#cedar siding services

[stuccostar]

Expert Thin Brick Veneer in Toronto: The Ultimate Guide to Enhance Your Space with Stuccostar

When it comes to enhancing the aesthetics of your Toronto property, thin brick veneers provide a versatile and cost-effective solution. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the importance, common uses, benefits of hiring professionals, services offered by Stuccostar, qualities to look for in a thin brick veneer expert, how to choose the right provider, steps involved in the installation process, the cost of thin brick veneers, best offers available, frequently asked questions, and conclude with why Stuccostar is the top choice for all your thin brick veneer needs.

Importance of Expert Thin Brick Veneer Toronto:

Expert thin brick veneer installation in Toronto holds immense importance for homeowners and businesses alike. These high-quality veneers not only enhance the visual appeal of any structure but also provide durability, insulation, and protection against harsh weather conditions. They offer a timeless charm that adds value to your property and creates a lasting impression on visitors.

Common Uses of Thin Brick Veneers:

Thin brick veneers have become increasingly popular due to their versatility. They can be used in various applications, including exterior facades, accent walls, fireplaces, and interior feature walls. With their ability to mimic the appearance of traditional brickwork while being lighter and easier to install, they offer endless design possibilities for both residential and commercial projects.

Benefits of Hiring Professionals for Thin Brick Veneer Installation:

While some individuals may attempt a DIY thin brick veneer installation, it's highly recommended to hire professionals like Stuccostar to ensure a flawless and long-lasting result. Here are a few key benefits of entrusting the job to experts:

Expertise and Experience: Professional installers possess extensive knowledge and experience in handling thin brick veneers, ensuring precise installation techniques and superior craftsmanship.

Time and Cost Efficiency: Hiring professionals saves you time, as they efficiently complete the installation process, minimizing any disruptions to your daily routine. Moreover, their expertise reduces the chances of costly mistakes or rework.

Quality Assurance: Professionals utilize high-quality materials and follow industry best practices to ensure a durable and visually appealing thin brick veneer that stands the test of time.

Services Offered by Stuccostar:

Stuccostar offers an array of services to cater to all your thin brick veneer requirements in Toronto:

Consultation and Design: Their experts provide personalized consultations and assist in designing the perfect thin brick veneer solution that aligns with your vision and architectural style.

Material Selection: Stuccostar offers a wide selection of premium thin brick veneer materials, including various colors, textures, and finishes, allowing you to choose the one that best suits your project needs.

Professional Installation: Their skilled craftsmen execute precise installation techniques, ensuring seamless integration of thin brick veneers into your space.

Maintenance and Repairs: Stuccostar provides maintenance and repair services to keep your thin brick veneers looking pristine and extend their lifespan.

Qualities to Look for in a Thin Brick Veneer Expert:

When selecting a thin brick veneer expert, it's essential to consider the following qualities:

Experience and Expertise: Look for professionals with a proven track record in thin brick veneer installations. Their experience demonstrates their ability to handle diverse projects and deliver exceptional results.

Attention to Detail: A reliable expert pays attention to even the smallest details, ensuring precise installation and a flawless finish.

Excellent Communication: Effective communication throughout the project ensures that your expectations are met, and any concerns or queries are promptly addressed.

How to Choose the Right Thin Brick Veneer Provider:

To select the ideal thin brick veneer provider for your project, consider these factors:

Reputation and Reviews: Research the reputation of different providers by checking online reviews, testimonials, and portfolios of their previous work to gauge their expertise.

Quality of Materials: Ensure that the provider offers high-quality thin brick veneer materials that are durable and visually appealing.

Customization Options: Look for a provider that offers customization options to meet your specific design requirements.

Steps Involved in the Thin Brick Veneer Installation Process:

The installation process typically involves the following steps:

Surface Preparation: The existing surface is thoroughly cleaned, repaired if necessary, and prepared to ensure proper adhesion of the thin brick veneers.

Application of Mortar or Adhesive: A layer of mortar or adhesive is applied to the surface, providing a secure bonding surface for the installation of thin brick veneers.

Placement of Thin Brick Veneers: The thin brick veneers are carefully placed onto the prepared surface, ensuring precise alignment and spacing.

Grouting and Finishing: After the thin brick veneers are installed, the gaps between them are filled with grout, and any excess material is cleaned off. This step gives a finished look to the installation.

Cost of Thin Brick Veneer Installation and Best Offers:

The cost of thin brick veneer installation depends on various factors such as the size of the project, the complexity of the design, and the chosen materials. To get an accurate estimate, it's advisable to request a quote from Stuccostar, who can provide you with competitive pricing and the best offers available.

Frequently Asked Questions about Thin Brick Veneers:

What are thin brick veneers?

How do thin brick veneers differ from traditional bricks?

Are thin brick veneers suitable for both interior and exterior applications?

What maintenance is required for thin brick veneers?

Can thin brick veneers be customized to match existing brickwork?

Conclusion:

Enhancing your Toronto property with expert thin brick veneer installation is a wise investment that provides aesthetic appeal, durability, and protection. By choosing Stuccostar as your trusted partner, you can expect exceptional services, superior craftsmanship, and a wide range of design options tailored to your specific needs. Transform your space into a stunning masterpiece with Stuccostar's expertise in thin brick veneers.

Company Name: Stuccostar - Your Ultimate Thin Brick Veneer Experts

[spider-stark]

THE GOLD TANKARD

Benjicot Blackwood x Smallfolk!Reader

Summary - Benji is a regular at the tavern you work at—and you're starting to think he's forgetting his coin on purpose.

Warnings - fem!reader, kieran burton fan cast, all characters 18+, suggestive/sexual language, not edited bc I'm lazy and wrote this for fun in like an hour

Word Count - 650+

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

The Gold Tankard was a shit-house of an inn. Famous mostly for its basement-tavern, it had been built ages ago in the heart of Pennytree—a derelict village lying smack in the center of the disputed border of House Blackwood and House Bracken. 

After many, many years of existence, the Tankard has fallen into a blatant state of decay. Cracks spiderweb up the side of stone walls, woodworms infest the cedar roof overhead, and the carpets are stained with beer and piss and gods-knows-what-else. 

Still, it remains in-business—bringing in coin from the many knights and men traveling through Pennytree, so desperate for a hot meal and a bed that they’re willing to overlook the scuttling bugs and musty aroma. 

And being the resident barmaid isn’t so bad, you suppose. 

At least, not when Benjicot Blackwood is a near-nightly patron of the Tankard. While he's forever forgetting his copper, he's always quite creative in finding other ways to pay for your service—and you have found the Lord to be quite talented with his tongue… 

His grip tight, Benji drags you up the dimly lit stairs leading from the tavern to the narrow halls of the inn above. 

“M’lord,” the title slips past your lips, giggling as you protest, “my shift isn’t over! The girls will be needing me behind the bar and–” 

Benji cuts you off with a groan. Tugging your wrist, he shoves your back flush against the chilly stone wall, caging your body with his. “Is that all you care about? What the girls need?” He leans in close, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “What about what I need?” 

Pure, unbridled lust dilates his pupils, his storm-cloud eyes nearly devoid of color as they drag over your face. They snag on your lips—and, instinctively, he rolls his hips against yours, a growing hardness pressed to your thigh. 

“I care about getting paid,” you choke out, clawing at the remaining shreds of your composure. “Not all customers are as mingy with their coin as you, M’lord.” 

Warmth fans across your cheeks as Benji huffs a laugh. “So you think I’m mingy, do you?” 

A scowl twists your features, heat rushing to your cheeks. You can tell from his tone—so impish and cheeky—that he’s poking fun at you. What word would a highborn girl have used, then? Oh, you’re so frugal M’lord! So utterly parsimonious! 

Shoving against his weight, you grind out, “I have work to tend to, M’lord–” 

Benji’s grip on you tightens, his other hand coming to cradle the side of your head, fingers weaving themselves into your hair as he presses you back against the wall—harder this time. 

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, love,” he tuts, lips grazing against your cheekbone, leaving soft kisses in their wake. “You know how I adore your little commonors dialect.” 

Your eyes narrow, frustration bubbling up inside of you. 

“If you wish to insult someone, then I may suggest the whorehouse down the street, M’lord. Barmaids are not forced to endure such abuse—especially from unpaying customers.” 

“Abuse?” Benji’s breath tickles your ear, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Is that what I’m doing?” He pauses, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your breath catches, and you feel him smirk as he purrs, “Abusing you?” 

Your pulse races, your heart hammering against your chest so fiercely that you fear Benji can feel it, his chest pressed firm against yours. You feel dizzy and off-balance, unable to think of anything other than him—his fingers twined in your hair, his lips on your jaw, his cock against your thigh. 

You feel it waning—the last bits of your composure, torn to ribbons under his touch. It’s only when his mouth comes to rest against yours, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, that you finally give in. 

Between strangled moans, you say, “You’ll have to be quick."

Benji’s grin is painfully arrogant as he rolls his hips again. “Oh, baby—” a low, raspy chuckle sets a fire in your belly—“quick isn’t in my vocabulary.” 

a/n - idk man I can't write smut so this where it ends I guess lmao. kinda wanna explore more with this reader cause I like the idea of a lil barmaid and benji but we'll see!

as stated in warnings, this wasn't edited in the slightest and I wrote it super quick last night, so apologies for any errors!

tag list 🫶🖤 - @bearwithegg @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages @nixtape-foryou @kezibear

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Large, reasonably priced 1972 mid-century modern in Kokomo, Indiana. 4bds, 5ba, and it's original with loads of character. In this home, you have no choice but to embrace the funky, especially if you blow all your money on the mortgage. $299,900. There's a lot for the money here.

Double doors open to a stone wall w/a door and an open area to the right. Note the colorful brick pattern in the floor. Sort of looks like birds wearing bras.

If you should choose to go to the right, you will enter this gigantic living room (living/dining combo? Great room?). The carpeting is clean and in great condition.

Details of the fireplace with an asymmetrical design.

And, off to the side, enter the kitchen. Another large room with a double decker island. This home has been very well cared for and preserved.

Definitely an eat-in kitchen. Not only is the island large enough to sit at, but you can see the dinette space at the far end.

Back to the main hall, we go left to the other side of the house.

I don't know what this is. That window throws me off. Is it a dining room w/a kitchen service window? Must be.

These rooms sure are big. This must be the principal bedroom with huge closets and a terrace.

Plus, it has a walk-in cedar closet.

This original bath has a cool orange sink.

Yeah, that's got to be the dining room. Although I don't understand the layout. Note the original door bell chimes.

Here's another large room. It has built-in shelves.

This one has a built-in shelf, too. Looks like there may be an intercom on the wall next to the door.

This bath has a nice pink laminate counter and floral sinks. Everything is so perfect. Not a stain in sight.

Another cedar closet.

Gigantic ground floor level has a ballroom sized rec room.

Plus, a full sized kitchen with original appliances. Love the blue laminate and blue glass cabinet doors.

This is so cool- a big indoor pool with 2 slides and a diving board.

Oh, look, they left a pool table, cues and balls. Nice.

Will you select door #1, #2, or #3?

Utility room- that looks like a central vac unit on the right.

Huge garage with cabinets. Did they leave that John Deere tractor? No wonder this home has a pending sale, it's cool as hell.

.97 acre lot and it has a river on the property.

[topknot32]

Girl Dad (2/2)

Rio/OFC

summary- Rio sees his pregnant ex-girlfriend out one night not long after their breakup. He seizes the opportunity, and tries to persuade her to let him be in his kid's life, and hers, too.

warnings- 18+. Smut below the cut

word count- 3.4K

CAMILA

The smell of cigarette smoke had always been a turn off for Camila, always. Until she met Rio. Now, the smell of menthol and cedar wood cologne were comforts. The combination was entirely Christopher, and she breathed it in as he held her in the middle of the restaurant without a care who saw them.

She could blame it on hormones all she wanted, but in truth, she missed him. The few weeks they spent being consumed by one another were some of the best she ever had. There were several moments in their affair when she believed it could be something real, that he might not be the stereotype she'd originally labeled him as.

But every time she opened her mouth to tell her friends and family, something held her back. It was the lifestyle. The unpredictable and dangerous way he lived his life when they weren't together. Christopher had never involved her in his business, but she wasn't stupid or naive.

Camila understood the money he earned to buy luxury vehicles and expensive jewelry wasn't brought in by honest means. That part didn't bother her, no. The part that did was the danger it posed to him. He'd been shot, he told her so, and she'd seen the scars. She was a nurse, she knew what the three healed wounds on his chest were before he even said the words. Getting attached to someone who could end up getting themselves killed was terrifying no matter how much she enjoyed his company and getting pregnant by him was equally so.

When she looked up as he held her, she forgot all of that. He stared down at her with the kind of intensity that made butterflies take flight in her stomach, and she chanced a glance down at his lips. When Christopher put all his attention on her, no one else existed.

"Sorry for the waterworks. I always thought pregnancy hormones were an over dramatization, but nope. They are, in fact, very real."

"You good?" he asked after brushing away the remaining tears from her cheeks. She nodded just as the waitress came over with her salad.

Camila straightened up, and Chris released her, but he didn't retreat. He stayed on her side of the booth while she ate, an arm thrown up behind her on the back of the seat.

The winds seemed to have shifted between them since his apology. She didn't feel as angry, and he didn't seem as arrogant or confrontational. It didn't feel awkward between the two, and a comfortable kind of silence settled over them.

When Camila was finished, Chris brushed a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear. "Come home with me," he said softly, sending a chill down her spine.

She avoided looking at him because the second she did, she'd cave. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

He looks irresistible, she thought. "It's just not."

"Please."

The way that one word left his lips pulled her gaze. She could get lost in his brown eyes, and she nearly did. He gave her one of those up and down glances that made her breathe quicken, the kind he snuck so quickly she wasn't even sure if she really saw it.

"I don't—"

"Don't fight me. We don't have to do anything. That's not what this is." He motioned between them with a silver ringed hand. "Let me take care of you. It's the least I can do."

"I have to work early," she tried, but he brushed that off before she'd barely gotten the words out.

"I'll have you tucked in before midnight. Come on."

Chris pulled out his wallet and threw down a few bills, then pulled out his beanie and slid it on. He was always a good tipper, having sympathy for people in the service industry. She admired him for it. Wealth hadn't made him selfish, at least not in that aspect.

He helped her out of the booth, holding her hand like a gentleman. His black SUV was parked on the street just a block away, and once they were inside, he turned up the heat for her sake, knowing how much she hated to be cold. It was a warm cocoon that smelled like him, enveloping her in a sense of calm and safety she hadn't felt since she ended their relationship.

Rap music played quietly, not too loud to interrupt a conversation if she wanted to start one, and it seemed like he was waiting for just that. His fingers tapped a soft beat on the steering wheel as he drove, and he glanced her way every so often.

"I don't want you to pay for things," she said after a while. Chris looked over, a frown forming. "You said you wanted to help, to pay for stuff for the baby."

“And that’s a problem?”

Camila took in a deep, shaky breath. "I don't want to be a single mom, to do all of this alone." She shifted a little in her seat to see him better. She could tell by the tension in his jawline he didn't like the words coming out of her mouth. "Did you mean what you said, about Beth?"

He laughed, a sarcastic kind of laugh. She hated it. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. I figured you knew that by now."

"If she's nothing to you, then do this with me. I don't want your money, I can do that myself. I want you in it, too. All the way. Like, up all night, no sleep, covered in puke all the way."

The sarcastic humor vanished as he processed. He looked over at her, then back at the road. "You're serious?"

"I'm not saying I want to get back together, but I need you, Christopher."

"You have me," he said softly, reaching over to take her hand. "I promise."

Inside his apartment, Christopher pulled his jacket off, heading for the bedroom. Camila always loved his place. The open concept, the warm touches of wood and leather, the photographs.

"Strip," he said, dragging his sweatshirt off next. With his back to her, she admired the newly exposed tan skin, the muscles rippling as he moved. She loved the way his jeans hung on his hips.

She had to drag her eyes away from the lines of his hip bones. "I'm not sleeping with you."

He looked back over his shoulder, hands reaching for his belt buckle. "I'm a grown man, Camila. I can see you naked and not have to fuck. Do what I said."

He disappeared around the corner into the bathroom where she heard the sound of the shower turning on. Her stomach did a nervous flip, but she was happy to be here. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her own sweatshirt off, leaving her in jeans and a lace bralette in her favorite shade of lavender.

He was already in the shower by the time she came in. It was a massive glass box of smooth, black tile with two shower heads, one on each side. His back was to her as she unfastened her jeans and pushed them down along with her panties, then stripped off the bralette, leaving her naked. Next, Camila pulled the hair tie from her hair and let it fall. The steamy air in the bathroom felt like heaven on her skin, the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders already loosening.

When she stepped into the shower, Christopher glanced at her with heavy eyes, drinking her in slowly, like it was the first time, but he kept his distance. She liked the way he looked at her, like she was something rare and special to behold. He turned so he could see her better, but they stayed beneath their separate sprays.

While Camila washed her hair, she snuck a few glances at his perfectly tan, tattooed body. If he saw, he didn't make it known, or at least he didn't chastise her for it. She could admire him for hours and not get tired of the view. With an internal scolding, she turned so he was out of her line of sight.

She found her thoughts drifting to a very similar scene, but a different time. A series of many different times in this very room when there was no space between them, just skin on skin, his long fingers tangled in her hair, lips exploring every single inch of her body. When desire was the ruler of her emotions.

