#but apple scented things are by far my favorite

[rosicheeks]

What do you think is after death?

Do you think dolphins dream?

Does the future of AI frighten you?

What is the best scent in the world?

—-

Never thought if animals dream before - but I wanna say yes?

Ngl I know it’s bad but I’ve been trying to ignore the whole AI thing

I love apple scents (straight apple like ‘handpicked apples’ or ‘apple orchard’)

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed. 

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing. 

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless. 

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones. 

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone. 

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday. 

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.” 

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin. 

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.” 

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.” 

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits. 

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.” 

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.” 

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.” 

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.” 

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own. 

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. 

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center. 

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk. 

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope. 

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off. 

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem. 

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse. 

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.” 

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips. 

“From The Wizard of Oz?” 

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth. 

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?” 

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.” 

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people. 

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.” 

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.” 

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.” 

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.” 

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one. 

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.  

“You did?” 

She nods, shining with pride. 

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world. 

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him. 

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.” 

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?” 

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?” 

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.” 

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.” 

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that. 

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back. 

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk. 

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.” 

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.” 

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly. 

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.” 

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.” 

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?” 

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too. 

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no. 

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.” 

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm. 

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?” 

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run. 

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him. 

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.” 

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.” 

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back. 

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe. 

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.” 

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue. 

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off. 

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult. 

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?” 

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?” 

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin. 

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things. 

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.” 

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.” 

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?” 

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how. 

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.” 

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it. 

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.” 

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits. 

Her long lashes flutter questioningly. 

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?” 

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation. 

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely. 

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you. 

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline. 

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums. 

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup. 

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around. 

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new. 

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.  

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval. 

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking. 

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?” 

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve. 

“Where’s your dad?” 

“Umm. Cleaning?” 

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?” 

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in. 

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor. 

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.” 

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier. 

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips. 

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.” 

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand. 

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh. 

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.” 

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?” 

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be. 

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.” 

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell. 

“You kill someone?” 

He stiffens. “What?” 

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.” 

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.” 

You hum gaily. “I like your house.” 

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.” 

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve. 

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?” 

“I was but I had to find my costume first.” 

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing. 

“I’m not sneaky!” 

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.” 

“Then trick-or-treat?” 

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.” 

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes. 

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor. 

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors. 

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.” 

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another. 

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?” 

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face. 

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you. 

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on. 

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy. 

“They look stunning! You painted these?” 

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore. 

“You’re a talented artist.” 

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.” 

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.” 

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on. 

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy. 

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list. 

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!” 

“What?” Steve calls, muffled. 

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!” 

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail. 

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it. 

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines. 

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite. 

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.” 

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s. 

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection. 

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it. 

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail. 

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.” 

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror. 

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.” 

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently. 

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about. 

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention. 

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular. 

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.” 

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.” 

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?” 

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out. 

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger. 

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt. 

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing. 

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib. 

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask. 

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges. 

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch. 

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances. 

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all. 

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.  

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair. 

“Now it’s perfect.” 

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.” 

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about. 

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things. 

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks. 

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too. 

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak. 

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.” 

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time. 

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails. 

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.” 

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.” 

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.” 

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.” 

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured. 

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile. 

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct. 

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?” 

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer. 

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen. 

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared. 

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.” 

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.” 

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.” 

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?” 

“Go and look– get the treats.” 

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand. 

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things. 

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.” 

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.” 

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.” 

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.” 

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand. 

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.” 

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.” 

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?” 

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket. 

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?” 

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.” 

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his. 

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.” 

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces. 

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder. 

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice. 

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile. 

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?” 

She nods. 

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?” 

She nods again, equally jaded. 

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make. 

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you. 

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.   

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking. 

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies. 

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way. 

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?” 

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway. 

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?” 

“Ew! Daddy!” 

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing. 

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.” 

You gasp. “Penelope!” 

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!” 

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles. 

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!” 

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk. 

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer. 

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask. 

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.” 

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy. 

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says. 

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.” 

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day. 

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation. 

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!” 

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?” 

“I was?” 

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet. 

“Oh. Am I still little?” 

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.” 

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him. 

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around. 

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one. 

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction. 

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind. 

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house. 

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask. 

“She likes princesses’.” 

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.” 

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?” 

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?” 

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?” 

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.” 

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?” 

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share. 

“Daddy, how many houses are left?” 

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?” 

“No. Can I see? I want to count.” 

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six. 

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway. 

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints. 

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before. 

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.” 

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him. 

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides. 

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl. 

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?” 

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her. 

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert. 

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry. 

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home. 

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.” 

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass. 

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown. 

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them. 

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long. 

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car. 

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you. 

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house. 

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.” 

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.” 

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.” 

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.” 

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway. 

“Daddy?” 

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips. 

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow. 

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.” 

“That’s kind of you.” 

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home. 

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient. 

“You can have five more pieces tonight.” 

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?” 

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up. 

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart. 

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.” 

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.” 

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time. 

“No?” Penelope giggles. 

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines. 

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.” 

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet. 

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?” 

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too? 

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath. 

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway. 

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs. 

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.” 

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.” 

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go. 

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet. 

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?” 

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.” 

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest. 

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay. 

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything. 

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV. 

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open. 

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too. 

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face. 

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells. 

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?” 

“Is that when we got pizza?” 

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”  

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.  

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?” 

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.” 

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now. 

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake. 

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance. 

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t. 

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not. 

“Very much. You?” 

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep. 

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.” 

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.” 

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white. 

“Addams family?” 

“Who’s who?” 

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers. 

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.” 

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve. 

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not. 

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty. 

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.” 

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.” 

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”  

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.” 

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.” 

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.” 

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.” 

“You held it?” 

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.” 

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.” 

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out. 

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest. 

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.” 

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.” 

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it. 

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.  

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you. 

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table. 

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma. 

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it. 

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door. 

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.” 

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?” 

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car. 

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours? 

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same. 

“See you Friday?” He asks. 

“See you then.” 

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house. 

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out? 

[wardenparker]

Baked in Soulmates

Pero Tovar x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.5k Warnings: Fluff, random historical factoids, flirting, grumpy-sunshine dynamic, discussion of past lovers/lives, talking about sex, food/alcohol consumption, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After having a premonition about him many decades ago, Peor Tovar finally walks into your bakery and turns your world inside out. Notes: Inspired by and based upon The Smell of Fresh Bread - a Writer Wednesday that Keri did some time ago, which has long been one of my favorite Pero pieces ever. It's a great way to bring Spooktober to an end! 🧡 As always, I apologize for any errors I might have missed in proofreading.

It was a rare day that saw you sitting at the table in the staff sitting room with nothing to do, and today unfortunately was no exception. While the cook took her time with the menus and the pantry and fussing at the scullery maids, you put in the long and diligent hours of a baker all for the benefit of this one great house.

It worked well for you, or at least it had in the past, to come into a large house like this and cook here for as many years as you can remain inconspicuous before finding an excuse to move on. It's easier that way. There are fewer explanations to give.

At least in this house there are more like you.

Kneading the dough for buns that will be studded with dried fruit and candied peel to be slathered with butter at tea, you hum quietly to yourself and focus on the rhythm of the work. Baking has been your steady companion through every lifetime you've lived and every country you've passed through, keeping you steady even when your magic became erratic or the treacherous uphill march of immortality weighed too heavily on your shoulders. A soft hum and the steady pace of kneading dough will keep you moving forward. They always have before.

“Ohhhh they are wanting their tea early.” Sally comes bursting into the kitchen, flustered and annoyed. “They are wanting it at three instead of four.” She huffs as she rushes over to the large cabinet. “And the mister wants another cup of coffee now that he has let the last one get too cold.”

"And he'll not perish during the five minutes that it takes to make," you hum pleasantly, not looking up from your work. The young housemaid seems always to be in a tizzy and you're far too old at this point to get worked up about anything so generally small. "Tea at three is just fine. Everything will be ready in time."

“Are you sure?” She hates when they change things around, believing that the house should run like a clock and it shouldn’t change.

"I will work a little faster, that is all." And there may be a dash of magic in the teacakes if necessary, just to make sure they rise in time. The family need never know.

“You are magical.” She heaves a sigh of relief, always put at ease by your unflappability. “It is always when he decides to come home.”

“If I had a shilling for every time a man made plans needlessly complicated, I would be rich as Croesus,” you hum, almost dismissively, but laugh to put Sally at ease. The fact is, you are fairly rich. But the wealth accumulated over centuries of immortality must be carefully parceled out. “There is no need to get worked up just because the master is in a tizzy.”

“You are right.” She sighs again and rolls her shoulders as she waits for the pot to boil. “As you usually are.”

“With age comes wisdom, my dear.” Though you look no older than thirty, the young housemaid has no idea how much wisdom you truly have.

“I suppose that is true.” She huffs slightly and starts to set up the sugar and milk for the coffee.

Down the hall, the servants’ door opens, letting in a gust of autumn wind that carries the scent of crisp leaves and the apple trees in the garden. It wafts in the scent of the wood fire from the next room over and picking up the muted notes of lingering from the cup of tea you had made for yourself which is now growing cold on the work table nearby.

It also carries, somehow, the crisp, atmospheric smell of stardust.

And within seconds your mind is engulfed with entirely another scene altogether.

Cardamom, cinnamon and rosemary scent the air along with the yeasty smell of fresh bread. A man opens the door. Dark, scarred with eyes that are brooding and seemingly holding a thousand years worth of secrets. Even in the unfamiliar and very informal dress, his stance is one of a solider. This is a man who has seen war and is on guard from unseen enemies lurking around every corner. Dark hair, short and practical, is unstyled and accompanied by facial hair that is not in fashion during this time. “Buenas—”

An entirely different, sharp and acidic, unpleasant smell pulls you from the vision. In just a moment you've gone from standing at your work table to lying on the stone floor of the kitchen, with Sally wailing and fretting in the background and the caretaker kneeling over you with a stern frown painted on his face.

Smelling salts have been useful for centuries, but that does not mean the smell of them has improved any.

"I'm alright." Your voice is hoarse though, and weak, and the man looks less than impressed. Under the cover of Sally's wails, you are able to murmur the truth to the warlock surveying you for injury. "It was a vision. I'm alright."

“A vision?” He frowns and helps you sit up. “Do you need to go to your room to write it down?” He asks quietly.

"I ought to." You nod, scrubbing your temples with your fingers and feeling them sticky against your skin. "But the dough..." That dough needs to be finished kneading and rested if tea is going to be served early today.

“I can finish it.” You have shown him how many times and he knows how important it is to write down specifics while they are fresh in your mind.

"Cover it in the bowl and put it by the stove when you're done?" It's no small thing to offer to finish your chore for you, and you're grateful for the kindness. "I'll just go and freshen up," you say a little louder, hoping to quell some of Sally's vocal worrying with reassurance.

Helping you to your feet, he snorts and waves Sally away. “Take the coffee where it belongs.” He orders, even though he had no authority in the house, he is tired of listening to her caterwauling.

“Thank you.” Touching his arm gently, you give the man a nod. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Smirking slightly, he sweeps his cap off his head and bows. “Anything for you, my lady.” He intones playfully and winks at you before turning to take an extra apron off the hook and wash his hands.

******

Life in that house was good. The family was reasonably kind, they paid as well as they could, and the company you had kept then was amiable. The caretaker had been kind enough and gentle enough that when he had confessed love for you, you had gone to his arms and to his bed for more years than you had expected. But as always, you had needed to move on.

Sometime in the early 1950s you had made it back to America for the second time, and found work in a bakery in the North End of the city run by an Italian family. The focaccia you made there was different than the type the cobbler's wife in Rome had taught you to make, but only out of necessity. That cobbler's wife and that Rome were nearly six hundred years gone by then.

Here, you told the family employing you that you were a widow and supplied stories of the caretaker whenever pressed for details of your late husband. They assumed that he had died in the war. You did not contradict them.

And then one day the scent of warm spices and a new vision of the dark man with his scared eye came to you, and you learned his name.

Pero Tovar.

******

The bell above the door tinkles, letting you know that someone has come in. A necessity when you are so often in the back with your ovens. “Buenas Dias.” Pero has learned that manners are necessary in this time, if you want to have people not refuse your coin. Even if it is a small plastic card. “I need a loaf of whatever smells so good.” He grunts, slapping his card down on the counter, belly rumbling.

The visions had not many sense for many years. Of course the familiarity of a bakery was something you could understand. A customer. A sale. But the little rectangle in his hand did not begin to make sense until plastic and credit cards became realities. But all the visions of your past had eventually come true, so the faith you have in your magic had brought you to today. To the loaves of bread leaving your oven and being set lovingly on wire racks. The lingering, mingling smells of cardamom, cinnamon, rosemary, and yeast mixing with autumn air and your customary tea.

To the man walking through the door of your shop.

The loaf you had handed him in your second vision was what most bakers called artisan now. An old world thing with wheat germ and oats and none of the processed white flour that was most popular in the modern world. This was bread that smelled of dirt-floored cottages and honey – more precious than gold – being stored in clay pots and bargained over. This bread smells of home, and through your vision you had felt the same would be true for him.

So you took it from your racks and savored the scent, placing it on a trencher with jam and butter, and handed it to him to enjoy. When he tried to pay, you only gently refused. "For you, Pero Tovar, there is no charge." You tell him, enjoying a private smile and his shock all at once. "Eat and remember."

“How do you know my name?” Pero had been drawn here by the smells of the past. The scent of time forgotten. Pulling from him the core memories that have almost been forgotten until they are recalled. Sitting unused and dusty like a book on an abandoned library shelf. In the time he came from, books were more rare than gold, now people carelessly toss them aside when they don’t care for the words written inside them.

"I have known your name for a long time." You can't say just how long. Not yet. There are still many things to learn about the man from your visions. "Sit," you encourage, nudging the plate toward him again. "Remember. Enjoy."

He doesn’t question you, he doesn’t attack you. Despite this time’s view on weapons, Pero still does not walk around unarmed. He could have a knife at your throat in an instant. Instead, he sits at a small table and tears apart the bread with his hands like he would have when he was on his first set of years.

It is a satisfying sight, you have to admit that much. Raw enthusiasm is in short supply in this modern age. To see someone devour the food that you prepare is an enormous part of why you have continued to bake century after century. In continues to be a challenge to feed all of the hungry people in the world, but you do your part. And this one man is included in that number.

For more than a century, this man's face has held a place in your mind, so you stop at his table to put a cup of coffee at his place as well. Let him enjoy himself, you think, and offer him a smile when you put down the mug.

Pero pauses, glancing up at you and then back down at the steaming cup of coffee. “Gracias.” He murmurs after a moment and picks it up. It doesn’t appear to have all the sweet creams and syrups that they have in this era and for some reason, he’s disappointed by that. Although it would be more than what he had drank when he was riding towards the East and selling his sword.

"Come back after sunset," you tell him, and walk away again to greet the new customers who have come through the door.

He frowns at the comment, wondering what he will need to come back for. How you know his name, he had checked his credit card. The name is on the back, so you didn’t get it from there. He is suspicious, but that just means he will come back.

******

It’s not that your shop strictly closes at sunset, but as the proprietor and only employee, you have the luxury of making your day what you like. From sunrise to sunset you sell breads and sweets and coffee and tea to your customers, and luxuriate in the ability to do as you please. If someone upsets you or is rude? You can simply turn them away. If they are kind and lovely? They can have their treats for free. The only person keeping track is you.

Tonight, like every night, you bundle up your unsold things to be picked up by the young lady who works for the village, and she distributes them amongst the poor and the hungry at night as she makes sure that each and every one has a roof over their head and a warm place to sleep. This, you have already decided, is the person from this life you will be leaving a great deal of money to when you must disappear and move on. You always choose one, and this time it will be her.

It is in this state, humming yourself as you load up paper bags with bread at the end of the day, that Pero Tovar finds you once more.

This time, the bell does not alert you to his presence, he had manage to slip inside without disturbing it. “How do you know my name?” He asks, watching as you look up from your task.

“Good evening, Señor Tovar,” you murmur politely, undisturbed and unperturbed when you look up.

It makes him frown even more when you aren’t surprised by his presence. “You seem to know me, but I would remember meeting you.”

“Would you?” That is what surprises you, and you look up to find him watching you carefully.

He doesn’t know what game you are playing, but he is starting to get frustrated. “Who are you?” He demands again.

You supply your first name easily enough, and finish depositing the bread loaves and sweets into bags. Everything except the small white cardboard box on your counter. That is marked with his name and tied up in string. “I’m like you are.” You tell him calmly.

He highly doubts that. “A bastard?” He snorts, purposefully misunderstanding. “You seem too sweet for that.”

