#'but all the housing stock in my area is old!!! I had no choice!!!' the housing stock in your area CANNOT be entirely untouched Victorians

[marzipanandminutiae]

"selling gorgeous Victorian fireplace mantle!"

that house had better have been literally falling down around it or gutted a long time ago, or I'm filling your shoes with thumbtacks in the night

[evilfloralfoolery]

Daggers and Deception - Part I

Being shot is a real pain in the ass, especially if you're coming down with a cold. And that's exactly what's happening to this perpetually surly mercenary who has been forced into seclusion while he recovers.

But he's not the only one stuck in the middle of What Kind of Fresh Country Fuck Hell Nowhere. Someone is in the apartment next to his. Someone who knows something he shouldn't . . . and is obviously allergic to air.

Neither man is what they seem to be.

____________________________________________

The driveway is as long as a damn subdivision block, but the house at the end of it sure as hell isn't like his place.  Tall and shaded by trees, the rambling, archaic property sits by itself with no neighbors, no sidewalks.  No nothing.

When the boss said "the middle of nowhere," he wasn't even kidding.  

Goddamn it.

"Let me carry that."

Max's gruff voice at his side.  Not an offer, really.  More like he was going to do it and there wasn't room for discussion.  Typical.

Grimm grunts.  "Yeah. Whatever."  

Not like he can't manage with his good arm.  But Max isn't having any of his shit today, or any other day, for that matter.

"You're upstairs on the right," Max says as he falls into step beside Grimm, bag in hand.  "I tried to get you space on the first floor, but they're remodeling the--"

"It's fine," Grimm interrupts.  "It ain't my leg that's broken."

Max hefts the bag over his shoulder and fishes through his pocket for a key.  "You're still going to take it easy. Behave yourself or I'll see to it that we extend your stay."  He flicks icy blue eyes to Grimm.  "I mean it, Amadis."  

Oooo, resorting to surnames. So fucking terrifying.

"Yeah, yeah."  Grimm waves his good hand in a dismissive gesture.  

Not like he has a choice.  Couldn't be out in the field with a busted shoulder, much less with his arm in a sling.  The wound had been clean enough not to fuck up anything permanently.  He hopes.  At least, that was the line the doctors had fed him.  But damn, there had been a lot of blood. Lucky as hell that the bullet hadn't ripped through both sides of his body.

If one could call that a silver fucking lining.

He follows Max up the questionable facade of a staircase, the wooden slats complaining beneath his footfalls with every step.

Definitely a death trap in the making. 

"How old is this place?"

Max glances over his shoulder.  "Old."  

Grimm rolls his eyes.  

By the time they reach the third story, sweat has begun a steady trickle down the back of Grimm's neck, the small amount of physical exertion taking an unpleasant toll.  Which is stupid.  And annoying.  Fuck, the stab wound across his chest hadn't hurt as badly as this.

Max sets the bag down in front of a door that looks like it might cave in if Grimm breathes wrong and holds up a set of keys.

"The black one is the front door.  Silver is your room.  You've got a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, all of it.  We'll have groceries delivered to you once a week, but if you need anything, call Rex.  He'll make sure you get it."

"And if I wanna leave?"  

Max levels his stare at him.  "You won't."  

Hmn.  Grimm hooks a loose strand of his dark hair behind one ear as Max finagles the keyhole and convinces the door to open, carting his bag inside and dropping it in the middle of the living room area. 

"Fridge and cabinets are stocked.  Clean sheets on the bed.  Towels in the bathroom.  There's a curator on the property who takes care of all that, so she'll be by to check on you now and then. She's also a nurse and she'll help you with dressing that wound and repacking it.  Be nice to her."  

Grimm rakes a hand through his hair with sniffle.  "I'm nice, dammit."

"Uh huh."  

Max reaches into his pocket and produces a bottle with a white label.  "Take these."

Grimm eyes the label with a look of marked disdain.  Opioids. Not a fucking chance. "You know I'm not taking that shit."

 Max shoves the bottle at him.  "Take it anyway."  

He sets the bottle on the nearest piece of furniture and folds his good arm across his chest.  Too bad the damn sling ruins the effect.

"I'll be in touch," Max says.  "Rest, Grimm."

Like he has a choice. 

"I can't believe you're making me do this country isolation bullshit."  

Max's expression doesn't waver. "Believe it."  He pats Grimm's shoulder with one hand.  "And change your shirt.  You're about to drip sweat all over this ugly-as-hell rug."  

Mother. Fucker.

 "Smartass," Grimm says.

Max cracks a hint of smile. "Take care of that cold, too."

Grimm narrows his eyes. "What cold?"

Max doesn't respond, but takes off instead, leaving Grimm standing in the middle of his new quarters with a whole lot of silence and weird-ass furniture.  Floral couch with a high back and wooden feet.  A carved, pockmarked end table with wooden feet.  Mismatched coffee table with some kind of folded flaps on the side.  With wooden feet.  

"Somebody got a damn foot fetish around here or what?" Grimm mutters to no one in particular.  

Max is wrong about the "cold," but is right about his shirt.  A combination of a bumpy ride and a short stair climb has him sweating bullets.  He hefts the bag onto the couch and paws through it until he finds a black tank top.  A hell of a lot easier to manage than a T-shirt.  At least his target had the decency to shoot him on his non-dominant side.

He slips the sling over his head and pulls his arm out of the thing, grabs the back of his T-shirt with his good hand . . . and hisses with a wince.  

Fuck, fuck, fucking FUCK.

A deep breath.  A struggle.  The material peels its way from his damp skin with far too much effort, leaving him sweating and panting as if he's run a good ten miles without a break.  A shock of cold travels down his spine and he fights against a sudden wave of nausea that forces him to take a seat on the floral fuckery of a couch.

The bottle sits on the coffee table.  Beckoning.  Mocking. He flips it the middle finger and tosses the tank top back into the bag.  Fuck this whole shirt-wearing shit.

After securing his arm in the sling once more, he meanders into the kitchen, takes a quick inventory of the food.  

Chicken, veggies, some ground beef . . .and an entire shelf of instant ramen.  The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.  Max knows him too well.

Not to mention, it's easy as hell to make with one arm.  A few minutes of boiling water, some frozen stir fry veg, and a little soak later, dinner is served.  Grimm sits at the table, palms a pair of chopsticks, and settles in.  

From the stairwell comes the sound of footsteps, a jingle of keys, and the protesting creak of a door.  A rustle of bags.  Footfalls on aging hardwood.  

Grimm tilts his head.  Max had mentioned the house was sectioned into apartments, but he hadn't mentioned other visitors.  Who else even knew about this place, anyway?  It's not like it was on the map. 

And man, are the walls thin as hell.

Pretty much every move his neighbor makes is audible from dropping the keys on the table to moving into the kitchen to put away whatever it is that they're carrying.  Or maybe Grimm's hearing is just too finely tuned for his own damn good.  Not like it didn't come with the job.  

It is not until his neighbor retires to the back of the apartment that Grimm stops being able to hear him walking and moving around.  The soft tinkle of piano keys wafts from the other side of the wall in place of movement, a wistful and almost sad melody.  Was it being played or just listened to?  Not like Grimm knows enough about music to tell.  Still, whatever it might be is oddly soothing and he finishes his "dinner" and drags himself to the bedroom for a rest.  Or maybe just some tossing around and growling.

At least the bed is enormous and inviting enough, all carved with huge spiraling posts and some kind of bars connecting them.  Maybe for a canopy or something at one time.  But whatever, all he cares about is if the mattress is comfortable.  He eases himself onto the duvet and sprawls out as much as his damn shoulder will allow.  The sling isn't exactly comfortable, but he makes do with it via a few propped up pillows and little bit of shifting around.

His eyes drift shut, the whir of the fan a comfortable, lulling nuance that nearly drags him into sleep immediately.  Or at least until the abrupt sound of a sneeze from the other side of the wall snaps him out of it.  A bitingly sharp “EKSSCH!”  And another.  And another.

“EKSSCH! EKCHISSH!”

Well, damn.

A fourth follows less than a minute later and Grimm tilts his head back, eying the wall with a raise of one eyebrow.  

He raps his knuckles on the aging sheetrock.

“Hey,” he says. “You dying or what?”

Silence. Guess the guy didn't realize he had a neighbor, either.

“Yes,” comes the curt response after some time.

Grimm chuckles. Obviously male.  Deep voice, but not as deep as his rumbling bass. Some kind of posh-ass accent, too.  

“-iihEKSSH-uuuh!”

An irritated frustration of a sound that is clearly a “stop this shit right the fuck now!” level of annoyance.

“Bless you,” Grimm says, more out of amusement than anything else.

A pause he can almost feel follows before a quiet "thank you" is issued from the other side of the wall.   

His neighbor opens and closes a drawer or two and wanders back to the other side of the house, accompanied by a few more sneezes and what sounds like a well-placed curse at one point.  

That gets another round of chuckling.

Somewhere from inside the apartment, the piano music resumes and Grimm is now certain it is, in fact, not a recording.  The man is definitely playing whatever it is himself.  With a sigh, Grimm closes his eyes again. Maybe the guy will keep playing long enough for him to ignore his throbbing shoulder and pass the fuck out.  

The fan whirs, the plaintive strands of whatever the guy is playing a nice counterpoint to the white noise.  Grimm takes a deep breath. Exhales.  Repeats.  Sweat beads his brow, threatening to trickle into his ear and the ramen feels like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.  A hint of a groan escapes him.  The first few days are always the worst with a wound like this.  It'll pass.  Eventually. 

(TBC . . .maybe)

[nocturnesmoon]

I have thoughts spurring around in my head like feral cats chasing a bouncy ball, and I'm making it everyone's problem.

What if we take the world of star wars, and smash you and the 141 into it.

There are so many different combinations and turns this could take, but what I'm thinking about is the 141, ex-military turned smugglers, and you a Jedi in hiding after order 66.

The clone wars have finally come to its brutal end, and the empire has taken over the known galaxy. The Jedi have been portrayed as traitors and have been promptly executed, and the rest forced into hiding.

It looks bleak for anyone still holding onto the hope of the republic, anyone not willing to adapt to the new world gets destroyed right along with the old.

The 141 being forcefully retired, not that they minded at this point they knew it was a losing fight. With their options limited, and not keen to do the empire's bidding, or anyone's bidding ever again, they chose the obvious choice, to run.

It wasn't the ideal outcome, but with a timer on their lives, and conflicted opinions, Price took charge of the group. He knew that right now survival was the only thing that mattered, that his men would still live to see another day.

The year of acclimating to their new life was rough, they were used to sticking together but they also normally had more direction than this. Being wanted in any area governed by the empire limited a lot of work options for them.

It quite honestly didn't take long before Price resorted to less moral means, it was how their career as smugglers started.

With Gaz's excellent piloting skills, Soap's weaponry and science knowledge, Ghost's brute strength and intimating demeanor, and Price's own smooth tongue and connections, it was the most optimal choice.

And much to the their own surprise, they're pretty damn good at it.

They make good money smuggling a lot of different things across the galaxy, food, weapons, illegal goods. They take almost any job they can get in the start; they don't have time to be picky just yet, they need the credits more than good morals.

Their wanted status is likely to never get alleviated, but they combat it by never settling in one place too long. They prioritize the credits they have and get a ship big enough for both their job and to house the four of them. They're already used to being close, while this is a step further it's nothing any one of them has anything against.

They all agreed that they would stay together, they started this together and they'll end it together.

A few years in they have gotten quite the reputation for themselves, at least among other known smugglers and wanted criminals. They get bigger job opportunities, higher pay, more risk.

The bond they forge between each other is something none of them could explain, but they embrace its qualities, it's comfort and pleasure.

Some things are better to just leave unexplained and enjoy while they last. The only thing they have is each other, and they've grown quite content with that.

That was until something unexpected crash landed into their lives.

Docked at some lesser-known planet in system of farmers, they had originally planned to stop there for a few days to stock up on supplies and look for less likely work opportunities. Farmers sometimes had some strange inquiries they were quite content spending massive amounts of the little credits they have.

It was a peaceful little community, none the wiser to the person hiding amongst them. You, a Jedi who somehow survived the purge of order 66, posing as mechanic. Outside of your Jedi teachings, you had clear proficiency in anything creating and fixing.

It had been the perfect cover during the last year, who would suspect that the innocent mechanic trying to get by would harbor such a grave secret. That the kind person living in the rundown house, would be so full of survivors’ guilt that it was nothing short of a miracle they were still going.

It had roughly been 2 years since order 66, 2 years since you had survived and fled, 2 years on the run from the empire and the usual calm feeling of the force now gone.

Images still fresh on your brain despite the time, of your master, of your friends, those you'd considered your family dying from blasters that once aided them.

Every time you reached out through the force it was now hollow, the echo going into your brain and body, reminding you of the terrifying fact that you were truly alone.

You had no idea why you survived out of everyone, not even a fully trained Jedi, a mere Padawan with few accomplishments to their name. You shouldn't have survived that, someone better should be here in your place, yet no matter how much you think those thoughts, you can't change the reality.

The small farmer planet had been a good hiding spot for quite a while, you even dared to make a few friends during your stay. Despite it being less of a good idea you still kept your blade, the kyber crystal within being the only thing giving you comfort in your grief. Though you hadn't expected to ever need it again, especially not this soon.

Never had you expected that the empire would set their sights here, nor had you expected your methods of hiding had actually been that horrible. It didn't take them longer than a few days ‘til the people you thought friends practically turned you in.

You couldn't find it in your heart to blame them, the empire had very convincing methods, yet it still meant you were forced into a run for your life.

When the 141 had set their sights on this planet they hadn't expected the empire to already be here when they arrived. Price had insisted that the planet was still free, and he was right, a week ago.

They remained inconspicuous, did their shopping, and didn't snoop around too long. There was no need to get the empire hot on their tails once again.

When Ghost and Gaz went into the market, they intended on staying out of trouble, and technically they weren't the ones roped into it.

When they first spotted you, running from a few storm troopers, lightsaber blade raised, they nearly didn't believe their own eyes. All the Jedi were supposed to be dead, yet here you were, a sight to behold.

Nothing about their next actions were ruled by logic, if you ask them later about what they were thinking they couldn't tell you, because the only thing that was a priority now was to help you.

Perhaps it was some sort of obligation, maybe a sliver of hope for something better, or maybe it was just something about you that tugged at them, making them want to protect and help you.

Backed into a cornered alley, almost having lost your pursuers you felt the new threat loom behind you. A technique that was familiar in ways you couldn't explain, and too fast for you to register and counter. You were knocked out cold, and the next time you woke you were on a spaceship in space.

To say that Price was furious with the two was an understatement, they had more or less kidnapped someone unprompted. While Soap found the situation hilarious, he also had a feeling there was way more to this, and a possible danger they could've avoided.

When you wake it's Price that greets you, making sure to establish himself to not be a threat to you, so you didn't do anything drastic. You were on edge, understandably so, but he managed to explain the situation while also avoiding the main topic at hand.

You knew it would come up, he was toying with your lightsaber in his hands while you talked, and no matter how much you stared it down you didn't dare lunge for it yet. The dreaded question, and the answer that people had such varying reactions to.

"You're Jedi?"

You had expected something else when you confirmed to him what you were, what you've been since you could remember. A part of you had expected them to be bounty hunters, ready to turn you over to the empire at a moment’s notice. The reward on your head would be great, you imagine, yet that's not what he does.

He reminisces instead, telling you of a Jedi he once knew, of how he and his men had fought alongside a few of them on special occasions. Never had you imagine that this is where you would end up, in the metaphorical arms of people who could care maybe just a little.

He gave you an offer, they could drop you off at whatever location you requested, or they could work a sort of partnership.

You don't know what to make of it at first. They seem genuine, but people have ratted you out for less. You don't have a lot of options, going somewhere else and trying to find another inconspicuous farming planet wasn't the most viable choice, but neither was bunking with them. Who knew what kind of people they were.

Your chances were not the best, and unfortunately you had a sneaking suspicion they knew that. Whether their intentions were noble or just pity, you decided to take the risk and stay. If it all came crashing down, you'd still have your training, it had gotten you this far, it could get you further.

The first few days you stayed with them was tense, they were all in agreement on keeping you, there was nothing hostile about it, but it was still tense. It was partially your own doing, you walked on eggshells around them, never letting any of them behind you, etc. etc.

They understood to an extent, the way they met you wasn't exactly on the best of terms, it was natural for you to be cautious. So, they let you have your space, they don't pressure you into anything but do try to coax you into a more comfortable environment with them.

The crack starts to form when you see them all gathered in the main area of the ship, laughing, talking, playing a game you're unfamiliar with. Soap is the first to notice you staring, with a big grin on his face he invites you to join them. Hesitant but interested you approach.

Price explains the rules to you, and you get to watch for a round or two before you join in on your own. They go easy on you but you're a quick learner, and it doesn't take long before you become quite vicious in your play.

It becomes a common thing, almost nightly that they all gather to spend time together. The bond between each other grows fast, and it's not long before you start feeling like this is exactly where you're meant to be.

Settling in with them becomes easier and easier, as if they had always waited for another person to welcome in with them. To fill a missing part, they didn't know they needed.

While keeping the secret of what you are is the topmost priority, you end up helping them out on jobs. Due to your training you're very adaptable, able to fill any position where something was missing.

You were an excellent mechanic when the ship was down, and with Gaz's magic touch it halved the time it usually took to repair.

Soap had a really fun time explaining a bunch of different things about weaponry and the science behind it. There had been a lot of different questions you had in the clone wars that was left unanswered, you could finally have someone enthusiastic that could explain them to you.

A lot of long rides were spent like that, of you asking him questions and then more questions because the math he talked about in the first question was confusing.

Even though you were just a Padawan back then, you still had made your fair share of connections during the clone wars. People that you and your old master had come across, and old friends outside of the Jedi order.

Price found it very useful, and though most of the connections you had were friendship and not business, it could still be used as such. A few of them he even helped rekindle, you've been grateful for that ever since.

Though the Jedi order is no more you still try to keep up with your training. You have no guidance any longer, nothing new to look at, but you can maintain what you know.