Fingertips brushing the wet hair off the back of her neck and over her shoulder yanked Camila back to now, and her heart nearly stopped. Christopher was standing beneath the spray just behind her. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed him come over.

"Where you at?" he hummed, pressing his lips to the spot where her neck and shoulder connected.

Camila shivered, hyper aware of how close he was behind her, the heat of his body giving her goosebumps. His fingers ran down her arm where he laced them through hers, pulling her hand up to press a kiss to the center of her palm. The other hand slid around her waist, resting right over her abdomen.

"I was just thinking," she said softly, eyes fluttering closed.

"About what?"

The sound of his voice was enough to make her melt into him, and she found all rational thought disappearing.

"Us."

She felt him chuckle—a slow, sleepy sound as he kissed his way across her shoulder blade. "Quit makin' me ask and say what's on your mind."

Camila turned her head to see him better, and he looked down with half lidded eyes. He was irresistible, water dripping down his face, his focus entirely on her. Surprising even herself, she leaned up and connected their lips, answering his question without words.

Christopher didn't deny her. He kissed her back, deep and slow, eliciting feelings only he knew how to. It was a sensation she'd desperately missed. She tried to turn in his arms, but he held firm, keeping her right where she was. Keeping her under his control. When he pulled back, he released her hand and cupped her cheek.

"Stop it," he whispered, and she blushed, but kept eye contact.

It was a battle of wills. She waited to see if he would kiss her again, and he waited to see what she wanted, what she was thinking. She could feel his cock hardening, pressing into the small of her back, but he made no move to push her further.

"Tell me what you want, Camila," he said, ghosting his lips across hers, but pulling back when she tried to kiss him.

"Christopher—"

"No."

She bit her bottom lip, drawing his eyes down to the movement. Wanting him and asking for it were two different things. In her mind, she wanted him to let go of his restraints, for him to devour her like only he could, but she didn't know how to say that out loud.

Christopher waited patiently, holding her body tight to him, but there was that look in his eye that told her he wanted an answer.

"I want you," she finally whispered, feeling the heat of embarrassment spreading up from her chest.

He grinned. "You have me. All wrapped around your pretty finger."

“You know what I mean."

"You should be really clear because what I think you might mean, you told me wasn't gonna happen."

The hand on her abdomen slipped lower, and her heart jumped into her throat. His fingertips drew shapes just above where she wanted them. She shifted back, connecting their lower bodies firmly, making a sharp breath leave his chest. He was hard as a rock now. Heat pooled in her lower body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the shower.

"Please fuck me," she managed to get out, leaning up to kiss him again, the words vibrating against his mouth. He let her have it this time, slipping his tongue between her lips to tangle with her own.

He nudged her forward toward the shower wall just out of the spray. She nearly cried with relief. Christopher took her hand again, raising it to rest against the tile, his covering hers as his other finally dipped between her legs, brushing over her clit, making her shudder.

She pulled away from his lips, dropping her forehead and resting it against the tile. His fingers worked over her dripping pussy, mouth dropping to her shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there. It was everything she'd been daydreaming about, but everything she said she wouldn't do if she came here. And yet she needed it, needed him.

He moved his hand lower, slipping a finger inside her, and the groan that came from his lips could've made her come right on the spot. He added a second finger and pumped them slow and torturous. It felt like heaven, but it wasn't enough.

"Please," she begged, resting her other hand on the tile, lips parting when his fingers curled in a way that made her cry out.

"Fuck, Camila." He removed his fingers and used his knee to knock her thighs wider apart. The thought that he was as eager as she was made her body flush even more. He used his free hand to guide his cock to her entrance, and pushed inside.

She tried to pull her hand under his free from the wall, but he held her there, forcing the other one up, caging her in, sinking himself deeper inside her. He stayed like that for what felt like forever, letting her body adjust to him by just barely pulsing in and out of her as he kissed every inch of skin he could reach. After tormenting her for several agonizing moments, his hips moved quicker, body pressing flat against hers.

"Your pussy feels so goddamn good, baby," he whispered in her ear, making her legs turn to jelly as he fucked her. "I missed this, I missed you."

He finally let her hands go, running one up her body to squeeze one of her breasts, brushing over her nipple with his thumb. It sent shocks of electricity straight between her legs, and she gasped, chin dropping to her chest.

Christopher leaned forward and kissed her jaw, teeth nipping at the skin. "Did you miss me, too?"

"Yes." She could barely form words. His cock stroked magic along her walls, his thrusts forceful and fast enough to make her lose her breath.

His hand moved back down between her legs, circling her clit with expert precision. "Tell me."

"Yes, I missed you," she gasped, latching onto his forearm and digging her nails in hard enough to leave indents. A ball of pleasure had begun to form in her lower body.

"I want you to come for me, baby,"

She moaned his name, unable to hold it in at his encouragement, the sound of his hips snapping against hers making her tremble. He took her chin in his other hand and forced her to look up at him, to meet his gaze. She could feel herself falling apart, and by the way he stared down at her, he liked the mess he'd made. Her eyes fluttered closed as she reached the precipice, so close to tipping over the edge into sheer bliss.

"Look at me," he whispered, his own pleasure thick in his voice. She opened her eyes, her lips parting as the hunger in his voice made the ball of pleasure explode.

The orgasm took her breath away, snatching it right from her chest, but Christopher held her tight and fucked her through it, not giving her an inch of space to pull back. It went on for what felt like forever, sapping every ounce of energy from her, and she was grateful for his grip or she would've dropped like a stone.

Just as hers was dissipating, his hit him full force, and she gazed up at him with heavy, satiated eyes. She loved the way his own eyes closed, his mouth dropping open, breath hitching in his chest. When Christopher opened his eyes again, he stole a kiss, his cock softening inside her. He pulled out and rested his forehead against her shoulder to catch his breath.

The water was still running hot, and Camila had to thank whoever installed the water heater in his building. When her legs felt steady enough, she pulled out of his hold and moved back under the spray, washing away the sweat and come from her skin. Christopher watched her with a half smirk, looking satisfied.

He joined her under the spray, pressing a hand to the tiny bump of her abdomen, the other running up from her ass to the cradle back of her neck. "Boy or girl," he asked.

It was a question she'd pondered for hours and hours over the last few weeks. Who would this little life be?

"Girl," she finally said, leaning up to kiss him. "You've got 'girl dad' in your DNA."

Christopher laughed, the smile covering his entire face, and Camila couldn't help but be smitten. "Why would you wish that on me? A lifetime of ass beatings and threats."

"Come on, I'm getting wrinkly."

Camila stepped out of the shower on shaky legs, Christopher right behind. She slipped into a robe on the hook on the wall and brushed her fingers through her hair, looking herself over in the mirror. He came to stand behind her, a towel tied around his waist.

He watched her as she pulled bottles from the cabinets—facial serum and moisturizers she'd stocked here when they were together. It warmed her heart to find them right where she left them, completely untouched like he knew she would be back.

"So, a girl, huh?" he asked, and she met his gaze in the mirror.

"I hope so."

He smiled, but shook his head. "I guess I should start prayin' now. I got a lot of bad karma just waitin' to rain down on my head."

"Hey, it's going to be okay either way."

He took a step forward and hugged her from behind, squeezing her tight and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Yeah, we will."

Finally, while she was putting lotion on her legs, he walked out of the bathroom, leaving her to finish getting ready for bed in a peaceful silence. By the time she was finished, Christopher had changed into sweats and pulled down the covers on the bed. He was putting on deodorant when she came back in.

"Get in bed, mama," he said, turning out the lights, leaving them in near darkness except for the city lights shining in through the enormous windows.

Camila thought the way he demanded nearly everything in life would get under her skin and drive them apart, but after the last few weeks of work without him around, she relished the way she could turn her mind off. It made her feel cozy and warm inside.

She slid between the sheets on her side of the bed, and he followed after adjusting the thermostat and closing the door. They laid beside each other for a while without speaking until he broke the silence.

"See, tucked in before midnight," he said, and she could hear the smirk without even seeing his face.

"I do believe I said coming home with you was a bad idea, though, and I was right."

He laughed. "My intentions were pure, I promise. You were the poor influence."

She reached out and swatted at his chest. Christopher snatched her up by the wrist and dragged her into his chest. She wound her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to one of the scars on his chest—the bullet wound that'd pierced through to his lung. The one that nearly killed him.

"I want you to fire her," Camila said softly.

"What?"

She sat up a little so she could see his face. "Beth. She almost killed you once. She should never get the chance to try again."

The wheels turned inside his head, she could see it as he held her gaze. "You gonna stick around this time?"

"I'm here aren't I?"

"You gonna keep me a secret?" One of his eyebrows cocked curiously. "I give a little, you give a little, sweetheart." He brushed a finger over her bottom lip.

"No, you won't be a secret."

Christopher kissed her softly. "Good."

[fallstreakfeathers]

WHERE LIGHT DWELLS

Warnings: au typical trauma, biting, Sekido bites you but not in the Fun Way, septic shock, vomiting. Not formatted for tumblr bc it takes forever on mobile We are now formatted for tumbl.hell, Reader is gn and not described.

Word Count: 8,085 8,385 8597(update as of 6/18/24)

If it's unreadable, try it on Ao3 : Where Light Dwells

( Taisho Secret: I don't like sekido.)

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Part 1

Your car purrs along the deserted backroad; a not-so-short-shortcut home to avoid the traffic on the main highway. The radio sings in the background, not that you’re really listening to it. You can’t even tell what’s playing over the wind that whips past your open window. Some old classics. Maybe country. It cuts in and out as cell service wanes. The scenery that blurs past your window is more interesting than whatever song manages to glitch its way into your car. You think that the atmosphere could fit a horror movie despite the daylight- it’s dilapidated enough, at least, and the wind pushes the canopy in a way that makes the creaking branches look as if they might just snatch you up. You drive over a pothole and the bumper jumps, jerking you in the seat. You wince. That definitely wasn’t there last time you traveled this way, but with the size of the storm that damaged the shingles on your neighbor's roof just a week ago, it was a miracle there were no downed logs. Yet. A dark, unusual shape catches your eye as you navigate the pits and ruts of overgrown foliage and litter amongst a twig-strewn dirt road. At first you ignore it- after all, it’s probably just another bag of trash someone’s dumped in the woods. But, something about the shape of that shadow tugs you back, and you hesitantly slow your vehicle and put the gear in reverse.

Gravel and dead leaves crunch under the wheels as you stop, and the closing door startles you in the uneasy peace of the forest. Even the birds seem quiet today. With cautious steps, aware that you are alone in the woods on a backroad that is so rarely traveled anymore that it’s more grass than dirt, you creep towards the dark figure and peer over the side of the ditch.

Your face pales. That’s… there’s a hand poking out from under a large bush. And ragged clothes that don't hide whatever it is from the suffocating heat. You’re trying not to freak out, praying it’s a mannequin, or even someone's… personal toy. Anything but a corpse. It stinks, a rotting, pungent sweetness that turns your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s whatever is in front of you or if it’s the miles of trash and dead plants around you. Several steel wires had been wrapped around a cedar tree behind the bush, and you swallow hard as you see the iron is stained red. You hope it’s rust. The wind dies down, and you swear you can hear labored breathing as you crouch in the ditch, trying to see under the bush without sticking yourself in reach.  Your heart sinks further.

There’s an adult man hiding under the leaves, and you can tell from his pointed ears and the horns that curve out of his forehead that he's a demon. Someone's pet, from the looks of the rusty tag hanging from chains way too tight on his neck. Red, swollen bug bites pock his arms in a furious itchy red. You pull your own sleeves down. The bindings cut his flesh, leaving gaping wounds that cross around his body. They look inflamed, from what you can see. Something yellow oozes from a few of them, mixing with the blood soaking the ground under him.

There are several deep punctures in his arms that are obviously from another demon’s teeth. Possibly even its horns. You peer around, trying to see if this is some kind of sick trap. A joke. But you’re as alone as you were when you stopped the car. As alone as you thought you were. The wind changes and the smell hits you full force. You stumble back clamping a hand to your stomach as you try not to retch. The demon pulls his trembling hand back from patches of light as the leaves move, trying to hide his sun-burned skin from the heat. Demons… the sun hurts them much faster than it does humans, you remember. At least, prolonged exposure does. From what you’ve heard. Not that you’ve ever dealt with demons. You’ve never even met one, except for the unfortunate, skulking thing your friend kept around. The girl wouldn’t even meet your eyes, shoulders hunched and tense like she was expecting to be hit for even breathing. Her ratty hair had hidden her face. You disapproved of the concept of a demon ‘pet’, but your friend insisted it was better than a dog or cat. Traditional pets couldn’t do household chores. Or wash your car. The demon stilled under the bush, his eyelids shut tight with an ugly grimace on his face. Sharp fangs poked at his bottom lip. He was curled in on himself as much as he could with the bindings. His long, dark hair was matted with twigs and grime, and he trembled. With what, you couldn’t tell. Pain? Cold? Maybe both. You shift on your feet, a twig cracking under your weight. It seems to echo on the otherwise quiet road. In a split second, the demon lunges from the bushes with a vicious snarl, his hands outstretched before his body is snapped back by wires that held fast and branches that creaked in their reluctance to release him. You lose your balance on the gravel as you scramble backward, seconds too late. If it hadn’t been for the bindings that tied the demon to the tree, you’re sure he would’ve been upon you. For now, though, drool drips unbidden from his growling mouth, and the demon’s blood-red irises stare at your crouching form with a furious, biting hatred that had you shivering almost as much as he was. He did not want you here- that much was obvious when he attempts to lunge once more, spitting gore and drool on the ground with a howl. The chains and wires whined, creaked, snapped bark off the cedar tree as much as they dug bloody ruts into the man's skin. Then, to your surprise, he slinks back into the bushes and collapses with a pathetic groan. His eyes dart around, unfocused and… confused. Like he didn’t know where he was. You quickly finished giving him his space, breathing heavily. It was horrifying, seeing a sapient being act so beastly, but if someone could chain him to a tree then you couldn’t bear to think about what he must have been through. He’s delirious, you realize. And obviously aggressive. Scared, you tell yourself. Probably scared. Hopefully just scared. The sun is high and the demon shakily pushes himself against the tree to hide again. It’s quiet now, except for his ragged breaths. After several minutes pondering options, you hear the demon move again. He’s in the shade, straining against the creaking metal wire and rustling bush. They seem like they might snap from the struggle, but they cut his flesh more instead. He hisses, struggling like a flailing dog. You look away, unable to watch while the demon stumbles around. He can’t move more than a couple feet in any direction, and the more he moves the more entangled he becomes in the bushes. It’s quite obvious by now that he isn’t thinking clearly. You worry that the chains cutting into his throat will choke him to death, or he’ll die of blood loss. He hasn’t stopped growling, and any time you move he bares his fangs at you with a glare. You take your opportunity when he stops to rest a moment.

“Hey! Hey,” you gently call, raising your hands in a surrendering gesture. The demon swings his head towards you, eyes flashing. He loses his balance more than once as he waits for whatever you’re about to do. But, the growling stops as he stares, and he only releases an occasional hiss if you shift on your feet too much- a warning not to come close. You heed it. You feel like you’re trying to calm a bear. The demon’s wounds aren’t healing, you notice with a frown. Odd. You’ve heard that a demon has much better regenerative capabilities than humans do. They heal within hours. Sometimes minutes, depending on genetics. Unless something is wrong. You wonder if that something has to do with the petals smashed between the chains. A sweet purple color amidst the rusted reds and dying leaves.

He collapses once more, wheezing, and you make your decision. You can’t leave this man to die here, but it’s very obvious that nothing would be accomplished if you couldn’t earn even a little of his trust. You stand yourself up, ignoring his grouching, and quickly return to your car with a final glance around the area. “I’ll be back, okay?” You promise. He doesn’t believe you, pretends not to hear- has no reason to. You’re just another human. Like the bastards that took his brothers. That bound him to this horrid tree. You’ll drive off and you’ll never return. Probably won’t even drive down this road again. You’ll drive off… and he’ll suffer slowly until death finally frees him. Sekido winces quietly as the door closes and the engine roars to life. He’s too spent to move any further than to fall into the brush again, but he doesn’t think himself pathetic enough to try to crawl after you as you drive away anyhow. He’d tear his own throat out before he let himself be that weak, even in his delirium.

A knot rises in your throat as you turn a sharp corner. You knew nothing about demons. Didn’t know how much time you would have to save this man’s life. The forest whipped past. Then, you lost sight of him. I am going to die here, Sekido thought. He was going to die at the side of an abandoned road in agony and despair, and nobody would ever care for him or care that he was…. That he is scared. He covered himself with the bush to the best of his abilities, trying to fight off the chills without letting the cursed sun burn him anymore than it already had. And then, he closed his eyes with a groan. He hoped this would be the last night. Hoped he wouldn’t wake again. Hoped his brothers were someplace better than the hellhole he’d been thrust into.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Time crept along slowly, minutes felt like hours, but eventually Sekido had fallen into a fitful sleep. However, his brief respite was interrupted when the sound of a car door slamming startles him awake just forty-five minutes later. He holds himself still. Just wants to die in peace. Is so dizzy he could’ve sworn the trees are dancing above him. Footsteps crack on dry gravel, hesitating a moment before retreating back to the vehicle.

