking back to a childhood memory.

She smiled along with him.

“It’s actually one of my first memories. Drinking tea and eating cookies with my grandma, playing a fun game.” You could almost taste the cookies thinking back to it.

“I remember walking with my mom past this bakery, this patisserie, with all sorts of sweet cakes and pastries in the window. My mom would always have to tell me at least three times to ‘come along now’ when we walked past” he said the ‘come along now’ in a high pitched voice, like his mom had said it all those years ago.

They sat for the next hour talking about all the sweet things they ever ate and the memories that came with it, until the Timefall finally let up. They said their goodbyes and each went their separate ways.

She called the guy she was supposed to meet again, and after he didn’t pick up again, she sent him another pissed off email.

But her thoughts kept going back to the conversation she just left behind. All the good memories attached to the good food, the smells of cookies bringing back other memories… She looked around her, at the people walking past her in the city she just arrived in, and wished she could give some of those memories, that happiness to them. If only she could…

 

It wasn’t until much later, that she finally found the time to drag that oven back to her own place to try and fix it. She replaced the electrical system with a newer version that would actually fit with today’s standards. She worked on the heating components but soon had to give up on it, simply because she didn’t know enough about it. She called in the help of a friend, the Mechaneer who walked her through most of it. He promised he would come by and see what he could do for her. She promised if he got it working, she’d try to make cookies and give him a batch.

So here she was. Joel was trying to fix her oven and she was trying to find out where she could get ingredients for her cookies. She got her grain from the Timefall farm, and she found something like butter in a little shop in the city. She found some sweetener as well, the one that actually tastes like sugar instead of some chemical shit that tasted sweet. And everywhere she went and explained what she needed her products for, she heard the same words and had to make the same promise. “That’s cool! Let me know how it works out! Promise me you send some my way if you can?”

When she came home and opened the door the first thing that hit her was the smell. Something was burning. Worriedly, she turned the corner and found Joel keeping his hand under water.

“Is everything all right? It smells something awful in here.”

“Well,” he replied with a sheepish grin, “your oven works and gets hot. I found that out the hard way. The smell is just some leftover dust burning up though.”

“Oh my god, are you alright? Let me see your hand!”

“It’s fine, just a little burn. I’ve had worse really.”

“If you say so…” she’s uncertain, but soon forgets everything as she realizes what Joel just said.

“Wait. It works? Woohoo! It works!” she dances around her small kitchen, Joel laughing at her antics. She suddenly stops.

“I’ve got to make cookies!” the look of panic mixed with excitement makes Joel laugh even harder.

She tried several mixtures of cookie dough until she found the perfect mixture. The cookies that came out of the oven were a beautiful golden, and the smell in her little home was excruciatingly good, making their mouths water as they waited for them to cool down.

She told him about all the promises she had to make to send out cookies to all the people that helped her, and she could see the cogs turning in his head.

“Why don’t you fix up the place you found this oven in?” he asked after a minute or two.

“And then what?”

“Open the place back up for business. Everyone loves cookies darlin'. Could be a nice way of bringing people together. I'm sure porters would love a nice little rest stop sort of joint where they could sit down. Maybe wait out the Timefall with something sweet to eat. Somewhere they could just relax. Speak their mind a little. It's a simple idea. But would probably mean a lot to a lot of people if you did it. I know I'd come back for a visit if you did."

“I wouldn’t know how to start that. Besides… I’m a porter for Bridges, pretty sure I can’t combine it.”

“Aw hell, Tish! You never liked this job anyway! This way you…”

He was interrupted by a chime at the door. It’s two porters, one intern and his teacher, bringing a package. She let them in, offering them a cookie and some warm tea. They talk about their day, about why the intern wants to start portering, about everything and nothing at all.

After they leave Joel looks at her.

“See? That’s what I mean. People come in, they talk about themselves. They want to share their stories with people, and having something like your bakery might just give them the opportunity.”

“I don’t know…”

“Yeah well, I do. Tomorrow we’re driving to that Bakery thing and take a look at what I can fix for you, while you see what we need to make it habitable.”

As the Mechaneer predicted, it soon took off. She invited everyone she knew and everyone that helped her, and they all showed up. The two porters came back, and soon two porters became four, that became fourteen, and soon her days were filled with baking and laughing, with pouring tea and comforting a sad Porter that lost a friend recently, with taking orders for deliveries.

It started with just tea and cookies, but people came in with all sorts of ingredients. Someone found some vanilla for her to use, another came across an abandoned shelter greenhouse overgrown with apple trees and took some apples for her to use. Soon a gardener started living in the abandoned shelter and started delivering to her on a regular basis. And sometimes sent her honey with his packages as well.

Others came with other fruits and with nuts.

Porters came in with packages from all over the UCA carrying spices like cinnamon and cardamom free for her to use.

A gardener from the south of the UCA sent her cacao beans and raisins and the cookies she made with those send her straight to heaven.

Soon the Baker became a known place where everyone could just sit for a while and forget about the bad stuff for a while. In the Bakery everyone was welcome, and everyone felt welcome.

And that, ladies and gentlemen and non-binary friends, is how the Baker came to be. So come on in, sit down and she’ll be right with you.

[royal-writer]

Memories 12- The Drow Part 4

I Would Die For You Tibs. And this isn’t even touching all the Things I know about you.

Her tears were dried up by the time she’d limped her way to Tibiius storefront. The salty drops and exhaustion around the circles beneath her butterscotch eyes and in her tear-ducts of her face were crusted and gross. She wiped her arm beneath her runny nose; red and sore from her ugly weeping, feeling the shakes of her unsteady limbs.

Every breath felt like she’d run a marathon. Muscles screaming with agony. Blotches, blemishes, and stains of color on her skin that had an aching pulse where fists and feet had kicked and punched her. Bruises on her arms, bruises on her chest, on her ribs. Welted raised skin streaked with flecks of blood where fingernails grooved into flesh.

Essätha placed a hand against her neck and flinched. The worst pain of all was not even the outline of hands wrapped around her throat. It wasn’t even the inflammation of her skin, the pain, or the angry dark red hand prints turning to a deep violet-blue that made it the worst. It was the fear. A place where present and past intermingled. The taste of death coating her throat. The aching loneliness that always told her she wasn’t worthy of existence; that had simply always been a nuisance to society, that she was still just a frightened and fragile woman. Not even a woman, but a Yuan-Ti. A monster unable to be loved.

I’ll finally be free of you.

If that was all people wanted, why could they not leave her in peace?

Because you put yourself in these situations, fool, she thought to herself bitterly, raising a hand to the door.

The shape of her knuckles didn’t even hit the doorframe as it flung open. Her shadow which cast a silhouette into the window of the shop now fell over a gray leather-skinned man. The wild eyes of the older gentleman staring up at her beneath his thick rimmed glasses, and a hand to his hunched over aching back.

“Essätha! I was up all night searching for you!” the elder Drow gasped. His posture straightened reluctantly as he reached out to her. Tremors in his fingers, and a deep set of lines in his face that indicated his tiredness. The depth of his age lines settled in creases of the worry that he’d held on to his expression through the night.

