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[porhomme21]

Supreme Hoodie Arabic: Unveiling the Hottest Streetwear Trend

Elevate your streetwear game with the Supreme Hoodie Arabic. This iconic piece combines Supreme’s signature style with Arabic flair for a unique and fashionable statement. The entire collection’s set to drop in the New York, Los Angeles and London shops beginning February 23, and the Japan locations on February 25. Online availability will be offered starting March 1.

Discover automotive treasures without breaking the bank — explore the Best Classic Cars Under 20K and relish the nostalgia of vintage rides at an affordable price point. They’re iconic, they’re timeless, and they’ll still turn heads of car enthusiasts no matter where you go.

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Immerse yourself in the world of fashion with Subhan Supreme . This collection offers a fresh take on streetwear, blending style and cultural inspiration. One of the standout pieces from Supreme‘s Spring 2012 collection is this red pullover with Arabic writing on the front in white

Experience innovation in motion with the Audi Active Back . This cutting-edge technology ensures a comfortable and dynamic driving experience. Though residing in the realm of concept vehicles, the Audi Activesphere gives us a glimpse of what’s possible for the future of driving.

Embrace the outdoors with the Eddie Bauer Kara Koram collection. It’s your go-to for adventure-ready gear designed to withstand the elements. The Kara Koram parka has actually been tested at -30º F though I’m glad we won’t have to be duplicating such an accomplishment.

Make a bold fashion statement with the Supreme Arabic Hoodie . This iconic piece showcases the fusion of Supreme’s style with Arabic script, creating a unique and sought-after look. One of the standout pieces from Supreme‘s Spring 2012 collection is this red pullover with Arabic writing on the front in white.

Upgrade your denim game with Uniqlo Helmut Lang Jeans . These jeans combine Uniqlo’s quality with Helmut Lang’s timeless design for a fashion-forward wardrobe staple. The new UNIQLO x Helmut Lang pieces drop online on September 26th. UNIQLO’s NYC 5th Avenue and SOHO, plus other select locations, will get ahold of the items on October 27th.

Elevate your eyewear game with Gold Plated Ray Bans. These sunglasses add a touch of luxury to your style while providing superior sun protection. The frames are crafted out of lightweight and extremely durable titanium and finish in 22 Karat Gold plating.

Step back in time with the Retro 2 Black Cement Red sneakers. These classic kicks bring retro charm to your footwear collection. It comes with a jet-black tumbled leather upper, Cement Grey accents on the inner lining, mid-foot overlays, tongue, and heel foxing, Sail midsoles, and University Red tongue branding and outsole detailing.

Enhance your toolbox with the Leather Tool Box Handle. It combines functionality with a touch of sophistication, making your tools easy to carry in style. It also sports solid brass rivets that reinforce the corners, and a leather handle that pivots to facilitate carrying and storing.

Explore the world of menswear at J Press Stores. Discover timeless fashion pieces that exude sophistication and classic style. The new Pennant Label store interior features understated elements of the J. Press aesthetic and carries a full range of sportswear, including officially licensed Ivy League school merchandise, accessories, and tailored clothing, alongside Pennant basics.

Step up your footwear game with 5th Avenue Shoe Repair . Their designs are a fusion of art and craftsmanship, creating shoes that are both unique and luxurious. Fine detail in the cuffed hem as well as with the vertical welt pockets at the front and the button pocket in the back

Express your style with the Arabic Supreme Tee . This iconic streetwear piece features Arabic script, adding a cultural twist to your wardrobe. The entire collection’s set to drop in the New York, Los Angeles and London shops beginning February 23, and the Japan locations on February 25. Online availability will be offered starting March 1.

Elevate your eyewear game with Effector Glasses . These frames combine fashion-forward design with quality craftsmanship, giving you a distinctive look. One standout was the Macknight frame. The shape pulls heavily from some famous sunglass cuts while utilizing Japanese production techniques.

Celebrate the King of Pop with Hot Toys Michael Jackson figurines. These collectibles capture the essence of MJ’s legendary performances. Action Figure maker Hot Toys has released their latest creation to pay homage to the King of Pop and his Thriller video.

Discover timeless elegance with Lip Watches Vintage . These vintage timepieces add a touch of sophistication to your wrist. This might be one of the finest vintage collections we’ve ever seen and considering some of the pieces were locked up without ever being worn, you should check the wristcandy and maybe get one around yours if your wallet allows.

Blend streetwear and heritage with the Stussy Levis Jacket. This collaboration combines Stussy’s urban style with Levi’s classic denim craftsmanship. Fine detail in the cuffed hem as well as with the vertical welt pockets at the front and the button pocket in the back

Elevate your wardrobe with Benjamin Bixby Clothing. This collection offers a fresh take on menswear, blending classic aesthetics with a modern twist.The oh-so stylish half of Outkast, his style has always been very eccentric and preppy. He grew up in Atlanta, with the Gentleman of all gentlemen, Fonzworth Bentley.

Pay tribute to the King of Pop with Michael Jackson Hot Toys collectibles. These detailed figurines capture the essence of MJ’s iconic performances.Action Figure maker Hot Toys has released their latest creation to pay homage to the King of Pop and his Thriller video

Indulge in luxury with the Tiffany Toothbrush Nike Price. This collaboration combines high-end elegance with sporty style.The sneakers are presented in a “Tiffany Blue” shoe box stamped with a white Swoosh on the top. It comes complete with a series of sterling silver accessories, including a co-branded shoe horn, whistle, brush, and lace locks.

Make a bold fashion statement with a 3 Finger Ring for Men. This accessory adds a touch of edginess and style to your look.You can get a matching one for your lady friend but that doesn’t mean we recommend it. It comes in medium or large and is made of sterling silver.

Experience the thrill of the open road with the Best Sport Cars Under 20K. Get behind the wheel of a powerful and stylish ride without breaking the bank.You can get a matching one for your lady friend but that doesn’t mean we recommend it. It comes in medium or large and is made of sterling silver.

Combine performance and style with McLaren APL Sneakers. These sneakers are designed for those who demand the best in both fashion and function.APL is a favorite for celebrities and rarely welcomes collabs, however, executives plan to expand the collection with McLaren.

Elevate your timepiece with a Hodinkee NATO Strap. It’s the perfect accessory to add a touch of style to your watch.Sale begins at 12pm EST and you can see a preview on Gilt’s Facebook page now. Click here for a direct link to the GiltMAN x Hodinkee vintage watch sale.

Embrace the thrill of driving with Sporty Cars for Under 20K. Get ready for an adrenaline rush without exceeding your budget.If there was a car on this list that I’d want to buy and own forever, it would be BMW’s E39 M5. It’s got a timeless design and the thing just owns the road as a four-door sports car

Elevate your eyewear collection with The Soloist Sunglasses . These shades combine avant-garde design with exceptional quality.The effort marks another notch in Oliver Peoples defining list of respected works and incorporates distinctive elements from each brand in the finish.

Stay informed with an X3M Review. Get the latest insights and updates on this exciting automotive model.We lived in these modes, just so there was a constant readying of the propellers. And just so we’re clear, COMFORT mode isn’t that cushy and we’re glad it’s not.

Express your unique style with Arabic Supreme fashion pieces. This collection blends urban streetwear with cultural influences for a distinctive look.

Experience the joy of driving with the Best Sports Cars for 20K. These vehicles offer a perfect balance of performance and affordability.

Channel your inner secret agent with James Bond Boots. These

boots are a tribute to the timeless style of 007.Take a closer look at the gallery below, get yours here for US$350, and watch out for Spectre as it hits theaters beginning tomorrow.

Discover luxury on wheels with the Most Expensive Escalade . Explore the pinnacle of automotive opulence with this iconic SUV.Hand-assembled in Bowling Green, KY, it runs similar to CT5-V Blackwing’s engine but with various upgrades. It sports an aluminum head and titanium valves, forged aluminum pistons, a forged steel crankshaft, and connecting rods.

Indulge in the finest tobacco with the World’s Most Expensive Cigar . Experience the epitome of luxury in the world of cigars.Pull out your Black card if you’ve got one, people. Otherwise, just stare at these beauties and admire the detail as we are doing right now.

Optimize your space with a tailored Men’s Closet Design. Create an organized and stylish storage solution for your wardrobe.If you’re thinking about adding one, here are a few awesome walk-in closet designs to serve as inspiration.

Celebrate the legacy of John Graham Mellor. Explore the life and achievements of this influential figure.We actually covered the label back in November when Belfast’s The Bureau took stock of their jeans. See what we thought of them here

Unlock the potential of your space with creative Men’s Closet Ideas . Discover inspiration for organizing and showcasing your wardrobe.The closet pictured above strikes the right balance, with plenty of drawers, shelves and hanging space plus a splash of orange in the background to keep things colorful.

Experience the thrill of the road with the Best Sports Car Under 20K. Enjoy high-performance driving without breaking the bank.They’re iconic, they’re timeless, and they’ll still turn heads of car enthusiasts no matter where you go

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[garzamccurdy8]

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Hetalia World Stars Kuma Jiro Big Hug Plush by Grey Parka Service

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The newest addition to the Funacolle collectible Funassyi plushies is the Statue of Libernassyi*, with the Pear holding up a beacon Pear welcoming all weary souls to the happy world of Pear Fairies.

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*not the actual name of the toy

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[kettlequills]

all that is and has been

"The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn." - H.G Wells.  Every winter, Aranea comes down the mountain. Prompt: dawn, for TESFEST.  On A03 here.

They get younger every year, Aranea thought, watching the guide from Windhelm picking his way with great concentration up the snowy slope to Azura’s shrine. At the foot of the stone steps, he pumped his arm wildly, and shouted something that was immediately snatched by the wind. Even from this distance, Aranea could picture perfectly the expression of consternation on his face, hidden mostly though it was in the hood of his thick fur parka.

Aranea exhaled a sigh and put some water on to boil. She dusted off and set out her spare stool for visitors. By the time he had puffed and struggled his way up the steps, the water was ready.

“Priestess!” he called, voice bright and eager with the strength of youth.

Wasted on the young, Aranea thought, sprinkling leaves into the cups. She eyed him critically. Pinched red cheeks on either side of a proud nose, eyes hidden smartly under Nordic snow-goggles to protect them from the snowfall. The boy was young, but not too young, she judged, and added a small dram of Cyrodilic brandy. The snow wasn’t too bad for this time of year, but it was the thick, fluffy flakes of endless autumn snow, and cursed cold.

Aranea greeted him, wincing a little at the creakiness of her voice. It had been a slow spring and summer. Only a few visitors, in all that stretch of time, and none the one Azura had told her to look for. She had not spoken for months.

“My name is Tinoryn,” he told her, a few sips into his tea. “I work for Ruvene, at Avalathil Tailoring.” He wiggled the hood of his parka. “I made this,” he added, proudly. “But I’m going to be a mage, anyway. Once I’ve saved up enough for the College.”

Ah, thought Aranea. This one would be pestering her to teach him magic all the way down the mountain. She would not deny him. Being able to afford the College’s fees was a distant dream, no matter if his sewing skills were clearly quite good. Fur was a Nord’s business, and there was not much of a market for traditional Dunmeri silkweaving in Skyrim. But he would serve his community well.

Perhaps Aranea would speak to Ambarys and Ruvene, if this aspiring mageling showed promise. It would not be the College, but Aranea had time enough for teaching, if he could be spared. It had been a while since one of their own had taken to the magic arts, and Aranea could not be there to offer Azura’s blessings and healings all year.

And the road grew ever more treacherous.

She pondered this as she worked, readying the shrine for her long absence. It would, after all, be a death-sentence to attempt to stay on the exposed mountain-top throughout one of Skyrim’s brutal winters. Instead, Aranea did as she had always done, and when the autumn snows began to crown Azura’s head thickly, she awaited a guide from Windhelm who would escort her to stay in the city during the cold months, in exchange for blessings and healings. Once, that route had included Winterhold, but Aranea had watched, brutal in her isolation, the vast majority of Azura’s faithful there along with the rest of the town crumble into the Sea of Ghosts during the Collapse. The outskirts of the town remained, and of the people Aranea had served, only those few that had listened to Aranea’s vision-driven warning and moved to Windhelm.

Tinoryn chattered happily without her input, telling her about the Windhelm’s Dunmer anything he thought relevant that she had missed during the spring and summer. Aranea was not surprised to learn of increasing attacks from the city’s Nord population, nor of the fires that had raged across the docks from mismanagement and unvented angers. It would be a lean winter. It was always a lean winter.

“Shall we go?” Aranea said, halfway into one of Tinoryn’s stories about one Henon Virith valiantly fighting off an improbable number of guards, evidently the troublemaker of the Grey Quarter and Tinoryn’s personal hero. To his credit, Tinoryn barely blinked before shouldering Aranea’s entire pack (she watched, bemused, and wondered what they were feeding tailors these days) over the shoulder that did not carry his own, and bounced off.

He started then on the story of the passage up, and Aranea allowed his voice to fall into a soothing murmur as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She had walked this path many times, but Skyrim was a country of bitter winds, rock and snow, and held little love for those who would stumble on her paths.

They took the carriage from Winterhold, bartering passage crammed in next to a friendly courier and a dour carriage driver, squeezing their legs over locked crates that Aranea suspected contained soulgems from the subtle hum she could feel, grinding its way through her teeth into her skull. Tinoryn distracted himself thoroughly with the courier, to Aranea’s relief; she had already spoken so much in the gaps Tinoryn left in conversation that her throat ached.

It was a weary, travelsore and head-pounding priestess of Azura that made her way, Tinoryn quieting in sight of the guards, over Windhelm’s ice-choked bridge. The city of stone was redolent and packed, but the guards held sharp new weapons, and wore armour so polished  that they shone like gems in the snow. There were more horses in the stables, meaty, Rift-bred creatures, and Aranea spotted scaffolding supporting the construction of a new parapet with a flicker of unease. The people they passed were ragged as ever, but there was a strange, martial air flickering in Windhelm’s braziers, carried on lips down from the Palace of Kings.

Unbidden, Aranea thought of a troubling vision she had received, some years ago. A young Greybeard-come-soldier, sweating and afraid with his wrists bound in Altmeri-gold, a voice, syrup-soft, speaking of holy wars and dying traditions. It was not one she liked to think of. Skyrim did not need war, and the young jarl had never cared greatly for his elven population. The tightening of purse strings would choke the Grey Quarter first.

Sometimes, Aranea wondered why Azura sent her the visions of great and terrible things she could no more prevent than catch a single snowflake in a blizzard. She doubted it was intended to be a torment. The Twilight Lady’s mystery was wondrous, but at times, Aranea thought that the grief of mortals was as foreign to her as her thinking was to them.

Still, there was plenty enough grief in the present without needing to borrow trouble from tomorrow.

The streets that led down into the heart of the Grey Quarter were damp with melted snow. Barely had they taken a few steps when a little girl raced up to them, crying out Aranea’s title. Despite her long resolution to the service of Azura, Aranea felt a tug in her heart at the round red eyes that did not quite yet fit in the girl’s skull, long ears too heavy as of yet to lift all the way up, though the little girl was very clearly excited. Her ears were covered with little knitted caps laced to the one jammed firmly on her head, warding off the cold.

“Hi Priestess!” She beamed. “It’s Nepha! You were at my birthday last year! Twelfth of Sun’s Dusk! Will you come again this year?”

Bless the child for her prompting, for Aranea had not recognised her at all and certainly could not have named the date she was born. Though, if it was Sun’s Dusk, she had likely assisted in the delivery. Little Ulyn Andules’ babe, perhaps? She recalled vaguely Tinoryn mentioning he’d found a new wife to mother his little girl, of all the half-sparked reasons to remarry. But, by the Reclamations, Aranea remembered delivering him. Had it been so long?

I love them all, but the years do blur together.

“Azura’s Star, child, you have grown so tall! And I shall certainly hope I get your invitation.” Wincing at the ache in her knees, she bent to squeeze Nepha’s cheeks, making the little girl giggle and twist away.

“We should get you down to the cornerclub, Priestess,” Tinoryn said, looking up at the sky. Shadows were beginning to gather across the long wavering lines of orange and pinks washing the snowy rooftops. “And you, inside, Nepha!”

Nepha stuck her tongue out at Tinoryn. She proffered her arm to Aranea. “Let me help you go! The streets are really slippy here.”

Aranea weighed up the benefits of asserting her independence and ability to walk unaided over the benefit of encouraging the child in her attempt to offer sincere and honest help. Truly, Aranea thought, if she had not lived atop a mountain for the past few months, she might have found the slick streets hard enough to navigate to be grateful for the help. The gutters cut down the sides of the streets were overrunning.

Aranea took Nepha’s arm, and they set off again.

The temperature increased sharply the moment they left the Nord-dominated parts of the city, heading into the close, smoky corridors of the Quarter. Tinoryn relaxed, loosening his fur parka and beginning to smile in earnest now he was home. People hailed them as they passed, but thankfully between Nepha and Tinoryn Aranea did not have to speak at all, only smile at their eagerness to greet her.

Just as well, for the air was unexpectedly sticky and humid from the great braziers that lined every other step of the street, lit by the whispers of fire-magic every Dunmer carried within them and absolutely essential to surviving in a cold land like Skyrim. Aranea added a gift of fire-runes to those she passed, a curious Tinoryn watching, driving the heat from baking to sweltering. The heat was welcome after months at the cold shrine, but she could feel sweat beading at the nape of her neck under her robe.

“The greatest principle of destruction magic,” Aranea told him softly as she dipped her fingers into another clay brazier’s embers, “is that it is no more destructive than a hand. The limit is your will, and the scope of the energy you are willing to give to see that will done.”

She was pleased, though, to see the braziers well-tended even without her help. It was important for Dunmeri children to be raised around fire, important for them still as adults. A cold Dunmer was a dead one. Their ancestors walked their hands through ash to kiss their fingertips in flame. It was their birthright just as much as it was a need. In Morrowind, there had not been braziers of open flame waiting for curious hands to reach and play; there had been little need, the land was warm enough. But the Dunmer of Windhelm had had to grow resourceful, and reliant upon the fire they carried within themselves just as much as the heat of the sun and sear of coals.

Aranea’s pride for her people warmed her spirit just as much as trading the freezing wind of the exposed shrine to Azura for the tight, smelly Grey Quarter warmed her bones.

The New Gnisis Cornerclub was unchanged, and the gladdest sight of all. Aranea quickened her steps, eager to see her old friends again and take the weight off her aching feet. The door creaked as it always had, and the light from beyond that threw upon the gleaming stone was orange and tinted with laughter and clinking bottles.

Aranea sent Nepha off as they went in, cautioning her to go straight to her father. Tinoryn behind her, Aranea turned, and almost immediately walked directly into the arms of Ambarys Rendar. He had come out from round the bar and as he enfolded her into a hug, he called greetings to them both.

He was solid, and Aranea could smell the spicy alcoholic scent of his wares in his smock, the rasp of his stubble across her cheek. She met his eyes, and they crinkled as he smiled at her, deep and unreserved. And if the pleasure she felt bubbling from some secret place was all the sharper for the months since she had seen him last, that was no one’s business but her own.

“How was your journey?” he asked. “No trouble from those braggarts at the gates?”

“Ambarys,” Aranea chided softly, and he only smiled, but this time it did not quite reach his eyes.

“It was good, sera,” said Tinoryn obliviously, “We took a cart from Winterhold, the driver was nice enough to wait! The snow was bad though.”

“Not too bad,” Aranea contradicted. “Still, I’m glad to be in the warm and dry.” She let her eyes slide to the stairs, and Ambarys chuckled, poor humour forgotten.

“Come, let’s get you settled, priestess,” he said. “I’ll take that, boy, go along now and get yourself a drink from Malthyr.”

Tinoryn flustered a bit at this abrupt dismissal, but at Aranea’s nod he surrendered her pack to Ambarys and went.

“He’s a good boy,” Aranea told Ambarys as they went up the stairs, “wants to be a mage.”

Ambarys snorted, not unkindly. “A good heart, but better off keeping his eyes on the road.”

“I was thinking…” Aranea hesitated behind Ambarys as he searched his belt for the door keys.

