#Custom Round Stickers Near by Me

[giftingproducts]

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[divya-quapri]

Quapri's Round Stickers & Labels are perfect for creating eye-catching designs that stick! Whether you need them for branding, packaging, or personal projects, these high-quality, customizable stickers will make a lasting impression. Get creative with Quapri's round stickers and labels—your ideas, your style!

Material Options for Custom Round Stickers & Labels

Premium Vinyl Stickers: Durable and weather-resistant for long-lasting use.

Standard Paper Stickers: Best for cost-effective and indoor applications.

Transparent/Clear Stickers: Glossy and trendy for a sleek, minimalist look.

Branding products, personalizing gifts, or decorating—Quapri’s premium round stickers cover all your customization needs.

[omegaremix]

Mr. Cheapo’s (Commack) shopping list, 2018.

If there was one store that started it all for me, it was Mr. Cheapo’s. It was the first in a long line of mom-and-pop record stores that sold used titles. Brentwood’s Pine Hollow Video was the first store I went for all my hip-hop and rap CDs and cassettes, but realizing that my interest in music was growing, Mr. Cheapo’s showed me what potential was about. The first year of earning a paycheck was the same year I discovered this store. It was where I bought my first stack of used CDs notably from Pearl Jam, Marilyn Manson, and Filter, whose “Dose” promotional single would be the first-ever I’d buy. It’s been around for decades and hasn’t been renovated as long. It’s also the only record store on Long Island to have two locations: Commack and Mineola.

Cheapo’s is just like Talking Heads: same as it ever was. Nothing has changed except for its’ overall stock. New releases behind the counter, near-endless bins of new and used vinyl and CDs with a cassette wall nearing the back. What used to be shelves upon shelves of VHS tapes now have the most extensive used DVD and Blu-ray library of any store. Vintage and classic vinyl 12″ and 45′s were pinned up on the back walls. Boxsets, posters, other 45′s, music-related books, DVDs, and more rows of obvious titles on vinyl and CD made up the rest of the store’s real estate. And plenty of shelves of used pop CDs for $3 each. No. Thank. You.

I didn’t scan the entire store as I was uninterested in all those used pop CDs, so I go right to the jazz / fusion section as I always do. About seven to eight columns wide with another three for soul, funk, and R&B, they didn’t let me down. One, two, three Bob James albums; the stuff of samplists. Blackbyrds, George Benson, and Deodato were mine and so was Jon Lucien whose “A Sunny Day” stood as one of my most-played tracks of all time. Tough that wasn’t found on his Columbia’s Best Of… The Hubert Laws that I passed up a while ago? It’s back in the bin and I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. What I also picked up was The Rolling StonesUndercover. Once in my possession, I decided to give it away to friend and collector Tommy when he found a dump of 500 records one of his customers threw out on the sidewalk. 

A category I haven’t thumbed through in a minute was the hip-hop section, we’re not talking vinyl. For the first time in a while I scored some good titles on disc.Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth and Naughty By Nature were titles that’d be in my collection starting out in the Brentwood days. Jedi Mind Tricks because Vinnie Paz is real underground hip-hop. Got to have M.I.A. in my collection, too. Then I come across P.O.S. whose truly-innovative packaging with interchangeable transparent and solid panels with CMYK theme caught my eye. It harkened back to the pre-internet days of discovering certain artists you never knew existed by purchasing blind. An inquiry for anything Suicide led me to search through the punk bins where I found The Unseen. Watching The Blank Generation made me seeRichard Hell & The VoidoidsBlank Generation disc with bonus tracks in the bins but at first passed it up. Then I find the vinyl re-issue of the same album with live and alternatve versions for double the asking price. In that case, I ended up going for the disc version.

I rounded out my two-hour visit with other odds and ends. Other titles I bought for $2.00 and less were The Jerky Boys, Katt Williams, and Last Stop Standing, a record-shopping documentary. How fitting! Finally, I got a Paula Abdul cassette, one I used to have in my collection until my bro- misplaced it on me. Like I have to answer to any of you.

Blackbyrds, The Action

Deodato 2

Jon Lucien The Best Of…

Bob James 2

Hubert Laws Romeo & Juliet

Deodato Love Island

Rolling Stones Undercover (stickered)

Bob James 3

Deodato Whirlwinds

George Benson White Rabbit

Bob James 4

Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth Mecca & The Soul Brother

Jedi Mind Tricks Legacy Of Blood

Naughty By Nature self-titled

M.I.A. Arular

P.O.S. Never Better special edition disc

Unseen, The Explode

Richard Hell & The Voidoids Blank Generation

M.I.A. Kala

All Dogs 7”

Last Shop Standing DVD

Katt Williams The Pimp Chronicles Vol. 1 DVD

Jerky Boys, The Stop Staring At Me cassette

Paula AbdulForever Your Girl cassette

[candy-floss-crazy]

Giant Christmas Bauble Photo Booth Hire

Hire A Giant Christmas Bauble Snow Globe Photo Booth Our stunning Christmas Bauble is another unique photo booth system. Not only a stunning photo booth, but a true centrepiece for any event. A quick set up system means this can be installed virtually anywhere in under an hour, and works equally as well inside as outside. Artificial snow, L.E.D. lighting and festive themed props make this a fun Christmas booth. This is also available as a Giant Snow Globe. Giant Christmas Bauble Snow Globe Comes With •Canon DSLR Camera System •Dye Sublimation Printer •Artificial Snow •Funky Themed Props Box •Themed Decoration In The Bauble •L.E.D. Lighting •Unlimited Use During The Hire Period Additional Attractions In addition to our Christmas themed photo booths we also offer a number of other Christmas themed attractions such as mulled wine and chestnut carts, white candy floss, and a range of festive fun sidestall games (shoot the snowman anyone), together we can provide a package of Christmas entertainment for your events. Although primarily a Christmas themed attraction, the bauble is available all year round and is great for Winter wonderland themed parties.Our Christmas Bauble can be combined with our Giant snow globes to present a fabulous high end centrepiece for your event. mix some of the globes in in different sizes and you can create a one off magical festive fun fest. All of our globes come with high speed print stations delivering touch dry, high quality prints in under 30 seconds. We can also custom theme any of our globes to suit a corporate event or sales promotion. SOCIAL MEDIA SHARING Social media facilities allow your guests to instantly share their images from the bauble with social media sites including Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and via email. The system can also be set to collect user data via a questionnaire or email address capture for corporate promotions. PERSONALISATION Our baubles have a number of panels around the base that can be replaced with branded panels for corporate use, or with the bride and grooms names at weddings or parties. The images themselves can also be custom branded for sales promotions or exhibitions. For more in depth promotions the bauble itself can have self adhesive stickers applied to both the interior and exterior surfaces. MERRY CHRISTMAS Merry Christmas, definitely our favourite time of the year, its easily our busiest time, but after the rush we get to enjoy some of the Christmas spirit, and we dont just mean the alcoholic variety. A Wonderful Life is sure to be on the television, fabulous festive music, and that feel good factor, what more can you want. WHERE CAN I HIRE A GIANT CHRISTMAS BAUBLE NEAR ME; We can provide a bauble booth anywhere in the U.K. Our giant Christmas baubles for hire, are available throughout the U.K. and Europe, including the North East, The Midlands, Yorkshire, Lancashire, London, Scotland and make a perfect centrepiece for college balls, company fundays parties, weddings, military balls and exhibitions. 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 Read the full article