“Actually?” You chuckle a little. “Yes. I am. But I meant that I am older than I look. As you are.”

"I'm thirty-eight." At least that's what it says on his driver's license. This lifetime at least. "Do you think you know me from somewhere?" He demands, wondering what you are playing at.

“I would sooner believe you to be five hundred and thirty-eight.” Your visions never specified too much about him, but the aura of magic he held around him had some of the same hallmarks as yours. Namely, enchantments and immortality. “We have never met, but I have seen you before.”

His jaw tightens and Pero growls dangerously, stepping closer to you. "You are mad, witch." He hisses, shaken to his very core that you might know of his plight even though he much older than your claim.

“Perhaps.” You actually laugh a little. “But at least you are right about one thing. I am a witch.”

That confuses him, making him furrow his brow together and frown. Looking around the kitchen to see if there something to explain all of this.

“Come and sit down.” That feels like the right thing to do, and you motion to one of the tables close by. “If you would like me to, I will tell you what I know.”

He watches you for a moment, gauging you before he moves over to the table and pulls out a chair and sits.

"You know that magic is real." Coming to sit down with him, you bring two cups of coffee to give you both something to do with your hands. He had frowned at his cup earlier when you set it down, so this time you had added a touch of caramel and vanilla to the hot steamed milk to see if he liked that better. "We have both been touched by it in different ways. But both of us have been given immortality. Whether that is a blessing or a curse depends on the day."

“How old are you?” He demands after a moment, leaning over and staring at you with an intensity that would make a mere mortal uneasy.

"That would be a rude question to ask a lady in any century, but fortunately for you it is a moot point." An amused smile curls your lips as you sit back and sip your coffee. "I do not know. When I was born they did not keep track of birthdays so studiously."

“What is the earliest century you remember?” He asks instead, aware that it is only because of his own parents he had been aware of his age before his trip to the Wall.

Thinking back as much as you can, you sip your coffee in silent thought for long moments before finally being able to answer. "I remember the news that Charlamagne had been crowned emperor." You tell him. "I was a child, and a messenger came to our village. But life went on as usual, unaffected by the change in man who supposedly ruled us."

“How did you come to live this long then?” You are older than he is, but a good four hundred years. His eyes are wide and curious, never meeting another than has been cursed with walking the earth without end.

"I tended to a dying witch," you tell him, sitting forward again at the table with your cup in your hands. "She was very powerful. The woman who taught us all and who raised us up to the goddess. It was an honor to tend to her even in her painful last moments. And she blessed each of us with a gift. The other girls were older than me. One she wished eternal kindness on, that she and her family would always be good to each other. To the other she gave an endless curiosity of spirit. That girl died within the year from eating things she should not, which I do not think was the intention of the gift." You shrug slightly, having thought of these other girls so often that it no longer brings you sadness to think of them so long ago. "When it came time to give me a blessing, she was in the throes of more pain, and she wished to the goddess that I should never know the pain of death that she endured in that moment."

“So you never find the peace of eternal slumber.” Pero leans back, still confused as to how you could have known about him. His own existence is a curiosity that he has never been able to explain despite the theories. Witches no longer hold the same fear that they might have centuries ago. He has seen too many gods and people fall through the ages.

“I understand it is possible.” But you shrug your shoulders. “But it would require enchanted items that seem to no longer exist.”

Pero nods. “So how do you know about me?” He asks. “Have you been watching me?” He thought he had been more careful. It was hard to cover his tracks with the scar on his face, but he had used prosthetics a few of the lives he has lived and explains the scarring away as the boons of war. He had tried hard to keep from being photographed, but now it was impossible.

"No." You sip your coffee again and nudge his cup toward him, encouraging him to do the same. "I have visions. And I had some of you."

“Visions?” In his entire life, Pero Tovar has never had a vision. He has memories, often coming to him while he sleeps in the form of dreams - or nightmares, but never visions. He picks up the cup and examines it for a moment before taking a sip and his eyes light up in delight at the sweetness.

Sweet things for this man, apparently. That will be easy enough to achieve. "My senses tingle. Smells become more acute and I can hear the songs in the wind. Then my mind's eye fogs over and I see..." Describing this is easier now, since the advent of new technologies. "As though I were watching a film, made from my own point of view. I see the future."

“So you saw me walk into your shop.” Pero reasons. “Any knowing my name?”

"The older I get, the more intense my visions are," you explain. "Centuries ago, they were more frequent and far less detailed. Now? I will rarely have more than one every few decades. But they are much more intense. More detailed. They instill knowledge in me instead of simply showing me an image."

Pero cannot say that he would envy a gift like that. It would put him on edge more than he normally is. “Why would you have visions of me?” He questions that part, taking another sip of his coffee.

“That,” you tell him, having the last sip of your coffee. “Is what I do not know.”

Your answer simultaneously makes him unease and relaxes him at the same time. Unsure of why he believes you, but he does. “I don’t know why I still walk the earth.” He admits quietly. “I had long believed it to be because of the Tao Tei, but no one else from those battles still roam.”

“Tao Tei?” The term isn’t one you’re familiar with, which is surprising. You’re familiar with quite a lot.

He looks out the window the modern streets and huffs to himself slightly. “Demons, aliens, monsters.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t know exactly what they are, but they were ferocious.”

“So they were creatures.” At that, you nod again and lean forward on the table. “That is most likely why I have not heard of them. Unless you can eat them or milk them I have had little interest. My many lifetimes have been spent mostly in a bustling kitchen.”

"They were in the far East. The Nameless order worked hard to keep word of them from spreading." Pero explains. "It is not like now. The word traveled so much slower than now."

“I miss it,” you admit without shame. “Things are so fleeting these days.”

"Some days I would have talked to no one but my horse.” Pero snorts, “now having a horse is rare.”

“I do like my bicycle.” That makes you grin. The bicycle you had bought while living in Boston in the 1950s is vintage now, but you learned to repair and care for it yourself. The basket on the front was long ago replaced with one of your own making as well. “But horses are wonderful companions.”

"So you have just been waiting for me to show up?" He asks, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you know him. Even if this is the first real conversation you have had.

“More or less.” You agree. “Since 1909. Or really, since I bought this shop. I walked in the front door here about ten years ago and realized it was the bakery from the visions, so I got a job here and bought it when the previous owners decided to retire.”

He nods and looks around. “Looks like it is a nice place to live one of the many lives we experience.” He compliments. “Have you always been a baker?”

"Most of the time." He is entirely right. The two of you have lived countless lifetimes. Endless choices of where to go and who to be. But you have mostly kept to what makes you happy. "In different parts of the world, in different ways, and always learning new things. Have you always been a warrior?"

“Always.” He nods. “Although it is harder to do these days.” He admits. “Private security is more about using technology now than brute skill.”

"I imagine your sword is in far less demand these days." In fact you can't think of a single way he could use it outside of sport and discipline, which is a shame. A talented swordsman is a gloriously indulgent sight to watch. "Have you tried any of the new martial arts?"

He sighs, “all of them.” He admits. “But the MMA shit is boring.”

"Pobrecito," you tease, chuckling a little at his dismay. "You should fight fires, then. Use your strength and immortality for something valiant. Just to try it out."

“Fires.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I will scare the little girls hiding under their beds while the wallpaper burns.”

"Or inspire beautiful women to open their legs in gratitude." Standing from the table, you take the two empty coffee cups and round the nearby counter to rinse them and set them in the dishwasher.

“I have not taken a wife in many years.” Pero admits, looking down at his hands. “I do not wish to bury another.”

"Surely that does not mean you cannot enjoy a warm bed from time to time?" When you reemerge from behind the counter, you sit down again, sensing that there is plenty more talk to be had. "The last time I married was 1810, but that has not kept me from pleasure."

He chuckles. “I did not say that.” You have a modern take for one so old, but he doesn’t mind that. “It is hard to not feel dirty.” He snorts. “They are all so young.”

"Well that is true enough." And well worth sharing a laugh over. For there are very few in the world as old as the two of you. "There is not much to be done about an equal age, though. The community of immortals in the world is quite small, and always on the move. For reasons you understand all too well."

“Community?” Pero frowns, his head jerking up and he looks at you in confusion. “There are more?”

"I have met thirteen others, over the centuries." You tell him, nodding. "Mostly witches or warlocks, but also some who were enchanted at random, like you were. Mostly we acknowledge each other, share a few stories, and then go our separate ways."

“You are the first I have met.” Pero tells you. “I have always believed I was alone.” It had been a lonely existence, but he had felt like it was his punishment, or reward, for what happened at that wall. Although he could never explain why William lived out his life as expected and died an old man.

"There are many theories. About what could eventually kill us, or what can weaken us." Theories that you had been over time and time again with the few other immortals that you had come across. "Apparently it is possible for us to die. But...not easy."

“You mean being stabbed, blown up, crashing, or drowning would not do it?” He asks sarcastically, ticking off the ways he should have died many times over. He had come out with little more than a scratch.

"Apparently." Your head cocks to one side, wondering how he will take this. "It is more like a fairy story. Where true love restores us to our mortality."

Pero chuckles. “I have loved many times, bruja.” He reminds you. “Yet there is still no grey in my hair or beard.”

"True love." You correct him. "Not just love. I have loved more times than I can count. Endless, depths of the oceans of love. But supposedly the truest love our hearts can feel...that is what is supposed to do it."

Pero frowns, digesting your words and trying to understand them. “You are speaking of soulmates.” He murmurs. “Those do not exist.”

"Until today, you believed you were the lone immortal in the world." The reminder is stark, but not unkind. "Who is to say soulmates do not also exist?"

Pero sighs and nods, having to concede that fact. “You are right.” He grunts. “But if I had not found them in nine hundred years, then I fear I have none.” He smirks and huffs to himself. “My soul is long rotten.”

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not." There is really no way to know. No way to open up one's heart or soul and read the name written there in destiny's hand. "I suppose we can only wait and see."

He shakes his head and stands. “Then I guess that your vision has been fulfilled.” He feels oddly disheartened by that, but his face is set.

"Has it?" You do not rise from your seat, but watch him intently. "My vision could have had any of ten thousand meanings. But all I know is that we were destined to meet. I should hate for it to only be one time."

“Perhaps it will not be.” Pero nods to you and then glances at the door. “The darkness settles.” He reminds you. “You should go home, bruja.”

"Come again at closing time, if you would like to talk more." This time you do rise from the table. There are bags to gather and things to distribute to the needy. "I am always here. In this lifetime, anyway."

Pero nods and he’s unsure if he should offer to walk you home, but he reasons that you have been taking care of yourself for far longer than any other woman walking alone at night. “Gracias.” He murmurs before he disappears through the door as silently as he came.

“Buenas noches,” you murmur to his back, watching the swift and sleek way he retreats. Pero Tovar must have been an admirable opponent in his warring days.

*****

It takes an entire week for Pero to come back. He had been purposely avoiding that side of the village so he didn’t drop in. Doing research and trying to learn everything he can about you. Your digital footprint is good and the way you have set up your ‘lives’ is admirable. Now he wants to talk to you again.

His stealth is admirable, but you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counters. The last guest has left for the night and the village girl has come and gone for the bags of leftovers already. “Good evening, Pero Tovar.”

He almost asks how you knew he was here, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer to you. “You have lived under the radar.” He says. “It was hard to find your trail at first.”

“But you have been successful now?” Finishing up your cleaning, you take your apron off and toss it in the small hamper you keep under the counter to accumulate washing. Every few days you take your towels and aprons home from the bakery to wash and dry at home. The ritual is soothing.

“As far back as 1841.” He admits. “The trail is harder to follow any farther back. Records are not as good from before as they are now.”

"1841..." You think back, trying to remember where you were an who you were then. "That was...Greece, wasn't it? Did you find employment records from the hotel?"

“Your marriage record.” Pero shakes his head. “But before then, it seems like you had just arrived from somewhere else.”

"From here," you tell him, smiling nostalgically. "From Spain. I was living in a fishing village on the Portuguese border. I met a Greek merchant who begged me to come away with him and..." Trailing off, you shrug your shoulders a little but never stop smiling. "It sounded like a grand, romantic adventure. Cristos was a good man, and I worked at a hotel in the islands for a long time."

Your voice takes on a soft, dreamy quality and for a moment, Pero is jealous of the Cristos you speak of. It must have been a grand romance. “I was in America during that time.”

"Oh?" You're interested in anything he is willing to share about himself. Unlike him, you did not go digging into his past. More hopeful that he would return to share with you when he was ready. "What did you do there?"

“Went west.” He had found the rough and Wild West fascinating and had enjoyed the hard journey. Remembering vividly blazing that trail to the East, so it was only fitting that he also went West.

"You were a cowboy." That image of him is actually fairly charming, morphing the smile on your lips slightly but not at all dimming it. "It must have been easy to blend in. With so many Spanish speakers all over the west back then."

“The language has changed so much over the years.” He snorts, knowing you are well aware of that fact. “There were a lot of Germans there too.”

"Did you sell your sword there as well?" It would have been guns by that point, far more often than swords, but your question is the same. Was he a warrior in that time too?

“Homesteader.” Pero shakes his head. “Started a ranch. But there was plenty of gunfights.”

"You actually settled down?" That surprises you, but you nod. It's impressive that a man so restless seems to have found moments of tranquility in this long life. "That must have been a welcome change."

“It was nice.” Pero frowns slightly, remembering the last wife he had taken. He had buried her on that ranch. Her and the baby who had also died in childbirth. “It wasn’t going to last though.”

"Not everything does," you say, but before you can stop yourself, you chuckle a little. "Except us."

“The only good thing is that I’ve not started aching like people complain about as they grow old.” Pero rolls his eyes. “Besides the normal middle-aged aches.”

You laugh again. "I count it as one of my truest blessings that I was given my immortality before the aches and pains set in."

“And that bone cracking doctor is amazing.” Pero groans, rolling his eyes slightly. “In my original time, he would have had all the riches in the world riding with a group.”

"A chiropractor?" Once again, your laugh rings through the shop. He is straight forward and honest, despite being suspicious and grumpy, and it makes you smile unexpectedly. "I would not have thought of that myself, but you're perfectly right."

He likes the sound of your laugh, his own grin quick and broad before his face slides back into that normally fearsome set. “I know I am.”

Letting your laughter linger in the air, you lean on the counter between you and consider him. The things you have wondered in the last week - and in the century before that - are running wild in your mind again. "I'm glad you came back."

“Not sure why.” He steps closer and tilts his head. “For you or for me.”

“Handsome and hungry,” you tell him with another laugh. “That’s my favorite kind of man.”

He lifts a brow, surprised that you would find him handsome. “Your bread is very good.” He admits. “I might have dreamed about it.”

“If you think my bread is good,” you hum, tucking a pleased smile into the corner of your mouth. “You should try my pastries.”

He glances towards the empty cases. “I will have to try them sometime.” He is hungry, but it seems like that has something that has never gone away despite the availability of food now compared to in the past.

“Or…” Noticing the expression on his lips and the hunger in his eyes, you tilt your head. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I was going to find food and I ended up here.” He had been trying to avoid coming to you for another day, but his feet had other ideas.

“We could…eat together?”

He obviously hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t sound bad. Often he eat alone and it would be nice to have someone sitting across from him. Perhaps a beautiful woman would help others not be so wary of him.

“Tovar?” Brooding and silent seems to be his way, but you asked a question that deserves an answer.

“What?” He frowns in confusion and realizes that he has not answered you. “Sí.” He nods. “Yes. What do you want to eat?”

“Do you like seafood?” You had made friends with a family that runs a restaurant on the nearby cliff overlooking the ocean. It is beautiful and the food is stunning. “I know a place.”

“I like food.” Pero jokes dryly, smirking slightly when you grin.

“We can walk.” Motioning toward the door, you excuse yourself for just long enough to disappear, grab your purse, and reappear again.

Pero watches as you step outside the shop after him and carefully locks up. Silently guarding you even though he’s not needed in that capacity.

“Down to the cliffs.” You tell him, wondering if he is accompanying you out of curiosity or out of boredom. Either way, it’s at least nice to spend time with someone like you. “This way.” Almost as soon as you say it, you head out through the village streets toward the promise of a warm meal and a cold drink.

Pero isn’t familiar with the town, if he’s honest. He doesn’t explore much, but he watches as you confidently saunter off down the road.

The walk takes only a few minutes, but when you arrive it is to the comforting smells of fresh food and the warmth of friendly smiles. You ask to be seated outside, enjoying the last sunset and thanking the owner when she lights the candle on your table to ward off the nighttime despite there being plenty of other light sources nearby. Your table on the edge of the patio is away from the others, giving you privacy to talk, and you have a feeling the owner might have mistakenly believed you to be on a date this evening.