Ambarys half-turned to look at her, surprised. “Come on, that boy up the mountain? He’d talk your ear off in a week and himself to death in two. Ruvene pays him half as much for keeping the customers busy while she mends as she does his sewing.”

He unlocked the door and gestured her in. Aranea kicked off her boots and went gratefully. The bed was simple and small, but it was a luxury after months of a bedroll on hard stone. She sunk into its embrace gratefully, groaning her relief. She flexed her sore feet and cast a half-hearted Restoration spell.

“Won’t it get busy?” Aranea asked. Audible through the floor was the creak of the door and the hum of voices as those who had spotted her outside filed into the cornerclub, flagging Malthys to bring them drinks and food while they waited.

“Malthys can handle it,” said Ambarys. “They’re just eager to hear you speak. I can send them away though, and leave you to rest …?”

Aranea smiled at him tiredly. “Sit. It’s nice to see you. And let them stay, I’ll go down in a moment.”

Ambarys settled her pack in the corner, then dragged a chair over. He rested his elbows on his knees and smiled down at her stretching over the bed. “And you, priestess.”

“It’s been a while,” Aranea said, mind returning to what they had been discussing. “But if you think Tinoryn’s not suitable…”

“It’s not that,” Ambarys dismissed the idea with a wave. He frowned at Aranea then. “Unless you’re thinking you need the company. I’d – we would love to have you for the rest of the year. You don’t need to live up there alone.”

“Ambarys,” Aranea interrupted him. “I must. I am a priestess of Azura, I must tend her shrine.”

“We could send people up, every month, week, even,” Ambarys argued, “You could just stay here. Just – think about it, is all I ask.” He raised his hands, seeing her exasperated look. “This room is yours for as long as you want it, whenever you want it, you know that.”

“I do.” Aranea could not resist a small smile. It was the same argument they had every year, and he’d yet to convince her. Ambarys deflated.

Closing her eyes, Aranea let the lull in conversation stretch into silence. The headache she had nursed during the carriage ride was increasing until it felt like daedra were knocking in her skull. Her skin was throbbing in complaint at the changing temperatures, and her stomach felt a little queasy from the altitude difference. They had not gone slowly down the mountain, and Aranea’s body, used to the icy, scouring winds and unyielding spine of stone, protested at the soft warmth of the wooden bed, the creaks and sighs of the breathing cornerclub.

Windhelm was a noisy city, even now, Aranea could hear yelling and clanging, even the rapid thumping of drums from somewhere and the stamp of feet, all almost drowned out by patrons shouting for Malthys��� attention and talking amongst themselves. Somewhere, a baby was crying. Smells roiled for her attention, the piss and ale scents worked into the woods, the unwashed bodies cramming into the bar below, the faint musty scent of the blankets.

It was all so much.

And underneath it all, iron and fire, and the invisible threads of gathering zealotry.

“Aranea…” Ambarys’ raspy voice was soft. She heard cloth moving over skin as he shifted, the minute creak of the chair. She hummed in acknowledgement. “Are you… well?”

Sighing, Aranea opened her eyes. She was tired. So tired. Every year seemed to press heavier on her shoulders. Azura demanded much.

But it was a balm to see him there, the wrinkles of his laugh-lines, wearying now under the weight of hard living, his dark eyes, as tender when he looked upon her as they were sharp at any other sight.

“I am,” she said. “But I hear… the winds of war are coming, Ambarys. I fear for the people.”

Ambarys hesitated. Almost nervously, he asked, “Have you seen anything from the goddess?”

Aranea looked away. She had not the strength to confide in him the dark futures she had seen, of the Grey Quarter in flames, grey bodies warped among the red snow, winged, impossible shapes soaring through the sky. “It may happen.”

Ambarys’ face settled into a troubled cast too familiar for Aranea’s comfort. “I don’t know what we will do if Hoag’s boy goes to war again. The Reachfolk massacre was bad enough…”

“What we always do,” Aranea said, taking his hand comfortingly. It was soft and dry in hers. Ambarys looked at her, his grey-red eyes searching. “Survive.”

A slow smile lifted his lips, warm and true. “Until the next dawn, then the next?” he said, repeating their old words, words she had said to him many times over many worries.

“And the one after,” Aranea confirmed, and his smile deepened until her heart ached. “The Mother of the Rose will guide us, as she always has.”

“It is good to have you back, priestess,” Ambarys murmured, tightening his grip on her hand when Aranea made to move away. Aranea left it there in his grasp, and his thumb swiped gently over the back of her hand. Fiery chills raced up her nerves.

“I should go to them,” Aranea said, meaning the people gathered downstairs waiting but unable to look from Ambarys’ eyes. A moment passed when she almost thought that he would refuse to release her, didn’t know how to quantify the feeling that inspired, but then all at once he had let go and stood.

The chair scraping on the floor spelled the end of their reprieve. Still, Aranea smiled at him as she passed, half for his tired eyes, half for the thawing knowledge that she would have all winter to see them again.

A ragged cheer arose as Aranea descended the stairs, blinking in the light. She inhaled, more than a little taken-aback by the solid wall of bodies that greeted her, heaving in through the ajar doors. There were more there that she could see, crowding in the street, pulling the braziers round to stand in a circle of warmth. A hush ran through them as she raised her hand.

Ambarys appeared at her shoulder, a bottle in his hand, wry smile on his lips. He offered Aranea a thick woven cushion in the Hlaalu style, and Aranea sank down on it with relief, right there on the stairs, where all might see her easily. Her old bones thanked her.

She sniffed the bottle. Sujamma.

“Thank you,” she said, and Ambarys gave her a mock-bow.

The crowd gathered round, eager faces shining in the warmth of the fires. Some she recognised, who called for her by name, she greeted with smiles. Aranea was surprised, but pleased, to see a few non-Dunmer faces in the crowd. There were one or two quiet Nords sweating in the heat, a few cloaked Argonians who had smuggled themselves into the city and whose scales gleamed like rubies in the firelight, even an Altmer, stood at the very back but clear towering over the others. It was always good to see more drawn to Azura’s teachings, and Aranea knew that if they had been permitted to know of her arrival, then they were trusted by Ambarys. She made eye contact with one of the Argonians and smiled.

As if sensing her preparation, the crowd settled after a moment, looking at her expectantly. Aranea breathed in, slowly. Teaching was tiring, true, and she would have preferred to rest, but she could not deny those who had such a hunger for what she had to say.

She took a sip of sujamma to wet her throat, and began.

“Lady Azura is the patron of dusk and dawn…”

#tesfest21 #inkwrites #brief torture reference #fantastic racism #slice of life #canon typical behaviour #aranea ienith #ambarys rendar #ambarys/aranea #tinoryn othravel #nepha andules #azura #skyrim #my fic all that is and has been

[doiedreams]

A Cozy Christmas Eve // w.lc

Brought to you by the Walking in a Winter Wonderland collaboration hosted by @suh-insane and @neocitybynight

◈⇢ Synopsis: With only a very limited amount of time, you and bf!Lucas prepare to have your parents over for a Christmas Eve visit, but after all the stress, the day ends in a cozy evening of Christmas movies, hot cocoa, and cuddles

◈⇢ Prompt: “Put that cookie down. NOW!”

◈⇢ Genre: fluff ద

◈⇢ Pairing: reader x bf!lucas

◈⇢ Wc: 2.3k

◈⇢ Warnings: none

Lucas’s full attention is captured by the wintry white snowscape in his view. Bright-eyed and mouth agape, Lucas calls out to you. “Woah… Y/n, come look! It snowed so much last night.”

The excitement in his voice lures you out of your room, toothbrush still between your lips, as you see Lucas with his hands and nose pressed up against the cold glass of the window. You giggle seeing how his actions reflect that of an amazed child seeing snow for the first time. When you approach him, you tap his shoulder, silently requesting that he move out of the way. The moment you step in front of the window, the bright white view blinds you. Considering you woke up not too long ago, the radiance was harsh on your eyes, causing you to squint momentarily before fully being able to take in the view.

The pretty sight incites a muffled gasp from you. Blankets upon blankets of snow cover the ground, presenting little to no color contrast between it, and the grey wintery sky. The rooftops of the houses across from your home are also coated with snow, while their perimeters are draped with thin icicles varying in size. Color can only be found on the holiday decorations scattering the lawns of your neighbors’ homes or the occasional evergreen shrubs nearby. Besides that, it is a white winter indeed.

“It’s so pretty,” you say after taking your toothbrush out. “Okay, we have a long day ahead of us so let me finish getting ready and we can start cleaning up, alright?” 

Lucas turns from the window to face you and says, “but it’s already clean.”

“Clean? Lucas, it’s so messy in here. Look around.”

He faces the room, not too disheveled, but surely not in its tidiest state. Magazines of holiday decor and Christmas meal recipes almost covered the entire glass coffee table. Some opened pages had brown ring stains on the wrinkly paper where a couple of hot cocoa mugs, now empty, had sat the night prior. Half of the throw blanket rests on the ground while the other half is slowly slipping off of the couch. Needless to say, it was a bit of a mess.

Turning back to you, he says, “We can clean this up easily. It'll take us… like, 20 minutes?”

Your eyes widened, wondering what makes him think the two of you could fully prepare your house for your parents’ visit in such a short amount of time. “That’s just impossible. There's a lot more to do than to tidy up this room. Plus, anytime I tell you we have to clean you get distracted in about five minutes and leave all the dirty work to me.”

“Do I?” Lucas asks as if this is something he's never noticed. 

“You do, but not this time. It's gonna be a team effort and we're gonna get it done as soon as we can, alright?” 

Lucas crosses his arms and lifts his chin as though he’s already completed the tasks he's meant to finish. “I’m at your service, m’lady. Where do you want me?”

Laughing at his newfound determination, you tell him, “Well, how about you start by clearing off that table while I finish getting ready.”

While still in his triumphant stance, he gives you a forceful nod before he goes to the table and picks up the empty mugs to place on the sink, and gets started with cleaning. Although you suspect his focus will only last for a little while, you appreciate the effort he’s putting in now. And hopefully, by the time you come back, some progress would be made.

“Ta-da!”

Upon entering the room, you’re met with a completely different atmosphere than before. The coffee table was no longer cluttered with papers and mugs, the sofa’s decorative pillows were placed comfortably at its corners, and Lucas even managed to turn on the fireplace which hadn’t worked in months. If you were to add a few more decorations, the room could’ve been featured in one of the holiday decor magazines he had set aside.

“Lucas- You did all of this?” you asked, gaping at the cleanliness of the room. 

He breaks out of his jazz hands and nods. “Yes. I did.” The accomplished grin on his face made it clear that he was proud of his work.

“I’m impressed!” you say with a smile. You thank him for what he’s done and pull out your phone to check the time. “Okay. We have like a couple more hours before my parents start on their way. Oh, but it’s supposed to snow even harder by then...”

You look out the window, noting that the driveway is already covered in snow from last night’s snowfall. “Would you mind shoveling the snow out of the driveway while I clean the rest of the house?”

“I can do that,” Lucas replies while making his way to the door to get his coat.

“Perfect. While you do that, I’ll finish getting the rest of the place ready and I can start making cookies.”

He agrees and you part ways, leaving Lucas to conquer the heaps of snow while you make sure the house is in perfect order in time for the visit.

Once the rooms are all neat and tidy, you move to the kitchen and look for all the ingredients you’ll need to make a couple batches of tasty Christmas cookies. Humming and swaying to the Christmas classics playing in the background, you make the cookie dough, tasting small bits of it against your better judgment. You turn the oven on to let it preheat and take out metal cookie cutters of various holiday theme shapes including a Christmas tree, a candy cane, a gingerbread man, and a snowman. All of which would add a fun touch of festivity to your cookie batches.

While the cute shapes of dough undergo its transformation in the oven, you look out the window and catch sight of Lucas’ figure wrapped in his large, puffy, winter parka, waddling around in the snow like a penguin with his head hidden under the faux fur hood. From the way he shuffles the snow around his feet aimlessly, he seems to have lost his shovel. Seeing him in his own little world causes a giggle to rise from your chest until you become worried he’ll lose his footing and hit the ground due to the lack of friction underneath his sneakers. Perhaps you should have reminded him to put on his snow boots.

The thin high-pitched beep coming from behind you rouses you from your thoughts and you shift your attention back to the cookies in the oven that are now producing a sweet aroma filling up the kitchen. As soon as you open it, a warm sugary scent wafts from the heated compartment, reaching your nostrils. Placing the sheet of cookies on the countertop, you figure Lucas would want to help decorate them, so you let them cool until he gets back.

As you lean against the countertop, delving in the Christmas music and delicious fragrance consuming the room’s atmosphere, a gust of icy air enters and brushes against your leg, following the sound of the front door opening and closing. You hear Lucas sniff and groan once he comes in. You’re suddenly reminded of all the time and effort you put into cleaning the floor while he was gone and your eyes widen as you rush out of the kitchen.

“Lucas, wait! Did you-”

The squeak coming from Lucas’s wet shoes stops you mid-sentence and with the words leaving your mouth, you freeze. In front of you, Lucas is huffing warm air into his hands, oblivious to the small piles of snow at his feet and the trails of melted ice he’s tracked in. Letting your head fall into your hands, you groan, rubbing your temples as if to alleviate the stress that has just been added to your plate.

“The driveway’s all clear,” you hear Lucas say between sniffs. With a sigh, you shut your eyes and nod, approaching him to take off his coat for him and hang it up.

“Well, now I have to clean this up too,” you say as you let out yet another sigh. 

Lucas’s mouth forms an ‘O’ shape upon realizing what he’s just done. You’re already rushing to find a rag to wipe up the mess.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I can help you out if you want,” he says, looking for a way to undo his mess. 

Frustration evident in your tone, you say, “No, it’s fine. Move.” 

You get on your knees beside his legs and hurriedly wipe the floor with a cloth, occasionally glancing at the clock which only builds your sense of urgency. Time is running out and this extra task is not ideal.

“Y/n,” Lucas starts. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need any,” you say as you finish wiping the floor.

As you try to walk past him, Lucas holds you by the shoulder and pulls you back into him. The tension in your muscles starts to melt away at his touch and you allow him to hold you against his body. The last thing you want to do is project your frustration onto the one person that makes you feel at peace through it all.

“It’ll be okay, we still have time,” he reassures you.

You know he’s trying to comfort you, and it’s working as always, but you know that in reality, you don’t have much time before your parents are on their way.

He kisses your cheek and says, “Now, what is that delicious smell?”

“Cookies.” You giggle at the bright smile on his face at the mention of the yummy Christmas treats. “Wanna decorate ‘em with me?” you ask. He’s already pulling you towards the kitchen before you can even finish the question.

“Okay! I think everything’s perfect.” You set the tray of freshly decorated sugar cookies on the table. You roam around the room listing off the tasks you’ve completed.  “The bathrooms are clean, the kitchen is clean, the mirrors and windows are wiped down, the driveway is- Lucas!”

You snap your attention back at the boy with a star-shaped cookie in hand, held up to his opened mouth, ready to be eaten. Frozen, he peers over at you, caught in the act.

“Put that cookie down. NOW!”

Lucas slowly places the cookie back on the tray, and sighs softly before taking a seat at the table with his head hung low, as if he’s put himself in ‘time-out’.

Your attention is captured by the ring-tone coming from your cell phone. 

“Oh my gosh, they must be on their way,” you say before picking up.

“Hi, my dear,” your mother’s familiar voice gives you a taste of home as soon as you hear it.

“Hi! Are you on your way?” you ask, hopeful.

“I hate to come bearing bad news, but it seems like we won’t be able to make it.”

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips as you think of all the work you’ve done to get the place ready for your parents’ visit. It would’ve been nice to see them again, especially in the holiday spirit, and enjoy quality time together. Your shoulders slouch as your mood drops listening to your mother explain that they’re snowed in for the night. They can’t come.

“They’re not coming?” Lucas asks once you hang up the phone.

You shake your head in response and slump into a chair at the table next to him. Sighing, you prop your elbows on the table, resting your head in your hands, and close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy a moment of calm. Your little moment is brought to an end when you feel a tickle at your bottom lip. Opening your eyes, you see an iced sugar cookie held up to your mouth.

“Taste it.” Your eyes shift upward to Lucas’s cheeky grin. You comply and take a bite out of the cookie. Eyelids fluttering shut in delight, you hum at the deliciousness of the cookie in your mouth. “Is it good?” he asks.

“Perfect,” you giggled.

He takes a bite of the cookie himself and says, “Let’s put on our pajamas,” with his mouth full. “Why? It’s not even late.” 

Although the time indicates that it’s only around 5:30 pm, the darkness outside makes it seem a lot later than it really is.

“Looks like nighttime to me,” he says, pointing towards the window.

“Okay, I guess.” He takes you by the hand and pulls you up from your seat, ushering you towards the bedroom where you can get dressed in your matching fleece pajama sets. In the warmth of your pajamas, you and Lucas decide to make the very best out of this Christmas Eve. While Lucas turns on How the Grinch Stole Christmas, you make hot chocolate in the kitchen and pour yourselves a couple mugs. You top it off with whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and a candy cane leaning against the rim, adding a hint of festive cheer. Bringing the hot cocoa and tray of Christmas cookies, you join Lucas on the sofa, who didn’t bother to wait for you before starting the movie. Crystals of ice fall down the sky outside the window while the crackle and pop of the fireplace keeps you cozy inside. Lucas drapes a fleece blanket over your laps as the mugs of hot cocoa in your hands keep you warm. He wraps his arm around you, bringing you closer in, and places a sweet kiss on your cheek. Although you’d gone through so much stress during the day, to be able to comfortably relax in the warmth of Lucas’ embrace made it all worth it. 

a/n: Merry Christmas! And to those that don’t celebrate it, much love regardless ♡

Proofread by: @hunjins @danishmiilk @crownily thank you guys so so much ♡

#nct-writers #neothestars #cznnet #kpopscape #neowritingsnet #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv fluff #WayV lucas #lucas x reader #nct lucas #nct x reader #Lucas fluff #Lucas imagines #lucas oneshot #wayv oneshot #nct oneshot #Kay’s Creations

[splendiferous-soup]

My Candlenights gift for @gabap_art (on Twitter)🌟

They’re a fan of Aubrey, Ned, and found family, so here’s the pine guard (and friends) telling some Candlenights ghost stories around the fire! :D

@thecandlenightszone

[ID: a drawing of several characters from The Adventure Zone Amnesty gathered around a campfire on various logs. Starting from left to right, Jake Cool-Ice and Dani are sitting next to each other. Jake is in his human form, and is white in appearance with blond hair faded pink tied up in a scrunchie. He is wearing a tri-color parka, snow pants, and snowboard boots. He is holding a thermos in mittened hands and has an expression of interest. Next to him, Dani is wearing a green scarf and winter coat, some sturdy pants, and hiking boots. She is in her vampiric form and has little pointy ears. She has long bleached hair with dark roots and a chain earring set, and is East Asian in appearance. In her lap is Dr. Harris Bonkers, Ph.D. Dr. Harris Bonkers is a little brown rabbit wrapped up in a blanket. Sitting on a stump seat between Dani and the next log is Aubrey Little, a human young adult wearing a black faux-leather coat. Aubrey is black and has a partly orange dyed pompadour and several piercings, as well as a bisexual pride pin on her coat. She has her hands in her coat pockets, and underneath is wearing jeans and combat boots with fireballs painted on the sides. She looks at Ned with amusement. On the middle log is Ned Chicane and Barclay. Ned is an older human man who is in the middle of a clearly comedic and exaggerated ghost story, his hands raised up in overdramatic gestures and a gleam in his eye. Ned is white with a bushy grey beard and grey hair. He is wearing square glasses, an olive green down jacket, and jeans. Barclay is in his human form next to Ned, and is elbowing him with an embarrassed but still amused expression. Barclay is wearing a tan jacket, fingerless gloves, and blue jeans. He has a scruffy black beard and long brown hair in a ponytail. Across the fire from Ned and Barclay is Mama from the back, a white woman with shoulder-length greying brown hair and a big brown duster. She is human. On the right side of the scene on stumps of their own are Indrid Cold and Duck Newton. Indrid is in his human form, but still has small pointed ears. His hair is wild, white with black at the roots, and he’s wearing a pair of dark red glasses. Indrid is also wearing a thick blue scarf and a long coat, as well as skinny jeans and calf-length boots. Around his neck is a glowing orange crystal, and he is wearing mittens. Indrid has his arms and legs crossed to keep warm and is looking at Ned with a mixture of humor and disbelief. Beside him, Duck is holding a coffee mug and having a chuckle about whatever story Ned’s cooked up this time. Duck is a Middle Eastern human man with a stubbly beard and dark brown hair loosely held in a small ponytail. He is wearing dark pants and a coat in forest service green. Above the scene, text reads “Happy Candlenights!” End ID]

#my art #candlenights #candlenight zone #art gift #the adventure zone amnesty #taz amnesty #taz dani #aubrey little #indrid cold #taz indrid #taz fanart #jake coolice #duck newton #taz mama #taz barclay #ned chicane #dr harris bonkers #the pine guard #long ID

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter One - The Shop that Never Opens

In the town where Claire attends college, an antique store at one end of the old downtown strip mystifies her. The window display is arranged to catch the attention of passersby and she swears the pieces inside are moved around on occasion. The curios hint of a dedicated collector who ventured to far-off lands in a quest for exotic wonders. And never made it home again.