[ishatech]

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[fidgetstime]

deck tour: hollywood roosevelt by theory11

I started collecting playing cards during the pandemic, and they’ve been a big source of joy for me this past year or so. I’ve always liked tactile things like cards and dice, but never knew where to get them--so I was super happy when a novelty playing card and puzzle shop opened up near me and I learned about all the different designs and brands there are! No longer am I limited to Bicycles! 

I have almost 30 decks of playing cards now, so I decided I’d like to occasionally do a quick tour of one of my decks on here. First up is the very first novelty deck I got from my local shop: the Hollywood Roosevelt deck by theory11. 

To be honest, I didn’t start out planning on collecting cards. I visited the shop, thought it was a cool place, and told myself I’d buy one thing to support them and to sort of remember my trip there. 

So I browsed a little, and then out of the 549829753 decks they had on display, I selected this deck. It wasn’t too flashy or out there, but it was still fancier and prettier than your usual deck of playing cards--and it wasn’t too expensive. 

I liked that it was made in collaboration with a historic hotel that’s known for its magic show, and I liked the classic old-timey aesthetic with the black and gold color scheme. It makes me think of dinners in classy bars and lounge singers.

As you can see, the tuck box is a little dinged up; the gold foil has worn off a bit from handling, and the place where the sticker was is looking especially Oof. (This was before I learned about card care and how to properly open tuck boxes and all of that; I’m more fastidious about it now.) 

I didn’t have a protective clear case at the time either, and I didn’t think I’d need one because I fully intended to use these cards for everything. And use them I did! These cards have seen me through many rounds of solitaire, many raucous party games like Slapjack, and many attempts at improving my riffle shuffle and bridge. 

Some of the cards are a bit bent and dented as a result, and the deck as a whole definitely isn’t as springy as it used to be. I sort of wish I’d taken better care of it and didn’t use it so roughly, but you know what they say--a used deck is a happy deck. I don’t want to be the kind of person who buys cards only to never take them out of the box!

I think one of the nicest things about this deck for me is that all the aces are custom. I’ve seen many decks that only have a custom ace of spades, with the other three aces being standard and boring--and it’s even worse when the court cards are standard, too. 

Luckily, that’s not the case here. The aces are all magical, and the gold accents are super cool. The palm tree inside the ace of spades is a sweet extra touch, very LA.

Same thing with the court cards--look how snazzy those are. My picture doesn’t do them justice! Seriously, I keep underestimating how pretty this deck is until I open it up again.

All in all, I’m happy this was my first non-Bike deck of cards! It’s got a gorgeous theme, it still handles as well as can be expected (theory11 is a reputable brand that also makes, among others, the Monarch decks), and I’m quite fond of it.

On a fidget and stim-related note: I quickly realized that playing cards make great fidgets. Generally I think people won’t really think anything of you playing with a deck of cards, as they’re more common than stim toys. (They’ll probably just assume that you’re trying to learn cardistry or magic, or you could always just say that you like playing solitaire with real cards and not on your tablet or laptop.) 

You can shuffle them, quietly riffle through them while holding the deck in your hand, or--if you’re like me and you like having fidgets that are sort-able--you can put them in order in whatever way you like. It’s super satisfying for me to shuffle a deck of cards and then rearrange them into new deck order, the way they were when they came in the box. 

Of course, you can absolutely learn magic and cardistry with them too ;)

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Paintings & Picture frames. [Pt. 3]

Daryl Dixon x Reader [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7]

Art classes and Diner study sesions

Honestly you were hoping you’d just forget about it all in the morning.

Sadly you didn’t. As soon as your heard the rumbling of his bike getting closer you were reminded of what Tiana had told you.

Trying your hardest to focus on school you walked up to Daryl’s usual parking space and greeting him with another cup of coffee. “Thanks, and hi.”

“You know, if you really like hat coffee so much you should come by the Diner after five, I’ll be working with my boss, so there’s gonna be enough of that to keep you happy for a long time.” You offered him a refill as he had downed he entire cup already. “Maybe we can make a small start on the paper already? It’s usually pretty slow on Wednesdays so I doubt she would mind us doing some schoolwork.” Daryl nodded in agreement and handed you the second empty cup that you put away before walking into the building and started your art classes with Daryl.

Over the course of the day you learned that while Daryl takes the most beautiful pictures, he has no clue how to handle watercolors. Or pencils and markers. Daryl would have happily thrown away everything he made during class, but you convinced him to keep it and document it in the paper to get a higher grade and leave a good first impression with the teachers. He wasn’t happy with his terrible scribble being kept for others to see, or, laugh at according to his thoughts, but the idea of actually getting praise from someone for delivering good work at the start of something any other Dixon would have never managed to accomplish before did make him feel better about things. Maybe sticking around this girl wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Hey,” he carefully poked your shoulder, being mindful of the art supplies in your arms. “That offer from earlier,” He spoke so soft, it was like he was afraid someone would hear him. “I’d like to drop by your work later.” And with that he walked back to where you had left your bag and put his works into your folder without saying anything else.

The last class of today was all theory so you spent most of your tie writing along with the teacher’s notes until she assigned our homework and ended the class. The two of you stayed behind after everyone had left so you could exchange contact info in peace and pick a time for Daryl to meet you at the diner.

Arriving back home you took a quick shower and changed into your work attire before you left for your evening shift again. You came in to a calm diner with only one food order and two takeouts being prepared, the only other customer currently there was a trucker passing through and refilling his large thermos with coffee. After the man was finished and paid for his coffee you asked your boss to brew a fresh pot while you helped her pack the takeout meals and brought the other meal to your hungry customer. Most time after that was spent aimlessly wiping down the counter and waiting for Daryl, which felt like an eternity but was really only an hour after your dinner customer had left.

