Work Text:
There is no doubt in Blake Belladonna's mind that, when it comes to flowers, there is only one that she despises.
Roses. The flower for everything, every occasion, even though it doesn't always fit; people love their damn roses.
It's seen as an honour to receive one, no matter the colour it blooms. People who know little about flowers and their meanings don't tend to look beyond the richness and vibrance of their colour. They don't tend to look beyond the bud, towards the thorns. They'd rather pretend they don't exist.
Blake Belladonna, however, loves flowers, and yet she can't bring herself to like roses.
Even when they were her boyfriend's favourite. Even when he'd get her them and make her hold them by the prickly stem like it sealed her gratitude with the droplets of blood they'd ooze from her palms.
If anything, it just made her hate him more.
So when the person she'd eventually love came bounding into her life, rough and tumble, appeared in her mind first and foremost as a yellow rose…
You have to understand why she was so hesitant.
Yellow roses
Friendship; Joy; Warmth.
Picking flowers to match a person is particularly tricky, especially when it comes to Yang Xiao Long, the most boisterous mechanic she's ever met – probably because she's never had to deal with a mechanic before in her life.
"Blake," Yang takes a bite out of a macaron, immediately wincing when she realises that she'd brought them there for her to have, not just to eat them herself. "I'm telling you, I chose the shop 'cause my sister's surname is Rose. And 'cause I know the song reference."
"Ah, so you didn't just happen to 'see my pretty face from outside the window' like you tried to tell me last week." Blake rolls her eyes, stacking more pots on the stockroom shelf while Yang continues to slowly chew her macaron, sitting against the room's door frame. She crams the whole portion remaining in her mouth, claps her hands together to dust off the crumbs, and stands with a huff. Picking up one of the larger terracotta pots, she hoists it up and onto the shelf by balancing it partially on her shoulder.
Blake tries – really tries – not to watch the way her arms flex under her shirt, and her exposed midriff ripples. Her warmth presses into her side as she pushes it up onto the shelf, careful to edge away from the contact out of fear of being touched.
"And… you know the song?"
"Same title, right? It was my mom's favourite." Yang clicks her fingers as she leans on the shelf, a cocky grin spreading across her face as Blake reaches for a macaron and takes a hesitant bite, humming happily at the taste. "Good?"
"Fantashtic," Blake murmurs with a full mouth, coaxing a laugh from Yang that makes her throw her head back. She swears she almost chokes on the damn macaron as a result.
"I gotta bring you more stuff like that. Brownies next week?"
"You can make brownies?" Blake gapes after swallowing the chunk she'd bitten out of the little biscuit, "Please."
"You got it." Yang winks, reaching for the next pot.
"You– you don't have to help." Blake tries to convince her, which clearly calls flat.
Smirking, Yang strains but barely flickers as she heaves the pot onto the shelf. "Counterpoint: I want to help." She gestures to the tub of macarons, "So you should rest and eat up while I do some of the heavy lifting."
Blake restrains herself from making some comment about what an amazing show that's going to be, what a blessing it'll be to just sit back and watch her muscles flex and relax as she organises the stockroom for her.
"You bring me sweets and do my work for me," Blake mutters somewhat sadly as she slumps against the doorframe. "This doesn't feel like an equal deal."
"No deal to be had." Yang says flatly, kicking a box carefully into the corner out of the way so that she won't trip, moving on to the next pots, these ones actually containing soil and planted seeds ready to go on the shelf in view of the window. "It's what friends are for."
Friends. Right.
She knows that Yang can feel that shiver too, the one that wracks them both when they're watered down to just friends, even though that's exactly what they are.
Truth is, Blake's never felt as joyful as she has with Yang for quite some time. Maybe the last time was when she lived with her friends from back home or something – there's an essence of her that was lost back then, she fears, that she doesn't quite know how to get back.
Yang, however, seems to know how to unlock it without even realising it.
But that doesn't change that slight fear that lingers at the prospect of these new feelings that Yang invokes being a little too close to a flower she despises for her liking.
Yellow roses. And, despite her best efforts, Blake finishes her macaron and reaches for another while watching Yang at work, and she wonders for the first time ever if her opinion on roses could be healed.
Later, when Blake has to quickly usher Yang out the back door because a certain someone comes through the front, she quickly comes to realise that roses are forever tainted, unhealable and forever wilting in her heart.
Ranunculus
Happiness; Positivity; Bringing comfort and warmth.
"It's alright," Yang coos, her hand rubbing soothing circles into her back, "Let it all out."