A blue and white cardboard sign lists their opening hours: Tues though Sat, 11:00–5:00. Yet the shop is never open. No lights ever come on. She’s never spotted anyone inside. An ornate Bavarian-style cuckoo clock hangs on the wall, forever frozen. The tiny yellow bird perches on a jutting platform, beak open wide for eternity.

The place next door, Anderson’s Tools and Hardware, also sits empty. It looks closed. The shelves and display cabinets are long gone and the blue industrial carpet is faded to a light grey where the sun strikes through the dusty window. Few businesses ever last around here. Now the café on the corner is closing. They opened less than a year ago. Claire rarely steps foot inside because their sandwiches are no better than what she can make at home. As a credit-shy student getting by on her summer job and occasional family generosity, she’s on a tight budget.

And yet she’d spend every last penny she has for one day in that antique shop.

                                                     *     *     *

The irony of the café going out of business––because people like her never came in––hit Claire harder than usual at the sight of the hand-painted newsprint taped to the window: Last week in business. Unlike the red and yellow poster board advertising Bankruptcy Sale 90% Off! Everything must go! at the Westwood Plaza furniture store on Route 105, this sign meant what it said. Maybe they’d have had more customers if the place two doors down was ever open.

Out of a misplaced sense of guilt, she went in to buy a coffee. She immediately remembered why she rarely came here. The owners never could decide whether they wanted to run a Starbucks knock-off or mimic the bistros lining side streets of Montreal or Amsterdam. The décor was replete with the sort of bric-a-brac you’d find in the clearance aisle of a Burlington Coat Factory or Marshalls. Vaguely ethnic, but generic and cheap-looking. Service was always slow, lackadaisical, and occasionally outright rude. Such a shame, she thought with a sigh, since it was locally-owned and so few places were anymore.

While waiting, she watched a couple stroll past on the sidewalk outside. The woman was petite like her with long brown hair and a freckled, squarish face. They could pass for sisters. The man was taller, with curly black hair that went past his ears, and he walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his olive green parka. He looked shockingly similar to Dave. Pain flared in her chest that she tried to gulp back down. The anniversary of his death was coming up. She dreaded going back home to face everyone this coming weekend, face questions she still had no answers for. The police had done what they could. Or so they said.

“That’ll be three-fifty.”

With a start she turned back to the cashier and nearly handed him her entire wallet.

“You okay, miss?”

Keeping her head bowed, she withdrew a five. “I’m fine thanks.” She waved for him to keep the change. Grief had a way of tearing her feet out from under her whenever she least expected it to. She sucked her breath deep into her lungs. She was not going to cry in public. Never.

She took the coffee over to the stand with all the assorted milks and creams, honeys and sweeteners, shakers full of cinnamon and powered chocolate. No wonder a medium coffee cost $3.50. She kept her focus on opening the packets of brown sugar, ensuring every tawny crystal ended up in her cup, while evicting every dark thought from her mind.

The bus was roaring past just as she stepped outside. That was okay, she reminded herself, trying to shake her gloomy mood. The next bus to campus, which went a slightly different route, took only a few minutes longer. She wouldn’t be late.

Sipping her coffee, she turned her attention to her favourite store on the entire strip of Main Street. A wood sign hung over the entrance, the cracked red paint reading: Maurer and Son Antiques & Collectibles. Thanks to a childhood friend with the same surname, she knew that Maurer rhymed with flower. The first r was extraneous. When she first moved here, she’d been keen to go in and ask if they were related. She’d also wanted to ask about an ornate metal lamp of the sort sold in Turkish bazaars, half-concealed in the shadows. It would have gone beautifully in her old bedroom.

She only gave up when locals insisted the business had shut down decades ago. A shame, really. She also coveted the prominently displayed chair and sofa set carved from teak and upholstered in lush red velvet. She didn’t mind that the seat was faded to a dusty rose where the sun hit. Not that she had anywhere to put new furniture in her tiny apartment. She kept most of her and Dave’s things in a storage locker at the edge of town, and she had no car.

Each time she gazed in through the glass, she tried to spot one new object among the oddities coated in powdery beige dust. Several pieces she swore had never been there before. Last year she was baffled by the appearance of a toy wooden xylophone beneath the sofa, each metal key one colour of the rainbow. Last month it was a set of Russian nesting dolls arranged in descending order on a recessed shelf high along the wall on her left, above the window in the alcove. The tiniest ones were lost in the shadows while the nearest and largest, with rosy-cheeked faces, pencil thin brows, red roses as an offering on their chests, looked as though they’d just been polished. She’d love to take those home with her.

While waiting for the bus to arrive, she continued with her game. Her attention kept going back to a stuffed red-mouthed lizard, but that wasn’t it. Nor was it the ancient leather-bound dictionary, the frightful bronze Kali statue, or the vintage Chinese checkers game still in the original box.

Then, she saw it, behind the left foot of the velvet sofa. An antique pewter flask with a thick chain attached to a spherical stopper. A chill descended on her. She stooped to peer more closely. It looked just like the flask Dave had inherited from his grandfather. He used to bring it to parties as a conversation piece. She tried to think back to when she’d last seen it. She couldn’t remember packing it when she moved. But she must have.

Squealing brakes shook her out of her reverie. She lumbered up the steps of the idling bus, the engine droning like a giant beast. She shuddered as she swiped her card on the pad next to the driver. Whenever she’d shivered as a child, her grandmother would say someone had just walked over her grave. She kept forgetting to look up the origins of that expression, and yet she was filled with an eerie sensation she was being watched. She did her best not to glance back at the store.

She sat facing the row of buildings on the opposite side of the road where all but one, a sketchy pawn shop with rows of overpriced bicycles out front, were boarded up.

“Hey, Claire.”

She glanced up at the spidery-limbed man seated across from her. Before dropping out last winter, she and Jacob had been in the same Urban Studies course. She’d hoped to learn why so many cities had boarded up storefronts on neglected Main Streets, while the highways leading in were dotted with newly-built strip malls. She never did get an answer beyond urban sprawl.

“Are you still taking medieval history?“ she asked.

He nodded his mop of sandy blond curls. “A fascinating era. I’m amazed at how differently my ancestors lived. The food, clothing, sleeping habits, you name it. Like an alien world.”

“I’ll bet.” She liked small talk for the same reason she took her time fixing her coffee. Idle chitchat had gotten her through her first Christmas holidays without Dave. Only when conversation about the ice storm, music, or the crisis in student loans, turned to what she planned to do next, did social interaction get awkward. Thoughts of the future terrified her.

Jacob seemed to sense her mood instinctively; he craned his head forward, as if peering out through the window behind her. “Nice weather today.”

“Yeah, easy to forget it’s still only January.” Last winter had been similarly mild. Yet the coroner said Dave froze to death. What he’d been doing out in a field next to a derelict factory, she never learned. He was found with a 1.8 BAC, although he rarely drank. Her case worker pointed out, however, that could’ve been a factor in and of itself. He had no tolerance.

“It’s supposed to snow next week. Four inches expected.”

“So I heard. Guess we should enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.”

He took out his phone and began fiddling with the screen. She probably bored him. Most people found her boring. Grief had a way of isolating a person. Few people her age had much experience with death beyond losing a pet, a distant relative who’d left them some money, or a grandparent they saw only a few times a year.

Worse was being left with so many unanswered questions. It all started and ended with Jordan, the childhood friend who’d been the last to see Dave alive, and yet police had absolved him of any wrongdoing. Claire didn’t believe it.

The bus lurched to a stop outside of Westwood Plaza. Big Ted clambered aboard, the bus keeling as he came up the steps. He sat next to Jacob. There must have been a big UFC match over the weekend, since that was what they launched straight into discussing.

She was spacing out again, disturbed by the sight of that flask, when she noticed Ted leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “So … did they ever find out what happened to Dave?”

Jacob blanched. Yet she was cheered by Ted’s tactlessness; she was tired of everyone hedging around the subject, wanting to ply her with questions but not wanting to seem intrusive. Claire had never been one to parade her life on Facebook. That didn’t mean she objected to sharing anything about herself. Nor was she fragile so long as she was on guard.

She shook her head. “Only sort of. They say he was drunk when he cut through that lot and must have tripped on a rock or lost his footing when he came to a dip in the ground.”

She smiled ruefully at the way he blinked and jerked his head back in response.

“And he couldn’t get up again? I heard he didn’t have any injuries or nothing.”

“He didn’t.” It didn’t make sense to her, either. “Apparently he’d been doing shots at his friend’s place, then left for home, and they figure he got disoriented and passed out.” He’d also been found with a street drug derived from horse tranquilizer in his system, which baffled her even more. She’d never known him to do anything stronger than pot or hash.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his deep-set eyes glistening with sincerity. “That really sucks.”

“Thanks.” Yet for Dave to get lost on his way home from Jordan’s, he would have had to go in the wrong direction, cross a six-lane highway, walk through a dense thicket of evergreens, and then two miles of vacant lots in the former industrial part of town. She sighed, sensing herself coming apart like a seam with a slight tear and the threads unravelling.

“I remember that day. Been to take my little niece and the dog to the park. A super warm day. But the temperature really dropped that night. Ice was everywhere the next morning.”

“Indeed,” she said, wishing she were a better talker. Aren’t women supposed to be better at communicating? She certainly wasn’t. Then something in her brain kicked, as if shifting gears. The word niece had done it. “You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”

“Born and raised. As were my parents, as were my grandparents.”

“Wow. Don’t see much of that anymore.” She forced a chuckle. “I was wondering. What do you know about that collectibles store on Main between Elm and Pine––More-er something?”

“This weird old man used to run it. Supposedly he was kind, but a little off.”

Excitement welled in her. Why had she never thought to ask him before? “I’ve always wanted to check it out but whenever I pass by, they’re never open.”

Both he and Jacob snorted. “That store’s never been open in my lifetime.”

“Then why are all those things just left in there all these years?”

“Probably nobody to take over running the place after the old man died.”

“Such a waste, all that cool stuff just sitting in there. Some of it must be worth quite a lot.”

He hunched his mountainous shoulders and she felt herself sinking into a mire of disappointment. No one else ever seemed to sense the magical feel of that shop. “You could say that about the entire downtown,” he said. “All those old buildings left to rot. Not even tenants in the upstairs apartments. I heard they were pretty nice inside.”

An idea came to her. Depending on circumstances, it might not count as trespassing, at least on private property. “So who owns those buildings now?”

“The city, or heirs who have since moved elsewhere. I know a few were seized over unpaid back taxes sometime in the 90s. Some were sold off. I’m sure some shady deals went on. I mean, how does that convenience store next to the pizza place stay in business?”

“Money-laundering front?” Jacob asked, looking up from his phone.

Claire had wondered that too. Dave, whose uncle on his Italian side owned a restaurant in addition to their construction company, had told her about all kinds of schemes for washing illegal income. He was more circumspect about the sources of that illegal income.

Ted glanced out the window behind him and yanked on the cord above. “Either that or they bought back when buildings were dirt cheap and made a deal with the city about taxes.”

“I heard they keep rents artificially high so that businesses go to those strip malls along the highway,” Jacob said. He and Ted launched into a discussion about some local inter-generational feud.

Claire found herself disappearing up into her own head once more. She had to track down the source of that flask, assuming it was Dave’s. If he’d been drinking, he’d have had it with them. She didn’t recall it being among the personal effects police had returned. His class ring was also missing. She racked her brain; she couldn’t remember when or where she’d last seen it.

Excitement rose in her. Could she do this. She’d lived here for nearly two and a half years, and not once had she ever ventured down the alleyway running behind that block of buildings on Main. Abandoned, city-owned, absentee landlords, what harm could there be trying to sneak in? Who’d be around to catch her? If she went to police about that flask in the window, she doubted they’d bother investigating it. She had to know whether it was Dave’s. But if it was, then what?

Her conscience began chiding her and she assured it that all she planned to do (for now) was take a walk along the litter-strewn lane and see if there were any hints of life inside. A light shining out of one of the upper-story windows. Or an unlocked door leading in.  

#fiction #new adult fiction #mystery fiction #cosy mystery #mystery novel #small town setting #whodunnit #unsolved death #introverted main character #abandoned building #antique store #books #writing

[grwgszegsr]

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Tinderbox, pt 3

Part II here

Marshall’s dark brows winged up. “You think someone might be inside?”

“No.” God, she was making a hash of this, wasn’t she? Rosie collected herself. “Well, technically yes, my cat, Salami, will be inside, but no other people. I…. how about coffee?”

Great, Rosie, her inner voice practically eyerolled.

He gazed at her for a moment, as if something warred inside within him for a moment. “I’ll see you inside,” he said finally. The air seemed sucked from the hallway, and Rosie wondered if she’d made the wrong decision. Misread him, and herself.

She opened the door with her key. The lamp she had on a timer had come on, and as she stepped inside, Salami meowed plaintively. Rosie bent down to scratch the tabby cat behind the ears. “Miss me, did you, baby?”

Straightening, she turned back to Marshall. “It isn’t much, but it’s home.”

He smiled grimly. “You should see my place. This is great.”

His words made her curiosity spike. Bachelor pad? As a cop, how much downtime did he get? Unease stirred in her stomach. He’d said eight hours and an hour had to have passed since then. She should let him go.

But, but….

It’d been over a year since Rosie had experienced closeness with a man. Longer since she’d wanted to. Towards the end with Dylan, she’d been intimate with him more out of a sense of duty, of trying to fix things, somehow, than want.

But that emotion, that need, stirred inside her now.

Marshall cleared his throat and Rosie knew she either needed to shit or get off the pot. 

“The thing is, Marshall, I…” Salami wound around her legs and she found the courage to just say it. “Would you stay?”

His cobalt eyes darkened. “You’re afraid of being alone?”

“No. I want you to stay.” Because he looked ready to go, Rosie did something she’d been thinking about since she’d seen him take a fork of pancakes. She leaned up on her toes and brushed her lips over his.

Marshall stayed stock still for a moment and Rosie dropped back to her heels, nerves shredding in her stomach. Oh, Lord. I’ve made the wrong decision.

“You don’t owe me anything, Rosie,” he said stiffly.

“I know.”

“And I don’t want your memory of me to be…. Regret.”

He wanted her to have a memory of him? There was maybe some hope.

“Oh, I won’t regret it. That’s a promise.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “And you always keep your promises?”

“As often as I can.”

Marshall slipped his hands out of his pockets and settled his big hands on her arms. He let out a long breath. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“I can’t look at you and believe that,” Rosie scoffed, relaxing a little. He hadn’t turned to leave.

“Law enforcement doesn’t leave much space for a personal life,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Salami meowed plaintively, and the spell was broken. 

“Sorry baby. You must be hungry. I…. make yourself at home,” Rosie offered as she turned to the cupboard to get Salami’s biscuits from the shelf.

She’d kept the place tidy thank goodness - not that there was any difficulty doing that when your home consisted of a single room and a very small bathroom.

Marshall crossed the space of her studio of the back wall. She knew what hung there. One of her favourite artworks. She’d painted it right before she moved here. Trees bowed to create an arch, storm clouds above, and a single female silhouette stood in the centre, radiating silent power.

“Is this yours?” His voice carried to her.

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

There was no insincerity or fawning in his tone. Just honest appreciation. “Thank you.” She poured kibble into Salami’s bowl and topped up his water. The cat began to eat in earnest, purring. Rosie gave him one stroke from ears to tail, then straightened up, shoving her hands in her pockets, suddenly awkward, her heartbeat loud.

“Have a seat, if you like.”

Marshall sat on the futon that doubled as her bed and sofa. She hadn’t bothered converting it back to a sofa this morning but thankfully she had neatened it, tucking the dove-grey sheets in under the mattress. His quiet presence dominated the room and she crossed over to him. This part was hard, the getting-to-the-sex part.

Rosie sat opposite him. “Ah, I….”

“How about we start by taking our coats off.”

She half-laughed, shrugged hers off. Marshall stood and divested himself of his heavy parka, laying it over a chair. Rosie watched, entranced, as he pulled the gun out of a hip holster and laid it gently on the chair his coat hung over.

He glanced up and followed the path of her gaze. “Does it bother you? The gun?”

“No.”

He came to sit back down on the futon. “Rosie…”

Her name sounded poetic in his accent. Suddenly keen to end the awkwardness, she leaned forward and touched her mouth to his, opened her lips for him. Marshall inhaled sharply and then he was kissing her back, and he tasted of the tang of coffee and an edge of sweetness from the maple syrup. His hands came to rest at her waist and he pulled her closer. Rosie lifted her fingers to tangle in the dark curls of his hair, damp from the rain and tattered-silk soft. 

It was a long time since she’d done this dance, and she had to hope that all the moves had stayed the same.

She let her other hand play, cupping his cheek. His short-cropped beard felt soft against the pads of her fingers and she stroked up his strong jawline as their tongues tangled. He tasted addictive, his lips warm, soft under her own.

Marshall lifted her up on to his lap and she went willingly, her legs settling either side of his waist. Close like this, she could feel the evidence of his desire for her right where she needed that sweet friction. She heard a quiet moan in the room and realised belatedly that it came from her own lips.

His hands wandered to the hem of her serviceable sweater, his fingers skimming under the fabric to stroke the band of exposed skin above her jeans, below her t-shirt. She shivered, but not from the cold. How long had it been since a man had touched her with such reverence? 

Marshall must have understood that her little tremble was from pleasure because he continued his gentle exploration, sliding one hand up under her t-shirt, one finger tracing the edge of the cup of her bra. Everything inside her tightened, the feeling unfamiliar, deliciously welcome.

“Don’t stop there,” she whispered.

****

Tagging: @boiled-onionrings​ @pinkzsugar​ @leapingoveroblivion​ @mary-ann84​

Thanks go to my beta and great gal @ly--canthrope​

#nomis fic #night hunter fic #henry cavill fic #walter marshall

[imnotwolverine]

When at night

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: It’s been a rather gloomy, rainy day today so I was stuck at home, writing this. This chapter starts rather angsty, but do not fret; it all ends on a fluffy note. Have a nice weekend y’all! 

Word count: 6.375

Disclaimer: angst, fluff, injury 

--

This is part 5 of the Tea for Two oneshot. 

Find the masterlist here.

--

< Go back to part 4

Darkness came quickly that day, the night clouded and extremely cold. Large lights had been set up to shine an eerie light through the thick pine trees. The crew huddled away in their thick parka’s while the wind whipped and howled wildly. Not the type of weather you want to be in, but we had no choice. For this particular scene it worked brilliantly and so we were up and about at 11 pm, leaning into the trees while waiting to reset the scene when needed and check for continuity errors.

I had brought a thick winter jacket, wool gloves, jeans and snow boots. Enough I had thought, but even now it was terribly cold. I shivered, folding my hands in the pits of my arms while I looked at a colleague, who was huddled away in his jacket as well. ‘Fecking cold.’ He croaked out in his thick cockney accent. I chuckled. ‘Quite so.’ I shivered in turn while a smile curled on my lips. I stared out in the direction of the set, hearing some hustle and bustle as the director was giving some new directions. It was maybe 50 meters away, but other then seeing things happen, we couldn’t hear a thing due to the loud wind.