“Oh, sweet pea. What happened to you? Who did this?”

Eyes too dry to produce tears, her chest heaved, and a raspy sob broke tore through her.

“Sweetie,” Tibiius crooned, gingerly taking hold of her arm. “Come inside now, let me have a look at you.”

He hobbled more than walked while guiding her through the front door. It shut behind her, the closed sign smacking against the folds of the curtains blocking some of the sunlight into the window. Silhouettes and rays of sunshine dancing and dappling against the floorboards and shelves lined with goods. The shapes of their figures shuffling along.

Tibs ambled on with his jaw set in a grimace. The angle of his back seemed a distress; keeping his posture shrunken shorter than her own. As she twisted her arm to break free upon noticing just how uncomfortable he seemed, his hand held firmly tight against her forearm. With a great reluctance and much sniveling, she had no choice but to let him tug her along to the small sitting room in the back.

“Take a seat now, young lady.”

She obeyed the command without complaint as Tibiius released her. Her chest rising and falling, rising and falling again and again as echoes of broken cries rose up against her will.

The old Drow appeared to have kept at least part of his word when he’d said she had better return in a timely fashion. Much of the bagged goods she’d had sent home with the young boy the other day were on the floor by the back door. One had fallen over, scattering supplies. On the table there sat a rusty old lantern that appeared to have burned recently. The oil was nearly gone, and the wick was black and short.

Essie reached for the crumpled up piece of paper sitting beside it. Her fingers smoothed it gradually, spotting the dense charcoal lines. The image sketched upon it was heavily smudged by now, and there were folds in the parchment from how many times hands had creased and re-creased the page.

“Who drew this?”

Her voice sounded alien. Choked and faded.

Tibiius looked up from the two-burner stove nested in the corner. His hands stopped shaking as he lifted a kettle up to pour a steaming hot mug of some spiced herbal tea.

“I did,” he stated gruffly, pouring a heavy drop of honey into the mug. He stirred it rhythmically while approaching the table, and set the mug before her. The rising steam giving off a pleasant aroma. Hints of ginger, sage, and lavender with some more bitter things she couldn’t quite identify.

For a moment, her pain seemed numbed by curiosity. For such an incredible artist, Tibs had nothing like this displayed in the house. The realism of the portrait was incredibly eerie for being a mere sketchy graphite. It followed the angles of her face, framed by the curls of her hair. The detail of her eyes was strangely soulful and lifelike. A gentle smile on her face like she’d been trying to hide it. And all of this committed from memory, no less.

Then she’d looked at the smear where he’d drawn the scales on her face, and it no longer looked appeared like some mythic beauty but a cursed reality.

Either ignoring or not realizing her intense interest in the drawing, the gentleman pushed the ceramic closer to her until she retrieved it from the table. It was painfully hot on her tongue, and her throat ached to swallow, but it warmed the chill in her bones. Her stomach protested; rolling uncomfortably, but she inhaled deeply and forced the beverage to stay down.

“Had to have some way to find ya,” Tibiius went on. He grabbed the other table chair and dragged it around the table to sit beside her. A deep grunt exiting him as his feeble old body sank into the hard seat.

“Ain’t nothing better than a description than a picture. Now come here aye, lend me your hands.”

Mutely, Essie did as instructed, and offered her hands as she set down the mug.

The man held her hands in one of his wrinkly spotted ones. He lay his other atop hers, fingers spread, and closed his crimson eyes. The barest movement of his lips as he whispered softly, creating a circular motion over her hands as he worked. None of the words he spoke made any sense. They flowed out of him like a ritual’s chant; with the same word appearing the most frequently over and over again: Eilistraee.

Silver light streamed out of the Drow’s hands, and upon her skin. It began to spread outward; forming the appearance of wings. Small speckles of light floated away around their hands, and each bead of moonlight that seemed to shimmer and fall away like glitter fluttered and formed the image of a moth beating its wings before fizzling out.

She breathed in deeply, and exhaled with awe.

“You know magic?” Essie murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He said nothing. Concentrating on the words of his spell, warmth bathed her as a glow cast itself upon her wounds. The scratches shimmered, and instantly faded. The sharp ache in her lungs followed next, and she looked down to see the black and blue of internal bruising disappearing rapidly from her exposed chest.

Tibs let out a satisfied sigh, and lifted his eyelids slowly while patting her hands.

“Aye, I know magic alright,” he stated, a twinkle of silver still reflecting in his eyes as the glow faded. “I don’t flaunt it. Never was the best with with it. But the Silver Lady blessed me with Her gifts, and I am proud to be Her follower. I’m glad She still sanctions on old cleric with Her divine power, even now. I haven’t called upon it in a long, long time…”

As the man gave a far-away look, lost in old memories, Essätha wiggled one of her hands carefully free of his. She reached up to touch her throat, wincing at still how tender the spot was.

“Don’t do that, miss. Ya still plenty bruised, and I only have so much in me to mend ya. I’m sure you’re gonna hurt for a while, so don’t push yourself.”

“Thank you, sir Tibiius,” she expressed with deep gratitude. Her free hand went for the glass, still a bit shaky as she brought it to her lips for another drink.

He grinned a bit sheepishly, stroking the scales on the back of her hand. The troubled look began to slowly creep back in over the bags under his eyes and sleep-deprived features. He licked his lips anxiously, scooting to the edge of his chair.

“Where have you been?” he stressed. “What happened to you? Who did this? I was askin’ folks all evening and wandering well into the night searching. Worried sick I have been! I finally came home, hoping to catch you here. Praying you’d come back; but you weren’t here. Thenhen I saw the shadow in the store while I was gettin’ myself worked up to go out again and looked out the window and by My Lady’s Light young one, thank the Goddess you came back.”

“Did that member of the Teken’rae family do this to you? Is that where you were; who you were with? Sweet pea tell me what happened.”

Essätha gave a shake of her head, placing the mug down. She fished into her pocket with her free hand. Digging out the small but thick bound manuscript, she slapped it down on the table.

“The Teken’rae man had nothing to do with this,” she whispered. Her voice wavered a little as she continued: “There was a woman, and a man. Someone; one of them I assume, knocked me out and dragged me back to some dingy hut. I managed to escape while the man was trying to kill me; tying up loose ends they said. The woman said she needed to speak with someone. Some Keepers or something?”

“The people who kidnapped me, one of them had this on them.”

Grunting, the old man sat her hand carefully down in her lap. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and wiped them on the edge of shirt. His tongue darted out against his lips as he murmured something in his native tongue to himself, retrieving the notepad to flip it open.

His eyes barely skimmed the front page, and he hissed in revulsion, nearly dropping the manual.

“A vile dark magic,” he spat.

“What is it?” the Yuan-Ti woman urged, leaning closer.