It would be comforting, if not for the fact that Blake, by all means, does not want to be throwing her guts up right about now.
It's the dead of night and they're sitting by the toilet in the spare room ensuite because Blake had, once again, awoken from the most god awful nightmare that felt like it had tied her guts into knot after knot.
Each little movement brought up more of the dinner that Yang had cooked for them all the previous night, the one she'd pecked her on the cheek as thanks for, and complimented it until they'd fallen asleep. Now, it was like none of it mattered. She might as well have never made it for her.
"Fuck!" Blake hacks as she manages to catch a few gasping breaths, her lungs strained and out of control as her doting, extremely worried girlfriend (who tries to hide it for her sake) at her side shushes her and gently attempts to coach her breathing.
In the end, they're there for quite some time – they actually lose track of it as the minutes go by. What they presume to be a possible ten minute long panic attack stretches into an hour of being hunched over a toilet bowl, crying and sobbing and feeling utterly revolting. Yang is half-hugging her, arms wrapped around her waist as she presses light kisses into her bare shoulder knowing that it's all she can do – and all the affection Blake can handle at the moment without needing to throw up again.
"Shhh…" Yang eases, "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere," She seals it with a kiss to her girlfriend's flushed shoulder as she gasps for air over the bowl. It takes another few seconds for her to inhale some long, shaky breaths and push away from the toilet on quivering arms, falling into Yang's embrace with an agonised whimper.
"Sh– Shit," Blake murmurs, watching through dazed, half-lidded eyes as Yang diligently reaches for the toilet roll and snaps some off with a swift flick of her wrist, bringing it to her partner's mouth to wipe away the excess before flushing it down the toilet. Blake's hands rest loosely over her stomach, letting her full weight slump into her girlfriend like she can't support herself anymore.
And, well, after an hour of throwing up the contents of your stomach and some bile for food measure, along with reliving some of the worst emotions you've ever felt in your twenty-one years of living… you've gotta be exhausted.
"Hurts?" Yang checks, because the specific, concentrated pain Blake had told her about in a cluster of overflowing emotions one night had become a constant in these moments, always back with a vengeance.
"Hurts." Blake confirms with a grumble, because hurt is an understatement – it's burning.
Clicking her tongue in sympathy, Yang carefully adjusts them both until their backs are pressed to the side of the built-in bathtub, her head resting on Blake's shoulder and peppering kisses to her cheek.
Realising she's okay with this (because she's learnt that, yeah, it's literally fine to tell Yang that it isn't), Blake turns her head to give her more room to sprinkle feather-light kisses across her cheeks, nose, forehead, the corners of her lips, wherever she can reach.
"What can I do?" Yang asks, her breath brushing ticklishly against her partner's skin, "How can I help?"
"You're already helping." Blake says it like there's no doubt to be had, and the blonde finds it particularly easy to believe and hang on every word.
"Maybe," Yang breathes, "But I wanna help more if I can." She gives herself a moment to think when Blake merely hums sleepily in response, knowing for a fact that her girlfriend's sleep will only be plagued with aches and pains if she lets her slip into unconsciousness so soon.
Her thoughts fall into a concept she'd thought of just the other day, but hadn't tried yet out of fear of only making things worse.
So she steels herself, huffs a sigh, and nuzzles her nose into Blake's neck as she speaks. Her lips rumble against her girlfriend's skin, making her melt into the contact.
"Can I try something?" Yang inquires cautiously, keeping her volume low on account of how Blake's ears are still lowered anxiously to the sides of her head.
Giving her an unspoken cue, Blake nods languidly and rests her head on Yang's shoulder properly, meaning that her partner is now able to see her face properly (and reach it with her lips, if she needs) – there, she awaits the idea.
Carefully, still quite uncertain about this, Yang moves her hand to rest on the skin of Blake's stomach below the shirt she'd stolen from her, beginning to gently knead. The other hand stays put around her shoulders, keeping her close.
There's a whimper at first as she gets used to the feeling, but with everything that just transpired, having someone positive here to cancel out the negative sure is refreshing – and, as it turns out, Yang's idea works a fucking treat.
Blake hums, long and content, melting further into Yang's warmth. The comfort she brings is so natural to her as a person, a walking light that brightens every room she graces with her presence.
Unable to hold back her fond chuckle, Yang nuzzles her nose against Blake's fringe, smiling against her forehead. "Good?"
"Little to the right," Blake urges, lightly touching Yang's elbow to push her in the right direction – following her request, she does so, and can't help but beam as her girlfriend's tensed face visibly softens with the change of position. "Better than good."