A loud, deep crack sounded and I looked at my colleague, then at the trees around us. Nothing happened. He shrugged, smirking. ‘Forest spirits.’ He said, whipping out his hands as if casting a magic spell. The wind laid low again for a bit. We laughed, looking around us. ‘No spirits to be seen.’ I sniffled. And then another single of wind came blowing in. A louder crack. The smile on my lips soon melted like snow beneath a hot sun, when I saw my colleagues eyes widen as he looked at something behind me, his body stiff with shock. I turned around quickly, seeing the bright setlights disappearing around us as a big shadow swallowed us whole. ‘Tree!! Tree!!!!’ I heard people screaming. Panic. My eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden dark as I felt sharp twigs brushing my skin, then the crushing blow of heavy bark. I was smitten down to the ground…

A dull, punishing pain in my chest. I could barely breath and slowly the already low lit area got black. I whimpered like a wounded animal - I think…I couldn’t hear myself. I actually couldn’t hear anything for a time. Seconds? Minutes? I wasn’t sure. I tried to wiggle my hands, but all I felt was thousands of needles stabbing painfully in my skin. Had I blacked out? Or..Was I ..dead? My eyes still black and my senses numb all I could do was wallow and whimper in panic. Could someone hear me? Please? ….Nothing but the silent dark answered my pleading calls.

‘…Heave!’ I heard somewhere far away. Or was it closeby? ‘….Carefulll.’ The voices sounded again, in unison. I struggled to locate these voices. Low voices. I looked around, still not seeing much. Were these angels? I felt a tingle creeping up in my body. I started blinking more feverishly. I could feel. But. My eyes. Still no sight. Did I maybe go blind? I whimpered again, now hearing myself. Far away. Or was I was dead after all? I groaned in resignation as the voices kept floating around me, indistinguishable.

And then..finally.. blurbs of light started to appear. I spread my eyes open, gasping. A terrible pain in my chest shot up. OH GODS. Pain. This was bad. AARGHH. And the sounds. I heard the voices get closer and closer. More light. Way too bright light. Flashlights shining at me. Stop. Put it out. I whimpered again, feeling my head spin as I tried to swallow more air. PAIN PAIN PAIN. Through the rush of pain I could now clearly hear myself. Shapes re-appeared as I noticed a white haired man sitting huddled over me, his lips speaking words I could not fully register until I focussed on him. ’Please…. Respond…. Can you hear me?’ His yellow eyes looked at me with fear and sorrow, his hands tenderly touching my cheeks. Henry. Dear Henry. I took a shallow breath, feeling the numb pain now getting sharper and sharper. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and wail in pain. ‘Emergency services have been called.’ A voice sounded in the back. ‘Don’t move them. And check if she’s breathing.’ I heard Henry gasp softly. Poor Henry.

I cracked my eyes open again. My body felt foreign. Heavy. I just couldn’t move and breathing in caused the shooting of sharp shudders of pain that rolled through me like I was being hit by a truck. Again. And again. And again. But I was alive. I think. I forced myself to look around. Henry still hovering above me. On the far right I recognised my colleague laying there too. He was crying his eyes out, being consoled by some people huddled over him. I took a shivery breath. He was alive. Good. I looked back up at Henry, struggling to somewhat hide my pain from his prying eyes (and failing), then tried to look down at my body. He immediately pressed me down. ‘No sweetheart. No. Just. Relax and keep still.’ His voice sounded pitchy and worried. ‘I’m so cold.’ I whimpered, making his face break into even more sorrow, as he looked up in desperation at the people around us. Thankfully not long after someone came running with some blankets. Blankets which Henry folded around me with the most gentle hands. But it seemed not to help very much. I was cold. So cold. I just laid there, blinking slowly, my body shuddering with every shallow breath I took. Off and on I would hear voices get louder and softer, my vision fading and returning. ‘Stay with me.’ He said softly, his voice but a whisper that hovered above me for my vision had faded again. I tried and tried. But my body was just unwilling. And breathing was so hard, all I could think of, all I could feel, was pain. So much pain.

—

I woke up in a hospital bed. The deafening pain was now dull, but still present. I blinked, looking at the room. The walls, the bedding, even the curtains, were grey. Of course. A hospital was no place for happiness, hmm? I looked around me, finding familiar faces. One of the manager assistants had fallen asleep in a chair next to my bed. I tried to sit up a bit, immediately regretting that as a sharp pain shot through my chest. I cowered back into my initial horizontal position, groaning in slight defeat. I continued looking around while taking more care not to move my chest. My colleague was laying across the room, playing on his phone. His leg was craned up, covered in plaster. Broken leg probably. I groaned as another shoot of pain rushed through me. So..what happened to me? I raised my head a little, looking down at my body. But I couldn’t see much, just blankets and my hospital gown. An uninvited tear billowed down my cheek and I swallowed. Be strong girl. Be strong. ‘Sam’ I whispered. Nothing. ‘Sam’ I said a touch louder, straining my chest. ‘Hey girl. You awake?’ He finally spoke, as he noticed me struggling. I panted weakly. ‘Oh...uh.. Damn! Damn this thing.’ He rasped, some undefined noises coming from his part of the room. His bed creaked loudly. I peaked down, seeing he now had managed to find the button to lift the top part of his bed to a sitting position. ‘You in pain? I can call the nurse for ya. Who is..so cute by the way.’ I took a moment to manage another shivery breath. ‘Just..No air.’ I gasped. I heard him muffle, clicking some buttons. It seemed to take forever - though it probably took just a minute - until a nurse came walking into the room. She moved aside my curtain, opening up the room to me. Three more beds, all empty.

‘Hee-lo. Goo’ moohning. You pain?’ She ushered in a melodic voice. I looked at her for a moment, unsure. Then finally managed to croak softly: ‘No…air.’ Sam interjected from the other side of the room; ‘She’s got difficulty breathing sis.’ The nurse looked at Sam, then back at me, nodding in understanding, then folding away the blankets down to my belly. Which helped a little. I gasped for another bit. ‘Get pain kill.’ She said, pointing at herself. Then disappeared again. I crushed my teeth together. I decided to save my energy and frustration, though I dearly wanted to just sit up and talk to Sam about what happened. I saw the managing assistant yawning, wringing his eyes. He looked at me for a moment in dazed confusion, before fully realising where he was and what was going on.

‘Hey! You’re awake. Oh that’s good. Gooood..’ He hesitated, sitting up from his awkward sitting position to get a better look at me. ‘So…How are you?’ He asked, hovering over me, studying me. ‘She’s got difficulty breathing. The nurse is getting her some ..stuff.’ Sam said. I just stared at the managing assistant awkwardly, a painful smile pressed on my lips. He looked at me a moment longer, then fetched his phone from his pocket. Texting someone. I looked at him, a bit confused as to why this was good moment to start texting someone. He, however, wasn’t fazed by my exasperated facial expression. He finished texting before looking back at me. ‘Hard to keep Henry away from you..princess. He’s not allowed to visit, safety risk and all, blabla. He was …soo…mad. Anyways. I took his place, promising I would alarm him when you awoke. So yea I was here…’ He babbled. I huffed. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. ‘…Sleeping.’ I muttered. He gasped. ‘Well…what else was I supposed to do?’ He tried. All I could do was offer him an amused smile. Poor assistant.

The nurse returned. She dosed the fluidbag connected to my arm with some magical elixir and after just a few minutes I felt a rosy feeling come over me. ‘Ahh…drugs.’ I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment, in relief. My chest felt a whole lot more comfortable now, breathing becoming more doable. I took a good breath. Then opened my eyes again. ‘What’s the damage?’ The nurse had already moved away, so the assistant sat back up. ‘Punctured lung, three broken ribs, bunch of scratches and small wounds. You’ve been really lucky, it could have killed you, had your rib but punctured a little lower it would have been your heart.’ I shivered. ‘Wow.’ ‘How long do I have to be here?’ He laughed. ‘Easy sis. Surely a week, they want to keep an eye on you. And healing takes about 6 to 8 weeks probably.’ I sighed. ‘Oh man.’ ‘Yep. Can I get you anything?’ I looked at him, thinking. My brain was soo slow. I blinked, thinking. ‘Did you …happen to get my phone?’ He nodded, reaching out to a bag on the floor, rummaging around it before handing me my phone. ‘Oh I need to sit up a bit,’ I said, having difficulty raising the phone in vision without my vision becoming a bit blurry. The assistant happily obliged, pushing on some button so my head end also rose up. Well, that felt good. I could finally take a proper look at the both of them. Sam waved gleefully. I laughed a slow smile. Drugs…

I opened my phone. So many text messages. Even my mom, which confused me. How did she know? I looked into my call history, and noticed a few attempted calls. ‘Home. Pap. Mam.’ I returned to the text messages and started responding. ‘HEY! What happened? Dear? Are you okey? This guy called you had an accident? Call me.’ She had sent me plenty of messages. I sighed and started typing. ‘Hi mom. I’m okay now. Got into an accident yes. Falling tree. Broken ribs and punctured lung. But please, no worries. I’m safe now. Can’t call you..no voice yet. Text me whenever. Love you!’ Then the next flurry of messages. From Henry. ‘They won’t let me get to you. :’( .. You just got out of ER. Hmpf I want to be with you…. I have called your mom. Just so you know…I sent Gus to be with you for the night.’ And a picture of him and Kal looking really sad, taken this morning. I took a selfie. I sure looked sickly, I realised, looking at it for a second before sending it. ‘Hi.’ I typed. He responded quite immediately. ‘Oh thank gods.’ ‘The zombie has arisen!’ I quipped, adding a happy emoticon. He returned a sad frowny emoji. ‘Are you in pain?’ ‘Not any longer. Got painkillers just now.’ I took another picture of Gus and Sam both gazing at their phones in the grey room. ‘And..more zombies ;)’ ‘Are they taking good care of you?’ ‘Sure. It’s mostly just boring though. Sigh. Hate hospital. Hate the colour grey.’ ‘:(’ ‘And I miss you!’ ‘I miss you too, so so much.’ He sent. Directly followed by more typing. Henry is typing. Henry is typing. I stared at the screen. ‘They wouldn’t let me go off set without security..which is only going to arrive this afternoon. Pfff. Gosh I got so mad. :( Stupid fucking contract. I was so scared. You laying there under that tree. So pale. So much blood.’ ‘I blacked out. Didn’t really..experience any of it.’ ‘:( I was so scared I would lose you.’ I sighed. Looking at the letters on my screen. I wish I could hug him right now. Crawl away in his strong arms.

Thankfully I could. About three hours later he came walking in with a large vase of colourful flowers, not even taking a moment to put them down, before kissing me desperately. He was still in full costume, some blood on his shirt. Was that mine? I couldn’t tell, my attention already drawn away by one of his security men whom closed the curtains around us, offering us some privacy. He sat on the edge of the bed, finally putting down the vase on the night stand, taking a moment to study me. He looked exhausted with worry. ‘Hi.’ I whispered. My voice was still raw and measly. His jaw clenched. ‘Oh..Sweetling.’ He reached his hands to entangle them with mine, being extra careful he didn’t lean on me. ‘How are you?’ I whispered. He looked down at our hands for a moment, then back at me. Lost for words, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to look for something that expressed what he was feeling. I squeezed his hands and blinked at him slowly. ‘Glad to see you..’ He finally sighed. ‘Alive.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and hovered over me, studying my face more closely. I smiled, wiggling one of my hands from his, to cup his face. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’ I said. He smiled. ‘A bit of colour. WHICH is surprisingly hard to find in rural Poland apparently.’ He sighed. I grinned. His gaze traced down my neck, to my torso. He folded away the blankets. Though not really seeing much more then my hospital gown. ‘Fold it away. I’m curious.’ I said. He looked up, hesitant. Then, most carefully, he pulled open the binding. What appeared was..I guess..less bad then I expected. Lots of small cuts, some with stitches, some bruises. And a bandage around my lower chest, with a speck of blood just centimetres away from my heart. His breath halted, a slow shiver running over his face. I traced the bruises. You could almost see the branches outlined in them. He closed the gown again with delicacy, folding back the sheets. He took another deep breath, then kissed my forehead. He was still struggling to say anything, so instead he just looked at me once more with those pleading puppy eyes.

‘They’ll release me in a week.’ I said, trying to break the heavy atmosphere. He smiled endearingly, cupping my cheek. ‘All in due time.’ He warned. I rolled my eyes. He grinned, happy to see I hadn’t lost my eagerness for life yet. ‘Oh..I brought you some of your stuff. Though I didn’t really know…what to bring.’ He nodded at a box that had been placed on one of the chairs near the wall. I recognised my fluffy slippers, some books, laptop, some clothes. ‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘Let my assistant know if you need anything. You’ve got his number right? Otherwise just tell me.’ I nodded. I sighed, folding my hands back into his. ‘And..you called my mom?’ I quirked up an eyebrow. He let out a breath, grinning. ‘Yes…Which was ..interesting. I kind of..forgot your family is dutch. So she was a bit confused I think.’ I smiled. ‘I just texted her. I think she got enough of an idea what you meant, from the texts she wrote me. Poor mom.’ He leaned in for another kiss, resting his forehead against mine. ‘I might just have to learn a little dutch.’ He grinned. I giggled. ‘Ah, don’t worry. You’ll be alright. She speaks better english when not on the phone.’ I shrugged, feeling a sting in my chest, making me wince. ‘Ai…’ His hand quickly cupped my cheek. ‘Careful there.’ He said, immediately sitting up and checking if anything was obstructing. I sighed deeply. ‘Hmmpf. I’m especially not looking forward to having to call the BBC.’ I took another breath.  ‘The doctor told me I’d probably have to delay my work for them for another month.’ Henry quirked his head a bit. ‘Well, there is perhaps a silver lining to that…’ He suggested. I poked him in the ribs, earning a heartfelt laugh from him. He was right though. I would mean another month with him. His gaze got soft again, looking at me lovingly. ‘I love you.’ He whispered softly. ‘I love you too.’ I hummed.

—

The week crawled by slowly. So slowly. The BBC wasn’t fond of the news at all. They immediately had started looking for someone to replace me on their team altogether. Well. That’s showbizz kids. And I must admit I felt a bit down because of it. Now I had nothing exciting to look forward to after shooting for the Witcher finished. An annoyance that wasn’t getting any better by laying in bed all day, which made me crazy with pent up energy.

I was scrolling a bit on my laptop. Me and Henry had started to write each other lengthy texts of our days, besides working through this list of 35 questions to fall in love. It was fun. We wrote extensively about our wishes, dreams, unknown hobbies, families, habits. We had gotten to question 19, which hit quite close due to the circumstances. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why? Henry had written first. ‘I would quit acting, marry you and make love to you every day until my days were spent. And travel. I’ve been to many places, but never got the time to truly explore them.’ I was scrolling through his Instagram posts, daydreaming a bit and trying to calm the small summersaults my heart was making. He HAD been anywhere and everywhere. I clicked back to the Whatsapp app. ‘Quit acting huh? Hadn’t expected that from you. For me…I wouldn’t really change too much. I already travel for work and enjoy it a lot. And I’ll gladly participate in daily lovemaking. ;) Ever been to Sevilla? It’s probably my favourite city of all I’ve visited.’ I closed the tab again, knowing he was working right now, so he would not be responding until way past dinner time.

Checking Whatsapp he hadn’t responded yet. But I couldn’t help adding to my earlier messages: ‘Oh, and I would organise a large feast for friends. I used to cook these large Christmas dinners for friends. Those were just great. The more the merrier!’ I added. He responded a few minutes later. ‘Quit acting because I wouldn’t be able to finish another movie or series within that time. Besides, I’d have more pressing matters to attend to ;) I’ve never been to Sevilla actually. What makes you love it so? And…oh dear how I look forward to eating your food again. We’ve had overcooked spaghetti bolognese. Mamma mia.’ Followed by the meme of a chef loading penne pasta in his gun. I chuckled. ‘Well, if Sevilla offers anything you like, it sure is GOOD FOOD. My gosh. And the mix of culture. Moorish. Spanish. The late nights with people moving around the streets, greeting friends and family and hopping around from place to place after every drink or so to catch up with friends and family - this way the elderly could stick around in one bar and still get to see their whole family in just one night. That’s really cool to see. And the plants! Oh my, so beautiful. Especially the palace gardens. And what about you? What’s your favourite place?’ ‘My parents’ farm. Mostly because of youth memories though. The weather is shit, the people close-minded, lots of unemployment, …thinking about it, it’s not such a good place haha. But there’s animals, and my family. Makes any place a good place.’ He sent a picture of him as a small boy, with, probably some of his brothers, playing soccer in a murky garden with uneven plaids of grass.

--

It was a week later. A Monday. And it sure felt like it, as the rains were pouring down from the heavens. I was finally released from the hospital. Which was good. The loneliness and utter boredom were not doing me any good. I stood waiting below the flyover at the entrance of the hospital, glad to finally be able to sniff some fresh air. I saw a cab pulling up, halting in front of me. The door swung open as one the ladies from the costume department squeezed herself out of the car. ‘Hey kid!… Awh sweetheart.’ She ushered over, extending her hands for a hug, then realising that wasn’t such a good idea, so instead held onto my shoulders while kissing me on the cheek, trying her hardest not to give the usual squeeze. She pulled her hands away quickly to give me a look up and down. She smiled as she reached out for the small box of stuff that was standing besides me. ‘Let me get that from you.’ She took the box, before handing it over to the cab driver who placed it in the boot. I used the moment to get in the car. Which was …surprisingly hard. I had to clench my teeth and take it as slowly as possible to not to be in full agony. I was slightly panting by the time I was finally seated. We drove off as the rain kept pouring and pouring, offering a rhythmic drumbeat on the car. ‘So... how are you?!!’ The lady finally asked from the backseat, her thick American voice a tad too loud. ‘Alright. Stable I guess. How’s the set? Finished that white gown?’ I said, only turning my head slightly. ‘Set’s good. Been a bit …sad actually, this week. It all sure left an impression. Besides it has been raining almost non stop. We’ll probably run into some delay this week.’ She spoke. I nodded, looking ahead at the road. We were driving through the outskirts of the city. More grey buildings after more grey buildings. But they did slowly seem to thin out. The rolling hills and meadows returned and the road became more bumpy. ‘Will snow later.’ The cab driver pointed up to the sky. I looked at him. He was a small man with dark stubble, a thick moustache, small hat on, his skin dark and leathery. He had probably seen it all.  

We arrived on set. And good things come in pairs: it had finally stopped raining. I grunted and groaned as I got out of the cab, before managing it out of my seat, then waved at the cab in thanks before turning. I noticed the woman who had accompanied me had already started walking towards the food parlour, so I decided to follow her in my own, much slower pace. I looked around, glad to be back. And more glad even to see how everyone used the dry moment to continue the hustle and bustle. Barely anyone noticed me and that was for the better of everyone. I just wanted some time to get readjusted.

From the looks of it they had actually started shooting again. I couldn’t find Henry around the food tent, but I did however see a very bored Kal laying there. ‘Kal!’ I said, as loudly as I could without straining myself. His ears peaked up and he jumped up when he saw me. He quickly came running down the slippery grass, making a small sliding to greet me. He jumped up enthusiastically. ‘Sssh. Calm calm.’ I laughed. ‘Hey furry friend. Miss me?’ I petted him fiercely and enjoyed stroking his thick pelt as he leaned into me to receive some scratches. It was good to be back. 

The costume lady had already huddled off again. She probably moved my belongings to my co-shared trailer. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’ I whispered, making my way to one of the crew members. He was shining up some swords with a polish. ‘Hi Callum. Any idea where I can find Lizz?’ ‘Heyy you’re back. Oophh..You look a ghost girl.’ He said, looking me up and down. ‘Yea..grey rooms don’t do me any good.’ I shrugged, trying to evade any further questioning. ‘But ehh..Lizz is back of field.’ He nodded in the direction of the castle. I sighed. He hesitated. ‘You can just..take it easy yea?’ I smiled. ‘I know. Thanks Callum’ I walked off, followed by a happy Kal. I looked to the end of the field, noticing they were shooting there. I looked down at Kal, looking at him sadly. ‘Sorry pal. Can’t have you there. Kal, stay here.’ I pointed at the dinner tent. ‘See you in a bit.’ I petted him, seeing him immediately lay down again in defeat.