“This appears to be a verse created for a group of followers to the goddess Kiaransalee. It’s written in Drow. It speaks of sacrificial tributes,” he turned the page, “blood-letting and torturing their enemies for years until they go insane. Using the blood of powerful mages to make more potent castings. Eventually using the husks of their empty vessels when they finally die for to expand their necrotic undead army. And there’s,” he flipped through the scripture quickly, “talk of killing and turning more people to prepare for the great fight against Lolth and Lady Dark Maiden Eilistraee. This is appalling.”

“They asked about the family crest that I had,” Essie recalled, fidgeting. “What could they want that for?”

“Who knows,” Tibs growled, his eyes darting over the passages. “I would assume they may want to use the influence of the family to their advantage, somehow. Teken’rae’s are one of the last known family houses to still exist in these parts. They’re practically royalty. They may have wanted to use them, or to destroy them and further ensue chaos and fear among other Drow and Drow family.”

“The amulet is a communication device and locator between family members. It could be a danger in the wrong hands. We are very fortunate they do not have it.”

“That Teken’rae fellow needs to see this,” Essätha urged. She reached out, grasping the elderly man’s dark-spotted hand. He lifted his ruby colored eyes to her, and looked away. Adjusting the way his glasses sat on his wide-bridged nose, then running his hand over his balding head through the thin wisps of silver hair.

“Aye. His family is in great danger. They have been alerted by the death of his kin, but I don’t know if they have further plans against them. This little novel has personal notes scribbled in it, but it is essentially a pre-written bible of propaganda to their cause.”

“Lady Eilistraee will not stand for this,” Tibiius snarled, smacking a fist into his thigh. “Drow are not meant to be bastardized slaves to that devil-woman who calls herself a goddess. We are capable of much more. We are not monsters; we are a proud people who descended from a once great empire of dark elves only to befall our own inescapable sins. But we’re not all like that.”

For a terrible moment, she could hear the pleading in Tibs voice as he gazed upon her: “Drow are capable of great mistakes, deceit, and dishonor, miss Essätha. Many of us have done great harm to the world, and made our name bad for all of our people. This cult shows the worst of what some of us are capable of, thinking we are better than everyone else. This book is the preaching of great evil, darkness, and sin. It is the work of mad and bitter people. It is not all that we are.”

Smiling gently, Essätha gave the man’s hand a tight squeeze of reassurance.

“You needn’t convince me of anything, mister Tibiius. I know a good person when I see one.”

The older gentleman nodded slowly. He deflated, sitting deeper into his seat until his aged body began to sink into itself. Relief seemed to ease some of the tension around him, but his face still appeared greatly troubled. As it should be.

“You need to show this to sir Teken’rae,” she repeated. “Tell him all that I have told you.”

“You need to tell him what happened,” Tibs countered hotly. “He needs to hear this from you. Give him the description of these thieves; these abductors. His family and the constables will look into it and see to their justice, child, I assure you.”

“I can not stay here, mister Tibs. I… I barely managed to free myself from that man. They could come after me-”

“Then I will keep you safe!”

She halted, staring at the frantic man in stunned silence. Her mouth hung open, listening to the heavy, ragged breathing he exuded furiously.

With a supportive smile, Essätha stroked her fingertips gently over his hand, and lowered her head. Springs of her dark hair fell over her face, blocking her eyes tinged with remorse.

“Mister Teken’rae may not be convinced by me, but I think that he will listen to you. His family might not be so generous to a criminal who stole his family crest from another criminal. I am not much better than the woman who had it before me.”

“I can not risk to endanger you and this town by staying,” she continued. “If these maniacs have an army or just a handful of misguided followers, I don’t want to risk war in these streets. People live here. Their lives and their children’s lives depend on the security of this town.”

“But you will be alone,” Tibiius murmured faintly. “You need protection, child. This is not a debate. They… They will hunt you.”

She shook her head.

“Miss Essätha, please-”

“I am not staying, mister Tibs. I thank you, but it was never my intention, anyway. I know how to disappear. I can buy myself some time, at the very least. Hopefully Teken’rae’s family line won’t decide to track me down as well, as I have wronged their family…”

“They will be much more focused on their own, and gaining justice of their lost son, then following where you go, a minor inconvenience in the scheme of things,” Tibiius uttered shortly.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes and offered a sloppy sideways smile up to the gentleman. There was a deep sorrow written in his face.

“Please stay,” he offered, voice cracking. “I can protect you, here.”

She could never make him understand. She was safe no where. It didn’t matter if the order of this dark Drow goddess came after her, or the Teken’rae family did, or neither of them. She had seen the destruction her kind brought with them. Through herself, through the demented groups of Yuan-Ti that she had met in her travels.

The trust or tolerance of her would eventually wane here. She needed to stay ahead of the disappointment and hurt before it bared its teeth. Before her, or anyone else, got hurt in the crossfire.

“I will be fine, mister Tibiius. I can look after myself.”

He hesitated. The determination in her face seemed to make him pause in thought. He licked his lips, and seemed to want to speak. Dragging out a long sigh, he nodded instead.

“I can not stop you,” he relented with a gravely tone. “You wish to run. But you can not run forever, Essätha. No one can run forever.”

His words were a heavy weight on her heart. She tried to shake off the ominous stature of it as nothing of importance. Everyone needed to stop for rest, now and then. Everyone needed a bit of companionship even, from time to time to keep their sanity in check. That was sensible, and there was nothing otherwise foreboding in his words.

“If you would be willing to take it, I have some goods that I think will serve you well on your journey. And some food, too. It’ll be a few days travel between here, and the next town.”

A ghostly smile flashed over her sharp canines. “Of course, mister Tibiius. That’s very thoughtful of you, and I’d be glad to accept.”

“Oh and uh, one more thing,” the man whispered. His voice was threaded with anxiety as he reached into his breast pocket. He turned over a piece of thick parchment a couple times, before holding it out to her.

Taking it, Essätha flipped it open curiously. The edges were worn, and it appeared damaged with staining and light exposure. But in the faded colors and rough lines, she could make out the image of a young man quite clearly. His eyes were a rusted orangey-red, with light gray (or perhaps, discolored from aged parchment gray) skin and long white hair. He had a strapping smile, broad cheekbones, a thin nose, and sharp angles to his chin and angular throat.

“That’s an old drawing,” Tibs scoffed. “Not my best work.”

“Who is it?” she inquired, studying the shape of the man’s eyes. It was a very lovely drawing, despite what Tibiius had to say.

“My boy, Sevrin. He left home years ago,” he sighed. “If… If you see my boy, could you… could you tell him that I- that mister Tibiius Seernomadane- miss him?” He licked his lips, clutching his hands against his legs.

“Could you tell him… his father, misses him?”

Essie turned her half-lid eyes from the small scrap of paper in her hands, to the man in front of her. She reached out, placing her hand on top of his to give it a firm squeeze once again.

“I’d be happy to do that if I see him, mister Tibiius.”

He gave a short nod, a troubled look in the shine of his eyes.

“You’re a good, and very brave young miss,” he choked. “You come visit me, sometime. Any time will do, you understand?”