You were making your round wiping down all the booths when you heard the low rumble of daryl’s bike and you couldn’t hold back the smile that spread on your face. Lucky for you, your boss didn’t see it or she wouldn’t have let it go and you had no idea how Daryl responded to any type of affection, seeing how he didn’t even want to be study partners at first. You watched him park near the entrance, his bike in view no matter what booth you were in. Probably done on purpose to make sure nothing would happen to it while he was inside. You didn’t mind him parking so close, though. You loved that bike, it looked gorgeous and almost wanted to call it an art piece with how it was put together. Maybe you’d get the chance to casually slip a compliment his way and get him to open up about something he loves? That would be a good way to wind down after working.

The door bell jingled as daryl walked through and looked around scoping out the place and spotting you quickly. “Hey, sit down somewhere. I’ll be right with ya!” You called from your booth and followed him with you eyes, watching him sit down at the end of the bar, where it curved into the corner near the jukebox. He had his book bag with him which he placed next to the bar stool after taking out his old ratty looking laptop that was covered in stickers from all kinds of places.

“Hi hon, can I get you something?” She called, coming in through he kitchen doors. Looking up from hi screen to where the voice came from, he realized he voice was talking to him. And had to quickly remember what was asked. “Ah, ehh, just a coffee please.”

By now you had made your way back behind the counter and were putting away your cleaning towel. “Can you pour me one as well, please?” You tried to ask as sweetly as you possibly could, giving her your best puppy dog eyes. She came back with a serving tray holding three cups of coffee, sugar, sweetener and milk. “Enjoy, you’re gonna need some caffeine if you’re gonna be working on that paper of yours.” She smiled sweetly as she grabbed her own coffee and strolled back into the kitchen and clean up the last bits of dinnertime mess.

[cyborg00-why]

Random yet specific headcanons

Alright, I’ve been working on a rancher fic and wanted to share a few of my favorite headcanons for these three. 

Jet Link

- Considering his time of abduction and how often he’s gone off to be a ranch hand/play cowboy there is a very high chance he’s a Spaghetti Western fan. His ideas and romanticism of the west based almost solely on what he’d seen on film, by extension his bravado and man’s man personality being heavily influenced from such films. Something that both mirrored his gang life on the streets while still being a mental escape. The lone cowboy out to right wrongs on his own terms something he’d see in himself.

- This of course would bleed into an odd fascination/respect for Geronimo Jr. as he’d likely be the only Indigenous person he’d ever met (that he was aware of at least). The personification of the “last of a dying breed” trope you see often in such films, something he likely project onto Jr. Especially considering that being from New York he’d known of Mohawk Steelworkers but wouldn’t have known any personally. 

- Serial pawn shop shopper. He knows they don’t make knives or lighters like they use to and he’s got a small collection going.

- Apart from his established knife fighting skills, he’d whittle in his free time. 

-Great at darts.

- He’d be a great houseguest, very considerate and takes direction as well as he can. Doesn’t want to be deadweight on the ranch, and have a stern ‘earn his keep’ sort of vibe. 

-Despite having a high interest in learning the ropes he’d still struggle. His time on the ranch would positively impact his ‘square peg being forced into a round hole’ mentality. 

- Plays a mean game of checkers.

- Maybe too embarrassed to say it, but really respects Jr.’s self sufficiency and wants to take after him in some ways. Is really touched when Geronimo teaches him something. At the same time can be especially hurt when there are traditional lessons Jr. won’t share. 

-Sure he can play the guitar but he’s also been teaching himself the harmonica. He’s also good at playing both the spoons and a blade of grass but he’ll never admit to either. 

-Can do that really cool two finger whistle thing. 

- Long story but he knows from first hand experience that chickens float in water. Pyunma isn’t impressed and Jr. thinks it’s cute he likes chickens. 

- You know at some point in time Jet would do rodeo shows and live out the whole cliche bonding with a horse who can’t be broken bologna while Geronimo worked the event as an MC.

Geronimo Jr.

Which brings me to Jr.

- You know, and I mean KNOW he’s worked the Arizona circuit like no ones business. Despite the team thinking of him as stoic and saying little everyone in town knows him as their favorite MC. He’s done everything from powwows, estate sales, property auctions, all the way to rodeos. 

-Those on the moccasin telegraph rumor he was a guest at G.O.N. in New Mexico one year. 

- Would absolutely have an old 1988 red, sun bleached Toyota Tacoma that had seen better days but still runs. Of course the suspension is shot and leans heavily on the drivers side. The glove compartment is full of old tapes, and he’d have at least one mix tape with classic 49ers in there too. 

- When he’s working as an auctioneer he goes Full Boomhauer

- Aunties love him. He’s always given an extra helping at food stalls and everyone is vying for him to say their fry bread is best, even though we all know his grandmothers was #1.

-Would be in the loop on all the local chisme.

-He can’t shop at normal stores for clothes, instead making annual custom orders through Wrangler and Dickies. 

-He is why Wrangler revoked their lifetime guarantee. Too many blown out shoulder seams.

-He’s excellent at traditional methodologies and takes a lot of pride in keeping traditions alive. He’d be a great beader and leatherworker, his mitts being extremely sought after in the community with order requests coming in year round. Word is he’ll sometimes make a trade if you can do quillwork. 

-Prior to the bootleg boom his family would have been respected artisans, collectors and locals alike still hold onto their older jewelry, and at a few estate sales he’d seen his dads old silver stamping tools still in circulation. Sometimes he get’s letters in the mail from a collector in another state asking to verify the family stamp.

-He’s got a lifetime ban from one diner in Albuquerque for smashing a jukebox that was playing The Ballad of Ira Hayes. 

-Standardized cooking measurements do not exist in his house, everything is old school cooking in relation to yourself. A handful of this, a pinch of that. 

- He has his grandmothers taste in home decor. 70′s shag rugs, wood laminate, acrylic yarn doilies, and a mug collection that at it’s best could be described as kitschy.  

-While he is incredibly thankful that after being abducted he’d gotten to keep his hair, there was also the struggle to maintain like he had before. Enhanced hulking muscles meant he isn’t as flexible as he use to be, and he is unable to braid it. So he kept it short on the dolphin, and even on breaks back home he’d grow it out in a bun tucked under his hat.  