Smirking tenderly, Yang squeezes her girlfriend's shoulders, a show of relief. "Mhm?"
Breaths finally levelling, Blake nods exhaustedly against Yang's shoulder. "Mhm,"
There's something specific about Yang's embrace that no one else she's ever been held by can match. A warmth, a joy, a feeling of safety and happiness whenever she's within her reach.
So, as they fall into silence in the bathroom, holding one another and letting gentle kneading lull her to sleep, Blake lets herself be selfish for once.
Once Yang is sure she's fallen asleep, Blake opts to pretend, to play along – because, as she's found out, her girlfriend is a huge sap when no one's looking… even more than she is when people are looking.
She stays as convincing as possible as Yang tucks her into bed, smooths her bangs out of her face and presses a kiss to her forehead. She'd caught a glance of herself in the mirror before they'd settled on the floor of the bathroom, and, truly, she'd never seen herself look that ghostly in some times.
And, yeah, Yang may try to hide it, but it's clear as day sometimes just how worried she gets. Blake can read her like a book – there's nothing that she can hide from her for long without it eventually coming to light, but Yang tends to be rather okay with that fact; she's pretty open.
Still, she can't imagine how worrying it must be to see her reduced to such similar appearances to the one she had to face those months ago, back in the stock room of the flower shop she'd once helped her fill the shelves of in her pastime.
"I love you," Blake hears her whisper, dipping down to peck another kiss, this time to her cheek. "Sleep well, sweet dreams, lovely." Her warmth ebbs away for a few seconds, but only so that she can clamber into bed by her side and cuddle into her side, adding the pressure she'd told Yang helps. "Breakfast in bed for you, I think." She breathes quietly as she traces shapes into her aching sides, "See you in the morning,"
Another kiss, this time to her shoulder.
As Yang's breathing evens out over the next few minutes and Blake feels free enough to move again, she sniffles shakily and wonders just how she managed to get so damn lucky.
Her arms wrap around Yang, pressing her lips to her scalp.
"Love you, buttercup." She whispers, "See you in the morning."
Blake closes her eyes, and gets ready to drift off to sleep, to maybe meet Yang in the sweet dreams she'd wished for her–
A snicker sounds below her, a bubbly giggle rattling against her side.
"I knew you were pretending to sleep." Yang lifts her head, smirking madly. "Nice acting, honey."
"Oh, shush."
Marigold
Power; Strength; Light that lives inside a person.
It's quite easy to tell when something's wrong with Yang.
She'd doubt that, she'd try and say the opposite – but she's absolutely no good at hiding what she's feeling.
Blake has seen, and probably always will see, Yang as an extremely emotional person. Whether overjoyed, dismayed, upset, or even overwhelmed, she's showing that whether she likes it or not.
Happiness comes in the form of bouncing on heels, excitable tugging of clothes, touchiness; dismay comes in the form of silence, poutiness, and blunt words; being upset comes in the form of more silence, furrowed brows that never seem to relax, and a few tears hidden behind a closed door; and finally, being overwhelmed comes with fidgetiness, a tightness in her chest, and thinly pressed lips.
Blake astuted all of these simply by observing her partner – Yang may be open emotionally, but she also is, unfortunately, not one to be outward about how others can help. She's always been so sure that she has to help herself – no one helped her when she was going through the shit in her childhood raising Ruby alone, so it's not all that surprising that solitude is her natural reaction.
So when a loud clang and a whined groan of frustration sounds from the house's garage, the force of Blake's ears swivelling alarmedly to the source makes her head physically flinch with the pull.
Her head whips around almost in synchronisation with Ruby and Weiss, who peer around the corner of the kitchen archway; they'd been being flirty in the kitchen, and it's not like Blake wants to intrude on that or distract Yang from her work.
Sure, it's not like it's garage work she gets paid for – just a side hobby tinkering with Bumblebee and other assorted gadgets she finds at the roadsides or car boot sales she passes on her coastal drives.
Sometimes she comes back with tons of scrap metal and rusted gadgets that look ready to give in and call it a life, but she doesn't give up on even the smallest of things – that includes cell phones that have outlived their generation, or toy cars begging to be turned into some weird gizmo they'll never use other than as a passing party trick.
Still, it makes her happy, so the others let her disappear into the garage whenever she wants to tinker on her latest abandoned treasures.
One time, she'd asked Yang about it, and the answer she was given only made her heart sink sadly before she drowned her partner in the warmth of her embrace.
Abandoned people seek out abandoned things.
Glancing over her shoulder, she flashes a reassuring smile at the other two women peering at the garage side door across the open-plan entranceway and living room. Getting up from the couch, she leaves her lukewarm jasmine green tea behind on its saucer and makes her way to the garage.
Hand set upon the doorknob, she hones her hearing in on the inside of the room to check for any hint that this may be a mistake – a huffed, irritated breath sounds, but that's about it.
Twisting it, Blake breezes through and beyond the threshold, intruding upon the space. Something Yang had told her a while back in regards to assisting her when frustrated was, as she recalls, simply being there in her presence as a constant to calm her.
There, sitting at her old, fraying desk parked snugly in the corner of the garage, is Yang with her head in her hands.
Elbows on the table, braced, taut arms and strained, hunched posture. Nothing says stress more than the sight of her like this does.
Careful not to flare her nerves any more than they already must be burning an inferno, Blake quietly picks up a stray, empty crate and brings it over to the desk, positioning it so that she's sitting by Yang's side. At this point, the blonde catches her movement and turns sluggishly to watch her as she sits down without a word, eyeing the work on the unrecognisable, hot glue-covered cutting mat.
In Blake's eyes, having never repaired a single gadget in her life, it looks like the shell of an old car toy that's been torn to shreds, akin to the way a cat tears a ball of yarn into the feeblest of fibres, unrecognisable and unsalvageable.
But, in Yang's eyes, everything is salvageable if you try hard enough; it's one of the traits she finds most endearing about her girlfriend.
"Not going well?" Blake asks quietly, daring to gently nudge Yang's leg with her own, followed by her body softly leaning into the blonde to nudge her with a little more force and, above all, warmth and familiarity.
"Talk to me like everything's fine." Yang had told her when she'd asked how to help, "Just you being you is calming as it is."
"They welded the fucking DC motor in." Yang grumbles, shifting her weight into one hand, cheek smudged roughly against her palm. Her mouth is pulled angularly by the action, the inside of her cheek bitten as she gestures frustratedly with her hand at the mess before her. "Can't get it out."
"Hm." Blake hums, because truly she has no clue what a DC motor is, but maybe that's the key to this. "What's a DC motor?"
Sight finally fixing upon her girlfriend, Blake watches in real time as familiarity flashes within them, soft and understanding that she comes from a point of view where she has absolutely no knowledge on this subject.
"Y'know the motor in cars?"
"Babe," Blake interrupts gently, leaning forward to see more of Yang's face, head tilted humorously as she smirks. "I'm a florist who cried when she tried to learn to drive. I need baby terms."
Snickering (which makes Blake jump for joy internally), Yang slumps back in her chair slightly, trying to avert her gaze from the mess she'd made so that she can focus on her partner instead.
"It's the thing that, like… powers the car." Yang explains with a little steering wheel motion, another little detail about her girlfriend that Blake has come to adore – she has a habit of talking with her hands, no matter how pointless it may be to do so. "And a DC motor is the toy car version."
The lack of details about the motor in general definitely helps, so Blake nods with a dopey smile on her face, considering she's just been focusing on how handsome Yang is this whole time.
"Mhm." She hums, "And you want that from the toy car."
"Well, I did." Yang grumbles, turning back to the rusted toy car shell with a scowl, nudging it roughly with a curled finger. "It's so easy, usually. Heatproof capsule you unscrew, and they pop right out. But no, they had to weld the fucker in."
Hovering her hands cautiously over the toy, Blake shares a glance with Yang. "Can I?"
Her cue is given in the form of a nod, although Blake can see her hesitancy written all over her face. Picking it up, she feels the rust rub against the soft skin of her fingers, against the calloused patches where thorns dug deep some months ago, and twists it until the bottom is open and pointing the 'fucking welded part' up at her.
And yep – she's right. It really is fucking welded shut. There's a small hole where the wires poke through, but that specific hole is practically bursting with the wires that it offers no real leverage to get within and pop the motor out of the rusted shell.
"You weren't kidding." Blake chuckles, turning to face Yang who looks a little more ticked off than before.
"I wasn't lying," She responds without an inch of anger, but something that sounds closer to disappointment or sadness.
"I know," Blake quickly dives in to reassure her, a hand trailing soothingly down Yang's arm. "I know, baby. I believe you, it's just a little funny to see for myself." The thumb of the hand holding the toy traces the bumped, reformed hem where the metal was welded together. "They really didn't want the DC motor to fall out."
The name call for the term Yang had just taught her makes the blonde melt and smirk a little, watching her girlfriend to her right. Few people actually remember the things she tells them, especially when it comes to mechanics – Blake being an exception. "Yeah."
Pushing it back onto the table, Blake sighs, letting the car shell wobble slightly on its back. Maybe the idea of getting the motor out feels pointless to Blake due to the fact that, well, Yang has a whole box of them under the same desk they're sitting at, but clearly getting this one out is something she's challenged herself with, and isn't willing to relent on.
Thinking long and hard, Blake wonders how, exactly, they could possibly get the motor out of the shell without burning right through the little machine at the same time.
The problem at hand seems to be that it's impossible. A conclusion Yang has already come to, a conclusion that's making her movements sharp and sluggish all the same.
Another thing. "If it's an impossible problem I'm trying to solve or something that, like, we couldn't possibly know the answer to yet, try to get me to do something else."
"Do you want it for something?" Blake asks, nudging her leg with her own under the desk again before leaning into her side, her head lolling gently onto her partner's shoulder.
Yet another thing. "And hold me, if I'll allow it." Yang had informed her, "There's something about the way you hold me that just… it melts me."
Blake's hand comes to rest on Yang's thigh, tenderly thumbing the hemline of her high-vis trousers – she always insists on wearing them even when working on basic stuff at home, despite her vicious reluctance to wear her high-vis jumpsuit at work.
"Not really." Yang's boot, another item of protective clothing she willingly chooses to wear despite being indoors.
("I'd like to see you drive me to the hospital when I drop something on my foot and lose my three middle toes." She'd smirked at Blake, who'd been somewhat judgmentally watching her strap her boots on before disappearing into the garage. Still, it got a giggle out of her, so Yang clearly won.)
"Then leave it for today." Blake's face lights up sweetly, the perfect medicine for Yang as she gets lost in her glow. "We could stay in and relax, maybe catch up on our book, or we could… I dunno, go out and get ice cream or dinner."
"Hm." Yang grunts softly, knowing exactly what Blake is doing, but not letting it show that she does. Still, she'd be lying if she said it wasn't working a treat on her. "Ice cream date by the coast?"
Perching her chin on Yang's shoulder to edge closer to her lips, Blake beams. "How romantic."
Taking the charge, Yang jolts forward to capture Blake's lips in a quick, chaste kiss before promptly standing up and making her way over to their motorcycle helmets. Too bad that Blake's incessant teasing is rubbing off on her.
"You love it." She throws over her shoulder, turning to Blake with both helmets in her hands. Walking back over, Yang tucks her own helmet under her arm and holds Blake's over her head for her, ready to be taken.
A clicked tongue and eye roll later, Blake takes it and pulls it down over her head, grinning as she replies (during the strenuous effort of getting the helmet on comfily), "You got me. I do."
Yang has already hoisted her leg over her motorcycle and is opening up the garage door with the remote before Blake even has her helmet on properly.
"Shouldn't we tell Ruby and Weiss?" Blake reasons, even though she sets herself down behind Yang on the bike like she's ready to go right now.
"Nah," Yang shrugs, and Blake can hear her smile. "They'll hear us leave."
And, at that moment, Blake realises that the shine of the sun can't possibly compare to the light within her girlfriend.
Yellow Chrysanthemums
Neglected Love; Sorrow.
"Did I ever tell you about when I tried to contact my birth mom?" Yang mutters one night out of the blue, head pillowed in Blake's lap. It catches Blake completely off guard; she'd never been one to talk about her mother so upfront like this – it was a piece of information she always expected to have to coax from her, the information locked away in an impenetrable safe that only Yang knows how to get into.
"No," Blake responds, hushed and somehow encouraging as she runs her hands through Yang's hair (a privilege, she finds, that only she is allowed to do). "You haven't."
The warmth in her lap ebbs away as Yang pushes herself upright, rubbing an eye with the heel of her palm – they're in Yang's room today, Blake sitting on the bed where Yang had been laying across it to set her head in her lap. The blonde swings her legs off of the bed and ducks down, Blake lifting her legs with a slight giggle to give her more room to see beneath.
After a few seconds, she makes a triumphant grunt as she pulls out a book, more of a square than a rectangle and decorated with a ton of flower stickers. Laying back down, she sets her head in Blake's lap once more and rolls onto her side so that the book is visible to them both.
Taking the reins, Blake holds the book on a diagonal angle so that they can both, at least, see the pictures within somewhat clearly. Yang prods a finger between a particular set of pages and urges her to flick to it, the pictures glinting in the light of Yang's window due to the transparent film each photo is tucked within.
There, on that page, is a photo of four people, some more recognisable than others. One she knows for certain, another she's met a couple times, one she's only seen in photos framed like they're meant to be hung in a museum, and a face she's never seen before.
Yang's finger points straight at her, highlighting this stranger like you'd highlight notes in an obvious, illuminous, eye-straining yellow. During, Blake takes care to keep watch over her girlfriend's face, ready to snap the book shut the moment she gives her a cue to.
"That's my birth mom." Because she has to specify it's her birth mom as if it puts her a step down from Summer, the woman on the very left of the photo. While Summer is framed around their house in childhood photos on fishing trips and baking mishaps with flour covering her hair and nose alongside her girls, this new woman – Yang's birth mother – is shrouded in an eerie air she can't quite place. Discontent, perhaps.
Clothed in red and black with hair as dark as the night, Blake takes a second to properly analyse this woman and her relation to Yang – there's no doubt that the resemblance is somewhat uncanny, from face shape to hair style, the way the shorter parts of their hair and baby hairs curl while the longer parts fall into waves down their backs, and even the width of her shoulders is similar.
"Yeah." Yang suddenly says, breaking Blake out of her analysing trance, "Her genes must've killed my dad's." She huffs a pretty pathetic laugh, gazing wistfully at the photo of the four.
It looks like a night out amongst friends, Qrow – who she knows from the time he visited to install their security cameras, and a couple moments here and there afterwards – looks drunken beyond compare, except if you're comparing him to Tai. They must be around their early-to-mid twenties here, etched lines of age not as deep as they are nowadays.
Tai and Qrow have bottles clasped in the arms they're throwing over the shoulders of those around them, with Tai's arms bringing Summer and Yang's birth mom close, while Qrow has his just around her too, his other hand holding the camera to take the photo. It's confusing to look at – they all look so happy, but there's something about Tai's smile that grabs her with its familiarity.
"Well," Blake starts, "You got his hair colour and his smile." Letting the book dangle for a second as Yang goes to hold it instead, she gives into the temptation and moves the hand that let go of the book to run a thumb over her girlfriend's visible dimple.
Snickering, Yang smiles and Blake feels the skin dip beneath her thumb, disguising it as a mere cheek caress instead before she resumes her hold on the book.
"Good to know," Yang hums softly, a gratitude to the way she says it. "My birth mom tried to stick around, apparently." She continues, more somber this time. "Dad told me she up and left right away, but… Qrow said she tried to stay, whatever that means." Her arms wrap around herself like a method of self-comfort. "She loved mom, and she loved dad." Once again, Blake shifts the book into one hand to run her free one over Yang's shoulder and arm.
She once thought of this person as a rose. A damned rose.
"The three of them?" Blake wonders aloud, looking back to the image.
"Yeah." Yang nods. "The story dad told me was that my– my birth mom left, and Summer came along to take over with parenting." She unwraps her arms from around herself and takes the book from Blake's single hand, bringing it closer to her so that she can see all of their faces up close. "Qrow told me the real story, that they were all parenting together, but he never told me what made her leave." Her lips press into a thin line, pressurised and saddened. "But I think I know the answer."
"Yang–"
"There's literally nothing else it could be." Yang drops the book off the side of the bed, the cover slapping shut behind it as she rolls onto her back in Blake's lap, looking directly up at her. "They were happy. I was born, and then she just… leaves the loves of her life. That's not normal."
Choosing not to respond, to feed into or deny that statement, Blake nods meekly. "And you… you tried to contact her?" Her hand sits on Yang's cheek, her thumb thrumming back and forth over her cheekbone.
"I did," Yang nods, "Just– found an old business card. Dialled the number, told the person who answered who I was, and got hung up on." She overlaps Blake's hand with her own, tracing the bumps of her knuckles. "I was twelve, and damn well persistent. So I kept trying. No dice." She grumbles slightly, meeting Blake's eyes, warm gold that calms her almost instantaneously. "Turns out the first person that answered was actually her. She got someone else to answer the phone from then onwards. I was calling on our home phone though, so dad found out." Turning her head, she lolls it lightly into Blake's abdomen, trying to take in her warmth. "Never called again. Don't plan to."
Blake hums in acknowledgement, just a small way to tell Yang she listened to every word. Her other hand – the one that had been rubbing the arm she can no longer reach with Yang laying on her back – tangles in her bright blonde locks, feeling the short curls and long waves between her fingers.
"Do you prefer that?" Blake asks, "Not knowing her?"
After a moment of contemplation, Yang nods. "I think I do." She leans further into the warmth of Blake's abdomen on one side, and her palm cupping her cheek on the other. "She wanted to leave. She made her bed, she can lay in it."
And that's when Blake lets her own opinion come through. "Hm. Well said," She smiles, hunching over to capture Yang's lips in a quick kiss, not enough to water down the depth of the moment they've found themselves in, but enough to comfort.
Because, as far as Blake is concerned, she has no idea how anyone could neglect a love as pure, bright, and adoring as Yang's.
Sunflower
Unwavering Faith; Constant Light; Happiness
Coming home is the best part of Blake's day. Sure, the shop is lovely, but getting home to her wife is the part of her day that she can't help but look forward to the most.
Usually Yang is already home by the time Blake arrives – but today is different. Something has come up, and Yang has to stay back at the garage for a few extra hours (or at least that's what she texts her to say). It's fine though; it's Friday, meaning most businesses on Menagerie close up at 5pm until Monday, including Blake's shop and Yang's garage.
So once Yang's done for today, they have the entire weekend to themselves.
It's the middle of summer, and the evening sunset is beautiful at this time of year in Menagerie – well, it's beautiful at every point in the year, but especially in these months.
Kicking off her shoes in the entranceway, Blake sets her bag down on the peg, and eyes the sight of the coat Yang took to work with her that morning on the peg right beside it.
Her coat, her bag, her dumb hat that she takes with her in her bag 'just in case it rains' even though it's a fabric beanie that is more water absorbent than a sponge. All here.
Well, subtlety has never been her strong suit.
Careful to preserve Yang's well-known element of surprise, Blake gently pushes the door open and doesn't call out her usual jovial 'I'm home!' that beckons Yang into her arms. Sometimes she can hear the pounding of her footsteps from the upstairs of their wooden beachside cabin as she rushes down to greet her, or she'll be in the kitchen making dinner, running to give her a kiss with batter clogged in her hair or on her cheek – sometimes, she's even waiting on the porch anticipating her arrival.
Right as the door pushes further open and a vase of sunflowers brightens her vision with an array of vibrant, sunny yellow, gold, brown and emerald green, something jumps in from the side.
She yelps as Yang, who had been waiting silently behind the door, scoops her up into her arms and twirls her around – they'd found out only recently that this was something they could do again, as it had been impossible after Blake's injury – ever since they discovered that it's okay again, Yang hasn't stopped doing it. They laugh together in harmony as they twist and twirl a couple times happily, drinking in one another's presence.
Carefully, and surprisingly gracefully, Yang sets Blake back down on her feet before pulling her into a kiss, longing and lingering and as impactful as a verbal 'I missed you' and an 'I love you' all at once.
"So," Blake huffs a gentle laugh, her breath brushing against Yang's lips, "Staying back late at the garage, huh?"
Smirking, Yang steals another quick peck before turning Blake slightly so that her back is to the open room.
"Mhm, long day, babe." She beams, her hands taking almost muscle-memory positions on her waist and tangling in her hair, Blake instinctively leaning into the warmth of her palm as a purr erupts from the back of her throat.
"Uh huh." Blake mumbles dreamily, drowning in Yang's heat as she presses closer, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of the blonde's shoulder. "My brave soldier." She presses a kiss to her partner's neck, hands running over the flat expanse of her chest for a brief moment. "Wanna tell me why you lied about that?" Her breath brushes the sensitive, bare skin of Yang's neck, making her shiver in ecstasy at the feeling.
"W– Well," Yang clears her throat to recover, feeling the pressure pile onto her like a heavy weight. "You see, I was preparing a surprise for my beautiful wife." She takes a step back, untangling her prosthetic hand from Blake's hair in order to hold it out, awaiting her wife taking it in her own.
She does, their hands fitting together perfectly like a two-piece jigsaw, meant for one another.
With a smirk, Yang lifts her arm and twirls her around in a spin, but only to turn her around. Every time she does this move when they're slow dancing, all Blake can think about is the way she spun her at their wedding – the happiest day of her life.
But then her eyes reach the expanse of their open-plan living room, dining room and kitchen (except for half walls separating them all), and suddenly that memory has some competition. Nowhere near their wedding day, but holy shit does her heart jump for joy.
"Yang…" Blake beams, looking out at their home, decorated with sunflowers and lilies. "You did all of this?"
Never letting go of her hand, Yang presses up to her from behind, wrapping her other arm around Blake's front. "Sure did." She croons, kissing the spot between her partner's ears where her Canities Subita sprouts from. "Been growing them in your parents' garden for months."
"With them?" Blake asks, spinning in her arms to turn her gaze away from the bright and sunny sight of their home to the bright and sunny sight of Yang.
The blonde scoffs, "Babe," She rolls her eyes, "You know I have a black thumb." Pressing a kiss to Blake's cheek, barely moving away as she speaks, her lips brushing her skin. "Your parents had to help, otherwise I would've killed the whole garden."
"Oh, come on." Blake pushes away playfully, ensuring that Yang doesn't release her hold around her waist. "You're not that hopeless,"
"I forget to feed them and water them and-"
"Ah. Right. Our Venus Flytrap."
"Don't bring up Bugsy." Yang releases an arm from around Blake to jab a finger at her, gently hitting the tip of her nose with a soft smile. "I'll cry. I still mourn him."
"Uh huh." Blake tilts her head with a smirk, feeling Yang's arm resume its position around her waist, meeting her hand at the back. "I could tell that much from his pebble gravestone in the garden, dear." Turning back to the room while she leans into Yang's body, she melts into her warmth and basks in the golden glow of the room, brimming with her favourite colour, her favourite flowers…
"You like it?"
"Like?" Blake shakes her head with a smile brighter than any smile she could've fathomed her having back a few years ago. "Baby, I love it." Her head rolls on her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck. "I love you. It's beautiful… but why?" She wonders, looking up at Yang through dreamy, half-lidded eyes.
"'Cause I love you, too." Yang takes the chance to steal yet another kiss, landing blindly on one side of her nose. "And I just… felt like being a romantic sap today."
"You're a romantic sap every day." Blake corrects, lifting her head to gaze around the room again, lilies and sunflowers in all vases and baskets to be found, a reminder of the way they're intertwined in the tattoo on the inner side of Yang's bicep, rooted in the dock of her prosthetic.
"And you love that I'm a romantic sap every day."
"I do." Blake assures, continuing to beam, a smile that Yang had been wishing for every single day since she met her back at her flower shop.
Brushing Blake's white lock of hair behind her ear, Yang perches her head on her shoulder and follows her gaze between each vase, each basket, each surface…
"One more thing." She says, her warmth suddenly ebbing away as Yang moves from her back into the half-walled kitchen, procuring something from Blake's blind spot where it turns into a full wall.
Returning, hands behind her back to hide something that's totally not obviously a bouquet, Yang steps in front of her wife and flashes her signature sunny smile.
Bringing the bouquet – decorated with an array of sunflowers, lilies, buttercups and moonflowers – around from her back, Yang brandishes them like she's giving her the world, holding them forward for Blake to see properly.
"Happy monthiversary, babe." She drawls, glowing in the light of the sunset dancing through the window.
Of course. Blake should've known – Yang's as extravagant for their monthiversaries as she is for their yearly anniversaries. Taking the bouquet into her hands, she leans forward to breathe in their radiant, floral scent before casting her adoring sight onto her wife.
Without any words to properly convey her gratitude, she moves forward, pushing the bouquet into one hand as she sets her other at Yang's waist, getting onto her tiptoes for a kiss.
As they part, Yang breathes a gigglish sigh. "You're welcome."
Following that up, Blake chuckles. "Thank you."
"No need." Her wife reassures, the golden band on her ring fingers glistening in the sunset as she caresses Blake's cheek, "Just having you here is enough, sweetheart."
Still, feeling bad that she didn't get anything for Yang (which she usually does – she always brings Yang flowers or gets her something bird or mechanics related), she gently takes the hand holding her cheek and brings it to her lips briefly.
"What do you say we go for a walk?" She offers, still holding the bouquet close. "Along the beach," Blake clarifies.
The same thing they'd done the night Yang had proposed. One of their favourite things to do to relax.
"Hm," Yang smiles, stepping back after Blake has finished kissing her prosthetic knuckles, feeling the muffled, warm tingle along the metal, "I say, I'll go get our sandals."
She leaves Blake with a kiss between her ears and a wink as she disappears into the entranceway, her wife taking the time to set her new bouquet in a spare vase in the middle of the dining table.
At one point, she believed Yang to be a plain old yellow rose. Nowadays, she can't believe how wrong she was.
"Blake?" Yang calls around the side of the doorway, "You coming?"
And Blake, turning from one sunflower to another, can't help the way her heart flutters. "Be right there."
For once in her life, love feels right.