She nodded her head eagerly. The words she wanted to say, never making it to the surface as Tibs stood up from his seat, and hugged her. His tired old bones creaking, and the strength of his fingers digging into her shoulders as he exhaled shakily. A hand stroked her matted, dirty hair gently as he held her.

Mechanically, her arms moved to hold him back. Robotically patting his back, too astonished for words.

“Aye, you stay safe, you hear me?” Tibs rasped. “And no more pickpocketing.”

The man’s shoulders shook, a tearful choke breaking into his voice.

Turning her eyes down to the floorboards, Essie latched her fingers into the old man’s backside. She swallowed the thick mass that felt its way up suddenly into her throat, faster then she was aware of.

“I’ll do my best, mister Tibs.”

She tried not to think about how much she was going to miss the bed, even if it was too firm for her liking. She tried not to think about how much she was going to miss holding the shop for him when Tibs needed to rest, or go to the bathroom. She tried not to think about how nice it was, to live simply, even if it had been for just a short while. To feel normal. To feel accepted.

“You come back here, anytime, miss Essätha. You’ll always have a place, here.”

She swallowed thickly, a prickling sensation in the back of her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Aye, no, thank you. You’re a fine lass, sweet pea. I haven’t felt this lively in years,” he chuckled; the sound vanishing rather suddenly as he clutched her. “I sure am going to miss you.”

Her shoulders shook uncontrollably. Fear of the unknown, anxiety, loneliness, pity, shame, heartache- so many ranges of emotion all colliding, all at once.

The next thing she knew, she was practically in Tibiius lap, sobbing at what cruel and alien fate lay before her. But mostly, to what she was leaving behind.

[lostinfic]

6 | Biting

Mercier x Betty British Raj AU

Calcutta, 1902. The word ‘dance’ comes to mind, their own choreography of gazes exchanged across the room, brushes of hands and half-spoken confessions. They orbit around each other, destined never to collide it seems; Mercier is upper class, Betty is a governess. And he’s spying on the family whose children she swore to protect. But in this foreign land of spices and silk, of golden gods and lush forests, where cultural norms clash and wane, even destinies must yield to desire.

Rating: Mature Word count: 2.8k CW: predatory behaviour from a man You don’t need to have seen either show. Tumblr   |   Ao3   |    This chapter on Ao3

Mercier scratched the back of his head, ruffling his hair in frustration. His hand followed the curve of his neck, and he rested his fingers at the base of his throat, where Betty had kissed him.

Today was her day off, but Mercier wasn’t in Calcutta.

He loosened his necktie, sighed and returned to the legal documents in front of him.

When he’d last seen Betty, with her braid and nightgown, holding a book of pressed flowers. She’d looked young, innocent. But then to find The Kama Sutra hidden in her book and that teasing kiss. There was so much about her he had yet to discover.

As a rule, he avoided women who tried to play these kinds of games of seduction: tempting, then withdrawing, suggesting then playing coy. He preferred straightforward, honest affairs. But he couldn’t blame Betty for doing this; he’d pursued her in the house of her employer, and he’d suggested they secretly write to each other. What else was she supposed to think?

All of this would be much easier were she his equal. It was madness for a man of his standing to pursue a governess. A governess working for a man suspected of fraud by the French government. Madness. And yet, he intended to persevere.

Mercier sipped some tea and looked out the window at the vast indigo plantation. Under the watchful eyes of soldiers, native men in white turbans, carried loads of blue flowers on their spindly backs.

Monsieur Lelievre, the owner of the plantation, entered the study, arms full of large books. A cloud of dust burst from the pages when he dropped them on the desk. “The plantation’s bookkeeping from the beginning,” he announced. He brushed his waistcoat and trousers, then sat opposite Mercier.

Not long ago, Mercier would have jumped at this chance for a real mission outside Calcutta. The negotiations between European tradesmen and local authorities often required skills of the military and diplomatic kind. But in this case, not only did he have more interesting duties in the city, Mercier suspected he’d been sent on a wild goose chase. He’d been here two weeks without making any progress.

Mercier cursed de Brem under his breath. Only a few days after landing on the shores of India, the man had taken over the investigation on Lord Wigram and had sent Mercier away from Calcutta. What if there was more to it than the old rivalry between them?

*

Gabrielle whistled as she entered her home, removing her hat and gloves. It had been a wonderful promenade, and she gave each dog a treat for their good behaviour. She’d met Miss Salinger in the park, it was her day off. To make up for her brother’s absence, Gabrielle had done her best to cheer her up, with some success. She was a bright young woman, no wonder Jean-François was so taken with her.

“It’s lovely to see you so happy, Miss Mercier,” de Brem said in French.

At the sight of the blond, mustachioed man, Gabrielle stiffened. “It seems you have gotten lost in the house Mr. de Brem. Again. Let me show you the way back to the consulate wing.”

Since Jean-François had left for Dhaka, de Brem kept coming over, at all hours of the day. Since he was her brother’s boss, she couldn’t be as rude with him as she wished.

Gabrielle walked away, but he stepped between her and the door.

“I am not lost, I assure you. I wanted to see you.” He touched her arm, and Gabrielle recoiled. “I remember a time when you welcomed my attentions.”

“That was a long time ago. Before I met Armand.”

He stepped forward, she stepped backward.

“He’s a poor pianist,” de Brem said.

Forward, backward.

She clenched her fists, remembering her brother’s boxing lessons.

“I love him,” Gabrielle stated.

“I would give you anything you desire.”

“You are married. You have children. You have no honour.”

The back of her legs hit a writing desk. Her knees buckled and de Brem smiled. His breath ghosted over her face, she turned her head away.

“Unlike your brother, you mean? And what has his honour ever done for him? I am his superior now. When I want something, I take it.”

His tongue snaked out between his thin lips as he contemplated Gabrielle’s face. Then his gaze strayed to a point behind her shoulder, and he smirked. Gabrielle pushed him away. The front door opened, and de Brem retreated so as not to get caught.

“See you soon, Miss Mercier,” he said before leaving.

Gabrielle sat down and closed her eyes to steady her beating heart.

De Brem’s self-confidence had once seduced her, but something corrupt had festered in his soul. She reflected on how people who grow up with everything shall never be satisfied.

So far, she had not told her brother about his colleague’s behaviour, but now it had gone too far. When she turned to the writing desk, Gabrielle saw what had caught de Brem’s attention earlier: a letter from Miss Salinger to Jean-François.

*

On the porch of the Wigram’s house, Betty leaned against a doric column. Her feet ached from walking all day in cheap boots, but she would enjoy her free day until its last second.

The twilight hour had a peculiar stillness to it, even birds in the palms dozed off, tired from the day’s work. A hot wind chased dry coconut shells down the street and stirred the fragrant frangipanis. Warm hues filled the sky and painted white buildings with gold. A tabby cat curled at her feet.

With each breath, her chest pushed against Jean-François’ latest letter hidden in her corset; Gabrielle had passed it on to her during their promenade. She missed him. She missed how every step out of the house thrilled her with its chance to meet him. If only she’d given him a proper kiss goodbye. What if he’d met someone else in Dhaka? Another deep breath, and the envelope crinkled in her corset. No, he was still hers.

