#the angels ask me to recall ( sugar glass cookie )

[raichoose-moved]

Tag References for Characters ~ Part Five

Hello! Please click on a tag to see all of the IC content, musings, aesthetics, icons, and tag games for that character ~

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Duo

Happy Mask Salesman

Julia

Kirby

Knight Cookie

Lotus Dragon Cookie

Pibby

Smithers

Songbird

Sugar Glass Cookie

Verosika

[raichoose-moved-again]

Tags - Muses, Pt. 5

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop.

Part 1

Part 2 

Saturday morning.

You’ve already baked cinnamon buns and the peacan pie by time Carly officially opens up the café at 8. The smell of freshly baked goods circling the shop, Carly hums in appreciation, hovering in the kitchen to see what she can rob for breakfast.

Toby arrives at half 8, Carly all too gladly standing back from the coffee machine. He hovers by the kitchen door a few minutes later, thanking you again for last night while you’re pulling a tray of breakfast muffins out of the oven.

“Sure you didn’t lose something?” You ask him, he only blinks, a questioning ‘no?’, and you tug his keys from your pocket.

“Are they my- shit, where’d you find them?!”

Fragmented story telling about last night, about Van, between serving customers. You still feel a rush of lightheadedness when you think about last night, think about Van. Heartbeat kicking up in a weird little pitter-patter rhythm - something you only associate with kittens and Hugh Grant films. Toby listens with a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore.

“Oh, and guess who Julia got off with last night?” You say, maybe to change the subject off Van, after he’s handed a takeaway cup to the last of the customers. He raises a how eyebrows, looking at you with interest. Toby liked to act like he wasn’t interested in the gossip, stories swapped between you and Julia on long shifts - but you always caught him half listening, weighing in with his own comments if asked.

But before you can dish out the gossip on who you had walked in on in your kitchen this morning, Julia herself stomps through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble with a smirk while Toby playfully hisses at her as she walks past “Ey, what time do you call this then?”

It’s 9, she’s an hour late. She had told you this morning she’d cleared it with Carly, when you had brought her water and painkillers. More as a front to question her on who you had found in the kitchen than being concerned for her head. She’d seen through it and buried herself under her duvet when you entered her room.

“Piss off,” she hisses back, taking off her sunglasses. No makeup and too much perfume, the telltale signs of a rough night. “And don’t even start you!” Pointing her sunglasses at you, your smug smile. You only hold your hands up to with a lingering smirk. Toby’s eyes flickering between you both.

The bell hanging from the door rings, drawing your attention back to the till as two mums with buggies and toddlers make their way in, the screeches of excited children make Julia shudder.

“Jesus Christ, kids shouldn’t be allowed out in public until at least midday on weekends,” she huffs under her breath and makes a beeline for the staff room. A chuckle - calling after her, telling her you had left breakfast muffins in the oven. The perfect combination of savory and sweet - the best hangover cure. Apart from more alcohol that is.

You’re loading up a tray with hot chocolates and coffees for the mums and kids when Julia re-emerges from the back room, taking a bite out of the muffin in her hand with a groan of your name, telling you that you were a lifesaver.

“Sure you can manage these? No more bad luck leftover? Need a side of salt?” Toby teases while handing you the tray over the counter, you roll your eyes - telling him not to remind you of yesterday’s disasters.

“So, wild night at the pub quiz I hear,” you hear Toby turning back to Julia while you walk away, biting down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. Recalling her texts.

You make your way out front to the terrace where the noisy kids have taken up residence at one of the tables, except now their shrieks seem to be in despair rather than delight. One of the women standing out on the path while the other is desperately trying to calm the boys, one already in tears. Inconsolable.

“Oh, what’s happened?!” You ask, a frown while setting the tray on their table.

“Pebbles ran away!” The older of the boys wail while pointing down the road. It’s then that you notice the abandoned dog leash on the ground beside your foot, one end under the seat of the chair, the other end clipped onto a collar.

“He must have wriggled out, a lad’s gone running after him - I hope-“ the woman is cut off by the younger boy’s screech of “There! Pebbles!!”

You follow his gaze, almost shaking your head and laughing - it’s Van, of course it’s fucking Van to the rescue. Sauntering back down the path with the runaway Yorkshire terrier in his arms, licking at his face.

You watch the look of adoration in the women’s eyes as he carries the dog back up to the table, the gleeful sounds of the kids. His smile widens once he spots you, hovering.

“Alright lids, see he’s fine! Just a little messer ain’t he?!” Van eases, dropping down on his haunches to hold the dog while the mum fiddles with adjusting the collar.

Ducking back inside while the chorus of ‘thank yous’ surround Van, grabbing a couple of chocolate chip cookies and pain au chocolats, sugar for the shock.

Once you set the treats down on the table, the boys wipe the end of their tears from their eyes. Sounds of delight resurface, something their mothers echo when you tell them not to worry, that the cookies and crossiants are on the house.

Van follows you back inside after high fiving the boys, winking at the women and blowing a kiss at the dog - who seemed rather taken with him. Holding the door open for you.

“You’re in early, thought rockstars didn’t get up ‘til noon,” you say as he follows you in. Eyes a little bloodshot, voice a little husky - but other than that he didn’t share any of Julia’s hangover symptoms. You wonder what kind of drinker he is.

“Eh, never been good at the whole rockstar thing me.” A lazy grin, reaching the counter where Julia stops mid rant about how bacon absolutely belongs in muffins. Their eyes lock, mirrored smirks - sharing the same secrets.

“Think you have someone that belongs to me, love.” He chuckles.

Julia hums in response, “think I’ll hang onto him a bit longer.”

You bite back a smile. This morning, walking into your kitchen at sunrise only to be greeted with a scruffy, bearded man. Vaguely familiar, from the countless interviews and live performances you had binged on YouTube. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, unbuttoned shirt and undone jeans, hand buried in his hair, staring blankly at the floor tiles. Clearly in the midst of a hangover from hell, possibly going through the fear. You could smell the stale alcohol.

“Er, morning?” You said quietly, blue eyes flickering up, a crooked smile, and a rasped “Mornin’, love.”

Like it was the most natural thing for him to be standing in your kitchen, like it was his kitchen even.

“Are you looking for sommat or?” You opened the fridge, glancing back over him. Hoping he wasn’t about to puke all over the place. He had that look.

“Yeah, just the last shreds of me dignity.. and anything.. cold, please... fuck,” he grumbles, pressing his head into his hands. You almost felt sorry for him, then you remembered the videos and messages from Julia last night and hide a smile by looking back into the fridge. Jug of iced water and a pint glass, handing him the full glass before rooting through the medicine drawer, painkillers.

“Aye, you’re a fuckin’ godsent, thanks angel.” Taking the painkillers and water from you. “Can see why Van’s so fond of you, coffee girl.”

There’s a lot of unpack in that sentence, and it was way too early. So you simply blink and watch him take the pills.

“Coffee girl?” You question eventually, arms crossing.

His eyes drift back over to you, grimacing while he sips on the water. “Aye, you work down the café, wi’ Julia, reet?”

You knew you shouldn’t have, but when opportunity arises, you can’t help it. Winding him up. It’s a rare morning you’re in a good mood, able to communicate in more that one syllable words.

“No? Dunno what you’re on about mate, Julia works down the cafè.. heard her mentioned someone called Van a few times, seemed like they had a thing, yeah?”

A flash of panic in his eyes, practically hearing the flurry of curse words going through his head. The prospect of the fact he’s probably shagged someone his best mate is ‘fond of’. Quirking a brow while he stared.

“Nah, she said.. You.. fuck.. fuck me,” a string of grumbles, clearly trying and failing to get his head straight - remember what had happened last night, what Julia had told him. Hands patting down his jeans, pulling out his phone with a heavy sigh. He curses at the screen. “Fuck, Van’s gon-“

“Hey,” you decide to put him out of his misery. He was growing paler by the second, and you were getting more and more worried about the prospect of cleaning up puke. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Realisation hitting - eye narrowing at you, telling him your name, confirming that you were indeed the coffee girl who worked with Julia. He shakes his head, a gruff noise and crooked smirk.

“Jesus, threw me for a loop there... well played, my dear... I like you already,” holding out his first, “Am Johnny,” he says while you knock your knuckles against his. You refrain from telling him you knew that already.

“Well, he’s kinda crucial in our band and that, so afraid I get first dibs, darlin’” Van’s voice drags you back to the present.

“So you’re saying you’re going on tour again soon, eh?” Julia tilts her head.

A breathy little laugh - “Bands do more than just tour, yanno?”

“You do realise the internet is a thing, Van - we could literally google your tour dates right now and find out. So your mysterious bullshit ain’t flying anymore.” She rolls her eyes, another bite of her muffin.

Since finding out he was in Catfish, neither of you had ever thought about checking on the tour dates, when he came he came and when he left he left, and that’s that. No wondering if he’d show up when the tour was up. Simple, no attachments. You and Julia even named a local stray cat after Van who you fed from time to time when he came snooping around the bins outside, the easiness of coming and going.

So why were your fingers suddenly itching for your phone.