The others are happy to help you with it as well, they know it's important to you and a part of them have always found it fascinating how you train.

Occasionally you'd have them all surround you in a circle, setting their blasters to stun and randomly shooting at you. It helped sharpening your senses, helped you rely on the force to guide your hand, and to deflect more accurately.

You'd do a lot of training with Ghost that wasn't necessarily Jedi training. While you did a lot of mental training on your own, the physical part was something Ghost had a lot of enjoyment in helping you with.

Sparring, running, lifting, anything he could think of that would help you, he did, and it quickly became thing for you two to train together.

It wasn't anything you had expected with them, not in a million years would you have imagined ending up here. It was a thing you couldn't predict, but neither was order 66.

Nobody you knew had been able to foresee the collapse of the Jedi order. Some things were just left up to chance, and currently here with the 141, you liked your odds.

I just finished reading the book project hail mary, and not too long ago i reread the Ahsoka book. So safe to say i've been in a bit of a space mood, still am.

And what better way to utilize that, than combine my hyperfixation on the 141 and my special interest star wars hehe.

[edoro]

First library book of the year: Old Country, by Matt and Harrison Query

Genre: horror

Summary: Sasha and Harry, a young married couple, finally buy the house of their dreams in a remote valley near the Tetons... only to find out that their land is inhabited by a spirit. Guided by their elderly neighbors, they deal with each seasonal manifestation of the spirit and their own feelings about it.

Rating: eh... maybe 2/5?

I picked this one up bc it said it was based on a Reddit story, so I figured it'd either be good (I've been known to enjoy a Reddit creepypasta) or entertainingly bad; it was neither. My overall feeling about it is a solid Meh.

The writing and characters were aggressively bland and all felt like stock archetypes. The closest thing any of them had to a personality was Harry's constant aggression, which hit a hilarious yet disturbing high when Sasha uneasily recalled the time he spiked a raccoon into the gutter so hard it died because it startled her. Technically, this is a meaningful character flaw that first leads him to taunt the spirit, earning its wrath and getting his friendly old man neighbor killed, which he then overcomes at the end in order to banish the spirit. But it's just so boring.

The whole seasonal ritual thing sounds very much like it was lifted from a half-assed Reddit post that worked better as a pseudo-listicle and not at all as a full length novel. "When you see a light in the pond in spring, light a fire; when you see a bear chase a naked man in summer, don't let him get you" and so on. There's an attempt at making these moments feel tense and scary but it mostly comes in the form of the characters saying "this is SO tense and scary" in their narration.

Every chapter seems to largely consist of a montage of Harry and Sasha being happy with their haunted property. In the hands of a better writer, this could have worked as a jarring contrast to the sudden intrusion of the spookiness, but instead it just undercuts any horror or tension.

The two of them constantly keep secrets from each other, then get upset with each other and agree - in tedious conversations that bear only a passing resemblance to human speech - to stop keeping secrets, then keep more secrets. This never has any meaningful impact on the plot or their relationship.

They find out that if they try to leave, they'll be killed by the spirit, and agree that it would be unethical to have a child there because the child would be stuck without a choice. Then Sasha finds out she's pregnant after randomly puking one (1) time in the morning and decides to keep the kid and find a way to defeat the spirit.

They have a Shoshone neighbor named Joe whose family has dealt with the spirit for a long time, from whom all the info about it comes (secondhand, because they don't meet him until the last 3rd or 4th of the book.) Somehow in the thousands of years his people have lived in the area and alongside this spirit, none of them figured out that the key to defeating the spirit was radical acceptance of its winter manifestation, which is being haunted by the ghosts of whoever you've killed in a really incredibly lame ghost movie way. Luckily for him, these white people figure it out because Sasha is just so loving and accepting of her traumatized veteran husband and also wants to have his baby SO bad.

It feels like any one of the dozens of highly forgettable Netflix horror movies I've watched while barely sentient. Would not recommend but isn't even bad enough to enjoyably roast.

[timaeuslover001]

"exposing the fashion industry: what true transparency & sustainability looks like"

Greed is old as time and the foundation of why kings and leaders colonized areas in history, to exploit the land and the people in it for money.

But Ever sine the Industrial Revolution, We have lost skilled crafts man and women had that was cultivated information from generations past . That ,yes, took longer, but were well made, natural made fibers and that gave these expel the power and ability to determine their own quality of living and snot an employer giving them no pay, no money and no time.

I I heard the from somewhere all the Industrial Revolution was is the slaves left the plantation's and moved into factories. Which is scarily true, all people men, women, boys and girls were exploited and inhumanely treated in those factories and it was another planation made of steam, oil and steel.

but the model itself of mass production IS unsustainable and evil in itself . it resets no man, woman, child or nature.

working in retail ,for ten years now , i've worked in various places and its all the same story, a 52-week long story of constant opening boxes, taking down product replace it again. I worked at J. crew that ahd a new collection on the shelves every week, which I now now in the fashion industry is very normal.🤯🤯

The way the slaves moved up and down rows of farm land breaking their backs is the same way , I move at those jobs, on my feel ALL day and i'm YOUNG and it was miserable so you can imagine how the older employees feel, killing themselves to meet demands of the store.

During the Victoria era was when Department stores was invented, and shop girls job was created, the same time the industrial revolution was created. and the same thing they suffered, retail workers suffer til this day.

Those same department store that constantly shipped in and out, fabric, goods, bobbles and notions, put those same drapers and tailors out of business because they can't compete with the work.

so we need to protect our CHOICE OF QUALITY OF LIFE we can sustain by our own merit through what WE want to do , not that someone else wants us to do for them for much less respect and pay and realize more does not man better. We don't need to have 50 stores around the word to be wealthy , and nor do those BRANDS.

Because they can't even maintain the stores themselves, so many stores i've worked inhere they are not ONLY understaffed but they are not are NOT clean, nor cleaned routinely , not well stocked with supplies. so that tells me that even those BILION DOLLR business can't even (or don't want to) even AFFORD their own

so we need to REDO HOW WE DO LIFE in this country! and the west and the WORLD at large, because this system benefits NO ONE. Not humanity or nature.

as people were costly being told by employers and other to "curb our desires" and "want less things" but we shouldn't, I what a house, a dog , a BUG LAWN, BACKYARD, garden, a treehouse, a car, a vegetable garden AND flower garden, Pigs, goats and emus and vacations twice a year, Roadtrips, Ski trips.

why?

because I WANT IT. those are MY dreams and I don't need anyone permission to dream or to realize those dreams and I won't exploit a singe soul to do it.

✨✨solution✨✨: Business shouldn't extend beyond their county ,that includes production as well. The point is to serve your community and use the community, not exploit people world wide. Say you want to be a grocer, grocers back in the day didn't have farms they had grocers deliver t them by local farmers, this is a GREAT way to support eachother. you can maintain your business in high quality standards. It provides transparency in the business and we can see how your business is being operated and produce. Our country has laws and standards of ethical business standards for the workers and products and we PENALIZE people who break the laws.

I'm not anti technology but it definitely had breeched an appropriate and comfortable boundaries that has now tripled us mentally and socially of important life skills. Like Learned laundering clothes was a whole skill thaw as not easy or simple and was a craft that many people had developed over the years o care of fabric but also the disciple to deal with it, GOD BLES THE WASHING MACHINE and I wouldn't remove it for the world, the revolution simplified and eased up ALOT of tasks but self check out, touch screen refrigerators, google maps, (yes,i need to learn how to read signs and learn direction l too) lol technology has now implemented itself Ito an invasive degree and NOT BY OUR CHOICE EITHER, its forced upon us without our permission and its too much and not helpful. So now we can now have a deep conversation about technology and what we REALLY want our society to look like and what we do and do not want.

But that requires us to ask for the people to want the People, Legislative, and Judicial balance our founders CREATED our government to operate.

All of business practices are to "maintain bottom line" and they don't care what or who they have to cut to keep it. Now don't get on the sustainable brands, they only do it because they have to pay bills to live, but i'm sure they are sleeping MUCH better knowing someone isn't suffering to make their products. and that ho we should all live , like we can sleep knowing were not hurting anyone for beauty or food or anything!

All in all we can take a page from our American Indian brothers and sisters and the community they existed in before greed destroyed their livelihood. We need to stop seeing our actions as only self affecting and how it affects others around us. Not just the factory workers but the Shipment workers, the retail workers and the average American shopper.

[crmsnmth-journal]

5/1/2024 10:39 PM

Today was a good…No. Today was a great day. I don't know if it's just because I finally feel back to normal. No more stomach cramps and gurgling, no more running to the bathroom. I feel like a million bucks. Still. Today was a great day.

I woke up to an empty house with four hours before I had to go into work by noon. I showered, had my morning coffee and cigarette out on the porch. And then I pulled out my guitar and literally just jammed until it was time to go. I haven't done that for a long time. I used to play every day for at least an hour, but the motovation for it kind of fades away after awhile. I wish my dad and I would've gotten to actually play together. We always talked about it when I would visit, but it just never came to fruition. I guess, in a way, we're playing together now.

I got to work at noon, and had plenty of time to clean out a freezer and reset it, do both of the fryers (boiling them out and then cleaning them.) By the time open came at 4, we were well stocked and ready to go.

Sherry was actually a lot of fun tonight. I'm wondering if it had to do with my music choice. Usually, I just play my main Spotify list (Songs You Should Know) but tonight I played some Rock Hits of the 60s through the 90s. For some reason, Sherry seemed like the old version of herself. I'm curious if that's what it is. I mean, my playlist is extremely eccentric. I've got a very wide and varied taste when it comes to music, but I'm also an absolute snob when it comes to music. There's everything from Dying Fetus to Katy Perry to Eminem to Veggietales songs. A bit of everything. And a lot of the time, it stays in the punk area, usually folk punk. I don't think Sherry likes my music all that much. And she'd never say anything if that were true. It's just not in her nature. Work absolutely flew by once we got going. I swear I looked at the clock at 5:35 and the next it was after eight. It's been a long time since that happened. Usually, it drags on, and even more so lately with all my groaning and whining.

And now I'm home. I took my meds. Showered to get the grease off of me. And Bob's Burgers is my background noise. Kind of a stupid show, but every once in awhile they get a good laugh from me. I just can't get over how great today was. I think I needed that. A good day. I've been so stressed and angry lately, what with work and the attempts at moving the hell out of my mom's house and the hospital and everything. It was all getting to be too much. So I guess the universe is throwing me a bone.

[umichenginabroad]

Finding my Paris routine

My summer routine back home typically consists of waking up around 10 a.m., the occasional coffee or Target run, heading to work, and watching Criminal Minds before bed (very eventful, I know). Coming to Paris, I knew my routine would not nearly be the same. Upon arrival it was essential I find my Paris routine.

One fairly smooth plane ride later, my friends (who had been on the same flight) and I were transported to local housing, where we faced the looming challenge of discovering how we were going to live for the next 6 weeks. The three of us were housed in studios, one friend in a single and the other friend and I in a double, one of the options included in the program fee. After a few days I will say that I highly recommend the studio—it is relatively spacious and comes with nearly everything one could need: 2 beds, 2 desks, a closet, a kitchenette, and our own bathroom. The only stipulation is that you must provide your own food, which I don’t mind because I feel it contributes to the experience of ‘living as a local,’ per se.

It therefore follows that the first part of the routine we had to establish upon arrival was our weekly shopping trips. Our studio being in the 20th arrondissement, the easternmost district of Paris quite some distance from its most ‘touristy’ areas, our local supermarché Franprix made a quick and reasonably priced choice for our first shopping trip. Now that we’ve stocked up on all the essentials—pasta, bread, eggs, cheese, fruits, and veggies—cooking for one another has become a fun way to avoid the costs of constantly eating out.

It was not until the start of class two days upon arrival that we truly began to establish a daily routine. For myself and both friends, Calculus 3 from 12:30-2:30 p.m. forced us to begin to structure our days into the ‘time before’ and the ‘time after’ class. Additionally, with classes housed at our partner program’s academic building an approximately 45-minute (walk + metro) trip from our studio, we had little to no choice but to invest in a metro pass to make this commute feasible. The cheapest and simplest option for the number of weeks it would be in use ended up being the monthly pass, which has already provided for plenty of exploring during our free time.

The ‘time before’ class has now begun to consist of quick café or boulangerie stops during the walking part of our journey, a little pick-me-up before the two hours of math to follow. The ‘time after’ has been filled with larger and lengthier trips: museums, sightseeing, you name it!

Here are a couple of my favorite stops from this week:

-Starbucks Opéra, the first Parisian Starbucks, housed in a beautiful building over 3 centuries old!

-Le Centre Pompidou, Paris’ one-of-a-kind modern art museum

-Le Petit Prince store, filled with all sorts of souvenirs inspired by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s most famous book

-And of course, La Tour Eiffel!!!

My first weekend in Paris allowed for a bit of break from routine and for more free time to simply do, well, whatever we wanted! As for my friends and I, this was enjoying a restful Saturday followed by a busy Sunday enjoying the beautiful weather and city.

Some weekend highlights:

-Brunch (and the cutest cappuccino) at Sunday in Soho, located in Paris’ 2nd arrondissement

-Visit to le Jardin des Tuileries and le Jardin du Luxembourg (weather was PERFECT for this!)

-Dior Galerie, providing a fantastic look into the history of one of the city’s most famous designers

Despite having left some room for spontaneity, having established somewhat of a routine over the course of my first week in Paris has helped me to feel at ease during my transition to life in another country and all the more eager to take on what is to come. I cannot wait to share the rest of my adventures with you!

À tout !!!

Hannah Bernardi

First-year Engineering

Engineering in Paris, France

[walkingdeadliv]

Liv knew that it must have seemed odd as hell when she turned down coffee of all things; before the world went to hell, she had frequently stated that her veins were filled with coffee instead of blood. She had lived off of the substance to keep herself awake and able to take care of her siblings, working several jobs to make sure that everyone was taken care of. But when Shep had asked her if she wanted anything to drink, her knee-jerk reaction had been 'absolutely not'; she'd survived for years without him, she didn't need anything from him now. And then she'd remembered the truth. The truth that he hadn't just abandoned them, at least not by choice. From what he had said, he'd tried like hell to get back to them. She believed him, she did, but she could also tell there was something underneath the surface. Something he wasn't saying. Her mind was going back and forth on whether she just couldn't read him anymore - after all, she knew this new world had certainly changed her - or whether the man really was hiding something. Either way, it made her hesitant to trust him. But she had to try.

So she asked for beer instead of coffee; she didn't know if she wanted to accept anything from him when he offered it, but at least if she asked for something and he gave it to her that was a little different. In her mind, at least. She laughed a bit as he told her not to tell anyone about his stash, shaking her head at the idea. "Definitely won't, I promise," she commented with a smirk as she followed him towards the kitchen area. "I can't say I'm surprised about the beer, there's a surprisingly large amount of it here, I think Daryl and Eugene are working on trying to make their own," she mused with a roll of her eyes. "But where on Earth did you get coffee?" she asked with a raised brow and a smirk, slowly moving around the area to examine his kitchen.

As he offered her the house in a joking manner, she stopped looking at one of the stock-photos on the wall and spun on her heels to turn her attention to him as an almost angry expression crossed her features. Did he think giving her a house would make up for everything she'd gone through the last few years, even if he wasn't truly at fault for it? "What?" she asked, fixing a piercing gaze on him; she knew that he had probably meant it as a joke, but she also knew him better than that. "Don't be stupid," she snapped, a hint of annoyance in her voice; she probably sounded like her old self for the first time in a long while. She had never been afraid to speak honestly with him. "This is a nice place. You deserve to be somewhere nice," she sighed, the annoyance leaving her voice as she spoke. "I wasn't saying I hated my place," she commented as she stepped forward and accepted the beer, moving to sit on one of the step stools on the other side of the island. "It's a great house, and Anya loves it. I'm just saying that they gave you a nice house," she finished before taking a sip of her beer. She could tell that he felt bad about not being present for the last few years, and offering the house was probably the first thing he could think of to make up for it; it just didn't really help anything.

A few awkward moments of silence settled before she had asked how he was settling in, and she offered a genuine smile and quiet laugh when he joked that he'd never had a problem with people liking him. That much was definitely true. Out of the two of them, he'd been the one people instantly took to. She'd always been rough around the edges, and he'd always been the one to charm people. "That's for damn sure. I've never been great at making friends. I got lucky with the prison group," she remarked, taking another sip from her beer with a smirk. Setting it down, she gave a small smile before nodding. "There are still days that I think it's too good to be true, honestly. And we've been working to get their defenses shored up," she stated before picking up her beer and taking another swig. "They're not ready if someone attacks...I don't think many of them truly realize what the real world is like outside these walls."

No one knew how difficult it had been to walk the walled community as if his daughter and ex-girlfriend weren't somewhere within them. It was even harder knowing that Liv had a role to play and that role involved her going out beyond the walls where bigger threats than the dead lurked. In the weeks of avoidance, he'd made moves of his own, moves that made him sick to consider. He'd fixed an old bike in exchange for a half-used notebook and on every job, he made small talk that revealed more and more about the community that Negan had taken an interest in. It was insurance, a backup plan for if the man got impatience with Shep's progress. If he gave a little, perhaps it could spare him the time he needed to figure out his next moves.

What he did know for a fact was that he couldn't lose them again. Maybe he wasn't proud of the man he'd become, but he couldn't risk losing track of the two most important people in his life. Even if the one that stood before him now was enough to take his breath away, the uncertainty between them keeping him off kilter. When his offer was rejected, he nodded, a silent understanding that she wanted nothing from him, even if she were there.

As quickly as he'd choked down the rejection, Shep's gaze was finding her petite frame with a smile. Coffee wasn't for her, but beer? Luckily enough, he'd managed to make a decent trade from one of his neighbors. He was patching up damage to their kitchen and in return, they shared a case of beer that surprisingly wasn't as skunked as one would've expected it to be after so much time had passed. "Don't tell anyone about my stash," he countered as he dipped behind the kitchen island and into the fridge where he plucked out not one, but two bottles of beer. "Take them all. I should probably cut back on them anyway." At the mention of their daughter, any desire he'd previously had for the cookies melted away. For her, he'd give up everything and then some.