With the delay between letters— three days, sometimes four— their correspondence lacked the back and forth, akin to a conversation, it had before. But there was more of an openness to them, more daring and risque too. He remained a gentleman, and she a well-behaved young woman, but they chose each word carefully for their double meaning or reference to The Kama Sutra. Each sentence crafted to arouse the reader’s imagination.

She grazed the letter with her fingertips, and her skin goose-pimpled with excitement. Should she read it now or wait until she was alone in her room?

Knocks on the window decided for her. Her three pupils, Victoria, Winifred and Oliver, pressed their faces against the glass and slapped it to attract their governess’ attention. Betty waved at them, and they ran to the door to greet her. They jumped in her arms, talking one over the other about their day, as if they had been separated for weeks.

Lady Wigram stood nearby, always with that haughty set to her chin. She stared at the children’s display of affection. Hurt flickered in her hazy blue eyes, but she chased it away with a flippant remark about Betty’s appearance. Betty couldn’t help that she’d been in the children’s lives longer than their step-mother so they trusted her more. Still, she felt bad for Lady Wigram who obviously wished to be closer to the children.

“Where did you get those earrings?” Lady Wigram asked with narrowed eyes.

Betty touched the delicate pendants at her ears— a gift from Jean-François to apologise for his absence on her day off. “… Miss Mercier gave them to me.”

At the mention of Gabrielle, Lady Wigram perked up. “You know Miss Mercier? Why would she give you earrings?”

After some incoherent babbling, Betty explained she’d first met Gabrielle after Oliver had fallen in the river and Jean-François helped them out. She then made up a story about helping out with Gabrielle and Armand’s upcoming wedding. “She gave me the earrings as a thank you. They’re second-hand. Said she never wears them anyway.” She held her breath as Lady Wigram appraised her for long seconds. She nodded curtly, and let Betty go.

From her bedroom window, Betty had a good view of the tree in the backyard under which she’d met Jean-François before he left town. She couldn’t help but glance at it, hoping to see him there, leaning against the trunk, neck tie loose and smoldering eyes. But he wasn’t there.

She postponed reading his letter until after the children had gone to bed. She hid it at the bottom of a drawer along with the earrings, then changed into her grey governess dress. And thus she also slipped back into her governess persona: meek and unremarkable.

On the dinner table, a servant had set a plate down for Lord Wigram but his chair was empty. It remained untouched until the end of the meal, and Lady Wigram kept glancing at the clock and at the front door. It wasn’t Betty’s place to ask about his lordship’s whereabouts, but she worried. Thankfully, Victoria asked “Where is Papa? Won’t he be hungry?”

Lady Wigram’s hazy blue eyes settled on Betty even as she answered Victoria. “Your father said he was going out to meet a friend this morning.”

Betty focused all her attention on cutting her chicken into bits so as not to meet that unprovoked icy glare. She didn’t have anything to do with his absence.

Not ten minutes later, a great guffaw announced Lord Wigram’s return. He staggered into the dining room, arm in arm with an equally inebriated man. Wigram kissed his wife, then each children’s head, and Betty’s too. Laughing, Betty ushered the children out of the room before the men became too rowdy.

Samaira, Oliver’s nanny, joined them. As the children chose a story, the nanny and the governess chatted about their day. The conversation confirmed what Betty thought: Lady Wigram had tried to play with the children so they might warm up to her, but she’d suggested activities ill-suited to their age.

“Betty, I want to go out tonight,” Samaira whispered— she meant meet up with Rakesh, her boyfriend who worked next door.

“Of course, I’ll cover for you,” Betty answered. Someday, she might need Samaira’s help to sneak out and meet Jean-François.

Betty came up with a plan that would kill two birds with one stone: ensure Lady Wigram wouldn’t catch Samaira leaving the house, and make her feel appreciated by the children. Betty had been teaching the children a nursery rhyme, she asked the Victoria to write down the lyrics while Winifred drew flowers around the sheet. They practiced singing it with a simple choreography.

When Samaira was ready to leave, Betty took the children to the drawing room. Lady Wigram was alone, his lordship already snoring off the ale.

The children were nervous as they took place in front of their stepmother. Betty offered Lady Wigram the lyrics and encouraged her to sing along. There was much laughing and off-key singing, but they did splendidly.

At Betty’s behest, they hugged and kissed their stepmother goodnight. She seemed genuinely happy, more than she had ever seen her.

“It was their idea,” Betty lied. She hoped Lady Wigram would be nicer if she didn’t feel in competition with the governess.

“That’s very kind. Tell me Betty, you really were with Gabrielle Mercier this afternoon.”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

“Do you think… She is a very fashionable young woman. The talk of the town, one might say.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And her fiancé is a talented pianist. Their wedding is bound to be a grand event.”

“I suppose it will,” Betty replied carefully, wary of this unusual amiable tone.

“And of course, my husband is a close acquaintance of Colonel Mercier.”

The mention of Jean-François unsettled Betty, she panicked, until she realized what Lady Wigram was really after: an invitation. “I believe miss Mercier said you would be invited to her wedding.”

“As it should be,” she answered with a satisfied smile.

Maybe if she secured an invitation to the wedding for the Wigram, and made the children lover her ladyship, Betty wouldn’t be the target of the lady’s insecurities anymore. At least, Lord Wigram was nice to her, but it only made matters worse with his wife. Eventually, he might decide to grant his wife’s wish and fire Betty, instead of keeping an old promise made to her late father.

Back in her modest room, Betty put these thoughts behind her; she finally had time to read Jean-François’ letter, and she wouldn’t let anything distract her from his words.

She changed into her nightdress but put the earring back on, them climbed into bed with a candle.

Dearest, I am sorry to miss your day off. I trust you made the most of it, and followed your wonderful sense of adventure. I hope the gift pleases you. If I cannot be with you, at least let something from me be in your presence. The earrings are made of oxblood coral inlaid in white gold. Perhaps not the most luxurious of gemstones, but certainly more original. I believe you are far too unique to wear the same stone as everyone else. They reminded me of you.

Betty smiled. The Kama Sutra described “the coral and the jewel” as a type of biting done by bringing together the teeth and the lips “the lip is the coral, and the teeth the jewel”. Every time Betty moved her head, the earrings brushed against her neck, evoking his mouth on her skin.

The thought of being bitten shouldn’t arouse her, but she imagined herself with Jean-François, in the throes of passion, sweaty, naked bodies, clawing fingers and head-spinning pleasure, a state so primal sharp teeth become an aphrodisiac.

Her heart ached with longing for this kind of liberation, the complete opposite of her daily life as a governess where every action and word was calculated so as not to attract attention but also set the perfect example for her pupils.

With a sigh, she sagged against her pillows. Her thighs rubbed together as she reread his first sentences, hearing them in his lightly-accented voice: “you are far too unique”.

He went on to talk about his work in Dhaka, and even if he didn’t say so, she sensed his exasperation.