You approach him again slowly, trying not to scare the demon any more than you knew he already was. Or make him angrier. The emotions are so often intertwined, you muse to yourself. In your nervous hands is a package of raw meat and a wide-lipped water bottle, and for a minute you consider the intelligence behind what you were about to attempt. Demons don’t eat human food (according to the website you hastily searched up in near panic), but they can eat most meats. Usually uncooked, it had said. No need to waste the effort preparing an actual meal. Demons could even go long periods of time without eating at all, though it wasn’t necessarily healthy. Food was to be ‘used as a reward’, the website had said. Taken away as a punishment. They needed water as much as any other living thing, the article had admitted in its explanation of the twisted expectations of demonic obedience and training. Your nose scrunched in disgust at the casual cruelty. You hoped the demon would at least take the water.

“Hey,” you softly say, crouching on the ground out of the demon's reach. He stares at you as you approach, snarling lowly. His sight locked firmly on you, even as the wind blew strands of oily, matted hair into his face. But, he didn’t lunge, and that was a good sign. Hopefully. You took the opportunity to visually scan the parts of him you could see. His injuries looked even worse than when you’d found him, and with eyes that seemed to sink into their sockets, he was obviously dehydrated. You wonder how long he’d been strapped to this tree. Part of you thought it best if you don’t know.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? I’ve got water.” You shake the clear bottle and take another tentative step forward. “I just want to help…” It was strange, speaking to a human-shaped being like he was an animal. But you didn’t know how else to talk to him. Weren’t sure if it would make him worse to be spoken to as an equal, or if he even understood your words- if he was as feral as he looked.

His eyes are full of doubt. Glazed. Humans don’t help. Humans take, are selfish. Lie and destroy. Beat you senseless for surviving. You can tell how sick this poor, trembling man is- even through the growling and drool. Sweat drips off his face and his skin is so ashy anyone would mistake him for a corpse. Except that he is still yowling his displeasure like an untamed cat. He watches the water longingly. Desperately. “Please let me help you,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice quiet as you unscrew the bottle and hold the water out,  approaching the demon sideways and angling your body away so you wouldn’t be crawling directly towards him. You hoped that you would seem like less of a threat that way. That’s how the internet had said to approach a stray dog, at least. There was no advice on how to get close to an angry, scared, feral demon- aggressive demons should ‘just be put down’, the sites had spoken. Your arm is just out of his reach as you await his reaction. You shuffle another step forward. He snarls again, spitting and stumbling to his knees. Droplets of blood wet the crumbling, sticky leaves. His unfocused gaze finds the water again, but he doesn’t seem to believe this isn’t some cruel trick, even as he sniffs the air at you. Your eyes mist at his stench. You aren’t sure if the demon is even aware of the way he smells. You hope not. Somehow you think that might be for the best. You wonder if he can even feel shame, dehumanized as he is. You don't let yourself entertain the question of whether someone inhuman can even be stripped of his personhood. The wind ruffles through the bushes again and the dying sun casts long shadows in the forest around you. It makes the demon look more skeletal than he did before. His eyes squinted in fury, teeth clenched so tight it must hurt, like he couldn’t believe the gall you must have to even approach something like him. You knew you would have to push past your own fear before this man would ever let you help him- and that you are his last hope. Nobody else would help an aggressive demon- much less take care of him. Too much work, some posts on that horrible website had said. Not worth it, others lamented. Better for everyone to just cut their necks and get a new demon than to deal with something that’s broken. You weren’t going to let that happen.

And so you gulp your anxiety down, trying not to let your arm shake the water out of the bottle. No use drowning the forest floor. His eyes, red as the blood that drips from his wounds, are locked solidly on you if they aren’t flickering about like a shadow might attack him. For a moment you fear he’ll lunge. When he tenses, you freeze until he stops trembling again. Like a macabre game of red-light-green-light. 

Your thighs burn. He’s ready to fight you off. That much is clear even with his sickly pale skin and panting breath. Even if he can barely stand. Even if he’s so dizzy it seems the breeze might blow him over. “Please,” you beg quietly again, moving another few inches closer to the shivering demon. A mistake. He howls with panicked eyes, springing towards you and catching your arm before you can do anything. Just as fast, he sinks his sharp teeth into your forearm with a violent snarl, ignoring your screams. He bites harder, dragging you under him as you kick at him. You drop the water bottle and it tumbles, diluting the bloody ground. The demon hovers over you, pinning you to the moss as his blunt nails dug into your flesh. 

You could feel the second your skin gave way and ripped. His body quaked in his violence, even as you sobbed. “Stop!” You wailed. You swear you can feel something cracking in your arm, and shriek again as his teeth grind further. Your vision blurs. You push your leg against his stomach, hitting against his head with your free arm in hopes of getting him to release you. It does nothing to stop the hissing beast atop you. “I’m sorry! Please!” You cry. You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You know that nobody travels these roads, which is why the demon was dumped there in the first place. 

Nobody would help you. You were entirely at the mercy of a violent, sick demon out of his mind with rage (terror). Your blood is hot, painfully so against his sticky tongue. 

Almost sweet. He’s not sure if it’s the chills that have wracked his body for the last two and a half days, or if he’s just so starved that anything in his mouth burns like an open wound. A flicker of emotion passes over his face, disappearing as quickly as it came but you recognize the fear through your tears. He’s terrified of you, of the lies you’re surely speaking, of your impending attack, impending violence, even as his drool mixes with your blood. You can’t breathe against the grip he has on your neck, and you know it’s going to bruise if you get out of this alive. Flailing weakly, you push against the demon again, grabbing at his cracked, flaky horns, and again it’s useless. Even in his half-starved, dehydrated and ill state he is so much stronger than you. You… vaguely remember something about that on the website as black spots dance across your horizon. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,” you rasped, trying to swallow any amount of air to soothe your burning lungs. Petrified. The demon doesn’t let go, but he isn’t biting any harder. You hope… you hope maybe you’ve gotten through to him somehow. You wonder if anybody would ever find your body out here. If so, would they find the demon as well? You hope he doesn’t have some transferable disease. You curse yourself for stopping your damn car. You hope he remembers to let go of your throat as you finally fall to the darkness and go limp under him. You don’t feel him trembling, collapsing against your chest with a weak groan.

-------- ≪ °✾° ≫ --------

Your throat burns, feels like sandpaper against the flesh as you wake to starry skies and a deeper, throbbing pain in your arm. Something heavy lays over you. Shivering. Muttering something as it twitches. Your clarity returns and your vision adjusts to the dark, revealing the demon that has fallen over you like a limp doll. Pale as death. Exhausted and groaning in his sleep. His eyes flick under the lids. The demon's teeth had abandoned your arm. Left gaping, circular holes that you don’t look at lest you panic. You take in your surroundings with nothing but the moonlight illuminating the deserted forest road. The water bottle had been drunk- what was left of it, anyway- and left crumpled on the ground. Streaks of blood painted the inside, like the demon had tried to sweep up any of the moisture that refused to fall with his tongue. You winced, moving your injured arm, but stopped when the demon grunted. His body jerked in his sleep, brows furrowed. Cloth had been tied tight around your wound- the man’s hand was still touching the wrappings. He must have used the last of his strength to prevent you from bleeding out, using scraps he tore from his own filthy, barely usable clothes. And then, he fell from the effort. It would explain the haphazard way he was draped over you. Your nose wrinkles from the stench, and you have to try yet again not to choke as you feel his greasy hair brush your face.

The poor thing seemed to have a permanent scowl, his face downturned even in his restless sleep. You make use of the opportunity to take in his appearance more. 

He was almost entirely human-looking, except for the two curved horns on his clammy forehead and the wine-colored cracked skin that stopped before his brows and also colored the underneath of his eyes. His nails, long but blunt, had bits of dried blood under them. You couldn’t tell if they were naturally that dark blue color or it was the dirt caked to them. The demon looked as if he would have been quite built had he not been so emaciated. Even his face, sickly as it was, seemed like it had a hidden beauty to it that couldn’t be marred by his ragged trousers and worne wife-beater that was barely passable as a shirt anymore.

His weight against you is uncomfortable- sharp bone poking in all the wrong places, his breath quick and harsh against the quiet night. You breathe shallowly yourself in an attempt to avoid absorbing his fetid air. Sweat continued to drip from his forehead. You slowly, carefully, hold your uninjured hand in front of his dirt-caked skin and frown. You could feel his fever from an inch away. The wires tying him glint in the moonlight when he shifts. You had bolt cutters in the trunk of the car, along with a cooler of bottled water and more meat. He hadn’t eaten anything- the package was too far out of reach and now ruined by the sleeping sun. Your arm needed to see a hospital. He had missed any arteries, thank God, but you probably needed stitches. And antibiotics. Who knew what was in a demon’s saliva. But… Something in you knew you couldn’t leave this demon alone here, even with the injury he’d inflicted. If you left the demon here and went to the hospital, if the staff found out he was the one responsible, he would be killed without hesitation. Without compassion or compromise. As your thoughts trickle through like a stream through pebbles, you wonder if you might just be crazy. 

You had to be. 

The demon stirs, slowly opening his eyes. His hands press against you as he blinks, clearing his vision. He growls again with a sharp grimace, then he looked away, scowling tensely at a bush. Like he could light it aflame with his anger. Of course. Was he ever going to stop growling and giving you the stink-eye? It had surpassed the point that it was no longer frightening you. Now it just made you sad. It seemed as if he had no real control over his reaction to people, even if that person was trying to help. As if the anger that found its way through his clenched teeth was instinctual. You wondered if he’d ever had a moment of peace in his life.

You stay very still, trying not to scare him. Or make him angrier. With his weight against your sternum, it's not like you could really move if you wanted to. Quietly clearing your burning throat you open your mouth to speak, then close it, unsure of what to say or how to break the ice. What do you say to a demon who nearly tore your arm off a couple hours ago?

His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment you worry he might attack again. When he doesn’t lunge, despite his feral gaze, you finally speak. Maybe you could still work your way into his trust? Or at least, get him to stop jabbing you with his elbow.

“If you let me up,” you rasp quietly, softly, almost a whisper,  “I can get those wires off of you. And get you food and water, but… but you have to promise that you won’t bite me again.” Your eyes are misty from the pain that throbs in your arm. Gravel digs into your back, and despite your compassion for a demon you knew probably had not an ounce of love shown towards him, and your honest wish to help, you are very scared of what this man might do to you if you tried to do anything without his acceptance again.

He studies you intensely, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, contemplating your offer. Like he knew you’re his last chance. He finally nods with a derisive snort, shakily leaning himself off you and slumping against the cedar tree.

You slowly move back, away from his reach, and realize that you don’t even know what to call this man. “What's your name?” You weren’t expecting an answer, weren’t even sure if the demon could speak. For a long moment there was nothing but silence while he continued to gawk at the ground, then- “Sekido,” he muttered quietly. His voice was deep, hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a long time. Like a gravel road. You waited for him to keep talking, but he doesn’t. 

Just stares at the dirt. “Okay… okay,” you take a deep breath. A name is progress, even if minorly so. “Sekido, I’m going to go to the trunk of my car. I have bolt-cutters in the back. I’m going to get that wire off you before we do anything else, okay? But I can’t do that if you’re going to bite me again. Do you understand?” You prayed he understood. Prayed that he’d let you get this over with. Prayed this was a bad dream and nobody could be so cruel, and you’d wake up without a bite in your arm and gravel embedded in your elbow.

Sekido’s body stills and he nods slightly, just barely noticeable. “Fine, human…” he grumbles. Spits ‘human’ like it’s a disease. As you shuffle to your feet, your legs numb and tingling, pondering the inhumanity that led this man to be tied to a tree, you think it might as well be.

You limp to your car and open the trunk with one hand, shuffling through the random assortment of items stored there (you’ll use them someday) until you reach a small red toolbox. You take the mini bolt cutter and trudge back to the rut. “I’m going to come beside you, okay?” You’d definitely learned your lesson about approaching this man without explicit permission. You weren’t eager to risk a repeat, so for now you would narrate everything you were about to do (in an effort to keep him from panicking) and wait for Sekido to confirm that it was okay.

He eyes the tool in your hand with scrutiny, trying to read your true intentions, and finally gives the slightest nod of his head. The wires cut into his skin horribly- far worse than you’d originally thought. Every movement sawed them deeper. Some areas, the few those odd purple petals were absent, had begun healing over. Quite literally trapping the metal inside flesh. You couldn’t force yourself to imagine what that felt like, but you cursed quietly. “Sekido, I… I don’t know how to cut these things in a way that isn’t going to hurt,” you admit slowly. “They’re in you pretty deep, and-”

“-Just do it!” He snapped, glaring at you viciously. “Or are you too stupid to cut me free?” You blink at the insult. This demon… is not very nice, you think.

Not that you really blame him. Some part of you thought it was a good thing that he felt okay enough to hurl insults, so you said nothing in return. Maybe he didn’t think he would be punished for it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care at this point.

At least he was cooperating.

“I’m sorry.” You lift the pliers to cut the first wire, and it twangs loudly, springing away with coiled force. Sekido jumps slightly as the wire breaks, then glares at you again like you weren’t supposed to see that minor display of weakness. Sticky crimson drips from the open wound. “You’re slow, human. Cut me free.” You ignore his impatience, unwilling to harm him any more than he already was. They were good cutters, but the vibrations left from the cut metal sent ripples into your hand. Rendered it numb. Spilt trickles of blood from the wound on your arm that you caught the demon glancing at once or twice. Finally, all but one had been cut from Sekido’s body. The man had torn the metal strings from his healing body as soon as they’d been clipped, despite your horrified gasp. Saved you from fumbling with them like an idiot.

Now, only the one wrapped around his neck remained. You were in awe that anyone could survive these injuries, even a demon, and you stare with hesitation at the wire cutting his throat. That is an incredibly vulnerable area. Sekido, to his credit, kept himself rooted to the spot throughout the process, but he flinches violently when you reach for his neck. Still, he does not bite you again. “Hurry up, stupid human. You’re wasting time,” he grumbles. Tries to hide his shaking hands by gripping his thighs so hard it tears through the cloth. His sanguine glare seems like he’s challenging whether you’re brave enough to even attempt it. “It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper. You aren’t sure if it was for him, or for your own state of mind, as you finally reach his neck. As your fingers finally make contact with his neck and the wire, the demon abandons his bravado with wide eyes and a sharp growl. Within milliseconds, his hand grips your wrist, digging into the skin. “Sekido.” His eyes have glazed again. He wobbles a bit, shifting on his knees with a labored groan and steadies himself with a hand against the moss-covered ground. “Hey, look at me,” you coaxed gently, your voice a mix of concern and compassion. As you reach out, your hand delicately covers his. He hisses at the contact, but you don’t pull away. You realize, now, that even if you managed to get this demon free- even if you get him to a vet- he will never survive the week. His chance at rehabilitation is slim at best. He would never be able to handle people or the basic expectations society has of demonkind. You wonder if he even knows how to respond to kindness. Or his own fear- you couldn’t imagine not being terrified in his circumstances but Sekido seemed to consider it a weakness. Even if you saved him tonight, he would be executed before the end of the month for his behavior. For what society believed was nothing worth saving. Unless… “It’s gonna be okay,” you reassure him with startling conviction. You’d keep him. You have to, and there’s not a doubt in your mind now that you’ll have a new, half-feral companion in your house come tomorrow. Somehow, you don’t feel so afraid anymore- not of this man who does not know kindness’s name. He desperately needs to. You just hope that he can deal with that.

Finally, Sekido releases a heavy breath and lets go of your wrist. “Quickly,” he orders, tilting his neck just enough to expose the horrible steel binding. The tension in the air is palpable as you gingerly push a finger under wire, fingering away one of those gentle purple petals, your fingers stained red.

You can feel Sekido’s studious gaze on you. The intensity makes you want to crawl away and hide. You shake the thought from your head and continue to unwrap the cords. The pain in his tense posture is undeniable, but he holds himself still again until the wire slowly begins to loosen its grip on his throat. You can see the relief wash over him as the pressure fades, but the blood flows steadily now.

Another glint of steel beneath the blood forces bile up from your stomach again.. The wire had crossed over itself, pushing its brother deeper into Sekido’s flesh than you’d initially thought. Whoever tied Sekido to this tree wanted him to suffer until his death. Until the steel beheaded the man. You wipe away the misty tears threatening to form. How could anyone possibly be so cruel to any living being? Much less to something so human? “There’s another one,” you manage to tell him. “Sekido, I’m not sure if I can…That one is so deep, I…What if you…” Your voice trails off, your concern too heavy to speak. The depth of this wound is staggering, and the thought of worsening his condition looms ominously in your mind. Wilts away the courage you’d managed to keep thus far. Sekido’s lip curled, his patience wearing thin with your hesitation. The demon grunts irritably, his tone laced with anger and frustration as he retorts sharply- “What? What if I bleed out? Idiot human, I’ve been doing that for days!” He grabs your wrist again, and this time he thrusts it to his neck, nearly bloodying the rest of your hand in the wound. “Get this fucking thing off me!” He barked. His pale fangs glinted in the moonlight. “I don’t care if it bleeds! Cut it off!” He’s breathing heavily, grips your ankle as you stand up. You slip one blade of the cutters under the wire without another word, at an angle in an attempt to not touch the exposed flesh underneath. Then, as he opens his mouth to order you again you press the blades together with all your strength. It snaps and you hear Sekido’s teeth crash together again. Sends vibrations up your injured arm. You yelp, collapsing beside the demon and curling over on yourself and clutching your bitten arm in an attempt to mitigate the pain with a groan.

Sekido stares at you, gazes at your injury- the injury he caused- and looks away as you catch him.