On one of the many trips where Pyunma would stay with him, he’d catch Jr. early one morning struggling to braid it. Instead offering to do so himself. This became a routine whenever Pyunma stayed over, and as far as he knew the only person Jr. will let touch his hair. Pyunma would also take a lot of pride in his handiwork, especially whenever he’d catch Jr. admiring his own reflection.

Pyunma

- He’d always wanted to visit Jr.’s ranch but maybe felt a bit awkward to ask, unsure if he’d even want the company.

- He’d immensely enjoy the monotony of ranch life, the predictability of long structured workdays giving him a chance to mentally tune out while keeping busy. A sort of stress relief from the unpredictability of his previous life back home.

- One of the only people Jr. would share teachings with because he understood that weight and responsibility that comes with it. 

- Would be really into plant identification and drying them for storage. Would have a whole notebook full of illustrations and field notes based on what Jr. shared. Maybe even get into salve making on the side. 

-Always carries a canteen to water the plants he harvests from, even when Jr. isn’t watching.

- Loves, loves, loves telling Jet believable lies about ranch stuff. Think lying about a weed being a cure all for muscle soreness, only to have Jr. ask where the hell he’d heard that from. 

- Big fan of cinnamon instant oatmeal, Jr. is sure to stock up when he knows Pyunma is coming by.

- Of all the hand crafts Jr. had shared with him, Pyunma’s favorite would be dressing feathers. He’s got a near cult following in the fancy dance community for his bustle work. 

- Very good at removing the stickers from nopales, often times double and triple checking Jr.’s handiwork before they make breakfast.

- Not afraid of rattlesnakes, but respects them deeply. Firm believer in the old rope trick. 

- Can haggle with the best of them at vendor stalls, he knows a tourist price when he hears one. 

- Enjoys listening to old radio dramas while laying in the back of Jr.’s truck at night. Eventually getting all three of them to make it a part of the weekly routine. They sit outside and start a fire, and make dinner before tuning in. They eat in silence, and when it get’s cold they all share a big wool pendleton. 

[versadies]

Furthermore, I have checked on your blog from pc view and the layout is such a beauty! (´>∀<｀)♡

The grids, the fonts, the organization of each "window tab" or category is very neat (*ﾟﾛﾟ*)

Plus points for the Yae Miko chibi at the bottom right (which is actually Qiqi lol) + Raiden Shogun with dango chibi on the other side (ฅ¯ω¯ฅ )💓 IT'S SO CUTE! They look like stickers to accompany you while you scroll throughout your blog 😤

What I also LOVE is that the moving "Welcome to the Penpal Station!" sign near the navigation buttons.

All in all, it's a really aesthetic blog and easy to the eyes(Not sure for the ones with high brightness tho). I haven't actually gone through each and every link available in the pc layout (bc the signal is very very bad lmao) but I'm sure each will take me on a visually sweet surprise !!

I would also like to share my thoughts that I think your blog would be a mochi, if it were to be a food. I could feel the squishy, soft and round corners of it with just one look at your blog that is a mixture of complimenting purples and pinks (๑¯ㅁ¯๑)

*noms on your blog and im not leaving any leftovers*

>> I don't really wanna include this here in my blog appreciation post but I've been meaning to ask (and I might forget later that's why) on how do you fix your blog's layout on desktop customly? I'll probably just do this on another ask. I was curious as to how you are able to replace the feed tabs as "window tabs" and such 🤔 I'm a mobile user so it was really different for me HAHAHA <<

My asks always gets so long lmao I hope you don't mind. Tell me if you do mind. but at least I hope this could make your day better, especially when you're totally not having it today! :D

— Would definitely navigate the stars with you, 🍰.

im super super okay with long asks since i LIVE for these type of asks, you can make your asks as long as you like 😍😍😍

im relieved that my desktop theme is okay for you :DD it’s actually my first time doing custom layout (i felt like a boomer 💀💀) so its great to know that i did a good job on the theme <33 its kinda funny how you think my theme is like a mochi bcuz i was literally eating one while editing the desktop layout ✋✋✋

as for your question, i’ll try my best to make it sound easy to understand (because as a mobile user, i was absolutely confused with the whole thing back then until i explored it)

it’s a super easy thing to do: you just need to look for “edit html” and it’ll take you to where there’s a lot of codes displayed.

and don’t worry - you don’t have to write anything on the codes because you can just copy paste ! there’s a lot of tumblr accounts here who makes free customized themes just for you. if a certain customized theme catches your eye, you can just go download it (aka lead you to a website where you can copy all of the codes) and paste it. be sure to remove all the original codes b4 you paste it tho !

once you pasted all the codes, just save it and voila, you have your new and customizable layout !! dw, you can edit the colors, fonts, size of posts, etc. (and even play music) :DDD

i hope this helps you comrade, if you’d like me to recommend you tumblr accounts with good themes, i suggest @/glenthemes / @/seyche / @/ricecodes / @/xuethms / @/mintrps :DDD

[moon-stars01]

~Sugar Rush~

Hoshi x Reader

Author:pseudomint

Summary: Kwon soonyoung finds himself becoming a regular customer in a local ice cream shop after meeting mingyu’s cute co-worker. Sounds normal—unless you leave out the fact that he dislikes sweets.

Pairing:Hoshi(Svt) x reader

Gene:Collage/University,Ice Cream polar,attempt at humor,flirting,Smitten Hoshi,Mingyu third wheeling,Jun and his pick up lines

Rating:Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count:6100

———————-

~SUGAR RUSH~

Hoshi stares at the cute, pastel building, decorated with stickers of ice cream illustrations on the big, glass windows and door. He checks his phone screen once again, only to see the exact picture of the building he found on the internet glaring back at him mockingly.

This is the place. He finally knows where Mingyu’s secret workplace is. Don’t ask him where he got the address from (he might have.. owed a certain pink haired devil named Jeonghan). All he has to do now is to storm inside the ice cream shop and make fun of Mingyu for all it’s worth.

Being friends with that guy for a long time, Hoshi has a vague idea of why would Mingyu hide his workplace. The guy has always been vocal about his worship for anything hip-related, evident by his love for classic Pop, several ear piercings, and fashion style. He’s studying art so that he can become a tattoo artist. Moreover, he has a history as a delinquent back in middle school.

So, working in a local, cute ice cream shop near their campus might not be included in Mingyu’s list of Top 10 Dream Jobs, even as a part-timer.

Hoshi stifles a grin as he pushes the door open, earning a chime from the bell above. The shop is quite vacant, save for three customers, minding their own businesses in three different seats, the ice cream on their plates or cups half-eaten. One of them is bobbing their head to the popular pop song that is heard through the wall speakers. As Hoshi continues to scan the pastel themed shop, his eyes finally land on the glass display, filled with various flavors and colors of ice cream.Hoshi can already feel a toothache—he’s never been a fan of sweets, after all.