*

“I think we should wait before requesting a meeting,” the owner of the indigo plantation, Mr. Lelievre, said.

Mercier narrowed his eyes at him and bit the inside of his cheeks. Not for the first time, Lelievre was postponing the execution of a solution to his problems. Lelievre was a young man and had recently inherited this domain and its history of conflict with the locals. So far, Mercier had attributed his reluctance to inexperience bordering on ineptitude. But after spending days looking through dozens of old accountancy books, he was running out of patience, and his suspicions had grown. Lelievre was purposefully stalling their work. But why?

“We will not wait before requesting a meeting,” Mercier stated. “In fact, we will go there first thing tomorrow.”

“But—”

A messenger entered the living room, “Some mail for you, sahib.”

Two letters, one from the French consulate, and one from Gabrielle which he knew concealed a message from Betty.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Mercier repeated sternly. “Now if you will excuse me, this is a confidential matter.”

Mercier’s favourite spot on the property was an old stone bench underneath a canopy. He lit a cigarette, taking a moment to relax and clear his mind before opening Betty’s letter.

My hopes to have a whole day with you were shattered by your departure for Dhaka, but I nonetheless tried to make the most of it as you said. I ate food I had never tasted before: bhelpuri. I bought it from a street vendor thanks to a few Hurdu words Samaira taught me. I ate it directly from its newspaper cone! It was like an explosion of flavours! I tried a sort of ice cream too- kulfi. I met with your sister and we visited a park I had not seen before...

Mercier imagined himself, right alongside her, ambling hand in hand through the streets of Calcutta, savouring spicy food and sweet kisses. And when she shared her excitement about attending a play next week, for her eldest pupil’s birthday, again he pictured himself at her side, perhaps in a private box, the coral pear drops drawing his attention to her slender neck… they would miss the third act.

The sky turned to ink and the night bugs’ chant rose in the air. Mercier smoked the last of his tobacco, still lost in a world of his own, his eyes trained southward. Some 400 miles away, lay his heart.

He opened Gabrielle’s letter next.

De Brem keeps coming over to our side of the house to talk to me. I told him to stop, but he’s very insistent. I asked Armand to come over but he has concerts most nights. I really don’t like this, Jean-François, he scares me. Can you do anything about it?

Mercier clenched his fists. This mission to Dhaka was nothing more than de Brem getting rid of him to make a move on Gabrielle.

He’d wasted enough time here, he was going back to Calcutta as soon as possible.

Chapter 7: Kissing

[boymeetsweevil]

Mistletoe

Grouping: Reader x Jimin, friends to lovers??? (mentions of taegi???)

Word Count: 3.3k, no warnings except for a kiss among gooey friends (and the fact that I still need to edit this and that its not even xmas anymore :<)

Summary: Jimin just can’t seem to get a moment alone with you at this christmas party, and you just can’t seem to stop baking...

Your Christmas Eve parties were known far and wide amongst your friends as perhaps the best party of the year. That was because you were determined to be the best damned host and party planner there ever was. 

You always started planning the decorations right after Halloween because you had enough time to plan and it was late enough in the year to gauge what interior design trends you would have to follow to stay hip. 

You also prepped for cooking all the hors d’oeuvres by hand at a frightening hour in the morning so they were all steaming hot and fresh by the evening of the party. Your eggnog and spiced cider was also a guest favorite and was guaranteed to get everyone to that nice and warm buzzed place.

Your playlist had been perfected after all these years, thanks to the help of your DJ friend Yoongi, and was always a superb mix of classics and renditions done by the hottest pop stars. 

It was safe to say that you were the Martha Stewart of Christmas parties. This year was no different. 

Technically, this year was slightly different because this year the party would take place at Jimin’s place. 

Jimin was your long-time best friend from undergrad. He was a finance major in college and was now living enviously well for someone of his young age in a pretty Seoul apartment near the investment banking district, hence the reason why the party was to be hosted there. Your place was out of the question because you were still, sadly, living like a college student in your tiny studio, surviving off noodles and granola bars. You had studied classical literature and while you did enjoy your current job as a poetry teacher in a small public school on the outskirts of the city, your cramped living space and meagre funds wouldn’t cut it for the party. It was one thing to host a party in a tiny 1 bedroom when all your friends had also been living in tiny dorms. But now that you were long graduated, it wasn’t cute anymore.

If it were anyone else, you would probably be secretly jealous and resentful of their well-paying job and beautifully open and spacious interior living plan. But as you looked up from your grocery list and turned back to look at Jimin as he pushed the cart behind you, you just felt lucky. 

Lucky to have met him when you did in your sophomore year when you took an introductory dance course to skirt around the university’s mandatory physical education credit. Jimin had been in the corner of the room, assisting the dance instructor by going and correcting people’s posture while she taught in front. You had been hiding your two left feet horribly in the back but he was ever-supportive and helped your personally to master the choreography for the end of term performance.

Lucky to have stumbled upon him next term in your huge writing seminar on the first day and sitting next to him, dreading that he might not remember you from before. The way he had smiled at you had erased any social anxiety you had, though, with his eyes crinkling softly in the corners beneath thick black bangs. You made a regular habit of meeting up on the days the class met and reviewing notes and studying for exams.

Lucky that, along the way, he invited you to dance ensembles and you felt like you could show him the drafts of your creative writing that he would later convince you to enter into writing competitions. You quizzed him for his statistics class every week and took him out to dinner when he got a well deserved A-.

“Didn’t you say we needed cherries?” You turn at the sound of his voice and realize you had walked past the main ingredient of the famous pie you made at each Christmas Eve party. However, this year the pie was not scheduled to make an appearance

“I did, but I looked more into the budget for this year and I can’t afford to do as much as I usually do. Things have been kind of tight lately.”

“I’ll handle the grocery bill,” he flashed a brilliant smile at you before picking up two bags to compare in size. He dropped both bags in the cart after a bit of deliberation and your eyes drew wide.

“Oh my god, Jimin, I cannot let you do that. I’m already using your house.” You tried to remove the bags but he pulled the cart away from you.

“Exactly. You’re hosting your amazing party this year, and I don’t even have to leave my house to attend it. Don’t you think its the least I can do?”

You couldn’t necessarily argue with him when he spun it like that. And truthfully, you didn’t like having to cut back on things for this party. It was your pride and joy and you loved seeing people’s eyes light up. So, you ditched your new list and downloaded your regular list from your cloud drive and shopped as you normally would. It hurt your heart when you saw the total at the cashier’s post, but the easy way Jimin handed over his sleek platinum card without blinking at the price eased your worries.

The rest of the day could only be described as the calm before the storm. You drove back to Jimin’s place and let him be a manly man and unload the groceries despite the fact that you were also more than capable of doing so yourself. Jimin then turned on a playlist and made some tea while you started decorating. It was an all day process, especially this year given all the extra ground in his apartment that you had to cover. Which was why you were doing it the day before because the next day could only consist of cooking. Jimin sat down and did some work while chatting intermittently with you. Sometimes he would get up to help you with hanging strings of lights on a high corner or fixing long tinsel ropes to all the door frames. 