“Ah, love! Why ruin the little mystery that’s left then? Like I said - we do other stuff too, could have label stuff to do, graftin the next album... cheers, mate.” Trailing off once Toby slides his caramel latte over the counter, something he had got him hooked on a year or so ago. “Fuckin missed this.” He says as if every other coffee shop has yet to discover caramel.

“So yous are doing a new album then, that it?” Julia persists, rolling your eyes at her blatant attempts at winding him up. But he catches on, a lazy grin, licking his lips.

“Ain’t ya too hungover to be fuckin’ with us like this?” He calls her out, a smirk.

She shrugs while her eyes slide over to the elderly couple that come in every morning, sitting in their usual spot. Calling over to them that their tea and scones are on the way, fond calls back of ‘take your time, pet.’ telling Van she’s not finished with him before heading into the back to get a teapot.

“What happened last night anyways?” Toby interjects, bemused look across his features. Completely left out of the loop, obviously not getting anything out of Julia when you left them a while ago.

Taking the opportunity to pull up Julia’s messages - putting you phone down on the counter between the three of you. The video is obviously taken at the time of the night where all rational thoughts are lost to drinks. Loud music, girls screams - background static, Johnny Bond stood at the bar, downing three consecutive shots of what you assume is tequila, Julia’s giggles soundtrack while following him out the smoking area, turning back to the camera and taking off his cap with slur of ‘mind this for me, love’ before he proceeds to do a handstand against a wall for 15 seconds. Confused onlookers as Julia counts it out.

Amused sounds - Toby and Van, Julia passing back around the counter in search of scones for the couple, she glances over your shoulder at the video.

“Ey, anyone who does a handstand after 3 shots of tequila without vomming earns their space in my bed.”

There’s another video from about 20 minutes later of Larry stood on a table, Kylie Minogue blaring, and he’s doing an enthused rendition of the Can’t Get You Outta my Head dance mixed with a bit of the Macarena. Cheers erupting around him, wolf whistles.

Van - a rasped cackle, “send that one onto me, that’s too good! Never gon let him live that one down!”

You watch him while he watches the video again a few times over. His eyelashes nearly brushing his cheeks when he looks down, fingers restlessly tapping against his coffee mug, soft chuckles. Feeling Toby give you a nudge, a wink when you look up. Letting you know he caught you, shaking your head with your best ‘fuck off’ eyes.

“So why were you making the lads humiliate themselves for your entertainment then?” Toby asks Julia once she circles back around the counter

“‘Cause, the lads bet me that they’d beat us at the pub quiz,” she explains, helping herself to another muffin. “Johnny spent half the time outside smoking, and Van and Larry fuckin’ argued over every question and ended up writing down bullshit made up answers.”

Toby asks where Van’s forfeit video is, you’re only half listening now - taking orders of the few people who just came in, but you zone back in once you hear your name mentioned.

“-and after I told him she was workin’ late closing up, never seen anyone down their pint so quickly, what was the excuse again, Van? Jet lag was it?”

Glancing up at that to find him already looking at you, catching his eye, his lips tilt making his dimple pop out. It lasts less than a second, your eyes darting back down to the pecan pie you’re cutting. Feeling your cheeks warm up. He never mentioned that he had run into Julia at the pub last night, remembering how he just said he was on his way home. Although, you were half sure it did have nothing do with you, more likely he was just sick of Julia’s drunken bullshit.

“Nah, just quite like that pub and want to be able to show me face in there again, innit.” He tells her, a laugh.

You grab a basin and walk away to start to clear tables, not really wanting to hear anymore of Julia’s torments. You’re happier zoning out, getting lost in your own thoughts, smiling and small talk with a few regulars. On you’re way back to the kitchen when you hear Van again as you walk past, catching your elbow.

“You in then too, Glasvegas?”

“Sorry, what?” Turning back to him, you had been thinking if Julia would be up for getting chipper on the way home after the pub tonight. You were already craving garlic cheese chips.

“Coming down Cassidy’s tonight? Van’s buying first round for being a pussy last night.” Julia quips, and you look from him to her. Fuck, remembering Van’s confession about wanting to buy you a drink last night. Julia’s looking at with you a smug expression, knowing you can’t get out of this one. You and her always went out on Saturday night’s - either just the two of you, or a group of friends. But going to the pub with Van and his mates, your heart skips a few beats, uneasiness. You give her a look before letting your eyes slide back to Van, an expectant look, finishing off his cinnamon bun.

“Er, I dunno..”

“Dunno if you’re up for going to the pub? Like we don’t go out every Saturday night?” Julia tilts her head, feigning mock innocence. You knew what she was doing, and you glare. A non-verbal ‘you’re being a dick.”

“Well, er, it’s been a long week.. yanno. I’m kinda tired.. was thinkin’ of staying in and having a quiet one,” you’re backing slowly into the kitchen as you say this, feeble excuses. “And I’m.. I’m trying to save some and that.”

“So me and you will do pre-drinks at ours,” Julia pushes, entertaining your excuses to a certain extent, but not letting you get out of it.

“And I’m buying first round,” Van adds.

“So, it’s just one drink really.” Julia confirms.

“Jus’ one drink.” Van reaffirms.

“Just one drink?” You say, somewhat defeated.

Toby glances up from the coffee machine, a chuckle. “Now when’s the last time anyone went out and actually had just one drink?”

Van leaves a little while later, Toby giving him a tray of coffees for Larry and Bondy if he’d yet ventured back from your place, you sending him off with a bag of hangover cures in form of pastries and cakes.

He came back in a few minutes later, forgetting his stamp on his loyalty card.

“2 down, eight to go. Cheers, see yas later.” He walked back out, a spring in his step. You turned to Julia.

“What the fuck, Jules?! Will you leave us alone and stop tryin’ to setup me up with Van fuckin’ McCann!” Exasperated tone, she only shook her head and giggled. “S’not funny! He probably already has a girlfriend and you’re here makin’ us look desperate!”

“Dunno what you’re on about, babe!” She says while heading out to clean up the terrace, humming matchmaker matchmaker under her breath. She turns back to you as she reaches the door “Oh, and he deffo doesn’t have a girlfriend, found that out last night for ya. You’re welcome!” She beams, all but skipping out the door.

You somehow resist the urge to chuck the tea towel in your hands at her head.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty two: that man is on fire

heh. what a way to end souls of black and go into veritas, gang. probably the most explicit chapter of them all, but not enough to warrant a change of rating all together, though. really big smut warning regardless 😘

Sam rolled over in her bed and for a second, she swore that she was still within her dream about the mysterious man. She had hardly any memory of the dream whatsoever but all she knew was he stood there before her like a shadow. She could only feel him over her body, right over her feet. But she swore that she had dreamed about him: it was the first time in a while she had dreamed about him, and the first time in an even longer while where she had dreamed about him and she couldn't recall any other part of it.

She caught the soft strumming of acoustic strings on the edge of the room and she lifted her head for a better look at Alex there. His hair was a disheveled frizzy mess and the minute tuft of gray stood up over his brow like a little radio antenna. The gray morning light through the window on the side of the room cast a shadow over one side of his face, as if he wore half of a mask. He reached down to the low stool right next to the chair and he picked up a glass of what looked like liqueur.

“Happy Hanukkah, Samantha,” he greeted her as he raised his glass to her. “Early Hanukkah, actually—it starts when the sun goes down tonight.” She had hardly any memory of him walking in that room. She also had hardly any memory of him being there in the room with her the night before.

“Alex, what are you doing here?” she asked him as she reclined up on her elbows. The bed sheet covered her otherwise bare chest: the only clothes she wore under the covers were in fact her panties and some little shorts that she had dug up upon going down the Central Valley to stay with her mother for a bit before she returned up to her father's house. Alex sat there in the chair with his guitar cradled in his lap and that glass in one hand.

“Alex—” Sam sputtered. “Alex, why are you drinking at this time of the morning?”

“This is iced coffee,” he replied as he held the glass close to his lips.

“Oh—I thought it was liqueur,” she confessed.

“Nah, your mom's got that dessert wine but there's none of that here.” He took another sip from the glass and then he set it back down on the stool next to his feet. He sat upright once again and ran his fingers through his inky black hair: the morning light shone upon the little tuft over his forehead so it resembled to an icicle. He strummed the fine nylon strings of that black acoustic guitar some riff that she hadn't heard of yet.

“Damn it—” he muttered, and he tried it again.

“Damn it!”

“What is it?” she asked him as she sat upright and pulled her knees up towards her chest.

“Eh, Greg threw this riff out at me before we left for L.A. last night,” he explained. “It was a bass riff, though, so I'm not sure as to how to translate it over to an acoustic guitar. All I know is you go like this—”

He plucked the strings with the point of his pick: it almost sounded as though the strings were skipping. He played it for about five seconds and then he turned one string sideways.

“I feel like it'd sound better plugged in,” she remarked.

“Agreed,” he said as he clasped his fingers across the fret board to silence his guitar. His eyes drifted down to her chest: she looked down herself, at her nipples as they poked out a bit from underneath the bed sheet. She looked up at him and the little bit of skin exposed from his button up shirt. Two buttons undone and it was all she needed to see for herself as he leaned over for his glass of iced coffee.

“There's another band from New York that we haven't met while on tour,” he told her.