Noticing the absence of the employees behind the counters, Hoshi spots a bell placed beside the cash register. His hand hovers above it, uncertain whether calling the shop clerk with a damn bell is even polite—obviously, this isn’t some kind of five-star gourmet restaurant. Not that Hoshi has ever been into one.

Thankfully, before Hoshi could dive further into his impromptu crisis, an employee emerges from the back door. He’s wearing a pastel blue uniform shirt and a pink apron with the shop’s logo on the left side of his chest. Such soft colors, contrast with the dark scowl on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bastard?” Mingyu snarls, clearly aggravated by the mere of Hoshi’s presence alone.

And Hoshi can’t hold it back anymore. He laughs, folding his body in half, one hand clutching his gut as the other supports himself by gripping the counter. Fuck, this is funnier than he initially thought. No matter how he imagined it, the image of Mingyu and a cute ice cream shop just can’t be merged. Yet, here he is—the reality presented right before Hoshi’s eyes.Hoshi wheezes again.

“Stop fucking laughing,” Mingyu hisses, hands clenching on both of his sides. His face is flushed from anger with a mixture of embarassment. “This is why I’d never fucking tell you about this place!”

“Oh, it’s never about the place, ‘Mingyu,”Hoshi replies, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. “It’s always been about you.”

Mingyu growls. “I’m seriously gonna kick you out.”

“I’m a paying customer,” Hoshi smirks back. “Treat me like one.”

“Then act like one,” Mingyu snaps, folding his arms across his chest, frown deepening. “Though I bet you can’t even handle the sweetness.”“Gimme the menu.”

“There’s one behind me, written on the chalkboard, asshole.”

“Wow, brilliant customer service,” Hoshi deadpans. “Don’t you have the printed one or something?”

“Aren’t you spoiled?” the hipster grumbles as he magically pulls out a menu, printed on a laminated paper from behind the counter. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to slap it against Hoshi’s chest.The act, however, is caught by one of Mingyu’s co-worker who’s suddenly coming out of the back room.

“Mingyu-oppa! Why did you do that to a customer?!” She screeches, horrified at her oppa’s rude behavior. She’s way shorter than Mingyu, and shorter than Kazuya. She has a (h/s) (h/c) hair that somehow looks soft and fluffy as the strands bounce everytime she moves.When their eyes finally meet,Hoshi’s lost the ability to speak.

Now, Hoshi’s never been one to believe in love at first sight, albeit having heard the idea of it in many sappy romance films. Hoshi’s also met many girls he considers as good-looking, but that’s it. There were no imaginary flowers or love-shaped bubbles or sprinkles of glitters around them, like a typical page of shoujo mangas. He didn’t feel his heart pounding harshly against his ribcages. He’s positive that he had never blushed at someone without any good reason.But his cheeks have never felt warmer than this moment.

The girl in front of him is unbelievably cute; she has an air of innocence around her that makes Hoshi want to scoop her up (no ice cream puns intended) in his arms and pinch those slightly chubby, round cheeks. Her cute button nose is perfect for a nose boop, and oh, how Hoshi wishes to nip her pink, plump lips.The girl’s tongue darts out to lick the very same lips, before she opens her mouth.

“Um.. are you okay? Is my co-worker hurting you?” She asks, brows furrowing in worry. Hoshi forces himself to look at her in the eyes, which is apparently a bad decision, because for the love of baseball, he’s never seen someone having such beautiful, molten e/c eyes—

“He’s fine,” Mingyu answers, shooting Hoshi a knowing look. “Sadly, I gotta admit that he’s a friend of mine, so don’t worry about him, y/n.”

“Oh!” Y/n brightens up, giving Hoshi an impression of a cute dog perking up its ears and wagging its tail. “Finally this l/n y/n gets to meet one of Mingyu-oppa’s friends!” She says joyfully with a voice a bit too loud. “May I also have the honor of knowing your name?”

Hoshi briefly glances at Mingyu, as if asking whether he should be concerned of Y/n’s odd, archaic way of speaking, but Mingyu’s expression works as a wordless assurance that it’s nothing to be worried about.Then, after eyeing Y/n’s extended arm as an offer for a handshake, Hoshi takes it firmly with a smirk.

“The name’s Kwon Soonyoung but you can call me Hoshi,” he purrs, his thumb tracing a circle on the back of Y/n’s hand. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”His smirk broadens when a blush blooms on the girl’s cheeks.

“Uh—likewise!” Y/n retracts her hand too quickly. “Um, I’ll let you proceed with your order with Mingyu-oppa—“

“The thing is,” Hoshi cuts her off, leaning on the counter, showing a feigned, saddest expression on his face. “Mingyu was bullying me,” he sighs. The said guy promptly sputters a series of denials. “And this is my first time here. I think I deserve a discount for the bad customer service, don’t you think?”

Y/n lets out a scandalized gasp, giving Mingyu a nasty, chiding glare for treating their customer poorly, even if they’re ‘friends.’ “Then you have my approval!” She declares, jabbing a proud thumb at her own chin. “Don’t worry! I’ll tell boss about the discount later! Now, please pick any flavors!”Hoshi’s mouth twitches as a bubble of laughter arises from his chest. This kid is so gullible, so genuine, so interesting. He almost feels bad for tricking him.Mingyu kicks Y/n’s legs, “Idiot! Can’t you see that he’s tricking you?!”

When y/n shoots a puzzled look at Hoshi, Hoshi’s laughter breaks free from his mouth. In return, he gets a bristling y/n who goes out of her way to be on the other side of the counter just to shake Hoshi’s collar and send him colorful insults. Not the most professional thing an employee should do to a customer, but it’s worth for Hoshi’s own entertainment.In the end, Hoshi’s the one who gets kicked out of the shop before he causes more commotions.

Hoshi comes back at Mingyu’s next shift, mentally convincing himself that he’s here to annoy the hell out of the hipster, not because Mingyu accidentally reveals the fact that y/n has the same schedule with him.Yeah, right.

He peeks over the big windows, and hesitates. The shop is more crowded than his last visit, as expected from weekends. It’s mostly filled with couples and giggling high school girls. Hoshi decides to sit on the unoccupied outdoor seats by the window, waiting for the beeline to lessen.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for the patrons to decrease. By the time he enters the shop, the jingle of the doorbell earns him an automatic response from y/n who’s not even looking at the door. “Welcome to—“ she glances at Hoshi, then frowns. “—oh, it’s you.”

