between one and three words

Notes: approx 2k words of an extremely fluffy and over the top story where Magnus tries to find a nickname / appropriate term of endearment for Alec.  Magnus never looks through his mail. “It’s all mundane trash,” he says. “Everyone in the building gets it. If someone actually wants to send me something, there are much easier ways of getting it to me than sending it through the American postal system. Even bills get sent directly to my email now!” 

This leaves it up to Alec to rifle through the fliers, sales papers, and community notices that get delivered to the apartment over the course of the week.

“Oh, this sounds nice,” says Alec one morning over breakfast. “There’s a harvest festival happening in Westchester in a couple weeks. You interested?”

“When is it?”

“Second weekend in October,” reads Alec off the notice. “Featuring mazes, a farmer’s market, hay rides, and over a hundred local vendors.”

The more details Alec learns about this, the more charmed he is and even before Magnus nods, Alec can tell by the pleased look on his face that Magnus is in. It’s the kind of thing Magnus clearly loves even though he always feels the need to qualify that enjoyment by contrasting it with the other, grander experiences he’s had. 

As if on cue, Magnus says, “Sounds like a plan, pumpkin. It’s not quite the Tết Trung Thu, but what is?”

The, “Great, I’ll put that on the calendar,” that’s at the tip of Alec’s tongue is abruptly cut off, replaced instead with a confused, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you just say?”

Magnus looks as though he has no idea what Alec’s talking about. But Magnus is also a master conman, so Alec’s calling bullshit. “I said we should go?”

Notes: approximately 3k words of Alec turning 30, and Magnus giving him an absolutely bonkers gift because hey, the love of his life conquering an entire decade deserves nothing less. 

When Alec turned twenty-six, Magnus had taken him to Amsterdam for a weekend of debauchery that took Alec all of the subsequent week to recover from. Every time Magnus had thought that maybe he should pull the plug on it, another round of tequila shots appeared out of nowhere and Alec would take immense pleasure in pressing a wet, decadent kiss to Magnus’ wrist before dashing it with salt. The way Magnus’ blood lit on fire each time had been animalistic. Being married to Alec hadn’t lessened how much Magnus wanted to do terrible things to him, but being pressed together by a crush of tourists and locals under the pulsing lights – it was something else. Alec had been something else when they’d finally stumbled back to their hotel room. Magnus almost can’t believe those two days even happened, the whole thing seemingly from a particularly lush, depraved fantasy someone pulled from Magnus’ mind and made into reality.

But that was when Alec was twenty-six. When they were newly settling into Alicante, settling into their new jobs, and consciously settling into this shared life with each other.

At thirty, things are very, very different.