The sky was slowly turning a tinge purplish. Perhaps the cab driver was right. I huddled closer in the jacket I got from production - my own was..well..impaled, as I walked around the castle, looking out over the lake. I saw the crew was positioning a new scene. A lot of folk afoot. I couldn’t discern yet whom it were, so I waddled over the slippery, icecold gravel, keeping my eyes trained on the ground keeping a steady footing. My breath was shallow and harsh, yet it also felt good to feel fresh air in my lungs. I slowed my pace a bit after a few minutes, nearly out of breath from just walking.

In the end it took a good 10 minutes for me to reach the production crew. First to be found was Lizz. She walked up to me, an air of surprise over her when she noticed me walking up to her. ‘Well have you here. Goodness. Welcome back.’ She exclaimed. I grinned, still a bit out of breath. ‘Hi Lizz. How are you?’ I sighed. ‘Good. Dear, shouldn’t you be..resting?’ She rested a motherly hand on my shoulder. ‘The doctor did allow me to take a daily stroll. So…’ I pointed at the castle, then to where we were standing. ‘Strolling.’ She squeezed my cheeks. ‘Good thing the branches didn’t get your pretty face. So…uhm… the set! We did scene 24 to 30, but surely need to reshoot 29, too poor lighting. The weather’s been absolutely terrible these days. We better get cracking if we want to make up for lost time…’ She looked at me hesitantly. ‘I can borrow you my eyes, but not allowed to lift anything.’ I winked. ‘That’s good. Alright, uhm..’ She looked up at the trees next to us, her gaze a bit worried as she looked back at me. ‘I’m not afraid of the trees Lizz.’ I grinned, understanding her train of thought. She nodded, looking from the scene set up back to me. ‘Forest scene. The..ehh..31st, shot 3. If you could aid in consistency with Lucy, storyboards are with Boomer.’ I nodded, making my way to the storyboard guy.  

Just then snow started to fall. Tiny, tiny flakes started to stick to our eyelashes. I joined Lucy, whom quickly told me what to look out for. I looked at the storyboard, realising the scene included my dear Henry - whom I had not yet spotted, as he was huddled away in the back, discussing some choreography with his trainer. Also there was Freya as Ciri and 3 unknown actresses. Sorceresses. I flipped through the storyboard. They’d sing a song to entrance them, but Geralt wouldn’t be so easily impressed, bickering with one of them which would lead to a fight. Ciri would start to run away - it was to be one of her first humanoid monster fights, making her doubt her powers.

I decided not to call for Henry, since he was so focused in his conversation. Instead it was Lucy who called for him on my behalf. ‘Henry!’ She squealed. He looked up, his orange-yellow eyes shooting at Lucy. Then slowly his gaze travelled towards me. He released a breath, then excused himself before striding towards me. His lips curled in a half smile as he kissed me, hastily. ‘Hey.’ ‘I’m back.’ I said, smiling. ‘You look like you could use some rest.’ ‘I know. But some fresh air first. How’s it going?’ ‘Good.’ He looked up, noticing the snow. ‘Perfect actually.’ He smiled an earnest smile, his eyes glittering as he wiped a few snow flakes out of my hair, making my heart beat loudly in my chest. I blushed slightly, barely registering they were about to start the scene ‘Everyone ready? Let’s shoot!’ The director’s assistant shouted as everyone quickly hurdled themselves into place. He kissed me quickly, smiling as he noticed Freya getting up next to him, her face turning up into a broad smile as she noticed me.

Evening started to fall and they wrapped up shooting. The wind had completely mellowed down, snow now falling heavier and heavier. I was walking with Henry back towards the encampment, my arm hooked into his. I didn’t have breath yet to talk and walk at the same time. But he made up for that, as he talked for the two of us combined. I occasionally looked at him, enjoying his presence as his low voice rattled on about things that had happened. He spoke of the rain, some funny events on set, how they checked all trees near shooting locations with the park guard, about Kal’s frantics. I laid my head against his shoulder, smiling contently.

We dined in his trailer, away from the hustle and bustle, just to be together for a bit and finished the night cuddling in bed as I fell asleep in his arms as I so loved to do. His large arms shielded me from the cold winter night, but not from my dreams, which were somewhat restless. I dreamed of running. Running through the thick bushes, trees whipping around me in eagerness to scare me. ‘You don’t belong here.’ They whispered. ‘You must leave.’ But no matter where I ran, there were more trees. I shot up from the bed, sweating, having apparently awakened Henry, because he was stroking some hair from my face. ‘Hey..shhh…you’re safe.’ He whispered.  ‘Bad dream.’ I panted, sighing.

I snuggled back into his arms, but sleep couldn’t catch me quite so easily anymore. And I felt Henry’s breath wasn’t as deep as it usually was either. I quirked up my head, seeing if he was asleep at all. He wasn’t. He was looking at the ceiling, before he noticed I was awake and looked down at me. ‘Try to sleep.’ He whispered. I sighed. ‘So should you.’ We were quiet for a bit. ‘We were at number 30. When did you last cry in front of another person? And by yourself?’ I asked, turning a bit to look at the silhouette of his face, the snowy moon lighting his face just enough so I could see his eyes blink. He wrapped his right arm more tightly around me, pulling me closer. Then sighed. He was quiet for another moment. I just continued looking at him. ‘I’ve cried a lot this week.’ He finally whispered. I stroked his curly chest hair with my free hand, trying to comfort him. His left hand reached for my hand, pulling it up to kiss the palm of my hand. ‘I felt so powerless.’ His voice sounded thin, almost shivery.

We lay there for a bit longer, remaining quiet. I figured he did not wish to speak of his emotions right now. Entwined in each others arms, I twirled a finger across his ribs. ‘Hey. So what is going to happen now?’ He finally asked, shifting his weight a bit, turning on his side so he could look at me. I looked back at him, seeing mostly just his silhouette. ‘What is going to happen?’ I said. ‘With us..the next few months.’ He hesitated, brushing a hand over my cheek. I moved my head a bit to snuggle into a more comfortable corner of his arm. ‘Don’t know. Contract here might run a week longer since the weather’s been shit. BBC found replacement. So…the big black hole is coming.’ He let his hand travel from my cheek to my arm, tracing it slowly. ‘Would you…would you like to stay with me?’ He asked gently. I chuckled. ‘We can do that?’ I asked. He sniffled. ‘I’m Henry Cavill dear. They wouldn’t have a Witcher in their Witcher series, if I wasn’t here. Surely it’s an easy bargain to have an extra member on the team in return for a happy Henry.’ I sniffled in turn. ‘You are..’I reached for his hand, raising it up to my mouth, playfully biting into one of his fingers. ‘…Such a snack.’ He laughed, rolling us over to kiss me. A long, wanting kiss. But we both understood that such a thing wouldn’t be wise at this point. Besides, I wasn’t allowed to use the pill while on antibiotics. He rested his forehead against mine, forcing himself to calm down. He pecked me on the lips once more. ‘I’ve missed…all of you.’ His hand travelled down to my crotch, grabbing it wantingly. I gasped. ’Not now.’ He chuckled. ‘I know.’ He looked at me. Darkness hiding most of his face from me. An old question drifted up in my head, one I had wished to ask earlier.

‘Henry. If anything…does not go according to plan. I mean. The pill. Condom…’ I had to take a breath. He interrupted. ‘Ah.. the child surprise? No worries. ’ He kissed my cheek. ‘I would gladly be his or her dad.’ I grinned. ‘Jokes aside. If I accidentally get pregnant. What would you have me do? Would you like to know?’ ‘Of course I want to know! And I support whatever choice you make. Though you WOULD have to marry me, as mother of my children.’ He growled, kissing me again. I snickered. ‘Okey okey..okey.’ I pushed him away a bit, then interlocked my gaze with his. ‘Why then, what makes you want to marry so badly?’ I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. ‘Because I want to be a married man, first of all, be it silly. And I surely would love to celebrate love…and see you in such a beautiful dress again.’ He got up a bit, prepping himself on one arm. ‘Do you have no wish to marry?’ He said, looking at me with honest curiosity. I looked up at him, a stroke of moonlight lighting up his face. He looked like an angel. Oh how my heart tugged and screamed. My man. My man! Look at him! Thankfully I could find words before he started worrying: ‘I like the idea of celebrating love, and a pretty dress…and a different last name. Truly, my last name isn’t…nice.’ I chuckled. ‘I guess I just only never had such dreams as a little girl. My parents have also never married.’ He cupped my cheek. ‘But I may ask you one day?’ My heart swelled up even more, beating loud as a drum. ‘You.. may.’ I smiled.  ‘Though don’t buy a ring. I don’t like wearing rings.’ He bent over me again, kissing me sweetly. ‘Gotcha.’ He lay down again, pulling me closer.

We lay there for another bit, just looking at the slow moving shadows on the walls. ‘So..Why no ring?’ He said after a minute or so. ‘You won’t let your traditions go hmm, mr. Cavill?’ I chuckled, tickling him. He didn’t respond much. He wasn’t very ticklish, but he did groan in quiet - albeit clear - sexual frustration. He quickly encapsulated my hand, pressing it against his belly. I sniffled softly, then continued: ‘For real though? I don’t like wearing rings, so I would find it wasteful. I’m actually thinking I would prefer a tattoo on my finger. That’s more..forever..anyways, than a piece of metal.’ I shrugged. He snickered in turn. ’A tattoo huh.’ He was quiet for a moment, thinking..‘So I have to propose to you with a tattoo gun in hand?’ ’Nooo…I mean…after actual marriage I would get it tattooed on. Oh you!’ I laughed. ‘A tattoo.’ He hummed, his breath slowing down as his voice got drowsy. He fell asleep, leaving me a moment to watch him a little while longer, before sleep caught back up with me.

When I woke he had gone to set already, having left behind a note on the bed.

‘Lunch date? 13h castle hall.’

I smiled.

---

Part 6 >

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #night #poland #setlife #fanfiction #fluff #angst #tattoo #kal #witcher #teafortwo

[rekutopia]

In which Obi caught Shirayuki contemplating her first date

Though the flat was only on the third floor, the staircase seemed to stretch forever today. Obi left a trail of wet footprints as he slowly dragged his tired legs one by one up the steps. The elevator was still out of service. Usually Obi didn’t mind – that old thing had stopped functioning a few weeks ago – but today he was exhausted.

Arriving at his door, he struggled out of his boots, knocked the caked snow from their soles and placed them on the boot tray. He threw a glance at the other smaller pair of wet boots there, standing miserably in their own muddy puddle. When his flatmate bought the tray he was skeptical at first. Now it looked like the thing was useful after all.

A small LED night light turned on automatically when he entered the corridor. Unlike the boot tray, it was one addition he had found useful from the start. If only it wasn’t shaped like a puppy’s head. He shrugged his parka off and hung it on the coat rack. “I’m home,” he called into the flat, and raised one eyebrow when no one answered. Maybe his flatmate had already gone to bed.

He turned into the dark kitchen/living space. The only light source were the lamps in the courtyard below, shining in through the windows. If it were not for them, he would have missed the tiny figure sitting in the window alcove, tucked under a quilted blanket, propped on big pillows. There was a cup in her hands, no longer steaming. Her face was turned towards the window pane, her breath fogging it. She did not seem to have noticed him, yet.

“I’m home, sweetie.”

“Oh,” she turned and greeted him with a smile. “Welcome home, Obi. Long day at work?”

“You can say that again.” Obi dropped his bag onto the couch then sauntered towards her. “They sent us new traction tables and all of us had to help set them up, in addition to our usual appointments – not that we have less of those on a Saturday. Then, Suzu declared himself ‘Master of Manuals’ and started building without any. I should have tied him down and forced him to read them because in the end I had to help him rebuild his tables, twice.” He raised both arms above his head and stretched. “At least he treated me to dinner, though I’d rather have him cover my shift on Monday. Argh, my back is killing me.” He brought down his arms and started punching his lower back. “But never mind my old aching muscles,” he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “How was your date?”

Obi watched her smile falter and his punches stopped. “Ah,” she said, looking down into her half empty cup. Then she looked up to meet his eyes. “It was...nice.”

“Nice.”

“Yeap.”

Obi frowned in disbelief. His flatmate had been talking about this date for what felt like forever. There was a red circle on the kitchen calendar. He helped her pick her outfit. She even asked him to style her hair, for crying out loud. The only thing she did not accept from him was the condoms, but still. Nice was definitely not the reaction he was expecting, but he didn’t want to pry. At least not so much.

“Did he pick you up? It was snowing, he could’ve taken you on a romantic walk from here to the restaurant.”

“Oh yes, he picked me up,” her expression went suddenly flat. “With a car. So, no romantic walk. And the first thing he noticed when he came in was your sneakers,” she paused. “You should’ve seen his face.”

Obi’s frown went deeper. “My sneakers?”

She sighed. “Yes, your sneakers, Obi. Then he asked me whether my flatmate was a guy.”

Obi was flabbergasted. Surely he misheard that. “What? But, I thought you’ve told him I’m–”

“Of course I told him, Obi,” she cut him off with a huff. “You knew I told him. He asked, didn’t he? I don’t know if he’s just forgetful or didn’t listen to any of the things I said.” She placed her cup down and dropped her head to the pillows, closing her eyes. When she opened them again she looked weary. “And I was so looking forward to this date.”

A familiar tightness rose in Obi’s chest. He slowly reached out a hand and tousled her hair, messing the side braid he had carefully made her that afternoon. “I’m sorry, sweetie. And here I thought you were having a splendid time with your prince,” he said in a tender voice, not unlike soothing a sulking child. “But there must have been good parts, too, if you said it was nice?”

She batted his hand away and answered with a snort. “Yea, no, who am I kidding. It was just plain awkward.” She got up from the alcove, took her cup and placed it into the kitchen sink. “But I guess the snow was nice.” Obi chuckled at that remark and, since she did not seem to want to continue the conversation, decided to leave it to that.

“Welp, I’m going to take a shower,” he announced.

“Oh wait, let me brush my teeth first.”

Standing side by side in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing their teeth, Obi stole a glance at his flatmate’s face. He was used to her tired look but the sad one didn’t suit her. Was there anything he could do to cheer her up? Something that would not put her into a more complicated situation? He racked his brain while brushing almost aggressively but drew a blank. Two minutes were too short anyway to come up with any ideas in his exhausted state.

Beside him the brushing sound had stopped. “Thank you, Obi.”

“Mm?” His mouth was still full of foam.

“Thank you, for helping me prepare for this date. At least that didn’t go to waste,” she smiled.

Obi spat into the sink. “Ah. So the prince might be deaf, but he’s not blind.”

She giggled and punched his arm playfully. But then her fingers caught his sleeve. “Obi,” she said with a small voice.

“Hm?”

“I’m happy you’re my flatmate.”

Obi tilted his head and gave her a lopsided smile. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I mean it,” she said firmly. “Let’s call it a day, okay? I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

*****

The room was dark and cool, the sheets warm. It was the perfect condition for a good night’s sleep, but Shirayuki lay awake. In her mind she kept replaying the events that happened that evening.

After Obi left for work Shirayuki could not sit still. It was another hour until her date. She knew if she kept fidgeting she would ruin Obi’s hard work. He was kind enough to help her with her outfit and her hair. It was not often that she dressed up for an occasion and she almost could not remember the last time she went for a date. She never thought that a plain dark gray knitted dress would look so elegant on her, paired with her grandmother’s cashmere shawl and the emerald earrings that matched her eyes. Shirayuki had always been aware of Obi’s great fashion sense, but did not think that his expertise included that of the opposite gender.

In order to calm her nerves she decided to tend to her plants – nothing that would push dirt under her nails, just watering and plucking withered leaves. When the building’s doorbell rang, she leaped out of excitement and had to stop herself from gnawing on her lips while she waited until her date arrived on her floor. When the door opened, she almost forgot to breathe.

“Good evening, Shirayuki.”

“Hello, Zen.”

Her date smiled warmly at her. He looked dazzling. It was the first time that Shirayuki saw him in clothes other than suits. He had on light grey trousers, light blue button up and navy blue blazer. Even his light blond hair looked different than usual. Despite the heavily falling snow outside, his pair of Oxfords was clean and shiny and he was not holding a coat. He must have come by car.

Shirayuki caught herself staring and stuttered. “U-um! Thank you for picking me up, Zen. Would you like to come in? I just need to close all the windows before we go.”

Zen nodded and stepped into the corridor. “Take your time, I’ll just wait here.”

Shirayuki was closing the last kitchen window when she heard Zen call, “Shirayuki, is your flatmate a guy?” She hurried to the corridor and saw Zen looking down at a pair of Obi’s white Mexico 66 on the shoe rack, at least six sizes larger than hers. “You never told me your flatmate is a guy. Or do they belong to your brother?”

A frown started to form between Shirayuki’s eyebrows. “You know I don’t have a brother, Zen. And yes, my flatmate is a guy. Obi, remember?”

Zen looked up to her with a confused look. “Obi?”

Shirayuki could not believe this was happening. Did Zen really forget everything she told him about Obi? Granted, they had this conversation during a short lunch break on a hectic day. Zen was constantly distracted by his phone but still gave her the impression that he was listening to her. Shirayuki did not expect him to remember every detail about Obi, what with the amount of things she told him that day. But he surely must have at least remembered the fact that he was a guy?

When she told him this, Zen looked lost. “Well, if you say so, I guess I should’ve heard about him,” he cleared his throat and adjusted the cuff of his shirt before continuing, “and I’m sure you know what’s best for you, but...” He looked her in the eyes, “...don’t you think it might be...dangerous, for such a pretty girl like you to share a flat with a guy?”

In her bed, Shirayuki groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.

Zen, Obi is gay.

With those words she had hoped that her apparently forgetful date would stop pestering her about her flatmate on their first date. But her hope was in vain. During dinner, their conversation kept coming back to Obi. It was not that Shirayuki didn’t like to talk about her wonderful flatmate, but she was really looking forward to finally getting to know Zen better.

It was hard enough for them to find a time slot that fits both of their schedules. Being the general counsel of the renowned Wisteria Hospital at such a young age, Zen Wisteria almost never had free time for himself, not even on the weekends. He once jokingly said that his brother, the hospital’s chairman, was always watching him to make sure he was doing his job properly. Whenever Shirayuki saw him in the hospital he was usually hooked on his phone, followed around by his big, quiet assistant. Even after knowing each other for a couple of months, the only times Shirayuki could meet him was during lunch breaks, and even then they were often interrupted.

And now that she had all of his attention to herself, all they talked about was Obi. As if that was not enough, Zen seemed to be obsessed with the idea that he was a lethal threat to her.

Are you sure he was really gay?

A man is still a man, Shirayuki.

Have you ever thought about moving to another flat?

How about taking some self-defence classes?

Do you have a pepper spray?

The gourmet food on Shirayuki’s plate tasted bland to her tongue. She did not feel like defending Obi against Zen. Not because she could not do it – Obi had never been anything but a perfect gentleman to her. She just wished she didn’t have to do it. She wished that Zen would have listened to her when she told him how Obi became her flatmate and what their friendship meant to her. Even if he should forget about those, she wished he would at least trust her enough to take good care of her own safety. It’s not like she would share a flat with any guy, even if he were gay.

While she tried to answer and explain politely, the annoyance kept building up inside her. By the time they got back to her building Shirayuki was mentally chucking the evening into the bin. All she wanted to do was to crawl into her bed after writing a note to her future self to remind her to never go on dates again. They got out of the car and suddenly a hand on her wrist took her by surprise. She turned to Zen, who for the first time in the whole evening looked a bit bashful.

“Shirayuki,” he took her other wrist in his other hand, “it’s been a very nice evening. You look very beautiful. That dress suits you really well.” Shirayuki thanked him and waited for him to continue. As irritated as she was, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was Obi who chose her outfit. “I’m...I’m sorry that I interrogated you, you know, about your flatmate. I want you to know that I did it only because I’m worried about you. I’m sorry if what I said upset you. I really didn’t mean to.”