With the beer in head, Shep studied the woman as she studied his place. Soon enough, he understood why she'd taken such an interest in looking around. "You can have it if you want." As much of a joke as it sounded like, he'd meant the offer. It was more than he needed and truth was, he would've settled for a one room shack of it meant being behind the same walls as Liv and his daughter. Her confession did little to rock his confidence. Maybe Deanna had sent her, but Liv could've said no. Instead, she'd chosen to come there rather than pawn the task off onto someone else.

"I'm doing alright." Half lie, half truth. He popped the top off the bottle he'd plucked from the fridge and sat it at the edge of the counter, nodding for the redhead to take it. After a few moments, he removed the top from his own drink and took a long swig from it. "You know me. Never had a problem with people liking me." A quiet rumble of raspy laughter rattled from deep in his belly. Once again, it was a mostly true statement. Most people liked him and the ones that didn't usually had a pretty good reason why they didn't feel the same. "I like it here, Liv. I can see why you do too."

[multiverse-imagines]

Just curious! I love the fics of Vash being in our world! So I’m just wondering, what kind of job or hobbies do you think he would have? I definitely think something with plants for sure! Or maybe animals!

I’m just curious on your take cuz that would be a cute fic too! Him getting his first job! Awe 🥹

Vash's career choices on Earth

In my little world, Vash decided to be a house husband. You make enough money to live generously, and although he hates being in your debt, he makes up for it by giving you the love you didn't receive as a kid, the one that made you a workaholic and can't take a goddamn break (atting myself here). He maintains the house, loves to try new recipes he finds online, and reads from the mountains of books in your library.

He loves gardening, swimming (once he finally learns how), and researching animals, plants, and places the two of you can travel to.

Now, if Vash were to get a job, it would be one that is probably close to your house, within walking distance, or close to a bus stop. Despite the "concrete jungle," as he puts it, (even if you live in a rural area) he still can't drive worth a shit.

There's a government agency for displaced interdimensional entities such as Vash, that helps them get proper paperwork, and I won't get into that right now, but the only reason he got his damn license is that after the 5th try, he didn't miss a driving instruction. The car, however, had eaten nearly seven traffic cones. The instructor issued him the license as a "in emergencies only" kind of thing.

He doesn't want to rely on you driving him everywhere. He finds a job doing something leisury like stocking shelves at the mom & pop grocery store, working at the local library, or at the local coffee shop down the block.

He only wants part time so he can spend more time with you, but he's big into volunteer work, and usually spends most of his off days at the local community Kitchen, the animal shelter, helping the city plant trees, sorting food at the food bank, and helping with fundraiser events for local youth groups.

He makes a lot of friends, and is always beloved by those he works with. The children he works with will always stop him to say hi in public, and he's always stopping to help that little old lady across the street.

Now hobbies are a whole new ball game for Vash. With unlimited past times at his disposal, he becomes a jack of all trades quite easily. Mending clothes was always a must before, but now he can create his own clothes with an endless catalog of fabrics found at the local craft store.

He makes clothes that fit well against his prosthetic arm, and keep too many scars showing while keeping cool in the summer heat. He now also makes clothes that fit his form instead of the baggy clothes he's used to. He still makes them pretty baggy anyway to hide the occasional metal pieces holding his body together.

He likes sports like baseball, basketball, and roller skating, though he's still a little clumsy. He loves to watch anime with you, and enjoys Bleach, (because of the shared voice actor), The Way of The House Husband (because he's also a simp for his partner), and Fullmetal Alchemist (though he cries at every death in both Bleach and FMA) he plays video games that are mostly relaxing like animal crossing, pokemon, and some fighting games like Blazblue and Capcom's fighting games.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x reader // ch 5

summary: You tumble a Grisha in more ways than one ;)

warnings: violence, fighting, cursing, SMUT, fingering, masturbation??, praise kink, not proofread. 

A/N: this is all over the place, forgive me y'all </3

WHEN you awoke the next morning, you found a single glass of water placed on your night stand. Your head pounded as you tried to recall the blurred events from the previous night. All you remembered was catching up with Alina and then finally leaving her room. From there it was as if everything had muddled together to form a single incoherent memory. The sun had just begun to peak through your window.

While you were away last night, a servant must have stocked up your closet with clean clothes. They had mainly been a few soldiers' uniforms and some new nightgowns. Along with a few robes, each one as soft as a rabbit's fur. The gold kefta still remained in the dresser, collecting dust.

You changed out of your dirty clothes that you had slept in, and placed them in a neatly folded pile on the corner of your bed. After throwing on a clean uniform and putting your hair into a low bun, you rang for a servant. You asked her to bring breakfast to you. It seemed like there was no use in eating with the other Grisha. Where would you have sat? You weren’t a Corporalki, Etherealki, nor a Materialki. You certainly weren’t the Darkling either. There would be no place for you if you’d chosen to eat there with Alina.

Soon enough, a light knock echoed on the wooden door. “Come in!” You said, and the servant strolled in with a cart. She placed down a golden tray in front of you. You were served sweet pea porridge and fresh figs with a tall glass of water. You thanked the servant before she dismissed herself, leaving you to your food. There was another covering that laid on the tray, no plate under it. As you shoveled another spoonful of the porridge into your mouth, you took off the covering. Under the dome laid your weapons, cleaned of the dirt and blood that caked them. You placed your weapons back onto their respective places: a pistol and dagger at your hips, a knife securely tucked into your boot, and the last knife hidden away in your sleeve.

Just as you finished your food, another knock resonated in your uncomfortably quiet room. You beckoned them to come in. A Grisha with a red kefta came in, the black stitching signifying that he was a heartrender. You gave him a polite smile as he stepped in.

“Hello. I am Fedyor. I am to escort you to the training grounds today.” He explained.

“Oh no, it’s alright. I don’t need an escort. I know my way around the palace, thank you though.” You assured him. Sitting on the corner of your bed, you put on your boots. You were surprised to find them in the normal place you had put them, at the foot of your bed, near the very corner. It was a habit you had since you were a child. Every other orphan at Keramzin always placed their boots either to the left or right of their beds. It was understandably easier than leaving your boots where you normally had, yet you couldn’t shake the habit.

“The General himself required me to accompany you. As you must know, I cannot obey the General’s orders.” He stated. After lacing up your boots, you made your way to the tray your breakfast was on. You put the small plate that once housed the figs into the empty bowl of the porridge you were served. Picking up the tray, you began to walk towards the circular table near the door and left the tray there so it’d be easier for the servant to clean.

You turned to him, arms crossed on your chest as you sighed, “Fine.” You examined the new jacket you were issued, it wasn’t the same as the frayed one you were used to. The hem of your sleeves were intact, unlike your old one when you had picked apart the stitching when you were nervous. The only thing that you were particularly happy about was the fur lining. Yours had matted from being used so much and slept on.

“You know, it’s quite odd that you’re staying in the General's hall.” You let out a hm, questioning what he meant by that. “Usually guests stay in the guest hall. The General never permits for anyone to stay in his. He’s the only person allowed to sleep in this specific hall.” He whispered as we walked past a group of Materialki. They were huddled amongst themselves, whispering and giggling as they made their way to their training rooms.

“Maybe it’s because I’m Alina’s friend? Perhaps he feels like he needs to watch over me himself since he has also taken her under his watch.” You said. You took a deep breath of the crisp winter air as the two of you stepped outside.

“Perhaps. But why is Alina staying in the vezda suite? Wouldn’t it make sense for her to be staying in the General’s hall as well?” Fedyor did make a good point, if Alina was the most important Grisha of all, why wasn’t she across the hallway from the Darkling?

“It truly is a mystery I suppose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t question his choices.” You teased. You thought you might’ve offended him until he lets out a short laugh.

“Saints know what he would do if I had.” He replied, making you giggle. Your laughter died as you arrived at Botkin’s training area. Grisha alike had already been paired up and were sparring. Alina had been paired up with a girl she had mentioned last night, you couldn’t remember her name. Madia? No that wasn’t it. Narie? It wasn’t that one either. Noticing a late arrival, Botkin walked up to you.

“Botkin has never seen little girl before.” You tried to suppress the surprise you felt when you heard him refer to himself in third person. “Who is she?” He asked Fedyor. By now some people had stopped training to hear the conversation. You noticed Alina was still sparring with her friend, unaware of your arrival.

“She’s here as Alina’s guest.” At the mention of her name, the girl stopped fighting. Finally taking notice of your figure, she let out a surprised gasp.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she came closer.

“Training. If I’m going to stay at the palace I don’t want to rot away and do nothing.” You said, rolling your shoulders to loosen up your muscles.

“First Army girl wants to train with Botkin.” His voice, although baritone and guttural, brought a strange comfort to you. “Choose your opponent.” You surveyed the crowd, looking for someone who could pose a possible challenge. Your eyes landed on a tan skinned girl with raven black hair, bangs framing her face perfectly. Her black eyes stared into yours, challenging you.

“Her.” You stated while nodding your head towards her. Botkin weaved his head in the direction you had nodded off to.

“Ah, star pupil, Zoya!” So this was Zoya, the girl who told Alina that she reeked of Keramzin. “I have trained her since she was ten.” The raven haired girl offered you a way out, which you immediately declined.

“Fighters ready?” You put your fist up, getting into stance. “And..Fight!” You waited for Zoya to come to you first. She walked up to you, her fists hung up. You circled each other, playing the waiting game. You were about to make a move when you saw Zoya moving her right fist towards your face. You ducked left, managing to move in time to avoid the punch. With her back still to you, you jammed your elbow into her side making her hunch over.

She came at you again, this time with more veracity and anger behind each swing. Except she didn’t land a single blow. You were able to avoid each one as you let out a giggle, staggering a few steps back.

“Is that all you’ve got, star pupil?” Your comment only seemed to spur her on more. She ran at you in full force, this time you let her land a hit on you for the fun of it. What you didn’t expect was for her to punch you so hard that she drew blood. You sniffled feeling a drop of blood come from your nose. You began your attack with a right hook followed by a left one. In return she used her arms to block each time, leaving her abdomen vulnerable.

You were able to land a hard blow or two before you found yourself briefly soaring through the air, your back meeting the hard wall that was originally ten paces behind you. You let out a wheeze as you feel one of your ribs break.

Botkin had begun to reprimand Zoya, looking at her you could feel her shame as she upset her mentor. You couldn’t help but smirk as she looked at you, at least now she knows how someone from Keramzin fights. Her gaze hardened, about to walk up to you once more before she was taken away by some guards.

“Oh my Saints, now the General is really going to have my head.” Fedyor said in a panic. He helped you stand as he called for a healer.

“I’m quite alright.” You ensured, but the wince in your face gave you away. Alina came running up to you, giving you a once over before taking you from Fedyor and into her embrace.

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that.” She whispered into your ear. “It’s too dangerous for you.” She made a movement to grab one of your cold hands, giving it a squeeze.

“Everything’s a risk for me, Alina. The Doctor made that clear.” When you were younger, you were diagnosed with a heart condition. It was nothing serious really, and only acted up once in a blue moon. The tugging and squeezing feeling only lasted for seconds, but the pain left you feeling unstable for hours after. “The risk is always worth it.”

“But what if one day its not?” She pulled away from you, resting her hands on your shoulders. “The Doctor himself said there was no cure for this, no remedy that could help.”

“It’s worth it if it means protecting our honor.” You replied honestly.

“I don’t need you to protect our honor.” She protested. “I need you to protect yourself. Even if that means backing down from a fight.” You remained silent as a healer began to work on you. Starting first with your broken ribs then moving onto your bloody nose. After a few minutes of sitting still, the healer finally told you that you could leave.

Alina and Fedyor accompanied you back to your room. “What do you think will happen to her?” You asked. Alina shrugged her shoulders as the heartrender went to respond.

“She will probably get reprimanded by the General too. Zoya knows not to use her powers while training. Respectfully, especially not against someone who isn’t Grisha.” He commented.

You must’ve really gotten under her skin then if she went against all those years of training and discipline. “Good. She needs to know her place.” You snarked. “Now I’d like to get some rest.” You glanced at Alina, her gaze unwavering. “Alone, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be fine. If I need help I can always call for the General.” You replied, placing your cold hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. With great reluctance, she nodded her head. Fedyor and her leaving to return to combat training.

As you close the door, you feel your resolve break. Wincing as the pain and exhaustion came back. As you grew up, your condition continued to tire you. You couldn’t fight nor run the same way you could two years ago. At this rate, you’d probably be dead in the next two years because of your heart condition. That was if the war didn’t kill you first.

The sun was nowhere near close to setting. You still had most of the day to kill yet you didn’t know what to do. You thought back to one of the places the Darkling had shown you, perhaps you could go to the library. Gathering whatever strength you had left, you returned to the calm and composed front you had always put on.

The walk there had been time consuming, nauseating even. But you were determined to snatch a book or two to read while you were cooped up in your room. The library of the Little Palace was grand, filled from floor to ceiling with various books. If you ever had the chance to visit the Grand Palace, their library would definitely be on a list of places of visit.

You ran your finger along the spines of the books as you walked through the shelves. There were two things that you loved most in your life: the feeling of the sun on your skin and the smell of books. Strangely enough, the smell of the books had reminded you of Keramzin in a way. Probably because you spent most of your childhood with your nose shoved into a book. Collecting two books, you were adamant on getting to your room in time to be able to sit in the sun and read a couple of chapters. All of a sudden the smell of incense and mildew had taken over your sense of smell.

“My Saints, where is that smell coming from..” You whispered to yourself. Unexpectedly you heard a shuffle behind you. Turning around you saw a greasy man in a robe.

“Hello, y/n.” Said the man.

“Do I know you?” You replied cautiously, reaching for the knife you had hidden in your sleeve.

“I am the Apparat, a priest. Advisor to the King.” He stated. Knowing who he was didn’t make you any less tentative, your fingers still gripped the handle of your knife.

“Okay...right. Nice meeting you. I’ll be on my way now.” You said, trying your best to move around him but he stopped you. He latched onto your arm that had been reaching for your knife, effectively rendering your weapons useless.

“Do you remember?” He acquired his answer from the confused look on your face, “Oh, soon you will remember. Everything will face into place.” You ripped your arm out of his rough hands and ran out of the library, never looking back.

When you were finally in your room, you threw the books onto the floor as you rushed to the tub. There hadn’t been any warm water around but you didn’t care. You filled the tub with lukewarm water as you began to strip yourself of your clothes. Skewing them across the floor as you picked up a velvet robe and tossed it on a nearby chair. Stepping in, you grabbed a loofah. Scrubbing yourself clean of the Apparat’s lingering touch. You scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. After dunking your head underwater to wet your hair, you picked up a soap. It smelt of lavender and honey. In the First Army, they had always given you a singular bar of soap to last you a week. Showers came scarce due to the fact that the soap practically diminished once it touched water. Gently lathering the soap in your hands, you cleaned your hair first. The repetitive circular motions of your hands had started to calm you down, almost lulling you to sleep. Quickly finishing off your hair and the rest of your body, you found yourself smelling good for the first time in a while.

Feeling satisfied enough, you let out a sigh, letting yourself relax as you rest your arms on the edge of the tub. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap. You thought. After all, you fought a Grisha without the use of your weapons and came out somewhat victorious. You let your hair dangle outside of the tub to dry as you close your eyes, sleep taking over you.

-

“Stop it!” You screamed, you could feel someone splashing cold water at you. Wetting your hair and dress. “Aleksander, stop!” You said while laughing. You could hear him let out a laugh before coming up behind you and taking you into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around your belly as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The stubble from his face tickling you.

“How are you today, my darling?” He whispered into your ear, making you shiver. He began to pepper kisses up and down your neck, making your legs feel like jelly. Your hands flew to his in order to stabilize yourself.

“Good. But it could be better.” You teased, egging him on. One of his hands travels your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt to give himself better access. The other hand made its way to your core, ghosting past your eager bundle of nerves.

“Look at you, already so wet for me.” He shoved aside your underwear, plunging two of his fingers into your heat. He paused at the sound of your moan, “Taking my fingers so well.” He set an agonizingly slow pace, let out a few groans himself as he rubbed himself against you. His long fingers search for the spot he knew so well, the one that would make you mewl and fall apart in his embrace. He hits it once, twice, before extracting his fingers from you. He placed his slick covered fingers atop of your dry ones before guiding them back to your wet entrance. You were able to slide in with ease as he guided your movements.

“I can’t..” You breathed out, the feeling of his fingers and yours combined had been too much for you.

“Yes you can.” He purred, tilting your head with his own to get better access to your neck. “You’re almost there, I can feel it.” Just as he said that, he felt you briefly clamp down, signaling you were close. He guides your fingers deeper, nearing your g spot as his other hand lets go of your dress and goes to your clit.  

The action makes you come undone as you moan his name repeatedly, your juices coating both his and your fingers. You let out a whine as he removes his fingers from you, only to place his hand into his mouth, sucking your cum off of him.

“Sweet, as always.” He gently grabs your chin and turns you to face him, his dilated pupils meeting yours. “Here, have a taste of yourself.” His words alone made another wave of heat pool at your core. He grabs your hand before inserting into your mouth. You wrap your lips around your fingers, staring into his slate gray eyes all the while. After lapping up your juices, you release your fingers with a pop!

Even in your dream state you could tell this man looked suspiciously like General Kirigan. They shared the same face structure, their cheekbones rested at the same angle. His eyebrows were as perfectly sculpted as the General’s. Lashes equally as dark and long. The only difference was that the man-- Aleksander, had a near clean shaven face and his hair was grown out to reach his shoulders. The General had a beard and sported a slicked back look. Yet the two looked identical.

Your eyes searched his face, his body, for anything that could tell you anything. You spotted a mole near his right collarbone. Nearly hidden by the collar of his shirt, small but it would have to do. Without thinking, you reach up to grab his face to pull him in for a kiss.

“My Aleksander.”