He won’t apologize. You don’t expect him to, wouldn’t ask it of him. Somehow you know that’s not in his nature.

Instead, you slowly gather yourself as the pain fades and back away from him- give him his space. Now that he had no reason to force himself to accept your presence you weren’t sure how he would behave. So you rise shakily to your feet and turn to stumble your way back to the car. He watches you. Stares into your back as you put the tool back in the box and contemplate how you could get the demon to follow you now. Thanks to that stupid website, you knew that demons were trained to follow a human's command- under the threat of punishment usually, should the demon refuse. You would never hurt him, but… maybe you could order him into the car? But, would he even listen? You are not his master. You open the backseat door anyway, turn to face the demon who’s eyes seem to glow now in the moonlight. “Sekido,” you start firmly, hoping you wouldn’t have to order him like a misbehaving dog. “I would like you to get in the car.” Sekido’s eyes harden, and his body stiffens. He does not move, glares at you like he’s been doing all evening. After a long and awkward minute of staring at each other, seeing who might break first, you steel your resolve with a shaky breath. “Sekido, get in the car,” you order him firmly, though not unkindly. He stays for a moment. You think he might refuse again, but then he slowly, dizzily, stands up and limps his way forward. You want to help him but he snarls when you take a step forward, so you let him crawl from the ditch by himself. He pauses before the door. Grumbles a quiet, “I hate all you humans,” and then slumps over on the seat before pulling himself completely into the car. You almost allow a small, fond smile. What a brat.

“You can hate me as much as you want. I wouldn't dream of stopping you,” you replied. You were shocked he was complying so quickly, but it suddenly made sense when he collapses completely in the back. Only then did the thought pass that perhaps you should’ve laid some kind of cover on the seat to protect the leather from the blood and filth. Returning to the back of the car, you grab another bottle of water from the cooler and uncap the lid. You hold it out to Sekido. “Slowly.” Sekido stares at you, then the water, and now your extended hand. He grabs the bottle. Then, he sits there with it, just… staring. “Please drink?” You wait patiently for a few moments, shifting awkwardly on your feet, but he does not drink. You knew the water would be like heaven to his parched throat, but he simply held the liquid, quivering. What else did that awful web article say, you tried to remember. Ah. That’s right. Demons weren’t allowed to have anything, own anything, use anything without permission. Only people own things. You were sure now that Sekido’s previous caretakers had beaten him for simply eating or drinking. Surviving. He obviously wanted the water- his eyes hadn’t left it- but… 

You frown, and Sekido gives you a long look- mistaking the downturn of your lips as dissatisfaction with him. You look up at the bright moon, steeling yourself for again treating this person as less than, because there was no other way to get through to him right now. “Sekido, drink the water,” you order quietly. He clutches the bottle, crinkling the plastic as he raises it to his lips immediately. Sekido flinches when the cool water drips on his sunburned chin, then he tips his head all the way back and swallows the liquid hungrily. He’s drinking so fast he’s nearly choking on it, and the bottle is empty in seconds- before you even have a chance to request he slow down. “Give me more,” he says bitterly. “I’ll get you more,” you promise slowly, “if you can keep down what you’ve swallowed. You drank that really fast…I want to make sure you don’t get sick, okay?”

You hope he’ll understand your concern. “When we get home, you can have as much as you’d like. And some food, too.” You’d decided against feeding him for the time being- just until you knew he could keep liquids down. If he couldn’t handle water, he definitely couldn’t handle anything as heavy as meat. Sekido glares at you from the back seat. He tries to take a deep breath, but coughs instead. “Just give me more!” He snaps. You want to, you want to more than he knows. “You’ll get more, Sekido. But we have to make sure you don’t stress your stomach. I swear, you’ll have so much water you’ll be bored of it!” His lip curls, and he slams his clenched fist on the leather. “Give it to me now!” he bellows angrily, gripping the back of your chair hard enough to leave imprints from his long fingernails. He didn’t seem concerned at all about consequences anymore. You flinch hard at his volume, startled. Even with all his snarling and grumping, he’d yet to shout at you. You shake your head in frustration, but you could see the desperation in his wrath. In an attempt to keep control of the situation, you take a breath to calm your voice, and you close the back door. “Let’s go home, Sekido,” you say as you slump in the front seat, nose scrunching at the putrid smell that’s invaded your vehicle. You wonder if you’ll have to have the seats scrubbed- remind yourself that it isn’t his fault. Sekido’s head jerks toward the doors as the lock clicked and the engine roared to life. You glanced in the back seat, at the demon you met only hours before- a stranger now trapped in this vehicle with you. His trembling had gotten worse, even with the uncomfortable heat in the car- a burning warmth that brought sweat to your brow. You exit the car again, unlock the rear door, and pop the back hatch to grab an old blanket you’ve kept for emergencies. “Here,” you hold it out to Sekido with your injured arm. He glances at the blanket, then slowly at you- does not take it, even when you push it a little closer. Does not make a sound.

So you make the decision for him and carefully wave it over his back. “Try to relax. Just a little… if you can.” The back door closes before he can respond, and then you’re slowly stepping on the gas pedal to leave the crackling gravel road. You don’t crack the windows.

The overwhelming reality of his situation hits him like a crashing wave, and he clutches the blanket tightly over himself- grateful your eyes are on the road and not on his pathetic display of weakness. It is the first time he’s had such a simple comfort in longer than he remembers. A sigh leaves his cracked lips at the minimal relief it provided. He is alive. He is alive, and in a car, and someone saved him. Believed he was worth the trouble. It didn’t matter now the reasons behind this odd human’s relentless pursuit of him despite his aggression. All that mattered was that he would survive tonight, even if you would inevitably abandon him. Even if his head was swimming, and he couldn’t focus, and it took all his strength even to sit up. Even if his stomach cramped, and his wounds hurt, and he was still bleeding crimson pus on the leather seats. Even if the heated cushions and warm air did nothing to stave the chills that kept him shivering like a dog. Why on earth was he still so cold?

“Who are you?” Sekido’s gruff voice drifted from the back seat.

You give him your name, tell him you’re nobody special- was just passing by on the road. Couldn’t leave him there. He listens with an almost-amused snort.

Stops cold when you ask him about himself, if he has family. For a long minute, the car is silent except for the sound of the wind rushing past. You peer in the mirror, and see his eyes are closed. Maybe he fell asleep. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Would be grateful, even. Then, slowly, quietly: “I… had… family.” You could barely hear him. It was like the words had to be forced from his throat. The wind whipped past the closed window with a hollow sound as the treeline closed in, leading you into a tunnel.

“Can you tell me about them?” Part of you was afraid of pushing too much, afraid that he wasn’t ready to talk about something personal, so you don’t hold your breath as you awaited his response. You just drive, sailing smooth around bends and corners as you try to bring this tortured soul home- attempting to make the journey as gentle as possible. “Three brothers,” he said simply, his voice heavy. “I had a father… a long, long time ago. Dead now, most likely. The old coward…” he trailed off. He didn’t seem to hold hate for this father of his- despite the insult, there was little bite in his words. You decide not to press further about that one yet. “Tell me about your brothers,” you replied softly. “... Aizetsu is the youngest,” Sekido said slowly. “He’s always sad about something, but… kind. Compassionate.” The demon shifted, shivering and pulling the blanket tighter against himself, hoping the pressure might ease his nauseous stomach. “Urogi is obnoxious, loud and stupid. He never shuts up. Always too damn friendly with everyone. Always has enough energy to go around…” He coughed with a grunt and sigh. You glanced in the back, making sure he was alright but said nothing to ask about his condition. Somehow you knew it would only anger him to be seen in this state of supposed weakness. “Karaku is the eldest under me… and so different.  Karaku never gets angry about anything. He’s the most relaxed of any of us. He always had to be touching you… I-... I hated them,” Sekido lied, choked wetly on his own untruth as he tries to bury his emotions the way he buried his head against the seat. Tries to slow the rapid bump-bump-bump of his heart before this strange human hears it. He had no control here. But then, when had he ever had control of anything in his life? “They sound entertaining,” you offer, thinking of your own family. You wonder what yours is up to now, as you pass fields and factories that dot the side of the road. The familiar sights meant that you wouldn’t have much farther to drive. You can’t bring yourself to consider what might have become of your demon’s siblings.

“They are…” He stopped with a frustrated mumble, trying to choke out the words. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he snarled at his own patheticness, grateful you couldn’t see past the blanket covering his head. “They were all I had,” he finished so quietly you had to strain to hear him over the hum of the engine.

Your own heart ached at the bone-weary exhaustion in his voice. Part of you wanted to tear apart the earth until you found Sekido’s brothers, but you don’t know what they look like and you couldn’t bring yourself to make this man an empty promise. For now, you settled with being glad he was with you, and hoped he would tell you more about himself eventually. Though he had trouble getting the words out, talking seemed to help quell his nauseated stomach a little. “Thank you,” you said, “for sharing. It means a lot.” “Mmmn,” Sekido grumbled quietly. He was trying to act indifferent in an attempt to keep himself calm, but you thought you could feel his appreciation all the same. Even if he didn’t show it in his stoic, angry face. “Just… drive,” he sighed. You allow yourself to smile as you watch the road in front of you. Sekido’s bossy attitude would be considered a good thing- it meant he might trust that he wouldn’t be hurt for it, and if that was the case then he was welcome to be as commanding as he wanted.

The car was silent for several minutes, except for Sekido’s uncomfortable shifting in the back seat. Then he let out a pained groan. You were already concerned about his awful wounds. You’d hoped they’d start healing, like demons usually do- like you’ve read they usually do, but now that you’re stopped at a traffic light and can finally turn to see him again, you can tell they’re just as inflamed as they were before you got Sekido into the car. The website had said that wounds heal typically within minutes, except if something is wrong, or a demon has bad blood. Perhaps Sekido was a low-end demon? Your eyebrows furrow when he releases a small whimper, holding his head with his elbows on his knees. What if… What if something terrible happened before you could get him to a doctor tomorrow? He was incredibly sick already, though the worst had been coming in waves. “Sekido?” He sat back, his head swaying dizzily while he looks at you. Sekido’s bleary gaze wanders aimlessly, unable to focus despite his heavy blinking. His face is pallid, like it’s been drained of blood. “... don’t feel good…”

You debated pulling over but didn't, despite your urge to tend to his distress. You don’t want to upset him more and you were so close to home now anyway. He opened his mouth and you thought he might say something, but all he does is moan again through clenched teeth as he shudders and holds his stomach. “Sekido, are you okay?”

Drool drips from the corner of his panting mouth as his body wavers. You watch him anxiously. Sekido’s eyes go wide, and his chest heaves, spasms so harsh you can see it in the mirror.

And then he retches.

You can hear it splash on the floor, and your own stomach kicks. “Oh. Oh, God,” you say, one hand against your mouth, pulling over. You crack the window open. Sekido, sits up again with a hiccup, slumps his back against the seat with vomit dripping from his nose and sweat from his brow. Doesn’t have the strength to be disgusted with the bile covering his lips.

He said nothing- looked close to falling unconscious. Or worse, your fear told you. You still know nothing of demons except for what that website promoted, but… he really did look like he might be dying. Sekido’s hands tremble more. You’re trying not to vomit yourself from the smell, bitterly sour and somehow so much worse than the original scent of decay and dirt that had permeated the vehicle with him. You look glance at his wounds again, and the angry infected flesh around them as he falls over again and stays there. Reaching back, you gently pat his upper arm, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain up your own forearm. “Hey…” No response. “Sekido?” You shake him, an icy fear shooting settling in your chest. Something was wrong. “Hey!” Finally, he slaps your hand away with a whiney grunt. Something was very wrong. You shake your head. This demon cannot wait until tomorrow for a doctor. He needs one right now. You tap letters into your GPS system, then your face falls. The nearest 24-hour emergency veterinarian that takes demons is 3 towns away- that's over an hour drive!

Sekido pants something to himself, convulsing with a pitchy groan. His eyes squinted, rolling back as he huffed.

“Hey, you stay with me, okay?” You say with a pained smile and a firm squeeze on his arm. “I told you that you’d be okay, didn’t I? You gotta try to stay awake for me.” “...Tired,” Sekido grumbled quietly.

“Don’t sleep, Sekido. Don’t you dare.” ‘Don’t make me a liar’, you wanted to say. Couldn’t bear the thought of breaking your promise now. Didn’t know if he would wake up again if he slept. Couldn’t bear the thought of this man dying in the backseat of your car after everything.

You weren’t going to let that happen.

Tires squealed, quickly turning the vehicle around. You hoped the streets would remain as empty as they have been. Prayed no cops were on the prowl tonight, as you take a deep breath and push your foot on the gas pedal. Wind tears through your hair, howling as it passes in your race against time. Every second counted.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The More We Give Christ, The More We Have by Alexander Smellie (1857–1923)

It came about the same night that the word of God came to Nathan, saying, “Go and tell David my servant, ‘Thus says the LORD, “You shall not build a house for Me to dwell in… Moreover, I tell you that the Lord will build a house for you” — 1 Chronicles 17:3, 10

He who gives to God receives from God immeasurably more than he gives. David would willingly have built for his Lord a house of cedar; and in response his Lord builds for him an everlasting house. Full measure pressed down and running over, the heavenly King returns to the earthly servant. For that which is temporary, that which is age-long and everlasting. For that which is local and national, that which is world-wide. For that which is tainted and marred, that which is as it were a paved work of sapphire stone, and as it were the very heaven for clearness. For the Temple in Jerusalem, the better Temple of Christ’s body.

Have I not felt it too?

I give God my heart, the nest of many a hateful bird, unfitted to be his shrine. I receive it back, washed and justified and sanctified, in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of omnipotent grace.

I give God my life, cramped and meager at the best, weakened still further by my sin, an example to others of evil. He restores it dignified, gladdened, with opportunities opening before it on every side.

I give God my means, no more perhaps than the widow’s two mites, or than the Galilean boy’s bread and fish. And he multiplies my offering, transmutes it, uses it for the most marvelous and glorious ends.

Thus the more I cast away, at his feet, in his service, the more I have. I yield him my wood and hay and stubble, and he repays me with his gold and silver and precious stones.

[mountrainiernps]

Mount Rainier National Park Archives Photo of the Longmire Service Station in 1929 with vegetation island in front of it.

Next to the National Park Inn in Longmire is the historic Longmire Service Station. Built in 1929, this service station is one of the best surviving examples of a NPS Rustic-style gas station in the National Park Service and is independently listed as a National Historic Landmark in addition to being a contributing structure in the Mount Rainier National Park Historic Landmark District. The Service Station is a one-and-a-half story, concrete, stone and timber frame building with a steeply pitched, cedar-shingled gable roof. The building has log veneer siding and a stone veneer from the ground to windowsill level. Whole-log posts and beams frame the front porch and comprise the projecting roof verge and supporting brackets. A rock-bordered island with native plantings was originally placed in front of the building to help it blend with the natural landscape of Longmire as well as guide vehicles.

NPS Photo of Service Station in 2023.

The service station stopped selling gasoline in 1994 and today reproduction gas pumps sheltered by the porch are mounted on an island of glacial stones. The interior now houses an exhibit on the history of transportation in the park, newly updated in 2023. Have you visited the Longmire Service Station and transportation exhibit?

~kl

[eregyrn-falls-art]

Went down to Woods Hole, MA, on Cape Code, for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards poked around Woods Hole and Falmouth; and I wanted to see Nobska Light while we were there. While chilly and windy, we were still feeling the benefits of the warm weekend, and had to bundle up less than you'd expect for a trip to the Cape in February.

Nobska Light is very cute and scenic! It wasn't open, and while the Keeper's house seems to have been renovated and is planned to be a maritime museum, it wasn't open either. On the other side of the road was a short path to the cliff above the ocean (really, Vineyard Sound), where we looked out at Martha's Vineyard to the east, and the Elizabeth Islands chain to the west. Birds spotted: common eiders, red breasted mergansers, and a long-tailed duck drake came flying in.

Here's the text of the historical sign:

NOBSKA LIGHTHOUSE Latitude 41 30' 54" N Longitude 70 39' 20" Since 1828, Nobska Light has provided a familiar beacon for "all who go down to the sea in ships". 67 feet above sea level, Nobska's flash every six seconds is visible 17 miles out to sea. This 28,000 candlepower light used a 1000-watt lamp magnified by a Fourth Order Fresnel lens. The red section visible ton the east side of the lantern house warns ships away from Hedge Fence and L'Hommedieu Shoals south of the Cape. The present tower is 42 feelt high and was constructed in 1876. It was built to replace the original "Nobsque" light, a stone cottage with a light tower on top which had stood since 1828. The present tower is made of a cast iron shell lined with brick. It was built in Chelsea, Massachusetts and transported to Cape Cod in four sections. The front half of the current "keeper's house" was also built in 1876. Originally painted dark maroon-brown, it had a covered walkway to the tower attacked in 1899 and a second "assistant keeper's house" added in 1907. [Note: see bottom-right photo above.] Over the year, windows, doors, porches and walkways have come and gone and the color has been changed to the classic Coast Guard white with red roof. [Note: this sign is now out of date; the keeper's house is no longer white, although it still has its red roof; it is now covered in cedar shingles, which have weathered to a grey color.] Nobska Light became part of the Coast Guard in 1939, when the U.S. Light House Service merged with the Coast Guard. Despite this change, the keepers of the light remained civilians until Mr. Hindley retired in 1973, when active duty Coast Guard keepers took up the duty. In 1983, Nobska Light was automated. The two keepers houses were joined and became the quarters for Commander Coast Guard Group Woods Hole and his family. The Woods Hole Group serves the mainland and islands from Plymouth, Massachusetts to the Rhode Island/Connecticut state line.