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. They're called Death. I just think about the Cherry Suicides' early Christmas card to us—the mention that they might be marketed as a 'death metal' band. That's where that term came from—from a band from New York called Death. I hear they're cool guys, though.”

“Bands from New York to be as such,” she noted and he shook his head about before he took another, much heartier swig of coffee.

“Also, your mom definitely has the hots for me,” he said in a low voice.

“Not surprised,” she confessed with a shrug of her shoulders.

“She has the hots for me. Of all people.”

“Again, I'm not at all surprised, Alex.”

“Why's that?” he asked her as he took another sip of the iced coffee and she let the sheet slide down her breasts a bit.

“Whoa—easy there,” he teased her with a wag of his finger.

“You know, I just woke up,” she scoffed at him.

“Still—easy there,” he teased her. “You also didn't answer my question. Why are you not at all surprised?”

She could see it in his eyes, especially once she tugged the sheet back up over her chest. She knew what he was thinking by a mere glimpse into those deep eyes.

“Why are you not at all surprised?” he asked her in a near whisper.

“Because she's an erotica writer,” she replied, and he squinted his eyes at her before he took another sip of his coffee.

“There's gotta be more than that,” he said, his voice still down in a near whisper.

“There is nothing more than that, though,” she retorted.

“Samantha,” he said.

“Alex,” she echoed him.

“Samantha.”

“Alexander.”

“Samantha Rose.”

“Alexander Nathan.”

“Rose.”

“Nathan.”

“You're good,” he said with a wink.

“So are you!”

“Anyways, Samantha, how long has it been since you've seen Joey?”

“A while. Since we came back from the tour. I think about him.” She froze. “Why?”

“Just curious,” he replied in a small voice and he took another sip of coffee.

“I sent him a care package,” she told him.

“Mmm?” He raised his eyebrows as he downed the rest of that iced coffee.

“One of my Death Angel shirts, some sugar cookies, and a little piece of—erotic art.”

Alex held the glass before his chest and he looked down at her chest once again, albeit from clear across the room. He set the empty glass down on the stool right next to him once again.

“Whipped it up right on the spot,” she continued, “I know he'll be pleasantly surprised upon seeing it for himself. A nice li'l aphrodisiac for Christmas and for the new decade if he so wishes. It's art, after all. It can't hurt anyone.”

“By the way, did you know coffee is an aphrodisiac?” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Oh, yeah?” she asked him.

“So is chocolate. Tomatoes, oysters, chili peppers and I think—some teas are, too.”

“Mother Nature knows what we want,” she said to him in a singsong voice. “All the plants and creatures.”

“Speaking of plants—I got to reading about this sort of thing, just 'cause you and Louie's whole thing about poison plants and whatnot—there's a plant called 'angel's trumpet', and it's an aphrodisiac right before it kills you.”

“Hot,” she said.

“Apparently, it's also a member of the nightshade family,” he continued, and he raised his eyebrows at that. The mention of nightshade made her stop right in her tracks. She sent that care package to Joey and she hoped he had gotten it in the meantime. “I also read about the Wandering Jew, too—the plant, that is.”

“Is that an aphrodisiac?” she asked him with a sly smirk.

“Nah. Makes you itchy, but—” He shrugged. “You know. That word right there is all contingent on your interpretation of it.” He then gave his hair a slight toss back with a flick of his head. “Apparently, that plant also helps with stomach pains. And it changes color when exposed to pollutants.”

“Makes you itchy, helps your tummy, and tells you when shit's about to go down—that sounds like you and me,” she said, to which he chuckled.

“And it's called the Wandering Jew, too,” he added as he plucked at the strings again. He gasped and his face lit up.

“What?”

He plucked again and that time around, he had the riff in the palm of his hands. It wandered and ground around and tempted fate, and it all coalesced right there on the acoustic guitar upon his lap. Sam lightly clapped her hands together and he nodded his head and gritted his teeth out of excitement.

“That's our titular track!” he declared.

She slid out of bed and hurried over to him with her arms wide open. He cracked her a nervous smile and he kept his gaze locked onto her face.

“Something else is titular!” he added, as she embraced him right there.

He looked down at her chest, at those pointed nipples and her bare stomach.

“You like what you see here, Alejandro?” she teased him.

“You did just wake up after all,” he pointed out.

“Hey, now, it's usually you with the wet dreams,” she hit back at him.

“Girls can get 'em, too—so I'm told anyways.”

“How do you find out about these things? You seem so innocent.”

“Samantha, as I've said before—when you're this smart and you grow up isolated and sheltered, you're going to have questions as you get older and things below the belt start doing their thing. You've also seen me on acid—and you've seen me drunk. I'm not even close to innocent.”

Sam lowered her gaze to his chest and the guitar cradled upon his lap. She lifted her gaze back up to his face, right as he bowed his head which accentuated the depth of his eyes.

“I know what you're thinking,” she told him in a hushed voice.

“What am I thinking?” he teased her.

“You're thinking what I hope you're thinking.”

He snorted at that.

“Do you know what I'm thinking?” she asked him.

“I hope I do?” he said as he lowered his gaze to her chest again.

“You like what you see here?”

He reached up and undid a couple more buttons on his shirt, which in turn showed off some more of that milky skin on his chest.

“I should ask you the same thing,” he said in a husky voice. He then set the guitar down on the floor next to him, and he undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt so he exposed his whole upper body to her. His waist was slender but slightly thick still.

As far as she knew the two of them were alone at the house together.

“You're hot,” she noted. “I never thought anyone would be so hot before but you definitely are.”

“So are you,” he retorted back to her.

“You wanna go on the bed or here on the floor?” she asked him.

“The bed—I want to be surrounded by you and—everything that makes up you. I want you to suffocate me for being so bad.”

He let his shirt dangle wide open as she led him back to her bed. She lay back down on the warm spot there on the mattress.

“What'd you say that plant was?” she asked him as he climbed onto the bed next to her. “The one that's an aphrodisiac before it kills you?”

“Angel's trumpet,” he repeated. “Yeah, I'd like for you to touch my angel's trumpet.”

“Not if I make you touch my angel's trumpet first,” she teased him as she opened her legs for him. He showed her a devilish grin as he loomed right over her body.

“Alex—Alex—are you drunk?”

“No—why would I be drunk?” he asked her, confused.

“Well, 'cause we usually fool around when you've had a few,” she pointed out.

“Well, what if this time around, I wanted to be sober? I want to be sober and relish in it.”

He leaned over her body: his skin was smooth and soft to the feeling. His body itself was so warm from the coffee, and from sitting there nestled in a corner with his guitar.

“You smell of coffee,” she whispered to him.

“Good—” he whispered back to her in between kisses on her lips.

He was on top of her. Their whole thing was that he lay underneath her. But she let him kiss her on the neck and all over her chest. She felt herself tightening up when he sat upright: the crotch of his shorts hung right above her own. A pair of mere pieces of fabric separated themselves from each other.

Alex peeled off his shirt all the way and she eyed his body.

“You still wanna draw this absolute wreck here?” he asked her as he pointed to his bare chest.

“You are not a wreck, baby,” she insisted. “Far from it. Look at you! Look at how gorgeous you are! I wanna make love to this beautiful body and then draw it up.”

“We're gonna be doin' more than making love, dearest Samantha.”

She reached up and ran her fingers down his chest and his stomach all the way down to his shorts.

“So soft,” she noted.

“Soft!”

“Quite soft. Like caressing silk. Silk compared to the iron making up your arms.”

He inched back so he was between her legs. He peeled back her shorts so her bare thighs and hips were exposed to him.

“Gonna be playing around with an angel's trumpet right here,” he joked with a little gyration of his head. He ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth as he peeled back the fabric some more.

“Eight ball in the corner—” He showed her a devilish grin at that.

Those lanky fingers slipped inside. Sam gasped at the sensation there. She gazed into those deep eyes: those eyes as cold as the snowstorm that stranded them at Lake Tahoe for a whole night and that little tuft of gray hair high above his brow like what awaited her right between his legs.

Where was this side of him all along.

Alex bowed his head and brought his lips back to her bare chest once again. She closed her eyes. He kissed her and fingered her at the same time: the aroma of coffee was still very much riddled about him. To think that there was a poison plant in existence that got the motor going right before it killed its victim.

He ran his hand down her sides to feel the full curvature of her body.

“Mmm—”

“You like what you feel here, big boy?” she teased him.

“And you think I have nice curves,” he teased back at her between kisses.

“You do!”

She ran her hands over his lower back and all around his waist.

“Milk and cookies,” he breathed into her ear.

“Milk and cookies, baby,” she breathed back to him.

“Poison garden,” he added.

“Poison garden!”

He buried his face into her chest.

All so deadly and so hot at the same time.

Joey burst into her mind right then. The venom of which he crawled out from himself. Alex emerged from the cold earth and the rustling leaves of the Wandering Jew.

It was going to be something going into the New Year caught up between these two young men. She remembered Joey was literally going to turn thirty the next October. Him at thirty and Alex at twenty two the next September.

Two young men on either side of her in this strange messy game called life. And all she had for either of them was her paint brush and the work of her hands.

She reached down to Alex's waist, down his shorts. He whimpered a bit at the feeling of her fingers upon him.