Pero chooses the seat that gives him the view of the patio and anyone approaching, but he’s not so unmannered that he doesn’t pull out your chair for you, even if he doesn’t wait for you to sit to walk around to his own.

“The women these days must think you’re very gallant.” Gallant and grumpy, you think to yourself, smiling again. That is surely how his latest conquests describe him.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he sits down, watching the movement behind you before he picks up the napkin and drops it in his lap. “Don’t know.” He admits. “I never ask.”

“Not out for romantic companionship in this lifetime?” Even if it’s not marriage, having a companion is always possible.

"I've had one." Pero shrugs slightly. "She wanted kids and I cannot give them to her."

“Cannot or will not?” It is a bold question, you admit, but immortality does not take away a person’s ability to have children. Not as far as you know, anyway.

"It is the same answer." Pero shrugs. "I would not want to watch my child grow old and die. I could not bear it. Not after losing -" He sighs. "It is better that I not populate the earth."

“People like us…we lose everyone eventually.” That is an unavoidable truth, though also undesirable. “I’m sorry for the ones you lost.”

"You have lost others too." He points out, glancing at the waiter when he pours out wine and he lifts a brow. "Come here enough they know what you drink?" He asks you.

“Yes.” There is no shame in that, and you thank the waiter with a smile. “Do you know what you want to eat?” You ask Pero, though neither of you has looked at the menu very much.

"Food." He snorts, and looks around at the other tables as if he can just pick something from their plates that looks good. "What do you get?"

“Either the grilled octopus or the spicy bacalao.” Over the centuries you have tried almost every kind of food possible. Seafood dishes truly are some of your favourites, though. “Or scallops. Really, everything is good here.”

He grunts and nods. “Sounds good.” He does open the menu to read through the options. It’s amusing that when he was riding with William, he could not read, now he reads in multiple languages. Including Chinese. Knowing the language would have been helpful back then.

The waiter departs to give you time to decide, and when he returns a few minutes later you order your usual octopus and Pero opts for a prawns dish that sounded good to him. It leaves you alone together again at your table to look out over the ocean and you sigh happily at the comforting scent of salt air.

You like it here, that is obvious and Pero stares as you unabashedly, curious to your thoughts.

"What is it you want to ask me?" There must be something. You are no longer so insecure that you would be confused as to why a man would stare at you. There is nothing on your face. No food stuck in your teeth. He is simply curious.

“You do not feel it?” Pero asks finally, unable to refrain. “You seem so relaxed.”

"I do feel relaxed," you agree, smiling as the wind wraps around your shoulders. A hug from the earth that you happily appreciate. "People and places come and go, but the wind and the ocean? They are as permanent as we are."

Pero frowns and leans back, unable to understand why you would not feel it. He looks around and sighs before he picks up his wine glass.

"You pout when you don't get your way." The observation makes you hum in amusement. In some ways even this man with his hundreds of years is still very much a boy. "What ought I to be feeling, Tovar?"

“I do not pout.” He grumbles. “You really do not feel the vibration in the air? The pull?” He doesn’t understand it, but he does feel it. He’s drawn to you. “It feels like the air is dancing right now.” It makes him uneasy because the only time he’s ever felt that was when he was in danger but there is no danger here. Confusing him even more.

"Like...electricity." You nod slightly, but tilt your head slightly as you look at him. "I thought that was simply my magic. But if you can feel it too..." Truthfully, you had thought it was your magic's response to your intense attraction to him. But if he can feel it too, it must be much more than that.

“So you do feel it?” He leans in, eyes wide. “It is your magic then? You are that powerful? You pulled me to you?”

"If it is my magic..." Shifting forward in your seat slightly lets you talk a little more freely. Even at a table that is slightly isolated you have lived through too many witch hunts to simply go around shouting about magic. "Then it is doing something I have never felt before."

That makes him frown even more. If you don’t know what it is doing, he has no hope of having the question answered. “If?” He catches that. “What else could it be?”

"Are you sure you want the answer to that?" He will not believe you, you can predict that now. That the other thing you could liken this feeling to is one that was described to you three centuries ago by a couple in the islands of the Caribbean.

He rolls his eyes and purses his lips. “I wouldn’t have asked the question.” He reminds you.

"Fine then." You wave one hand as if to say he asked for it. "I have heard of this sensation once before. Centuries ago. From a pair of soulmates."

Brows pulling together, he takes his time to connect what you are saying. Then the dark orbs are blowing wide and he jerks back to look around quickly again. “You are saying—?”

"It is possible." Anything in the world is possible, after all. Long life has taught you that. "But I do not suggest we go testing the theory by getting into danger."

“What does danger have to do with soulmates?” He asks, frowning again.

"The chance that immortals bonding with their soulmates restores their mortality is...very high," you remind him quietly.

Clarity shines in his eyes and he leans back again. “But we don’t know if that’s what it is.” He hums, picking up his wine again. “We will not test it though.”

"Two meetings do not constitute a connection." And that is all you have had, despite the fact that your vision had stretched over decades and you had dreamt many times of those things your magic revealed to you. "But I agree. We will not test it."

“Soulmates.” He whispers, as if he is trying it on. He looks over at you again and licks his lips. “How would we know? For certain?”

"There are a few tests – magical ones – that could be tried." Their origins all seem dubious to you, or they require ingredients for potions that are unavailable in this new and modern world. They are less than ideal. "Or there is a more...primal test."

“Primal test?” He wonders if it is some kind of blood ceremony or something.

You smirk, hearing in his voice that he expects you to say something deeply mystical or esoteric. "We could have sex," you clarify, pronouncing every syllable.

You are enjoying teasing him. He can tell, but his body is too busy agreeing with your suggestion to care. “We could.” He growls, hands curling on the table as his entire being shifts into something much more dangerous.

"You are interested." It doesn't even need to be a question. His body language makes that clear, and your lips turn up in a smile all over again. "Good."

“You are a beautiful woman.” He reminds you bluntly. “I am old, not dead. My cock still stirs.”

"I'm very glad to hear it." Feeling more confident and looking forward to the night, you shift in your seat to sit a bit taller and survey the man before you unabashedly. "It would be a pity to waste such an enticing man."

It has been a long time since a woman has called him enticing. Instead of preening, like the young boys seem to do now, he lets you look your fill.

"Are you the sort of man who needs to be in your own space?" It is now a negotiation of sorts, but you are happy to be able to study him while you talk and wait for your dinner.

He huffs, amused by that idea, and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a space that I considered my own.” He points out. “We are both nomads.”

“True. But some people feel the need to exert control wherever possible.” Satisfied that he is not one of those men, you sit back again. “Think of it as asking ‘your place or mine’.”

“Your place.” He decides immediately. “If you want to kick me out, it’s easier.” He doesn’t also say that it will be later in the night and not safe for you to go home alone, not wanting to seem sexist.

“My place.” Your smile is crooked and calm, intrigued and anticipatory. “Good.”

He wonders why that is good, but he shrugs it off, his eyes shifting behind you to see the waiter bringing the food.

You give the waiter warm thanks when your plates are set down, and look back to Pero with interest as the two of you begin to eat. “Tell me a story,” you request, wanting to know more about the man now that you will be spending at least one night together. After all, he has never met anyone like you and you have never met anyone specifically like him. Who else could you share your life stories with in the same way?

Pero frowns slightly and decides that you should hear a story from his original lifeline. "There was this bastard I knew." He begins, the gruffness of his voice is belied by the glimmer of fond remembrance in his eyes. "William Garin. He was a pain in my ass. Getting me into scrapes and saving my ass on the battle field. But I saved his life more." He adds. "He heard about this mystical black powder the Chinese had. And he convinced me to go in search of it. The weapon of our dreams."

Garin is obviously not Spanish, nor is William, and the time spent as a warrior connects dots in your mind. Dots that most in this day and age would find unsavory, but you know better. Survival was harder back then. “You were mercenaries together?”

"Sí." He nods, happy that he does not have to explain every detail to you. "We had fought together for this lord and when he was done with us, we had managed to not kill each other, so we rode together."

“A friend you don’t wish to run through is exceptionally valuable when the sword is already in your hand.” Mercenaries were never long on friendships, as you recall. Which makes it doubly impressive that the men stayed together. “So you went to China together?”

"We collected a group of men." He continues, looking down at the wine and the water at his plate. "All of us desperate for the powder for our own selfish reasons, but we were foolish enough to believe that we could obtain it."

“Fools sometimes have great success,” you point out, sipping from your wine glass. “But I think your luck was not so good, judging from the expression on your face.”

"Twelve of us started out." He nods. "Two of us made it to the Wall."

“The Great Wall?” It is still great today and in nowhere near the splendorous condition that he must have seen it in then.

Pero nods. “Some were killed by bandits, some from disease.” He huffs. “One poor bastard broke his back when his horse fell on him.”

“An unfortunate fate for anyone, bannered soldier or freed lance.” You nod slightly, not wanting to make light of his brethren’s fate but knowing that happened to many.

“The last three died the night before we reached the wall.” He stares at his wine before he takes a large gulp of it. “Eaten by the Tao Tei, though we did not know that at the time. Ripped away from the fire in the blink of an eye while we were resting from running from bandits. Will and I survived together and he took the creatures hand when it had come for us.”

“What became of your brother?” It sounds like he was far more than simply a brother in arms. Pero is likely to have tracked his entire life and legacy.

“When we left the Wall, after the Tao Tei had been defeated, he left his heart behind.” Pero frowns slightly. “After three months, we turned back and he return to his general.”

It’s sweet, or perhaps bittersweet, but you off him a soft smile of understanding. Laced with curiosity, of course. “An unusual love, or an unusual general?” You ask gently.

“She was ferocious.” He chuckles, understanding your meaning and appreciating the tact. “She brought out a side of him I didn’t understand at the time.” He admits. “He was better because of her, the best version of himself.”

“That is what soulmates do, they say.” Satisfied that you haven’t offended him or the memory of his friend, you settle back into your meal. “Did you stay long with them?”

“Until their third child was born.” He hums. “It had become obvious to me that they were aging but for some reason I was not.” He frowns slightly. “I went to a monastery to search for answers and when I returned, my friend was on his deathbed, old and feeble.”

“You were there for his joys and returned to show him your love at the end.” That is honorable. Commendable, even. “That is more than many friends can say they have done.”

“He deserved it.” He shrugs as if it was not much. It was the least he could do in his mind after so many years. “After they were buried together, she had passed the year before, I started my path alone. Never meeting anyone like myself until now.”

"Perhaps it is a sign?" If he even believes in them. As likely as not, he thinks them child’s play.

“Perhaps.” He takes his wine and finishes the rest of it. “It has been a long time since I have seen any signs of anything beyond this existence.”

“I cannot claim to know anything of what lies beyond.” How could you? “But this life is valuable despite being infinite.”

“It is getting harder with technology.” He admits.

“Avoiding being photographed is difficult.” It is a hazard, if you’re honest, which is why you have stayed out of the big cities for decades. “I stay out of cities and tourist traps now. We have to be so careful.”

“Especially with my scar.” He gestures towards his face. “I have thought about surgery but who knows if it would work?”

You consider him carefully for a moment, letting a smirk turn up one corner of your lips. “It might be a pity to lose,” you tell him finally. “The effect is rather dashing.”

His brow lifts, the one affected by the scar and he hums. “You like a more….rugged appearance on a man, hermosa?”

“I do.” And you are old enough and have had enough lovers to know that you do have a preference. “It is not necessary, I would say. But certainly my preference.”

“Then I am pleasing to your eye?” He asks, smirking slightly. He might not be a vain man, but he does enjoy when a woman wants him.

Far be it from you to deny a truth, especially when it is one you have already confirmed. He has let you look your fill during this meal, after all. “I would not be taking you home with me if you were not,” you confirm, and let you smirk grow a little wider.

“Depended on how desperate you might be.” Pero jokes dryly. “Thought I do not believe you have had much trouble warming your bed over the centuries.”

“More than you might think,” you admit, but shrug. “I thank you for the compliment, though.”

“You are a beautiful woman.” He grunts. “Interesting too.”

“More compliments?” Your face blossoms into a teasing, playful grin. “Since I am sure you do not hand them out meaninglessly, I am even more glad.”

“Tell me about yourself.” He asks, wanting to know more about this witch who had known he was somehow coming into your life. “You ever been wrong with your visions?”

“In the early days.” You nod to that, willing to admit that you had needed much training to learn to wield your power effectively. “I have honed my skills. Learned how to tell when things are important. Listened to the way the visions sing to me. I have been wrong before, but not in many centuries.”

He nods. “And you knew that I would come to you, but not exactly when.”

“Because I do not presume to know everything from the visions anymore. Early on, we are so eager to know all. We cannot abide mystery. But now?” You wave one hand dismissively, picking up another forkful of your meal. “The universe will tell me what I am to know when it decides I am ready.”

“It is not like you do not possess the time.” He snorts, finding comfort in your ideology and he picks up his own fork. “Your bread is probably the best I have had in years.” He compliments. “I dreamed of it last night.”

“Is that all you dreamed of?” You doubt it, much to your own amusement, and are not ashamed of what your own dreams have consisted of since meeting the mercenary.

“No.” He admits easily, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips. “It was hardly decent.”

“Good.” The way your thighs clench in anticipation is no accident, but all he sees is the pleased expression on your face and perhaps the fire in your eyes. “Then it matched my own.”

“Then tell me what you want.” He demands. “I am sure you have expectations after being here so long and seeing how sex progresses.”

“We have both been here a very long time, Tovar,” you remind him with a wry chuckle. Your meal is finished and your wine as well, so you sit back in your seat and inhale the ocean breeze. “We will take pleasure in each other until we are exhausted, we will sleep curled in the same bed, and when we wake tomorrow we will indulge again if it pleases us to do so.”

“You are very sure of yourself.” He chuckles, not minding the idea of your evening at all. “It is a trait I admire in a woman.”

"If I was certain of myself, I would plan beyond tomorrow morning," you tell him, valuing honesty more than pretense in this moment. The meal is ending and the next steps you take together may change everything. That is what you are unsure of. "But I don't presume to know your mind. Only my own."

“You know it well.” Even though it would not be considered the newer custom of a date, Pero pulls out his wallet to pay for the meal you shared.

It's gentlemanly of him, and after hundreds of years walking this earth you have both accumulated fortune enough to always keep food in your bellies, so you simply thank him for the gesture. You will make him breakfast in the morning before he decides to be on his way, and that will be payment in kind. There is a sort of uncertainty in your bones about how this coupling will turn out – not because you doubt that you will find pleasure but because Tovar seems prone to run from anything he perceives as comfort.

Wiping his mouth one last time, Pero stands and he waits for you to get up as well. “Then let us go find our pleasure with each other.” He offers.

Your home, like everything else in this village, is close enough to walk to. There is no soft sweetness of hand holding or stolen looks, but instead a sort of comfort of knowing what is to come. He walks closer to the street, shielding you from anything that might splash or come too close. When you make it to your door, though, the air of anticipation seems to tighten around both of you and you suddenly become hyper aware of how close he is standing as you turn your key in the lock.

“You can change your mind.” It’s not that he is trying to get you to send him home, but he always prefers to know there is no doubts when he takes a woman to bed.

"I don't want to change my mind." You push open your front door and step back, letting him enter first if he wants to. "You can as well. If that is what you want."

“I would regret it for a thousand years if I left now.” Pero shakes his head and steps into your house.

"Considering we may well live that long, I would hate for you to live with that feeling." You step in behind him and close the door, deciding to throw the lock closed because he is a warrior of many lifetimes and will be on high alert if the house isn't secure.

He hums in approval, sure that after so many years walking this earth you can protect yourself, but no one openly invites the bear into their home. He looks around, finding your private space to be an extension of the bakery you run. Warm and inviting, although he recognizes the antiques that must be collections from your past lives.

"Look around if you like." Shedding your bag and jacket, you don't mind that the space is a little untidy and obviously lived in. This new fascination with making a home look as if no one lives in it is maddening. "Would you like another drink?"

"I am good." He declines as he start to poke around shamelessly. Picking up trinkets and examining them. If he had been the Pero from years ago, he would thinking of stealing from you. Now, he just admires them before setting them back down as he learns more about you from what you keep in your home.

"Do you have a favorite?" As he shuffles through the shelves and collections of keepsakes from your past lives, you smile softly to actually be able to share them with someone who understands.

“Why did you keep this?” The flower is dried, encased in resin and obviously of some importance to you.

"Because I promised the little girl that gave it to me that I would keep it forever." You tell him honestly, stepping into the living room to gaze on the dried wildflower bud. "When the plague came through the village we were in, almost everyone died. She could not have been more than ten years old, but I promised her I would nurse her parents while they died, and she gave me a flower in thanks before her grandmother took her and they fled the village together. The flower was for my kindness, and I took the promise that I made to her very seriously."