“Oh? Do I see another bad customer service?” Hoshi smirks, strutting closer the counter.

“I’ll show you customer service,” Mingyu threatens, glowering at him.

Hoshi holds up his hands in defense, grinning, “easy there, ‘Mingyu”

“So, are you going to order, Kwon Soonyoung?” Y/n squints at him in suspicion. Pushing aside his inner glee of noticing a mundane detail such as Y/n remembering his full name, Hoshi ponders of giving her an honest reply or not. Will they kick him out once again if he admits that he can barely handle sweet things?

“Hoshi?” Y/n’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and his previous scorn is replaced with an owlish blinking. It makes Kazuya more aware of how y/n’s long eyelashes brush her cheeks whenever she closes her eyelids for a brief second.Pretty.“Hoshi!”Hoshi coughs and answers distractedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll order something.”

Mingyu stares at him like he’s grown a pair of horns, but it’s more like that he can’t seem to grasp that Hoshi, of all people, agrees to order something sweet.

“You sound uncertain, but worry not! The ice cream here will change your mind,” Y/n chirps with an eye smile. Hoshi can feel a thousand of cupid arrows piercing through his fragile, gay heart.

“Right, because Hoshi absolutely loves ice cream,” Mingyu mutters under his breath beside his co-worker with a blatant sarcastic tone.Y/n doesn’t seem to hear it, much to Hoshi’s relief.

“So...” Hoshi drawls, scrutinizing the menu near the cash register. “Do you have a flavor that isn’t too...” he grimaces at the next word, “sweet?”

“That’s impossible, go home.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Mingyu.”

“I can recommend you some,” Y/n replies, ignoring Mingyu and Hoshi’s glaring contest. “We have wasabi flavor, bitter melon flavor—“

“Some extreme recommendations you have there,” Hoshi sweatdrops.

“Hey! They taste fine, I guess,” Y/n looks hesitant herself. Hoshi wonders if the girl even understands basic marketing strategies—she could’ve at least pretended to be confident with her promotion. “I mean, I’m sure they’re better than natto flavored ice cream or anything.”

“You hate natto?” Hoshi smiles in amusement, inwardly happy to know one fact about Y/n.

“I despise it!” Y/n huffs, not even bothering to conceal her disgust. “Anyway! If you’re not interested with our out-of-the-world flavors, maybe you’d love our triple shot espresso ice cream! If you’re still not convinced, we still have a variety of diet frozen yogurts that are guaranteed to be low-sugar!”Hoshi hums at the mention of anything caffeine-related, “triple shot espresso ice cream doesn’t sound bad. Get me the smallest cup, y/n.”

“Roger!” Y/n beams, giving a military salute before she busies herself with Hoshi’s order. Her moves behind the counter are swift, practiced, and surprisingly not clumsy. Her hips sway a little to the beat of the music—whose great idea it is to play a suggestive jazz music at a fucking ice cream shop in Saturday afternoon?—but Hoshi’s not really complaining. In fact, he enjoys the show a bit too much; he doesn’t even realize that he’s been propping one arm on the counter to support his chin while watching y/n with a mushy smile.“Wipe that disgusting expression off your face,” Mingyu comments, unimpressed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? As if I could overlook someone who looks like they’re seconds away from jumping my co-worker in public!” Mingyu hisses this time, still considerate enough to lower his volume.“Don’t worry, I’ll do that in private,” Hoshi winks.

“That’s not what I—“

“Do you want any additional toppings, Hoshi?” Y/n unintentionally interrupts their bickering. She’s now holding a small paper cup of a coffee-colored ice cream, head slightly to the side in an adorable manner, waiting for Hoshi’s response.

Although Hoshi’s brain is already short-circuited due to the amount of metaphorical sweetness that Y/n radiates, he still manages to croak out a reply of “almonds are fine”, in hoping that if the ice cream is still too sweet for his liking, the almonds would be able to balance the sugar.

Mingyu handles the payment without initiating any arguments with Hoshi for once, probably wanting to speed up the process of Hoshi leaving the shop. Either way, Hoshi has to leave indeed. He has other things to do, too.

“Thank you for purchasing, please come again~” come a chorus of synchronized phrase from Mingyu and Y/n; the former sounding bored and forced, while the latter sounding more cheerful.“I will,” Hoshi retorts jocosely, then flicks his gaze over Y/n, “if Y/n calls me her oppa, too.”

“Okay, Hoshi-oppa,” y/n breathes out without missing a beat. Her face instantly bursts into a myriad shades of red, complemented by a small, shy smile etched on her lips, and-Hoshi suddenly thinks he has a severe case of heart palpitations.

He inhales sharply, and turns his heels towards the door. “It’s decided, then,” he chuckles over his shoulder, giving his last smirk towards y/n, and exits the shop.

(He eats his ice cream on the way to his apartment and is genuinely surprised at the rich taste of coffee instead of sugar.It adds one more reason to visit the shop again.)

 Hoshi’s next visit includes an unwanted guest, much to Hoshi’s distaste.

For a better term, he was following Hoshi in secret. Usually, Hoshi would easily sense something behind his back, but the particular street that the ice cream shop is located at is always busy. It’s to be expected from a street that connects commercial, academic and several residential buildings. That being said, the crowd of people makes it hard for Hoshi to notice whether someone is following him or not.In the end, Jun makes his presence known loudly by the time he enters the shop.

“Oi, Hoshi! You refused to hang out with me just to buy some ice cream?!” he stomps his foot on the ground. “Wait, I thought you don’t like ice—“

Hoshi, who’s currently leaning on the counter right in front of Y/n, automatically massages the bridge of his nose and quickly interjects the purple haired before he spouts something unnecessary. “Jun, did you really follow me all the way here?”

“Does it matter?” the purple haired shrugs, sticking his nose up in the air. “I’m here now. That’s what you get from ditching me.”

Hoshi sighs in exasperation, “I did not ditch you. I told you to reschedule our hang out.”

“Same thing,” Jun scoffs stubbornly.

Mingyu bashes his forehead on the counter, emitting a depressed aura all over the shop. “Great. There goes all of my peace at work.”

“Oh, Mingyu! Fancy meeting you here!” Jun greets with a grin. “So you’re the reason why Hoshi’s here?”

“No,” both Mingyu and Hoshi say flatly.

“Um, are you going to order?” Y/n, who’s been observing the situation, speaks up, attracting a pair of black orbs towards him. Then, Jun regards Hoshi and Y/n, back and forth, in a thoughtful manner.