Shirayuki felt her irritation ease a little. “Thank you for your concern, Zen, I appreciate it. But like I said, there is nothing to worry about. Obi is my friend, I’ve known him for years, he’ll never do me any harm, trust me.”

Zen tightened his hold on Shirayuki’s wrists. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I don’t trust you, I do. I wish I could trust him, too.”

“Would it make you feel better if you met him?” Shirayuki blurted out, then instantly regretted it. She did not want to unnecessarily involve Obi any further in her love life. She already felt sorry that she had to ask him for advice for this date. But she also did not want Zen to think bad of him. She wanted him to get rid of all his prejudice. She gazed up at his face, not really sure whether she expected him to decline or to accept.

Zen seemed thoughtful. “That might be a good idea. I’ll think about it.”

I’ll think about it. Shirayuki groaned again and curled even further into her blanket. Great. If she was lucky, Zen would just decide to trust Obi and leave the matter there. If not, she would have to convince Obi to meet Zen. He would be unbearable. Yay.

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

Notes:

This is my first ObiYuki fanfic. I haven’t written in a very, very long time, so please bear with me. It supposed to be part of a bigger story (at least that’s my plan), but we’ll see how long the inspiration strikes and the writing energy continues.

Big thanks to @claudeng80 for beta-reading <3

#myfanfic #akagami no shirayukihime #obiyuki #flatmate au #I swear I wanted to write more of obiyuki but it ended up to be more of zenyuki instead #believe me it's still obiyuki though

[mintchocohip]

featherweight︱ yoongi x reader ︱ r: explicit

While on vacation in London, you meet somebody who clicks.

 —   notes: sub!yoongi, domme!reader. y/n who does not enjoy vaginal penetration.

 —   kinks:​ clothed clitjob  |  warnings: alcohol

 —   wordcount​: 3.3k [oneshot]

20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Leaning against a wall outside the pharmacy, you watched Yoongi pull waxy black paper off a purple lollipop. You weren’t certain what flavor to buy him, so you bought something that matched his head-to-toe black.

It’s cold. A small group of tourists across the street were flocked together and bundled up like they were about to hit ski slopes. Traffic rolled thin across the road. Behind passing vehicles, Big Ben towered into a heavy dark grey sky. Cameras angled; chatter in Spanish drifted away behind the heavy roll of a passing bus.

Oncoming fog gave light to the evening. The sun was setting when the first mists appeared. You sucked in a deep breath of frigid air, and popped the sugarfree mango lollipop between your teeth. You glanced at Yoongi. With the stick of the blackberry lollipop pressed tight between his lips, he shifted his mouth, and rolled his jaw.

Under the brim of his bucket hat, smiling eyes surveyed the air. A piece of trash or a leaf was skidding across the pavement to your left. You glanced. It was a piece of trash.

You couldn’t believe it’s took you so long to ask the question.

“Yoongi, right?” You heard it at the police station. He saved himself in your phone as Min Yoongi. You were at a show when he pinged your phone—Do you still want to drink that wine? Between those moments and now, you never asked. You never put the word Yoongi into the air.

“Yeah. Yoongi.”

“Y/N.” Pulling the lollipop out of your mouth, you extended a hand. Yoongi glanced from your hand to your face. The white paper stick switched to the side of his mouth. A small smile lifted his whole face, and a lighthearted laugh filled the air between you.

He accepted the handshake.

“Y/N?” He repeated.

“Y/N,” you confirmed.

“Y/N—” Yoongi’s back hits the door, and your name hits you on a staggered gasp. The knees pinned between your body and polished wood are buckling like they’re about to collapse. All you did was unzip his jacket, and kiss his throat.

Fog clouded visibility before you and Yoongi stepped under the hotel’s overhang. The crystal-clear lobby smelled like glass, and velvet, and dusty lilacs. A Christmas tree near the sitting area is decorated with fake snow and lights shaped like icicles.

All you can smell behind the door of your hotel room is Yoongi. Dark wood against red wallpaper have transported both of you somewhere relaxed.

Shoved into the window between his slender waist and his elbows, your hands are splayed out over the frigid door.

“That eager,” you laugh—more to yourself, than to this dazed guy. “Huh?” Your huh was a retort, but it almost became a moan. Yoongi just opened wide eyes. He smells like the weather outside. Fresh, and cool. Everything is delicately laid over the promise of heat. Yoongi’s stunned eyes fly away. He’s looking everywhere and nowhere, and trying to flatten into the wall.

Caution pulls you back to his throat.

A gentle kiss hints at tongue. He tastes how he smells. Fresh. Needy. You pull away. Yoongi’s attempt to hide his moan sucks in a shaking breath, and turns it into a slow, cracking swallow.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

He loves this.

30 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

“Do you drink?” Yoongi stared at the pavement through the question. A follow-up question was inevitable. You heard it in his attempt to keep his voice even; you sensed it in everything about the way this guy acts around you. “There’s this pub…” he might have said something like that, “do you want to go? With me?”

“I drink. I have plans tonight, though,” you say with the confidence of somebody who regularly cancels plans for a hookup. “I’ll give you my number. You can call me if you need anything.”

“Oh?” Disappointment blinked Yoongi’s eyes down to his shoes. “Right. Yeah.”

There were questions under your ribs. Why are you here, in London? When did you arrive? How precious are the things you lost?

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow night, though.” There's something about this guy that you liked. He was also vulnerable. Turning him down was natural. If he had space to breathe and think, maybe you could look at him in a new light. “My hotel’s room service has a wine menu. Do you like wine?"

It took Yoongi a moment to understand.

“Oh?” The first “oh” was a sigh. This one was a hiccup. He put a hand on the top of his head, and pulled his hat back. A smile that rose up past his gums glowed his face in the darkness. He already looked drunk. LED snowflakes were strung up in passing shopfronts. They made his teeth sparkle. When he met your eyes, a single jolt of laughter shook his shoulders. “Really?” His voice smoothed. "Yeah. I like wine."

An energetic tourist who was willing to drop everything to help a stranger. The side of yourself Yoongi soaked up yesterday has retreated. An overwhelmed guy in need—that side of Yoongi has twisted him up completely.

Popping open the button of your jeans and pulling down the zip has given Yoongi free range to move. Your hands are too occupied to pin him. He’s still holding his arms flat on the wall behind himself, staring at your hands, and breathing so hard his long, oversize coat is catching on your knees with each rise and fall. A vein on the back of your hand shifts. You see it in a haze below you; you see it in the sudden burst of light in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Don’t fall,” you whisper. A tiny scrunch of sound tells you Yoongi’s parka is slumping down the wall. You push a hand against his solid chest, and hold him in place. “That’s not what I want.” The warmth of his skin meets your palm through the fabric of his shirt. “I want you to touch me. You want to touch me, don’t you?”

Meeting Yoongi’s eyes shows you a small, shifting smile. It’s impossible to know if he’s actually listening to you anymore. Communicating without words was the plan, anyways.

Through the thick of his coat, a shockingly solid wrist curls into your hand. Your grip is light. Yoongi’s arm pulls off the door weightlessly.

Where your raincoat opened and your jeans have been tugged down, sporty orange boyshorts have been exposed. They’re the brightest thing in this room.  You guide him. Yoongi is already pressing his fingers tightly. Tense, excited curiosity bubbles for a split-second, pops, and leaves a shimmer in the air as pressure slides between your legs. In the hug of warmth between your thighs and your cunt, a relative stranger’s palm presses against a faint pulse.

“It’s all about this thing,” you whisper. You have to arch your neck to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Swirling a finger on the puffy flesh above your clit through thin fabric, you tilt your head up, and speak down to him. “And only this thing. Do you understand?” Pulling him close isn’t an invitation to explore. This is a directive. Yoongi might be the type of guy who listens. Or, he’s the type of guy who thinks he knows what you want.

Dark eyes blink up, and down. Yoongi flutters his gaze over your expectantly raised eyebrows. His eyes fall to his hand. Fingertips are pressed against folds laying across your hole. He swallows.

Yoongi swallows again. All of these concentrated swallows are starting to click in your ears. He’s probably nervous. You don’t spring on guys unless you get those vibes from them. He’s a match. You know he is. You still have to gauge him. Then, you’ll force him to drink some water.

Soft pressure is a trail of tingles. There’s unpleasantness in the touch hinting into watery, wishy-washy flesh depth. Fabric is tugged tight. It tugs your chin up in a delayed succession, and a soft “Mh-hm.” of approval low in your throat guides Yoongi to his destination. A featherlight touch trembles out over your pelvis, before floating over the place where the beginning of soft, sensitive skin parts around your hood. Your chin nods down with silent approval.

There’s obedience in Yoongi’s mannerisms. There’s hesitation. Beneath that hesitation, you can feel something strong. He knows what to do. He’s just waiting for you to tell him it’s okay.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

An officer in a high-visibility jacket clattered the flat keyboard and recorded details—Lambeth Bridge; a black Raf Simons sling backpack, and its contents. A laptop. His passport. A ring of external hard-drives.

Yoongi kept glancing at you in the police station. The language barriers wasn’t a problem. Still, he eyed you like he was waiting for approval.

Settling into the chair next to his was easy. Like you, Yoongi is traveling alone. You parsed those details. If he wanted you to leave, he wouldn’t have frozen up and stared at you like a lost puppy when you pat his arm and tried to tell him “Good luck. I really hope they find everything.” outside the police station.

The officer’s eyes shifted between the two of you. You clarified that you weren’t with Yoongi when his bag was stolen. She didn’t need to know that you met him a few minutes ago.

Fingertips tug. Rolling your hips forwards into Yoongi’s hook, you bite down on your lip with a delighted sigh. 

His eyes are snapping down, and you follow behind. It’s a gentle touch. A faint curve of skin has pushed up around the two fingers he buried into everything soft and wet glowing around a slice of pleasure. His middle finger found the target. Everything shifts under a tentative stroke, and his thumb glides above it. Parted lips and the shining in his eyes looks like admiration. Whether it’s admiration for his own work, or admiration for you—that’s the sticky question.

The downwards curl is even slower. Through the rough of fabric, a fingernail skims across your clit. The hard on hypersensitive sends a jolt up to your gut. An electronic signal: tighten up; suck in. A tongue flicks out. Yoongi held the lollipop deep in his mouth. You know if he showed you more of his tongue, it would be purple in the middle.

Overwhelming cute guys is fun. Feeling their energy emerging from behind head-spinning clouds is even sweeter. It was an inkling, but it paid off: Yoongi wants focus. He needs you to tell him what to do. Approval in your nod is doubled by a slide of your tongue over your lower lip. It’s tripled when you squeeze his wrist.

Twisting his hand, Yoongi crests over folds. Rolling. Pressing in, parting, and finding the size and shape of what he’s working with. A delicate touch tests what he’s found. Slipping around wet territory, he arcs tension and release from one side of your hips to the other, and you rock into the gentle stroke he pulls down with a faint gasp in both of your throats.

29 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰.

Briefcases and business clothing had sandwiched you in the crowd of people waiting to cross Abingdon Street. 

Somebody was pushing through the crowd, and your bag was jostled and tugged before you felt knuckles skim the side of your raincoat. When you turned and studied the back of a man clad in black, he was falling through the opposite side of the crowd with a slap of sneakers that turned into a sprint.

“Hey! Get back here, asshole!”

It only took a block. Your hand was digging into the back of his jacket, Yoongi was wailing out a sound like a wounded animal, and a sudden curb tripped his thick-soled shoes. You caught him as best you could. The intention wasn’t to make this guy face-plant on cement. Crashing onto the ground with Yoongi outside of Westminster Abbey, you started to twist his body at the exact moment he turned over.

You knew something was wrong when he rolled over, and sat down on his ass.  

“Not a thief.” He held up a hand and shook it dismissively. “Not a thief.”

Sitting on the pavement with Yoongi after you brushed away a small crowed of concerned onlookers, you checked your pockets. You opened up your bag.

“Really?” Disbelief thinned your eyes. A tingly sting felt like your shoulder was singing. “Why were you running?”

“Running. For. Somebody.” Yoongi was miming grabbing. “My backpack. Thief. I lost them.” He shook his head, and crossed his hands over the back of his neck. “I lost them before.”

“Ouch.” Guilt cringed your whole body.

Admittedly, some weedy-looking guy pretending his backpack got stolen could have been a way to ease you into a scam. You decided to help this guy stand up, anyways. That was the minimum level of engagement you could justify.

A shiver racked your body when Yoongi accepted your hand. Exertion had warmed Yoongi’s hands. You suddenly realized how cold your own hands were.

“Are you here with anyone?” Swimming in a baggy black coat and loose sweatpants, Yoongi looked small. He felt massive. Your legs and abs tensed; your arms flexed. There was no attempt in his body to do more than wobble. As he stood up, he swiped a free hand over his face. You tried to let go. Yoongi’s fingers slumped over the side of your hand, and he swiped a hand over his face again. When you peered at his eyes under the hazy shadow of his bucket hat, the disorientation was obvious. He was swallowing hard.

“Do you have your phone? Your wallet?”

“Uh…” Yoongi nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. In my pockets. Important things in my backpack.“ Yoongi laughed, his hand dropped out of yours, and he straightened up his back. He glanced at you like he didn’t even realize somebody was standing there. “It’s… it’s been a long day.”    

“Here.” Your phone was already out, and you were looking up the nearest police station on Maps. “Let me help you.”

Little tastes. Something light-headed, and overwhelming. 

There’s no beat, but there’s a melodic rhythm. Downwards momentum. Pushing your hips forwards kept them there. It’s a simple detail. But holding forwards against him makes everything tenser, and headier. Needier. 

Taut concentration is pulling Yoongi’s face, and twitching his lips. You eye him with a soft smile, and swallow a thick of sweet-tasting spit. Your half-lidded eyes and unbidden smile must be speaking for you. When Yoongi sees them, he blinks hard. His expression is falling apart. Pieces of it drip down his body. His shoulders slope. Seeing that tremble of desperation perks your daze up too late. 

He thinks you want more. He thinks he can bring you higher—his chest falls forwards as eyes close and his thumb pushes in and rubs up like he’s trying to spark a fire.

“Shit,” the hand on his chest jerks. Yoongi is thrown back into the door like newspaper in a breeze. A shiver tenses in your chest so hard it hums in your ears, “that feels good. Don’t hold back, do you? A little too hard,” you smile, “maybe. Ah—” The whispered sigh overlays Yoongi’s gasp. He stuck his hand back between your legs. You sigh. It’s a pleasant apology. Heavy with your heartbeat, everything Yoongi is touching feel limitless—he can feel how turned on you are. Flush. It might be surprise. A faint sound just trembled in the back of Yoongi’s mouth.

You almost get a secondhand prickle of heat along your jaw. A cute face is turning bright red. Yoongi is rubbing. Over everything; under nothing.

Sliding your hand off his wrist, you reach between your legs, and cup the back of his hand. As your fingertips slide over his sharp knuckles and onto his roving fingers, you press up. Because you love it. Because you want to be closer to what he feels. The smile in your voice becomes a thin sigh. Your slowly closing eyes shoot open, and you roll in annoyance.

It’s like kissing somebody who ignores your tongue, and swerves to lap at the inside of your cheek. Mapping out the openings in jaw muscles between the banal hypersoft flesh; a doctor fumbling a cotton swab for DNA. Numb. Unpleasant.

Yoongi has pushed two fingers up into your cunt through the stretch of your panties, and shifted them around looking for something that isn’t there.

He’s looking for your moan. Attempts not to curl your nose or grimace succeed. Concentrating that energy into your hand, you pull a grip back onto his wrist, and tug. Fixing a finger and thumb around Yoongi’s chin, you meet his slowly opening eyes.

“Remember what I said?” The drive to wrap a hand around his throat while you ask the question is tossed aside. “Only here.” Your hand falls to tap two fingertips on the left and the right of the place you’re talking about.

He realizes you’re waiting.

Yoongi nods. Flush on his face blanched. His whole expression broke. His fingers are trembling as he rushes them up. It’s almost panicked. 

It’s adorable.

“Don’t worry,” you sight, “I’ll forgive you this time.”

A fresh inkling compounds on the way Yoongi has been acting since you met him. He gets lost outside of himself and inside of himself all at once. You need to keep reeling him towards middle ground. Laying your hand over his crossed those signals. Words. Gestures. Tight grips. Right now, everything is an unquestionable command.

The pleased hiss isn’t a lie. Residual chill from a splash of ice water has disappeared. Yoongi looks for your smile. He finds it. The swirl is magic. Yoongi rolls his fingers around, presses, and sends a spiking jolt up inside you that lifts your chest on the shivering words.

“Good,” you sigh out, “good.” As you speak, you pull your hand down off the wrist of Yoongi’s jacket. Sliding under his sleeve, you skim a thumb over the bottom of his calloused palm, and find the dip onto soft skin you know must pull thin over purple and green veins.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans. He barely moved, but you just felt his whole body snap. His fingers pause, and dab off you with a twitch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“It’s too sensitive.” His chin has lifted, but he’s still trying to gaze down between your legs and meet your eyes at the same time. Trembling eyes settle, then drops to the side. Studying whorls on the hotel’s thick cream-colored carpet, Yoongi swallows.

“The underside of your wrist?”

His chin lowers, and his back arches into the door. It’s a shy attempt to disappear from your intent eyes. If you knew him better, your thumb would be stroking back down on the emboss of veins you felt, and teasing their delicate raw. Instead, you press your thumb onto the side of his wristbone.

“Thanks, baby.” An involuntary wave that starts by lifting your knees and finishes by flexing your thighs relaxes. It was a nice refreshment. Pulling on Yoongi’s bare wrist, you tug up. “That felt amazing.”

Yoongi’s hand freezes. It splays. Damp fingertips pull up over fabric, and disappear.

“Let’s have that wine, now.” You push Yoongi’s wrist towards his stomach, and let go. Tugging up your jeans tickles.  

“Oh?” The question hits your back as you walk over to the simple black phone on the bedroom table. Walking around a pulsing cunt is the closest thing you know to flying. Picking up the slender handset, you hover the receiver over your ear, and flip open a room service menu. "Of course. Y/N.”

“That’s why we’re here, right?” It’s purposeful punctuation. The way Yoongi just said your name. It flashes a glance over your shoulder. The smile on your face curls up in one corner. The question is asking “Is there something else I should call you?” “Do you want some wine?” Your name is fine. 

Condoms you bought in the pharmacy are inside the plastic bag you tossed onto the nightstand. You already had a few in your luggage, but it was polite to ask if he had a favorite brand.

“Yeah.”

Of course, you’re going to lay him down, roll that shiny plastic on, and tell him not to move. Stiffness has tented his cock against the side of his baggy black cargo pants. A shadow casts down over the hem of his oversize shirt floating over the shape. His cock looks big enough under his clothes to press flat beneath your cunt. A thick, fat surface to rut yourself off on—a hot head; a dip of a frenulum you can touch with your clit, and grind. 

Maybe you’ll squeeze his hands in the air while you tease out your satisfaction. It’ll keep him grounded. And—he just seems like that type. 

Yoongi is still pressed against the wall. Dreamy. Red. Smiling. Tar melting on a hot day. For some reason, that’s all you can think of when you look at him.

“Take your clothes off,” you hold the phone against your shoulder. “Then sit down on the bed. Go on.”

Peeling off the wall is slow, but Yoongi is falling out of his jacket. You give him a smile, and laugh to yourself. The phone is ringing. You grab an unopened hotel water bottle next to the phone, and tap your fingernail over the lid while you wait for somebody to pick up.

#sub!yoongi #domme!reader #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #mch #fic #yoongi solo

[unfolded73]

Husbands: Two Years In (1/5) - schitt’s creek ff

Hi, remember me? I finally wrote something new. This fic is complete, and will be posted over the course of the next two weeks. While I'm including it as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés 

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 5059 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Winter

Patrick stuck his head behind the beige curtain of the storeroom at Rose Apothecary. “Bethany, can you cover the register? I’ve got to get to my council meeting.”

“Sure,” she said, leaving off from the merchandise she’d been unpacking and joining him behind the counter.

