Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Ruth's apartment sits high enough in her building that privacy ceases to be a consideration, her blinds never pulled fully closed, her bedroom never completely dark.

The shifting light of dawn streams through the gaps in the shutters, highlighting every soft curve of Ruth's body as she sleeps, the crumpled sheets tangled around her waist, and the curl of her lips into a sleep-drunk smile as she pulls Stevie closer and blindly tugs the blankets up over their bare shoulders.

Early mornings are quiet, vulnerable places. Stevie's never been a morning person. For this, for Ruth, she could become one.

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The summer heat feels different in the country, somehow cleaner and brighter, the air easier to spend aimless time in. The Elm Falls farmers market buzzes with the Saturday morning crowd, and it costs less than Ruth expected to fill her tote with fresh bread, soft cheeses, small punnets of fruit, and bottles of fresh pressed juice.

"No-one's ever taken me on a picnic before," Stevie mumbles around a particularly ripe strawberry, her toes curling in the grass.

"I'm honoured to be the first," Ruth whispers, brushing Stevie's hair back from her face and kissing the mess from her lips.

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The new apartment comes with a small yard space, raised beds lining the perimeter. Ruth drags Stevie around the nursery the week after they take possession, loading a small cart with a variety of seeds, bulbs, and baby plants in little card trays. They plant sunflowers in April, photographing them weekly and using a long-suffering David as a monthly height reference.

Their garden develops into something beautiful, but the view is beaten by the feeling of planning and organising the space, watching their plants change through the seasons, of putting literal roots down, and finally, gradually, building a home together.

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“This was a mistake.”

“Was it, though?” Ruth murmurs, mouthing softly down the line of Stevie’s throat.

Sure, there’s more paint on the floor than the walls, and they’re going to need to tidy up the mess around the outlets, but rolling colour onto the walls has left chaotic splatters of paint across every exposed part of Stevie’s skin. Tiny grey constellations of stars scattered across her body, masked by the outline of her shorts and tank top. Wild patterns Ruth maps with her tongue and fingertips until she’s memorised every edge of the complex universe that is Stevie’s body.

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The latest RMG acquisition, their tenth, is Ruth's favourite so far. All twenty of the rooms have been painstakingly renovated, and the pièce de résistance, the pool, is stunning in the bright summer sun.

Workplace romances have a long list of risks, Ruth knows this. But Stevie's just sent Johnny's son flailing into the pool, and the laughter exploding out of her is giddy, unrestrained, and intoxicating to watch. Her black one-piece hugs her body perfectly, her wide smile peeking out from under the brim of her sunhat.

She's beautiful, and beautiful things are the ones worth taking risks for.

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“You’re up next, you know,” David murmurs as they sway on the dancefloor. Over his shoulder Stevie can just about see Ruth being twirled around by Patrick, her hair fanning out around her as she spins.

She knows what he’s implying. She’s thought about it, occasionally, in drifting thoughts reserved for the early hours.

Alexis is stunning, flushed from champagne and newlywed bliss, pressing soft kisses to Twyla’s temple whenever they float past each other. Stevie watches Mr Rose cut in to dance with Ruth and lets herself dream, just a little.

“Maybe,” she whispers back, smiling softly. “We’ll see.”

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Ruth's smile has turned softer as the night has progressed, her touches lingering a little longer, her gaze dragging up and down Stevie's body.

Her hand brushes Stevie's as they walk back to Stevie’s hotel, once, twice, three times. Stevie gathers her courage and curls her fingers around Ruth’s on the fourth, squeezing gently and watching as Ruth ducks her head and grins.

As a kid, Stevie was told a new moon signalled new beginnings, fresh starts. It feels right, then, to kiss Ruth for the first time under an impossibly dark sky, a clean slate for her new story.

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The Roses have never struck Stevie as a tradition type of family, but this is the second time in as many years that she’s welcoming the break of dawn with them all, sitting on the steps of the café and bribing their hangovers with mountains of greasy food, watching as the sky drifts from inky black to a wash of pastels.