“Oh ho? I see now,” he grins wickedly, elbowing Hoshi to the side and takes over his place, resulting in the dancer stumbling and hitting the glass display of ice cream. Paying no attention to Hoshi’s heated glare, Jun leans over the counter and brings his face closer to Y/n. “You’re pretty cute, I guess. Hoshi has a good taste.”Y/n makes a choking noise from her throat, and Hoshi’s left eye twitches.

“Who the heck are you?” Y/n scrunches her nose, taking one step backwards defensively.

“Wen Junhui, but you can call me darling,” Jun smiles flirtatiously. Y/n only stares back with a palpable discomfort on her face.

“...Then, are you going to order?” She repeats hesitantly.

“Sure. As long as you’re included as the bonus.”

“Uh,” y/n frowns deeper. “May I know the flavor of your choice?”

“Anything would do,” Jun answers, “but if you were an ice cream, you’d be my favorite flavor.”

“What?”

“And I know you’d like me too,” jun then lowers his voice into a whisper, like he’s going to tell the world’s deepest secret, “because I have an 8” popsicle down there.”

Mingyu’s shoulders are shaking from laughter, finding the whole situation amusing and ridiculous. Any other day, Hoshi would, too, but right now, he only feels a second-hand embarassment from Jun’s abhorrent pick-up lines. Even y/n looks utterly unimpressed by Jun’s flirting.

“Alright, Jun, that’s enough,” Hoshi interjects impatiently. “No one wants to know about your nonexistent 8” popsicle dick.”Mingyu laughs louder.

“Tch, you’re no fun, Hoshi,” Jun glares at him childishly, then whirls his body towards Y/n crossing his arms in his usual bossy manner. “Fine, I’ll order something. Get me a big cup of butterscotch and vanilla ice cream with marshmallows and oreos on top.”

“...Coming right up,” slightly taken aback by the change of attitude, y/n mutters and wordlessly scoops the ice cream into the cup, while Hoshi is inwardly cringing from the amount of sugar Jun’s order has.

The purple haired pays and finally leaves the shop, not before gesturing a V-sign to his eyes and then to Hoshi’s—indicating that their conversation isn’t over.

Hoshi shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be discussed in the first place,” he mumbles under his breath. Jun dragged himself into this situation. Then again, Hoshi’s known Jun long enough to tell that the purple haired wasn’t seriously flirting with Y/n. The dancer could properly make his fangirls swoon if he wanted to.

Looking back to his prior act, however... it’s almost as if he was testing Hoshi, because his eyes were holding a familiar knowing gleam—the exact glint in Mingyu ’s eyes when Hoshi first met y/n.

“But seriously, who is he?!” Y/n fumes. “I can’t believe he made a dick joke straight to my face!”

“He’s Hoshi’s ex,” Mingyu grins, nudging

y/n with his elbow. The younger blanches, mouth gaping upon hearing the information.

“Yup, and I’m totally dating you, Mingyu,” Hoshi rolls his eyes.

“R-really?!” Y/n’s eyes grow as wide as a saucer. Hoshi bites back a grin, almost forgetting how gullible Y/n is.

“Relax, we’re lying,” he snorts. “Can I take my order now?”

“Oh, right!” Y/n straightens her back, although she doesn’t seem to be convinced by Hoshi’s reassurance.

Hoshi selects the exact menu he ordered on his last visit, although this time he chooses a cone rather than a paper cup. He also makes a mental note to try another variety of topping next time.

“You two looks close,” y/n comments all of a sudden as she works behind the counter. It doesn’t take a genius to know who Y/n is talking about.“Jun’s my childhood friend,” Hoshi

smiles, quirking an eyebrow at Y/n’s pout. She’s sulking, for some unknown reason, albeit Hoshi has a silly, vague (and hopeful) idea of it. “Rest assured, there’s nothing between us,” Hoshi continues, watching how Y/n subtly relaxes her shoulders. “That goes for me and Mingyu, too,” she adds as an afterthought. Mingyu has never nodded so aggresively.

“That explains why you guys are on a first name basis,” Y/n says abashedly, avoiding Hoshi’s gaze. “B-but! Your relationship is none of my business, of course! This

l/n y/n was just curious, please forgive me for prying!”

Still blushing, she shoves the cone under Hoshi’s nose. Hoshi chuckles and takes it, purposely brushing their fingers together, deepening y/n’s blush. Satisfaction sprouts inside his chest—even without any cheesy pick-up lines, y/n’s naturally a blushing mess around him.Adorable.

“This is sickening to watch,” Mingyu groans, “now pay up, bastard.”

Out of reflex, Hoshi gives him another snide remarks about bad customer service (again), to which Mingyu retaliates with another empty threats.

The doorbell jingles as two chatting customers enter the shop, and at the same time, it’s Hoshi’s cue to leave. He looks back at Y/n, who’s unexpectedly staring at him in silence, and grins cheekily when Y/n flinches due to being caught.“See you next time,” Hoshi says in soft tone, before he playfully boops y/n’s on the nose.

Y/n doesn’t—can’t—reply because she has to serve the next customers, but she manages to send a meek smile towards Hoshi’s direction.