-

YOUR doors opened with a bang, startling you from your sleep. The person entered without even knocking, alerting you to three possibilities: someone had broken in and now was here to kill you, you were being kidnapped, or the Darkling was here to brutally murder you. You let the first two options leave your mind, knowing how well guarded the Little Palace was. So there was no possibility for an intruder to get so far into the grounds. Yet the third option did little to ease your mind.

Realizing you were still in the tub, you got out. Not wanting anyone to see you naked. Not like it hasn’t happened before. You thought, thinking back to your time at Caryeva. You quickly threw on your robe, haphazardly tying it while you grabbed one of your knives and unsheathed it. You threw the knife just in time, the person emerging from the curtains being nicked by your blade before it landed on the trimming of the bathroom entrance.

“Oh my Saints, I’m so sorry…” The Darkling stared at you, surprise flicking on his features. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was asleep.”

You walked to the side, picking up a towel to clean up his wound. You dipped it into a bucket of clean water, wringing it out afterwards.

“In the bathtub?” You gave him a nod, a blush forming on your cheeks. “Well you certainly sleep wherever you can.” He joked. As you shifted closer to him, you felt that familiar wetness in your thighs. Fuck. You thought, your blush becoming deeper. You’d been so caught up with the idea of someone coming to kill you that you had forgotten about your dream.

“Are you alright?” It should’ve been you who was asking the question since you nicked him after all. He awaited your reply as you gently pressed the towel against the cut.

“I am. Nothing serious happened to me.” You replied, assuming he had heard of the events that had taken place earlier that day. “Are you?” You asked, “I mean, you seemed very alarmed when you barged in.”

“My apologies for that. You just...you weren’t responding to my knocks or my questions. I’d assumed the worst.” He said, struggling to find the words. You didn’t know how to feel, in a way you were glad that he cared for your well being, yet it slightly made your gut lurch. You’d been here for less than a week and he seemingly cared more for you than Alina. Then again, you didn’t know what the two did behind closed doors. You stopped cleaning his wound, the bleeding had stopped. The two of you remained close, only an arms distance away from each other.

“Why do you care so much? After all, I’m only a guest here at the palace. I’m not a Grisha like you or everyone else here.”

“You're my guest. It’s normal for me to worry about my guests.” He explained. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyebrows furrowing as you listened to him.

“Yes, but..” You paused, “Yesterday I was Alina’s guest. Now today, I am yours. So which is it?”

“Whatever you’d like.” He whispered, taking a step closer to you. His gaze flickering to your lips then back to your eyes.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.” He replied, giving you a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

“Have we met before?” You asked, making the General freeze in his place. His posture goes rigid, you struggle to read the emotion on his face. “.. I could’ve sworn that we…” You doubled over, your left hand clutching your chest as your right hand flew to his shoulder. The pain had never hit you twice in a day. Not even twice in a month.

“Alina..g-get her.” The General called for a servant to fetch her along with a healer. In his panic, he swept you off your feet and carried you to the bed. He laid you upon it as he took your left hand into his. In a haze, your right hand began to wander, weakly pulling at the collar of his shirt. The pain went away as a moment of clarity came over you, General Kirigan had bared the same mole that Aleksander had. As you placed your hand on his face, the pain came rushing back.

Before you allowed yourself to give into the darkness that called you, a tentative whisper left your lips, your eyes searching his.

“A-aleksander?”

-

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S.a.B. forever tag: @deceivedeer

[fanficimagery]

The Witch’s Companion

Imagine settling down in La Push and instantly hitting it off with a group of locals. You have an instant connection with Sam Uley and though you know exactly what the connection is, you find that you would rather have Sam tell you what it is. Only he has trouble finding a way and you find it rather amusing since you already know all about the supernatural realm. After all, you are a part of it.

Words: 6.3K Author’s Note: This is so bad, but I didn’t wanna trash it. I needed something to post. My apologies.

Since coming into your magic, you've always felt like something was missing. No matter how much you studied or how much progress you made in mastering your abilities, you always felt incomplete. You stayed home long enough to complete your high school education and then worked a few years to earn some cash before deciding to take a chance out in the real world on your own.

Fortunately for you, however, your family knew you'd be leaving the coven and they were more than prepared to send you on your way with funds they had saved up over the years themselves. It was a tearful goodbye, but as soon as you were on the road you felt it in every fiber of your being that you were making the right choice.

You drove for hours on end, not content enough to stop until the moon was high in the sky, and then found the least skeezy motel you could find to stay the night in. Then after paying for the night and putting a sigil of protection on your truck so no one could peek through the windows or break a window without setting off a blaring alarm, you showered and prepared for bed. But as you laid in bed, you tossed and turned as your brain wouldn't shut off. So instead of counting sheep, you got back up and dug out some of your supplies from the bag you kept close to you at all times.

As you sat on the floor with your legs crossed beneath you and a map spread out in front of you, you lit four white candles and placed one on each corner of the map. You took a white crystal on a chain and let it pool in your hand before closing your eyes, then holding the crystal against your chest. With nothing but good intentions and the hope of finding that missing part of you, you rubbed the crystal over your heart before grabbing the chain and letting the crystal hang over the map. And then with your eyes still closed, you twirled the crystal over the map before holding your hand still and letting spirits guide the crystal so you have an inkling of where to drive next.

Minutes passed and when you felt the chain still in your hand, you opened your eyes and found the tip of the crystal pointing towards the North-West portion of the map. So with somewhat of a destination in mind, you packed your belongings and was finally able to fall asleep.

Over the next few days you drove and drove, stopping for bathroom breaks, food and rest when necessary. When you hit the west coast and then started driving north, you were skeptical about where the crystal had really been pointing. But then you get to Forks, Washington and something just feels different. It doesn't feel right, but it's damn near close and you decide to drive around some more.

It isn't until you drive onto the reservation in La Push that it feels like you can properly breathe for the first time ever and you nearly cry tears of relief. But before you can start making plans of settling down, you know there are some things that must be addressed. Because growing up in a coven and learning of every supernatural creature you could, you know La Push is home to the legends of spirit warriors. And behind every legend is truth. So in order to be on good terms with the locals and the elders of the tribe, you know you must ask permission to stay on their lands.

The elders, surprisingly, needed no convincing. They were wary of a witch's presence at first, but after explaining everything to them they seemed to perk up with interest. More than a couple of the elders had twinkling eyes when you spoke of feeling as if a part of you was missing and that you only felt at complete ease once you crossed their borders. They even gave you a few suggestions on available houses in the area and you took your leave after asking them to keep your heritage a secret. You wanted to meet people on your own time and not have anyone seek you out because of what you could do. They completely understood and wished you well.

So a couple weeks later, here you are staring up at your very own two bedroom house. You had some cash put away for this exact occasion, but really it was the elders of La Push who were such a tremendous help in helping you purchase the place. The house itself was practically surrounded by trees and far enough away from any neighbors which granted you all the privacy you needed. So in other words, it was perfect.

You still need furniture and appliances to fill the house, so you've given yourself a time limit of about a week to get everything you need because that's as long as you're willing to stay in a small motel down in Forks. You've already ordered a basic refrigerator and stove, and they're to be delivered in a couple days time. You're still on the lookout for beds and couches, but nothing's caught your eye, so for now you've come to the house prepared with cleaning supplies.

The inside of the house is in pretty great condition, the only thing you really have to do is give it a good dusting, wipe down, and mopping. So after opening up all the windows, you walked around the house with a duster on an extendable arm made sure to dust every corner, nook and cranny of the room. You Windex every glass surface you can before sweeping the floors and then fill up a mop bucket to get started on the floors.

Afterwards, as the floors finish drying, you sit on the porch with a sandwich and Gatorade you had packed into a small ice chest. When you're a little more halfway through, two trucks rumble down the path to your house and you set aside your food in order to stand up and greet them.

Tribal Elder Harry Clearwater is easily recognizable, as is his beautiful wife Sue who is sitting in the passenger seat across from him. The two boys in the truck behind them, however, are new.

Stepping off the porch and meeting your guests halfway, you greet them all with a smile. Sue is the only one to receive a hug whereas Harry offers a handshake. "Hello, Harry. What brings you down here?"

The older man chuckles. "Just wanted to see how you were settling in and introduce you to a few of the young ones."

You finally meet the gazes of the boys behind Harry, taking note of the tribal tattoos on their upper biceps that they're showing off thanks to their sleeveless shirts. Both are wearing cargo shirts and have bare feet which you hardly bat an eye at. "Hello." You wave at them, smiling softly.

"Hey," the slightly shorter of the two smirks, leaning forward and offering his hand, "I'm Paul."

As you grasp his hand, his warmth sends shivers down your spine. "Y/N. It's nice to meet you."

Paul shakes your hand a little longer than normal and you find yourself fighting back a laugh. "Paul, would you let her go? She's clearly not interested." His friend clamps a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back briefly before thrusting his own hand forward. "I'm Jared."

"Hi."

After greeting the two boys, you give a very amused Harry and Sue your attention once more. "So thanks for checking in. I'm just cleaning out the house right now. Getting it ready for deliveries."

"Oh?" Sue perks up. "What did you find?"

"Just a refrigerator and stove for now," you say with a small shrug and sheepish laugh. "I rather have the cabinets and refrigerator stocked with food rather than worry about comfortable bedding. If push comes to shove, I'll happily camp out on an air mattress while I find a decent bed."

Harry chuckles. "I figured you'd be having trouble finding some decent furniture, so I went ahead and went through our storage. Come on," he gestures for you to follow. "Come take a look."

"What?" You stare, wide-eyed, and Sue chuckles before nudging you to follow. You do, with the boys chuckling at your surprise, and you find a wooden bed frame laying in the bed of Harry's truck.

"It's a bit old," Harry then admits, "but it's still very sturdy. It was wasting away in our storage, so I figured it could go to a good home."

"Are- are you sure?"

"Of course," Sue assures you. "We also have a couch and a recliner if you're interested. They're still in really good condition."

"Well yeah! If you say it's in good condition and are willing to get rid of them, I'll happily take them off your hands."

"Excellent. Boys!" Harry catches Jared and Paul's attention. "Go back to my house and have Leah show you to the storage. She'll know what couch and recliner we want to get rid of."

"You got it, Harry."

Jared nods at Harry to let him know he's on it and Paul spares you one last lingering leer which prompts you to laugh and shake your head at him. Then turning to Sue, you ask, "So what do I owe you?"

But Sue is quick to wave you off. "Don't worry about it. Consider this as our house warming present. And," she's quick to cut you off when you open your mouth to retort, "if you feel like you owe us something, then all I ask is that you stop by the health clinic once you're truly settled in. You have a very healing nature about you and I'm sure you'd be a great help to our little community."

Catching her drift, you can't help but chuckle. "Sure thing, Sue."

With nothing else to be said, Harry and Sue help you unload the bed frame and carry it into your house and into the appropriate room. Fortunately Harry has a bag of tools in his truck and instructs you what screws go where since you were more capable of getting down on the floor than he was. Paul and Jared get back right before you finish putting together the frame, so Sue walks out to go instruct them to bring the furniture in.

Afterwards, as you and Harry join everyone in the living room, you smile kindly around at the occupants. "Boys, thanks for bringing the heavy stuff in."

"Don't even worry about it," Jared says. "If Sue and Harry are already this attached, I have a feeling you're good people."

Before Paul can comment, there's a bone chilling howl ripping through the air. It's not too close to the house, but it doesn't stop the boys from awkwardly chuckling afterwards and assuring you the wolves around the reservation are completely harmless. You keep a faint smile in place, nodding along, and force down your amusement at their hasty retreat.

Turning to Sue and Harry, you laugh. "They don't have a subtle bone in their body."

"No they do not," she muses.

A comfortable silence follows the three of you out onto the porch, watching as Paul and Jared drive away in a hurry. Seconds pass before Harry makes it clear they should get going too.

As you follow them to their truck, you say, "Thanks again for the furniture. If I head out now I can probably find a box spring and mattress, and actually sleep in my own house tonight."

Sue smiles. "I'm glad we could be of some help. If you need anything," she then reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small white card, "here's my number. Don't hesitate to call."

You take the card and glance at the number before pocketing it. "I won't. Thank you."

The married couple climb into the truck and as soon as they're settled and the engine rumbles to life, Harry leans out his window. "Don't take too long to let the boys in on your secret. I have a feeling you'll be seeing them more often than not now that two of them know where you live."

"How many are there?"

"Three as of right now," Harry says, "but we're keeping an eye on a few others."

"This pack keeps growing and the vampires will be too scared to step anywhere near La Push."

Harry chuckles. "That's fine by me."

With nothing else to be said and the Clearwater's wanting you to get everything you need before the stores shut down, they bid you farewell and take their leave. Then after making sure you shut all the windows to your house and lock up, you hop in your truck and drive to the city in hopes of getting a box spring and mattress to fit your new bed.

Over the next few days, you get settled in and you've never felt more at peace. Even your magic seems to meshing better than ever within you and your coven back home couldn't have been more happier for you.

You've kept your promise to Sue, mixing concoctions that were easily added into lotions for aching joints and grinding powered mixtures that could be added to water that acted as a mild pain reliever. The reservation's clinic was mostly used by the elderly and you were glad you could offer them relief for their aching bones.

You've also run into Paul and Jared a handful of times, mostly at the grocery store and once when you had gone to the beach for the day. They had been leaving when you were just getting there and Paul had introduced you to his new girlfriend, but the way he couldn't take his eyes off her let you know it was something so much more. Jared kept trying to introduce you to his other friend, but apparently you and this so-called Sam just kept missing each other.

And it isn't until one drizzly day that you finally meet him.

You sleep in a little later than usual, the overcast sky and drizzling rain keeping you in a sleepy state. Then when you feel like you've laid in long enough, you get up and take the warmest shower you can before dressing cozy and curling up on your couch. Nothing on TV seems to catch your attention, so you turn it off and head into your kitchen. You're not particularly hungry, but you find yourself wanting to make something. So opening up your pantry, you find that you have all the ingredients you need to bake to your heart's content.

With your hair twisted up into a bun and the sleeves of your sweater pushed up to your elbows, you're mixing together the second batch of muffins as the first batch cools next to a peach cobbler. You've been in the baking zone, listening to the distant rumbling thunder, that when there's knocking on your front door it startles you into letting loose a yelp.

There's a bark of laughter before you hear the door creaking open and Paul and Jared walk in, both shirtless and in cut-off jean shorts. A third walks in behind them, this one unfamiliar, but you keep your attention on the two you do know.

Huffing, you set aside the bowl and pick up a washcloth to clean off your hands as you walk around the kitchen counter. "If you catch a cold, I am not helping you. Only idiots would run around barefoot in this type of weather we're having right now."

"Oooh, those muffins free game?" Jared asks, completely ignoring your words and walking around you. "I'm starving."

"Do I smell peach cobbler?" Paul then wonders, doing the same as his friend.

"Hey!" The third individual barks, Paul and Jared freezing at his tone. "Manners."

You smirk as the boys shift nervously and then look towards the still unknown man. "Thank you. You, my well mannered friend, are more than welcome to the snacks. I'm Y/N, by the way."

As he meets your gaze, his small smile falters. His eyes seem to subtly widen, his expression goes lax, and there's an instant connection with this man- a sense of warmth and comfort rushing through you. He feels like.. like home.

You blink and then.. oh. You know exactly what this is and while a little part of you is nervous because you hadn't planned to tell anyone other than the tribal elders what you were, you're also kind of excited.

"Sam?" Paul wonders, he and Jared snickering.

The second you break eye contact with him, he seems to come back to himself. Clearing his throat, he nods at you. "Sam. I'm Sam Uley." He then glares at the boys before sheepishly glancing at you once more.

You flash him a small smile. "Nice to finally meet you Sam Uley. Jared doesn't shut up about you."

"Hey!" The muffled response causes you to look at the boy in question and you roll your eyes fondly when you see his cheeks puffed out with the remains of a muffin he'd eaten when you weren't paying attention.

"So what brings you boys over here?" You ask as you walk back into the kitchen, whipping Jared with a small towel and shooing him towards the table.

"Just wanted to see how you were dealing with our weather," Paul says. "Now can I please have some of this cobbler? It smells really good."

"Have you eaten lunch yet? All that sweet is going to ruin your appetite."

Jared snorts as he takes a seat at the table. "Nothing can ruin our appetites. Trust me."

Paul is still eyeing the cobbler so you sigh and wave him on. "Go ahead. I'm sure you can find the plates and utensils." Then looking towards Sam, you smile. "Would you like to take a seat? There are brown sugar muffins, chocolate chip muffins and peach cobbler if you're interested."

"I, uh, yeah." He grins at you. "I'd like that."

Sam, Paul and Jared take over your kitchen table and instead of being annoyed you can't help but feel a bit of fondness for them. You're well aware of what the connection you had with Sam was and you wonder how long it'll take him to come clean to you since it's obvious all three at your table are shifters- Sam obviously being the alpha.

But putting that off for now, you walk into your kitchen and place some muffins in a bowl to take to the table. Jared is all too happy to immediately start digging in and Paul looks absolutely blissed out as he shovels bite after bite of peach cobbler into his mouth. Sam shakes his head at the two of them, but you find it all rather amusing.

Taking a muffin for himself and eating at a leisurely pace, Sam asks, "So how do you know the boys?"

"Sue and Harry introduced us when they brought over my bed," you tell him. Grabbing a few bottled waters from the refrigerator, you walk them over to the table and take a seat yourself. "Between you and me, I think the only reason Harry introduced us was because I'm a female living by myself. He wants me to have people in my corner should something ever happen."

Sam glances between you and the boys, and seeing as you're not offended he allows himself to chuckle. "Yeah. That sounds like Harry. He's good people."

"Oh for sure," you muse. "I kind of have this sense about people. I can tell who's a good and who's a bad one."

"Oh really?" Paul looks up long enough to spot the waters and take one for himself. "What do you sense about us?"

Jared freezes, Sam tenses and Paul smirks as he takes a gulp of his water. You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, and smirk. "Honestly? I get a sense you and Jared are going to be giant pains in my ass."

Jared laughs, but Paul continues to smugly hold your gaze. "And what about Sam?"

Your gaze slides over to Sam who looks equal parts ready to strangle Paul and wondering what your answer is going to be. Eyes twinkling, you say, "That's to be determined."