When you got to your last box of decorations, it was starting to get dark outside and you were itching to go home and pass out. You opened the box and pulled out a stick stack of medium-sized paper snowflakes and wall-friendly adhesive and got to work on the large picture. The sound of a laptop closing and a chair creaking caught your attention and you turned to see him approaching your spot. He paused to admire the view of the city and skyline.

“I’ll make sure not to cover up the buildings”, you said after watching him for a beat. He nodded, only half listening.

Looking at Jimin get lost in the beauty of something was one of your favorite things to do. especially since you ended up staring at his angelic profile most of the time. You had to admit you were proud of how hot your best friend was. You shoved a stack of snowflakes in his hand to snap him out of it.

“Time for more work,” you smiled cheekily at him.

“I’ll help you with the last box if you order takeout,” he smiled back, displaying white teeth.

“Deal. Have you seen the size of the last box? You don’t know what you just got yourself into.” Once dinner was on its way over, you returned to the window to examine his handiwork.

“Be honest,” he said cautiously, “Did you have your 5th graders make these?”

“How could you tell?”

“Easy. You would never allow any 5-pronged snowflakes but I’ve seen at least 12 in this stack already.”

“You got me. I just figured it was a waste not to use all that free labor. Plus their hands are little so they can cut more delicate designs than I can.”

“They can’t be that much smaller than yours,” he grabbed one of your hands and turned it over to look at it, “Your hands are smaller than mine. And that’s saying something.”

“Give me my hand back. I’ll have you know I stopped wearing children’s gloves when I was 14.”

“You’ve come so far,” he deadpanned.

“Finish your work or I’m eating your portion of the pizza. There’s still the whole box of decorations left, remember Jiminie?” You bat your lashes at him before going over to the box in question and getting started on placing glittering wreaths made with fragrant pine branches along the mantel of his fireplace.

“I can’t believe you have a real fireplace.”

“I can’t believe you had your kids make these too.”

“What? I didn’t hurt anybody. And kids love glitter.”

“That’s true. Alright, I’m done with the snowflakes. What’s next?”

“Well, let’s see.” 

You walked over to the box again and fished out a basket of sprigs with red bows and white berries glued onto them. You shoved the basket in his waiting arms while you pulled out some mini flame-less candles that you would place in jars full of water. 

“Is this-is this mistletoe?” He stared down at the basket with wide eyes.

“Yes? Is there a problem? Are you allergic?” You looked back with concern and moved to take it back.

“No, I’m not. I just--isn’t there a tradition where you have kiss someone if you stand under it?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure people still do that. I figured it would make the party fun. Especially if we can get Tae and Yoongi to stand under it. God, can you imagine their faces?” 

You snickered to yourself and went to the kitchen to fill up your jars. You missed the way Jimin stared resolutely at your back before looking back down at the mistletoe.

The rest of the evening passed by quickly after the pizza arrived and you sat at the shining marble kitchen island before finishing the decorations. It would be a pain to take down once the party was over, but you’d be riding on the high of compliments and eggnog. Jimin called you a cab and you were too tired to protest and only mumbled about taking the subway home once.

The next morning you were up at ass crack of dawn and packed your overnight bag before traveling back over to Jimin’s apartment. It was such a tragedy that you lived on the other side of the city, otherwise you could walk and let the morning air wake you slowly and get some light exercise. Instead you were trying not to nod off sandwiched between two old women gabbing about their sons and their chubby new grandchildren.

You banged on his door and were greeted by the sight of Jimin’s puffy face. He was ever the gentleman and took your bag even in his sleepy stupor while you rinsed your face with cold water in the bathroom before going into the kitchen to get to work. Crafting enough bite sized snacks, as well as several cakes and pies, and a few alcoholic beverages to last 20-30 drunk adults was quite the task. But this was your 4th year going through the process, and you’d managed to do it every time with a more machine-like demeanor each year. 

It still left you drained, though. You finished prepping everything that would have to bake before the party around mid afternoon and dragged yourself to the couch to sleep off some of your pre-party jitters with what was supposed to be a 40 minute timer. Jimin had to wake up 2 and half hours later, but thanks to your impeccable scheduling, you had enough to time throw everything in the oven and shower before the first guests started to text that they were on their way. 

You fidgeted in the living room as Yoongi hooked up his equipment to Jimin’s fancy hidden speakers. The wait was always what killed you, even after all these years. You were itching to gauge people’s reactions and have busy hands once more. If you were being honest, the kitchen was the least stressful place to be, even though it was constant running around. It was better than waiting for something to go wrong in the living room while everyone else got drunk on eggnog.

When Jimin finally emerged from his bedroom to stand by you, you felt a bit more at ease. His presence was always comforting, and he was always supportive. 

“You look nice,” he whispered so Yoongi wouldn’t roll his eyes from his little DJ booth in the corner. You glanced down at your forest green sweater and dark trousers.

“Thanks, I guess. I don’t look as good as you, though.” In your mind, it was the truth. Jimin looked princely with his tousled black hair and the red of his own Christmas sweater playing up the peachiness of his skin. You chewed at the skin of your lip as you admired how well his light wash jeans fit him.

“Hey, before everyone gets here I really want to tell you--” The sound of a handful of guests outside the door grabbed your attention and you rushed to greet them.

Yoongi snorted from across the room.

Jimin spent the next few hours juggling playing host while trying to get your attention, and you spent the next few hours running in and out of the kitchen while promising Jimin you would talk to him “when things died down”, but they never did.

Your hands burned as you carried yet another piping hot plate of mini quiches out to the main room. The pain was worth seeing how good a time everyone was having. The whole apartment looked and smell amazing with the dim lighting and the smell of sugar cookies doing their time in the oven.

Setting the plate down on the already full table in the dining room, you swiped a quiche for yourself before turning on your heel to tell Yoongi not to lean too heavily on the playlist and that this was the 3rd time you’d heard Mariah Carey’s voice ooze through the speakers in 2 hours. 

“There you are. D’you have a second? I’ve been looking all over for you,” Jimin grinned and grabbed your hand before spinning you away from defenseless little Yoongi. 

“I’m sorry I keep dodging you but I still haven’t finished baking everything yet. You know I like to get everything out before mingling.” You broke his hold with an apologetic look and attempted to back away.

“I don’t think anyone will mind if you stop baking for a few minutes. I feel awful being out here on my own. People keep telling me I did a great job, but I didn’t do anything.”

“This is your place. That counts for something. If you feel that bad about it, just tell everybody that you helped me with decorating yesterday. It’s the truth. Plus,” you trailed off, “I don’t think Momo really minds what you tell her. She’s been hanging on your every word since she got here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I really don’t have time to say hi to everyone just yet. The cookies will be out any second.”

“Okay, you don’t have to go out an enjoy your party, like a weirdo. But just come with me for a second,” he pleaded and began to tug you towards the same corner in the living room for the umpteenth time that night.

“Jimin, come on. You’re a big boy, you can handle things without me.” With that, you retreated to the kitchen once more.