He then fell right onto his back, right next to her. Breathing hard, he opened up his body for her.

“What?” she asked him, out of breath herself.

“Get on top of me,” he said in a broken voice.

“Get on top of you.”

“I want you to do it to me,” he begged her as he pushed his shorts down his legs. “I picked the bottom. Make me into a man, Samantha. Turn me from a bad boy to a man.”

She sat up and tossed her hair back from her neck before she climbed on top of Alex's hips.

“Gotta be careful,” he advised her in a broken voice.

“As long as neither of us are sick, we've got this,” she assured him.

“No, I mean, I didn't bring protection. I didn't think you'd want a nice wake up call.”

“We'll be okay, I promise. Something about the rawness, too.”

She was already down over him. Lucky for the both of them, her bed had no springs. She kept her knees flat on either side of him.

“Mama—” he blurted out.

He pinched his eyes shut and he gritted those prominent teeth. A part of her wanted to hold onto that gray streak but she knew it was too small right then. All she could was focus on it as she moved about. Her knees flat on the surface of the bed. Her legs wide open for him.

“Mama—Mama!” he gasped.

“You like that, baby?” she teased him.

“Let me just—I—what—what the hell—FUCK—”

The only thing she could see was the look of euphoria on his face. She could only feel him, and she could only feel him more with each and every gyration. He let out a soft groan.

She lifted up just in time, and by the mere skin of her teeth.

“I oughtta spank you for that,” she teased him.

“For what?” he asked her in a broken voice.

“For coming.”

“For coming or for coming?”

“Both.”

“Shit,” he said in a broken voice.

“I'm gonna let you touch my girls first,” she said as she crawled over his body again. Her bare chest loomed over him. “Go ahead.”

“My fingers or my teeth?” he sputtered as he ran his fingers through his jet black hair.

“Whichever one you want, baby.”

Those calluses caressed over her bare skin and then he hoisted himself up onto his elbows for her. Those lips. That tongue. Her skin. His skin.

She thought about the times she put her lips around Joey and also Greg. It was only fair for him to have at it as well as her.

Before he got any further, she crawled back around him so she was wide open for him.

“Jesus Christ—!” he sputtered.

“Drink up, baby doll,” she croaked back at him. “Drink your poison.”

She brought her mouth down on him and he returned the favor for her.

For a few seconds, they had coalesced better than that acoustic riff he had played for her. Drinking up each other's milk and having their cookies at the same time in the poison garden.

His body was warm, almost too warm the more she felt him up.

He was so warm, away from the cool appearance of his face and those deep set eyes. So warm as if he ran a fever.

He was running a fever with each lick on her skin. She was running a fever with each caress of his flesh.

A fever that burned with the both of them like a fire. That man was on fire right underneath her.

He gasped and whimpered with the feeling. She groaned in her throat with each run of her tongue. She was going further than she did with Joey, even though she owed it to him as well. She was going further than she did with Cliff, too.

Alex let out a soft moan from the back of his throat. She lifted up right as she had a small taste.

Sam rolled over, off of his body and back onto the bed. She hoisted herself up onto her elbows and she gazed right into his face.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he parted his lips for her. Sam crawled over his body and planted a little kiss there on his lips.

“We did it, baby,” she breathed to him in a broken voice.

“We—fucking did it. Quite the way to go into the New Year, that's for sure.”

“Happy Hanukkah,” she said.

“Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and welcome to the Nineties, Samantha.”

“Hold still,” she encouraged him, and she rolled off of the bed and headed over to the other side of the room for her journal and her pencil.

“Oh, I see,” he muttered in a broken voice, and then he frowned at her. “Did I—did I cream on you earlier? When you riding me like a horse?”

“Nah—I'm gonna have more cream in my coffee than you gave to me back there.”

Still completely nude, Sam stood there with her journal right before her. The sole light came from the window on the other side of the room, but it was enough for her to sketch out his euphoric, slightly sleepy face and his disheveled jet black hair, the latter of which was spread out on either side of his head like the tentacles of an octopus. His shirt was wide open, all around his otherwise naked body.

Beautiful milky skin. The way the light caressed over his delicate waist: even after a month, he still had the vampire bite she gave him next to his belly button.

She would have to use her lighter and harder of pencils for the shading around his hip bones and the lower part of his belly.

“Yeah—yeah, curves in all the right places, Alex,” she teased him.

“I oughta just get you for that.” He was slightly scorn, and she giggled at him for that.

“Remember, I said I should spank you,” she recalled as she ran the side of the graphite over the outline of his hip.

“Spank me—bite me—fatten me up—and you're the one who's baffled by me,” he teased her.

“It's all 'cause I wanna please you as well as me,” she confessed to him. She then set the journal back down and she crawled back onto the bed next to him. She put her arms around his waist and he put his arm around her.

Her heart with Joey. Her ventures with Alex. She had definitely ascended to the level of the art vixen at that point.

And then she woke up. She was back at her mother's house and for all she knew, it was the morning before the first night of Hanukkah.

Alex was gone.

“No,” she muttered. “He can't be—he can't be the mysterious man. There's no way.”

It was so real to her. She swore that he was there right above her. He was right there. He was right there with his fingers right between her legs. He did it to her and she returned the favor to him.

They made love to each other's bodies.

She was sure of it.

Indeed, she shifted her legs. She was still damp right in between there. Still damp as a sponge. Still sore from where he fingered her with those calluses. She was still completely naked.

She spotted her journal still in place there. She climbed out of bed and opened it to that page.

That drawing still there, and yet she didn't sign it because she would come back to it. The look of sexy euphoria on his face. The way the sketchy graphite accentuated the shape of his body. The way the bed sheet draped all around his hips and thighs, and the way his open shirt made him even more gorgeous. She could still feel him. She could still feel his warmth. His fever.

How she yearned to feel Joey again, however.

Two men with raging fevers, about to rage even more for her. These two men were about to burst into flames for her.

And she had the art to prove it as well.

But she made the promise to never tell anyone about the whole affair between her and him. She knew he wouldn't say anything about it to anyone, either, especially since her mother had her eyes on him all the while. She couldn't hardly speak about Joey with him, either, albeit not without a distant look on his face.

She couldn't tell either one about the other. She couldn't anyone about either of them.

Not a soul.

[sushiandstarlight]

Cookies: Chapter 18

This chapter contains today’s prompt “hope.” (Sort of.)

Previous Story: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Chapters 1-3 / Chapter 4 / Chapters 5 & 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17

Read this chapter on AO3

Rating G- Light Teen

There was something going on with Aziraphale, but Crowley couldn't pin down what that something was. He got more withdrawn and jumpy as the day went on. Over dinner he managed to fumble the gravy boat and spill it across the table. Gladys saved that with a quick clean up and having plenty more where that came from. He knocked Crowley's wine glass into his lap which meant he'd had to go back upstairs and change. That also wasn't all that big of a deal. Neither was the fact that they kept bumping elbows awkwardly or the fact that, other than that, Aziraphale hadn't touched him at all over dinner. Though, it made him realize that over the last few months there was rarely a time when they weren't in contact of some kind.

The biggest worry of all had been when the angel had finished his own slice of pie and Crowley surreptitiously slid him his slice. Aziraphale had thanked him with a smile and then proceeded to pick at it with his fork, but not actually eat it. In all the times Crowley had known him, all the years of watching him enjoy his food (and Crowley's,) he had never seen him too worked up to eat a dessert. A cold ball of tension was building in his own stomach. He wanted to get Aziraphale alone and figure out what was wrong, but there wasn't time for that right now. So, he watched him.

They all retired to the sun room, sitting around the cheerfully glowing tree with another glass of wine. Aziraphale and Crowley, as they normally did, took the loveseat. Crowley watched him and gulped his own wine. His worry was not decreasing, but he was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. The ring in his pocket felt large and hot even in it's tiny little box. He hadn't been nervous about it all day, not really, but now with Aziraphale acting so strangely he wondered if this was a good idea.

“Okay, boys,” Gladys ambled over to the tree and picked up the two large, lumpy packages and handed one to each of them, “these are from me and Edie. She picked out the designs and I made them.”

“Group effort,” Edie nodded, sipping her wine to hide her grin. It didn't work, Crowley saw it.

Crowley tore into his package while watching Aziraphale carefully dismantle his out of the corner of his eye. The sweater he lifted from the paper actually wasn't that bad as far as ugly Christmas sweaters went: it was black with a red collar and edging on the sleeves and bottom and in between was strewn with green and white stars. They twinkled in the light, the yarn being run through with sparkly threads. Crowley dutifully pulled it on over his own shirt, tugging it down and turning to the angel beside him.

“How's it look, then?”

“Oh, very festive.”

“Fits you just right, dear,” Gladys smiled at him and if it was a little mischievous around the edges he ignored that, “do you like it?”

“I'm warmer already, yeah I like it.”

Eyes turned to Aziraphale as he lifted his from the wrapping paper. She had had no qualms with making his sweater as hideous as she wanted: it was red with white trim and the center of the chest and belly was covered in a giant Christmas tree festuned with little ornaments and bells. The sweater actually jingled when he shook it. But, Aziraphale looked genuinely pleased with the gift. He pulled it on even with all the layers he was currently wearing and wiggled happily, making the bells jingle.

“I love it!” he stood and jingled over to Gladys and hugged her and then did the same with Edie, “No one's ever knitted me a Christmas sweater before... and I've been around a long time. I will treasure it.” Gladys looked a little taken aback with his generous praise, but she didn't say anything. Aziraphale jingled back over to Crowley.

“What do you think?”

Crowley choked.

“What? It's festive!”

“It's just...”

“What?” The angel's hands were on his hips. His eyes told Crowley he better say something nice or else.

“You're the angel at the top of a tree, is all,” Crowley couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Gladys and Edie joined in, laughing. After looking down at the sweater and then over at Crowley, Aziraphale laughed, too. It smoothed out some of the worry that had lined his face all afternoon and evening. The knot in Crowley's stomach loosened a little.

Aziraphale picked up the other gifts on his way back to the sofa where he sat a little closer to Crowley this time. He passed the flat rectangle to Crowley and then popped open his tin. Inside were little ginger cookies, topped with sugar. He thanked the ladies again for his gift and nibbled one while watching Crowley expectantly.

Crowley tore open the package and found a small, leather-bound journal. Inside were all the recipes for the cookies they had made over his stay. He had been trying to remember every bit of them so he could try baking them again later for Aziraphale, but it had been a rush job and he knew it was impossible to recall all the proper measurements. He opened the book and touched the lettering.

“You hand wrote them all,” he swallowed past the lump in his throat, touching the curly letters, “how did you have the time?”

“You can make the time for such things. There are some other things in there, too, like some recipes for scones. I thought you might want them, too.”

Crowley clutched the recipe book to his chest and stood, crossing the room and kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, I really do love it.”

“I'm glad, dear,” Gladys wagged a finger at him, “you be careful not to get it all grimy with sugar and butter!”

“I wouldn't dare. This is a priceless gift.”

When Crowley returned to the loveseat it was to find Aziraphale holding out the remaining tiny box for him, a strange look of nerves and hope on his face.

“Now, um,” Aziraphale handed it to him as he got closer and Crowley set his book down on the arm of the loveseat, “I want you to unwrap it, but I'll open it. You sit.”

Crowley sat and, in deference to Aziraphale's careful wrapping, he took his time untying the ribbon and unwrapped the box before giving it a little shake. It didn't rattle. He handed it back to Aziraphale. Only, in that time the Angel had knelt in front of him. He had a sudden, sinking feeling. Aziraphale opened the box and inside, nestled in grey velvet was a ring: it was a wide, black band that ended at the top shaped like a feather curled around a gleaming faceted black diamond. Crowley looked from the ring in Aziraphale's hand to the angel's face, completely flabbergasted.

“I... I had it all planned out. What I was going to say. It was going to be poetic and heartfelt, but I fear I'm too nervous for any of that... But, you know I love you, darling. And, I want to spend the rest of my days showing you just how much.”

There were a lot of things Crowley could have said to this proposal. There were a lot of things Crowley should have said to this proposal. In the coming years, he would make up for what he actually said:

“No way...”

Time slowed down around him in that moment. Not in the actual, reality-changing kind of way that he had done to avert the apocalypse. More like how time stops when you've made an awful terrible mistake and only realize it a moment after you've done it and now you have to live through every nanosecond of your mistake hitting home.

Aziraphale's face went through several shifts of emotion while Crowley watched, his tongue heavy in his mouth: shock, confusion, dismay, and then sadness. Crowley's eyes then shifted over Aziraphale's head, taking in Edie's face in her hands and shocked expression along with Gladys making strangling motions with her hands.

And then time reasserted itself at its natural speed. Aziraphale was clutching the box, now closed, to his chest and he wasn't looking at Crowley anymore.

“That's not what I meant! Angel, that's not what I meant!” Crowley was on his own knees, clutching the angel's chin and making him look at him, “I'll have you. You understand? I'll have you until this universe is dust and atoms and something else is here. And, by G-Sa- anyone!- if we're still here after that in some form, I'll still love you then, too.”

“So,” Aziraphale chuckled damply, eyes still wide and shining, “That's a yes then?”

“Yes, love,” Crowley kissed him, “It's a yes.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, “Oh, you rather frightened me.”

“I'm so sorry. It's just... I had hoped to... Well, you kind of stole my thunder.”

“How do you mean?”

Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out his own little box. Aziraphale gasped, hand flying to his lips.

“We didn't.”

“Yeah, you idiots both did.” It was Gladys. Thankfully, this time when Crowley looked at her, she was smiling instead of threatening his life.

“You knew!” Crowley was incredulous, “You knew this whole time. He told you, too.”

“I'm afraid I have a confession to make,” Aziraphale stole his attention again, “I asked for Gladys' help with this. I... I wanted to do it here because this is where we started down this path. And she was more than happy to help.”

“But, the orphans...”

“Oh, they were real. Happy circumstance. Er, well,” Aziraphale coughed, “I mean, it's not happy that they're orphans. But she was going to bake for them either way. It was, ah, a convenient excuse.”

“Knew it was over the top.”

“So, can I see it?”

“See what?”

“My ring?”

“Oh,” Crowley looked down at the box in his hands, “Yeah, of course.” He opened it, revealing a golden band that curled like a serpent around an exquisitely clear diamond surrounded by tiny opals.

“My, it's beautiful.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale wiggled his fingers, “put it on?” Crowley slipped it on his finger. The ring looked like it had always belonged there and didn't that just make his heart flutter. Crowley offered him his hand and Aziraphale opened his tiny box back up, slipping the band on his finger. They both marveled at their own rings and then smiled stupidly at one another.

“Maybe we should get up off the floor,” Crowley laughed, slithering back up onto the couch and helping Aziraphale up beside him. He twines his fingers through Aziraphale's and squeezed his hand, “is this what's had you fretting all day?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes,” they all answered in unison. Crowley mock glared at Gladys and Edie who suddenly found the Christmas tree the most interesting thing in the world.

“It's always been you, Angel,” Crowley cradled his cheek in his hand, “since the moment on the wall when you defied god herself to help the first humans. I've never had eyes for anyone else.”

Aziraphale, absurdly in Crowley's mind, looked like he might burst into tears again so he pulled him close and kissed him deeply, delighting in the soft moan he got in response.

“There was no answer,” Crowley pulled back and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's, “that I would give you other than 'yes.'”

“Except the one you gave me was 'no way.'” Aziraphale was smirking at him.

“I'm never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not if we survive the end of the universe and live amongst the dust and atoms.”

“Bastard.”

“You love me,” Aziraphale sing-songed.

“I could take it back.”

“You won't.”

Crowley grunted, pulling back and looking around. Gladys and Edie had made a sneaky exit while they were in their own little world.

“Let's go upstairs, fiancé.” Aziraphale stood and offered his hand, lights from the tree bouncing off the ring on his finger. Crowley took his hand and followed him. Back inside their suite, Aziraphale pressed him into the door, pulling his arms over his head. The feel of the cold engagement ring pressed against his wrist hand him rocking into the angel as he was kissed breathless. They stumbled together towards the bed, but stopped short when they saw there was something on it.

A basket full of bath goodies. Salts, scrubs, soaps, lotions and body oils all in vanilla and sandalwood- something they would both like. Attached to it was a note in curly writing:

“Santa sees all and he wanted to bring you coal for your naughtiness, but we talked him into a bath set instead. Enjoy the tub, boys. Happy engagement! Love, Gladys and Edie”

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them,” Aziraphale sighed happily.

“I'm not sure what we did to deserve them as punishment,” Crowley grumbled.

“You don't actually mind the attention.”

“Don't tell them that.”

“I won't if you keep me busy enough. I'm feeling a little bored right now... Maybe a little girl-talk, some gossip,” Aziraphale made for the door but Crowley grabbed his wrist.

“How about a massage instead,” he held up the little bottle of oil.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale drew close again, “What was saying? I'm afraid I forgot.”

Chapter 19 is now up!

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (3)

warnings: miscommunication, panic, death mention, virgils negative thinking and completely wrong assumptions

-

For the next few days, Virgil drifted in and out of consciousness. 

His body needed rest badly, especially when it was so injured, but fear wouldn’t let him forget where he was, keeping an iron grip on his mind. He was restless,  waking periodically to check his surroundings, make sure they hadn’t grown tired of his stubbornness enough to cage him yet. 

For the first day, he only saw Roman and Logan for brief spurts of time, but upon the next morning, Patton had returned to his spot on the plush armchair with no explanation. It was as though he had never been held hostage at all, and whenever he caught Virgil’s gaze on him- and he somehow always caught him- he would offer the shifter a bright smile, one he could see no lie in. 

He never responded, but Patton didn’t seem to take offense. He generally didn’t, Virgil recalled from his nights under the floorboards, but he certainly hadn’t thought the courtesy of forgiveness would be extended to him.  

That was the strangest part, the casual acceptance, and the most difficult to figure out. The three of them would eat their meals in the living space, settled onto the floor or the chairs around the couch, conversation as easy as if there wasn’t a monster laid out three feet away from them. He was their fourth mute roommate, watching them with narrowed eyes when they weren’t looking and ignoring all subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to draw him into conversation.  

It was hard. He’d spent ages wondering what it would be like to be up there with them, human and safe and pack. It was just an impossible dream, but sitting here, in the room with them, made something in him yearn to reach out, let himself be tricked into false comforts. He struggled to repress it, because, well. If he was going to die, he might as well take advantage of their pitying kindness, right?

Still, he managed. A kernel of bitterness was shored up in his throat, a reminder of what was to come, a reminder that this was as cruel a death as any. Maybe crueler than letting him die from his wounds. At least that would have been quick and easy. He was pretty sure the humans weren’t being intentionally cruel. They couldn’t have known how attached he’d gotten, how badly it would hurt to be faced with their larger-than-life presence directly and still know how the story would end. Still know that they were trying to catch him off guard, make him shift so they could kill him and take his pelt.

No matter how many times he told himself that it was for the best, that he understood why they were doing it, that he was a risk to their safety, that kernel of bitterness remained lodged there, a sound like the smallest voice wishing things were different. It wasn’t fair, but neither was life. So it went. 

With that dreary mindset driving him deeper into hopelessness, it was no wonder he’d caved when he did.

It was Patton that ultimately got him, which he could have predicted. He woke up as soon as his mind registered something moving around him, and instinctively snarled, flashing his teeth (still considerably sharp in human form) and jolting upright to take in his surroundings. 

The soft human was frozen in surprise, the edges of a knitted blanket in his hands. It had already been on his lap when he started drifting off earlier in the night, so it seemed Patton had simply been trying to pull it up to cover more of him. Virgil recoiled back into himself immediately, scanning the dark room for other humans with regret swelling in his throat. Stupid, stupid, he knew better than to snap at one of them, he was going to get himself tortured-

“I’m so sorry!” Patton whispered, mindful of the quiet atmosphere around them. Virgil stopped short, confused, and watched as the human flapped his hands around like errant moths, always stopping short of touching him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I should have thought before I- Oh gee, I’m sorry, kiddo.” 

“What?” Virgil said hoarsely, too-loud in the stillness of the night. And then, before his mind could catch up- “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Patton initially looked delighted at his voice, but then he registered the words and his hands dropped slightly, an uncertain look crossing his face. “Afraid of you? Kiddo-”

“I’m not a child.” Virgil snapped, voice low but distinctly laced with a defensive growl. “I threatened your life a couple of days ago. You shouldn’t be… treating me like this.” Like a houseguest, like someone he cared about. 

“Mr. Wolf.” Patton said seriously. “You saved my life just a few days ago, don’t you remember? If it weren’t for you, I’d have come away with much worse than a scratch. It wouldn’t be beary nice of me to treat you badly, now would it?” 

Virgil blinked, thrown. “Was- was that a pun?”

Patton grinned, all soft edges and rounded teeth, and his hands flitted over to Virgil’s side. The shifter tensed, but all that happened was those hands tucking the blanket back against him gently and retreating as swift as they came. The human gave him a thumbs up, and when he simply stared back, bewildered, Patton whispered a ‘good night’ before vanishing from the room as well. 

The complete lack of fear from the man was astounding. First Logan, now Patton as well? Was he losing his edge or something? Did they somehow not realize that he was a dangerous monster?

He was left alone with his racing thoughts, and by the time morning light broke through the window, he believed he had figured it out. 

The kindness, the care, the lack of blood or skin harvesting- it wasn’t a trick to lower his guard. It was a form of gratitude for saving one of their small pack. The humans couldn’t afford to let him live, but they didn’t want to leave such a life debt unpaid, either. Making his last few weeks comfortable was as close to a compromise as they could manage.   

The bitter kernel softened slightly, the ache in his chest soothed by the hope that he’d get a taste of real pack living after all. It wouldn’t all be fake. He could let himself accept this. 

His concession felt worth it when he got to see Roman’s face, dumbstruck as he finally began to shoot back the nicknames he’d been building a repertoire of all this time. Patton didn’t mention their late night encounter, but he did slip him a sugar cookie. It was sweet and soft in his mouth.

They took his sudden willingness to speak to them in stride, and before long they were laying it on thick, asking his thoughts and opinions on all sorts of things. He was still quiet most of the time, fatigue draining his energy, but they didn’t seem to mind. There was a space for him in their conversations, one he hadn’t noticed before.

Naturally, it was in one of these comfortable conversations that he slipped up. 

It was a conversation about the stars, one where they made a game of remembering which hero went to each tale. Logan was banned, of course, from doing anything but offering obscure hints, since he was the one who told the stories in the first place.

Roman and Patton went back and forth, racing to remember this or that name, until Logan described a specific myth that had them both stumped. They were bringing up and discarding all sorts of options, and Virgil felt a stirring of familiarity, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he focused on just recalling…  

“Andromeda.” Virgil muttered to himself, pleased that he’d managed to remember the name of one of his favorite constellations. 

“That’s correct.” Logan said, and he looked up, startled to find the three humans looking at him. “I didn’t know you pursued knowledge about the stars.”

“Dark and Gloomy, you could have been playing properly this whole time?” Roman cried, aghast.

“I don’t- it was just a coincidence. I don’t know anything about stars.” Virgil hurried to correct them, and then followed it up with, “I just overheard Logan mention it. Coincidence.” 

The humans all went still for a moment, like a hunter spotting prey, and Virgil felt the first stirrings of panic in his chest as Logan adjusted his glasses. “Falsehood. I have not had time to regale anyone with the mythology behind the Greek constellations since the bear attack. I assume you heard me outdoors at some point prior to that, then?”

Virgil gave his guilt away by stiffening up, teeth clenching and adrenaline coursing through him, but his racing thoughts were promptly interrupted by Logan turning his head to Roman, smug. “Pay up.”          

Roman groaned loudly, and Virgil snapped his head to the side to watch as he forked over a handful of cash. “Huh?” 

“Sorry, Mr. Wolf.” Patton said, sheepish as he passed over his own currency. “We’ve sort of been maybe trying to figure you out a little, and Logan put his money on you hanging around us for a while before the bear incident…” 

That… hadn’t been what he’d expected. “What… What did Roman bet on?”  

“I completely reasonably guessed that you were the bear’s destined rival, and you were so sulky for the first few days because you desperately wanted to get back to your passionate battle of broken bonds!” Roman defended with wide gestures for emphasis. 

“I’d never seen that bear before in my life.” A startled laugh escaped him without his input, and Roman flushed pink. “Hey!” 

Virgil turned to Patton, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“My guardian angel!” Patton informed him brightly, then paused. “Or, guardian wolf, I guess? Either way, the point is you were heaven-sent in my time of need!” 

“Uh… not likely.” Now Virgil was the one blushing, and Roman snorted with laughter at his expense. Logan stood, drawing attention to himself. 

“My theory was based on significant circumstantial evidence, including the markings you left near our cabin, the familiarity you have shown with us and our… peculiarities, as well as Patton and Roman’s feelings of being watched.” 

Virgil winced at that last one. Guess he wasn’t as subtle as he’d thought. Roman complained about ‘not sharing vital evidence with the rest of the class’ and Logan steadfastly ignored him.

“Whatever your reasoning,” Logan continued, “I wish to thank you properly for saving Patton, and helping us. You didn’t have to and it came at... a great cost to you.”

The other two humans quieted, looking to him with their strange expressions. Pity? Gratitude? Expectation? He couldn’t make it out, especially not as flustered as he was at that moment. What was he supposed to say to a heartfelt thank-you like that? ‘Totally, no problem’? Of course it had been a problem, Patton could have died and also now he was stuck here till he was killed. The silence was dragging on too long, shit, just say something- 

“Yeah… sure.” He finally choked out, eyes darting anywhere but their faces. 

They shared small smiles with each other, returning to their game without mocking him or being irritated with his inability to behave normally. He felt a swell of that heart-squeezing affection again, and before he could talk himself out of it, he spoke.

“Virgil.” 

They all looked over, and Roman spoke first, a little confused. “I’m pretty sure this one is Gemini, J.Delightful.”

“No- I’m Virgil.” He averted his gaze as Patton’s eyes grew round as saucers. “I know all your names, so it only seems fair…”  

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Virgil.” Logan said, and the other two took the opportunity to add their own greetings, trying his name out on their tongues with glee.

It was the first time he’d ever shared his name with a human. 

Somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

[hellomissmabel]

Nothing under 7 inches (4)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Baker!Bucky x reader

Warnings: After a lot of angst in part 3, there is a tiny bit of fluff and hope in part 4. So don’t despair just yet, but don’t get your hopes up too much either.

Word count: 2k

Summary: Bucky is a baker in Y/N’s hometown and with her mother’s birthday right around the corner, he’s excited to see her again. Y/N however doesn’t plan on staying for too long and aims to return to the city life, a dirty little secret getting in the way of her love life.

A/N: My prompt was “cottage”. This fic is written for @soldatbarnes her writing challenge. If you want on the tag list, please send me an ask! I can’t keep track of all the comments.

Series masterlist can be found here

After dinner you rushed up to your room to switch shoes, trading in your comfy sneakers for high heels. Whilst searching your luggage for the heels you took out earlier, you realise you must’ve left them downstairs in the living room before heading towards Bucky. So you take two steps at a time and hurry downstairs again, finding your brother Wade perched on the couch, his feet up on the table and your high heels in his lap as he plays one of his old video games while he waits for the guests to arrive.

“Looking for these, baby sis?,” he chuckles as he holds up your heels. “How high are these anyway? Won’t you break your ankles or something when you fall on your face?”

Shoving his shoulder and taking back your heels, you sit cross-legged next to him on the couch after kicking off your sneakers, dirty from the muddy road to the cottage. “They’re only seven inches and they were a gift from a… euhm… a friend. They’ve got this rule… nothing under seven inches. Most of my heels are like ten or something…”

Wade rolls his eyes at the word ‘friend’ and sticks his tongue out at you. “Friend? My dick! This shit is expensive, Y/N. It’s got red soles, sis. No way one of your friends could ever afford Louboutins.”

He hands you the second controls and invites you to play with him, giving you a nice way out to avoid the topic any further. But as soon as he beats you for the third time in a row, he notices your mind isn’t really focused on the present and shuts off the television.

“Alright, baby sis, tell me, why do you suddenly have a huge stick up your ass? The girl that I grew up knowing would never risk her life wearing these monsters.”

You gaze at your big brother with big doe eyes, that innocent pitch to your tone worked wonders for you back when you were kids. “They’re for work. And it’s true, a friend gave them to me.”

But Wade doesn’t fall for your act and crosses his arms over his chest, sticking his tongue out at you. “Nah, you can’t fool me, Y/N. Unless you won the jackpot with the lottery or you have some filthy rich guy on the side.”

Wetting your lips as to delay your answer, Wade realises he’s right. “Holy shit, Y/N. It’s true, isn’t it?,” he laughs in surprise. “My baby sis is now a sugar baby.”

You’re too embarrassed to say anything and avert your eyes, looking like a prissy little kid that didn’t get the Christmas present they wanted. “Don’t look like you’ve just eaten a lemon, Y/N,” Wade reason with you, the joke ever present in his voice. “When life hands you lemons…”

“You squeeze ‘em,” you finish the sentence first, a small smile breaking your sour expression.

“That’s right! You squeeze ‘em!” Wade claps his hands and wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you against him. “Now, tell me, how did you manage to squeeze that sugar daddy of yours, hm? I promise I won’t judge. I’m the last person in this house to judge.”

You’ve always felt like you could trust your brother with anything and everything. Your mother would never understand what you were going through, all of her empathy poured into her fictional characters. Your father on the other hand was a good listener, but rarely around. Peggy was always busy with her extracurricular activities, so that left your big brother Wade to cheer you up when you were feeling down. He was your confidant, and still is.

So you confide in him about Tony, about Sharon and how she introduced you to Steve, and finally about your conversation with Bucky. Wade sometimes makes a little, funny comment to lighten the mood but never interrupts you, not even when you start to cry again.

“I thought you guys broke up after high school?,” he eventually whispers softly into your hair. “Or did I miss something?”

“We didn’t really break up, Wade…,” you stutter in between the tears. “We said goodbye and broke up, but we never really broke with each other. And I think that this time, we did.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Wade shushes, his usual sarcastic tongue tied by the overwhelming pain you must be feeling. “You clearly don’t know, do you?”

Batting your eyelashes, heavy with droplets, you free your blurry vision and gaze at your brother, a question on the tip of your tongue. “Don’t know what?”

“The problem is not that Bucky doesn’t want to move to a big city or that you don’t want to stay in a small one. The problem is that you think there’s no way you can work it out. But Y/N, there’s always a solution, even if you don’t see it. Like… I didn’t believe I could give such good advice, but clearly I can.”

“Fuck you, Wade,” you chuckle quietly. “I love you, but fuck you.”

A hearty laugh rumbles through his chest and shakes up your nerves. “I deserve that. I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here for you now and I’m going to help you in any way I can. Starting with Buck.”

Wade scoops you up in his arms and once he’s on his feet, throws you over his shoulder, your protesting cries resonating through the entire house. Luckily the rest of the family is serving drinks on the terrace out back, so they don’t hear the profanities you direct towards your older brother.

“Bucky is finishing up on mom’s cake at the cottage. I’m carrying you there personally.” When you keep screaming at the top of your lungs, he halts in the middle of the hallway and slaps your ass. “Y/N, I’m doing you a favour.” And with those final words, he takes you back to the cottage, eventually shutting you up.

Bucky has just added the finishing touches to the decorations to your mom’s raspberry chocolate birthday cake, like Wade predicted, when he heard some kind of argument going on outside. Peering out of his window, he sees Wade hoisting you up in the air by means of teasing you before setting you back down.

“What’s going on?,” he queries as he dusts off his hands on his apron as you eye your brother with an angry gaze.

Wade just straightens his back and answers straight to the point. “Y/N loves you. You love Y/N. I’m taking the cake back to mom while you get dead honest with each other.”

Your brother points to you first, his eyes telling you he means serious business. “You’re gonna tell him everything. And then you’re going to find a solution that fits you both.” Then he directs his finger to Bucky. “And you,” he begins with a sigh. “You’re gonna listen and shut up until she tells you to talk. You’re not gonna argue, you’re just gonna listen. And then you’re going to kiss and make up.”

Wade’s statement leaves no room for interpretation and with one nod of his head in your direction, he leaves you in the lion’s den. Bucky is nailed to the ground in astonishment, not intimidated by your brother but by his words and he knows Wade’s only doing this with the best of intentions.

So after a short while, Bucky proposes something new. “How about we bake a cake together?”

With ardent eyes you scan him, searching for signs of mockery or malicious intent. But Bucky is just Bucky, in all his innocence and his boyishness. He doesn’t want to make you feel even worse than you already do, he only wants to bake a cake with you to clear the air and just talk.

“O-Okay,” you stutter after you’ve assessed the potential heartbreak that could come from this situation. Yet Bucky means no harm, and with a soft smile playing on his lips he gathers all the ingredients he has left in his kitchen.

Taking out some milk and honey, Bucky’s hip subtly bumps into yours as you both reach for the spatula. “Sorry!,” you whispers in a hushes tone as Bucky takes a few steps back, careful not to break the proverbial glass cage surrounding you, distancing you from him.

“What are we making?,” you ask gingerly while Bucky starts to add eggs to the mixture.

“White chocolate honeycomb mud cake,” Bucky smiles as his eyes light up like a Christmas tree. I still have a lot of chocolate left and your dad brought me a jar of honey last week from your aunt’s bee hives. But since I don’t really eat honey…”

Humming while you pour the honey bit by bit, your fingertips caresses Bucky’s hand while he stirs the batter of the cake. “I love honey, it’s so sweet. I could finish that jar all by myself in just one day.”

“You’ve always had a big sweet tooth, Y/N. I recall a time when I had added too much sweetener to the carrot cake I’d made for the town fair. Because everybody wanted to be polite, they finished their piece but they never came back for a second one. So I had made all this cake and people only ate one fourth of it. But then you walked by and decided you wanted to taste for yourself if it was as horribly sweet as people said it was.”

“And I ended up eating half of what was left because I loved it so much,” you laugh happily in remembrance. “Fall came early that year and Peggy had decided to pay us a visit. Wade had just left for Los Angeles and she noticed how much I was hurting, so she dragged me to the town fair. She made me try everything, from the disgusting vegan cookies that wannabe cheerleader Maria made to that old lady’s chicken broth. But then I tried your carrot cake and just knew that this was the best thing I’d ever eat in my entire life.”

“You still remember that day? It was long before Sharon introduced us.”

In all the giddiness that the memory inspires in you, the filter keeping your thoughts at bay slowly dissipates while you’re reminiscing. “Of course I still remember that day,” you confirm with a hearty chuckle, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off the handsome brunet near the willow tree with his carrot cake and his adorable puppy dog eyes.”

It’s as if Bucky’s heart is being ripped from his chest. All this time, you’ve been dancing around each other, both afraid to make a move. But not anymore, even though your words still resonate harshly in his heart, he has to kiss you. He has to make sure he kisses you now or all will be lost. He’s still got a shot, he knows it and wants to seize it before your self-destructive and overly protective nature bombards the entire thing.

He drops the spatula and takes the spoon of honey from you, cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours in adamant desire. Yet Bucky doesn’t kiss you with lust or passion, rather with moderation and above all, adoration. And the moment your lips lock, he starts to overflow your system, pushing just the right buttons to make you yield.

Nonetheless, the kiss is different from before in various ways. A kiss from teenage Bucky is cautious and clumsy yet feverish and keen for your touch. But a kiss from adult Bucky is confident and calm yet soft and sweet. His eyes bore into yours with a loving intensity when your lips part. “I love you,” are the only three words he leaves hovering over you like the sword of Damocles. “And I know you love me, too.”

“Wade is right, we have to talk. So let me tell you what’s going to happen,” he continues after another longing kiss. “We’re going to put this cake in the oven and then we’re going to kiss some more and make up.”

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @bhuckys @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic  @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos  @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @pineapplebooboo @curvybihufflepuff @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67 @ssweet-empowerment @cant-decide-at-this-moment

Series tag list: @buckyappreciationsociety @alexaduke @incoherentsmiles @iamthemaskhewears @booksb4boys69

Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

[angel-with-a-pipette]

So... Here's a cute mental image for you, Ven and Namine baking cookies together, or baking a cake, or some other baked dessert that is viewed as cute. For comedy, imagine them not really understanding the abbreviations or being incredibly literal.

D'aaaaaaw ♥ I hope youdon’t mind that I got a little carried away… ^^”

(’Short’ ficlet following. Ijust wrote it down like that, so please don’t mind bad sentences andoveruse of the same expressions xD)

“A paopu cake?”

A smile spreadon Naminé’s face and she nodded excitedly, pulling a small yellowstar shaped fruit with a single green leaf hanging from its stem outof her shopping basket.

“Wouldn’t this bethe perfect ingredient for my ‘Thank you for taking me in’ cake forTerra and Aqua? ”

Ven bit his lip, unsure ofwhat to say to the girl in front of him. She looked so happy andheaven knew how few occasions she had had in the past to be genuinelyhappy.

“I mean, I’m sure thatthey will appreciate it, but why a paopu? Why not… cherries orraspberries?”

“Why not apaopu?” She retorted with another smile, twirling around beforeputting the fuit down on the counter to reach for a mixing bowl.

“You know that Terraisn’t fond of sweet things and apparently, paopus have a reallyspecial taste. Sweet, but not too sweet, fruity, but not too fruity.Well, Kairi’s descriptions don’t really seem to make sense, but shesays it tasted amazing.”

She turned back to Ven andwinked at him. “And Sora apparently agrees.”

A grin started to spreadon Ven’s lips and he jumped into action, helping Naminé to gathersupplies.

“Really, they finallyshared one? About time!”

He hesitated in the middleof pulling out the electric mixer.

“But that’s what I mean,you know? Wouldn’t eating this cake mean that Terra and Aqua wouldshare a paopu, too? I mean, I’m all for it, but shouldn’t they beable to decide to do it themselves?”

Naminé tsk-ed in responseand took the mixer out of his hands.

“It’s not like I’mmaking a secret out of it! Especially since I found this cute starshaped cake pan the other day, I can literally make a paopucake! I’ll just take the original paopu stem and leaf and push itinto the cake and voilà!”

She danced around Ven backto the dinner table to fetch the products she had bought at themarket half an hour ago and started unpacking them, too.

“Also, it’s not like thetwo of them aren’t connected already. They have been connectedthrough fate, through your Wayfinders, through your memories to whichI had access because I had access to Sora’s memories and you wereinside of his heart… it’s not like a little paopu would changeanything, right?”

“Well…”

“Oh come on, Ven!Please?”

Naminé pushed her lowerlip out and made her best expression of a pout. With a sigh, Ven gavein.

“Fine!”

“Great!” Sheshoved the recipe into Ven’s hands and turned to the sink to wash herhands.

“Can you read the recipeto me?”

Ven nodded and looked atthe recipe.

“Separate one egg andbeat the egg white and a pinch of salt until stiff peaks form.”

His eyebrows furrowed inconfusion.

“A pinch of salt? Whatin the worlds is a pinch of salt?”

Meanwhile, Naminé managedto separate the egg successfully and she clapped her hands incelebration.

“I don’t know? I guesswe… have to pinch the salt and whatever is between our fingers goesinto the egg white?”

Ven stared at her indoubt.

“That doesn’t make anysense though. My fingers are bigger than yours. Terra’s fingers arebigger than mine. Whose fingers are they talking about? Wait, are weeven talking about fingers?”

She tapped her fingeragainst her chin in thought.

“Well, you can pinchwith a pair of pliers, but they don’t belong to the standard kitchenequipment. But wait!”

She easily glided over toone of the drawers and pulled out a pair of tongs.

“What about this?”

Ven mustered themcritically.

“I’ve never seen Aquause them. Quite contrary, she always hands the tongs to Terra and heuses them to turn the meat when we make barbeque.”

He shook his head andpointed at the nooses at the ends of the tongs. “The salt wouldjust spill out.”

“Well if that’s not it,I suppose we have to use our fingers. Since I’m the one baking, it’sgotta be talking about my fingers, right?” Naminé looked at himexpectantly, but Ven only shrugged, so she bravely reached into thepot of salt, pinched her fingers and pulled out. Several grains ofsalt fell into the egg yolk.

“This’ll have to do.”

After she beat the eggwhites, Ven continued to read.

“Set the egg whitesaside and grab another bowl to mix the egg yolk, lemon zest, furitjuice, yellow gel color, sugar and buttermilk until well combined. Doyou want me to juice the paopu while you mix the ingredients?”

“Please,” Naminénodded and stole a glance at the recipe once Ven had pinned it to thefridge to retrieve the juicer.

“Ven? What does ’t-s-p’mean? And what about ’t-b-s-p’?

He hauled the juicer ontothe dining table and returned to Naminé’s side to check.

“One tsp. lemon Zest and1 Tbsp. juice… Wait, I think sometimes Aqua uses teaspoons andtablespoons to measure things like baking soda and cocoa powder!”

“Oh! So ‘tsp.’ is'teaspoon’ and 'Tbsp.’ is tablespoon?”

“It would make sense,right?”

“Alright, but whatexactly is a 'cup’ then?”

Naminé opened one of thecabinets above her and stood on her tiptoes to reach for the tea cupsinside of it.

“I mean, this is the cupAqua uses for her morning coffee,” she held up a standard sizedazure coffee cup, “and this one is the one Terra uses,” sheraised her other arm, the red cup in it double the size of the firstone. “So, which one is it?”

“Just a sec, I know theanswer to this one!”

Ven turned to anothercabinet and he pulled out a set of measuring cups that was heldtogether by a small plastic ring

“I’ve seen Aqua use themfor her cakes. Each cup is labeled, look,” he spread the cups out,pointing at their inscriptions, “one cup, half a cup, one third ofa cup and so on!”

“Wow, this is reallyhandy! Thanks, Ven.”

With a nod, Ven leftNaminé alone with her ingredients and started working on the juiceronce again, a little unsure whether he’d be able to put the pieces ofthe machine together correctly, but once he pressed the on button,the machine sprang into life. Satisfied with himself, Ven sliced thepaopu into smaller pieces and dropped them into the machine. Juiceslowly started to pour out of the machine’s snout… right onto thetable.

“Oh crackers!”

He jumped to the glasscabinet to get something to collect the juice with, accidentallyjostling Naminé in the process and ignoring her surprised shriek tohurry back to the table, saving the precious juice from being wastedon the tablecloth.

“Ven!” Naminégrumbled and the boy turned around in surprise. He had never heardher grumble before. She stood in front of him, her arms propped up onher hips and her usually angelic face turned into a scowl.

“What’s the matter?”Ven asked hesitantly.

“The recipe says onedrop of yellow food coloring. One! Thanks to you, I added three!”

He winced.

“I’m sure it’s not thatimportant…”

“If it weren’t, whywould the recipe say to add exactly one drop?”

She turned away from Venand stared into her bowl, trying to assess the damage

“Do you think I’ll haveto start over?”

Ven returned to her sideand looked over her shoulder. The batter looked fine, a strong yellowcolor right in the middle of it since Naminé hadn’t mixed the colorin yet.

“…no? I honestly don’tthink so. It’s food coloring. It doesn’t taste like anything and twodrops won’t change the outcome either.”

I think, he addedin his head, not wanting to worry Naminé further.

“If you say so,”Naminé replied, but it was evident in the slump of her shouldersthat she wasn’t too sure of her creation anymore and Ven feltincredibly bad about it, but there was not much he could do about it.

Still, the girl continuedbeating the ingredients and reached for the egg whites to add them tothe mix before she hesitated once again.

“Ven? How do I fold inan egg white?”

“Fold in?”

“It says 'Fold the whiteinto the yolk mixture until just combined’.”

Ven pulled the recipe offthe fridge and just like Naminé said, it told them to fold the eggwhites in.

“How are you supposed tofold it in? It’s not a piece of paper.”

“Maybe we are supposedto spread it out onto a sheet of baking paper? That we canfold.”

“Are you sure? It soundsvery complicated and I can’t recall Aqua ever doing anything likethat.”

“Well, can you think ofan alternative?”

He couldn’t and so hehelped Naminé spread the cake mix on a large sheet of baking paper,adding the the beaten egg white into the middle, and then…

“And now we fold thesheet of paper.”

“Won’t the mixtureleak out on the sides?”

“We’ll just have to bevery careful!”

30 minutes later, coveredin flour and bits of cake mix and egg white, Naminé finally pouredthe finished batter into the star shaped cake pan, filled hot waterinto the baking dish and carefully pushed both into the pre-heatedoven.

Both she and Ven slid downthe cabinets until they sat on the floor, sighing exhaustedly.

“I underestimated howmuch work baking would be.”

“I swear it looks soeasy when Aqua does it!”

Naminé turned to Ven andcaught his glance. She smiled shyly and nervously kneaded her handsin her lap.

“Thanks for your help.And sorry for getting angry at you.”

Ven grinned back at her.

“No problem. Any time.”

If anybody is interestedin the recipe, it’s this one :3 Sadly I haven’t tried it yet!