Older photos above and some information came from:

The Enterprise, Falmouth: "History of Nobska Light Sheds Light on More Than Navigation" (July 15, 2015)

New England Lighthouses: A Virtual Guide. History of Nobska Point Light, Woods Hole, Massachusetts

Friends of Nobska Light

IDs in ALT text

[superinjun]

Karuk Louis Vuitton Drum 1.1 (with beater)

Fox Spears (Karuk)

louis ceitton bandoulier bag parts, abalone beads, pewter beads, artificial sinew, wire, elk rawhide, cedar. 19.5” x 15” x 3.5”

“This drum, inspired by traditional Karuk double-sided gambling drums, incorporates monogram canvas and leather handles sourced from a used Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandouli��re 50 bag. While conceptualizing the drum, I considered reports by 19th and 20th century non-Native ethnographers that referred to an emphasis in Karuk culture on the accumulation of goods like dentalium shells, woodpecker scalps, and obsidian blades, as wealth-building. These items were collected as a signal of high social position, where the wealthiest were afforded the most respect. Some English-speaking Karuk would refer to the wealthy as the “good people.”

My choice to incorporate a luxury designer object into the making of this piece references these past traditions while helping to bring an imagined post-colonial future into reality. I purposely embarked on a modern day “hunt” to capture a Louis Vuitton bag on Ebay, and then processed it into materials for my art-making. I sought out a pre-owned bag that would have lived its own unknowable life before it came into my hands, and I thanked it for its service before making my first cut.

In many ways, this drum is a symbol of the juxtaposition between pre-contact Native cultural traditions and modern Euro-American displays of wealth and status. It embodies my Karuk ancestry along with my privileges as an urban upper middle class U.S. citizen. This drum mirrors my own existence. Together, we acknowledge that, while we may be here because of a complex and often violent history, it is more important to celebrate the fact that we are living, powerful examples of Indigenous resilience.”

[downbad4yoongi]

Merry and Mended

🎄Merry and Mended

🎄Alpha!Yoongi x Omega!Taehyung

🎄AU/Genre: holiday fluff, strangers to lovers, a/b/o

🎄Warnings: smut

🎄Rating: MA

🎄Word count: 8536

Wrote this as a birthday gift to myself, and as a part of @bangtanwritershq Holiday Wish List December Event.

I love a good Taegi 🥰 Enjoy your holidays.

(Thank you to my beta readers, @moonleeai & @colormepurplex2. Thank you, @cherrysoulth, for my beautiful banner.)

Yoongi’s head jerks up as the store is filled with a cacophony of tin cans crashing to the floor. He straightens from where he was slouching on a stool behind the counter, sets down his book, and moves toward the front of the store to discover the cause of the commotion. He shuffles toward the front, his nose wrinkling as he picks up on the lightly burnt scent of a distressed omega. It doesn’t take long to figure out what the crashing sound was when his foot connects with a Sterno can that strayed a bit too far from the rest.

With a furrowed brow, the alpha rounds the aisle and sees a man desperately scrambling to pick up the fallen merchandise. He crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side; he is sure he has never seen this man in town before. They don’t get many strangers out this way.

Yoongi clears his throat to capture the stranger’s attention. The man’s head snaps up, his fluffy dark brown curls falling into widened eyes. Anything Yoongi was going to say stalls in his mind, leaving him there to stare at one of the most gorgeous people he has ever seen.

The man stands up, arms full of tin cans, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to look at–” he looks over his shoulder, motioning back behind him, causing a few of the cans he gathered to slip out of his arms. He winces, an embarrassed blush spreading across smooth, golden skin.

The omega’s movements cause the air around him to stir, the currents carrying his scent to Yoongi. His senses pick up on the subtle chamomile, albeit tinged from his worry, smell surrounding the omega. Yoongi blinks at him silently, a bit disoriented by the memories that scent brings up for him. This complete stranger reminds him of when his mother would brew him a cup of tea whenever he wasn’t feeling his best to soothe him. He snaps out of it only when the man’s expression goes from contrite to worried. 

“Um, it’s okay. Honestly, it was a bit too quiet this week. Needed something to liven things up.” Inhaling deeply, soaking up more of the comforting scent emanating from the man, Yoongi stoops to gather the Sterno tins into a central location before reassembling the display. His hands move carefully while trying to concentrate on controlling his own scent, not wanting it to flare and give away the confusing emotions swirling within.

The omega stoops down with him and places the tins he was holding on the pile that Yoongi began accumulating. A deep chuckle rumbles out of the stranger as he shoots Yoongi a boxy smile, “Well then, I am happy I could be of service.”

A light blush perfuses across the apples of Yoongi’s pale cheeks, his fingers tightening on the can in his hand, his own cedar scent saturating the air to mix with the gentle one surrounding the other man. Fuck, even his smile is beautiful. Yoongi tears his eyes away, quickly sweeping up the last few errant cans and stands. The man stands with him, his camel duster falling to its full length, leaving only the bottom half of a pair of black slacks and shiny loafers in view.

“So I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you just stopping through?”

The man cocks an eyebrow and sarcastically quips, “Oh, do you know everyone who lives around here?”

“Yeah, I do,” Yoongi retorts, a deadpan expression on his face.

He scoffs, “Really?”

“Really. Welcome to my general store. This store has been in my family's hands for eighty years, and we’ve lived in this town that entire time. I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi.”

The man blinks sheepishly, “I seem to be on a roll with making things awkward…” He scrunches his face up before shaking his arms and thrusting his hand toward Yoongi. “I’m Kim Taehyung, and yes, I am very new in town.”

Yoongi slides his hand into Taehyung’s grip and shakes the proffered hand. Both of their scents spiking at the contact. “Welcome to town. What were you needing from here before you destroyed my display?”

“Yah! I apologized for that, and you accepted the apology,” Taehyung huffs.

“I’m prone to changing my mind.” Yoongi sweeps the edges of his red plaid flannel back and shoves his hands into his black jeans. “Can I help you find something in particular?”

Taehyung purses his lips, studying Yoongi for a beat before spinning to motion at the aisle behind him. “I was trying to choose a space heater. The heat in my place doesn’t seem to work.”

Yoongi maneuvers around Taehyung and eyes the selection on the shelf. He slaps his hand on the top of one of the boxes, “This one would be best for heating mid to large areas.” Yoongi’s eyes flick away, his teeth pulling at the dry skin of his lip. “Or I could come and fix your heat for you…”

Taehyung feels his brows disappear into his hairline and can’t help the sassy comment that flows from his lips, “Are you the town’s handyman, too?”

Yoongi’s lips twist into a wry smile. “No. I just thought, um, that I could maybe help.” 

“That’s really kind of you. When would you be able to come by?” Taehyung questions.

“Tomorrow?” Yoongi suggests, “The store is closed on Sundays, so that would be best for me.”

Taehyung’s head bobs, “Honestly, the sooner the better. While I love a good popsicle, I personally don’t enjoy being turned into one.”

The truck eases to a stop in front of the quaint red house at the end of the street. Yoongi squints out of the window at the structure. He recognizes the house as belonging to the Kims, an adorable elderly couple who mostly kept to themselves, as he shuts off the engine, still contemplating why he offered to help this stranger. 

He is not a morning person, and he is known for not being the friendliest toward strangers. It really doesn’t make sense that he is here and outside before noon. He picks up his iced coffee in one hand and pushes the door open with the other before sliding out of the cab of the truck. He scowls as the cold air envelopes him and seeps through the layers of his puffy winter jacket and hoodie. He reaches into the bed, hefting his toolbox over the side, and starts lugging it up toward the front door, his scowl deepening with each freezing step.

Huddling in on himself, he waits for Taehyung to answer his knocks on the door, internally cursing himself for this dumb idea; so what if this man reminds him of home. After what feels like an ice age, the white door opens to reveal a drowsy-looking Taehyung in an oversized green hoodie, black lounge pants, and sherpa-lined slippers. 

The scowl on Yoongi’s face evaporates as he takes in Taehyung’s messy bed hair and puffy sleep face. The earthy notes of chamomile hang heavy in the air. Oh, this is why he is out here freezing his nuts off. “Hi.”

Taehyung squints and just looks at him for a beat before clearing the sleep from his throat. “Good morning. Sorry, I forgot you were going to come by today, or at least I didn’t think it would be this early.” Taehyung’s deep timbre washes over Yoongi, pulling him into his aura even more.

“Oh well. I was up, so here I am,” Yoongi responds flatly.

Taehyung backs up, opening the door wider, “Come on in.” He swiftly closes the door once Yoongi has cleared the entrance, shutting out the winter weather. As soon as he steps inside, the soothing herbal aroma envelopes him like a warm embrace.

“I would say it’s good to be out of the cold, but it really isn’t much warmer in here. Your heat truly is broken.”

“And yet, you are drinking an iced coffee,” Taehyung motions at the clear plastic cup held in Yoongi’s fingerless gloved hand.

Yoongi looks from his coffee to Taehyung, “Your point?”

Taehyung opens his mouth but quickly shuts it again, shaking his head. “Um, let me show you where things are.” Taehyung spins on his heel and leads Yoongi through the house and to the hall thermostat. “You have to start here, no?”

Yoongi nods in affirmation, “Yeah, this is the first step.” Yoongi sets his coffee down and slips out of his winter jacket before peering at the wall thermostat and fiddling with different settings. When that doesn’t yield a result, he asks Taehyung where his breaker box is and is guided to a storage closet deeper inside the house. Opening the metal door, he examines the breaker switches and confirms none are tripped, and everything should operate normally.

“Where’s your furnace?” Yoongi asks as he shuts and latches the breaker box door.

Taehyung jerks his head behind him, motioning further toward the back of the house. “Closet near the back of the house.”

Yoongi follows Taehyung to the next location and pulls open the closet door. He takes in the small space before squatting down in front of the furnace in the corner.

Taehyung leans against the open door and watches as Yoongi stoops down to look at the unit. He locates the power switch and confirms it is in the ‘on’ position. Yoongi’s mouth thins into a firm line as he runs his fingers along the seam of the furnace door. He leans closer to the furnace door, eyes narrowing, sliding his hand to the handle, jiggling it a tad. That confirms his suspicion; he opens the door and then firmly shuts it again.

“What was that for?” Taehyung pipes up over his shoulder, clearly confused. Before Yoongi can respond, a loud shuddering sound is heard through the house, followed by a low hissing.

Yoongi glances over his shoulder at Taehyung, “That was to turn your heat back on.” Yoongi straightens back up, brushing his hands off on his ripped jeans. “The door to your furnace wasn’t shut all the way, and the failsafe was triggered. When the failsafe is on, the furnace won’t function as a precaution.”

Understanding dawns on Taehyung’s face as he processes what Yoongi is saying. “Oh! I guess I could have searched that on Naver for myself,” he says sheepishly.

Yoongi shrugs and takes a sip from his straw. “Probably.” He watches Taehyung chew on his lower lip. “But I’m glad I could help.”

Taehyung peers at Yoongi through the fringe of his hair, gauging how sincere his words are before letting a small smile spread across his lips. “Can I repay you with breakfast?”

“You cook?”

Silence remains for a beat. “Um. Not very well?”

Yoongi’s lips lift in a smirk on one side, and he throws out a lifeline. “Lucy’s in town makes a wonderful breakfast. We could just go there?”

Relief sweeps through Taehyung’s eyes, “My treat.” He starts backing down the hallway toward one of the open bedroom doors. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right out.”

The bell chimes loudly as the diner door swings open, and the two of them rush in out of the cold. As they stomp the snow from their shoes, Taehyung looks around the interior. “Oh!”

The town’s diner has quintessential 50s-themed decor and makes its best impression of a Lucille Ball shrine. Yoongi smirks, “Ahjumma is a fan.” Yoongi veers off to the right and slides into the third raised booth, settling into the vinyl seat.

Taehyung follows, “That is putting it mildly.” His eyes still bouncing around the restaurant as Yoongi sets the menu in front of him. Eventually, Taehyung pulls his gaze back to Yoongi, who has been sitting there watching him with an amused expression, “What?”

Yoongi shakes his head slightly, “I just haven’t had many opportunities to experience the places I’ve known my entire life through someone new.”

“So this has always been decorated like this?”

“Mhmm, though briefly, very briefly, she contemplated redecorating when she discovered Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck didn’t try hard enough to flip her in the end.”

Taehyung covers his mouth with his large palm, muffling his giggle as he listens to Yoongi’s story. The overhead light haloing his dark curls just right, Yoongi can’t help but stare and trace the way the harsh diner lights perfectly highlight the angles of Taehyung’s face.

“Yoongi-yah! Where have you been? You haven’t been visiting as often as you should be.”

Yoongi is snapped out of his reverie at the admonishment and looks as a petite beta in her early sixties sidles up to their table.

Taehyung’s eyes bounce back and forth between Yoongi and the newcomer. Yoongi’s lips screw to the side at the gentle scolding as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Aish, ajumma, I have been busy with the store.”

With a smack of her pad to his shoulder, “Nonsense! That store runs itself at this point. You can’t avoid him forever, you know?”

Taehyung’s brows lift slightly at that, wondering who they are talking about. Yoongi ducks his head, “I’m not avoiding him.”

“Could have fooled me.” She frowns at him for a moment more before turning to Taehyung with a bright smile, “Hello there! You’re new. I know everyone in this town; who are you?”

Taehyung blinks up at her a few times, “I’m Kim Taehyung, and this is my first time visiting your lovely establishment.”

“Of course it is. I would remember such a handsome face as yours. I’m Mrs. Kim.” Her brows furrow as she looks at Taehyung harder, “Any relation to the Kims out on Whale Drive?”

Taehyung nods, “They’re my grandparents. I’m taking care of their house as they transition to an assisted living facility.”

“No!”

“Yes, unfortunately, the house's upkeep just got a bit too much for them. I’m the only relative left, so here I am.” Yoongi listens to the exchange silently, processing this new information.

Mrs. Kim tsks under her breath. “You are a good grandson.” She pats his shoulder, “You keep me updated, okay?” Taehyung nods silently. “Good. Now, what can I get you?”

“Oh!” Taehyung’s eyes drop to the plastic menu before him and quickly scans it. He jabs his finger against the menu, “Dakjuk, please.” Mrs. Kim nods and swipes the menu from in front of him, quickly turning and leaving them again, the subtle hint of an apple orchard left behind by the beta.

“I di–”

“She–”

They both halt, looking at each other before Yoongi motions for Taehyung to go first.

“She didn’t take your order.”

“Mmm, ajumma brings me what she wants to feed me.”

Taehyung’s head tilts to the side, amused by the straightforward response. “What were you going to ask me?”

“Um, I didn’t know you were the Kim's grandson. They didn’t talk much about their family.”

Taehyung gives a wry smile, “Not much to talk about. It’s just me. I worked in Seoul and would visit when I could, which wasn’t often.”

“Wh-” Yoongi clears his throat, “When do you have to go back?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Don’t you have a job and a life to return to?”

“I quit. I couldn’t churn away at the machine any longer.”

“Okay, but what about your life in Seoul?”

“What life? I spent most of my time at work. I spent the little time I had outside of work with… someone who used to matter, but that’s in the past now.”

Yoongi blinks at him and can’t help the spark of curiosity flicking to life in his chest. “Why don’t they matter anymore?”

Taehyung gives the saddest smile Yoongi has ever seen, his gentle chamomile scent wilting a little, “I’ll tell mine when you tell yours.”

A plastic straw is shoved under Yoongi’s nose, capturing his attention. He sets down the guitar he is repairing and looks up to find Taehyung offering him an iced coffee with a boxy grin. “Hi, hyung!”

“Taehyung. What are you here for this time?” Yoongi sips through the straw, humming at the rich, bitter taste of coffee washing over his tongue. This has become a routine for them. For the past couple of weeks now, several days out of the week, Taehyung shows up with an iced coffee for Yoongi and the ploy that he just remembered that he needed to buy something he forgot. 

Granted, Yoongi didn’t catch on that it was a ploy until Taehyung came in to purchase a single screwdriver, then the next day he was back to purchase a wrench, then a hammer… Yoongi had suggested he just buy a toolbox, but Taehyung had insisted that he didn’t need one and then proceeded to purchase a set of pliers. So now Yoongi just plays along with this little game just to see how far it will go. 

Taehyung rocks back on his heels, the sweet aroma of chamomile swirling around him, and pulls the hand he was holding behind his back out in front of him, holding a small container of nails. “Just this for today.”

Yoongi blinks slowly at him, “Is your plan to buy every item in my store, one thing at a time? If this is your villain origin story, I gotta tell you it needs work.”

Taehyung grins mischievously, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he meets Yoongi's gaze. "Oh, you caught on to my evil plan already? I guess I'll have to devise a more diabolical scheme," he says playfully, his eyes twinkling with humor. "But for now, let's just stick to one item at a time. Keeps things interesting, don't you think?"

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, amused, “So what are the nails for?”

Taehyung winks at Yoongi before turning his attention back to the container of nails, examining them with feigned seriousness. "These nails? They're special. You see, they're going to be the foundation of my grand master plan to take over the world... or maybe just build a really cool bookshelf. Haven't decided yet." Taehyung chuckles, enjoying the banter, and adds, "But seriously, I just thought it would be nice to have a reason to come back and see you again. Your store has this charm that's hard to resist."