“Hopefully the girl had a good life.” It was doubtful, times were hard back then, but it was the best he could hope for anyone.

“Hopefully.” Not having been able to find her later on, you could not say for sure. But she was a sweet little girl and you liked to imagine she found happiness of some sort or other as a woman.

“Your home is very cozy.” The word sounds rough on his tongue, but you don’t seem to mind his gruffness.

"I see no reason not to surround myself with things that bring me joy." You extend your hand, wondering if he will take it and how that will finally feel. You have wondered about his touch for more than a hundred years. "That includes people."

Pero stares at your hand for a moment, then he reaches out. The scars on the back of his hands have faded over the millennia, but he can still see each one. He watches his fingers touch your palm and slide over your skin.

In modern times, they talk about electricity between people. Between a couple coming together. But in the centuries past that spark of new passion was always what happened before an all-consuming fire. The calluses on both of your hands seem to slide over each other with ease, letting your fingers lace together and making your breath catch in a way it hasn't in centuries.

And all at once desire seems to banish every other thought from your mind.

His eyes widen slightly, feeling tug deep in his belly, lighting a hunger in his loins that has long been dormant. Even though he had told himself he would let you control the pace of the night; he is dragging you close. Already obsessed with the next step that you would take. A kiss.

It’s as if you fuse together instantly, that kiss being the mere byproduct of your union into one being. Arms wrap around each other as fiercely tongues entwine, the kiss already deepened into something hungry and exploratory as soon as your lips met.

Once he’s tasted you, Pero is ravenous. Growling as he slides his tongue against yours and holds the back of your head, tilting you like the heroine in a romance novel. The need pouring through him into the flick of his tongue against yours and the groans he is feeding into you.

Every inch of your body is alight with need, and while the fingers of one hand sink into his hair to tug sharply as much as to keep him near, your other hand explores. His frame is even broader than you expected, shoulders and arms thick with corded muscle. You are pliant under every demand of his kiss, returning his moans with enthusiasm even as you start to blindly feel what lies ahead for your pleasure.

He does not know your little house, but he is learning your body. Caressing you with large, sweeping passes over your body. Listening for when your moans intensify. Wanting to memorize what brings you pleasure.

The little cottage only has one floor, though, making it easy to navigate blindly. You could not tear yourself from his embrace now even if you desired it — but the only thing you desire is to bring him with you as you slowly pull your intertwined bodies toward your bedroom.

He lets you guide him. Shuffling with you as you start to pull away. Not wanting there to be any space between you, he follows. Trusting you more than he has anyone in hundreds of years.

Out if the living room, across a small hallway, and through the doorway into your bedroom, you keep hold firm hold of him. Of the countless lovers you have had over the course of your overly-long life, none have set a fire in you that could compare to what you’re feeling right now — and the shocking thought that a soulmate might exist somewhere in the world for you narrows itself into an almost inevitable reality.

He’s never felt like this. Not even when he was a wet behind the ears whelp tumbling into bed with his first whore. The craving he has for you has burrowed under his skin and his fingers reach for the tie to your dress to strip it off your body.

Your hands work just as fast and thoroughly, pulling his sweater over his head despite having to part from him to do so. If you never breathe another breath that did not come from his mouth first, you would live another thousand happy years.

Modern clothing is both a gift and a curse. A gift because there is less of it, a curse because it was easier to just throw a woman’s skirts up and sink into her if she was not wearing drawers. Panties now are alluring but so restrictive. His fingers dig under the band and he shreds them in his haste to rid your body of the barrier between you.

If you felt any sort of restraint whatsoever, you might be amused by his eagerness, but it matches your own. It matches how frustrated you are to have to tear through the shirt under his sweater just to get to bare skin, then the belt and sticky zipper on his trousers to get to what you're craving. His cock is hard as stone – as desperately hard as you are wet – and you moan with a measure of uninhibited relief when you slip your hand inside his pants to discover he isn't wearing any sort of underwear. One less layer to have to tear off of him.

He would chuckle if he could breathe, but that is beyond him right now. Groaning when your fingers wrap around him, he bucks his hips forward and only takes his hands off you to strip down his pants and kick them off with his shoes.

Your bra is the last thing tossed aside, and you sigh into the feeling of his calloused hands kneading your flesh. He has made no mistake about appreciating a woman with curves, and in this moment you have never been more grateful for them. Any additional patch of skin for him to touch is worth praising.

"Beautiful." He growls, cupping and squeezing your tits, appreciating the lushness of your curves and the way you fit into his hands. It's as if you were created to slot into him perfectly.

“Enough to keep your hands full?” You huff a breathy laugh, already knowing the answer.

“You could be a little plumper.” Pero snorts, never denying a thicker figure is sexy. Back when he was younger; that meant you were well fed.

You grin, laughing with him, and tug him toward your bed without shame. “Then it is a good thing I am a baker.”

“Does that mean your cunt is sweet?” He teases, reaching out to brace his arms so he doesn’t collapse on you when you both fall into the bed. “Tastes like honey?”

“You’ll have to tell me.” The blankets are pushed aside immediately, letting you both tumble onto the mattress eagerly. “For the sake of your sweet tooth, I hope so.”

He flashes a predatory grin, eyes dark and full of mischief as he bites your chin. "Then let me have a taste."

"As much as you like," you assure him, sliding back to lie down amongst your pillows. "Until we are both satisfied."

He hums and attacks your mouth again, intoxicated by the taste of your lips and sure that the rest of you is equally addicting.

Every inch of you is plied with those hungry kisses. From your lips and jaw down the length of your neck, paying tribute at the temple of your breasts and growling into the soft flesh of your belly as he makes his way down. No detail is spared his voracious attention. No scar missed. No stretch mark unadored.

You are exquisite. A map of time, of experience. Random scars that have faded to non-existence. A lesser man wouldn’t even notice them, except Pero wears the same faded marks on his body. His tongue and teeth worship them until he has bitten each of your thighs and his shoulders are wedged between them, inhaling the musky, tangy scent of your sex like it’s a stimulant.

"I will go and get the honey jar if it will get your tongue inside me faster," you gripe, smirking at him even as your thighs bracket his head and his breath wafts over your cunt.

“Impatient witch.” Pero huffs, frowning so he doesn’t laugh. But he takes your lead and buries his tongue deep inside your walls, his prominent nose pressed against your clit.

"I will not apologize," you groan, sinking further into your mattress with a keening sound of bliss as he dives in with enthusiasm.

He wouldn’t expect you to. You are too brash for untruths. You are impatient and he groans into your folds as he sets about learning what makes your thighs quiver about his ears. It’s been years since he’s eaten a cunt with this much enthusiasm and he wants to prove that he can make you squeal.

Your fingers find his curls, tangling in the long strands and encouraging him to seek the deepest parts of you. It bows your back and makes your skin tingle, and you anchor yourself to him as he begins to build you up in pleasure right away. Every stroke of his tongue is magic, and you have experienced enough magic in your life to know that sensation deeply.

You respond so beautifully to him. Synchronizing your moans to the flick of his tongue or the nudge of his nose. Urging him on with breathless chants of pleasure that have him aching against the sheets he is grinding down against.

The pleasure is almost blinding, taking over all of your senses so that you forget everything in the world beyond him. His name is the only one one your lips, barely joined by breathless praises. A thousand lifetimes of practice have made him a skilled lover and you are glad to reap those rewards tonight.

You melt into him. Your cunt is better than honey but he laps at you continuously. Sampling the sweet nectar and pulling the gorgeous sounds out of you with a glee that is bordering on smug.

Time is as liquid as your body by the time you fall apart for him. All you know is that your world has narrowed to the man between your legs and that this is what you want more than anything in the world. You sob his name as he drinks down your release, fingers twisted both in his hair and in the bedsheets. The unapologetic ringing of bliss through the walls of your house seem to reverberate back to you, as if knowing that this pleasure should not be shared with anyone else.

Watching you shake apart is a privilege. One that he is determined to have. Again he curls his tongue around your clit to help you extend the fluttering of your walls. Obsessed with the way that you sob his name.

A satisfied sigh passes your lips when you can finally breathe again, and you open your eyes to find him staring hungrily up at you with his cheek resting on your thigh.

“Did I satisfy you?” He’s smug, because he knows he did, but he wants to hear you say it.

"Better than I expected you to," you promise him, not at all upset with how satisfied with himself he looks. He should be that satisfied. You certainly are. But you still shoot a grin back at him. "Now do it again. With your cock this time."

He snorts, taking the backhanded compliment and he leans in to nip your hip and starting to untangle his shoulders from your legs to crawl up your body.

"You wouldn't like a girl who fawned over you." That part of his personality is abundantly clear. Praise is good, but honest praise. Not when it is empty. "But I knew from the way you devoured me with your eyes at dinner that you could do it with your mouth, too."

He grunts, placated by your answer and his lips find yours again as he slides into your arms and wraps his arms around your back.

You’ll take the kiss as confirmation. As an agreement that you have learned him well in a very small space of time. And that is all you need to deliver the measure of passion back to him twofold.

You fit together so naturally. So easily. His body slots against yours with no discomfort, no need to adjust. His cock is pressed against your entrance and all he has to do is push forward to sink into you.

Gasping in unison, the sharp intake of breath turns to a shared, shuddering moan as he pushes inside you. Your arms wrap tight around him just as his hold you close, and the seemingly endless moment of just being joined is better than you ever remember feeling with any man before.

It’s not that it has been so long since Pero has filled a woman that has him groaning your name. It’s how perfect you feel. Transcending beyond physical into something almost primal, like you are his.

One long, breathless moment of amusement is needed before you search out his lips again, nipping the lower one and squeezing your cunt around his cock to spur him into moving. This blissful elation has mountains to climb before the night is over.

He grunts, twitching inside you because of your boldness. He likes a feisty woman, especially in bed. One that demands that her needs be met and met well. He pushes even deeper before he is dragging his cock back out, making sure that your walls feel him retreating to anticipate the next commanding thrust.

The rhythm you build together is damn near athletic with the amount of push and pull you give. Not quite right but all the way to the edge of wondering whether your creaking bed will give out before you decide you don’t care. He would be worth the collapsed furniture, this rough-hewn warrior with his heart of golden softness. And you wonder, in between moaning his name into the darkness, whether anyone has ever told him that before.

The mattress undeath you doesn't give him the leverage that he wants, that he needs to snap his hips forward and pull another beautiful cry from those lips of yours. Obsessed with how you take every demanding thrust and still seek more, he reaches up and grabs the headboard for better purchase. Growling your name while he rocks into you. "Fuck, you are perfect, bruja, taking my cock and begging for more. I'll give you everything you want and more." He pants, almost breathless, but determined to keep the brutal pace up. He had fought in hand to hand combat for hours, he can make you cum before he collapses in exhaustion.

Some lovers are sensuous, some are tender, some are eager or greedy. Pero matches the way you feel in this moment — the unbridled surety of what your want and need and crave — without question and with great enthusiasm. He is as hungry for a partner to be unrestrained with as you are. To find someone with whom you can remove your mask. The wet noise of slapping hips and growling of praise fills your senses like a drug and all you can think is how you want more.

Every thrust feels like he’s going to impale you. Hurt you. Your legs wrapped around his waist feel like they are the only thing keeping him from fucking up into your throat and still you cry for him. It’s the most beautiful, greedy sounds he’s ever heard and he wants more of them ringing in his ears. His lips kiss and his teeth bite along your neck, your jaw while he huffs and puffs, grunting his own pleasure into your skin.

Too much, not enough, absolutely perfect, overwhelming, and yet the most unbridled you’ve ever felt. It is everything. The first time you come apart for him it is like the explosion that heralds the beginning of a new world, tearing you apart from the inside out but only granting you a new and vital life force. Pero ends up on his back beneath you, trading places so that he can watch you ride him with greedy eyes and explore your body with calloused hands as you take more pleasure from him.

You are a witch. You’ve bewitched him. In awe of the sight of you, tits bouncing, head thrown back, you ride him like you are riding a horse across the desert. Every time you slam back down in his cock, his toes curls and his body lurches in pleasure under you. Hands filling with every inch of your flesh he can possess, growling and moaning like he is in pain, but it is pure pleasure bleeding those sounds from him.

It’s sunrise before you’re done with each other, collapsing into a pile of satisfied bodies and damp sheets. One of the best fringe benefits of immortality is the stamina and you fully abused that tonight.

“You have to work?” He asks, panting as he runs his hand down your sweaty spine and smirking tiredly when you shiver in response.

“I’m closed today.” You chuckle, breathy and light, deciding that taking a single day off from running the bakery won’t make a difference to the village. “There are more fun things to do at home.”

He chuckles. “Sí? Like what, bruja? Casting more spells over me?”

“Sí.” Laughing together, you hold him a little tighter, as though a whisper told you he might slip away. “Claro. Of course I will.”

He hums after a moment. “I have never felt that strongly before.” He admits after letting the silence settle between you and your breaths have slowed down. “That connected. Did you feel it too?”

“I did.” A small smile quirks at the corner of your lips. “I do feel it. Perhaps it is as they say.”

“Soulmates?” His eyes widen when he puts it together and his fingers twitch against the curve of your ass where he had been idly caressing. “You believe that is what we are?”

“Perhaps.” Your lips find his, brushing a reassuring kiss there while you still smile. “There is only one way to be certain.”

“How?” He kisses you back before he frowns slightly.

“Sleep, hermoso.” When he looks surprised you only laugh sweetly. “Sleep. And your bruja will cast into the shadows after some rest.”

“As long as you sleep with me.” Pero grunts, pulling you close again and closing his eyes even as the room becomes brighter with the coming day.

******

The sound of the cock crowing penetrates Pero’s sleep, making him grunt and curl around you a bit more as if to protect you from the coming day. “Too early.” He grumbles, although he knows that you must wake, pressing his lips to the warm skin of your neck where his face has been buried through the night.

“Ignore it.” You grumble back, shifting backward in a sleepy shuffle to burrow closer to him under the heavy wool blanket. You’ve only half woken up but you don’t want to leave this bed.

He grunts in agreement, holding you tight and his cock twitches when you press your ass against his crotch.

“Ready for more already, mi caballero?” Not that you’re surprised — you’re ready for him again too. You dreamt about it.

“Sí.” He growls quietly. “Your cunt is too good not to be craving every chance I get.”

"One night and you are already addicted?" You chuckle from somewhere low in your chest and roll over to face him, only to sit straight up in bed when you finally open your eyes.

Pero frowns slightly, feeling the rush of cool air when you pull the warmth of your body and the covers away from him. "Lay down."

"Pero." With your eyes darting around the room, you start to twist and look in every direction, turning a little more frantic with every change of direction. "Pero, look!"

He grunts, opening an eye cautiously and then he is opening the other, sitting up in the bed with a frown. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Flanders.” You practically gasp out the word, looking around in shock. “In a cottage on the river outside Gent…” Practically springing from the bed, you reach for the nearest blanket to wrap around yourself and go to the window.

The garden and meadow behind your little cottage look brighter and sweeter than you remember, but very much the same. It has been hundreds of years since you lived in the Flemish countryside yet here you are.

Swallowing a sharp gasp, you turn back from the color-stained glass window. “When do you say you were from?” You demand. “Originally, I mean?”

Pero frowns as he follows you, not bothering to find his breeches and he looks out the wavy glass. You must have been very well established to have glass. He tells you the year. “Why?”

You swallow thickly, disbelief coloring your features and all you can do is choke out a laugh. “Pero, look around you. We were in an entirely different cottage when we fell asleep.”

“I can see that.” He huffs. “I’m asking why you wanted to know what years I was originally walking through life.”

“Because…” You can feel your heartbeat pounding, adrenaline beating in your veins. “Because in your first walk of this earth, I was living here.”

He frowns, brow pinching together in thought. “Where are we?” He demands, thinking back to that time.

“Flanders. The country. I was already baking then…there is a tavern down the road where I made bread and cooked suppers and helped keep guests.” The awe and confusion on your face are so deeply etched into your skin that it feels like they go all the way into your bones. “For two immortals we should not be so cods walloped by the notion of time travel.”

“Because I have never woken up in a time different from which I fell asleep.” He reasons. “I was supposed to travel to Flanders.” He whispers. “After I left the wall. That was mine and Garin’s plan.”

“You were?” You wrap the blanket around yourself a little more tightly at this surprising news, as if it might bring on more unknown magic.

“Sí.” He frowns as he peers out the window at the sleepy little scene in front of him. It’s almost jarring, how quiet this time actually was. There is none of the low frequency noises that he had grown used to hearing in the modern world.

“I wonder…”

“Wonder?” He turns back to you, watching you as you contemplate this newest development in your lives. “What are you thinking, cariño?”

The term of endearment does not escape you, but rather it almost seems to confirm the thought that has cropped up in your mind. “I wonder if there is something in soulmates…being people who were supposed to meet?”

Pero, despite his humble beginnings at this time in history, is not stupid and he understands what you are saying. “So we have been brought back to the time we were supposed to meet and understand our connection?” He theorizes and looks around the cottage again. “You were unwed at this time?”

He has followed your train of thought exactly and you nod. “I was. When I came to this village, I presented myself as a widow. There was more freedom in it.”

“And I was to come and spend the winter here.” Pero muses. “A sexy widow would have been a very appealing way to spend the winter.”

"I would have welcomed you." He is as to your taste after hundreds of years as he would have been then, and you would have let him into your bed without hesitation. "We would have kept very warm that winter."

He chuckles and leans over, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. "Overheated." He promises. "Do you think we are here to stay?" He asks.

"It seems likely." Though you do frown, trying to think through the logistics in your mind. "We could travel. Make our way east. You could see your friend again."

"Does-- does this mean we are no longer immortal?" Pero asks, looking down at his hands and body. "Or does this mean we live these times again together?"

"I don't know." You murmur softly, placing your hands over his and gently squeezing. "But we will find out. Together."

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[luna0713hunter]

Pulling your lover in by the collar and passionate kissing, pressed up against a wall with Shanks please? Established relationship please!

"Pulling your lover in by the collar"

"Passionate kissing"

"Pressed up against the wall"

Based on this prompt

Warnings : kinda suggestive,age gap relationship, established relationship,heated makeout,lots of pet names as usual

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

Having time alone with Shanks,to say was rare was an understatement.

You never could catch the man alone.

As the captain, Shanks was always needed somewhere; whether he was fighting with other pirates,or helping around,he was never alone.

So as Shanks pulls you in his empty office and shuts the door,and motions for you to keep quiet,you cant help the giddy feeling that spreads inside.

"Finally can have some alone time with my princess," he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his chest while he buries his nose in your hair;the scent calming his nerves, "dont get me wrong,i love my crew. But they dont know a damn thing about privacy."

You giggle and rest your chin on his chest to look up at him with a grin.

"so," your fingers trace his sharp jawline,then his adam's apple, "now that we're all alone,whats your plan?"

Shanks merely smiles in response before suddenly he pushes you against the wooden wall. His right arm rests above your head as he lowers his and leans forward so that his breath is on your ear. The sensation of it has you shivering.

"i plan lots and lots of things,darling. After all,its quite hard to hold myself back around you."

Your smile melts into something lovesick as you grip his collar and pull him closer.

"well,what are you waiting for, Captain?"

The words are barely out of your mouth before Shanks pressing his lips against yours. And gods,kissing Shanks never gets old.

Shanks is a gentle kisser;he never rushes you or pushes you too far. He always lets you pick the pace you're comfortable with and he goes along willingly. So when you nip at his lower lip and look at him with half lidded eyes,Shanks gets the message.

One minutes he's kissing you gently,and the next he's pushing you further to the wall and while pressing his chest to yours. The kiss turns heated so fast it gives you a whiplash as you try to keep up with your Captain's speed. Shanks sure wasn't kidding about holding himself back; judging by how he pressed himself against yours completely,he was trying hard to not spook you before that.

So you wrap your arms around his neck,and pull him down more; letting him move as he pleases and you willingly following.

You were loving every second of it.

Soft Shanks was your favorite,but passionate Shanks?

You could never get enough of it.

When Shanks pulls away you let out a loud breath;trying to regulate your breathing once again. He rests his forehead against your while his own breathing is slightly out of rhythm.

"you alright,baby girl?"

You nod hurriedly and when he smiles,you tug at his collar again.

"more."

"oh my love," you murmurs against your lips, "if only others knew you had the Captain wrapped around your finger."

You let out a breathy giggle,and then his lips are on yours once again.

If only others knew how you'd give up your whole life,just for your Captain.

[hom3landr]

homelander + bear hugs? 🥹

Apple Pie

A short interlude between Homelander and his favorite baker.

1 2 3

Homelander fights the urge to throttle Ashley as she follows behind him like an anxious chihuahua, yapping some nonsense about some Gala he’s contracted to show up to this evening. He can’t even remember what it’s for, just that it's more of Vought sucking its own dick while he endures hours of buttering up senators and shooting bright smiles at the ever present cameras. He’d been excited at first because he thought you might be there. He could just escape to whatever sad corner you would be working in if it all got to be too much. Except you won’t be there because someone approved your request for time off. He shoots Ashley a sideways glare.

The leather of his gloves creak as he clenches his fist. You won’t be back to work again until Monday and it is still only Friday. You’ve already been gone since last Monday. It’s driving him insane. The two of you don’t even get the chance to talk everyday normally but knowing that you won’t be there if he needs you… It makes him feel itchy and out of sorts. He misses you.

He’s so close to snapping as Ashley prattles on but the rapid sound of running footsteps has his brow wrinkling. His heart flutters in his chest as a familiar scent wafts through the hallway. It can’t be…

He turns.

Eager arms wrap around his neck, warm and soft and so so so incredibly close.

He doesn’t notice Ashley scurry off out of sight. He doesn’t notice much of anything other than you. He’s vaguely aware that he’s in a public hallway and that anyone could turn the corner and witness this. He frankly doesn’t give a shit.

He’s never been this close to you before. He can see every freckle, every pore, every imperfection and blemish. He doesn’t concern himself with any of that. As far as he is concerned, you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. He’s holding you tight around the waist, your legs dangling, heartbeat pressed against his. Your chapstick smells like warm apple pie.

It’s like he manifested you from thin air by sheer wanting. Perfect. Soft. You.

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you beam at him. He spins you around just so he can hear you giggle. He’s pathetic. He’s pathetic and whipped and fuck…He can’t fucking think when you look at him like that.

“Surprise!” You grin.

“It certainly is.” His answering smile is blinding.

He commits every inch of you to memory. You’re not wearing your typical work clothes, instead you’re in shorts and a top with straps so thin that it wouldn’t take any effort for him to grab one and tug it apart. The previously hidden expanse of deliciously smelling skin has his mouth watering.

He should put you down. He should.

But you aren’t pulling away or wiggling around. You seem perfectly content to be held in his arms, fingers shyly brushing the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know why you’re back early. He doesn’t care.

“I wanted to bring you something from my trip.” You respond shyly.

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” He winks and there it is. He’s flustered you. He loves flustering you.

He feels himself beginning to harden in his suit and it takes a second to realize that you’re pressed so closely that it won’t be long before you’ll be feeling it too. It’s so tempting to stay just like this. He wants you to feel what you do to him. He needs you to know that he wants you too.

But the timing and setting isn’t right. So with a burdened sigh, he lets you go. He laments the loss of you against him. So he reaches out to lay a steadying hand on your shoulder, although he handled you so carefully that you felt no jostling at all. The contrast between the crimson of his glove and your soft skin only serves to fuel the fire burning inside him. His suit is becoming uncomfortably tight but he’ll have to take care of that later.

“So I went back and visited my home town. Every year they have this HUGE baking contest. I’d always wanted to do it but I never had the confidence,” Your words are spilling out like water from a jug. You’re talking way too fast but you’re too cute for him to interrupt, especially when your hands start getting involved too as you gesture. “Well this time I did it! I entered my chocolate cake recipe, the one you helped me with. Guess what!!!”

You pull something out of your back pocket and happily show it off. You’re bouncing on your heels as his eyebrows wrinkle in slight confusion. You’re holding out a cheap blue ribbon. The fabric is polyester and one of the tails is already starting to fray. The plaque is flimsy plastic with a bold #1 printed on it. But you’re looking at it as though it was made of silk and gold. You gesture for him to take it and he does, regretfully removing his hand from you.

“I couldn’t have done it without you! So I wanted you to have the ribbon. Since we both kinda won it. I don’t want to take all the credit.” You beamed.

You… You came all the way back to the Tower when you still had time off to give him a shitty ribbon? He appreciates the gesture even while he looks at it with barely veiled disdain. What he really enjoys is your words. They were absolutely correct of course. Your old recipe was a stinker. He doubted you’d have even gotten an honorable mention without his impeccable palate helping you. But the real gift you brought him wasn’t the ugly ribbon. He’d just wanted to see you.

It wasn’t until later, after you’d had to leave, that he truly appreciated the ugly little ribbon. He ran it through his fingers as he lay naked in bed. It was cheap but it meant something.

We both won it.

He sits straight up as a realization hits him. He remembers painfully that stupid fake house they’d made for his fake childhood. How his bedroom had been so infuriatingly “perfect.” He remembered how much it hurt to talk about all the trophies he’d won. Well…

He looks down at the ribbon in his hands. It looked exactly like that fake shit they’d put in his room. Except this was real. He’d won this. You’d told him so. It was his, ugly as it was.

He clears off the table next to his bed, just to make a little spot for his new trophy.

#1

Yeah he fucking was.

[bamfaholic]

From Eden to Sit at Your Door | Part 2 |

Kurt Wagner x Reader | 2.1k words

A/N: Not my favorite chapter so far, debating on going back and editing. Slightly proof read

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You can also follow this piece and read my other works on my AO3!

You awoke on your beaten down couch in your flat. Your head pounds and swims at the same time. You try to scrape your mind for any fragments of what happened before. This is the worst hangover ever.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, and a tan trench coat slumps down into your lap. The scent of scorched embers assaults your nose, making your neurons fire off. The fuzzy memory of a blue man, quite literally, leaving you on a rooftop comes to mind. His hands rummaging your wallet. How chilly it felt…

You shiver as you throw your legs over, setting the coat down beside you. You begin to slowly get to your feet but notice something in its pocket. You pull it out, running the cool, smooth beads through your fingers. It’s a rosary, and a beautiful one at that. Made of what seems to be genuine mineral rocks and rose beads. The sculpted crucifixion of Christ has gold painting the edges, but it’s clearly worn down through touch.

You chew the inside of your cheek. Things are growing curiouser and curiouser. You place it back down on the coat and shamble off into your kitchen. You bend down, gathering your kettle from the cabinet, but freeze. You hear the soft, airy breathing of someone else. It’s faint, but there.

You grit your teeth, close your eyes as you take a deep breath and rise. You go on with your little task, filling the kettle with water. The breathing is still there, so at least you’re not hallucinating it. The kitchen is dark, and you blink as you read the clock as 2 a.m. What the hell happened to you? You would, normally, flick on the lights to make it much easier to see, but that could tip off whoever is here. Luckily, you could navigate your flat with your eyes closed.

Once the kettle was full, you whip around. In one fluid movement, you throw nearly the entirety of its contents out in front of you.

Out comes a yelp, and you look to see two yellow lights, beaming at you. “Friend!” He huffs, hair drenched. “What was that for?” He jumps off the top of your fridge, approaching you with his palms visible to ease you.

“Kurt?” You cock your head to the side and place the kettle down. “What are you doing here? Why on top of my fridge?” That alarmed you most, instead of, perhaps, the fact he seemingly broke into your home.

Water dribbles and drips down your fridge, creating a puddle on the linoleum. “I was taking care of you, friend.” He sighs, grabbing a small dish towel to try and get the loose water out of his hair and off his clothes. “It is not a wash day.” He grumbles to himself. He shakes out his limbs, like a dog, before offering a toothy smile. “I was worried, friend.”

“Worried?” You wince, the headache ebbing in intensity. You hold your temple. “What for?” Your patience at your own inability to remember is diminishing. “I just… I remember having tea and then…”

“And then?” He repeats, his tail flicking to your table, wrapping around an apple and bringing it forth to his mouth. He takes a bite. “You don’t remember the rooftops? The police?” He asks, chunks of apple in his maw.

You shake your head, laughing even. He must be insane. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then, you stare. You stare at him, like before, inching closer to truly get his details. You get a sense of Déjà vu, realizing this man is blue and does have a tail. What?!

He rips another bite from the apple’s flesh. “Oh dear, well then I must enlighten you.” He reaches into a pocket, pulling out what looks like a long slender tube that comes to a needle-point. There’s English inscribed on the side. “Do you remember this?”

You narrow your eyes, your gut telling you it’s familiar. “A… A little.”

“It’s a mutant tranquilizer, friend.” He begins, lackadaisically tossing it in the air, like a toy. “It only works on mutants. It feels freezing cold, like… Drenched in water.” His eyes dart to the empty kettle before letting out a hearty chuckle. Your cheeks flush pink. “You were hit, in the liver. I had to leave you at a bell tower, for which I am greatly sorry, but it was necessary.”

His summary is jogging your memory. The events of a few hours prior begin to bleed into your mind. “R-Right.” Adrenaline starts to pump through you again. The panic of the chase, the shot, everything comes crashing into you at once.

“I had to do some digging. I found your address by your ID, but I am no fool. They don’t call me The Great Nightcrawler for nothing.” He offers you a wink and a smile. It eases you a smidge. “I scouted out the area, ensuring you would be safe, and then brought you here. You’ve slept off the drug.”

“Is it completely out of my system?” You lean back, resting your palms on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Absolutely, my friend, I assure you.” He grins wider. “You don’t need to fret, there is no side effects. And even if there is, I have a barrel of antidotes.”

You tumble his words in your head, trying to make sense of it all. “Wait… You said it was mutant tranquilizer. Does it work on humans?”

He shakes his head, “No, it does not. Something in its makeup has it target those with the activated X gene.”

“But… Then that means…” You shake your head, your world, your perception, shattering and crumbling before your very eyes. “I’m not a mutant.” You’re adamant, but an anxious laugh slips out. “I’m just blind, that’s it. That’s it!”

Kurt steps closer, gently taking your hands in his. The warmth is comforting, the touch is alien. Your cheeks burn a little hotter, your breathing hastening. His two fingers are an odd sensation, expecting the normal five, but you hold on nonetheless. “Friend, dear, do you remember sitting at the table with me? You were able to hear the police blocks down from us, and through the chatter of the crowds. That is not… ‘Normal.’”

You nervously rub circles into his one knuckle, chewing your cheek to the point you taste iron. “But, I-“ You scramble to build some defense, some excuse. “I don’t-“ You have to admit it. “I didn’t know it was… Inhuman.” You lower your head, glancing away. You stare at the grout of your kitchen  tiles, focusing on the pathways and intersections to calm yourself. “I never… I never noticed it being strange to others. I always chalked it up to the idea of missing one sense heightens the others.”

“Friend, you were able to notice me. You, who lacks sight, noticed me. Even the best of the best struggle to find me in the dark.” His smile is sweet, sweeter than any cup of tea you’ve had. “You are just like me.”

His words dance in your head, your heart flutters. Like him? You are a mutant? As a child you played with the idea, as many did. Due to the delay in expressing the X gene, commonly in puberty or under great duress, children of all ages played with the idea of becoming the next superhero. Even you.  

But now that it was staring you dead in the face, you wish you could take it all back.

You swallow, opening your mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. Kurt offers a squeeze. “It’s alright, it’s okay to be scared.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I was too, you know.”

That has you snort. “You? Scared?”

He nods. “Yes, I was. I was scared when the X-Men came to my door, seeking me out. I thank God they came for me.”

Wait. Hold on. The X-Men? “The X-Men? Kurt, you don’t mean to say-“

“Aye.” He puffs out his chest, grinning. “I am not only The Great Nightcrawler but I am an X-Man!” His nose crinkles, smile lines framing his eyes. “In truth, I was here to find a mutant, but it seems another stole my attention.” His tail gently places the half-eaten apple on the table, the spade-shaped tip gently pushing under your chin, having you meet his gaze.

You absolutely burn up, forgetting to breathe for a moment. “What now?” You barely whisper, your words wobbling. You completely give away that you are out of your element.

“Now…” He clicks his tongue, tail whipping behind him. If he wasn’t so… Demon-esque, you’d swear he’d be part dog. “Now I ensure your safety and see if Charles would like to meet you.” He glances back to your living room before resuming his sights on you.

“Charles?” You inquire. “Who is that?”

“The man who saved me.” A fang peeks out from his lips in his smile. “A smart, kind, honest man. But for now, you should rest. You are still recovering.”

Kurt doesn’t allow you much protest, bringing you back to the couch, forcing you to lay down.

“Could I have a blanket, at least?” You meekly ask, you didn’t want to seem rude with rejecting his coat.

“Ah, of course!” His tail flicks more.

You guide him to getting you a quilt, and he gently tucks you in. He gets you everything you could need, being as polite as a saint. He does teleport the few feet, back and forth, which you find amusing. Why not take the few steps?

“Now, you are all set to rest.” He grins, taking his position on a chair across from the couch. He crouches down, resting his weight on the balls of his feet.

“What about you? Aren’t you tired?” You look him up and down, only seeing his silhouette with the darkness and your impaired vision. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“No, no.” You can even hear his smile. “I quite like sitting like this. Besides, I need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” You muse. “Prepared for wha-“

God really has a sense of humor. You were far too focused on the fuzzy man to notice the rumbling of armored trucks, the slams of metal doors outside your apartment building. As if this was scripted, the windows to your flat shatter. In an instant, Kurt is on top of you, reeking of Brimstone. He shields you from the shards with his back.

“For this!” He shouts over the booming noise of boots and shouts of commands. Grapple hooks sink into the lip of your windowsills, a whirring noise following. Men armed to the teeth begin pouring into the tiny apartment.

Kurt whips around, and you see shards of glass lodged in his back, primarily near his shoulder blades. Deep indigo weeps from the wounds and begins to stain his clothes. He pulls out two long swords, thin and nimble. You find it insane you never noticed them before, but it has been dark.

He’s fluid, like a dance, as he cuts down the men. He teleports around the room, using the walls and ceiling as leverage, much to his advantage. Blood seeps into your carpet. With a large chunk of men rendered dead on the floor, and Kurt properly out of breath, he heads for you next.

He hooks an arm around you. You realize now, you were too stunned to do anything. You haven’t even uttered a word. You begin to, but Kurt beats you to it. “Hold on!”

Oh god. Here we go…

Nausea hits you in your gut as you’re hurled through space. Rooftop to rooftop you go, thrown over Kurt’s shoulder. You keep your focus on the glass. It must hurt, you wonder, but know better than to touch or even try to pull out the debris. Yet, Kurt seems unaffected.

You both soar, soaking in the moonlight as the quiet city rests below. Kurt is huffing and puffing, his shoulders heaving, when you arrive at your destination. A church, a very old one at that. You recognize where you are, a rather historic district in Germany. These streets were once the ghettos of the Jews. What once was a temple, now stood a run-down Catholic church.

Kurt takes a few steps toward the front door, knocking with his knuckles. It echoes, with no response. His tail is practically dragging on the floor as he’s still struggling to catch his breath. Yet, he still has that trademark toothy grin as he turns to you.

“Welcome to my home.”

Keep up to date and read my other works here on my AO3.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[romaevelizz]

˖ ࣪⊹ She

K. BAKUGO x Fem!reader ˖ ࣪⊹

Sum: you mean everything to him.

Warnings: angst, Cursing reader is ment to have a water qurik(like katara from ATLAB).

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

He could look at you for hours, the way you helped the people around you. You were a kind nature that Katsuki didn’t mind, how your hands held him as you healed his wounds the liquid surrounding wounds.

Your smile was intoxicating his face always softening as you offered him a smile, how you said his name greeting him.

He remembers the first time you hugged him, right after the villain attack when he was kidnapped. He remembers the smell of your perfume the floral scent lingering on your body. Your arms wrapped around his neck so securely as if he was going to be taken from your grasp any second. The soft sounds of your worried cries and you spoke to him, his arms wrapping around you.

With you he was comfortable. With you he felt safe.

The sound of your laughter was alway his favorite, the way you threw you head back as you laughed the brightest of your smile becoming obnoxious. But he loved it. He loved that you laughed at the things he said and that you talked to him like a normal person. Not like he was someone helpless, egotistical, or even weak.

He’d never give up the chance to talk to you, your voice was so calming to his ears. The things you told him to never say a word he promised the two of your pinkies linking your lips and touching your hand as if it was to lock the secret forever as he did the same.

He thought he’d be okay if one day your started laughing with someone else, but he wasn’t. Especially when it was with him. When it was with Midoriya.

He heard less and less of your voice, the gorgeous sound of your laughter. He hated that Izuku was now the one that got to hear it. How that fucking nerd came in and took you from him.

It hurt, fuck it hurt so bad when you told him. “Izuku asked me out! Oh my god can you believe it kats!” You smiled enthusiastically, your hands covered your face as you squealed in excitement.

He could only sit there and smile as his heart broke. You weren’t going to be his forever. Just because he was too much of a pussy to tell you how he felt.

He sat on your bed as you tried in different outfits and you looked beautiful in every single one, the look of nervousness was displayed on your face as you rambled to him about how would end up doing something stupid and that Deku might never look at you again.

Taking a deep breath he stood up and approaching you, the smell of your perfume was the same it gave him a headache knowing that he would get to be this close to you.

Your eyes met his your body facing him slumped, “what if I mess it up Suki..” you mumbled.

His fans held your face making you look at him “You’re stupid if you think you’re gonna mess anything up, if anything it’s gonna be that nerd that dose. And he’s a fucking idiot if Deku doesn’t look at you, you’re gonna be fine y/n. You look amazing.” His words were sincere, his voice soft as he spoke to you.

You smiled, why do you do this to him? He wanted to cry, his arms wrapped around you as you hugged him his hold tightening. “Everything gonna work out for you.” He whispered.

Even with his heart heavy he could never let that get in the way of how your smile affected him, even with your hand interlinked with Midoriyas.

Now he waould admire you from afar, he’d have to listen about your new boyfriend. Because he was your best friend. Because even when you were next to him he couldn’t feel more far apart from you.

He knows that he’ll never be the only one to know you better, Izuku would. That you would tell your secrets to Izuku not him. That your smile and laughter would be because of Izuku, not him.

To him you smelle like lavender and rain, you tastes like coffee and apples. Now he would see the two of you together in Polaroid pictures you have together that were hung on his wall with other pictures and posters.

To him you mean everything to him.

Yes you mean the fucking world to Him Katsuki Bakugo. And if you ever needed him again he would be right there for you because you were all he wanted.

[bokettochild]

Solitary for the DVD commentary

I pulled out this section but really any of it

Warriors doesn’t wait for his brother to close the distance, instead catching that hesitant hand and squeezing. Legend squeezes back, and then, face twitching with something dangerously close to worry, the youngster darts in, wrapping arms around him for a moment, shoulders tight and face still furrowed in a frown. “You’re going to be alright, cap, I promise. We got you out.”

In the moment though, out isn’t his concern. No, the living, breathing form of a brother, cast in faint and flickering light in the dingy cell, smelling like forests and blood and yet somehow still carrying the scent of fresh apples, is right here in front of him. Here where he can hear another breath, hear a voice, see someone else, someone who’s talking and sees him and-

He doesn’t care if desperation bleeds through his motions as he catches ahold of his brother, but he holds tight until Legend shifts away, and even than he’s hesitant to let go. It’s not missed, but the younger hero doesn’t tease, instead staring at him with one of those long, hard to read, considering looks, before stretching out a bejeweled hand. He takes it without question, letting himself be pulled to his feet and guided towards the door.

He doesn't release the vet’s hand, focused on it on his skin and the sound of the soft voice caressing his ears. Legend keeps his voice low, as though he knows somehow that noise has become foreign, but he keeps talking as he guides the both of them through the dungeons with the same sort of blind confidence as he takes when leading the way through a time gate. “Her highness signed a pardon the moment we told her what happened, so you’re free. We’re getting you a bath and a meal before we join the others, and whether you like it or not you and I are sleeping somewhere before heading back.”

He’s very much not objecting to that idea.

The vet pushes on as though he does. “It doesn’t have to be here. All things considered I’d be shocked if you wanted to spend more time here then you have to. I mean you look like the First Hero himself, danggit, but I’m not getting back on the road without a sleep, and quite frankly I’m not keen on running all the way back to Hyrule Castle again today.”

Oh golly, this was probably one of my favorite fics from the Febuwhump this year!

Legend and Warriors, if you can't already tell based off my library of stories, are two of my favorites to have interact, and there are a million different combinations one can have them in!

For this fic, I was craving some Warriors hurt comfort with Legend being the comforter, which is something I don't write as often as I should, but thoroughly enjoy it when I do.

In this bit specifically, Warriors has been locked up for an unspecified (to him) amount of time and has steadily been working himself up into a state of panic that 1) the other heroes are in danger and he can't help them and 2) if something does happen to them, he might never get out of prison. The longer time goes on, the more he's convinced of this, and that is not helped by the fact that he has been denied even the smallest of human interactions for the entire time.

Now, with that in mind, present him with a brother he trusts, one who he messes with all the time, yes, but also someone who is his equal as far as he's concerned; not a child or someone to guide or train up. Legend is his friend, and suddenly he's right there, alive where Warriors was beginning to fear they had all died, and, well, of course e reacts in desperation!

Legend, meanwhile, is very familiar with dungeons of both sorts He knows what it's like to save someone out of there, and maybe I'm drawing a bit on the manga, but Fable surely struggled at least somewhat with having been locked up and kept prisoner for as long as it took for her to get help to arrive. Legend knows, also, what it's like to be trapped in a dark place for a long time, away from friends or anything remotely safe.

This is why he approaches as he does directly before your selection:

  That doesn’t stop the younger making his way over to him, surprisingly slow with his motions, like Twilight when the man approaches a strange cat, crouching low and reaching out slowly, watching him closely and listening for anything to give concern. 

Legend has no clue what happened while they were gone, but he is prepared for the worst case scenario: a Warriors who doubts ad distrusts him after getting left behind, a man who may have been fed lies or tortured or hurt- keep in mind, Legend doesn't trust his own soldiers, who he knows; the captain's are a bigger threat to him, and thus also to his brothers.

So, he's slow, he's quiet, but not silent. He's making his presence known, obvious, not sneaking up on the captain, but also not making a lot of noise in case it sets him off. The fact that Warriors responds favorably at first is in no ways something Legend takes to mean all is well (and he's right), so he continues being careful. he respects the boundaries the captain silently (and unconsciously) is setting by respecting what space is needed, and while, for Warriors, that space equals none at all, Legend still goes with it.

On the flip side though, warriors is desperate for the assurance that 1) he's not alone any longer and 2) his brothers are safe. Legend's presence is a duel blessing because if Legend is there that means he's alive, but it also means the captain isn't alone any longer, and there's a part of him that's desperate to assure himself that that is the case. So, he's clingy.

I mentioned previously in the fic that Wars has bad sensory feedback, being partially deaf due to explosions in the war, nerve damage, and, like most humanoid species, a rather pathetic sense of smell in comparison to, say, Wolfie. Sight is his main source of information, so keeping his eyes on Legend is important, but he still grounds himself with his other senses. What does Legend smell like? What does he feel when he holds him close? What is he hearing?

The hug is because Legend is also scared for his brother, so yeah, he both knows that Warriors probably needs comfort (he's not kidding when he says that he looks like shit) but also that he really wants that assurance for himself as well. So, he hugs him. And Warriors hugs back. And when they leave the dungeon, they hold hands because they both want that assurance that the other is there, and safe, and alive.

With prior experience though, Legend makes a point of keeping up with the captain's other senses in the best way he can; talking. he's carefully controlling his voice because he can tell loud noises are a bother, and he lets Warriors set their pace even though he leads the way (the first one if they run into danger, the one who will protect the captian if something goes wrong).

What does he talk about though? He answers the questions that he would have had, but also sets a course of action for what happens now, making a point to let Warriors know whats happening to him now, but also giving him a chance to make some choices for himself, to exercise freedom and have his choices respected. Legend knows those are important after you come out of a situation where you have no control at all, so he's giving that courtesy, but also prioritizing Warriors' health and their joint safety.

The last paragraph there was more for me though. I wanted to show Legend's desperation in that he ran back, on his own, in order to fix this as soon as possible. I also wanted to touch on just how messed up by all this Warriors really is; the first hero was emaciated and essentially a walking corpse, so legend making that comparison is an observation on how thin, bedraggled and lifeless the captain looks coming out of the cell. Granted, he's sort of being overly dramatic, but it's Legend; that's what he does.

-

Anyways, that's that! I hope I covered everything you wanted to know! This whole fic was actually greatly inspired by an episode I watched of Law and Order: SVU, which had touched on solitary confinement, how it essentially prolongs jail sentences in the minds of the prisoner experiencing it, and how even the slightest hint of human interaction is hungered for, even if it's just catching sight of your guard. Don't ask me the episode, I binged like ten seasons this year and couldn't tell you, but it popped up the moment I saw this prompt and I knew I had to play with the concept :)

[ray-does-witchcraft]

2024 Attic Calendar - January

Currently working on my own version of the adapted Attic calendar! So far I only have January, but February is almost done as well. Fair warning, this goes in depth about what the festivals/celebrations are and how to commemorate, so this post is gigantic. Attention: This is for the SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE!

⛧ [10/01/24] [Hekatombion 40th] - Hekate Deipnon

WHAT IS IT & WAYS TO CELEBRATE: It takes place at the end of the Lunar month. Hekate means "bringer of light", so at the darkest part of the month, we prepare our homes for the transition to a new month and offer her a meal. Think of it as a mini new year; clean/cleanse your house (especially altars), get rid of things you don't want to bring into next month (physical, spiritual, etc), and leave Hekate an offering at sundown (preferably a meal, but if you can't afford to waste food, just give her something else. Maybe bury or burn it if you can). Here's a list of good offerings (best left outside or at her altar, if you have one for her):

Bread

Cake (especially lit with candles)

Pomegranate

Wine

Honey

Cinnamon

Milk

Chocolate

Roses

Lavender

Poppy seeds

Dandelions

Incense (Frankincense, Lavender, Jasmine, Citrus, Dragons blood, Rosemary, or anything you have at hand)

Keys

Candles

Tea lights

Bones

Fire/Bonfire

Oil lamps

Crow/Raven/Own feathers

Poetry, Literature, Music, Hymns, etc

⛧ [11/01/24] [Metageitnion 1st] - Noumenia

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: The Noumenia is the first day of the visible New Moon and is held in honor of the household Gods. The Noumenia is a celebration of the start of a new Hellenic month and seeks blessings for the household. Honestly? You can just kick back and relax if you want or can, to invite calm energies into the upcoming month. But, if you (like me) want to be a little extra, here's some ways to celebrate:

Start a new personal project or hobby, or just pick back on things you've been putting off.

Set intentions for the coming month, and make plans for any of the month’s upcoming festivals, or for any of your personal upcoming plans.

Leave offerings for your deities.

Moon/stargaze, maybe meditate under the Moon.

Do a reading with your preferred divination method with the Theoi, asking what you should focus on in the coming month.

⛧ [12/01/24] [Metageitnion 2nd] - Agathos Daimon

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: One of my favorites! Daimons are household spirits that look after you and your family, so this is a day to honor Him! Pour a libation (especially wine, but mine likes milk better to be honest), make an offering, light a candle, maybe even make Him a lil altar! He's heavily associated with snakes, but aside from that you can offer (or put in His altar) anything you correlate with abundance, good luck, protection, etc. These guys are so overlooked and I love them. Here's a more in-depth post about Him and the holiday.

⛧ [13, 14, 16, 17, 18/01/24] [Metageitnion 3th, 4th, 6th, 7th & 8th] - Athena, Aphrodite/Hermes/Eros, Artemis, Apollo, Poseidon

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: Not exactly festivals, that's why I compiled them into one section, but these Lunar days are sacred to these deities in that order. Maybe leave them an offering or light them a candle, maybe even just devotional acts! Here's a good list of offerings for each:

ATHENA

Owl feathers/imagery

Pottery

Books

Toy weapons, athames, etc

Roses

Bread

Olive

Honey

Milk

Olive oil

Olive tree branches/leaves (real or not)

Clear crystals

Silver jewelry

Incense (Frankincense, Dragon's Blood, Cedarwood)

APHRODITE

Apples

Chocolate

Honey

Milk

Olive oil

Baked goods

Anything vanilla scented/flavored

Golden jewelry

Flowers (especially roses and anemones)

Sea stuff (sand, seashells, water, etc)

Perfume

Self care products

Rose quartz

Incense (Frankincense, Rose, Myrrh, Jasmine, Cinnamon, Vanilla, Cypress)

HERMES

Currency (real or not) (especially foreign)

Strawberries

Lemons

Dice

Playing cards

Travel tickets

Honey

Milk

Olive oil

Clovers

Cool rocks

Hematite

Incense (Frankincense, Myrrh, Safron, Dragon's Blood)

EROS

Honey cake

Chocolate

Fruit

Sweets (he likes candy a lot)

Milk

Honey

Olive oil

Rose quartz

Feathers

Flowers (real or not)

Heart-shaped objects

Arrows

Jewelry

Incense (Frankincense, Myrrh, Rose)

ARTEMIS

Animal related stuff (Imagery, bones, teeth, etc)

Moon related stuff

Moonstone

Clear quartz

Amethyst

Bows & Arrows

Leaves

Wild flowers

Acorns

Pine cones

Milk

Honey

Olive oil

Water

Silver jewelry

Incense (Frankincense, Cypress, anything woodsy)

APOLLO

Sun related stuff

Arts and crafts

Clear quartz

Citrine

Sunstone

Bows & arrows

Dandelions

Sunflowers

Poetry

Music

Honey

Milk

Olive oil

Water

Honeyed chamomile tea (he loves it)

Golden objects/jewelry

Divination items

Incense (Frankincense, Myrrh, Cypress, Clove, Cinnamon, Bay)

POSEIDON

Saltwater/Seawater

Seashells

Fish

Sand

Toy horses/horse imagery

Photos of the sea

Olive oil

Milk

Honey

Salt

Aquamarine

Sapphire

Incense (Frankincence, Myrrh, Pine)

⛧ [25-27/01/24] [Metageitnion 15-17th] - Eleusinia

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: The Eleusinia was a thanksgiving festival held to honor Demeter for the gift of grain. A modern way to celebrate is to have a big dinner (maybe include some breads and baking) and give thanks to Lady Demeter through it! Thank her for grain and the agricultural processes that we benefit from!

⛧ [28/01/24 ?] [Metageitnion 18th ?] - Adonia

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: A festival mourning the death of Adonis, one of Aphrodite's human lovers. Traditionally, it was celebrated only by women (as a trans guy, I personally don't give a fuck and celebrate it anyway). Also, there's no source for an exact date, so this is an educated guess at best (most sources just refers to it as taking place "midsummer"). For a way to celebrate, I found this amazing hymn/poem. Remember to honor Aphrodite on this day as well.

⛧ [30/01/24] [Metageitnion 20th] - Hera Telkhinia

WHAT IS IT & HOW TO CELEBRATE: A minor sacrifice for Hera, taking place in the suburbs of Athens. Again, not a lot of info, but if you worship or have a connection to her, maybe read her a hymn, pour a libation honor her on this day! Here's a Orphic hymn to her:

Hera, incense aromatic herbs and spices. You are seated in a cerulean cavern, having the form of air,    Íra queen of all, happy one who shares the bed of Zefs, You provide gentle breezes which sustain the soul. Mother indeed of storms, attendant of the winds, all-begetting. Apart from you life and generation cannot be found;    Mingled with the majestic air you partake of everything. You alone hold sovereignty, ruling over all. You are the stream which flutters down through the rushing winds. And now you, happy Goddess, many named, queen of all, Come with a countenance of kindness and joy. 

[tuxxore]

FOOL FOR YOUR LOVE • C.T.H

Mafia!Calum x Reader

Plot: Calum shuts Y/N out because he's convinced it's the only way to keep them safe. Little does he know, his actions end up causing even more damage than he anticipated.

Warnings: None!

"You say it's hard to tell what I've been thinking lately, but behind closed doors, I'm a fool for your love”

Calum POV

The sound of the front door slamming sent a knife through my heart. Pulling my head out of my hands felt nearly impossible as regret wasted no time seeping into my body. the words I spat at them meant nothing, I just wanted to keep them away from me for their sake. I grab a pack of beers to drink my woes away as I think of them, Y/N. Hopefully the taste and drown them put my head for the night.

As I lay between the sheets of this California king, the scent of their eucalyptus shampoo filled my nostrils. I wish life was simpler, just for them, because I'll be damned if I let them live in fear but it would also break my heart more if they feared me. I feel tears form in the corners of my eyes at the thought, I let them fall as I clapped the lights off and closed my eyes as I hoped to dream of their Angelic voice, the one drastically different from the wobbly one that rung through my loft earlier

Y/N POV

I wasn't strong enough to stop the waterfall as I sat in my car. I just wanted his heart, but it had seemed so far away these past few weeks. It didn't feel like Calum, It was a stranger that didn't recognize me. Nothing could have prepared me for today, I expected to easily get a simple answer to what was wrong but the words he spewed like venom shattered my heart. As I dried my face, I drove home with Calum on my mind every second of the drive.

The soapy water slipped down my body as I tried to relax in the shower. Trying to forget was just something I couldn't do. It felt a bit pathetic but how could I ignore him? He makes me feel euphoric and loved. I just wonder why'd he push me away, especially if he managed to confess the same feeling of love while trying to say he hated me.

It's 11:45 pm as I lay here with my phone in hand, the texting screen of his contact being the only light in the room. Thoughts like 'What if he blocks my number' along with thoughts of what should be said run through my mind, eventually I settle on one thing and hit send. A simple "I love you" rested as delivered on the screen for a few minutes before I shut it off. The fear of his answer had taken over me so I turned around and closed my eyes, slowly but surely drifting off to sleep.

Next day

Calum POV

'1:43 pm' the clock reads as I check my watch. I knew Y/N texted me but I couldn't get myself to open it, It felt shameful, especially since I let the words "I hate you" utter from my lips towards them. The urge to pick up my phone was strong but I knew I had to let my discipline be stronger, so I left it. Everything within the last 30 minutes of this meeting had been a blur but the only thing that I had properly retained was that we were targets, while that was a big problem I couldn't stop placing the feelings for Y/N in my heart above that.

We took a lunch break as there was more to talk about later. I walked into their favorite cafe out of habit, I could've sworn a tint of eucalyptus lingered in the air. Her best friend Elena stood behind the counter smiling at me. “I didn't expect to see you here” she beamed though it had a questioning undertone. “What do you mean?” I inquired, my mind couldn't have possibly been prepared for what she would say next.

Y/N POV

The radio blasted through my ears as I drove through the city with all my belongings in the back of my car. The fact that he didn't respond or read it was enough confirmation for me. I wanted to visit my comfort spot one last time before I left back home. As I closed the car door and walked under the large apple tree, memories of the past 8 months flooded my mind. His touch, taste, and scent filled my senses. I longed for it all, I longed for him.

Deep down a part of me wanted to hate him and his stupidly gorgeous face but another part of me loved him, so much that I'd give my life for him if he needed it. The tears started to flow quickly, I sat down on the dead grass and pushed my knees and head into my chest. I sobbed quietly, secretly wanting to feel his arms around me again. Just me and this apple tree forest surrounded the area, but still, it felt empty. I felt empty.

Calum POV

Y/N heading back home? That can’t be true right? My mind raced with thoughts of them. I whipped my phone out to finally read the text message, a simple “I love you.” highlighted in blue on my screen. I had to look for them, follow them. I don't want them to leave, especially because of me.

Transportation by foot since I didn't bring my car was my only option today, worry about not making it fast enough took up my spirit’s freedom as I’ve been to Sunshine National now or their fourth favorite spot in the city as they say. There was only one last chance to find her and that was the apple forest, she showed it to me a while ago, it's her favorite place to be during stressful times. The ring of my cellphone cut me out of my thoughts briefly as I saw it was Michael, my right-hand man.

“Dude, Where the fuck are you?” the pink-haired man questioned. “Busy, why?” I said blankly. An irritated sigh left the other’s lips following my last response. “Busy doing fucking what? You've left me here with a bunch of guys asking where the boss is.” I was seeing the hill to the forest and happiness consumed me as I saw their unique colored car there as well. I let out him as I searched for a response finally I let out something for the pinkie on the phone, “Tell them it's canceled and to go home” I clicked the red button quickly as I saw Y/N, my Y/N to be frank.

I yelled out for them but received nothing. I jogged my way to the weeping soul under the tree, the same scent of my tainted bed sheets filled my nose again. It brought me a warming comfort, as I placed my arm around them. Their head popped up to look at me, being in utter shock. As if it was an instinct I connected the space between us, crashing our lips together. To my surprise, they kissed back. I pulled away so we could catch our breaths, and as soon as I did they began to speak, I let out a hush sound to keep them silent. I couldn't help it anymore. It was becoming painful to hold the contents of my heart. I held Y/N close and looked into their eyes with tears filling mine, “Don't ever leave. I know I seemed off but that's because I kept trying to shut you out. I won't ever do that again, I was a fool to my feelings.” I let the tears stream down my face, they made me feel comfortable enough to do so, and they made me feel warm. I placed my head into their neck, their soft hands reaching up to comb through my hair. “I was such an idiot thinking I wanted you out of my life.” I spoke in a squeaky, drained voice.

“when in reality, behind closed doors, I'm a fool for your love.”

© all rights reserved. My work is not to be translated, altered, or reposted without my knowledge and permission.

[plussizefantasia]

i miss you

Flufftober Day 3: Morning Snuggles

Tony Stark x f! plus size reader

Word Count: 0.9k

AN: I'm a sucker for soft Tony. Please reblog if you liked the story and I'll see you all tomorrow for day 4! (it's one of my favorite prompts of the whole month)

divider credit: @royallaesthetics

Mornings like these were far and few between. Tony came to bed in the early morning hours most nights and you had to get up early for work. It wasn’t very often when you both had the time to just lay together and exist. 

You craved these moments of small intimacy, where you were able to see a side of him that he kept hidden from the rest of the world. During his waking hours, his worry and age were evident on his face. You cherished every wrinkle and line, they showed how much he cared, about the world, about you.

Bathed in the soft sunlight of the morning though, his face was clear of any of those signs. He looked more at peace in this moment than you had seen him in the entirety of your time together. You are content to just watch him, to memorize his features all over again, and to fall in love with everything about him. 

His arm flexes in his sleep and pulls your body closer to his. Your face easily falls into the space between his neck and shoulder. Taking a deep breath you inhale everything that is Tony, he has a naturally woody scent and you can tell that he used your favorite body wash before he got into bed last night. You easily sigh and feel as the tension leaves your body.

You aren’t used to being held, past insecurities keep you from wanting your partner to feel your body even if it's innocent. But Tony had spent the first few months of your relationship doting physical affection onto you whenever he could. He would come up behind you while you were on the phone with a client and wrap his arms around your shoulders, leaving a kiss on your head before letting go. During movie night he made sure you’d be leaning into his side, sometimes he would rest his head in your lap and let you play with his hair while the two of you only kind of watched whatever was on the screen.

The more affection he gave you, the more you began to crave it. Feeling loved in that way was addicting and you’d happily let Tony dote on you for the rest of your life if you could. Laying in his arms in the early morning has got to be one of your favorite things to do, and sometimes it makes you sad when you realize just how rare it is. 

That is why you cherish moments like this one, where you have nowhere to be and nothing to do. Just laying in bed with the love of your life. 

It's the rumbling of your stomach that wakes Tony up. The first thing he notices is how nice your hair smells. The second is how comfy he is with you in his arms and the third is the light that streams through the window. He wasn’t expecting to sleep this long, but he's glad he did. He loves these moments just as much as you do.

“Morning” he whispers against the top of your head.

“Good morning, Handsome you mumble right back into his shoulder. 

He places one two three kisses against your temple and rolls over onto his back taking you with him. This new position has you resting your arms on his chest, laying your head on top of them, and gazing lovingly at the man beneath you.

The silence between the two of you is comfortable, it always is. Tony’s mind is loud and fast-paced and he loves being able to relax in the moment with you. No words are necessary to share the love you have, just glances between the two of you are enough to know what the other is thinking. 

Tony brushes his thumb across the apple of your cheek and a gentle smile creeps up on his features. You’re sure you already have one on yours.

“I miss you,” he says. You almost don’t hear him, so wrapped up in your thoughts about how lovely he looks right now.

Your confusion is evident on your face. “Miss me? We sleep in the same bed, you see me all the time.”

“Yeah, I see you. But we don’t get moments like these. Where I can just be with you and not have to worry about the world or anything else. I miss being able to love on you whenever I want.”

“You can love on me whenever you want Tony, I’ll never say no to your love.” You tell him. The honesty and pure love oozes out of every word you say.

For a second Tony doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t think he’s ever been loved like you love him. He doesn’t ever want to live without it again.

“Good,” he says, and he pulls you closer once more. The two of you spend the rest of the morning in each other's arms. First in the bed and then when your stomach started making too much noise for Tony to be comfortable with, he took you to the penthouse kitchen and made you an omelet. One of the few things he's gotten really good at making by himself. When the two of you finished eating he pulled you to the big plush couch in the living room and laid his head on your chest.

Sweet nothings were whispered between the two of you for hours. And as morning turned to afternoon and then to night a promise was made. You both promised to do this every week, exist with each other, and soak in the love that you two shared. It was the easiest promise you’d ever made.

[reversewerewolf]

I'll bite, name your preferred bath snack selection menu

EXCELLENT question!! Nearly any type of fruit is a good choice. I like green grapes or any kind of juicy berry, better if it’s cold from the fridge. Oranges/citrus fruits are good shower snacks, but if you eat them in the bath, the citrus’ oils will get in the bath water and instantly reveal every cut on your body, no matter how small, so I don’t recommend it. Fruit sorbet/sherbet is also really nice but it does feel weird to bring a spoon to the bath in my experience.

I don’t usually do savories for bath snacks because I don’t like the idea of getting, like, cracker or chip crumbs in the water. I did cauliflower and hummus once but found the act of dipping in the tub awkward. I bet premade charcuterie-style crackers (cracker, cheese, fruit or meat) would feel decadent. I have eaten hot dinners in the bath before, mostly during early 2020 when we were all going through some stuff. I don’t recommend that either. A meal is too much.

As far as bevvies, I sadly can’t drink alcohol, but for those who can, I have it on good authority that wine and beer are good choices. I like cold juice (pick your favorite, I’m an OJ or apple cider guy*) or sometimes sparkling water or soda. Ice water might sound silly but it’s honestly very refreshing. You can put some fruit in there to make it special.

I’m sure different Bath Snackers may have different philosophies but in my opinion you are trying to go for the most hedonistic experience possible. For me, that’s sweet things, because I’m not able to indulge in them as much as I’d like to day-to-day. To add to the experience, I like to turn off the light, light a candle (bonus if it’s scented), and make the bath as hot as possible while eating and drinking cold, sweet things to offset that. It’s also nice to play some music or a podcast, and roll up a towel to use as a neck pillow.

Thank you for coming to my bath snack TED Talk. 🙏

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

I see you're designing perfumes, but how about a fetching cologne?

You know Thomas by now. ^^

Race: Human. Class: Warlock Favorite color: Red Likes: Order, Training, Power Dislikes: Useless people, crying, time wasters Love these by the way <3

With the greatest pleasure, my dear agent of torture and angst 😉😈 Ooooh...the things I can do with this man...

Ehm...that came out the wrong way😯I ment in case of scents, to be clear!

😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈

Thomas' cologne is characterized by ebony, as black as his soul and the look in his eyes.

Oh you may think he reeks of bloody steel from sharp blades seeking for revenge; but far from it, it is much more complex.

A smokey, woody scent with a slight, subtle touch of fruits which remembers of his once noble origin; sublime, feudal, distinguished.

The woods bring an hint of aromatic, spicy sweetness.

Despite the rich, heavy aroma, there is deep down also something cold hidden, like a shard of ice.

Compelling, engaging, capturing

And this what it feels like to sense Thomas' cologne:

A rich woody, smokey, fragrance; almost commanding.

The sudden captivating scent of enticing fruits lures and seduces you, like the forbidden, poisonous fruits of the Garden of Eden.

And when it's too late, there strikes suddenly a sharp splitter of ice; an ice cold glance, cold like his eyes with the darkness deep down behind it, deep in his soul and heart.

But after that, the rich weighty fragrance of the wood holds you tight, captive. Keeps you forever.

It is like hearing a whispered “Join me in death” - irresistible, captivating - makes you walking willingly towards your own death.

😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈

Head notes: cedar nut, sandalwood, black pepper, dried tobacco Heart notes: ebony, dark cherry, pomegranate, blood orange, cedarwood, fragments of glacier ice Base notes: teakwood, amber, cherrywood, oud, musk, smoked honey, swiss stone pine, smoked oak

😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈🩸💀🩸😈

What would you like to name it? Let me know! 😃

🌲🪵🍎🍒🩸🍒🍎🪵🌲

May I suggest:

Black Ebony Crimson Ballad Dark Academia Bloodlust Heart Of The Darkness Sinister Urge Treacherous Soul Blood Vengeance Hunger For Power Apple of Eden

Or let me hear your name ideas 😃

🌲🪵🍎🍒🩸🍒🍎🪵🌲

I really hope Thomas likes it, or I have a serious problem 😬😰🙈

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 29: Scented Candle

Day 29! This one was definitely one that I had to bend a little bit, but I still think I did a good job given how clunky the prompt can be. And I think I got some decent angst out of it but I'll let you all be the judge of that!

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @ghostwalloper @toastingpencils37 @lightning-chicken

Words: 2.1k

The smell was the first thing that Jay noticed when he stepped into the store.

It was overwhelming, and Jay didn’t know if that was because of his sharper senses or if it really was just that strong. No one else seemed to be affected by it, so he kept his mouth shut and continued walking into the Bath and Body Works, hand in hand with Nya.

Nya was taking a big risk by going in here with her perfume allergy, but she thought that it was worth it to try and get some decent-smelling candles. They finally had an actual building for a house for the first time in years, and everyone was sick of smelling Wu’s incense all the time, so the Ninja collectively put their foot down and decided to get some stuff to try and make Yang’s Temple feel more like a home rather than a smelly church.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding up a pink strawberry candle. Jay sniffed, grimacing, and she was quick to put it back down. “Yeah, me neither. Let’s try some of these ones.”