Fuck, Hoshi thinks later, as he ambles back to his place. He can’t believe he finally had the balls to nose boop y/n. He can’t erase y/n’s blushing face from his mind. He can’t stop smiling giddily right now—passersby are probably whispering about him, but he couldn’t care less.All he cares is that he’s honestly in some deep shit.

~~~~~~

 Hoshi spends the next few weeks coming to the ice cream shop. He sometimes misses a day or two, partially due to being exhausted by dancing practice or just college in general. Another reason is because he’s fed up with eating ice cream (no matter how much he’s come to tolerate it a little ever since coming to the shop) and his diet as an athlete doesn’t allow him to overeat anything sweet. Which is ridiculous, since he doesn’t have other excuses to see Y/n; visiting the shop frequently without buying anything would be weird. Though, as days go by, he becomes more creative with his orders, like switching to low-sugar frozen yogurts or an iced Americano float (with the float being removed, much to Y/n’s confusion). Soon, he also finds out the existence of food—such as toasts and grilled sausages—in the shop’s menu.(“You need to stop ogling at Y/n and pay attention to our menu instead,” Mingyu once chastised wryly.)

Regardless, Hoshi enjoys most of his visits. Y/n is a fun person to talk to; Hoshi is often swayed by her personality and ends up being more talkative than he actually is, earning a frown from Mingyu. Later, Y/n reveals that she’s a dancer at Hoshi and Mingyu’s rival college, and she has jokingly asked Hoshi several times to dance against her.Hoshi’s never given an outright answer, however. As much as he wants to meet up with Y/n outside of the shop, he wants it as a date.

And that’s where the problem lies. He doesn’t know how to properly bring it up. He could ask Y/n in the shop, right beside Mingyu, but getting rejected in public would be awkward. In the end, that thought is always buried to the back of his mind.

Today is no different. Hoshi visits the the shop again—after being absent for a week prior—with no intentions of bringing up the date. As usual, he only wants to see the dancer. Even before stepping his feet inside, his heart thumps in anticipation to Y/n’s welcoming smile. So, as soon as he pushes the door open only to notice the absence of one of the workers behind the counters, his face falls.

“Asshole, I should’ve gotten offended of how disappointed your face is when you saw me instead of Y/n,” Mingyu scowls, to which Hoshi grins sheepishly. “She’s gonna be late today. I know what you’re thinking—she’s fine. There aren’t any dangerous emergencies or something like that, calm down.”

“I am calm,” Hoshi replies, burying his hands into his pockets. “I know she’s gonna be fine. She has such a caring co-worker after all,” he smirks at Kuramochi, who huffs in slight embarassment.

“Shut up. Who knows what stupid thing she’s gonna do,” the hipster’s lips curl downwards, an attempt to hold back his smile. “Anyway, since she’s not here yet, I can finally interrogate you.”

“What is there to interrogate?”

“What is y/n to you?” Mingyu ignores his words, giving him a pointed look instead. “If you’re only playing with her, Hoshi, I swear – “

“Oi, can’t you trust me a little?” Hoshi sweatdrops. “Do I look like some kind of heartthrob? You know me better than that, ‘Mingyu.”

“With your face, it’s easy to become one.”

“Very flattering.”

“Anyway, I’m being fucking serious right now,” Mingyu glowers at the dancer solemnly. “Tell me what you want from her.”

Hoshi eventually sighs, and briefly scans the whole shop. Luckily, it’s one of the weekdays, so there aren’t many customers inside. Besides, they’re too engrossed in their conversations or electronical devices to eavesdrop on Hoshi and Mingyu.

“Look, I don’t want anything from her,” Hoshi begins slowly, but he’s only rewarded with a skeptical look from Mingyu. “Okay, maybe I’ve been meaning to ask her on a date, but—“ he narrows his eyes at the hipster. “Wait, she’s single, right?”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to be asking that?” Mingyu purses his lips into a thin line.

“Oh, Hoshi, you’re here!”

Both the hipster and the dancer whip their head alarmingly to the familiar voice. There stands y/n with her trademark grin, her bag slung around her shoulder. Panic blossoms inside of Hoshi’s chest—he didn’t hear the jingle of the doorbell, and judging from Mingyu’s startled response, he didn’t, too. They don’t know how long has the dancer been standing there. It’d be bad if Y/n managed to hear their conversation.

So, Hoshi studies y/n’s facial expression, searching for something, but the dancer only looks perplexed—probably due to Hoshi’s sudden stillness.

“Hoshi?” Y/n blinks up at him, making Hoshi more conscious of their height difference. Eyes trailing down to her neck, the pastel-colored collar of the shop’s uniform peeks out of her oversized sweater that falls until her mid-thigh, with the sleeves covering up her whole hands.

Sweater paws, Hoshi’s mind shuts down as tiny Hoshi’s inside his brain run in circles, screaming “ABORT! ABORT!” with high-pitched voices. She’s fucking wearing sweater paws.

“Hoshi-oppa!” Y/n frowns, successfully drawing Hoshi’s attention. “Don’t zone out like that, you’re scaring me.”

“Right, sorry,” the dancer mutters as he watches Y/n disappearing into the back room, before she shows up again without her sweater while tying the apron on her lower back.

“I see that you haven’t ordered something!” Y/n grins brightly, this time placing both of her hands on her hips. “So, what are you here for today, Hoshi?”

Hoshi, still distracted, racks his brain to all of the menu he’s ordered in the past. Triple shots espresso ice cream with almonds. Iced americano float, but without the float. Wasabi ice cream because he was feeling adventurous. Hazelnut spread and sliced banana on toast—

No, that’s not What hoshi wants all of this time. He wants—

“You,” he blurts out, mumbling, unaware of Mingyu choking in the background. However, when he notices the lack of response from the dancer, the haze in his brain suddenly dissipates, and everything becomes crystal clear again. “Shit, I mean—“

“Okay,” Y/n says, e/c orbs shyly peeking from underneath her lashes towards Hoshi.

“I was—huh, what?” Hoshi pauses, dumbfounded.

“I said okay,” Y/n averts her eyes, playing with the hem of her apron. “You can have me.”

Hoshi stares and stares, trying to process Y/n’s affirmation. That sounds too suggestive—too good to be true. Maybe his brain is tricking him. Maybe this is only a scene that he unconsciously creates inside his mind which is brought to life in a form of hallucination.

But when Y/n starts to fidget under his gaze, Hoshi lets his brain register the fact that this is, indeed, a reality.

As the gears inside him begin to work again, Hoshi doesn’t pass the chance to poke some fun at Y/n’s answer which basically serves as a free teasing material for Hoshi to use.

“Oh? How bold,” he then comments, smirking in satisfaction as he observes how realization gradually dawns on Y/n’s face.

“I didn’t mean to phrase it like that!” the dancer exclaims defensively, her cheeks now tainted with red. “Y-you were the one who blurted out weird things in the first place!”

“Sorry, sorry~” Hoshi grins unapologetically, to which Y/n pouts at. “But, as tempting as it sounds, you should let me take you on a date first, y’know,” he continues, his playful grin faltering a little due to slight nervousness.

To his relief, Y/n utters a timid “okay” and nods, a tint of pink still decorating her cheeks. At that, Hoshi doesn’t bother to hide the ever-growing smile on his lips and an excited glance to Mingyu who’s pretending to read a magazine and acting all disinterested, albeit the small curl on the corner of his mouth tells otherwise.

The next thing Hoshi knows is him exchanging phone numbers with the dancer and discussing their date in a short stretch of time due to the arrival of a group of customers.

Hoshi doesn’t get any ice cream that day, but he does get something—someone—sweeter in return.

 ~Three months later~

 Hoshi sips on his hot, black coffee, the steam fogging up the lenses of his glasses. He steps aside when a patron comes out of the shop hurriedly, but he manages to halt the door from closing with his right knee. