Request: Can a scenario of Jin proposing to long
time girlfriend in an exotic place. I imagine it funny, romantic, and unique.
Fluff / Romance
Seokjin played with the sleeves of his suit jacket
nervously, his hands went up to his necktie and undid it a bit before he
reminded himself that he had to stay put and fixed it again. He never thought
he could be so nervous, but he was. The weight of the little black velvet box
inside the left pocket of his jacket was clearer than ever for him.
-Tonight’s the night Seokjin - he said to himself
under his breath, bringing back some confidence. He had planned this carefully and he hoped you’d like every second of the evening, he was aiming for it.
Jin was sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel room
was faintly lit while he waited for you to get ready. His phone rang,
distracting him from his thoughtful state. He picked it up and didn’t even have
time to answer properly before a mix of joyful voices blurted messy greetings and
encouraging words on the other end of the line.
-Boys…- Jin laughed dearly. –One at once please- he
heard fuzz and mumbling, and then Jimin was the first one to speak.
-Hyung hyung, you got this!- the boy was going to say
something but the phone was taken away from him –Jin hyung, fighting!- he could
recognize Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook this time, all of them screaming in
-Remember to breath – That was Yoongi’s voice who
started to laugh along with Namjoon. Seokjin laughed as well at their words and
relaxed, he had talked with the latter two about his plans, asking for help
with few details so obviously, the younger ones were also aware of Jin making
the question of his life tonight.
-Thank you guys, I’ll let you all know ab…- Seokjin didn’t finish his sentence
because at that time you came out of the bathroom. He stared at you
mesmerized, the boys were saying things to him on the phone but he didn’t pay
attention and hung up with his eyes still fixed on you.
You gave him a little smile and touched the recently
done waves on the tips of your hair, looking at him with expectation. You had a
long chiffon dress of a light pink color, the bottom was longer at the back and
it arrived at your knees on the front. The dress was Seokjin’s personal pick for
you. –How do I look?-
In the hazel woods there was a clearing of flowers from early spring to late autumn. There was meadowsweet and foxgolve and old man’s trousers and JAck-jump-into-bed and ladies’ bonnets and three-times-Charlie and sage and southern wood and pink yarrow and ladies’ bedstraw and cowslips and primroses and two types of orchid.
It was where the old lady they had called the witch was buried. If you knew where to look, you could see what little was left of her cottage under all that greenery, and if you really knew where to look, you could see where she had been buried. If you really and truly knew where to look, you could find the spot where Tiffany had buried the old lady’s cat, too; there was catnip growing on it.
Once upon a time, the rough music had come for the old woman and her cat, oh, yes, it had, and the people walking to its drumming had dragged her out into the snow and pulled down the rickety cottage and burned her books because they had pictures of stars in them.
[…] And that winter, after she had hammered on doors that remained closed to her, the old woman died in the snow, and because she had to be buried somewhere, the was a shallow grave where the old cottage used to be.
[…] No one talked about it. After all, what would you say? Rare flowers growing on the grave of the old woman and catnip growing where the Aching girl had buried the cat? It was a mystery and maybe a judgement, although whose judgement it was, on whom, for what and why, was best not thought about, let alone discussed. Nevertheless, wonderful flowers growing over the remains of a possible witch- how could that happen?
Tiffany didn’t ask that question. The seeds had been expensive to buy, and she had to go all the way to Twoshirts o get them, but she had vowed that every summer the brilliance in the wood would remind people that there had been an old lady they had hounded to death, and she had been buried there. Tiffany did not quite know why she thought that was important, but she was certain in the center of her soul that it was.
A/N: For thekingslover because we missed you so much! Also for dreamedofwings because of poopey bad days. – Florist!Cas/Baker!Dean. 4k~. PG-13 cause of swears.
When Dean first steps into the flower shop, he’s hit with the fresh, crisp smell of nature. The shop is quaint, lined with an array of flower arrangements, and potted plants, and dripping with color.
It’s a little overwhelming at first glance.
Rather than try to find something himself, Dean approaches the counter where an attractive brunette woman is clicking a mouse, and staring intently at her computer screen.
She holds her finger up at him when he clears his throat, and after a few moments she smiles at the screen.
“Spider solitaire,” she tells Dean, her brown eyes flicking in his direction, “I won.”
The woman nods. “So what can I do you for, Handsome?”
“I need some flowers for my mom. It’s her birthday tomorrow.”
“Awww, how sweet,” the woman’s voice is thick with sarcasm, and Dean scowls at her. “Do you know what arrangement you want?”
“No.” Dean admits.
“Well how ‘bout this, Cowboy. Why don’t you look around, find something you like, and then come talk to me when you’ve done that, mkay?”
Dean stares at the brunette, irritation bubbling beneath his skin. For such a cherry shop, this employee - Meg, her name tag states - is anything but.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for your help, Meg,” Dean grates.
Meg’s already turned her attention back towards the computer screen, but he knows she heard him when she responds with a monotone, “Anytime, Baby Face.”
Dean shakes his head and turns from the counter, making his way deeper into the shop. As he goes, Meg’s smirking brown eyes simmer in his brain.
After what feels like forever Dean finally plucks a bouquet of roses out of a can of water and examines them. Roses are definitely cliché, and Dean doesn’t want to seem like he didn’t put thought into his mother’s gift, but all the flowers are beginning to look the same, and Dean finds himself at a loss.
With the flowers clutched in his hand Dean continues to walk throughout the shop, stopping here and there to examine other possibilities.
He’s stopped in front of a display of daffodils, considering them when a gentle, “What’s she like?” sounds from off to Dean’s side.
Dean raises his head. Just to the left of the daffodils is a man. He’s attractive (actually, no, attractive is an understatement for what this man is) with dark hair, and striking blue eyes that stand out against the cobalt blue of the vest he wears, and his stare bores into Dean calculating, curious.
“What?” Dean asks.
“Your mother; what’s she like?”
“Oh, she uh-” Dean stops and thinks about his mom for a moment, reflecting on all she’s done for him over the years, the constant rock she’s been in his life. “She’s amazing.” He finally settles on, a small smile growing on his face.
“I can tell she means a lot to you,” the man offers.
Dean nods, “She’s the most important woman in my life,” he admits. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly gone all sentimental-feelings-crap on this complete stranger, but the man’s presence makes Dean feel comfortable. Like Dean could share all of his secrets and the man wouldn’t even bat an eye at them.
The man eyes the bouquet of roses in Dean’s hand and shakes his head. “Then you can’t give her roses,” he states.
Dean looks down at the roses too. “So what do you suggest-” Dean’s eyes flick to the man’s nametag, “Castiel?”
Castiel floats him a gentle smile. “Come with me,” he says. And yeah, maybe the guy seems a bit strange, but he’s offering help where Meg didn’t, and so Dean follows him to a corner of the store that holds potted flowers.
“These are orchids,” Castiel states, bending to pick up one of the pots, “they symbolize delicate beauty.”
“I don’t really think of my mom as delicate,” Dean points out, eyeing the flowers. They already look better than the roses Dean still has clutched in his hand, but when Dean hears delicate, he thinks weak.
Castiel quirks a smile, “The delicacy is more indicative of a softness; a quiet grace. Strong, but delicately so. Does that sound more like your mother?”
“Yeah,” Dean admits, “it sounds just like her.” He looks at the roses once more before deciding this Castiel guy sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.
“Alright, I’ll take the white ones.”
“Cymbidium,” Castiel states as he bends to pick up one of the pots holding the white orchids.
“What now?” Dean asks.
“Cymbidium. It’s the type of orchid you’ve chosen.”
“Sure,” Dean says, still in the dark.
Castiel begins walking towards the register, and Dean follows. “Do you own a car?” Castiel asks.
“Sure do. 1967 Chevy Impala.” Dean doesn’t even attempt to keep the swell of pride out of his voice.
“Much like cars, flowers have both a make, and a model. You drive a Chevy, this is an orchid. Your Chevy is an Impala, this is a cymbidium.”
In just a few minutes Dean’s learning more about flowers than he ever wanted to know, but the way Castiel talks about them, like they’re just as interesting as a human being, has Dean listening intently.
He follows Castiel to the counter, trading out the bouquet of roses he’d originally picked out for the orchids Castiel suggested.
Meg has disappeared somewhere so Castiel rings Dean up, offering him a new customer discount, and even going as far as tying a complementary bow around the pot.
“Hey, thanks for your help, Castiel,” Dean offers, pulling the plant off the countertop. All the irritation he felt towards Meg has long since ebbed and he’s almost grateful she didn’t offer him the help Castiel did.
“It was my pleasure…” his voice goes up at the end, a question, and Dean realizes he never introduced himself.
Castiel smiles. “Dean.”
When Dean walks out of the flower shop it’s with a renewed surety in his step, and bright blue eyes, the color of one of the orchids Dean saw earlier, prominent in his mind.
A week later finds Dean at the flower shop again, this time for an employee who’s retiring. When a few of Dean’s other employees had suggested flowers for Missouri, Dean had eagerly offered to be the one to pick them out.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Castiel - Cas as he’d started calling him in his head - since their initial meeting at the flower shop.
“Did your mother like the orchids?” Castiel asks in greeting, intercepting Dean before he even reaches the counter.
Castiel is sans vest today, instead he’s clad in a deep green apron, the flower shop’s logo emblazoned on the front.
“Hey,” Dean says, “just the guy I wanted to see. Yeah, she loved them. Her face got all glowy and shit. I think she loves that plant more than she loves me.”
Castiel huffs a soft laugh and shakes his head, “I doubt that.”
A silence settles around them for a beat, Dean getting lost in Castiel’s face, his bright eyes, his perfectly angled nose, the pink of his lips. Both times Dean’s seen him, the florist’s hair has been tousled, like he couldn’t be bothered to style it after a shower, or as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. It’s a good look on him.
When Castiel’s tongue darts out and runs over his lips, Dean blinks and realizes he’s been staring.
“Sorry,” he says, running a hand over his mouth, “spaced out there for a second.”
Castiel frowns. “I hadn’t noticed,” he comments.
Dean doesn’t allow himself to think maybe Castiel didn’t notice because he was too busy staring back. Instead he says, “So I need some flowers for one of my employees. She’s retiring tomorrow and I’m told I absolutely have to get her flowers or else I’m the worst boss ever.” As he says it, Jo and Charlie’s voices echo through his head. They had sat him down a few days prior and told him those very words.
“You own a business?” Castiel’s voice is laced with curiosity, his eyes sparking with interest.
Dean shrugs, “Just a little bakery down town.”
Castiel’s eyes glitter. “You bake?”
“Yeah. Pies and stuff. Nothing too exciting.”
“Quite the contrary, Dean. Pastries are very exciting.”
Dean’s heart does a happy little pitter patter. “You like dessert?”
“I love dessert.”
If there ever was an opportunity to see Castiel again, this was it. Dean may not need flowers all that often, but inviting Castiel to the bakery was definitely a viable excuse to see the florist again. “You should come in sometime. I’ll give you some free samples.”
Castiel’s smile is warm. “I’d like that, Dean.”
Dean leaves the flower shop that day with a bouquet of pink roses, “For appreciation,” Castiel tells him, and a hopeful bounce in his step.
Castiel visits Dean’s bakery less than a week later. It’s been a slow afternoon, and when the bell above the door chimes, Jo and Charlie both leap to their feet and race to the counter, vying for the opportunity for something to do.
Dean ignores their scuffle and continues reading Sam’s latest e-mail on how he’s doing at Stanford, but when he hears the familiar gravel of a one blue eyed florist’s voice, he whips his head towards the sound.
“Is Dean in?” he hears Castiel ask, and then he’s standing bolt upright from his chair, nearly knocking it to the ground, and rushing up to the counter. There is no way in hell he’s trusting Jo and Charlie alone with Castiel.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean practically shouts, all out of breath, and cursing the blush he knows is coloring his cheeks.
Jo and Charlie’s gazes flit back and forth between Dean, and Castiel, but just as Jo opens her mouth to speak, Dean orders them to the back to sort through old recipes.
Jo sticks her tongue out at Dean, and then she and Charlie are shuffling to the kitchen with their arms linked and their heads pressed close. “He’s dreamy,” he hears Charlie mutter.
“Sorry about them,” Dean offers.
“No need to apologize, Dean. I understand the trifles of working with nosey employees. I’ve got a few myself.”
Dean nods and then stops, “Wait, you have a few- Cas do you own that flower shop?”
“Before you get too impressed, it was my sister’s. When she passed, she willed it to me. I’m sure I haven’t put in half the work you have in owning a business, but I do try.”
Several different emotions circulate through Dean. Despite Castiel’s request for him not to be, Dean is impressed. Whether Castiel started the shop he’s running now or not, owning a business is hard work, Dean would know. He also feels sympathy for Castiel. He knows all too well what it’s like to lose someone, his dad having passed several years ago.
“So you’re carrying on her legacy, huh?” Dean asks.
Castiel nods. “I’m trying to.”
“Well I think you’re doing a great job,” Dean offers sincerely.
“Thank you, Dean.”
There’s a beat of silence between them before Dean remembers, Castiel came for dessert. “You want something to eat? We’ve got lime cheesecake or cherry pie today. Unless you want cookies. We’ve got a ton of cookies.”
“What’s your favorite?” Castiel wonders, eyeing the desserts on display.
Dean studies him for a moment before asking, “How much time do you have?”
“I have all afternoon,” Castiel replies, his eyes sparkling.
Dean’s smile is wide and resounding. “Great.” He moves for the small door that will allow Castiel behind the counter and swings it open. “C'mon back, Cas. We’re gonna make the Winchester special, Cinnamon Pecan Pie.”
Over the course of the next few weeks, Dean and Castiel begin seeing quite a bit of one another. Dean starts having flower arrangements, all handpicked by Castiel himself, sent to his shop to add bright, cherry decor, and Castiel stops in at the bakery at least once a week for a slice of whatever Dean’s got behind the counter. He usually has a new pot of flowers in his hands, and an explanation for why he chose them; things like, “Azaleas for abundance,” and “Irises for inspiration.”
As they get to know one another Dean becomes happy, giddy almost every time he sees that dark crop of hair, or one of Castiel’s little smiles that light up his face.
Jo and Charlie tell him he’s in love, Dean tells them to organize the bakery’s sugars.
It isn’t until Castiel shows up at the bakery one day with a box in his arms that Dean is forced to confront the fact that Charlie and Jo might be right.
He hurries through a sale with a staunchly customer, an elderly woman who’s been ordering cakes from Dean since he first opened, and as she walks out the door with a Lemon Blueberry Cake in her hands, Dean turns his attention to Castiel.
“Hey, Cas. Whatcha got there?” Dean asks, eyes flitting to the box.
“I brought you flours,” Castiel states. He settles the box on the counter and looks at Dean with a happy shine in his eyes, like a proud child that’s found the perfect dandelion for their mother.
Dean looks around his shop, now bursting with color, thanks to Cas, and back at Castiel. “Well, thanks, but I think we’ve got more flowers than you do at this point.”
Castiel smiles and shakes his head and then opens the box. “Not my kind of flowers, Dean, your kind of flours.”
Dean looks inside the box, understanding washing over him as he takes in the several rows of small bags of baking flours. A knot forms in his throat. They’re just a bunch of dumb baking products, but for some reason they douse Dean’s heart in gratitude and have him wanting to pull Castiel into a big, very long hug.
“Thanks, Cas.” He mutters. “That’s really cool of you.”
Castiel is practically glowing as Dean accepts the box.
“You wanna come back? We’re making cherry pie. I need someone to taste test for me.”
Castiel nods and Dean permits him behind the counter.
When Castiel leaves that day Jo and Charlie corner Dean in his office.
“Dean, it’s time to get over yourself,” Charlie states as Jo spins Dean around in his chair until he’s staring up into two very serious faces.
“What the hell, you guys. I’ve got purchasing to do.”
Jo and Charlie fold their arms across their chests, like they’ve choreographed this entire confrontation, and stare down at him with don’t-fuck-with-us-Dean-Winchester written clearly in their eyes.
“Purchasing can wait. This can’t.” Jo informs Dean.
Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Fine. What? And if you even tell me we’re out of butter cream frosting again because you two can’t keep your fingers out of it, I will fire you both.”
“You would never fire us,” Jo counters, “but that’s not it. We wanna talk to you about Cas.”
Dean tries to school his expression to something neutral. “What about him?”
Charlie holds up a yellow flower. “These are all over the shop, Dean, they’re in every arrangement Cas sends over or brings in.”
Dean eyes the flower. He’s noticed them too, but Castiel brings in flowers all the time. The difference between all the others and the yellow one Charlie’s holding now is lost on Dean.
“Dean it’s a yellow chrysanthemum,” Jo offers, “we looked it up. It means secret admirer.”
Dean’s brain backpedals. He wants to tell them it’s just a coincidence, but even Dean knows that would be a blatant lie. Castiel is always going on about what flowers mean. Nothing about his arrangements is frivolous; he spends hours picking out the right flowers for everything. It’s what makes him so good at what he does. Dean knows that, and obviously Charlie and Jo do too.
“So,” Dean finally says.
“So he likes you, Dean. And we know you like him.” Charlie states.
Dean shrugs, because he isn’t sure what else to do with his body. “'Course I like him, Cas is a cool guy.”
Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t give us that bullshit, Winchester. You really think we’re not seeing what’s going on between you two? You. Guys. Are. In. Love.”
Dean slumps back against his chair admitting defeat. It makes sense that Castiel would leave flowers to express how he was feeling towards Dean. He had once mentioned over gooey chocolate chip cookies that he spoke “flower” better than he spoke “person”.
“So what do I do?” Dean finally asks, afraid of what the girls have in mind. He wouldn’t put it past either of them to suggest Dean bake Castiel a cake and ice it with WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME like he did for tenth grade prom.
Jo squeals and claps her hands together, and Charlie beams at Dean in approval.
“Well, he likes flowers, right?” Jo says, plucking the chrysanthemum from Charlie’s hands and handing it to Dean. “So, you get the guy flowers.”
Dean studies the flower for a moment, thinking of Castiel. “Yeah,” he finally agrees, “okay.”
The next day Dean walks into Castiel’s flower shop about ten minutes to close. His heart is hammering in his chest, his palms clammy with anxiousness, but as he approaches the counter, Castiel’s bright blue eyes greeting him eagerly, he steels his nerves.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says around a small smile, the sight of it causing Dean’s legs to feel wobbly beneath him. Castiel’s eyes seem even brighter than usual, reflecting off the navy blue of his apron, and Dean’s stomach does a pirouette.
“I’ve grown used to seeing you on the other side of a counter,” Castiel states, and he’s right. Castiel has been showing up at Dean’s bakery more often than Dean’s been able to find an excuse to buy flowers.
Dean swallows the tennis ball in his throat. “Well, I need some flowers and I was in the area so I thought I’d come to you this time.”
“More flowers for the shop?” Castiel wonders.
“Uh, no. No today they’re a personal purchase.”
“Who are they for?”
As cool as he’s trying to remain, Dean just knows his cheeks are flaring pink. “Someone awesome.”
Castiel nods and steps out from behind the counter, Dean’s eyes immediately moving to track Castiel’s lean frame as it’s revealed. “Alright,” Cas says, “what kind of awesome?”
“Uh,” Dean shifts on his feet, “I-might-be-in-love-with-them awesome.”
“Oh.” Castiel’s shoulders visibly slump, disappoint marring his features.
Dean’s heart plummets to his knees at the sight. Seeing Cas feeling anything less than his usual stoic, calm self is just about the most heart wrenching thing Dean’s ever seen, and that includes the time he absolutely didn’t watch a wolf eat a baby caribou on the Discovery Channel.
“Hey, c'mon. I researched this time.” Dean offers with a light smile. He reaches out a hand and lets it fall to Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing once reassuringly.
Castiel perks up marginally. “What would you like?” He asks. His mood still seems more subdued than Dean would like, but he really doesn’t blame the guy. If Dean thought Castiel was into someone other than himself, he’d be bummed out too.
“Got any yellow chrysanthemums?”
Castiel blushes and looks away, but offers Dean a nod. “Of course.”
Dean follows Castiel through the store, trying not to press into the other man as they walk. Their shoulders are close enough Dean can feel warmth radiating off of Cas’ skin, but as enticing as it is, he forces himself to keep a small distance between them.
“Secret admirer,” Castiel states when they reach the chrysanthemums. He plucks a few out of their container and hands them to Dean. “So this Someone Awesome doesn’t know how you feel about them?”
Dean accepts the flowers with a shake of his head. “Not yet.”
“Alright what’s next?”
“Tulips? I need the yellow kind.”
Castiel turns and heads in another direction, muttering under his breath, “Hopelessly in love.”
When Dean has what Castiel considers to be a sufficient amount of yellow tulips in hand Castiel asks what the last flower is.
“Sunflowers,” Dean answers. A smile twitches at his lips, knowing they’re Castiel’s favorite, but he remains otherwise impartial.
“Adoration,” Castiel breathes. What little neutrality he had left visibly leaks out of him like helium from a balloon.
In that moment Dean nearly gives himself away, unable to bear the obvious pain on Castiel’s face. Instead he simply nods and says, “Yeah.”
Castiel reluctantly hands Dean two sunflowers, and Dean holds up the bouquet of yellow for him to inspect. “What’s your professional opinion?” he asks.
“It’s very different,” Castiel admits, “I’d never think to put it together myself, but because it comes from your heart, it’s beautiful.”
A silence settles around them, thick and full of nearly spoken words on the tips of their tongues.
Castiel is the one to break the silence. “Is that everything? It’s nearly closing time.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, buddy. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“It’s no trouble, Dean.”
Dean follows Castiel to the register, bouquet of flowers in hand, and once behind the counter Castiel hands him some paper and taffeta to wrap the flowers in.
Castiel gives him the total as Dean fumbles with the bow. “Would you like me to tie it?” he asks.
“I should probably do it, huh? It’s more special that way, right?” Dean’s gaze flicks up to meet Castiel’s and he watches as the other man swallows and nods.
Dean shakily finishes off the bow and fishes his wallet out of his pocket, handing Castiel a few bills and some change.
“Alright, well. Thanks, Cas.” Dean waves the bouquet in the air and turns to leave.
Dean turns back. “Yeah, Cas?”
Castiel is silent for a moment before he finally says, “Whoever you’re giving that bouquet to is very lucky to have your affections.”
Dean looks down at his hands, his cheeks burning once again. After a beat he looks back up and into Castiel’s eyes. “Nah. If they accept it, I’ll be the lucky one.”
Castiel nods and with one final smile Dean heads out the door.
Now all he has to do is wait.
Luckily it doesn’t take Cas long to close up the shop. Dean’s only been perched outside on the hood of his car for about ten minutes when Castiel steps outside and locks the door behind him.
Dean, with heart pounding out a nervous tattoo against his chest, watches Castiel pocket his key. As Castiel turns to face the parking lot, he catches sight of Dean almost immediately and freezes mid-step.
Dean smiles from across the parking lot at him, raising one hand in the air, and giving Castiel a small wave.
“Did you forget something?” Castiel asks as Dean comes to meet him near the door.
“Nope. I’m just waiting.” Dean’s smile is wide, and he has to keep himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“For what?” Castiel asks, the little vee that forms as he furrows his brow sending tingles throughout Dean’s body.
Castiel’s head cants to the side, his blue eyes contemplative.
Dean shakes his head and holds up the bouquet of flowers, bursts of yellow in the fading evening light. He holds them out to Castiel, but Castiel doesn’t take them, leaving Dean’s hand hanging awkwardly between them.
Castiel stares down at the bouquet. “I thought those were for-”
“Someone awesome,” Dean finishes, “you. Cas, the flowers are for you.”
Castiel’s gaze meets Dean’s his eyes wide and so filled with hope Dean could kiss him right then and there. “They’re for me?” he breathes out quietly, almost as if he doesn’t mean for Dean to hear the words.
Castiel finally reaches out and accepts the flowers, his stare boring into them with a sense of wonder Dean didn’t expect.
“No one’s ever given me flowers before,” Castiel states, looking up at Dean once more. He’s smiling, thank fuck, and his eyes are soft, grateful.
Dean shrugs, suddenly very self aware. “You said you spoke 'flower’ better than 'people’. I just thought I’d tell you how I feel in your language. Oh, and I got your message, thanks to Charlie and Jo.”
A smile breaks out across Castiel’s face, bigger than Dean’s ever seen. All of Dean’s insides feel like they’ve melted together to make a big bowl of mushy-love-crap soup, and he’s never felt better in his entire life.
“Secret admirer, hopelessly in love, adoration,” Castiel recites.
“Did I get them right?”
Castiel nods, grabbing the lapels of Dean’s jacket and pulling him close “Dean, may I kiss you now?” he asks. His breath is warm against Dean’s mouth, his voice sending gleeful vibrations through Dean’s chest.
“Hell yeah,” Dean says, and then Castiel is closing his mouth over Dean’s and kissing him with all the fervor of a built up admiration that’s been held at bay for weeks.
When they pull apart Castiel pecks Dean on the lips, softly, slowly, before resting his forehead on Dean’s and muttering, “I sunflower you, too.”
This week I thought I would post a few of my favorite monopodial- type orchids and couldn’t resist this one. Probably my favorite Vanda species among many amazing plants. These are spikes 5 and 6 this year alone on this plant and 25-28 flowers per spike is a pretty good flower count. Must be grown bright to very bright and intermediate temperatures (not quite as warm as others).
Seokjin used this chance to remember you when you chose to spend the rest of your life with him.
You peered to his side of the bed quietly and a smile bloomed on your lips. The sun wasn’t quite up on the sky yet, there was only a little light shining through the curtains, but enough for you to watch his chest rise and fall softly. An almost beatific expression of peacefulness was on his face and you felt tempted to lean over and peck your husband’s lips, but you reminded yourself that the plan was not waking him up. So taking the chance that Seokjin was still asleep you picked up the laptop you left on the nightstand and opened your bank account.
As quick as the smile appeared, it died. You blinked twice at the screen and couldn’t really fight back a gasp. Jin and you had recently just married, moved, started with your new lives, so of course, you were planning to make this upcoming valentine extra especial, but with the money so tight all of the previous ideas you had were nearly impossible.
You were so caught up in the shock of the moment that you didn’t notice Seokjin waking up until he was snuggling his face against your shoulder, startling you suddenly.
You jumped in your spot, your heart climbing to your throat and you closed the laptop not so discretely, placing it back again on the nightstand in a rush. Jin was sleepily blinking at you in confusion.
-What was that babe? – he slurred, covering a yawn with the back of his hand and moved on the mattress to coil his arms around you, his head moved to rest on the crook of your neck.
-Nothing to worry about – you combed his hair softly, knowing you answered far too quickly to be convincing but Jin was falling asleep again on your shoulder so he didn’t notice. –Let’s go back to sleep-
He grunted a series of unintelligible sleepy words and settled back down with you between his arms. His steady breathing was caressing the side of your neck but you couldn’t fall asleep again, not now. These kind of dates were especial for both of you, so now your mind was all over the place trying to come with ideas, but with it came the realization that you had no money to spare in any of them.
-I can hear you thinking…- you laughed softly with Seokjin’s words, his arms tightened around you and he pushed himself up for a moment, glassy eyes scanned you over and his lips kissed away the frown on your forehead before he gifted you a little mellow smile. –It’s too early to have a frown. This is our no frowning time-
You smiled because how could you not? Jin had that effect on you. He settled back against your neck and you kissed the top of his hair, still a little sad inside for the situation you just found out.
This is inspired by 2014’s Colour of the Year which is “Radiant Orchid”. It would be better if I ended it with 2013’s Colour of the Year but I’m not feeling it. I like 2014’s earthy colour, seems like a good sign that it’ll be a nyappy new year!
Forgive me since I will be posting this stuff early. I need to help prep up for New Year’s Eve/New Year Baby Birthday celebration for my mum!
Wish us luck guys! Have fun and NYAPPY NEW YEAR~ <3
[Just in case you’re wondering, I drew a Dendrobium, it’s a type of Orchid]
Dib never left anything to chance if he could help it. The problem was, somehow he never quite could.
Arriving at the Botanical Gardens in plenty of time to get in and catch the opening of the show- and to get himself into a good position to locate Mab from a distance, if and when she arrived- he rounded the corner of Snorky and Queens and found himself staring in horror at an ungodly, absolutely gargantuan queue.
It wound around the block twice, looping around on itself like a snake eating its own tail. There were queueing zones, queues within the queue, each colour-coded and named after a different type of orchid, for different types of priority tickets. There were a million excited children, accompanied by even-more-excited parents, and a great deal of jostling and noise. There were guards.
Guards in riot gear.
“Really?” Dib said, to nobody in particular. “For an orchid show?”
His low-priority season pass landed him in Dracula Zone for a solid forty-five minutes, watching other people shuffle up the steps and under the giant ORCHID SHOW banner, into the glasshouse. His impatience made the wait feel like years. Several times, he nearly made up his mind to duck the rope into the faster-moving Moth Zone, but after seeing three people get tazed for trying to queue-jump, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
By the time he finally got inside, the show was in full swing. The glasshouse was packed, the paths under the big dome were lined with tables, booths, explosions of bright flowers- but Dib hardly gave the displays a glance. He scurried between the throngs of people around each booth, looking this way and that, determined to make up for lost time.
Bílé Karpaty (Slovak: Biele Karpaty) is the westernmost mountain range of the Carpathian Mountains, named after its white dolomite cliffs. They are part of the Slovak-Moravian Carpathians, stretching from the Váh river and the Little Carpathians in the south along the border between the Czech Republic and Slovakia to the Morava and the Javorníky range in the north. The highest peak is Velká Javořina (970 m) not far from primeval forest consisting of maples, beeches and ashes. The landscape is protected on both sides of the mountains. Some species found there are endemic, especially some types of orchids which grow only in the meadows of the White Carpathians.