“You caught me! You see, having a charming store is a side effect of my diabolical plan to lure in unsuspecting customers.” Yoongi smirks, leaning casually against the counter and crossing his arms. “If you’re going to keep showing up to buy one item at a time, you might as well come up with a convincing evil laugh. I mean, where’s the drama? The theatrics? You’re missing out on the full villain experience,” he adds with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. 

Taehyung chuckles, "You've got a point. I guess I'll have to work on my evil laugh if I want to be a proper villain." He feigns a sinister chuckle, only to giggle a moment later. "Or maybe I'll stick to being the charming customer who keeps you on your toes." He takes a step closer, his playful expression turning into a more sincere smile. "Speaking of which, if you can handle my one-item-at-a-time takeover plan, how about we break the routine? How about you let me take you out for coffee or dinner sometime? I promise I won't make you sell me your entire inventory in one go." Taehyung winks, hoping the offer comes across as genuine and lighthearted.

Yoongi's eyes widen for a moment, surprised by the sudden turn of events, but then a small smirk plays on his lips. He tilts his head, considering Taehyung's proposition. 

"Well, that's a plot twist I wasn't expecting in my villainous day." Yoongi chuckles, matching Taehyung's playful tone, the alpha’s warm and spicy scent spiking at the other man’s offer. With a thoughtful expression, he nods. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal. But only if you promise to leave your world-domination plans at home for the night. When and where, villain?"

The omega’s lips spread into a boxy grin, “No promises on leaving the world domination plans at home, but I’ll try to keep them on a tight leash. How about dinner at Lucy’s tomorrow at 7 PM? I haven’t tasted ajumma’s dinner menu yet.”

Yoongi smirks, his interest piqued by Taehyung's choice. "Lucy's, huh? Ahjumma does work wonders in the kitchen, so I can't blame you for wanting to try it out. Dinner it is. And as for the world domination plans, I suppose a tight leash will have to do. We wouldn't want to scare the other diners away with our diabolical schemes." He winks playfully at Taehyung. "Alright then, partner in crime. Lucy's it is."

Yoongi chuckles, leaning onto the table, amused at Taehyung’s antics. His nose twitches pleasantly as it picks up the gentle scent of chamomile mixing with his cedar's warm, spicy aroma. He has only known the omega for a few weeks but feels utterly comfortable with the man.

The dinner date at Lucy’s has been going well; there’s laughter, good food, and engaging conversation. Ahjumma immediately started gushing over them when they stepped into the restaurant and realized that they were there on a date. The beta has been doting on them all night and seems to have curated a special menu for them on the fly. 

“So, what’s the verdict on dinner at Lucy’s?” Yoongi asks as he gathers a spoonful of strawberry bingsu from their shared bowl. 

Taehyung hums, swallowing his spoonful, “Honestly, it has not disappointed. Everything has been absolutely delicious. Lucy’s may just be my new favorite spot.”

Yoongi gives the other man a gummy smile, “I’m glad you liked it. Maybe we should start a Lucy’s fan club.” Taehyung claps his hands together, giggling at the idea. 

That laugh may be one of Yoongi’s new favorite sounds. He twirls his spoon in the frozen treat, pondering what else he can say to tease more of it out. 

Taehyung’s eyes light up as ajumma steps out of the kitchen and quickly waves the older beta over. “How would you like your own personal fan club?” 

 “Made up of the two of you? I would be so lucky to have such handsome men devoted to me.” Her raspy chuckle mixes pleasantly with the omega’s huskier one.

“Then it’s decided. We are your devotees, ajumma!” Taehyung states brightly. 

Yoongi’s cheeks ache as he watches the two of them tease each other. “The food was delicious. Thank you so much, ajumma, for making us such special treats,” Yoongi effuses. “I’ll take the check whenever you’re ready.”

She scoffs and brushes him off. “No, no. This is my treat.”

Yoongi shakes his head, protesting, “Yah, you can’t do that.”

She props her hands on her hips, “Yes, I can. If you insist, you can repay me by inviting me to the mating ceremony.”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at her words, and a similar blush is mirrored on Taehyung’s face. He clears his throat, “Um, well, thank you.”

She pats his shoulder and bids them both goodbye before bustling over to another table.

“I guess we weren’t the only ones to feel a connection then?” Taehyung quips, breaking the tension. 

Yoongi’s eyes meet Taehyung’s warm brown ones, a soft smile playing across his lips, “I guess so. Want to get out of here?”

They slide out of the booth, Yoongi leading them out of the diner. Taehyung sidles up next to him as they step out onto the sidewalk. They linger there, the fresh air tinged with their anticipation of what could happen next. 

There’s a palpable tension in the air, and neither are quite ready to say goodnight. They stand there, smiling at each other, the air charged with unspoken words. The small town has quieted down significantly in the evening hours, and in that moment, it feels like they are in a bubble all their own.

Yoongi clears his throat, “Listen, would you like a ride home?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Taehyung demures. 

“Nonsense. It’s late. Let me give you a lift. I promise I don’t mind.”

Taehyung caves and agrees. They walk down the street, arms brushing each other with each step. Once they reach his truck, Yoongi rushes ahead a little to open the passenger door, holding it open for the omega. 

Taehyung pauses briefly at the gesture, a tiny smile on his lips. “Thank you.” He brushes his fingers across the back of Yoongi’s hand as he slides into the cab.

Yoongi circles around the hood and climbs in on the other side. The drive to Taehyung’s house is silent. The quiet intimacy of the ride contrasts with the lively energy of their date. 

As they reach Taehyung’s place, neither seems in a rush to part ways. The conversation becomes a bit more subdued, a mixture of shared laughter and more serious reflections on life. 

Taehyung tilts his head against the headrest and sighs. “I should probably head inside. I had a great time tonight, Yoongi.”

“Me too, Tae.” A beat passes before Yoongi starts, “Oh–”

The omega’s hand covers the back of his own. “It’s okay. You can call me Tae.”

A tension eases out of Yoongi, and he flips his hand over, lacing their fingers together. “So, uh, maybe we can do this again? Another dinner, perhaps?”

Smiling, Tae leans closer, “I’d really like that, hyung.”

Their scents intermingle, adding to the intimacy of the moment. The soft glow from a nearby streetlamp casts a warm halo, illuminating the anticipation in Taehyung’s eyes. Yoongi feels a pull and leans in closer, too. 

Yoongi’s fingers find their way to the side of the other man’s neck, his touch gentle yet firm. The warmth of his thumb tracing the line of Taehyung’s jaw. “Tae,” he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

Taehyung’s response is a quick, eager nod. The warmth of his breath against Yoongi’s lips is a silent affirmation, and the tension between them escalates as the distance between them disappears. Their lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, a blend of warmth and sweetness that speaks of unspoken desires. 

As their kiss deepens, the world around them fades into the background, leaving only their shared connection. Time seems to stand still in that moment, the quiet acknowledgment of something new and exciting unfolding between them. 

The kiss lingers, a promise of the possibilities ahead, and when they finally pull away, their eyes meet with a newfound understanding. They share a smile and bask in the wonder of the start of something beautiful. 

It’s been a few weeks, and each day gets better. The initial spark from their first date has developed into a deeper connection. Yoongi marvels that in such a short amount of time, the sweet omega has become a staple in his life. Their days are intertwined with laughter, shared secrets, and a growing sense of intimacy. 

Their routine is filled with moments, both ordinary and extraordinary. From lazy Sunday afternoons spent cuddling on the couch, exchanging soft kisses, and recounting the week's events to more adventurous endeavors like taking Taehyung ice skating for the first time at the local rink. Yoongi feels a sense of completeness in Taehyung’s company. 

Their late-night conversations have become a cherished ritual; the quiet vulnerability shared in those moments is strengthening the bond that formed all those weeks ago. Taehyung has become Yoongi’s confidante, a source of comfort, and a partner in the beautiful dance of their blossoming relationship. 

Yoongi sets down the box he brought back from the stock room as he hears his phone ring on the counter. His lips curl into a smile, his chest filling with warmth as he sees Tae’s name flashing across the screen. 

“Hey! Did you miss me already? We just had lunch an hour ago.”  The alpha teases, the memory of their shared meal flashing in his mind. 

“Hyung! Oh my god, you won’t believe what’s happening!” The panicked sound echoing through the receiver has Yoongi straightening from where he was slumped against the counter in alarm.

“What’s going on, Tae?”

“There’s water everywhere! I think there’s a leak under the kitchen sink. It’s like a waterfall in here.”

Even alone, Yoongi can’t help but release calming pheromones wanting to comfort the omega. “Okay, calm down. Do you know where your main water valve is?”

Tae’s frantic voice comes through even higher pitched. “No! I don’t know where that is. Everything is wet, and I’m freaking out. How do I make it stop?”

“Baby, it’s going to be okay. Do you know where your water heater is?”

“Um, um,” Taehyung stutters furiously, trying to remember the layout of the house. “I think so.”

“That’s good. Go to the water heater, and I’ll tell you what to do once you get there.”

Yoongi listens to Tae rush through the house, his breath coming in fast pants. “I’m here! I’m here! What do I do?”

“Do you see a valve anywhere?”

“Is it the handle near the back, halfway up the wall?”

“Yes! Right now, it should be sticking out perpendicular to the pipe. Turn it until it's parallel to the pipe.”

He listens to Taehyung fumble a bit before his voice returns through the phone. “Okay, I turned it. What now?”

“That should have turned the water off. Go and check to see if that stopped it.”

Yoongi listens to the omega rush back through the house. His voice this time is a bit calmer in relief, “It sounds like the water has stopped.” He whines loudly, “There is water everywhere, though, and it’s still spreading.”

Yoongi chuckles, his own energy calming at Taehyung’s relief. “But the main problem is done. Grab some towels, or whatever you have that is absorbent to help contain the mess. Crisis averted.”

“Yeah, thanks to you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Well, now that we’ve conquered the great kitchen flood of 2023, maybe I should come over and check on what went wrong,” Yoongi teases.

Taehyung’s warm laugh sends shivers over Yoongi. “You’re always welcome, especially if you come with your toolbox.”

“Let me close the store, and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

That’s how, on a late Friday afternoon, Yoongi finds himself at Taehyung’s house with his head underneath the kitchen sink.

Taehyung sits on the kitchen counter, watching anxiously. “So what happened? Why did my kitchen become a lake?”

Yoongi’s voice is a little echo-y as it reverberates around the hollow space, “Your pipe burst. I think water froze inside it when the temperature dropped and caused it to burst. Unfortunately, it just looks like your pipes are old, and time took its toll.”

Taehyung hangs his head, groaning. “Old pipes, huh? I never thought they’d give up on me like this.”

“It happens. Especially with the winter chill, but hey, the good news is we caught it early, and it could have been much worse.” Yoongi continues to work, his hands deftly maneuvering to fix the problem. 

“How do you even know what you are doing?” Taehyung asks curiously.

Yoongi chuckles, “Years of being a responsible adult, Tae. You pick up a thing or two.”

Playfully, Taehyung quips, “I guess I should add ‘adulting�� to my list of skills to brush up on.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Yoongi tosses back. He tinkers silently for a few minutes before adding, “You know, dealing with home emergencies together is practically a relationship milestone.”

Taehyung hums, “Is that so?”

“I think so. I’ll take any excuse to spend more time with you.”

Yoongi can’t see the other man’s blush, but he smells the spike in the omega’s chamomile scent. It distracts him just enough that he wrenches a pipe a little too hard, sending the water remaining in the pipe straight onto him. 

“Shit!” He gasps, jerking out from under the sink, and wipes at his face. He clamors to his feet, his white shirt soaked with stale pipe water. 

The omega’s eyes widen as he hops off the counter, rushing over to the alpha. Taehyung’s scent sours as, in a flurry of motions, he pulls at Yoongi’s shirt until it is yanked over his head.

Before Yoongi knows it, he is standing shirtless under the fluorescent glare of the kitchen light—the bright light casting shadows in the dips and hollows of his bare chest. The wet fabric of his shirt hangs limply in the other man’s fist as they both pause.

Taehyung’s lips part on his next exhale as his eyes flicker over the vast expanse of bare skin that is exposed. A new tension fills the air as the previous sharp scent from the omega softens and sweetens, Yoongi’s own scent growing fresher to mix with the omega’s. A beat passes with them both frozen, only inches separating them. 

Between one breath and the next, the two collide. The sodden fabric slips through Taehyung’s fingers, landing on the cool tile floor with a wet slap. Swiftly, the omega trades the clammy chill of the wet cloth for the comforting warmth and silkiness of the alpha’s exposed skin. As Yoongi’s hands assertively find their place on Taehyung’s hips, he effortlessly pulls the other man closer while Taehyung’s large palms tenderly encircle Yoongi’s shoulders. 

Their lips hover closer, breath buffeting against parted lips. Even at this distance, Yoongi’s eyes search the other’s, seeking acceptance before crashing his lips against the omega’s. Taehyung’s arms circle the alpha tighter, sealing their lips together in a searing kiss. 

A deep purr resonates through the alpha’s chest as he tilts his head, sliding their lips against each other. The rest of the world falls away as the building tension ebbs and flows around them.  Taehyung rocks his hips forward, lips parting with a moan when he feels Yoongi’s growing length pressed against him. 

Taking advantage of the opening, Yoongi presses forward, his tongue sweeping into the other man’s mouth. His own groan echoes as the omega’s sweet, floral chamomile scent washes over his palette. He doesn’t want to stop; he feels like he could kiss Taehyung forever. 

As moments have seamlessly slipped away, the kitchen now holds a rich tapestry of their mingling scents. The air is saturated with the delicate freshness of chamomile, gracefully intertwining with the warm and subtly spiced essence of cedar. It blankets them comfortingly, a testament to their undeniable chemistry. Both men feel drawn inextricably to each other. 

The air is thick with unspoken words, each touch and movement communicating more than language ever could. Yoongi’s hands, with firm pressure, run over Taehyung’s hips and lower back; his long fingers teasing lightly over the omega’s ass. They cling to each other even as they pull back, silently rubbing their noses along each other. 

Taehyung rocks his hips forward again, his eyelids fluttering at the long, thick press of the alpha between them. His own body responding in kind and leaking into his briefs, the sweet, honeyed scent of slick tinging the air. The deep timbre of his voice breaks the silent tension in the air, “Please.”

Yoongi’s eyes darken at the omega’s whimper. “Please, what?”

Taehyung’s scent spikes, running his lip between his teeth as he meets Yoongi’s gaze before breathing, “Please, alpha.”

A wicked smile pulls at Yoogi’s lips, his hands sliding down and palming the round globes of the omega’s ass, pulling them tighter against each other. The kitchen fills with the sound of their lips smacking together as they crash back against the counter. The sharp edge digs into the omega’s back, causing him to whine into the alpha’s mouth. 

Yoongi grips his ass and lifts, sliding Taehyung onto the countertop, their lips never parting. Taehyung’s hands slide down Yoongi’s chest until they reach the dark pinkish-brown nipples gracing his pecs. Taehyung slides his mouth away, grazing his teeth along the other’s jaw as he flicks the nubs.

Yoongi groans, digging his fingers into the omega’s hips. His head tips backward as pleasure zings down his spine. Taehyung chuckles, “Someone’s sensitive.”

The alpha’s head snaps upright, eyes sparking, “Two can play at this game.” Yoongi yanks Taehyung forward, pressing tighter in between his spread thighs. Their clothed cocks grinding against each other. It’s Taehyung’s turn to hang his head, moaning as the air thickens with the sweet scent of his slick. “You were saying?” Yoongi’s breath brushes the shell of the other’s ear. 

Tae’s lustful gaze returns to Yoongi’s, “I’m saying that I need you, alpha.” Taehyung’s hands caress down the expanse of Yoongi’s abs until his fingers tease the man’s waistband, thumbing the button. A subtle nod from Yoongi has the man undoing the button snap and sliding down the zipper. Another groan is pulled from the alpha as the pressure around his cock eases. 

The relief is only temporary because soon, the restrictive confines of his jeans is replaced with the firm clasp of Taehyung’s palm. Yoongi snaps his hips forward into the omega’s tight grip, the slide eased by his eagerly leaking tip. Taehyung mouths at the alpha’s neck, his tongue teasing in tight circles and nipping at his fair skin, marking him up. 

The omega’s fist tightens as he speeds up his strokes, his wrist snapping at the height of each stroke. Yoongi’s fingers flex on Taehyung’s thighs as he moans louder. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung leaves a particular stinging nip along Yoongi’s neck. “Are you going to come for me?” He speeds up his strokes, the alpha’s hips snapping into the warm clasp. Taehyung’s other hand slides down to encircle the alpha’s base, his fist gripping firmly as the knot forms at the base of Yoongi’s cock.

Taehyung trails his lips back up the other’s neck, reaching Yoongi’s ear. He swirls his tongue around the lobe before sucking it into his mouth. 

“Ahhhhh—” Yoongi cries out, hips stuttering as his length jerks in the omega’s fist, coating it in sticky, warm wetness. The omega presses gentle kisses to Yoongi’s neck, coaxing him down from his high. Yoongi slumps into the man’s arms, panting. 

Yoongi nuzzles into Taehyung’s neck, inhaling the omega’s sweet scent but being cautious to avoid the scent gland. He works to regulate his breathing as the Taehyung’s grip on his knot remains steady. Only a few minutes pass before he’s trailing his lips along the dark caramel expanse of skin until he reaches Taehyung’s lips. Their lips gently move together, Yoongi’s high dissipating.