It’s a nice sentiment, she thinks, to watch the new dawn and let it welcome you into your first day as someone’s spouse, someone’s forever. It’ll be nice, to do that with someone she loves. With Ruth. Her forever.

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There’s snow collecting in Stevie’s hood as she whirls around the surface of the lake, creating a spray of ice every time she slides to a stop. She’s flushed from the exertion, her hair curling from damp where it’s stuffed beneath her hat. She swirls around for a final time, climbing onto the bank and planting a soft kiss against Ruth’s mouth, impossibly warm against her freezing skin.

“You’re gonna freeze to death standing here,” she murmurs, cupping Ruth’s face in her mitten-warm hands.

Ruth shrugs, leaning into the gentle touch. “Guess you’ll just have to warm me up then.”

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First it was the definitely-rigged basketball toss, then the twisty rope ladder challenge, the shooting gallery and the bottle stack. With every prize Stevie shoves into her backpack she gets a little more attracted to Ruth, and a lot more turned on.

When Ruth hits three bullseyes in a row Stevie drags her back to the car, pressing her against the driver’s door.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” she whispers, punctuating each word with a filthy kiss.

“Competence at carnival games doing it for you?”

“God,” Stevie whines, “you have absolutely no idea.”

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She can’t even remember what they were fighting about now, as if the slam of the door and the resulting silence somehow wiped her memory clean. Her thumb hovers over Ruth’s contact, locking and unlocking her phone over and over while she talks herself out of making the call.

When the line connects, she bursts instantly into tears, somehow relaying the argument through hiccups and sobs.

“Let the dust settle, give it a few hours, then call her if she doesn’t come home,” David says calmly, uncharacteristically gentle. “You love her, she loves you. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

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“Okay, the recipe says when it’s done, it’ll sound hollow when we tap the bottom.”

“What does hollow bread even sound like?” Stevie intones, holding the loaf gingerly between her hands.

“Like an echo? That’s my best guess. I’m as new to this as you are.”

Stevie holds the bread aloft while Ruth taps the bottom with her fingertips, both listening intently for the mysterious hollow sound. Ruth sticks her tongue out as she concentrates, slicing the loaf into generous farmhouse slices.

It’s doughy inside, completely underdone.

But they made it together, so it’s the best thing Stevie’s ever tasted.

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“Remind me again why I'm helping you with this?” Stevie yells, carrying yet another box from the rental truck to the cottage.

“Because you…”

She doesn’t hear David's response, distracted by her phone buzzing in her back pocket. A series of texts from Ruth pop up, and Stevie smiles despite herself, tapping out her replies.

“Okay, your face hasn’t done that since you used to look at me like that. Who’s that? In your phone?”

Stevie feels heat flood across her face. “Uh, it’s just—she’s—no-one. It’s nothing. Shut up.”

David tilts his head at her.

She’s so fucked.

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“Childhood dream job, go.”

“You’re not gonna believe me, but I wanted to own a farm.”

Stevie rolls onto her side to stare down at Ruth in disbelief.

“A farm? Seriously?”

“I grew up in the city! It was a quaint little provincial fantasy for me.”

“Well if you ever get tired of motel investorship, I can hook you up. I know a woman.”

“God, I love it when you talk country to me.”

“Shut up,” Stevie says, pulling Ruth into a dirty kiss. “You’d look so hot in a flannel, though.”

“Don’t need a farm to test that theory.”

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Stevie believes in ghosts, sure. You don’t grow up around Twyla and her specific brand of terrifyingly sincere supernatural stories and come out without some kind of belief.

Believing, in the abstract, is very different to feeling a finger trace down her neck when both of Ruth’s hands are busy far further south, hearing a whisper against her ear when Ruth’s mouth is otherwise occupied.

She carefully taps Ruth’s shoulder and waits. When she looks up, Ruth’s eyes lock immediately onto something above Stevie’s head. Stevie freezes, watching with horror as Ruth’s expression crumples, the colour draining from her face.

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Stevie’s smoked with plenty of people she’s then gone on to fuck. David was giggly, Jake was quiet and attentive. Ruth is syrupy slow and sensual, her mouth dragging down Stevie’s body at a glacial pace. Her hands are somehow everywhere and nowhere at all, and Stevie’s entire existence is thrumming with arousal, the weed emphasising every touch, every squeeze, every drag of a fingertip.

She comes close to biting through her own lip when Ruth curls two fingers inside of her, trapping her nipple gently between her teeth and tugging, ever so softly.

Stevie feels like she’s on fire.

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They’ve only been seeing each other for five months, officially, and it feels like they’ve only just cleared the hurdle of defining their relationship, of deciding whether partner or girlfriend is the better fit. It’s too soon to be thinking about the longer term, of a future, of a life spent together. Too soon.

Ruth watches Stevie’s face in the darkness, her expression of childlike wonder illuminated by the sporadic flashes of coloured light as the fireworks explode above them.

It’s far too soon to be thinking it, but Ruth could absolutely see herself falling in love with this woman.

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It’s a triple date, technically, but Twyla’s still working, even this late into the evening. The cafe’s been closed for an hour, and the six of them are eating diner food tapas style — platters of loaded sliders, fries, and nachos being passed up and down the bar. Ruth smiles fondly when Alexis and David bicker, averts her eyes when Patrick whispers something that makes David flush pink. She grips Stevie’s hand and wonders how on earth the stars aligned to let her fit so seamlessly into this family, and how long it will be before she can join it permanently.

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Ruth is eight gummy bears in when she feels something weird, spitting her mouthful into her own hand.

“Ewwww!” Stevie whines next to her, “That’s gross! What is that?”

Ruth looks down at the gummies in her palm.

“That’s my tooth,” she says, suddenly feeling like she might be a little bit sick.

Stevie gasps and stares at her, grinning. “Your tooth fell out!”

They’ve been waiting for this to happen for so long. Ruth was starting to think maybe neither of them would ever get their grown-up teeth.

“This means…” Stevie breathes out.

“The tooth fairy,” they whisper together.

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Stevie never meant to be cagey on purpose. It’s just that Ruth’s always found ways to drop her dating history into casual conversation, and Stevie just isn’t that smooth.

“It's just, it’s kinda messy, you know? And the whole thing involves way too many people that are still in my social circles.”

“I want to know,” Ruth says gently, “They were all important to you at some point in your life, and if they’re still important to you, even more reason for me to know. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here if you ever want to.”

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The moon finally settles over the sun, and Ruth looks over at Stevie, her souvenir eclipse glasses comically large on her face. She’s staring with wonder at the event happening above them, and Ruth falls a little more in love with her, pressing a soft kiss against Stevie’s temple and gripping her hand tightly.

The atmosphere surrounding them shifts as totality passes, a tiny burst of light forming the diamond ring effect Ruth has been waiting for. She presses the tiny box into Stevie’s hand and waits patiently for an answer, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

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The season shifts dramatically, the temperature dropping like the leaves that Stevie crunches though every morning when she leaves the house. The darker mornings feel cruel on work days, but a blessing when their days off align, when Stevie can curl back into the warmth of Ruth’s body and doze, the light not creeping into their bedroom until a reasonable hour.

Ruth perfects her breadmaking just in time for soup season, filling the kitchen with the smell of yeast and sweet roasted squash. It’s so terribly domestic, so wonderfully mundane, and Stevie can’t believe she gets to have it all.

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The last of their clothes are removed as the sun dips below the horizon, and Stevie sits back on her heels to admire the way the late afternoon shadows emphasise every dip and curve of Ruth’s body. She runs her palms over the soft skin of Ruth’s thighs, feeling a throb of arousal deep in her belly when Ruth’s knees drop to the bed and her hips roll up, desperately seeking Stevie’s touch.

The shifting light reminds Stevie that they have all night ahead of them, that she can take her time.

God, she can’t wait to hear Ruth beg.

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Stevie squints down at David’s almost illegible handwriting, whispering the spell to herself as she mimics the wand movements he’d taught her earlier that afternoon. It shouldn’t be this hard to charm a stupid rat, so either David’s instructions are wrong or she’s a terrible witch.

Stevie doesn’t quite understand it, but Ruth loves this little creature, and if she can extend its lifespan even a tiny amount, it will be worth the effort. She whispers, swishes, flicks, and watches as the tiny grey hairs around his face fade and his eyes brighten.

Maybe she’s not so terrible after all.

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“The idea of outer space terrified me as a kid,” Stevie says quietly, staring at the constellations projected on the roof above them.

“Aliens?”

“Nah, Aliens sounded cool. Just the vastness of it, infinity. That you could just go on forever and never know what’s ahead of you. It’s still a bit wild to me.”

“Would you ever visit space? Assuming we had the money, and it was safe, everything like that.”

Stevie takes a deep breath and stares pointedly at a shooting star glitching across the ceiling.

“I think I’d go anywhere, as long as it was with you.”

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Stevie’s never seen the ocean before. She’s been to the beach, sure, but that was a lake beach, which she’s not sure actually counts. The breeze somehow feels different, salty but clean, whipping Ruth’s hair around her head like a wild mane. Ruth links their fingers together as they walk along the shoreline, the water lapping at their feet. It’s a romantic cliché Stevie would have scoffed at before, rolled her eyes at, ruthlessly taunted David for enjoying. Now she realises all the clichés are there for a reason — when there’s someone to share them with, they’re just really...nice.

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It strikes Ruth, two hours in, that this is the last time she’ll share this drive with Stevie. She’s lost count of the trips back and forth from Toronto, the back seat piled high with their stuff every Christmas, Spring Break, and Summer, licorice in the glove compartment and their shared spotify playlist blasting through the crappy car speakers. Everyone told them a high school romance would never survive university, that they’d grow out of each other as they grew into adulthood.

Loving Stevie feels like a victory in itself, but it’s still satisfying to prove so many people wrong.

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Ruth’s forgotten what set them off, what particular turn of phrase triggered Stevie’s now uncontrollable fits of giggles. She tries to continue kissing Stevie through it, pinning her to the mattress and smiling into each messy kiss she attempts, but it’s a lost cause. Stevie’s eyes are watering, her stomach quivering as she hiccups and pulls Ruth into another wet, badly aimed smooch.

Ruth’s never smiled this much in bed, never unselfconsciously giggled her way through makeouts and foreplay and sex quite as often as she does with Stevie. The old Ruth had absolutely no idea what she was missing.

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It felt like a dumb idea when she first suggested it, but after watching Ruth roll a pair of forest green tights up and over her thighs, Stevie’s willing to admit she might have been mistaken. They’re wearing identical costumes, Stevie’s entirely black ensemble mirroring Ruth’s mix of green and brown, feathered caps atop both their heads.

Stevie watches Ruth adjust her tunic and pulls out her phone.

“Who are you texting?”

“David, telling him we’re gonna be late to his stupid party.”

“I’m nearly done, we should be okay?”

“Nope,” Stevie murmurs, “We are definitely going to be late.”

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“You look fucking beautiful,” Ruth murmurs against her new wife’s cheek as they sway together gently. Over Stevie’s shoulder the sun is finally setting, casting long, deep shadows across the makeshift dancefloor. It only seemed right, after everything it had given them, to quietly recite their vows under canvas and string lights behind the original Rosebud.

“I still can’t believe you asked me to do this,” Stevie whispers.

“I still can’t believe you said yes.”

They pull apart to stare at their rings, hands linked gently.

“Guess you’re stuck with me forever now.”

Ruth grins softly, “I guess I am.”