“I should be back in an hour and a half,” he said, slipping his laptop into his messenger bag.

“No problem. Is David planning to come back to the store today?” she asked.

“I doubt it. He’s gone more than halfway to Thornbridge to meet with potential vendors, so I expect he’ll be late getting back.” Patrick’s thumb strayed to the smooth gold of his wedding ring and he gave it a turn, an ingrained habit now after a year and a half of marriage.

“Okay,” Bethany said to him before turning to the customer who had just approached the register. “Find everything you were looking for today?” she asked in a cheerful, retail clerk voice.

Patrick ducked into the back again to get his coat and gloves and hat, pulling them on and zipping his parka up to his neck before braving the icy temperatures outside. Not for the first time, he wished the store had a vestibule and another set of doors to keep the cold from rushing in every time people came and went during the winter months. He made a mental note to add that to their wish list for a second Rose Apothecary location, when and if that ever became a reality.

David was certainly invested in the idea, spending more time out on the road these days, wooing new vendors or shoring up renewal contracts with existing ones. Hiring Bethany meant they didn’t need to be in the store at the same time, and while the flexibility was more than worth it in terms of the time it gave them to work on growing the business, Patrick had to admit he missed the old days sometimes. When it was only him and David at the store together, sneaking into the back to make out when things were slow.

On the other hand, there was probably something to be said for not spending every hour of every day together, he told himself. Marriages thrived on a little bit of separation. But looking up at the grey sky while he walked through town, it was hard not to feel lonely, the oppressive winter weighing him down.

Patrick ducked into the town hall, always drafty in winter, and pulled his hat and gloves off as he made his way to the desk he used during council meetings and during the one afternoon a week that it was his turn to be on duty, handing out permits and answering questions. It was a good system in a town too small to pay for municipal employees, and helping his fellow townspeople was probably his favorite part of serving on town council.

“Patrick,” Ronnie muttered as he passed by her desk. “Kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

Patrick glanced at his phone. “I’m literally one minute late, Ronnie.”

“One minute late is late.”

“Also, Roland’s not here yet,” Patrick said as he dropped into his desk chair and set up his laptop to take the minutes of their meeting. Ronnie had been quick to inform him that taking minutes always fell to the newest member on town council, although when he expressed his surprise at the idea of Moira Rose doing that job, she’d had to admit that Moira had never actually taken any minutes. Patrick easily agreed to take over from Bob, whom everyone agreed had been terrible at it.

Ronnie just rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively at him. She had sort of supported Patrick when he ran unopposed for Moira’s vacated seat (although he also suspected she was behind the whisper campaign to write in Ted the Turtle, Alexis’s former pet who now belonged to Roland Junior — Ted got thirteen percent of the vote), but that didn’t stop her from continuing to needle him at every opportunity.

Roland finally arrived ten minutes later, and they began working their way through the agenda as Roland wolfed down a sizable sandwich at his desk with table manners that his three-year-old son would have looked askance at. They voted on whether to have a stop light installed outside the café (2-2; tabled for further discussion after the next public forum), whether to confer historic landmark status on the old Hockley barn (1-3 nay), and on whether to finalize the calendar for the “Clean up the Creek” days in the summer (4-0 yea).

“What’s next on the agenda, Ronnie?” Roland asked, his mouth full of his lunch, as if he didn’t have a copy of the agenda on his desk. Patrick looked over, and noticed that Roland had emptied a bag of potato chips onto his agenda.

“The annual blood drive,” she replied, consulting the paper in front of her. “Canadian Blood Services is requesting six volunteers, as we’ve provided in the past, to log people in and to hand out juice and cookies after. We need to have the promotional posters printed and get the word out, and then a volunteer meeting will need to be organized by the end of the month. Patrick, you wanna take the lead on this?”

He looked up from his laptop. “On the blood drive?” His stomach twisted, and he considered saying no. “Uh… sure. Sure.” He typed that into the minutes, his fingers tapping sharply on the keys.

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully, and they disbanded after another twenty minutes. Ronnie made her way over to Patrick as he was emailing the completed minutes out to the other members of council, a task he liked to do right away before he forgot about it.

“You didn’t seem thrilled to be put in charge of the blood drive. If you’re squeamish around needles—”

“I’m not squeamish about giving blood.” He snapped his laptop closed and shoved it into his bag. “I earned a lapel pin in college for donating blood,” he muttered.

“Oh. Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. I said I’d do it.” He stood up and shouldered his bag. “Be in charge of it, I mean. I won’t be donating blood because I’m not allowed.”

Ronnie’s eyes turned sympathetic. “Right.” She sighed. “The blood donation rules about gay men are outdated and discriminatory; you don’t have to tell me.”

Patrick shrugged. “It is what it is. I really don’t mind being in charge of the blood drive.” He did, a little, but not enough to make a fuss about it. If this was the only way he could contribute now that he fell into the ‘men who have sex with men’ category, then so be it.

When he was halfway to the door, she called out, making him stop in his tracks. “If our community always just said ‘it is what it is,’ then we wouldn’t have made the progress we’ve made. You wouldn’t have been able to stand in this room and marry the person you love. If it’s wrong, then we fight.”

Patrick turned and looked at her. “I kind of missed the activism part of the queer experience,” he admitted. “Although, I used to buy cupcakes from the GSA bake sale in high school.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes, heading out the door and leaving Patrick to follow her. “You are truly a pillar of the queer community,” she drawled, but there wasn’t any heat in it. She even patted his shoulder and said “see you around” as they parted ways.

Still, he felt unsettled as he walked back to the store. The extent of the time that he’d been aware of his sexuality, he’d mostly spent in a homophobia-free bubble. The people of Schitt’s Creek accepted him, his family (with a couple of notable exceptions whom he no longer spoke to) accepted him. He wasn’t used to being confronted with discrimination, and so even this relatively minor thing in his life, that he couldn’t donate blood — as anonymous and bureaucratic as it was, it was still painful.

The rest of the afternoon did little to lift his mood, and he dragged through the motions of closing up the store with Bethany, then drove home alone. He didn’t want to text David in case he was driving, so when he got home he checked the location of David’s phone and saw that he was still at least two hours away, assuming he was even on his way yet. With a heavy sigh, Patrick let himself into their quiet house.

It was almost nine o’clock when David finally arrived, the familiar sound of him knocking snow off his boots rousing Patrick’s attention from his phone. He flipped off the television, the hockey game he wasn’t really paying attention to disappearing into blackness, and turned toward the door as it opened and David came in with a swirl of snowflakes.

“It’s starting to really come down out there,” David said breathlessly, unlooping his scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door. “I’m glad I wasn’t running any later.”

“Me too. It’s supposed to be ten centimeters by morning.” Patrick leaned up and kissed David’s cheek, cold against his lips.

David grimaced. “Just enough to be annoying, but not enough to close the store for the day.” He braced himself on the wall and lifted first one foot and then the other to pull off his boots.

“Yeah.” Their front door tended to stick, not quite latching, so Patrick leaned over and gave it a little push, listening for the click of the latch before he locked it. “Did you eat?”

“I grabbed a burger on the road.” His winter coat off, David pulled Patrick into a hug, his long arms moving into their usual place over Patrick’s shoulders and wrapping around him. “Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?”

“How did it go?”

“I got the clover honey contract.”

Patrick grinned. “I knew you would. And the others?”

“The woman who crochets those little animals is still mulling it over. She might be a no. Belinda Jensen signed on to provide the larger supply of soap we asked for. A couple of others — I left all the paperwork in the car.” He kissed Patrick quickly on the lips. “How was your day?”

Patrick struggled to remember through the fog in his brain what he’d done all day — work and his council meeting and the leftovers he’d reheated for dinner and the hockey game he hadn’t been watching. “Uneventful,” he finally replied.

He felt a surge of irrational anger that David had such a wildly productive day, a day that materially benefited their business, while Patrick had… treaded water. He pushed the anger away — he had no reason to be angry with David. He should be proud of David, of the way he continued to work to make their business thrive, of how good he was with the vendors.

The remainder of the evening was quiet, David on the sofa intermittently reading and texting with Alexis while Patrick made a grocery list, and then another list of tasks he wanted to accomplish over the weekend. It only served to remind him of all things he’d meant to do this winter that he hadn’t gotten around to yet. He just kept getting paralyzed lately; going over and over all the things he needed to do in his mind, but not actually starting any of them.

“I’m ready for spring,” he muttered to himself.

David looked up from his phone. “What are you talking about, you love winter! Winter has hockey, which you love.”

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed. “I’m not really feeling it this year. I’m exhausted.”

Reaching over to rub his shoulder, David gave him a look full of sympathy. “Anything I can do?”

Patrick shook his head and stood up. There wasn’t really anything wrong, so what could David do? “I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you up there in a minute,” David said, distracted by another text from Alexis that made him smile down at his phone.

Patrick had dozed off into a light sleep by the time David crawled into bed next to him, but the dip of the mattress woke him. He rolled over toward his husband, lips against the stubble of David’s jaw, inhaling the scent of his moisturizer. “Missed you today,” he murmured sleepily.

“Missed you too.” David turned his head, brushing his lips against Patrick’s. “Mm, you’re warm.” He wriggled his body, snuggling closer.

Patrick pressed another kiss against David’s mouth, and then another, with softer lips — a little bit longer, a little bit slower.

“Thought you were sleeping,” David said, his voice syrupy and mellow.

“I’m kissing you goodnight,” Patrick said. Another kiss — longer still, slower still.

“That’s how it starts,” David said with a smile, his hand burrowing down and finding the jut of Patrick’s hipbone.

He had a point. There were times when they went to bed with no particular intention to have sex, but the simple press of their mouths together would ignite a fire between them. Patrick wondered if that tendency would ever fade. He hoped not. Especially lately, the physical intimacy he shared with David was one of the only things that made him feel good. It was the only time that he didn’t feel like everything was sort of disappointing and foggy, when he could ignore all of life’s recent shortcomings and annoyances. He could turn off those thoughts and feel the pleasure that David was an expert in drawing out of him.

“Do you wanna have sex?” Patrick asked.

David gave him a crooked smile. “I thought I was too tired, but I might be coming around to the idea.”

Patrick scratched his blunt nails across the back of David’s neck, humming into his mouth as their kisses got deeper and messier. His heartbeat accelerating, that good, fizzy feeling suffusing his body, Patrick shifted closer, enjoying the sensation of their bodies together through their pajamas.

Long before they were married, they established a pattern where Patrick was more often than not the one to take charge in bed, but tonight he wanted it to be David. He felt like he needed to be taken, and used, and useful.

“Can you…” he started to ask, then paused as he tried to figure out how to put what he needed into words. He still struggled with the vulnerability of that, sometimes. Of asking for what he needed. He found it much easier to let David ask for things.

“Tell me what you need, honey,” David whispered as they pulled off their clothes.

Make me forget that I’ve been feeling so shitty, Patrick thought. Show me you still need me.

“Can you hold me down and… fuck my thighs?” Patrick asked instead. The sex act was easier to talk about than the feelings that were underneath it.

“Mm hmm, I can do that,” David said. In the dark, Patrick couldn’t make out David’s facial expression, didn’t know if David was reading any of his churning thoughts. Couldn’t tell if David thought it was odd that Patrick was asking for him to be the dominant one. Not that he’d never been submissive in bed, he had, but he’d done it because it was something David was in the mood for. He’d almost never asked for it.

“Turn over,” David said, the liquid tone of his voice making Patrick shiver as he followed the direction.

Patrick reached over for the lube from the bedside table, handing it back to David before he positioned his back against David’s chest. David didn’t do anything with it right away, though, his mouth wet and sure against Patrick’s shoulder, hand running up and down his hip and thigh over and over, then coming around to gently scrape his fingernails across Patrick’s balls before taking his dick in a loose fist, stroking with a teasing lack of pressure. Patrick moaned, pushing back against David’s erection. He almost changed his mind and asked David to fuck his ass instead — having David inside him really would get him out of his head; it always did. But both of them were tired and the preparation would take awhile, and his original instinct was fine. He didn’t say anything, tipping his head to give David more access to his neck.

After a few more minutes of foreplay, David finally grabbed the lube, getting the inside of Patrick’s thighs and his own cock slick before positioning himself. Patrick clenched his thighs together and David groaned at the friction, fingers clenching on Patick’s hip briefly before his hand moved around and took hold of Patrick’s cock again, matching the rhythm of his hips to the rhythm of his stroking. He wasn’t trying to draw things out now; he was working Patrick’s cock to get him off quickly, and the sensation of it, the way it demonstrated how perfectly David knew him, knew his body, allowed Patrick to stop thinking and sink into the pleasure. He had just enough presence of mind to cup his own palm over himself before spilling over David’s fist, coming with a gasp and a bitten off moan.

David let him pause long enough to grab one of the little towels they kept a stack of on the bedside table to clean himself up, to keep the sheets unscathed, before pushing Patrick down onto his stomach and fucking more vigorously, his cock sliding between Patrick’s thighs and against his balls. Patrick closed his eyes tight and gripped his pillow and let David take him, let him fuck against him, his weight bearing down on Patrick’s back, his pelvis slapping against Patrick’s ass.

“Fuck,” David whispered, and then he lifted up, pulling away from Patrick’s body. “I need to…” he said, and then Patrick heard the slick noise of David jacking himself, and then very quickly the warmth and wetness of David coming on his lower back.

“Sorry for the unnegotiated cumshot,” David said as soon as he caught his breath enough to speak.

Patrick held the towel he was still clutching up for David to take, laughing. “You’re good,” he said as David cleaned him up. “I only need warning if it’s gonna be on my face,” he continued as he flipped over, taking the towel from David and tossing it toward the laundry hamper. While David went to the bathroom to wash his hands and then pulled his pajamas back on, Patrick considered doing the same, but then David was curling around him under their heavy duvet and Patrick couldn’t bring himself to move. He closed his eyes and let the drowsiness from his orgasm pull him under.

~*~

His alarm went off early, and it took Patrick a few seconds to remember why he’d set it so early: the snow.

Mournfully extracting himself from the warmth of bed, Patrick pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie, then made his way downstairs to don all of his winter gear. Opening the front door, he took a second to admire the pure, untouched snow that blanketed the world before he perturbed it with his boot prints.

Everything seemed preternaturally quiet, the snow dampening what little noise there was. Patrick thought there would have been a time when he would have loved this quiet, would have loved being alone with his thoughts while he did some meditative manual labor. This morning, he shied away from the contents of his own brain, electing to put his earbuds in and to listen to a podcast instead. Patrick fell into a rhythm of snow shoveling in the winter pre-dawn light — push, lift, throw, repeat — so he didn’t notice David until he was almost down to the end of the driveway where Patrick was working.

“David!” Patrick pulled one of his earbuds out, letting it hang. The cold had made the wire stiff, the angle of it unnatural. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

David had jammed his feet into snow boots, the joggers he’d worn to bed bunching up around his calves. A hat was jammed down on his head, covering his ears, and he shivered as he struggled to zip his coat with gloved fingers. “You not being in bed wakes me up sometimes. And I felt bad that you were out here by yourself.”

“You don’t need to feel bad — you’re covering the store today.” They each had a day each week when they worked the store with Bethany while the other had the day off, and today was David’s day to work. “The least I can do is dig your car out for you.”

David huffed. “Let me help.”

Patrick tilted his head to the side, regarding his husband thoughtfully. “Okay, David. There’s another shovel in the shed.”

David tromped away as directed, and a minute later he was shoveling in a parallel track to where Patrick had been working. It wasn’t something that Patrick could have pictured David Rose doing a few years ago, but David had seemed determined to meet the challenge of homeownership in a lot of ways that Patrick couldn’t have pictured before they were married.

When they finished and went back inside, David groaned as he bent over to pull his boots off. “Ugh, my back,” he whined.

Patrick tried to put a hand on David’s lower back, but his puffy winter coat prevented any contact. “Go take a shower and I’ll make your coffee,” he said.

Patrick put on water to heat up, rubbing his hands together to warm himself, and began getting things set up for breakfast: he ground coffee beans for David’s French press and got out tea for himself and eggs for both of them. He moved automatically through the morning routine, ingrained habits from their year and a half of marriage and from all the mornings before that, when David spent the night at Patrick’s apartment.

After making David breakfast and seeing him out the door with a reminder to drive carefully, Patrick curled up on the sofa with his phone. He had a list of chores he wanted to tackle, and he had a book he wanted to read, but he spent over an hour switching between social media apps, dipping into the first few paragraphs of news articles before dipping back out, not focusing on any one thing for more than a few minutes. He opened a couple of game apps, but closed them again just as quickly without doing anything. These days he’d been mostly avoiding Facebook — he knew the ethical thing to do these days was to delete your Facebook account, but he was afraid of losing touch with all the people he didn’t communicate with any other way. He opened the app now, scrolling through the posts on his feed, most of them family members and friends from high school and college.

He paused briefly on a candid picture on his cousin Sara’s page of her son Justin. “Justin’s last performance in Newsies was last night!!! Great job to all!!!!” Wrinkling his nose at all the exclamation points, he took a good look at his cousin’s kid. They weren’t at the wedding, but he had seen Justin very briefly at the engagement barbecue his parents had thrown for him and David. He’d been a gawky fifteen-year-old at the time, quiet, ghosting along beside his parents with the disdain for attending a family function that only a teenager was capable of. The boy in the picture was older, and something about the way he looked in the picture, his arms slung over the shoulders of a couple of his castmates, made Patrick smile. Congrats to Justin!, he typed into the comments.

Finally, he dragged himself upstairs to shower and get dressed in some clean clothes, regretting that he’d already squandered part of his day off. He could have gone into the store with David if the alternative was this, a day at home feeling adrift and empty.

A hot shower helped, and afterward Patrick started a load of laundry, settling onto the sofa with a basket of towels from the dryer to fold. He unlocked his phone and started one of his history podcasts playing. Most of the rest of the day passed by as Patrick did the bare minimum of household chores, interrupted by long stretches of lost time when he was doing nothing in particular.

Stevie stopped by at a little past five o’clock, flopping down at the kitchen table while Patrick looked in the fridge and tried to decide what he was going to make for dinner.

“Do you want to hear something hilarious?” Stevie asked as Patrick took a packet of chicken breasts out and checked the date. They were still good, and he figured they would do for dinner. A serviceable, boring dinner — the Patrick Brewer of dinners, he thought uncharitably. He also took out some mushrooms, and grabbed an onion from the bowl on the counter.

“Sure,” he answered.

“I saw Gwen yesterday.”

“Bob’s Gwen?” He pulled a chef’s knife from the block and sliced the onion in half.

“Okay, she hasn’t been Bob’s Gwen for a few years.”

Patrick huffed. “No, I know, I was just asking if that’s who you meant. Because she moved to Elm… somewhere. Elm Valley?”

“She moved to Elm Ridge, actually, but she was in town for some reason, and I saw her.”

He squinted at Stevie. “And?”

“And she asked how it was working out among the three of us, and it was clear she meant… like, she thought we’re a throuple.”

Patrick laughed. “We do spend a lot of time together, you, me, and David.”

“I know, but you’re gay.”

“Sure, but I can’t say I’ve ever explained the particulars of my sexual orientation to Gwen. Maybe she assumes I’m pansexual like David.” He blinked up at her. “Are you worried that people will think you’re off the market?”

Stevie shrugged. “The kinds of people I tend to hook up with wouldn’t care.”

“Fair enough.” Patrick felt the old impulse to reassure Stevie that she’d find the right person eventually, and he had to remind himself that he needed to take her at her word, that romance and love weren’t necessarily what she was looking for.

“Are you okay?” she asked with narrowed eyes, watching him carefully as he put dinner together.

“I’m just tired. Had kind of a shitty day.” He couldn’t articulate what made it shitty, though. It was the vague ennui that had been plaguing him lately, the pregnant rain clouds in his brain that were casting a shadow over everything, washing the colour out. “ You staying for dinner?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s always fine, Stevie. You know that.”

“Thanks.” She walked over and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, opening it with the magnetic bottle opener that Patrick kept on the door.

“Maybe I just haven’t been getting enough sunshine lately,” Patrick said.

“Do we need to get you one of those light therapy things?” Stevie asked, taking a swig of her beer.