“Mmm, darling, you were so good for me.” Taehyung slips his hands from between them, his skin coated in the alpha’s pleasure. Eyeing him boldly, the omega slips two messy fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them until they are sucked clean. 

The alpha’s nostrils flare at the bold gesture. He curls his fingers into the waistband of Taehyung’s jeans and yanks him forward, letting the younger man teeter on the edge for a moment before sliding him to his feet. “Someone made a mess,” his raspy voice filters between them. 

Taehyung grins cheekily, reaching for the kitchen towel to clean the mess on his hands, “A delicious one.”

Yoongi’s thumb deftly releases the fastening of Taehyung’s pants, their lips crashing together again. The kiss is messy and deep, the omega whining into his mouth. Yoongi pulls back, sliding his lips down the omega’s neck.  “That is not really how I saw that going.”

“Mmmm,” Tae murmurs, head leaning back, “It’s okay. I liked making you feel good.”

Yoongi leaves a stinging kiss at the base of Taehyung’s neck before pulling back. “Well, let me make you feel good now.” Yoongi slips Taehyung’s pants open and works the jeans down his hips. The heady aroma of the omega’s slick wafts between them as they're pushed down toward the floor. Yoongi’s eyes flutter close as he inhales deeply, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. 

Yoongi yanks harder, ripping the jeans off of the other man, taking his soaked briefs with them. Taehyung’s cock springs out, slapping up against his belly. Slick dripping down the omega’s thighs in thick lines. 

Yoongi’s eyes are sharp as he takes in the wanton man before him. He shifts onto his knees, his long, knobby fingers trailing down his legs until they grip his thighs. Yoongi leans in, nostrils flaring as he breathes deep to soak in the addicting scent of the aroused omega. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the bare hip before him. His hands move around to cup the back of Taehyung’s knees, lifting one at a time to pull the pooled cloth from around his ankles. 

The omega leans back against the counter, his fingers gripping the granite edge to steady him. His eyes are hooded as he looks down the length of his own body and watches as the alpha shifts one of his legs to rest on his shoulder. 

The alpha trails stinging kisses up the inside of the omega’s thighs until his face nuzzles against Tae’s hard, straining cock. Yoongi swirls his tongue around the thick base of Taehyung’s cock, before leaving a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up the length until he can circle his tongue around the leaking tip. 

Taehyung sucks in a sharp inhale as his hips buck, pushing the leaking tip into the alpha’s mouth. Yoongi jerks his head back, tsking the omega under his breath. “Uh-uh. Who said you could do that?”

The omega’s cheeks flush with the admonishment, “Sorry, alpha.”

“Patience, baby.” Yoongi strokes his hard length with one hand as his other hand slips behind the omega to ease between wet cheeks. At the feel of his trembling rim, Yoongi moans deep in his chest, feeling how soaked Taehyung is. His extended finger circles, teasing the man’s hole. Yoongi slips Taehyung into his mouth as he simultaneously pushes one digit into the omega’s tight hole. 

Curling his tongue around Taehyung’s leaking tip, Yoongi pumps his finger deeper. He teases the omega, pulling more syrupy, slick, and evocative sounds from the man above him. Soon, Yoongi is three fingers deep and is sliding Taehyung’s length in and out of his throat. 

Taehyung’s head is thrown back, moaning to the ceiling. He buries his hands into the alpha’s hair as he tugs and pushes at his head. Pleasure surges through him. “Fuck…fuck, alpha! You’re making me feel so good.”

Yoongi hums around the girth stretching his throat, and sucks harder, swallowing around Taehyung’s cock. Yoongi’s slick-soaked hand scissors his fingers before surging deeper, targeting that spot deep inside the omega.

Taehyung’s eyes leak as he cries out, back arching as he comes down Yoongi’s throat. His cock spasms over and over as he is drained dry. Yoongi swallows every last drop and slowly pulls back, licking the omega clean as he goes. 

Taehyung slumps against the counter, his arms trembling to hold him as he comes down from his high. Yoongi hums, pressing soft kisses along the other’s hip, gently slipping his fingers from inside him. He soothingly rubs the omega’s thigh as his other fingers slip inside his mouth to lick his fingers clean. Yoongi’s eyes flutter as the omega’s taste bursts across his tongue. 

Taehyung takes a loud shuddering breath, “That…was unexpected.”

Yoongi presses his lips to the inside of the omega’s thigh, hiding his smile, “The best things usually are.”

Taehyung looks down at the alpha still kneeling in front of him, and cups the man’s cheek. “Yoongi, I need you to know…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

Yoongi leans into the warm touch, smiling as Tae’s thumb strokes across his cheek, “Tae, neither have I. But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

He slides the fingers of his other hand through the alpha’s soft black strands, “It does. It feels more than right; it feels like…home.”

The alpha’s eyes shutter, rolling his mouth to press the softest of kisses to his palm. “Yeah, it does.” Silence settles over them. The two let the intimacy of the moment and the weight of their words sink in. 

“What does this mean for us?” Tae’s words are soft as they’re whispered into the silence.

Yoongi’s head tilts back to meet the deep brown eyes of the man he’s quickly falling for, “I don’t have all the answers, but I want to figure it out with you. Do you want the same?”

“I want us. Whatever that means.” 

“Me too,” Yoongi breathes. 

Their shared gaze is filled with an unspoken understanding that defines the moment they just had. They don’t know what is in store but are committed to exploring it together.

In the days that follow, Taehyung and Yoongi find themselves navigating the delicate waters of a burgeoning relationship. The small town, adorned with holiday decorations, adds an extra layer of magic to their newfound connection. 

One chilly evening, as snowflakes gently descend from the sky, they stroll hand in hand through the twinkling lights of the town square. The air is crisp, filled with the festive scent of pine and the distant sounds of holiday carols. 

Taehyung can’t contain the smile stretching his lips, “I can’t believe how beautiful this town is during the holidays.”

The omega’s boxy grin brings forth Yoongi’s own gummy smile. “It’s like something out of a storybook.”

Their fingers intertwine as they wander through the town’s festive markets, sampling sweet treats and sipping hot cocoa. The cozy warmth of the holiday atmosphere mirrors the growing warmth between them.

As they stroll through the markets, Taehyung feels a surge of emotion in his chest. The twinkling lights, the laughter around them, and the shared moments with Yoongi paint a picture of a perfect holiday season.

Tae tugs on their clasped hands, pulling them out of the flow of pedestrians. They step into a small alcove in front of a closed storefront. “Yoongi, you know, I’ve been thinking…”

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Yoongi gently encourages when the other pauses.

“Well, with Christmas just around the corner, I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to spend it with me?” The last part of the sentence said in a rush of one breath.

Yoongi’s lips part on a caught breath, his eyes softening fondly. “You’re inviting me to spend Christmas with you?”

Taehyung bites his lip and nods. “Yeah, I know it’s a bit last-minute, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share the holiday with.”

Yoongi steps closer, closing the space between them. The market fades away as the alpha looks at the omega with fondness. “Tae, I’d love to spend Christmas with you.”

The omega launches himself at Yoongi, his heart swelling with happiness. Their lips press together, the two filled with joy at the promised festivities. The lights around them seem to glow brighter as they lose themselves in each other.

As Christmas approaches, they find themselves caught up in the whirlwind of preparations. From decorating a small tree in Taehyung’s living room to sharing quiet moments by the fireplace, the holiday spirit seems to amplify their connection. 

Yoongi places a handmade ornament on the tree. “This is nice. Really nice.”

Taehyung hums, “It is. And it’s only our first Christmas together.”

“I never thought decorating a tree could be this enjoyable.”

“It’s the company that makes it special,” Taehyung smiles. 

Yoongi tilts his head in agreement. “These ornaments are beautiful, Tae.”

“It’s a tradition in my family. Each ornament tells a story. Now, these ornaments are a part of ours.”

Silence settles over them as they finish decorating and settle in front of the roaring fire. The glow of the tree haloing them in soft light as they cuddle under a shared blanket and admire their handiwork.

Each day is filled with a sweet memory; before they realize it, it’s Christmas Eve. That day, a light snowfall has dusted the town in a soft blanket of white. They sit before a roaring fire and exchange thoughtful gifts as laughter fills the room. 

After their shared candle-lit dinner, they move to the porch and watch the slow drifting of the falling snow. The silence blankets them.

They stand like that in a drawn-out moment before Yoongi turns his head, nestling his lips into Tae’s soft, brown curls on the side of his head. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Taehyung leans into the alpha’s hold, “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

Under the winter sky, they share a tender kiss. A promise of more shared moments and the magic of the holidays weaving together to create another beautiful memory. 

Epilogue - One year later

Yoongi scrunches his face and burrows deeper into his pillow, clinging to the last vestiges of slumber. The featherlight brush of lips along his bare shoulder isn’t deterred and continues its path across his shoulder and up his neck. Their trek slows to a stop behind his ear, settling there and pressing further into the space. Yoongi’s fingers tangle into the sheet as the pressure of those lips increases, sucking and pulling Yoongi out of sleep with a whine. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Taehyung whispers in his ear in a deep voice. Yoongi sinks back into Taehyung as the younger man wraps his arm around him, their fingers tangling together. 

“Hmm, why are we awake?” Yoongi grumbles, eyes still closed.

Taehyung’s arm tightens around Yoongi, “I don’t think we should sleep away our second Christmas together.” Taehyung pats his chest one more time before pulling away with a kiss on his cheek. “Hurry up and meet me downstairs.”

He cards his hand through the wet strands of his hair as he lumbers down the wide staircase. Pausing at the base, nose rising in the air, sniffing out the delicious aroma of syrupy pancakes and crispy bacon. He lets his nose lead him toward the kitchen, his eyes lighting up at the spread before him.

"How?”

Taehyung spins around, grinning, "Merry Christmas!”

Youngi's eyes bounce from one food-laden dish to the next.  Confusion swirls through him, and while he had been teaching the omega how to cook, there's no way he had improved enough to make all of this.

Still dumbfounded, Yoongi accepts the champagne flute of mimosa from his love. He eventually pulls his gaze from the pile of food and stares at his love in awe. 

"When did you make all of this? I was only in the shower for like 20 minutes.”

The words barely finish passing his lips when the other man doubles over, giggling uncontrollably. Yoongi just watches on, bemused.

After several moments, Tae regains control of himself and straightens.  

Eyes still sparkling with laughter, his scent ethereal and wafting around them, Tae manages to answer. "Oh god, I wanted to fool you so bad, but I can't. You know I'm ajumma's favorite, and I wanted our second Christmas to be special. So why not have food from our favorite place?” 

Yoongi remains frozen for a moment, then sweeps the omega into his arms. He kisses Taehyung soundly before resting their foreheads together. “My every day is special with you.”

[bl-inkstone]

traveler, wait! it's dangerous to go alone, so have some zhongli thoughts for company!

i think life with zhongli as your significant other would be best described as the love behind every little action and gesture the two of you make. even with all the years you've spent at each other's side (either married or just simply together), the romance never dies. but it shifts and goes through changes, like stone giving way to the gentle embrace of time.

one such example is when the love shared between you calms into something that can blend in with the walls of your home. it matches the color of your curtains, the painted flowers on cups left on your tea table, the clothbound books and scrolls tucked away into the red cedar scroll shelf you had diligently sought after and haggled for when your lover had mentioned it once in passing. it's in the crinkle of your eyes in the morning when you sit at your table together and eat. it's in the shape of his smile when he returns from his work in the funeral parlor to you and the home you've made together.

when you grind ink for him while he works beside you, or comb and tie his hair for him in the morning when sleep still clings to the edges of his eyes. when he combs and washes your hair for you in soothing baths, or leans down to massage the stress of the day away from your tense shoulders when you come back home to him.

acts of service that don't really feel like acts of service — not to zhongli or you. gestures of devotion seem like a more apt term, now, when love is so ingrained in your lives that the word can no longer be used to describe it. you've turned the word from noun to adjective, from adjective to action. love is such a small word for such a boundless concept, but you manage to fit it in every word, every action, and every day leaves zhongli helpless and wondering in the dead of night of what to do with all the love he holds in his hands, specially made just for you.

it's a song and dance he can never quite stray from. even when his heart calms in the daytime and he can look at you with all the assuredness of a lover that loves and knows he is loved in return, all five thousand years of wisdom leaves him when night comes and you're asleep in his arms. he has loved plenty in his long lifetime. friends, family, even past lovers that he can only maybe recall when he can recognize a quirk or quality present in you. but it's in your presence that zhongli remembers that even an archon can become just a man weak to the war between heart and mind. what good is five thousand years of wisdom when it can't tell him what to do with all the love he has for you? how can he show it without scaring you away? you know who he is and you've said time and time before that it doesn't scare you, that you love him no matter what form or identity he takes but what if —

you shift in your sleep and all thoughts cease as he swiftly readjusts his hold as to not disturb you any further. in the dark of your room, zhongli counts each breath and beat of your heart and wills his own to match the tempo of yours. in the morning, he'll reprimand himself for entertaining such foolish thoughts while you hum and converse in front of your shared vanity. he'll share these thoughts with you as he always has, and you'll put down your comb and grace his face with crystalfly kisses as you always have in return. your routine shifts to make room for assurance during the times when he needs it, and the same goes for him when you speak your own fears and doubts as well.

it's part of the comfort of your life together, as strange as it may sound, that you live with all the joys and lows your love brings. sometimes, he wishes he can give you more and do away with all his mortal doubts completely, but a moment of contemplation reveals that it is exactly these doubts that make the softer aspects your lives shine all the more brighter. is this why you allow yourself to feel all your emotions, rather than push back and try to reason them away? is this why you've always placed so much importance in letting him know that should he ever need it, your shoulder is his to lean on? zhongli understands the rationale behind it and has given similar advice to mortals he's met before, of course, but it seems that even he is not immune to the irrationality of the heart. there is much wisdom to still be learned, he concedes. five thousand years is no match for an emotion that has existed since the dawn of teyvat, after all.

time doesn't completely erase all the insecurities of a man who has loved and lost so many in his long lifetime, but zhongli finds that he doesn't entirely mind. come trials and tribulations, he'll stand firm and weather it so long as he can keep holding your hand through it all.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Under Clouds Of Mint & Eucalyptus

Summary: Icy likes being pampered, Brandon gives good massages.

She doesn’t like candles, they are too hot for her tastes. But she does like scented baths with black rose petals floating on the surface of the water amid hills of soap bubbles and ice cubes. She likes incense sticks, especially the ones that smell like cedar wood. 

She likes silky bed sheets and and elegant nightgowns that drape around her skin, light and weightless. She likes perfumes that smell expensive and woodsy or minty and heavy jewelry that sparkles like snow. Diamonds are her favorite, of course, but sapphire and other blue stones work perfectly fine as well. 

Icy likes flashy things. Likes making a statement. 

She likes trips to the nail salon and midnight blue polish with silver snowflake embellishments. She likes having her makeup done and her hair styled lavishly with crystal hair combs and strands of jewels. 

Icy is a picky woman.

High maintenance, is the term that people like to use.

Apparently that is Brandon’s type. 

Icy likes to be pampered and spoiled. 

Brandon’s love languages are acts of service and gift giving. 

Oh and he treats her well, very well indeed. 

She lays on her stomach, cheek pressed against her arm. Brandon moves her hair out of the way and exposes her back. He has left the window open for her and a few chilly gusts glide over her naked skin. 

It is hard for her to relax on most days. Especially these days, now that she and her sisters have agreed to take a chance on ‘starting fresh’ as the headmistresses had called it. Especially these days, now that her magic has been diluted. Now that she feels so weak and vulnerable. Brandon doesn’t need to know that. Nobody needs to know that. 

She exhales and Brandon reminds her again to, “try to relax, you’re getting a massage and a bubble bath, not at death sentence.” 

She laughs, “I didn’t realize that you had a sick sense of humor.” Of course her own humor is a whole lot darker than that, but it is a start. 

Brandon shrugs. “I noticed that making jokes about human mortality tends to make you smile.” He pauses. “Now lose some of that tension!” 

It is so much easier said than done. Icy has come to realize over the course of all of these messages, that she is a naturally tense person. Mostly in her neck and shoulders but really she tends to be tense all over. 

Brandon takes her right arm first and so she rests her head on her left arm. He starts at her fingers, which she hadn’t realized were even worth the trouble of massaging, but apparently no massage can be complete without doing so. Careful fingers work knots out of her both of her arms. The man, she admits, is quite good at what he does. She had been rather skeptical when he’d first offered to give her a massage some three months ago. She had insisted that he just pay for a spa day and let the professionals attend her. 

He had very proudly informed her that he had, just to give himself something to do, taken a class on massaging, waxing, and an introduction to facial skin-care. She has yet to take him up on his offer to let him give skin-care a go. She is very particular about her hair and nails and more so about her skin. Her skin is very delicate and susceptible to burns and rashes if she uses the wrong products or the wrong amount of the right products.

In spite of this, Icy likes firmer pressure. After working with Stella for so long, Brandon had gotten used to light pressure only. It had taken him the better part of a month to get used to Icy’s demands. A better part of a month and a whole lot of reminders:  "I'm not fragile, you know?" And "you aren't applying enough pressure."  And even a, "you won't hurt me, even if you do. I'd probably enjoy it." This had his cheeks colored a bright red.