Now that you'd officially met Sam and he imprinted on you- though you weren't supposed to know that- it seemed like he was everywhere. You run into him at the grocery store, at the local health clinic, and at the beach. And then sometimes all three of them would show up on your porch to check up on you, but mostly to raid your kitchen.

Usually when you run into them you run into all three, so as you're sitting on the beach and just soaking in the peace, you're surprised to see Sam approaching all on his lonesome.

"This seat taken?" He asks, gesturing to the empty half of the blanket you're sitting on.

You grin up at him. "Do my eyes deceive me or are you actually wearing long sleeves and jeans?"

"Ha ha," he deadpans. Toeing off his boots, Sam steps onto your blanket and sits next to you. He grins at you before looking out to the restless ocean. "So what brings you out here on this cool afternoon?"

You shrug. "Nothing really. Just felt like listening to the waves. You?"

"Same. Had some free time so I figured I'd come out here to decompress. Spotting you was just a bonus."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Uley."

Sam chuckles as he softly nudges you with his shoulder. You smile back at him, only to then look back out at the ocean. There's a moment where you and Sam just bask in the stillness of conversation before he's nudging you once more. "So tell me something, Y/N. What brought you out here to La Push?"

"I don't know if I want to tell you," you jokingly admit. "You'll think it's lame."

"No I won't. Come on, tell me."

Glancing at Sam you know you're in trouble at the sight of his small smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You keep his gaze, sigh with a fond roll of your eyes, and he chuckles knowing full well you've caved. "Have you ever felt like you didn't belong? That something was missing from your life and, even though you had a pretty good life, you knew there was something out in the world you were destined to find?"

"Not until recently," he replies quietly.

Sam's gaze darts all over your face before darting down to your lips and your heart skips a beat. "I, uh," you pause and awkwardly clear your throat, leaning sideways away from Sam for a moment to clear your head. "I didn't feel complete for a long time," you say. "So after finishing high school and working a few years to save up some cash, I packed all the things I couldn't live without and hopped into my truck. I drove in whatever direction felt right to me and it wasn't until I crossed into La Push territory that it felt like I could breathe properly. It was weird." Well not really now that you know why you were drawn to La Push, but you couldn't exactly tell him that. Not yet.

"That's not lame at all. That's- well I can kind of relate," he says. When you glance at Sam, his faint grin morphs into a smirk. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for here in La Push, Y/N. It seems everyone here has taken a shine to you."

"What can I say," you muse, batting your eyelashes at him, "I'm a very likable person." Sam's phone dings before he can retort and he offers you a sheepish smile as he pulls it out of his pocket. He reads whatever's on his screen and sighs, looking at you with an apology in his eyes. "Go. It's fine. We can always catch up another time. You do, after all, know where I live."

Sam nods and pulls his boots to himself, slipping them on his feet and lacing up. "Do you, uh, maybe want to grab something to eat sometime?"

His stammering and avoidance of your gaze makes you smile. You hum, drawing out your answer before saying, "Like one on one or a group thing?"

He shrugs. "More like a date thing."

"Sam Uley," you chuckle. "Asking me on a date and breaking hearts all across the Rez. Who would've guessed.." When he's finally brave enough to meet your gaze, you smile. "It's a date, Sam. Just let me know when and where."

A date with Sam consisted of dinner at an Italian restaurant in Port Angeles. You had figured it'd be as awkward as first dates normally were, but from the moment he picked you up to the moment he dropped you off at your front porch and warmly pressed a kiss to your cheek, it was as if you and Sam had been doing this for ages. The conversation had flowed easily with quiet laughter here and there, and then you went for a walk around Port Angeles before deciding to call it a night.

The boys, when they took notice of you greeting Sam with a kiss to the cheek, took great pleasure in teasing the two of you. You could tell Sam was wary about it upsetting you, but you merely withheld food from the boys and they were quick to cut it out.

Sam slowly started to show up more often on his own, the casual touches turning into lingering touches, and it wasn't long until those on the Rez realized Sam was no longer on the market. Which was something Sue Clearwater was clearly ecstatic for, but it also led her to constantly nag you into telling Sam your secret since he was clearly struggling with admitting his own.

You've just gotten home from the grocery store, unloading the groceries when Sam pulls up.

Pausing in hauling the bags inside, you wait for Sam. He hops out of his own truck, grinning when he catches sight of you. "Hey, handsome. What are you doing?"

"Missed you." He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth and you pout when he pulls away. He chuckles and takes the bags from your arms, grabbing another three from the backseat. "You have a good day?"

"It was decent." You shut the door to your truck, walking side by side with Sam up to your front door. Unlocking it, you push it open and let Sam walk in first. "I visited with Sue for a bit at the clinic and took the patients some goodies. What about you?"

"Decent. Got started on a table and chairs this couple want for their kitchen. Made good progress on it without Jared bugging me and Paul."

You laugh at the slight annoyance in Sam's features when he talks about Jared bugging him, but you know deep down that Sam would do anything for both Jared and Paul. He was just lucky right now since Jared was in his last year of high school and he had school five days out of the week which left Sam and Paul enough time to work without being pestered.

With Sam helping you, all the groceries are put away within a couple of minutes. You sigh with exhaustion, but a smile stays on your face because of the company you have. Sam walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you in against his chest. You sigh again, this time in contentment, and wrap your arms around his waist.

"Wanna take a nap?"

"Oh god," you groan. "Yes please."

Sam chuckles as you drag him to the living room, the sofa big enough to comfortably nap on. You both kick your shoes off and you impatiently wait for Sam to lay down and get comfortable before you lay down in front of him. With your back against his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist so you don't fall off, you close your eyes and listen to Sam's breathing to lull you to sleep.

Minutes pass and then, "Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

"I, uh, I need to tell you something."

Your eyes fly open. Is this it? Is this when he tells me he's a shifter? "Okay.."

"But I can't tell you until after the bonfire which I'm hoping you'll attend with me tonight."

Oh. "A bonfire sounds nice," you admit. "But whatever you have to tell me isn't bad, is it? Because now I'm going to be worried about it for the rest of the day."

Sam's laughter rumbles from behind you. "Nah. You have nothing to worry about. Get some rest, sweetheart. We deserve it."

          - - - - - - - - - - 

You and Sam fall asleep longer than you had anticipated, and it takes Paul barging into your house and startling you awake to realize how much time has passed. You remain grumpy and half asleep the entire time Sam tells you about the appropriate clothing for the beach bonfire, which Paul finds absolutely hilarious, and he only shut ups about it when you threaten to make him walk back to the beach since he had apparently walked to your house.

When you get to the beach, Sam takes your hand in his and you smile at him before he leads you to where there's already a roaring fire dancing under the night sky. There's a small group gathered around, but the ones who stick out to you the most are the tribal elders who appear as if they're holding court. Sam sits you on a log close to the fire before asking if you want anything and at your furrowed brow he gestures to the table of food that's dwindling down by the minute.

As you tell Sam you only want a hot drink, he leaves you be and you watch as everyone mingles. From across the fire Harry gives you a nod in greeting and you nod back. Your eyes are drawn to Paul who is wrapped around his girlfriend and you can't help but smile at how smitten he is with her. Jared is tossing chips at some young boy, the two of them running around as another unknown female watches them with fond exasperation.

All too soon Sam is taking a seat next to you, thigh to thigh, as his left arm goes around your shoulders after handing you a steaming cup of hot chocolate. You smile at him before snuggling into his warmth and blowing on your drink. Then when everyone settles down and Harry starts talking, you realize he's telling the legends about the Quileute Spirit Warriors.

You've heard the legends about the spirit warriors and cold ones, but never in such great detail and you're absolutely enthralled.

Afterwards, after being introduced to several more people and Sam dropping you back off at home, he walks you up to the porch. His hands are tucked deep into his pockets and he sighs, and you can just tell something is on his mind.

Grinning, you grab him by his belt loops and pull him closer to you. "What's wrong? I could hear you thinking on the drive here."

"Nothing." He automatically shakes his head. You raise an eyebrow at him and he exhales quietly. "I just- I'm curious as to what you thought about the bonfire. Only certain people have the special privilege of attending and I-"

"I loved it." You're quick to assure him. 'And I'm honored I was able to sit in."

"You didn't think it was odd? People turning into giant wolves and cold ones draining people."

You shake your head, smiling fondly. "Sam, I love learning about other cultures and their legends. Honestly, I had an amazing time." His shoulders sag in relief and you chuckle. "So do you want to tell me what else is on your mind?"

He shakes his head. "Maybe another time." His hands reach up to cradle your face and he brings you in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

As the weeks pass, your happiness with Sam starts to dwindle under the pressure of his secret. For some reason, coming out and telling you all that you heard at the bonfire was true was harder than he had imagined. Of course you could have told him your secret to ease him into telling you his, but you were holding back as well.

Sue and Harry have had enough, however, after Sam snaps at Paul and Jared and starts straining the bond between the three of them. So sitting outside of your house, you wait for Sam to show up. If he won't tell you he's alpha of the Quileute pack, then you'll tell him your own secret and see what happens then.

Sam shows up on time and as he exits his truck, you stand up and walk towards the edge of the porch. He smiles in greeting, but you can see the strain behind it and you sigh. Immediately you wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his chest.

"Come inside with me. I need to show you something."

"Uh oh. Should I be worried?" He says.

"Not at all." You pull back from him, pecking his lips. "But I am worried about how you're going to take it."

Sam's small smile falters, but you don't have any reassuring words for him. Now that it's out in the open about you having a secret too, you can see why Sam held back. It's scary. But it's out there now and there's no way in hell you're going to back out. So grabbing hold of one of Sam's hands, you turn around to lead him inside.

You lead Sam into your bedroom and gesture for him to take a seat on one side of your bed while you sit across from him. With one leg hanging off the side of the bed and your other curled inward, you grab one of your pillows and strip the cover off of it. "Can you rip it open?"

Sam huffs. "What? You want me to rip apart your pillow?"

"Yeah. I just- the feathers," you mutter. "Trust me." He stares at you a moment longer before grabbing your pillow and ripping the top sheet layer of it. You grin and reach in, scooping out a handful of the white and gray feathers. "So, um, please don't hate me."

"Hate you? I can never hate you, Y/N."

"You say that now, but-" Heart pounding, you lay the feathers down down on the bed right in front of your leg. Your hands tremble, but you're quick to shake it out and take a breath. Your smile wobbles as you briefly meet Sam's gaze and then you hold your hands just above the feathers. Concentrating deeply on them, you slowly lift your hands and the feathers slowly follow. You hear Sam sharply inhale as the feathers levitate and then start to twirl in a circular motion. "So, um, I'm a witch," you admit. "And to make things easier for you, I already know the secret you've been struggling to tell me."

"H-How?"

Your hands drop and you finally meet Sam's astonished gaze. "My coven's grimoire. It's filled with all sorts of knowledge of every supernatural creature out there and, though the passage on the spirit warriors of the Quileute tribe wasn't as detailed as what Harry said around the bonfire, it was enough to clue me in on what you, Paul, and Jared were the second I laid eyes on you. Well that and the fact the tribal elders told me when I asked their permission to live on the Rez."

Sam huffs and then does the unexpected. He reaches across your gutted pillow and tugs on your arm until you're crawling over and onto his lap. He holds you tight, chuckling quietly, and shoves his face into the side of your neck. You hesitantly wrap your arms back around him, sighing in relief. "You really should have told me sooner. It's been killing me not telling you about us."

"Yeah, well it's going to get a whole lot easier." He pulls back then, staring at you warily. "I know about the imprint thing too."

Sam's eyes widen. "You do?"

"Yep. Witches don't necessarily have mates, but we do have a sense of things. Since I came into my magic, there had always been a part of me that was searching for something."

"Yeah. Yeah I remember you mentioning that," Sam says.

"Well that something was you." The confession makes you nervously shift in his lap. "Whatever it was, it led me here to La Push. And then I saw you and.. I don't know. You felt like comfort. And home. And I knew-"

Sam cuts you off, grasping your chin between his fingers and facing you towards him. His lips press against yours and it takes a moment for your mind to be brought up to speed as to what's going on. When it does, you gasp and Sam smiles against your lips.

"Don't laugh at me," you mumble. "You caught me off guard."

Sam chuckles, his smile wide and eyes crinkling at the corners. It's one of his more genuine smiles and it feels like this huge weight has been lifted off your chest. "So the alpha and his witch," he muses. "The boys are going to be in for a shock."

"I was thinking more along the lines of the witch and her companion, but the alpha and the witch works too." You lean in and press your lips to his, once, twice, and then one more time. "And can we hold off on telling the boys? I kind of want to shock them with the reveal."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. We'll go at your pace."

"My pace, huh? I like the sound of that."

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑫𝒐𝒘𝒏 (𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏) 𝑹𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧 (𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳)/ 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐍𝐨𝐧-𝐈𝐝𝐨𝐥! 𝐀𝐔

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞/ 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟓𝐊

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐒𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬

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Taking the milkshake glasses off the counter and making sure the space was throughly wiped down and sanitized, San's eyes looked up when the familiar midnight blue Nissan sedan, whose model he'd never given a damn to memorize, parked in front of the restaurant, signaling the arrival of the person working the closing shift that day. His heart practically somersaulted when he caught glimpse of the soft, silky [insert color] hair stepping out of the vehicle, the owner such pretty hair owning an equally beautiful face. While his heart pounded, his stomach turned sick when he saw the driver come out as well, going over to where she was, whispering a goodbye in her ear. To anyone passing by, it'd look like a normal couple, a boyfriend bringing his girlfriend to work and giving her a kiss, no doubt promising to pick her up later.

But San knew better.

His eyes always caught on to the way she stepped back slightly, her arm folding across her body when his hand reached out to caress it, his fingers no doubt gripping down harshly on her skin. She didn't kiss him back, she just allowed him to place his lips momentarily on hers before patting her cheek lightly with his palm and soon going back to his vehicle and driving away. He watched her take a deep breath before she felt ready to go inside and start her shift.

"Hey Y/N!" He did his usual friendly and warm way of greeting her, his smiling eyes and dimples putting a genuine smile on her own somber countenance.

"Hi San. How's it been?" She inquired as she punched her number in.

Shrugging his shoulders, he sighed.

"Same as almost every Wednesday. Dead, boring and mostly the regulars or just travelers."

She shook her head, already mentalizing herself that it'd be another day spent cleaning what's already clean and over stocking the merchant just to pass time. She went inside the office to put on her uniform shirt and apron. San in no way ever peeked in to see her cause he was a pervert, he respected her and would never allow himself to think of any inappropriate scenarios involving her. However, he would always sneak a tiny glance every now and then for one particular reason. Tilting his head slightly so he could see through the tiny cracked door, he watched her take off her denim jacket and felt his grip tighten on the glass cup he was currently drying when he spotted some purple blotches on her bicep. He immediately looked away as he did not want to get angry in front of her. He hastily put the cup back in the shelf under the counter, throwing the rag onto the marble counter in a rather aggressive manner.

"Ok San, tell me what needs to be finished."

Coming out in full uniform and hair held up with her usual choice of a colored scrunchie, this day choosing yellow, Y/N looked at her coworker and waited for him to give her a task.

"Nothing really except wait on customers. I already stocked the fridge and pulled out the stuff needed from the freezer."

He was always doing that, doing not only his side workload but also hers, which more often than not had her pouting at him.

"So I'll just be bored to death?" She huffed.

Chuckling, San stepped closer to her, making sure to keep an elbow distance from her, knowing she tended to get apprehensive when someone came to close to her than she was comfortable with.

"Not really. There's plenty of things to amuse yourself with. Besides.......maybe now you won't hurt yourself so much from lifting heavy objects..."

His tone lowered involuntarily at that last part. He knew very well the bruises weren't cause she'd accidentally hit herself on the railings in the back because she lost her balance carrying stuff in and out of the freezer. She herself tensed up a little at his words.

"Oh right......heh.....clumsy me right?" She tried to plaster an unfazed smile on her face, only succeeding about halfway.

Unable to control his movements, San's hand reached out to tuck some of the hair slipping out of her ponytail behind her ear. It hurt him to no end when she flinched slightly at his movement, he could feel her tensing up when his fingers made contact with her temple. As he squinted his eyes, he could make out the uneven patch of concealer and powder on the area close to her hairline, a tiny hue of reddish purple peeking slightly through. She relaxed when he finally retreated his hand.

"Just try to be careful and take care of yourself. I don't like seeing you get hurt."

She probably didn't know, or maybe she did, he was painfully obvious when it came to her, that he meant what he said in more ways than one.

"You too....see you San."

Once more, he held himself back from blurting out everything that was kept in his chest, instead opting for giving her a farewell and going out to the parking lot to get inside his red 1989 Ford f150 and drive over to his friend's house, the bunch of them waiting for him to complete his shift and come over to their place.

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"Aish seriously San, just forget about her. Plenty of fish in the sea." One of the pair of giants told him as he chugged back the remnants in his bottle.

"And you have a lot of fish waiting for you to reel in your rod so they can bite right in." His friend sitting next to him wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"Stop you guys." San pushed the blonde away.

"Mingi and Wooyoung are right though San. You have girls and guys lined up all willing to drop their pants for you at anytime. Lucky bastard." Yunho, the other half of the giant squad chuckled lowly.

"I don't want any of them though... you guys don't understand." San looked down at the floor.

The other blonde haired male in the room, Yeosang, rolled his eyes at him, unable to understand his infatuation for the girl.

"You've been pining for her since high school. When are you going to let her go? She chose and still chooses to this day Lee Taeyong."

Slamming his fist on the table, San angrily looked at him.

"Don't fucking mention that asshole's name near me!"

Everyone grew quiet, the members who were bordering on getting tipsy suddenly sobering completely up as if there was absolutely no drop of alcohol in their system. San was usually a very friendly and sweet person, but he was also sensitive and emotional, and lately he'd manifest it through anger and rage, and it was truly terrifying to them. But they knew he had reasons for lashing out like that. They knew his hatred for Taeyong, not just for being able to score the girl he'd been in love with for ages, San would have stayed content and wholeheartedly happy had she'd been loved and cared for like she deserved to be. But instead, he had to watch as she was constantly belittled and sometimes shoved hardly into the ground, landing her scraped knees or bruised palms. He could only imagine what went on behind closed doors.