Patrick chuckled. “I don’t know, maybe.” He bit his lip, unsure if he should share more. “It kind of reminds me of the way I used to feel before I ran away and moved here. But back then, I had a good reason to be sad. I’ve got no reason to be sad now.”

“Depression doesn’t have to have a reason. I mean, it doesn’t have to be because you’re… engaged to the wrong person, for example.”

He knew that, intellectually. But he wasn’t sure he really believed it, deep down. “I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “When’s your next trip?” he asked to divert the conversation onto another track.

Patrick cooked and the two of them gossiped for a bit longer until David got home from the store, planting a kiss on Patrick’s lips when he joined them in the kitchen. The easy banter among the three of them over dinner quelled some of Patrick’s unhappiness, and he found himself laughing through the familiar see-saw of their interactions, as they cycled through every combination of two-against-one. They finally settled on the sofa, David putting on the episode of Derry Girls that they had left off with the last time Stevie was over. Stevie sat between them, leaning against Patrick’s shoulder with her socked feet up on David’s lap.

“Can’t imagine why people think we’re a throuple,” Patrick said, lifting his shoulder and adjusting to a more comfortable position before gesturing for her to lean on him again.

Stevie snorted. “In your dreams, Brewer.”

“Nope.” Then he thought about it. “Well, there was that one time during Cabaret, but I’m not responsible for who turns up in my sex dreams.”

David turned and eyed him. “Who turned up in your sex dreams?”

“Me, apparently,” Stevie said as she poked David in the leg with her toe.

“Ew,” David said.

“Ted, a few times,” Patrick said, which got him an eye roll from his husband.

“I assume you mean the turtle,” David said, looking back at the television.

“Yeah, I’m so hot for turtles.”

Stevie started flipping through a dating app on her phone, her attention only half on the show they were watching.

“What do you think of this one?” she said, holding up the phone so that Patrick could see the blandly handsome shirtless guy on the screen.

“Meh.”

“He’s got nice arms,” Stevie said.

“He looks like an asshole.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t be a good fuck.”

He supposed not, and it didn’t seem like Stevie really wanted his opinion anyway, even though she’d asked for it. He watched as she swiped right on Mr. Shirtless.

Patrick dozed off after a little while, existing in that place between wakefulness and sleep where he was still convinced he was following the story of the show they were watching even though his eyes were closed. He was distantly aware of the warmth of Stevie pressed up against his side and the smell of her hair, and of the safety of being with the two people who knew him best in the world.

(Chapter 2)

#schitt's creek fic #david x patrick #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #schitt's creek #my fic #schitt's creek ff

[littlemomountain]

TianShan, At the Gym

Where He Tian works at a local gym, and wants to be a special someone’s personal trainer. The characters are older than in the original story by Old Xian.

———————————————

He Tian worked at the local gym located not five minutes away from his apartment complex. He worked part-time as a personal fitness instructor in an effort to keep himself from growing bored; he knew full well he didn’t have to work a day in his life.

At the gym he had his regulars, the ones that requested to get their six-packs asap, to bulk up their body weight with most of the weight being muscle, but very few of them could keep up with the rigorous work-outs set up by him. That wasn’t his problem. “If you’re asking to get that type of body in a short period of time, you’re going to have to work for it,” he would state matter-of-factly. He was right, of course, but the members didn’t want to be told this, and many would refuse to come back altogether, feeling slighted by his blatant disregard for their inability to match his discipline.

That particular evening was not very crowded at all. It wasn’t a weekend, for one thing, and the weather was rather nasty: a frigid -10 degrees Celsius. So there he was, checking to make sure the machines were wiped down, that the dumbbells weren’t scattered in disarray, and that the few people that were there, five in total, were using the machines properly.

“Your shift is just about over, isn’t it? You can leave the rest to me.” He Tian turned around to see Zhan Zheng Xi speaking to him. Zhan Zheng Xi also worked there, and unlike He Tian, he was much more lenient when it came to creating workout routines. For that reason, he had a lot more clients. Zhan Zheng Xi ran his hand through his dark blond hair, and sighed.

“What’s eating you?” He Tian asked. It was rare to see Xi looking so nervous, the guy was always so level-headed.

“It’s nothing. Just a friend is stopping by. Says I’ve been too busy for him lately. He’s upset.” Zhan Zheng Xi stared at the door as he said this, watching for this person to come to him.

He Tian rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, you’re “friend.” You mean Jian Yi, don’t you? But wasn’t he here yesterday, and the day before?” He Tian was now leaning his body against the counter, and searched the streets for said person. This was another reason he chose to work here: He Tian got along well with both of them, and considered them his friends, of which he had few to speak of. Sure, he was surrounded by a plethora of fangirls at school, and even some guys who wanted to be seen with him, but these two were genuine, and that was not easy to come by.

“Yeah, but I’m working, so it’s hard to talk to him. Today though, he doesn’t expect many people to show.” Zhan Zheng Xi’s eyes perked up as he saw the familiar fair figure approaching the gym, bundled up in a gray parka with the hoodie lined in a faux fur trim over his head, speed walking to escape the cold. But he wasn’t alone. He seemed to be dragging someone along with him, who looked to be underdressed for the cold weather in his flimsy, mustard-colored jacket. The man wore a black-knit cap and had a permanent scowl on his face. His face was as red as a tomato.

“Who is that?” He Tian asked excitedly, leaning forward with his forearms now resting on the counter and craning his head as he tried to get a better view.

“Jian Yi texted me earlier, saying he made a new friend today.” As he told He Tian this, he began to walk towards the door to open it for them. “He’s being way too friendly,” Zhan Zheng Xi muttered under his breath.

“Zhan Zheng Xi~~ It’s so cold, I thought I was going to die!!!” Jian Yi nearly tackled the poor Xi, who stumbled a few steps back as he caught Yi in his embrace. Jian Yi didn’t consider the fact that Zhan Zheng Xi was only wearing a t-shirt at this point, so Zhan Zheng Xi was immediately chilled to the touch. Some people in the gym snickered at this interaction, but otherwise resumed their workout.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to come today,” Zhan Zheng Xi replied. When he saw Jian Yi’s hurt expression however, he quickly added, “You could have gotten sick.”

That did the trick. “Aww, you care so much about me!” Jian Yi hugged him again, and then remembered his new friend. “Oh yeah! Zhan Zheng Xi, meet Mo Guan Shan. He saved me today! I forgot my wallet at home today and I couldn’t pay for a snack at that old lady’s shop, you know, the one by the college? He works there and let me take it and he told me I can pay it back next time!”

“It’s not a big deal,” the young man replied. “I’m leaving. I don’t know why I let myself be dragged along by you. It’s too fucking cold. I’m not in the mood to work out.” As he said this, he made as if to leave, but He Tian’s voice rung clear behind him.

“Are you afraid to build up a sweat? You’re here now, so you might as well make the most of it, don’t you think?” He Tian came forward and stopped in front of Mo Guan Shan, leaning in close to him, who blushed and took a step back. “Too fucking close,” Mo muttered. His red hair, his glowing gaze, his cute frowning face, He Tian liked everything about him already.

“But He Tian, you’re shift is almost fin— ugh!” Before he could finish this statement, Zhan Zheng Xi was elbowed by He Tian in the stomach, who continued to smile down at Mo Guan Shan with his best customer-service smile. Jian Yi caught on more quickly, and led Zhan Zheng Xi away to leave the pair alone. “Zhan Zheng Xi, why don’t you train me for once?” He whined as he linked their arms together and walked them towards the farthest set of machines possible, leaving the pair alone.

“So, where were we?” He Tian started.

“I was in the middle of leaving,” Mo Guan Shan replied coolly, placing his hands inside his jacket and getting ready to brave the cold.

“Until I convinced you to stay,” came He Tian’s response. Mo turned to look at him with a scowl, and before he could reply, He Tian was raising his hands above his head in a mock gesture of surrender to Mo’s bad temper. “Come on, you won’t regret it. I’ll even give you a training session for free. And I don’t think you really want to head out that badly, do you?”

He Tian could feel Mo’s hesitation, saw the small breath of uncertainty that caught at his throat, the deep frown that settled as he contemplated his words, and took advantage of Mo’s indecision. “Here, let me take you to the locker room so you can put your coat away.” He Tian walked ahead without looking behind him but smiled to himself as he could feel the young man trailing behind. Once they were in front of the lockers, He Tian allowed Mo Guan Shan to pick one of many red lockers lining the wall and watched as Mo selected the farthest one, took off his cap and shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the sleeveless white undershirt that fit tightly to his attractive, muscled frame. The material was almost translucent and when Mo turned to look at him, He Tian could see Mo’s perked nipples underneath. It took everything he had to keep his eyes above Mo’s chest, meeting the quizzical ones that gazed up at him. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

He Tian nodded. “Here,” He Tian gave him a small key that would be used to open the locker when they were finished. Mo Guan Shan reached out, his fingers still cold as He Tian felt his touch, and pocketed it in his grey sweatpants. He Tian thought how lucky it was that Mo Guan Shan had worn sweatpants and sneakers on this day, appropriate for the occasion. “Follow me,” he said as he led him back to the workout hall.

He Tian scanned the room and saw even less people than before; only two others were left aside from Zhan Zheng Xi and Jian Yi. It seemed that Jian Yi was struggling with the weight on the bench press, but Xi was taking good care of him and was over him and ready to grab the weight if it came to be too much for him. He Tian smirked, and directed Mo Guan Shan towards the treadmills. Mo Guan Shan immediately protested.

“I want to lift some weights,” he said.

“We’ll get there, but we need to warm you up first,” He Tian replied. “Let’s start you off with a five-minute cardio session to get your blood pumping, and then move on to some light stretching.” He Tian smiled at him. “I know it sounds tedious, but trust me. Your body will thank me for it later.” Mo Guan Shan couldn’t help but think there was an ulterior meaning behind his words, but followed along as He Tian pushed the level up on the treadmill he was led to until Mo was at a light jog. He Tian looked on appreciatively and thought to himself that Mo had good form. Usually he would have to correct his clients on their posture but Mo was firm, and his jog was lithe and smooth, keeping his breathing even while trying to avoid He Tian’s stare.

After the five minutes had elapsed, Mo got off the treadmill and was sweating mildly, his cheeks a nice, healthy flush of pink. He Tian thought how nice his complexion looked, and how he would love to see more of it in a more intimate setting with just the two of them. In his bed, most preferably, with his flushing face being caused by something He Tian did to him. He Tian could already imagine running his fingers down Mo Guan Shan’s bare chest and eliciting a sharp cry once his hand cupped his sex. His thoughts were getting to be too dangerous, and he had to snap out of it to face the man before him.

“I’m ready now,” Mo Guan Shan said.

“Almost,” He Tian replied. He Tian walked up to Mo and got behind him, placing his hands on Mo’s shoulders, who bristled at the contact. He Tian clicked his tongue. “Your muscles are quite tense here. I need you to keep your back straight and have you lift your shoulders and then roll them forwards, and then backwards. Do this until you feel the tension ease up a bit.” Albeit reluctantly, Mo complied, and while he didn’t want to admit it, these motions did seem to help loosen up his body. He Tian looked on approvingly. “Good, that will do for now. Next, let’s follow it up with a trapezius stretch.” He Tian lightly took a hold of Mo’s arm and brought it behind his back. “With your other hand, grab the arm I have behind your back and pull gently. Hold this position for about 15 seconds and,” He Tian let go of Mo’s arm and gently rested his hand on Mo’s hair, tilting his head to the side, “tilt your ear towards the direction your arm is being pulled. You will repeat this motion again with your other arm once you are finished.” Mo felt strange being handled by He Tian, but now his neck muscles were loosening up along with his shoulders and he couldn’t complain. A sigh escaped his lips.

“Does it feel that good?” He Tian whispered into his ear, and Mo Guan Shan blushed.

“You jerk, don’t stand so close!” Mo’s ears were red, and He Tian thought how fun it was to tease him.

“Did I startle you, Little Mo?” The nickname came easily to He Tian’s lips, and he liked the sound of it. “After you’ve completed some cross-body arm stretches and quad stretches, we can then start with the workout.”

Once he was finished with those stretches, He Tian led Mo Guan Shan to the area with the weights and machines, and saw Mo’s eyes light up. “How cute,” He Tian thought. On the way, He Tian picked up his water bottle from the counter in the center of the gym, and Mo, seeing this, said, “I’m thirsty. Are there any more water bottles?”

He Tian smiled internally with the little devil horns appearing on his head, and he said, “You can have mine.”

“I don’t want yours. You’ve already pressed your lips to it,” Mo responded, annoyed.

“Do you see it as an indirect kiss?” He Tian mused. “Aren’t we a little too old for that? Have a taste, Little Mo. It’s nice and cold.” As he said this, He Tian removed the cap and took a slow sip from the water, watching him as he did so. Then he offered it to Mo. In reality, he was not expecting Mo to take it; he was playing around and He Tian knew that they did have a fridge full of water bottles, which he was eventually going to offer to Mo. So he was surprised to have Mo tentatively bring his hand up and take the bottle from He Tian, who almost let it slip from his own fingers, and stared wide-eyed as Mo Guan Shan brought the bottle to his lips and began to drink from it. He Tian stared at Mo as he finished drinking, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his lips now wet and, He Tian thought, enticing. He licked his lips.

“Where do we start?” Mo asked.

“Let’s begin with some push-ups to get you started off strong. I want you to place your feet on this small bench to get them in an elevated position. Now get yourself down in a plank position, keeping your head and back straight as you come down for each push-up. You will do three sets of 20 push-ups. Also,” He Tian came over with a weight and placed it on Mo’s back, “this will add some spice to your workout.”

Mo Guan Shan felt the weight at his back and adjusted his position. “This guy’s not playing around,” he thought. Mo completed the first set smoothly, gave himself a forty-five second pause before beginning the second set when he started to feel the burn in his arms and core. The third set took more of a push, but reaching the end of it, He Tian was satisfied.

“Wow, you’re so strong~” He took the weight off of Mo’s back and rustled his hair playfully. Mo knocked his hand out of the way and asked, “What’s next?”

“After a push comes the pull. You’re doing pull-ups next.” He Tian directed Mo towards the pull-up bar. “You’ll do fifteen sets of five.” Mo began to reach up to the handles when he felt He Tian wrap his arms around his waist. “What the hell are you doing?!” Mo blushed and squirmed against his hold but He Tian didn’t budge.

“We’re adding a weight lifting belt. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.” He Tian leaned his chin against the crook of Mo’s neck, pressing his chest against Mo’s back as he wrapped the belt around his waist, tightening the straps. “Ugh,” escaped Mo’s lips.

“Is that too tight for you, Little Mo?” He Tian loosened it slightly. “Sorry, your waist is small compared to my usual clients. How about this, is that better?” He Tian’s hands lingered at Mo’s waist, his breath tickling Mo’s ear.

“Better.” Mo didn’t like the warm feeling rising in his chest, so he stepped away from He Tian abruptly and reached out to the handles once more.

“Keep your legs straight, we’re going for the tactical style pull-up. Your lower back will appreciate it,” He Tian said as he watched Mo’s form. Mo complied, and felt his core was feeling it more in this position than the usual way of doing it. His arms were burning, but having eyes on him pushed him to complete the sets. He Tian admired the way Mo’s muscles moved nimbly, the way his shirt clung to his taut body, the way his fiery gaze pierced ahead of him in intense concentration as he focused on completing the sets. He Tian could only think how he wanted to tame him and make Mo Guan Shan’s body surrender to his own. He wondered if Mo could see the effect he was having on him.

“I’m done,” Mo Guan Shan said. He let go of the handle and tried to remove the belt from his waist but his fingers were fumbling on the straps.

“Let me.” He Tian bent his head down, their foreheads nearly touching, and his fingers undid the straps with ease. Mo Guan Shan didn’t meet his gaze. “What now?” Mo asked.

“The bench press. I told you, I won’t go easy on you.” He Tian brought him toward the bench and wiped it down. He Tian then brought a bench press weight of 215 pounds and set it on the rack. “You can lie down now, Little Mo.” Mo Guan Shan did so, firmly planting his feet on the ground. Mo tried to ignore the fact that He Tian’s crotch was level with his face, and prepared himself to grab the weight. “Widen your grip a little more, Little Mo.” He Tian’s fingers came over Mo’s and brought his hands the right width apart. “Good. As you remove the weight from the bar, keep your arms straight and then lower it down to your mid-chest. We’re aiming for four sets of eight reps. I’ll be here if it gets to be too much.” As Mo brought the weight down, He Tian stayed by him and watched as he worked on each set. At times he would bring his hands over Mo’s to grip the weight as he felt Mo was losing his grip or the weight was remaining too long near his chest. “Don’t push yourself,” He Tian said.

Once he was finished, He Tian helped Mo get the weight back on the rack and watched as Mo Guan Shan laid on the bench, breathing heavily, sweat tricking down his forehead. He Tian stepped away and came back with a clean towel, crouching down next to Mo and wordlessly pressing the towel to his forehead, gently pressing at the skin. Mo Guan Shan looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes hooded. He was too tired to protest. Mo was about to sit up but He Tian gently pushed him down. “Don’t rush. Rest a couple of more minutes and then drink some water. We’re almost done.”

“Hey, He Tian.” He Tian turned to look up at Zheng Xi, who was bundled up with his coat and with Jian Yi at his side, their arms linked together. “It’s almost closing time.”

He Tian surveyed the gym hall and found the four of them were the only ones left. “I’ll take care of it. Leave me the keys and I’ll close down properly when I leave.” Zheng Xi nodded and flung him the keys, which He Tian caught easily.

“We’re leaving then,” Xi said, giving a short nod to both of them.

“I knew you’d like it, Shan! Did you have a good time?” Jian Yi chimed in, but was being dragged away by Xi before he could get a reply. “See you two next time!” He yelled out from the door. Now they were alone.

Mo Guan Shan broke the silence first. He came to a sitting position and He Tian looked at him. “I should leave now,” he said. Mo looked outside and saw that it was getting dark.

“Hn. I still had more things I wanted to do with you...” He Tian ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Will you come back to me?” He Tian needed him to say yes.

“I don’t know,” Mo Guan Shan responded honestly. The workout did him good, but he was scared about developing any attachments to He Tian. The thought of that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“Come back to me,” He Tian stated firmly. He rested his hand over Mo’s, and his coal eyes probed searchingly into red ones. “Only to me.”

“I—“ Mo started.

“Please,” He Tian breathed.

Mo Guan Shan looked down at their hands, at the green veins that lined He Tian’s, his hands bigger than his own, and saw him tightening his grip. “Why am I not pulling away?” Mo thought. “Why am I still here?”

As if a distant person were speaking, Mo heard himself say, “Okay.” And then he felt a pull at his hand, and then he was being embraced, feeling something warm on his lips, on his cheek, on his neck. It took him a minute to realize he was being kissed, and he was about to say something, putting his hand at He Tian’s chest to push him away, but his lips were captured by He Tian’s, warm and moist and tasting of peppermint, and he brought his hand to Mo’s neck and kept him there, pulling him in, feeling as the struggle became less pronounced, a moan beginning to build up behind Mo’s parted lips. They were both breathing hard when they came apart, and Mo’s cheeks were flushed, his mouth slick, with He Tian wanting to fuck him right here, damn it if he cared what people saw, that he was still at work, that people could see them from the glass windows. He wanted to push Mo Guan Shan back down on the bench press and trap him under his weight, to grind down on him and watch Mo squirm underneath him, but it was too soon. He Tian knew Mo Guan Shan wasn’t ready to accept him yet, but he would wait for him until he was.

“Fuck, what was that for?” Mo finally managed to say, his face still very much red.

“It was my thank you. I couldn’t control myself,” He Tian said, smiling his wicked, playful smile. “Now go grab your coat. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“You don’t have to wait, I know my way out,” Mo replied stubbornly as he made his way to the locker room.

“I have no choice. I have to lock up, remember?” He Tian called out to Mo, who showed him the middle finger. He Tian chuckled.

“Anyway,” He Tian thought to himself. “I have to wait for you. Because tonight,” he smiled, “you’re coming over to my place.”

-littlemomountain

#19 days #old xian #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #my writing #gym au