These days he requires no prompting. Tonight he rubs the massage oil into his hands a second time. An aroma of mint and eucalyptus fills the room. Icy inhales and rests her arms at her sides. She feels Brandon's hands on her shoulders. His thumbs work at a particularly large knot at the base of her neck, just a bit to the right. She reaches for her cup of iced tea.

"Wait until I'm done." Brandon chuckles. "You really need to learn to do things one thing at a time."

"I'm a multitasker."

"You’re also chronically stressed and struggle to appreciate things fully and live in the moment." He replies. "Focus on the massage and then drink your tea, you'll enjoy both better that way."

"That won't work."

"Have you given it a try?"

Icy frowns. "Just finish the massage."

"You can just say no. That's a whole lot easier! 'Just finish the message'  is three whole words longer."

Icy burrows her face into the massage bed, letting its mattress muffle her grumbled, "my darkness, you are annoying."

But he sure does have the right touch. He pushes the heels of his hands between her shoulder blades and she gives a soft hum of satisfaction.

"Do you want me to put on that weird music that you find soothing.

Icy nods. "It is called gregorian chant." And she enjoys it very much when it is sung in minor keys and ominous tones. It adds a nice ambiance, she thinks to the scene. She already feels decently cozy under clouds of incense and strings and strands of blue and white LED lights. But the chanting gives the scene a sense of completion. All in all she finds herself blanketed in a kaleidoscope of touch, sight, sound, and smell. It is almost overwhelming how completely immersed she is in so many senses at once and after having just been lectured on focusing on one thing at a time. But she supposes that all of these senses compliment each other nicely; the smell of mint and eucalyptus weave around soundwaves and she begins to hear mint and smell verses, each sweep of Brandon’s hands seems to time itself in accordance to the slow, rhythmic blinking of the LEDs. And the blinking of the LEDs seems to line up with the pace of the chant. And so it is that each of her senses come together to form one experience. She reaches for her tea again and declares that she can’t just exclude one of her five senses. 

This answer is satisfactory enough for Brandon. The drink itself pairs nicely with the aromas that wash over her. It is mostly honeydew in flavor but it has a sharp hint of mint and a bunch of clicking ice cubes that add their own crackly voices to the chant. She sets the glass back down and closes her eyes. She will probably be asleep soon enough. Massages tend to make her sleepy. 

And sleepiness makes her more affectionate. She doesn’t believe him but Brandon insists that she is ‘more cuddly’ or whatever when she is sleepy. 

She thinks that that is exactly why Brandon enjoys giving her massages so much. His hands sweep down her back in a fanning motion and by the time he reaches her lower back she has indeed begun to nod off.

She hadn’t imagined that she would be so receptive to physical touch at all, let alone enough to drift off. Enough to actually look forward to their spa nights. 

Brandon finishes the massage by applying a scrub to her hands. They had learned the hard way that salt scrubs tend to be too harsh on her skin. Tonight he has picked out a green tea scrub. “I also got a charcoal one for facials, just in case you ever decided to trust me enough for that.”

Icy hums. “We’ll see.” She holds up her right hand and lets him apply the green tea scrub. 

“It’s supposed to be good for irritated skin and scars.” He says of the tea scrub. 

Her hands are full of scars. Mostly from her time with the dragon fire. She hadn’t anticipated that it would reject her. That it would burn her as she used it. Shielded by her own ambition and determination it hadn’t mattered at the time. 

It matters now. 

Now that she has to look at it. At those ugly scars that remind her what what she had failed to achieve. They could have been a symbol of victory. Instead they are a mark of personal shame. 

Brandon finishes rubbing the scrub onto the backs of her hands and into her palms. He finishes by lacing his fingers between hers. His deep brown eyes linger on the back of hands. 

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Do you want something to eat?” 

She thinks for a moment and nods. “Just don’t overcook it, alright.” She sits up, retrieves her bathrobe, wraps it around herself, and comes to join him by the stove. She doesn’t cook but she will sometimes linger around and keep Brandon company while he does. Usually she stands behind him, looking over his shoulders with her arms wrapped around his middle. It works better this way being as she is at least a foot or two taller than he. 

Tonight she is sleepy from the massage and he ends up carrying her to bed before the meal is done cooking. He finishes it before joining her in bed. By now she is mostly asleep. She makes herself comfortable, laying against him. He still shivers when her cold skin first touches his. 

His hands find hers again. 

She still shudders when he does this.

His thumbs trace over the rough scar tissue. It has faded some. But not nearly enough for her to leave them ungloved in public. He brings her hands to his lips and kisses the backs of them. Sometimes she forgets that she has an image and reputation to retain. Sometimes she forgets to care. Or maybe she has begun to deliberately choose not to remember. She is rather content to forget for a moment if it gets her a night of pampering. She just hopes that nobody else forgets. It isn’t as though she isn’t perfectly capable of causing chaos on a whim. Tonight she is too tired for mayhem. She is asleep only a few minutes later with Brandon stroking the long curtains of hair that drapes over her shoulders and arms. She holds her scarred hands to his chest. At some   point in the night he will take them into his own.

[fawnandshadows]

Christmas Tree Farm

Word Count: 2k

AO3

Warnings: Language

Pairings: three brothers x three sisters, Elriel centric

MERRY, MERRY, MERYY Christmas to my beloved @nikethestatue . Thank you so much for your friendship this past year, and I hope you enjoy you gift 🥹🫶🏻

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Elain asked, her nose scrunched as she looked at the three men tying a tree to the top of Azriel’s truck.

“No,” Nesta answered for them, in a voice as cold as the early December air. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her puffy coat, and Elain could see her sister shivering beneath the layers she piled on. “They don’t.”

“Nessy, baby,” Cassian said in a strained voice, his neck crooked as he tried to avoid a spindly branch as he fastened a knot. “You know your attitude gives me a hard on, but I can’t flirt right now.”

They collectively gagged, all five of them who weren’t named Nesta. She simply smiled while the rest of them tried to ignore all mentions of Cassian’s penis.

“Weird you get turned on by the Loch Ness Monster.” Rhys said from the opposite side of the truck, and from the way the tree jostled Elain could tell he was trying to tighten his side of the chords.

Elain could feel Nesta’s self-control slowly snapping like a rope being pulled in two directions until nothing but a small thread existed. She scrambled for a way to break the tension, knowing the animosity between her sister and Rhysand had been growing this holiday season.

Ever since Rhys proposed to Feyre, their youngest sister. Elain was happy when Feyre showed her the dazzling sapphire on her finger, but Nesta was furious. She started lecturing Feyre on how they had only been dating a year and that at 20 there was still so much left for her to experience. Elain winced when Nesta mentioned she couldn’t even drink at her bachelorette party.

Nesta and Rhys had never gotten along, but the more Feyre created her own life with Rhysand, the more desperately Nesta tried to hang on to her sister. Afraid she was creating a life without her. And Rhys…as much as Elain loved him…was an ass to Nesta — he knew exactly what words to say to push her over the edge, but Cassian was always there to comfort her. Nesta never ceased to remind him that he was five years older than Feyre, and Rhys always reminded her that she needed Feyre more than Feyre needed her.

Elain opened her mouth to ask if they needed any help, but the sound of snow crunching under boots and Feyre’s sweet voice saved her from salvaging the situation.

“How’s it going?” Feyre asked, carrying a red plastic tray with styrofoam to-go mugs of steaming cider balancing on it.

Rhysand immediately let go of his side of the chord, slackening the rope and inadvertently causing Cassian to stumble, and he rushed to his fiancé’s side to take the tray from her hands.

“I got it, love.” Rhys said as he leaned down to kiss Feyre, whose cheeks were red from more than just the cold.

“Thank you,” Feyre said, taking one of the cups off of the tray and bringing it to her lips. Her golden brown hair long and straight underneath her purple beanie. She gazed up at her fiancé with so much love Elain felt like she should be looking away, the same type of feeling you get when you look at the sun for too long. “I thought this would warm us up.”

Elain reached for one, sending her sister a thankful smile and hugging the styrofoam cup between her mittened hands. She blew gently over the opening, her lips puckered as her eyes drifted to the tall man that walked up behind her.

Azriel leaned forward to grasp one of the ciders, leaning much too close to Elain. His scent of cedar completely enveloping her and causing her mind to muddle. Which wasn’t how she should be feeling, especially considering she had a boyfriend who already was probably already freaking out because she wasn’t answering his texts. The spotty service at the Christmas Tree Farm refused to push her texts through, but had no trouble accepting them.

Graysen was already worried about her and Azriel living together…and Elain only partly understood it. Azriel was absurdly beautiful, and to say otherwise would be a lie. But it wasn’t as if they lived alone together, her sisters and his brothers lived with them. All six of them living together in Rhysands townhouse in the center of the city. Graysen had been hounding her to move in with him, but Elain wasn’t ready to leave her family just yet. She just wished Graysen would believe her, but he was constantly plaguing her with texts:

Is Azriel with you?

Are you home?

Send pics.

Elain made the mistake of sending him a pic of family game night, scrabble tiles splayed on the table and half full glasses of wine. Feyre, drowning in one of her fiancé’s cream sweaters, was smiling brightly since Rhysand had his arm slung over her shoulder with his cheek pressed into hers. Nesta was hiding a smile and fake glaring at Cassian, who held a strand of her hair smushed between his upper lip and nose like a mustache. And Azriel was smiling politely at the camera, one hand placed on Elain’s thigh, and Elain had her head tilted close to his just to make sure everyone could fit into the frame. She had forgotten that she was in Azriel’s Steelers sweatshirt, not thinking twice about the way Azriel was touching her.

Elain, apparently, looked too happy in the picture.

Graysen didn’t even respond. He simply drove to her house and banged on the door — it all happened so fast that Elain could barely remember what he said. She just remembered grabbing his arm and pleading with him to stop yelling at Azriel. The only word that Elain heard him say clearly was slut which caused Azriel to slug Graysen in the jaw. Cassian rushed to hold his brother back, though Elain could tell he wanted nothing more than to lay in on Graysen himself, and it was only Elain’s tear-stained face that stopped him.

Ever since then Graysen dropped in periodically, but he would be met with nothing but glares from her family and Elain’s tentative smile. Nothing explosive has happened since that one night, but Elain was always careful not to set him off.

Her phone pinged, drawing her out of her memories, and Elain looked to see a message from:

??????

She tried to respond, but the green text bubble just mocked her. With a sigh she shoved the phone back in her pocket and adjusted her mittens.

“Everything ok?” Azriel asked with a pulled brow, standing close enough to her that the others couldn’t hear.

The cold had turned his cheeks red with a flush, and his leather jacket was zipped all the way up with his cobalt scarf tucked into it. The scarf Elain had knitted for him last year — she made one for everyone in her family, but Azriel wore it more often than anyone else. So she knitted him matching mittens and a hat, one that would keep his ears warm and had a little pom on top, for his gift this year.

Elain even stitched in a little gnome design, knowing how much he enjoyed them around Christmas. She had a gnome statue that Azriel adored, and this year she got the little guy two more gnome buddies so he wouldn’t be lonely.

“Just trying to text Graysen, but the messages won’t go through.” Elain replied with a tense smile, wanting to quash the agitation she saw in Azriel’s features.

“He didn’t want to come?”

“I didn’t invite him,” Elain admitted, chewing on her lip and shifting on her feet. “It’s a family event. Getting a tree for our home.”

“You’re happier without him,” Azriel said bluntly, his knuckles turning white around his cider. Elain opened her mouth to defend her relationship, but Azriel kept going. “Don’t lie to me,” his hazel eyes burned as he gazed down at her. “You don’t smile when he’s around. Which is a shame,” Her breath turned to icicles in her lungs. His chilled hand came up to caress her jaw, his thumb dusting over her lips. “You have a beautiful smile, Elain. The world should see it more.”

Azriel quickly dropped his hand and the cold air stung her cheek.

“We just have to tighten the knots,” Cassian said in a booming voice, one arm over Nesta’s shoulder as she huddled into his warmth, burrowing into his red plaid coat. “And then we’re good to go,” He brought one hand up to take a sip of his cider. Nesta mumbled into his chest. “What’s that Nes?”

Nesta pulled her head back long enough to say, “You better not have picked a tree with a spider's nest.” before pressing her face back into his chest.

“But I heard they’re your favorite breakfast? Right after the hearts of innocence.” Rhysand said, pathetically shrugging at Feyre’s stern look.

Nesta pulled her head back to retort, but Cassian capture her lips in a heated kiss to distract her.

“Ignore him, Nes, he’s just sad the flurries are messing up his hair.”

“I’m wearing a hat, dick.” Rhysand said, but he sent a questioning look to Feyre anyway.

“You look handsome,” Feyre said, raising to her tiptoes to kiss his nose. “Very sexy.” Rhysand relaxed a bit at her words.

“Are you cold?” Azriel asked, his expression worried.

“A bit.” Elain admitted, taking another sip.

She watched as Azriel unzipped his jacket and opened his arms. For a second she bit her lip in hesitation, but a gust of wind blew some powdery snow into her face and Elain took shelter in his embrace. One arm sliding underneath his jacket and behind his back. Her cheek pressed against his soft sweater.

“Cashmere?” Elain asked into his chest, ignoring the flutters she felt as Azriel wrapped his arms around her and tucked his chin on top of her head.

“Mmhm.” Azriel responded and Elain felt the vibrations through his chest.

“I’m going to break up with him,” Elain whispered, her eyes shut tight. “But I’m scared.”

His body stilled and tensed at the words.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Azriel asked in a dark, even voice.

“Please.”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre cleared her throat. Silently asking for everyone's attention.

Elain opened her eyes and stood on her tip toes to see her sister. Azriel pivoted slightly to accommodate her.

“We have an announcement,” Feyre said, smiling nervously. “We were going to wait, but it’s so pretty here—” she spread her arms wide and gestured to the array of green trees dusted in snow, and the twinkling lights hung around the Christmas tree farm.

“You’re pregnant,” Nesta said in a cold voice, her glare narrowing in on Rhysand. “That’s why you’re getting married.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes and was about to respond, but Feyre placed a hand on his chest.

“No,” Feyre said, and sent an imploring look to her sister, begging her to be nice. “We set a date for the wedding,” She peered up at Rhysand, who motioned for her to continue with a smile. “New Years Eve.”

“That’s less than a month away.” Nesta said, about to take a step forward, but Cassian huddled her closer to his chest.

“Of next year,” Feyre explained, her brilliant smile not dimming from her sister's frosty look. “We need time to plan the wedding of Rhysand’s dreams.”

“You deserve the best, Feyre Darling.” Rhys purred, kissing his fiancé’s cheek.

“It will be beautiful.” Elain said, her voice not faltering as all of their eyes turned her way and saw her wrapped in Azriel.

“Obviously,” Feyre continued, her smile growing. “I’m going to need bridesmaids.”

“And I’ll need groomsmen.” Rhys said, smiling over Feyre’s head.

“I always knew Rhysie would ask me to marry him one day.” Cassian whispered loudly into Nesta’s ear, causing everyone to chuckle.

Feyre raised a pointing, gloved hand at Cassian and said, “Stop flirting with my fiancé or I’ll start to get jealous.”

“I’m really enjoying this conversation and all,” Nesta said, her teeth chattering. “But maybe we could continue it in the car. On the way home. With my butt warmer on.”

Nesta and Feyre squeeze into the back of the truck, and Elain sat waiting in the front middle seat. Her unofficial assigned seat as the shortest member of their family, but spending an hour sitting next to Azriel made her feel warm on the inside, so she didn’t care about the fact that she was missing a butt warmer.

Soon enough the boys slid into the car and Elain found Azriel pressing into her side, his arm slung over the back of the bench seat.

Elain hesitated for a moment before laying her head on his shoulder. She could practically feel him grinning at the contact.

The radio came on with the car and a warm burst of air came through the vent. Her eyes fell shut and she felt herself drifting away to the sounds of her family bickering and Nat King Cole’s voice crooning through the speakers.

She shifted more into Azriel, her body relaxing as she let herself fall asleep.

——

Tagging: @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @nikethestatue @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes  @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565 @casuallivi @rhysiedarling @elain99 @athena-85 @swankii-art-teacher @reverie-tales @jujugirlfrombookstore @shadowflorecita @shy-violet-soul

[soupnoodle]

my j&w headcanons that you may find interesting <3

1. jeeves has beautiful eyes with fluffy eyelashes. bertie is truly fascinated

2. jeeves doesn't consider bertie dumb or not worth to be with but won't ever say it aloud :)

3. bertie has little freckles all over the face and spine

4. bertie's love languages are gifts and words, jeeves' are acts of service and quality time

5. jeeves has a good taste in colognes and can detect a bad smell from a mile

6. they share taste in alcohol and tobaccy

7. even though there's no much height difference between them, jeeves seem to be more broad build (especially in shoulders). bertie is just slim

8. bertie is allergic to nuts and hates pomegranates (probably doesn't enjoy olives either <\3 )

9. bertie's favorite color is crocodile green/ cedar brown, jeeves' favorite color is probably royal blue/ lavender

10. one of jeeves' unobvious hobbies is that he really enjoys capturing moments and prefers to write things in a diary or use a typewriter :)

11. jeeves is a quite romantic person but won't show it. keep calm and don't let anyone see your emotional side

12. they are rats they are that bitches and they probably will judge you behind the closed door

13. jeeves really can't stand some of bertie's friends and wish they could disappear but he doesn't want to hurt his feelings

14. bertie loves crosswords and sometimes steal it from jeeves <3