"San......you have to accept reality, all of us do whether we like it or not. Her friends aren't blind to what's happening to her. Teacher's at university aren't either, they've all tried approaching her about it.....she won't listen to anyone." Yunho decided to finally say what everyone was thinking.

"She doesn't deserve it! It's toxic and sick!" He cried out in desperation.

"But ultimately it's her choice........ you can't force her to get help or leave if she doesn't want to. She's been with him for years."

Unwilling to hear anymore, San quickly picked up his leather jacket and stormed out the house. He drove the streets like a mad man, his fist hitting the steering wheel every time he stopped at a red light. He would have continued his angry drive back to his place had he not spotted an all too familiar denim jacket walking on the road. Slowing down the truck, he pulled closer to the right side and stopped right in front of the figure trembling in the cold night air.

"Y/N?" He rolled down his window so she wouldn't be startled by some stranger suddenly pulling up next to her.

"Oh! Hey San!" She said through chattering teeth.

"You're walking home all alone?" He could not believe this.

"Uh....yeah! My boyfriend got caught up at work....didn't want to bother him so I'm walking home...it's not that far!" She tried to sound reassuring, but he could see right through her.

"You want a ride?" He offered.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it'd be a good idea or not.

"Hey it's ok. I'm not going to kidnap you or anything. I'll just drive you straight home. We don't even have to talk if you don't want. Just you, me and some old jams playing on the radio all right?"

Unable to resist that dimple smile that always made her feel fuzzy inside, she allowed him to open the door for her from the inside. After giving him her address, she found he stayed true to his word and just drove in silence the entire time. She was kinda thankful for it. She was tired after her shift, exhausted from walking and from how late it was, and more than anything, she felt like she was going to spill tears any minute if she even got out a single word. She felt worn out, her head resting on the window, eyes opening and closing as tiredness began to overtake her. She only awoke when she felt a light hand caress her cheek. In other circumstances, she would have immediately swatted the hand away and pushed the face near her own as far away as possible. But she didn't do that, she felt strangely safe and protected by the male next to her as he brushed some hair off her face.

"We're here. Safe and sound just like I promised."

Safe.........

For some reason she felt anything but safe as she looked at the house in front of her.

"Thanks San." She smiled weakly at him as she began taking off her seat belt.

"Call me if you ever need a ride. I mean it. I don't want you catching a cold...or-or worse..." He admitted.

"Thank you, really. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

She took slow steps to the front door, San didn't drive away until he confirmed she was inside. With a heavy heart, he drove away back to his place, unaware that the girl he dropped off was watching through the peephole his departure, still staying there moments after he had disappeared from sight. She sighed despondently as she dropped her bag onto the floor, slumping her body onto the couch as it was useless to try to go sleep in the bedroom given the pornographic moans and thumping noises coming from inside it. Wouldn't be the first or last time she came home to such sounds. She simply curled up into a fetus position, falling asleep in the usual way:

Tears falling out of the corners of her eyes.

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

"What do you mean she's not coming?"

San nervously gulped as his boss told him Y/N's boyfriend called to say she had a little accident and couldn't go in that day. He knew it was bullshit and he was going to find out what really happened. After going to classes the next day, he actively searched around campus for any signs of her or Taeyong. After asking around, a girl motioned to the football field, saying that's where they'd often go to at times. San squinted his eyes as he looked all over for them, finally spotting them near the bleachers. His fist tightened as he watched Taeyong once again put his filthy hands on Y/N, shoving her to the ground, making her land face first, her palms outstretched and scraping against the grass under her. He watched as Taeyong simply walked away, leaving her there, not caring about if she was seriously injured or not. Unable to hide any longer, San sauntered over to her, his arms picking her up from the ground.

"Y/N it's me!"

He didn't mean to shout at her, but having her scream and cover her head protectively gave him no other option. He nearly began crying himself when she lifted her head, her eyes full of fear and panic.

"Oh! It's you San! Sorry for that!"

As she stood up, she began dusting the dirt off, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle. Faking a smile, she giggled nervously.

"Clumsy me again, tripping on some-"

"Y/N stop lying to yourself. I saw everything."

Her face darkened at his words, her eyes becoming glued to the floor as she avoided his gaze like she did the others. She hated seeing their pitiful stares and shameful eyes, she believed San probably had the same look as well. She couldn't be more wrong as his eyes just looked at her in despair and agony.

"Why? Why do you put up with it? Why do you stay with him? Why do you torture yourself like this?.....

Why do you love him?"

He asked that last question more to himself than her. Y/N crossed her right arm over her chest, her hand clutching her left bicep as she gently massaged the muscle there. San knew it was the same bruised arm he had seen a few days ago, it was probably even more battered up than the last time he saw it.

"I can't......I don't know....."

Seeing her struggling to form words, San opted for gently hovering his hands around her, maneuvering and ushering her to sit on the bleachers without ever laying a single finger on her. Opening his backpack, he took out the mini first aid kit his older friend, Seonghwa, had given him, actually deciding to put it to use for once.

"I'm going to clean these scrapes ok?"

He looked at her and waited til she gave him permission to touch her. She did not flinch away at all when he began wiping off the dirt and blood accumulated on her knee or hands, only momentarily when he applied the disinfectant spray on her wounds.

"Sorry." He apologized.

"It's fine.......I'm used to hurting...." She finally admitted.

He wanted to speak up again, but found it hard to find the right words. He focused on applying ointment on her wounds and bandaging them up nicely.

"How long has he pushed you around?" He needed to know.

"Started 3 months after we became official.....but even before that, he'd often tease me and what not........ it doesn't hurt ....." She lied once more.

"The Y/N I knew never lied even to save her life. Sad how someone like him managed to change that." He finished wrapping the gauze around her knee.

"I haven't changed at-"

"Yes you have." He interrupted once again.

"The Y/N from then was a cheerful, happy ray of sunshine known for her bubbly personality and kindness to others. She loved going out with friends and hated staying indoors for too long. She was always honest and ready to help anyone in need, especially cute abandoned animals, she was a real softie for them."

She chuckled softly at his words, not denying any of it.

"I still am soft for them." She corrected him.

"But you're no longer happy. You're sad, somber and being in pain all because of an asshole who doesn't deserve you.......he doesn't deserve your love."

Although she heard him and wanted to believe his words, her mind blocked out such reasoning.

"But he does love me.......he swears it....every time it happens, he apologizes and promises-"

"It's all lies Y/N! He doesn't love you! If he loved you he wouldn't hurt you physically and emotionally. He wouldn't be the reason why you're only a shell of the person you used to be. He doesn't love you and he'll never love you..."

She let his words sink, trying to digest what he was saying.

"I know because I've loved you for so long and I'd never even think about putting you through half of what he has."

She whipped her head up at his words, seeing the earnest and emotion in his eyes as he finally confessed what was in his heart.

"San......" She was left speechless.

He teared up, scoffing at himself as a dry smile formed on his face.

"You have no idea how much it hurts seeing you be in pain and not able to do anything about it. Having you flinch at my touch when all I want is to comfort and hold you."

Without thinking, he cupped her cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears that began falling down her eyes.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself Y/N. You can't spend the rest of your life living in fear and chained to someone who just wants to make you suffer. You can't allow someone to take away your joy and peace of mind. You shouldn't be afraid to be free and enjoy life. You deserve to be happy and loved."

He used his last bit of self control he had and stopped himself when he leaned his face too close to hers, his nose brushing against hers, expecting her to shiver away from his touch, but instead she seemed to wait for his next move. Knowing he'd never forgive himself for it, he pulled back, leaving her disappointed and himself in agony.

"Please take care..."

Taking off his leather jacket, he placed it on her back, fanning out the sleeves so it'd cover her shoulders. Then he turned around and began walking away from her, shoulders slumped down and heart aching to go back and just take her away for good. But he resolved himself not to. Not until she specifically asked him to.

When Y/N finally got back to her place, Taeyong wasn't there. He was probably spending the night at one of his side chick's place, no doubt getting buzzed and high out of his mind. Her soft bed no longer comforted her, so instead she slid down and sat on the floor, hugging her knees and occasionally running a finger through the fabric of San's jacket. His scent was still on it and every time she inhaled it, it had a soothing and calming effect on her mind and heart that soon helped her tense body relax until she felt sleepy. It took a lot of effort, but she climbed into her bed, not bothering to cover herself with the blanket or change into more comfortable and less confining clothes.

San's jacket was the only comforting thing at that moment......

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Nudging him with his elbow, Yeosang whispered to the male next to him the presence of the girl that was slowly approaching them. Always reacting to anything related to her, San turned his head and smiled softly when he saw Y/N walking up to him.

"Hey." He greeted her.

"Hi.....I came to return this. Thanks for letting me borrow it." She held out his leather jacket, neatly folded and visible clean.

"Oh Y/N, you really didn't need to go that far." San became shy at her gesture, and worried about if she washed it cause he had forgotten to and it disgusted her.

"Don't say that. It's the least I can do for all you've done..."

She looked up at his eyes as she said that, her heart fluttering when he rested his hand on top of hers when he tried to take back his treasured article of clothing, letting it stay there for a moment, his fingers giving her hand a light squeeze. His friend behind him looked back and forth between the both of them, confused by what was going on and internally gagging at their mushy scene.

"I wanted to say thank-"

"Y/N!"

The voice calling out for her roared in her ears, sending her into a panic mode as she pulled away immediately from his physical contact. San noticed the way her body tensed up and her eyes became afraid. His own eyes narrowed at the icy blue haired man strutting up to them, a chilling smile on his manga like visuals.

"Hey baby, I've been looking all over for you. What were you doing?" He asked in a concerning tone, face bearing down on hers rather uncomfortably.

"I- I was j-just giving San back this.." She stammered as she gestured to the jacket in her hand.

Letting out a barely audible scoff, Taeyong gripped the jacket, prying it off her delicate fingers before tossing it back to San.

"Thanks bud."

San glared at him, resisting the urge to throw a punch to his face. Seeing him unresponsive, Taeyong just shrugged and suspiciously wrapped an arm around Y/N.

"Come on babe. Let's go back home."

His fingers dug into her skin, applying very painful pressure to her bruise, an occasional whimper coming out of her mouth as they walked across the football field. San's jaw tightened as he watched Taeyong lean in and whispered something in her ear, no doubt some degrading words judging by the way she cowered beneath him.

"San just let it go." Yeosang's voice said.

"I can't Yeosang. Every time I see him even breathe near her.......I feel like combusting." He grunted in frustration as his friend tried to calm him down.

"Taeyong, please stop. It really hurts." Y/N cried out, her fingers prying his hand off her aching arm.

"Shut up you little bitch. How dare you go talk to that punk? Making me look bad and having me talk to that low life." He cringed in disgust.

"I was only thanking him for lending me-"

"So what? Were you going to lend yourself to him too? Is that what you were going over to him for?"

She instantly shook her head.

"What?! No!"

"Yeah right. I bet you already whored yourself out to him...didn't you?!"

Not caring that there was still people nearby, Taeyong harshly yanked her by her hair before tossing her onto the ground, catching the attention of everyone around, including San and Yeosang.

"Fucking whore." He spat at her.

"Don't." Yeosang held his hand out when he saw San taking a step forward.

"But I can't-"

Yeosang kept an arm around him to keep him in place.

"Don't get involved. You'll only make things worse."

San looked back at the scene, his heart breaking seeing Y/N once again on the floor, trembling like a frightened kitten who had no protection. When she looked up, he saw tears already brimming down her face.

"Get up. We're going home." Taeyong sternly commanded, turning to walk away as usual.

"No."

He stopped dead in his tracks at her refusal.

"Excuse me?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

Not knowing how or where she got the strength from, Y/N got up and faced him with determination.

"I've finally had enough."

Both San and Yeosang were shocked at hearing her words, one of them more incredulous than anything and the other proud of her for finally standing up for herself. Taeyong too was put out of sorts seeing her be so bold.

"Haha, real funny baby. Now let's go home." He walked closer to her, reaching out to yank her arm, but she slapped it away.

"No! I told you! I've had it! It's over!" She declared.

Sensing he was really losing his power and control over her, Taeyong lunged at her, fist held up in the air.

"Listen here you-"

Y/N covered her face, stepping back when he came close to her. She opened her eyes and uncovered herself when she felt someone suddenly step in front of her, their hand blocking Taeyong's fist from even approaching her.

"Stay out of this Choi." Taeyong grunted.

"She told you it's over Taeyong."

San easily pushed him away single handedly, making him stumble backwards.

"Now leave and never bother her again."

Not giving up yet, Taeyong looked back at Y/N menacingly.

"And do tell me Y/N? If it's over, where are you going to live now?" He taunted her.

Realizing he was right, she almost felt defeated until San spoke up again.

"She's going to live with me." He firmly answered.

"I fucking knew it. You were being a whore with him."

Unable to hold himself back anymore, San swung hard, fist colliding with Taeyong's face, sending him falling down against the floor. Y/N covered her mouth as she gasped sharply when San picked Taeyong back up from his collar, shaking him fiercely.

"Call her that one more time! I dare you to!" He warned him as he got ready to take another swing.

"San stop!" He felt Yeosang intervene once again, holding his elbow with his hands.

"Yeosang! Just let me-"

"Stop for Y/N's sake, she's already seen and lived enough violence, I really don't think she needs to see any more." Yeosang tilted his head to the Y/N who had already began backing as far away as possible.

Realizing his friend was right, San begrudgingly let go of his most hated rival.

"Try to come near her again and I will end you."

With those final words, he went over to where Y/N was, his face softening up when he looked at her. He held out his hand to her and waited for her response. He felt happy when she finally reached out and allowed him to guide her out to the parking lot, and thankful that he decided to park somewhere where there weren't a lot of people.

"You all right?" He finally spoke up when they were finally inside his truck

"Uh...yeah...actually...I'm fine.... can you believe I actually did it?"

Although she sounded enthusiastic, he heard the crack in her voice and her nervous laughter wasn't helping her case. Instead of turning the car on, he shifted to his right to look at her. He watched as the smile left her face, her fidgeting hands suddenly shake uncontrollably and her laughter suddenly turned to her hyperventilating. Knowing what was happening, San immediately pulled her into an embrace for the very first time in his life, holding her tightly, hands running through her hair as she began breaking down, sobbing violently, finally releasing all the pent up pain and suffering she had been bottling up for years.

San himself wanted to cry, but he didn't for her sake. He just let her cry her eyes out. It took a little over 10 minutes, but finally she started to calm down.

"Thank you....for everything."

Kissing her forehead, he poked her nose and smiled at her.

"Don't mention it. Let's get you somewhere warm now."

He made sure to play soothing music for her on the ride to his house. He noticed how once again she was drifting off to sleep and simply allowed her rest, knowing she was probably exhausted not only from crying so much but also from standing up to her abusive ex boyfriend moments ago. That certainly took a lot of energy and strength from her part and he was proud of her.

It was already dark when they got home, the brooding and cloudy day shortening the daylight and making it night at such an early hour. San gently picked up Y/N and got her out of the car, carrying her sleeping figure bridal style inside his house. It was small, but at least it was cozy and would be safe for her. Peeling back the covers from his bed, he carefully laid her down on it before tucking her in. When he made sure she'd be comfortable, he turned to leave the room, deciding it'd be better for him to sleep on the couch, not wanting to overstep any boundaries or have her freak out. He barely got to the door when he heard a tiny and hushed whisper of his name.

"San?"

He immediately looked over to see what she needed.

"Could.....could you please sleep by my side?.... I'd feel more safe that way..."

She didn't want to admit it right then, but it had been so long since she'd slept in someone's arms and she really craved physical affection from him. Happy to oblige, San went over and got into bed with her.

"Are you going to be ok if I wrap my arm around you?" He asked for permission first.

"Please just hold me." She begged as she cuddled up next to him, her face burying inside his chest.

He wasted no time in throwing his arm around her, his delicate fingers drawing soothing circles on her arm.

"Don't be afraid. You're safe now and you're going to be all right. I'm here and I'll protect you."

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.

More than a year passed. It was a long and arduous process. At first Y/N didn't want to go through it, but San kept insisting she get therapy. After promising to accompany her and staying by her, she finally gave up and started seeing a psychologist. It wasn't easy, for neither of them. It was painful for her to finally speak up about all the abuse she endured for years and it was equally torturous for San to hear the rest of the untold story. It truly sickened him that one day he nearly busted Taeyong's face when he met him outside the school, but was ultimately held back once more by one of his friends. Besides his main priority was helping Y/N, helping her to properly function again and to bring a little more joy into her life, even going out to adopt a cat for her, naming her Byeol. She became their cute little baby, even if she was a total, well, cat at times and didn't want to cuddle.

"That's ok. I know a cat willing to cuddle me." Y/N chuckled.

San looked around confused.

"Wait! You got another cat? Where is- Oh! You meant me." He blushed hard when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body next to his as she snuggled next to him on the couch.

San did not hope for and did not expect Y/N to ever return his feelings, he was satisfied with her just being out of that horrible situation and being able to help her. Never did he dream she'd ever accept to be his and especially not ever cross his mind that he'd ever be able to actually claim her as his own.

But here she was, looking so beautiful underneath his body, wearing nothing but his leather jacket as he rolled his hips against hers. His fingers were laced with hers as his lips pulled apart from hers so he could look at her.

"Fuck...you're so damn pretty."

He leaned back in to place open mouth kisses on her jaw that traveled down to her neck. Although he nibbled occasionally, he made sure not to leave any marks on her soft and delicate skin.

"San...." She breathed out heavily, her hands breaking from his grasp to run through his black hair, paying close attention to the faded green streaks near his bangs.

"Oh god- please repeat that a little more." He groaned, loving the way she called out his name with such lust.

One of his hands traveled down her sides to cup one of her thighs, lifting her leg so he could hit deeper inside her. Feeling him at a whole new angle had Y/N gripping his muscly arms, her panting now becoming more erratic as she began clenching around him.

"San-" She called out again.

He chuckled slightly, hips snapping up to thrust just a little harder in her.

"Go ahead beautiful. Cum all over me, I want to feel you."

Hearing his low and suddenly husky voice urging her on, she let out a tiny whimper, her legs wrapping around his waist, using it as leverage to ride out her high. Her nails raked themselves into his back, her body pressed as close as it could be against his.

"Oh my god!" He gasped out as he twitched inside of her, his cum coating her walls, leaving her feeling full and complete.

He collapsed on top of her, his labored breathing occasionally resulting in a little choke as he tried to compose himself. When he finally came to, he brushed his lips against her temple.

"I love you so much."

She smiled at him as he adjusted the jacket that enveloped her, a real genuine smile.

"I love you too Sannie."

Giving her a tiny peck, he began sliding the jacket off.

"Let's get you out of this. It's probably too hot to be wearing it anymore."

She huffed and pouted.

"Baby no. I love wearing it. It feels like it's hugging me." She grabbed it and wrapped it around her more tightly.

"You know what else wants to hug you? My arms. So take off the jacket and let me snuggle you love."

ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı.ılı.lıllılı.ıllı

[ktheist]

girls like you [don’t] run ‘round with guys like me | m

characters. popular!reader x shy!jimin

genre. college au. rich kids au. fwb au. eventual ceo au. eventual racer au.

words. 4k

warnings. 18+

note. this is a repost. tumblr messed up my exposure last time. this fic didn’t show up in search and it’s probably a third post of mine that ends up like this. this one probably won’t either but posting bc someone might see it and like it.

x

It’s easy to tell when Park Jimin is in love.

Unlike Kim Seokjin, his eccentric, dad joke-loving friend, Jimin would only wear the pastel pink when he’s feeling giggly and shy and mushy inside.

The source of said feelings being either the barista he goes to get his daily dose of coffee from, or the girl at the library he studies at during finals or well, right now it’s the girl he’s fucking almost every day of the week - you.

“What are you doing?” Seokjin looks at him like he just dumped a spoonful of salt in a broth that needs a little, teensy bit of sugar.

Or his face seems to say that as he goes on, “she’s a mean girl. She’s mean.”

Jimin isn’t sure if Seokjin’s aware that he’s just repeated the same thing twice.

“She calls you Chim!” The older man reiterates.

“Yeah, it’s…” Jimin trails off, the heartwarming image of you cuddling into him after yet another mindblowing sex, flashing at the back of his mind, “...her pet name for me.”

“Sounds to me like she can’t remember your actual name,” Min Yoongi interjects from the couch he’s claimed for himself ever since they got to their usual hangout.

It’s a penthouse Jimin’s parents bought him on his 18th birthday. Him and the boys would hang around there after they’re done with classes or just need a place to crash whenever they have problems with their girlfriends or boyfriends or parents or any sort of problem that renders their usual room not sleepable.

“I think we can just agree we have different wants,” Jeongguk - or the sanest of them all, as Jimin likes to call him - chirps in, taking a bite of the apple he got from the fridge.

“Exactly,” Jimin throws his hands up as if freed from his elder friends’ judge-filled eyes. The vibration of his phone in his lap gives him even more comfort to know that he finally has an excuse to slip away - he checks his phone, your name flashing in the bubble that says ‘hey, wyd?’

“I have to go, it’s ___.”

A series of groans and hollers equally erupts from the men in the room at the realization of what Jimin’s ‘having to go’ means.

And so it goes. Jimin finds himself under your blanket that smells like fresh laundry - it’s a nude green color compared to the pleated black and white from last time. Your head is on his chest and he’s caressing your hair like it’s the softest thing he’s ever laid his hands on.

Besides your boobs, that is.

“I was thinking… since we have Monday off… maybe we could-”

It’s the way you push yourself off him, eyes that are onto him gazing straight into his soul, “oh shoot, Monday’s a public holiday. I totally forgot! I have to meet my parents. My dad’s been nagging me to come back since I skipped Christmas and New Year.”

And there goes his chance to ask you out on a date.

“Oh yeah, what were you saying about Monday?”

Jimin wears the biggest fake smile he can muster, “just that… me and the boys are gonna hang out and we’re bringing our girlfriends and boyfriends and uh- doesn’t have to be someone you’re exclusively seeing,” he almost chokes at the almost-admittance that he has the fattest crush on you and wants to make it official by inviting you to a couple’s-only hang out, “but like, I don’t think I’m going, it’s boring anyway.”

He waves his hand dismissively, trying to play it cool.

You make a cooing sound, eyebrows knitting together as your lips pout cutely before a playful smile blooms on your face, “I know what you’re trying to say.”

“You do?” Jimin thinks he heard his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Yeah, you’re single and all the boys have someone special they’re gonna bring… it’s gonna be awkward as hell because they’re gonna act different because they’re around their special someone so you thought if I was there, it’d be more fun because at least you have a friend with you that’s not gonna act fake the whole time there but I can’t go so you decided you’re not going too like a minute ago.”

Silence lulls in after your analogy that you sound so sure of when, in fact, he has a whole list of things he’d do on the date which he may or may not have gone over a hundred times in his head.

Doesn’t matter now, since that date is a no-go.

He’s going to delete that list off his phone once he gets to his place and drink himself silly until he wipes it out of his mind.

“Yeah,” Jimin says a moment later, “yeah… I mean, girls in love are cute but boys in love are just… annoying.”

The week flies by without Jimin ever mentioning Monday and you’ve showed him the clothes you’re going to wear to visit your parents because apparently-

“It’s lunch at some five star Michelin restaurant and I think they’re gonna tell me they’re getting a divorce,” your voice drifts into the room from the open, walk-in closet.

“If they’re not in some long, dreadful battle on who gets the holiday house with the pool and the dogs - how do I look?” You step out, in a frilly creme sweater with a black ribbon tied around the collar of your white undershirt with a black pleated skirt that stops mid-thighs, just inches from your black stockings.

A glaring contrast to your collection of washed out skinny jeans, plain t-shirts and sneakers.

“You… look…” Jimin knows he should stop openly ogling at your never-before-seen drip but there’s just something about the creme colored sweater.

“Like a good girl?” You offer with a smile Jimin couldn’t quite put a name to. Somehow he notices a trace of sadness in your eyes, but you disappear into the closet too soon.

“I’ll think about what to wear the morning I need to wear it,” you’re in the middle of pulling off the sweater when Jimin comes up behind you, kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs like they’re his.

The sound of your giggle is music to his ears.

That is, until his boner brushes against your butt and you gasp, “Chim! We just did it.”

“I know but you look so cute in that sweater.” He sounds exactly like Jeongguk. Like a fuckboy.

Like one of the boys you got tired of before you finally noticed him, the quiet, shy guy who’s friends with the outgoing, baby-faced Jeon Jeongguk whom - Jimin hates to admit it but he thinks about this every once so often and gets jealous all on his own - you’ve humped and dumped.

How you and Jeongguk still manage to stay friends and tease each other about the other’s choice of partners, Jimin doesn’t know.

It’s like a twin calling the other ugly.

He wonders if you and him will still stay friends after…

Jimin pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s not hard to forget everything when he’s with you - when he’s kissing you on the mouth like you’re the only girl he’ll want to spend the rest of his college life with and maybe his old days with together too.

“Chim, I can’t get my shirt creased,” you say but you’re already dripping wet and laying down in said shirt that’s half ridden up from him sucking and biting on your nipples.

He stopped you when you tried to take off your clothes.

“I’ll wash it and iron it for you,” he negotiates just as he rolls the condom over his length.

The sound of your giggle makes his heart skip a beat. Or maybe that’s the libido?

Either way, your mouth clamps shut when he pulls you down against him by the dip of your waist.

A different kind of hymn leaves your lips as Jimin throws his head back, relishing in the feeling of you around him.

When Monday rolls around, Jimin’s lying on the bean bag with his two legs sprawled over the floor. The boys are all out with either their significant others, working part-time or at a party.

The worn out baseball Jimin’s been tossing in the air and catching with one hand finally hits him square in the face when he hears the doorbell, signaling the presence of someone at the door and that someone being none of the boys because they would just punch in the code and strut in like they own the place.

Jimin thought maybe it’s Yoongi - the guy couldn’t even remember what he had for dinner and actually forgot the passcode to his own rental room once.

So he didn’t think to check who it was.

When your bright smile and slightly puffy eyes flash in front of him, Jimin thinks his soul just yeeted itself out of his body.

“Hey!” You sing song, holding up two plastic bags of beers and snacks.

It takes a moment for him to snap out of his stupor and grab them from your hands and then stepping aside to let you in.

“Is… everyone late or am I just early?” You sound increasingly confused as you step further into the center of the room, standing right next to the bean bag he was laying in just a moment ago.

“Oh-” he says once before he opens his mouth the second time, ready to spurt out another lie, “oh yeah… we decided not to ‘cause why hang out in a group when you can hang out with your significant other… you know, just the two of you… doing what couples do…”

“Huh,” you say, nodding though not quite believing him but you being you, easily lets it slide, plopping on the bean bag and grabbing the closest thing to you which is the ball that hit Jimin in the face - he’s sure he has a circular mark smack dab in the area on the top of his nose bridge, in between his eyes.

The dress you end up wearing is creme colored and riding up your thighs - Jimin swallows thickly and give extra attention to the bottle opener.

“So… how did lunch go?” He pops two beers open and hands one to you, taking a seat on Yoongi’s favorite couch and admiring how your dress is taking the shape of your body as gravity pulls it down.

“Oh, you know, everyone was being fake and acting like the perfect role in the family,” you put the beer down a few inches above your head so as to not tip it over with the ball you’re waving around but not throwing in the air like Jimin did.

“Sounds suffocating,” Jimin repeats a similar answer he gives whenever you use that dismissive tone while talking about your family.

“...are you okay?” Then he asks - and he’s genuinely asking - about your state of mind while casually downing the beer and feeling the bitterness lessen with every gulp.

The silence that lapses in between you is familiar.

“If I say no, can I get a hug?” It’s the look in your eyes, glimmering like the lake he used to go to in summer.

“Always,” he sets his beer down on the table next to the couch and goes over to you, standing on his knees before bending down and engulfing you in his arm.

You’ve always had a knack for picking yourself up.

When he sees you the next time, which is on instagram and a post of you having lunch with your friends, Jimin could hardly believe that’s the girl who asked him for a hug as if she’s afraid she’ll be putting him in an uncomfortable spot by asking for too much.

But there’s something…

Like an invisible wall made of ice that he can’t thaw through nor can he climb over to get to the other side where you are. Where you keep the people you love the closest. Closer than he’ll ever be.

Jeon Jeongguk is one of them.

In the picture of five people huddled close to fit in the frame, Jeongguk has his arm over you with a peace sign while you lean your head on his neck but not actually resting on it - like it’s an unconscious action you’d do because you’ve done that plenty of times.

Is it when you two were together?

Everyone he knows, knows that you and Jeongguk used to be more than just friends at some point.

Sometimes he still hears people talking about you two in passing.

‘Did ___ and Jeongguk get back together? I saw in Jeongguk’s snapstory - they were in a club or something.’

‘No way. There goes my chance of getting close with Jeongguk.’

‘Girl, with ___ hanging around him 24/7, do you think he’d look at girls like us?’

‘A girl can dream though.’

Jimin wanted to open his mouth and tell them they deserve way better than Jeon Jeongguk - though they’re not prettier than you.

He thinks you’re the loveliest girl on planet earth and if there was another life form on another planet, he’s almost a hundred percent sure you’d still be prettiest being in the universe with your obsession for skinny jeans and the way you’d unconsciously pout when he talks about how things weren’t going his way that day as if you would’ve exchanged your abundance of luck with his shitty one just because you’ve got that big of a heart and how you’d be walking with your friends, laughing and giggling and when you see him, you’d wave at him like you’re good friends.

Second only to Jeongguk and your friend group that you’re always hanging out with.

“Oh, ___? We were childhood friends.”

“Hmm… Gguk and I became friends because our parents are friends.”

The two of them say at different times and settings when Jimin asked, trying to play it cool. Like he isn’t just brimming with jealousy. Like he’s not half-way to losing his mind because the girl of his dreams just went to a retreat with his friend-of-a-friend-turned-actual-friend together when everyone else in the group who was excitedly planning for the trip - couldn’t make it.

The rooms at the inn weren’t even pre-booked. It was owned by Jeongguk’s family and they didn’t deposit any money for the trip for them to rationalize going on that trip anyway despite everyone else not being to go.

“The trip? It was fun, if you want we can go together next time.”

Jimin isn’t sure if you even mean that when he asked how the trip went after you’re glistening with the glow of after sex and scrolling through instagram, liking posts of everyone you know.

But then three months later, on your break, Jimin is hit with a ‘keep your schedule free next week for a whole week!!!’

Then he finds himself at a five star hotel by the beach with the most breathtaking view of the sea.

It wasn’t the inn owned by the Jeon’s but Jimin liked the fact that you brought him to a place - and he hopes his assumptions are true - your friends have never been before. Especially Jeongguk.

“Woah, this place is better than I thought,” a king sized bed lies directly across from the balcony where you’re standing, hair flying behind your back as the seaside breeze blows into the room.

“We can watch the sun rise and set from our bed,” Jimin comments for the sake of saying something.

He’s not sure what this means. He’s not sure if he should be having a boner at the thought of the two of you being together for a whole week without any other person getting in the way. He’s not sure if his heart should be thumping this fast.

For the first time since he’s known you, Park Jimin is the most unsure he’s ever been.

“You know what I wanna watch?” Your hands slip in his as you stand between him  and the open balcony door, “you under me, biting your lips because you’re still shy about the sound you make.”

So when you tug him back into the bedroom just minutes after checking in, naturally, Park Jimin follows like he’s been bewitched by your ungodly beauty.

Once the one week of nothing but heavenly morning wishes and passionate night kisses - oh, there was more than just kissing but Jimin remembers how your lips meld so perfectly together with his the most - Jimin is sure.

‘Something definitely changed.’

He thinks maybe it’s not impossible to dream of a future with you even after college.

“Jimin I-... I’m not at a point in life to be thinking about relationships,” you say, hand gripping your arm, head lowered as if your whole body is saying sorry.

“O-oh,” is all he says, he hearts his heart breaking and his chest caving.

All of a sudden, the lights in Gangnam city doesn’t seem so bright anymore.

You both live your last year pretending like the other doesn’t exist. He doesn’t look at you when he passes you and neither did you. Only talks to Jeongguk even though you’re right next to the aforementioned man - granted you were talking with your other friends like you didn’t even notice him there.

But Jimin’s never felt so invisible in his life than he does now.

Then, graduation rolls around and he thinks finally, he won’t have to walk through the hallway and pretend like he didn’t see you. Don't have to keep a five feet distance whenever you meet up for a group project.

Park Jimin doesn’t need to see your pretty face and starry eyes anymore.

“Jimin… do you have a minute?”

Or so he thought.

“So… congrats on surviving college,” you make small talk while standing just ten feet away from the boys whom he’s sure are speculating on what you’re talking about.

Jimin never got to prove to his friends that you’re not the mean, name-forgetting girl they all thought.

Jeongguk knows you’re not. He’s always backing Jimin up when Jimin’s debunking their passing accusations about you.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out between two people but doesn’t mean one of them is the bad guy.” Jeongguk's words put an end to their debate of whether Jimin deserved better than you or not.

For someone young, Jeongguk spoke his mind decidedly.

Jimin felt ashamed that he’d ever been jealous of Jeongguk’s relationship with you.

“I just… didn’t wanna leave things on a bad note. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when I said no but I really like spending time with you - whether it’s sex or just staying over and cuddling for hours… I like it all.” You say the word sex and cuddle like they’re used interchangeably and Jimin thinks his heart just fluttered.

And you’d said it in public where your everyone can see or possibly pick up on what you were saying, at that.

Well, one thing’s for sure, you’ve got bigger balls than he does.

“My feelings are the same as six months ago and call me crazy but I don’t think you dislike me either.” He finally says and it feels like a deadweight has been lifted off his shoulders.

There comes that pout, as if something is bothering you and you always ever pout like that when that something concerns him.

“You kidding me? I can never dislike you.”

The Jimin from six months ago would have stared at you with disbelief and a dust of pink on his cheeks. But the Jimin he is now simply smiles, heart thumping in his chest. He nods.

“Thanks for telling me that,” and Jimin knows that’s the closest to an ‘I like you’ he can get with the girl who builds an ice fortress around her heart.

A whole year passes by and Jimin finds himself in different shades of grey every day, working at his dad’s company and attending dinner meetings. Life comes to a standstill while time passes him by.

“So, like, you have a sports car, right? Why don’t you come over to the race circuit after dinner? Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Jeongguk tells him over the phone.

And by ‘everyone’ he means the sons and daughters in the corporate world. It’s networking at its finest.

When he’s there, three cars are already racing in the circuit. The smell of burnt rubber and the sound of tires screeching against asphalt isn’t exactly his favorite but they have cheap booze instead of fine wine and he knows the people here are in for the same thing as he is.

An escape.

Away from the grandeur of fine wine and dinner dresses and the elders breathing down their necks and having to act like the next heir to the legacy they were born to carry.

“That Chevrolet over there,” Jeongguk comes, hand on Jimin’s back as his other one that’s holding a bottle of beer points at a red car that looks like a racing fireball, “everyone’s betting on that one tonight.”

Jimin doesn’t know there’s a bet.

“I’ll skip the bet this time ‘round. Haven’t seen the driver yet,” he shrugs dismissively.

Even in stock investment, he’d learned to study the market first before placing his best bet.

Jeongguk leaves his side when his friends - he’s got new ones now - beckons him over. At the same time, the Chevrolet passes the finish line seconds before the Ford Mustang and McLaren 720s, making it the winner of the night.

The driver seems like a show off with the way the car rolls up to the audience, the sound of its engines revving into the night being met with cheers of half-drunk young adults.

Arrogance is a man’s downfall.

Jimin’s about to turn around and head for the exit when the door of the car gets pushed open. The driver steps out, decked in black and red leather jeans and jackets that seem to match the car.

But it’s the smooth, silken hair that cascades past the helmet that catches his eyes.

Park Jimin’s seen many arrogant men in his life but he’s only ever seen one woman with balls and looks good wearing them.

“___! ___! ___!” The crowd starts cheering as you pull off the helmet, holding it underneath your arm and waist.

Your eyes are as brilliant as the night sky full of stars. They’re tinged with shock and then recognition. And finally, you smile that gorgeous smile that gets you misunderstood often as a woman who doesn’t need anything or anyone but uses them as they come.

But Park Jimin knows better than anyone, how wholeheartedly happy that smile looks when you see him.

Like meeting a good friend after a long time.

Seven months down the road, Jimin finds himself with just a blanket draped over his waist while you’re taking a shower in his bathroom to get ready to head to Hong Kong for a business trip.

He hears the sound of the shower head being turned off. The tapping of your foot around his bedroom as you pick up your clothes that are strewn all over the floor.

Then the bed dips ever so gently under your weight as you climb over to him, the fresh scent of shower get filling his senses.  Lips press a deep, lingering kiss on his. As if you don’t want to go to a place where he won’t be.

A few socials and midnight races after his first meeting with you after a long time, you asked him if he’s seeing someone.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” It’s playful at first, because Jimin didn’t want to get himself hurt the second time.

But it’s the way you tilted your head, a finger tapping on your chin as you pondered on his words, “that’s a problem because I don’t want to be that girl that steals another girl’s man,” then you looked at him like you know he’s the one you want to wake up to every morning and the last face you see when you sleep at night and if you can’t have that. then-

“Can you be mine… just for tonight?”

“I don’t think I can.” The crestfallen expression you wear makes his own heart break, even if it’s just for a split second-

“Because I’m not seeing anyone but I’m in that point in life where I want a serious relationship or nothing at all.”

But what he doesn’t tell you is how he doesn’t want a relationship if it’s not with the girl who still haunts his dreams even after all this time.

Just like how you’d turned him down because you weren’t looking to be in a relationship before, you’d courted Jimin like you’d want to spend your whole life with him now.

Flowers got sent to his office everyday until it smells nothing short of floral. You’d be there, waving at him like he’s your savior in that dreadful social you were both attending. Every week, you’d plan dinner dates under the guise of catching up.

Before you race, you’d look over to where he’s standing, as if saying ‘this one’s for you’ before slipping into your car and coming out first every single time.

As if you were making up for every month of the year that you’d let life pass you by.

Now you’ve won a total of 36 races since he met you and the metal band you gifted him on the night of your 12th win feels warm against his skin. As if it’s absorbed all the love and adoration you poured into it.

And you’re wearing that ring he got you on your birthday on your finger that’s resting on his chest where his heart is as he kisses you back just as reluctant to let you leave.

But Park Jimin knows wherever you are, wherever you will be - you will always find your way back to each other.

Back home.

[smallrainclouds]

And part b to part six.

Warning:.some spicness, like kissing and stuff.

🌙💤💤🌙

*Reader's pov*

You were bone tired but pleased with your process. You pushed your hair out your face. Lately you had taken to wearing it down, it was nice not to have to fuss with fixing a bun or the headache that came with it sometimes

You hummed a song as you began collecting the next round of scrolls. You

You heard the door open and your eyes widened, "Hypnos! Here for a second time?"

You waved him in with a smile. He gives a smile in return, "Yeah, I got done early so I decided to stop by to check in."

You noticed there was a tension in his body that you haven't seen before but you decided to hold your tongue for now.

"It's going well. Come on, I got the backroom nearly done. I'll give you a tour."

You motioned to Hypnos to follow you, eager to show off your work. You didn't notice how his eyes stayed on you the whole time.

"So I got the history area set up, and I got it broken down by the time period followed by the area…" you chatted as Hypnos floated behind you. He was mostly quiet except for a quick question here or there.

"And that is it for now." You said, fingers brushing across the wooden shelves.

You looked at Hypnos, candle light was always good to Hypnos. It has taken some time to admit to yourself that You did like the strange handsome look of your husband. Now it was something you couldn't stop thinking about.

"Impressive. Do you enjoy doing this?" He asked.

You tilted your head, not expecting that question. "I do. I like the stories and even the non fiction can help give context to what a story is about."

Hypnos smiled, and damn it, you could feel a blush forming.

"Is this what you would do if you had a choice?"

"I…" You bit your lips, not quite sure what to say. "Maybe. I think I would, but I could be happy doing something else."

"Are you unhappy with your work?" You tried to keep your tone casual. It was already unusual for Hypnos to visit twice in one day and ask questions like these. It was silly but you didn't want to scare him off. Even if he was your husband, he was more like an acquaintance right now.

"That would be putting it mildly." Hypnos shrugged. "Not exactly the type of guy you would want doing paperwork, but that's all I do."

"Why do it then?" You frowned, "I mean being the god of sleep would have to be a full time job on its own."

Hypnos didn't say anything for a few moments, and you feared you may have pushed too much.

"What exactly did your family tell you? About the war, I mean?" Hypnos asked, his voice soft.

You crossed your arms and shifted on your feet. This wasn't what you expected. You still didn't like to think about it. That war had cost so much more problems than it fixed.

"My mother told me some things but not what you did. She did say you were the only reason she didn't lose a war. Which is huge if you know what my mother is like." You locked eyes with Hypnos. You could see the guilt on his face, another thing that surprised you tonight.

"Well, Aphrodite helped some. Even if she didn't realize it." Hypnos matched your gaze.

He grinned a little, and held up two fingers."I…put Zeus to sleep. Twice. I don't think he found out the second time, I was much more careful the second time around."

You gasped at him, "How in the world did you even get close enough to do that?"

This time Hypnos laughed and you tried to ignore the warmth in your body.

"I was a determined and a very stupid child back then. I thought I needed to prove I was worthy of being called a god." Hypnos looked amused at the thought of his younger self. "I saw Zeus had a hard time saying no to a pretty face and gave your mother the idea to trick Zeus by using his own ego against him."

You shook your head with a laugh, "No wonder my mother didn't say much, she probably was mad she didn't think of it first."

"After that, my mother wasn't exactly pleased that I was getting involved with the Olympians so much. She talked Hades into keeping me here until I grew up some. So now I'm here, listing off the dead. I think Mom was trying to show me the cost of that war."

"Oh, it's been so long since that war though. Surely she must have forgiven you by now." You had been a child yourself, just on the cusp of becoming a woman. Those hazy days of youth seem so long ago.

"I suspect if it wasn't for the current war right now, I would probably be out of the house."

A moment of silence then Hypnos floated closer, "Actually, could I confess something? You're probably not going to like me much afterwards though. But I need to tell you."

"Hypnos, I doubt that very much." You watched him stop his floating and stand. You noticed that he could block you from the door, but you felt comfortable enough with Hypnos. And you were sure he wouldn't do anything. Honestly, you weren't sure if you would say no if he did try something.

His face turned serious, "I really hope so."

You frowned at him, "Hypnos, just tell me. I don't like these kinds of games." You couldn't help the nervousness in your voice. If this was some joke…

"I helped your mother for a reason. I… I did it for you." Hypnos said quietly.

You stared, not quite understanding. "But we never even met…"

"No, we have once,Y/N. I don't think you noticed me the other times." Hypnos respond desperately.

You shook your head and took a step backwards, the shelves pressed against your back.

Hypnos grabbed your shoulders, firm but not bruising. He got close enough that you could feel his body heat and you looked away from him. You hated how your heart flip flopped between wanting to push him away and pulling him closer.

"This isn't funny, Hypnos." You snapped at him.

"No, it's not." Hypnos grabbed your chin. "Hey, Y/N look at me. Hey."

You gave in the gentle pressure and allowed Hypnos to pull your face up. You realized you were trembling as you met his light golden eyes.

"You really don't remember me, do you?" He whispered. You shook your head, unable to speak.

"I remember. Each time I saw you. The first time, you didn't see me I think. It was a party, you were dancing with one of your sisters. I was there because I wanted to see what the big deal was about the Olympians."

His thumb brushed your face, a small smile on his. "The second time was when I first tricked Zeus, you were in the hallways and I had to hide so no one would see me. I almost got caught anyway since I couldn't take my eyes away from you."

You couldn't look away, you almost felt like you were in a trance, only able to listen to Hypnos' voice. "The third time… I was in your mother's living room, and I could see you in the garden. I sneaked off so I could get a closer look, and that when I found you trying to listen in. You looked like a painting to me, this beautiful little goddess hidden among flowers. I had to send you off before I could even talk to you."

Your eyes widen, an old memory rushing back.

"The red poppies." You murmured and Hypnos' face lit up.

"She tried to offer me anything. Wealth, boons or strength, anything a young god could want. But… I wanted you. My mother tried to stop it, to save you from my foolishness, but Hera had already swore to the river Styx."

"Hypnos- I - this is too much." You shook your head. You placed your hands on his chest, but you were trembling too much to push him away. Your hand just curled into his tunic, shaking in a mix of anger and stock. And hurt, you thought maybe you could trust him.

"How- I can't even talk to you. My sisters-" you pulled your face away from him. Your voice cracked, "my sisters. My home."

Hypnos used both hands to hold your face as he bent down to look at you. "I know. I shouldn't have kept it from you. I would have thought your family would have told you."

You took a deep breath, "I-i thought you were a friend. I thought you were in the same boat as me. I thought maybe you were helpful in a battle or something and my mother saw a chance for some dumb political move and that Nyx was in on it."

You glared up at him, "I didn't know you traded for me, like -like I was some dumb cattle!" You stepped away from the side, back facing Hypnos; trying to get air into your lungs. You hated the fact the only reason you were able to get away was because Hypnos allowed you.

"First of all, you will not talk about yourself like that." Hypnos' voice went hard but you just scoffed at him, too upset at him.

He got close to you again, tone a little softer "And second, it wasn't like that. I honestly didn't think she would offer her own daughter up. I-"

You whirled around to face him, finger in his face. "You didn't have to take her up on it though!"

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. His face is a mixture of anger and desperation. He wrapped his arm around your waist and held you flushed against him. You raised your hand to his chest to push off but the fire in his eyes stopped you.

"I knew I would never get another chance to have you, Y/N. By blood and darkness,it was my only chance and I took it! I know what the almighty Olympians really think of us. I know I would never get to see you again if I didn't take up on her offer."

Hypnos lean down, almost close enough to kiss. "I would have done anything for you. I still would."

You tighten your hand on his chest, unable to move away, not wanting to move away. "You barely know me, Hypnos. Why? Why me?"

"Because I do know you, in the way that matters. I see how hard you try to please your family, how you get lost in the words of a story."

You shook your head, unable to deal with emotions that were building up in you. But Hypnos just kept talking.

"I know you have a soft spot for everybody, even the outcasts, how smart you are and how you always try to make sure to help anyone who needs it."

"I- Hypnos." You whispered.

He let go of your wrist to wrap his other arm around you. "Y/N, I don't know everything, not yet. But I would like to. Will you let me?" He asked softly, desperately.

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You cupped his face and pulled his lips to yours in a chaste kiss.

Hypnos tighten his hold on you. Gently, he pressed a little more into the kiss. You gasped against his lips and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and just tried to hold on.

You didn't know how long or short the kiss went on when both you and Hypnos both took a breath. He pressed his forehead against yours, his golden eyes on your eyes.

"I'm still mad at you." You murmured, fingers caressing his cheek. He smiled, "If this is how good you are when mad, I can't wait to kiss you when you're happy."

"Oh, for goodness sake." You rolled your eyes, not able to hide your smile. Hypnos pressed a kiss against your cheek and then another one, slowly working his way to your neck.

You tugged him back up to face you before he could continue because if you didn't, you were to make some very foolish decisions.

"Can I kiss you again?" Hypnos asked, his hand cupped the back of your head and you nodded as you pulled him down for another one.

Suddenly the doors bang open, "Hey Y/N! I got past- oh." Zagreus' voice halted. You hid your face in Hypnos' chest, wishing for a pit to open up and swallow you whole.

"Zagreus, buddy. Ever heard of knocking?" Hypnos snarled, "Let me help, it when you use your head and-"

"You know what, I will come back later. Much later." Zagreus slammed the door shut.

Then opened it again.

"Congratulations you two!"

And slammed close again.

"I'm going to kill him." Hypnos murmured into your hair.

"Be nice, he is your best friend." You murmured into his chest.

"But he gotten used to dying." Hypnos brushed a kiss against your head. You sighed and looked up at him, "I said no, Hypnos. You said anything for me."

"I did." Hydnos agreed easily. He dipped his head down to met you in another kiss.

"Anything for you, Y/N."

[hauntedpizzaruins]

Yet another shitty wintersberg fanfic

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Ethan had just finished his sixth cup of coffee.

By coffee standards, that's a lot. By Ethan’s standards, he was already two cups behind yesterday. Not by his own volition though, Heisenberg kept moving the coffee every time he got the chance. This meant Ethan had to hunt for it every time he wanted another cup.

And so, every half hour, the hunt was on.

“Karl I swear to whatever fucking god is out there, stop moving the goddamn coffee!” Ethan yelled from the kitchen, his head currently under the kitchen sink.

There was no response from the other man, who had been doing this for a week now and had been insisting the whole time that he didn’t know what Ethan is on about.

A very tired looking Ethan soon stormed into Karls workshop, a place he had been told on multiple occasions to stay out of for his own safety.

“Karl. Where is it.” He said, looking at Heisenberg, who kept his head down.

Karl took his cigar out of his mouth and motioned towards the door with it.

“You’re not allowed in here, you know that.” He sighed, still not looking up from what he was tinkering with.

He felt like a bit of an ass keeping Ethan out of the place he spent most of his time, but he had no other choice. He can’t always keep an eye on where bits of metal are flying from, and he’d never forgive himself if Ethan got hurt because of this. “Tell me where you hid the coffee and I’ll-” Ethan was cut off mid-sentence by a rather large piece of corrugated iron flying into his chest and pushing him out the door, which promptly shut itself in front of him. The metal scrap dropped to the floor, landing beside him. Ethan was completely unharmed, but very pissed off.

“See you at dinner!” Karl yelled cheerfully, finally looking up at Ethan, giving him a smile that could only just be seen through the grimey window on the door.

Heisenberg then put his head back down, his smile quickly fading.

“Fuck- Why did the duke have to give him that shit…”

Ethan stormed back through the factory and back to the kitchen to resume searching, but to no avail. He started wandering around the rest of the factory.

He generally stuck to the areas he and Karl hung out in, the memory of Lycans still fresh in his head, even though Karl had cleared them out months ago and the factory was mostly shut down, aside from the things needed for necessities or things the other man used in his tinkerings.

He carefully walked through the rooms, a little scared of the chance Karl had missed a Lycan or two. He didn’t exactly feel like losing any more fingers.

After maybe half an hour, he stumped across a door he hadn’t noticed before, and when he tried the handle, it was unlocked. Dark stairs led down into some sort of basement, full of cobwebs and dust and dirt and… coffee?

He grabbed a can and read the label, “Damn, this shit expired 40 years ago-” He sighed, knowing 40-year-old coffee can’t be good for him. He looked around the rest of the shelves and found they were stocked with nothing but coffee. He held onto the can in his hand and headed back up the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

Soon it was dinner time, and Heisenberg was in the kitchen preparing whatever he felt like making that night.

Ethan walked in and set the can down next to Karl, “Care to explain?” He asked, leaning against the counter.

Karl looked down at the can of coffee, a shocked look coming across his face the second he saw it. He stopped chopping up vegetables and stared at it for a moment, chewing his cigar a little more roughly than usual.

“Ethan… Where the fuck did you find this?” He asked, looking up at him, his voice a lot softer than usual, a voice that Ethan knew meant something was wrong.

“In a cellar in your factory. Why was there so much coffee down there? You said you don’t drink coffee-” Ethan could vividly remember Karl saying he had always hated the stuff, so him having a cellar full of it made no sense to him.

Karl put the knife down on the bench, taking a deep breath as he stared at the can.

“Alright, you caught me, I used to drink coffee, happy now?” He said snippily, taking his eyes back up to Ethans.

“Now please, take that shit away and let me make dinner.”

Ethan knew better than to push Karl, he’s used to having to defend himself through every conversation that he starts to see Ethans calm words as threats pretty damn fast. He took the can and walked off, finding somewhere to put it where Karl wouldn’t see. There had to be more of a story behind the hundred and something cans of coffee, Karls reaction assured that.

A few days passed and Ethan still hadn’t found where his coffee was hidden, and he was feeling pretty rough due to it. He had considered drinking the cellar coffee but that stuff would probably kill him, so that was out of the question.

Sometime that afternoon, Ethan was sat on the couch watching a movie, rather grateful for the Duke and his questionable wares that now included films.

Heisenberg sat down next to him, who Ethan gently leant against, taking how close Karl sat as a signal that a little physical affection was alright.

After a few minutes, Karl sighed, looking down at Ethan, who he had just awkwardly wrapped an arm around.

“So uh… You really wanna know what’s with all that coffee?”

Ethan nodded, looking up at him, knowing that it was best to keep his words to a minimum right now.

“Alright… About 40, maybe 50 years ago, it’s hard to keep track at this point, I got a bit hooked on coffee, even worse than you- I was drinking around 20 cups a day and I was suffering because of it. There was a lot going on at that point and I guess that’s how I decided to deal with it.” He sighed, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Anyways, Donna found out what was going on and took it upon herself to help me. The best solution she could come to was hiding all of it. I assumed she took it to her house, I tore the place apart trying to find all of it. I had never even thought that she’d hide it here- She also told the Duke what was going on and he wouldn’t sell it to me after that. Eventually, I forgot all about it though, and I know Donna had to do what she did-”

Ethan nodded in understanding,

“So that’s why you keep hiding mine, I guess that makes sense-” He said, looking up at Heisenberg, who was staring at the ceiling.

“Alright, I’ll kick the stuff. But, can you at least tell me where you hid it?” He asked, out of curiosity.

Karl laughed and looked down at him,

“Flying metal isn’t the only reason I keep you out of my workshop.”