Jimin sighed and turned to the party to make sure Yoongi hadn’t watched him fail to get your attention once again. However, the way Taehyung was leaning over the turntable to giggle to Yoongi while wearing an atrocious headband with sprigs of--

“Tae, can I borrow that?”

You hummed to yourself as you swapped the cookies for the last batch of cinnamon rolls for their spot in the oven. Donning an apron, you got to work on the small load of dirtied dishes in the sink so that you wouldn’t soak your good sweater. The volume of your playlist rose and fell, signaling that someone had opened the door to the kitchen before closing it again.

“What is it now, Jimin? I’m almost done.” You turned to gesture at the diminishing pile of dishes but stopped when you saw him wearing a headband that dangled a branch over and in front of his face. “You look like an anglerfish.”

“I’d better be a handsome one, at least.” He flashed an easy grin at you and you swallowed roughly before turning back to your dishes.

“What happens if I say you just look like an 8-year-old?”

Your question never received an answer. Jimin stepped up next to you and silently dried the dishes you handed him after scrubbing them clean. It was a nice moment of companionable silence and you couldn’t help but feel grateful once more.

“Thanks again,” you looked up at him and realized he was very close and you suddenly felt very small.

“For what?” He let his hand rest at the center of your back lightly, knowing it would help relieve some of the tension he could practically feel you holding there. 

“For letting me play house.”

He leaned in slowly, eyes soft with something you’d definitely seen before. Mainly during the nights you walked around the city together after too much wine. The branch swung and tapped you on the forehead, somehow not ruining whatever moment you were having.

“Is that a fake piece of mistletoe on your head?” You sounded less incredulous and more breathless than you wanted and hoped he didn’t pick up on it, but knowing Jimin meant he heard it.

“I got it from Taehyung,” he said simply before resting his forehead on yours. Your eyes closed immediately, and if it wasn’t for the way he gently raised his chin to better slot his mouth to yours, you could have stood there forever.

Later on, you would look back at this moment with embarrassment. The moment Jimin’s lips touched yours, you yanked him in closer to you with two handfuls of his pretty red sweater, desperate to always have him closer than before. He smelled good and his lips were soft, two things you just knew would be true if you ever kissed him. You realized dimly that you never wondered where he put his hands because you were startled when both hands wrapped around your hips to play with the belt loops of your pants.

The oven beeped and pulled you apart. He gingerly removed the hand you had still tangled in his sweater and went to remove whatever the cinnamon buns. 

“I think it’s time you came out and enjoyed the party.”

“Of course you say that when I finish all my work.”

“I have good timing,” he said, taking your hand and leading the way out of the kitchen. 

He planted a kiss on the hand wrapped around his own and looked around the room for Yoongi, knowing Taehyung would be nearby trying his hardest to get Yoongi to smile. Jimin figured taking the headband may have slowed down Taehyung’s chances, but a quick glance back to the booth showed Taehyung clearly didn’t need the mistletoe. He had made it behind Yoongi’s DJ booth and was now leaning in the shorter man’s space with a honey-dripping gaze.

“Do you think we looked just clueless as they always do when they’re with each other?” 

“Oh, definitely,” you said over a mouthful of cherry pie. Jimin ducked his head bashfully and you brought the fork up to him so he could take a bite too. You stood in silence again, watching the party with a sense of pride.

“This is definitely the best of the parties you’ve thrown yet,” he said after a while, and slung an arm around your shoulders because he could.

[thegranddewru]

I was tagged by @armoldhammer. I’m sorry this took me so long!

What is your favourite song to sing/hum?

I will sing/hum any song that I have listened to recently. I sing all the time, it’s ridiculous and more than once have been asked by my children to stop when we are in public and I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Basically, my life is a musical.

What’s your favourite flower/tree/plant?

Tulips/pink dogwood/my yellow heirloom tomato plants (they come back every year on their own and feel like my friends at this point and I don’t even actually like tomatoes but there you go)

Favourite colours?

Blue, a nice tealish blue. Peacock. I like jewel tones usually.

What do you always doodle?

Either little swirls, little circles that look like pebbles and/or a random vine sort of thing that I don’t know how to describe. Very occasionally I will doodle these little people like beings but they are terrible.

How do you take your coffee/tea?

coffee: White if I can get it but mostly no one knows what white coffee is. Otherwise, splash of heavy cream (or heavy whipping cream) and some stevia and sugar free vanilla maybe, dash of salt - yeah I know that’s weird.

tea: Give me black tea! Assam, black with stevia (and that salt again, it’s a sugar free thing) Will also accept Earl Gray. Sometimes cream in either. I go either way.

Favourite candle scent?

I have one that is amber cashmere that I really like also a nice spiced vanilla is good. And that candle I bought for nanowrimo but I don’t remember all the scents.

What’s your go-to dance move when you’re alone?

Cha cha cha? Idk really, it kind of depends on the song but there is usually hip swinging involved.

Favourite quote?

*stares at screen for twenty minutes as her brain scans for something* Nope, I got nothing. Too many, too much, don’t remember a damn one of them right now. lol

Favourite self-care routine(s)?

Hot bath with salts if I’ve got them. Lotion all over. Steamy book to read. Hot tea, a little sweet. Long drive in the Jeep. Hiding from the internet. :p Not routine enough probably...

Fuzzy socks or house slippers?

Give me bare feet! Unless it’s cold, then socks. Slippers are too much like shoes as ridiculous as that sounds.

What colour are your eyes?

Brown, straight up.

What’s your favourite eye colour on others?

I don’t think I have one?

Favourite season? Why?

Late spring. We’re just coming out of winter - which is almost always too long. Early spring is usually wet and just muck but then my trees start blooming, it gets warm enough to forget the coat but not so hot you don’t want to go outside. It’s the best. Fall would be good too except that winter is looming and I’m (mostly) past being enchanted by winter.  

Cheek, neck, or nose kisses?

Well now, those all serve very different purposes really so it would depend on who is kissing and who is being kissed!

What does your happy place look like?

It’s a room with pale wood floors and wide wide windows that look out over the grass speckled dunes to the Pacific Ocean. Waves are rolling in and I’ve got a cup of sweet, black tea, in a comfy chair, my writing desk nearby, computer waiting for my rested mind to come back and write some more but there’s no hurry because things are good and all, all right.

Favourite breed of dog?

Siberian Husky, just dang dang pretty. Don’t know if I want to own one, but I like to look at them.  

Do you ever want to be married? If so, what colours would you pick for your wedding theme?

I is married! I love my guy, I am happy I married him even though he is a flawed human. I am too. I did pretty good for getting married young af. My colors were like a dark blue and burgundy - would not pick that now at all. Lol but there you go.

Cursive or print?

Cursive. I tend to do a mix of both, I’m equally fast with both, but I like to write cursive as far as how it looks.

Favourite weather?

A sunny day with a few fluffy clouds is always very nice but there’s also something about a good, raging thunderstorm as well.

tagging @dettiot, @victorianoir, if you guys want to and anyone else. :)