“Are you sure? I thought you liked strawberries.”

“I do, but you need to like it too with how much time you’re going to be spending in my room.”

Blushing, Jay continued to follow her, watching as she skimmed through all of the fruity flavors that they had in stock. He knew that they were her favorite even if he couldn’t stand most of their smells, but they finally found an apple one that they could agree on. She plopped it into the basket, and finally it was time to look at all the smells that Jay would love.

He had been doing his damndest to stay on the side of the store away from all of the woody smells. Nya knew why, and he knew why, but the others didn’t. Cole kept shooting him weird looks over his shoulder, because as far as he knew, Jay still adored the smells of the outdoors.

Not anymore.

There was a small graham cracker candle that smelled heavenly, and Jay was quick to snatch it up and show it to Nya. It reminded him of the smores that he would make with his pa when he was little, the smoke curling into the sky as he burnt the hell out of the marshmallow because tha was the only way to eat a true smore. Maybe if he found a marshmallow candle and something chocolatey he would be able to make the ultimate smores candle.

“Honey, they have a smores candle right here,” Nya chuckled, holding it up.

“But then it’s not special,” Jay insisted, clutching the graham cracker candle to his chest as he scanned through the shelves, “and we need it to be special. Now help me find a marshmallow one.”

“If you say so.”

Cole eventually walked over to help, and Jay smelled a very vague whiff of perfume around his brother. Pushing Nya behind him in panic, Jay fixed Cole with a stern glare. “Dude!”

“What?”

“Perfume? Seriously? Nya is allergic!”

Rolling his eyes, the earth ninja held up his wrist. “Relax, Jay, it’s unscented.”

“Unscented my ass! I could smell you coming from three aisles over!”

Nya leaned around Jay and sniffed at Cole’s wrist, relaxing when it didn’t trigger any reaction. It actually smelled kinda nice. “I think your nose is too sensitive, it’s fine.”

Jay grumbled as they continued looking through the store stock; he had already come far too close to losing her permanently, so of course he was still going to be a bit overprotective. Anxiety buzzed in his chest, making its way up his hands and starting to make him shake. He swiftly put the candles down, not willing to pay for anything that he might drop. Maybe he was the one who shouldn’t be around perfume anymore.

Apparently, having vague thoughts about his girlfriend dying was enough to trigger memories of everything else.

Feeling his throat start to close up, Jay grabbed at Nya’s hand with a tight grip. He needed to get out of here. There were too many smells and too many colors and too much everything. “Nya—”

“Hey, Jay!” Kai exclaimed, and something was shoved under Jay’s nose. “Smell this one!”

Out of instinct Jay took a sniff, and he immediately gagged.

Sandalwood.

All of Nadakhan’s shit smelled like sandalwood.

The room smelled like sandalwood, and so did his stuff, and so did he—

Cole tried to catch him as Jay collapsed onto the ground, throwing himself backwards in an effort to get as far away from the candle as possible. Even just the smallest graze of his brother’s hands made Jay reel away, and there was the sound of glass shattering as he pulled himself up on one of the shelves. There was a stinging pain in his shin but he ignored it, also ignoring the smear of red along the floor as he finally figured his legs out and started making for the exit. Only the barest bit of self-restraint kept him from sprinting out of there like a madman, but he still looked mighty suspicious from his unsteady gait and the blood flowing down from his scraped knee. Hopefully everyone would just think he was some drunk looking for a place to sleep off the alcohol instead of one of the famed ninja breaking down.

No one else tried to stop him, but he could faintly hear them calling his name through the rush of blood in his ears. Rushing out of the store, Jay quickly made himself scarce in the crowd; for as loud as he could be, he always knew how to hide when he didn’t want to be found.

There were too many people. It was getting harder and harder to take a breath as he was jostled on both sides, and Jay knew that he was going to have to pull over in a minute. Before, the mall had never bothered him, and it even was a place that Jay was excited to go and visit. Malls never existed near the Sea of Sands, and seeing so many stores gathered in one place threw him for a loop when he visited for the first time as a small thirteen-year-old.

But what once felt like a lavish palace now felt like a prison.

There was a gap in the wall and Jay ducked into it, noticing that it was a small hallway leading to the bathrooms. At the end of the hall was an unlocked family restroom, and Jay could only hope and pray that nobody would need it for the next little bit because he definitely was not going to break down in a men’s public restroom if he could help it.

Lock clicking shut behind him, Jay curled on the floor with his cheek to the cool tile, letting it ground him as he did his best to ignore whatever thoughts he had about the hygiene in this place. Blood was dripping down his leg, and he cringed away from the feeling of it soaking into his sock. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter how hard he clenched them into fists.

“You’re okay,” he whispered to himself, getting up off the floor and turning on the sink. He cupped his hands and splashed the cold water on his face, “you’re okay. Just need to breathe.”

He kept looking in the mirror, checking if anything was behind him even though he knew that he locked the door. Nadakhan didn’t need to use doors.

The smell of sandalwood was still clogging his nose, and Jay hurriedly reached for the small container of hand soap. Unscrewing the top, he shoved it under his nose and took a deep breath, trying to let the overwhelming smell of mint replace the offending smell so he could finally start to calm down.

Except the mint wasn’t doing shit.

He threw the bottle on the counter in frustration, and could only watch as it started spilling all over the counter. Hastily trying to clean it up, Jay kept exhaling forcefully through his nose to try and clear it, but nothing was working. Nothing was getting rid of it.

Pathetic. A famed hero of Ninjago who had faced down countless enemies, saved the world no less than five times, brought down to his knees by a fucking candle? Not just to his knees, but in a filthy public restroom in the middle of the Ninjago City Mall where anyone could come walking up and they would hear him crying.

Was he crying?

Yeah, he was crying, reaching up and feeling the tears on his cheeks. Jay grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face off, even though he knew that they would be replaced only a moment later. Wetting another paper towel under the sink, he figured it was finally time to try and clean out the cut on his shin.

Or multiple cuts, he realized as he looked down, and the familiar sight of blood staining his leg made him nauseous. Sitting down on his rear, Jay took a closer look, heart sinking when he realized that some of the glass shards were still in his leg. No wonder it was hurting so badly, but now that meant that he had to actually take the shards out.

Yippee.

Puting the paper towel back up on the counter, Jay reached for the first shard with a trembling hand. Tugging it out as gently as he could, he flinched from the fresh blood that flowed from the wound, and he dropped the shard on the floor from his surprise. There was too much blood and it was getting on his hands and it was dark and red and everywhere and First Master he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

A knock at the bathroom door. “Jay?”

“Nya?” Of course it was her, it was just Nya, not Nadakhan or his brothers or a stranger or anyone else to be worried about. “I’m in here.”

“I know, I followed your trail,” Nya said, and Jay hated how awful it made him feel to hear that civillians may have had to see his bloody trail left on the ground. Children may have had to see it. “Can I come in?”

Jay took a deep breath, pushing down his anxiety and getting up. “Yeah, hold on a sec.”

Flipping the lock over, Nya gave him a minute to back away from the door before opening it and making her way inside. She locked it behind her, which Jay was grateful for, and she knelt down next to where he had plopped down onto the floor. Caressing his cheek, she pecked him on the lips, and Jay felt the scent of vanilla wash over him; she must’ve put some on before coming to find him.

He buried his face in her hair when she leaned in for a hug, and Nya gently pressed her hand against the nape of his neck. “You okay?”

And he really wanted to lie, but he couldn’t find the energy to. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” Nya asked, and Jay tightened his hold around her. She was here, and she was breathing, and he was breathing, and that was everything that he could’ve asked for.

“There’s glass in my leg,” Jay said, swallowing thickly, “and I think I’m going to cry. I-Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Nya reassured, playing with the baby hairs on the nape of his neck. Her hands were cool against his skin, and Jay craned his head forward to give her more access. “I’ll take care of the glass, but it’s definitely going to sting. Just tell me if I need to stop, alright?”

Jay nodded, and he tried to keep as still as possible as Nya slipped on her pair of spare rubber gloves. All of them always carried some on their persons, just in case anything were to happen out in public; you never know what sort of bodily fluids you would have to touch that day, and you did a lot of that in their line of work. He hid his face in the crook of her neck as she started pulling the shards out, quick and efficient but still gentle. Just like her.

Nya was humming some random tune that Jay picked up, and the sound was comforting to him in a way that the whirring of the air vents and the mall chatter outside never could be. The panic didn’t quite subside, and he doubted that it would until they finally made it home, but this? This was okay. He could deal with this.

“Thanks, Nya.”

“Don’t mention it. Next time though, tell me you need to leave before running out on me, okay?”

“No promises.”

[arminsumi]

City Lights

Oneshot / Aki Hayakawa

Devil hunting didn't really interest you, but the paycheck did. Makima assigned you to be Aki's partner, which irritated the both of you. Your personalities oppose each other so much that it's almost comical. Maybe that's just what both of you need, a distraction from the daily madness.

Cws; angst, a bit of a turbulent relationship, might have more parts if I'm not lazy!

Notes on Y/n; AFAB! + gn!

Your new life in Tokyo quickly developed a dull pattern. Every day, without fail, you woke up at 7:00 AM; washed the tiredness out of your face, grabbed a coffee, then dozed on the train, and mournfully arrived at work.

It wasn't until Makima made you and Aki partners that life became flavorful again. Though, it wasn't the best-tasting flavor, since your personalities conflicted terribly. It was like the aroma of a home cooked meal that turned out to be bland to the taste.

Comparing Aki to a poorly cooked dish was genius in your mind; he was lacking seasonings but not sustenance. Sometimes the feeling he emitted was enough to make you feel good in his company.

But then he always said something that would bother you.

"Don't get in my way, and I won't get in yours."

That was the first thing he told you after exiting Makima's office and being assigned as your partner.

There were a lot of things you disliked about him. For one it was his cold temperament, but by far, what irked you the most, was probably...

"Do you have to smoke, Aki?" You sighed after waving the smoke away from your face.

You were settled into a seat by the cafe nearest to today's devil case.

He didn't respond, only exhaled a cloud of white in your direction. It made your heart flutter in anger.

"Your lungs are gonna go black, you know." You said, almost like a mother exasperatedly lecturing her son.

Aki almost laughed, because right then you were just like how he used to be with Himeno.

You frowned on as he dragged on his cigarette, but then when your coffee was brought to the table, your mood shot up. And, soon, your lethargy dispersed at the command of caffeine.

The scents of smoke and coffee beans swirled inside your lungs. There was a calm stillness about the cafe; any thought could be carried out with ease, there was absolutely no rush to think. You got lost in the capacity of your own mind. It felt like for a second your life wasn't a mad whirlwind.

But then Aki's voice disrupted the tranquility, and he asked, "Did you say something to Makima?"

You furrowed your brows, "Say something? Like what?"

"She said to me yesterday that she's 'glad to see us getting along'. I don't know what she could have possibly meant by that." He said.

You thought back to the last time Makima had called you into her office.

She had simply pasked you if you minded Aki being your partner, but she had asked it in in such a way that required a positive response, lest her eerie gold eyes reprimand you.

"I guess she misinterpreted me the other day." You shrugged, "All I said was that I'm fine with being your partner."

Aki scoffed in a way that made his Addam's apple move attractively, "You're fine with being my partner? Why didn't you just tell her the truth?"

"What truth?" You tilted your head at him, "We're becoming quick friends, Aki. I think you might even end up being my favorite person!"

He inhaled deeply and let out the breath with one of the most exasperated sighs you've ever heard. Then he looked leftward out the window and proceeded to pay you no more attention than an insect crawling on the sidewalk.

All you could do was frown at the heavy atmosphere and sip the remnant of your coffee, though there was only enough liquid in the cup to wet your lips.

Afternoon light glared in through the frail windows and flooded the cafe with a stark lighting. Everything felt unsaturated.

Unsaturated, and cold. Like the coldness that you found in Aki's eyes.

[redfurrycat]

💕Know Your Tumblr Friends💕

Tagged by @callsign-crow, @itshoneywhatever, @mafiatsunafish, @merryandrewsworld, @perishablealex, @renai-chan in different versions of the tag game, so I just took all the questions and answered them all in one post, if ya don't mind, you lovely souls! 💕

*

Name? Starts with a P. It's a pretty common name where I’m from. (But you can call me Red here 😉)

Were you named after anyone? Nope.

Pronouns? She/her.

Where do you call home? Belgium.

Sign? Aries.

Time? 11h49 (I’m HUNGRY.) (Update. I ate and it was fries and homemade burger).

Fav band/artist? Hans Zimmer (composer). But I love many other composers! I don’t exactly have a fav band or artist as it’s not the kind of music I listen to (OST-Forever-Girl).

Do you have kids? No. I don’t want kids right now, I’ll wonder about that muuuuuch later. (Although I’m a cat mom at the moment.)

Use sarcasm a lot? I do sarcastic quips all the time… xD

First thing you notice 'bout people? Their smile. :)

Eye color? Hazel Eyes.

Scary movies or happy ending? Happy Ending FOREVER.

Special talent? *blank* (Too hungry to think of one... xD)

Your hobbies? To talk about something NOT related to fandom, I like Sudoku and Word scrambled games.

Any pets? It may be shocking to all of you, but I have a she-cat. A red she-cat. *grinning*

First pet? Twas a hamster….:D

Favorite animal? I love felines and birds of prey VERY MUCH.

Cereal of choice? As a kiddo it was Miel Pops, now I do the healthier version of honey cereals when I do eat cereals. And I occasionally eat oatmeal as well.

Are you visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner? All three of them, depends on what is it I’m learning.

Playing any sport? Used to be tennis. Now I do walking and running, and I’d love to swim again!!!

How tall..? Small bean of 1m58.

Favourite subject in school? Latin in secondary school, and my American and British Literature at Uni, as well as all my Law and Judiciary classes. Instructive, especially because I now understand the related news.

Dream job? I don’t even know anymore… I’m completely lost. ☹

Favorite scent? honey and lavender, and strawberry.

Do you believe in astrology? Absolutely not. "Not in any god, not in myths and legends." (Although it’s pretty cool to read about myths and legends! :D *mythology nerd*)

How many playlists do you have on spotify/apple music? 0 because I refuse to use spotify or apple music. :D

Sharpies or highlighters? Both are good!

Song that makes you cry? Songs don’t usually make me cry. However, OSTs do. I’m HIGHLY sensitive to Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron/The Last Samurai/LOTR OSTs.

Last song? Dela by Johnny Clegg (That’s right baby, GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE SONG! :D)

Last series? still ER! (I mean there are 15 seasons or so, and I’m watching season 5)

Last movie? I was in the middle of ‘While you were sleeping’ but couldn’t finish due to stellar internet connection. :(

Song that makes you happy? Ain’t Worried by OneRepublic, Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins, and the Rickrolling Song! xD

Do you write/draw/create? Don’t EVER ask me to draw. I’ve started to write, which I’m still surprised about, I guess you could say I create some Top Gun content as well? Like silly posts about my fav pilots! :D

Currently working on? My Cheerleading Top Gun Sideblog. I’m still in the building process but it’s been fun so far! I discovered or rediscovered REALLY amazing content!!! :O <3 Writing-related? Dr. Goose Bradshaw Series. YUP. THAT’S RIGHT. 😉

When did I create this blog? Dunno…2013/14?

What I post? I reblog A LOT. And I LOVE adding to posts when inspiration strikes! xD Right now? I’ve posted several Top Gun  Recs Lists. (Top Gun and Top Gun Maverick have bewitched me body and soul!)

Other blogs? The Sideblog I was previously talking about can be found at @timetobuzzthefandomtower.

Do I get asks? Very occasionally 😊 (Though I don’t check it very often, so very sorry to anyone who might have sent something, I promise I’ll get back to you!!! <3)

Followers? 246?! (Holy Shit. When did that happen??????? I’ve never checked before! :O)

Average hours of sleep? 8 hours is the best for me, but I sleep less than that I’m sure.

Instruments? Fuck that. I hated the music class during HS. :O 

What I'm wearing rn? Short & T-Shirt. All comfy clothes.

Dream trip? New Zealand. Seems very far away, almost unachievable! xD And, the Vikings Lands. I. WANT. TO. GO. THERE. <3

Favourite song at the moment? Fake ID from Footloose :D

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NO PRESSURE TAGS!!!

@auprintempss, @bradleybonkbradshaw, @captainclaudeandthehiddenlogs, @hardballoonlove, @missathlete31, @nanny-sc, @scottishaccentsareawesome, @skiddit, @the-ace-with-spades.

I know there are A LOT of questions, feel the heck free to choose which ones you want to answer, IF you want to of course! Have the sweetest of days! <3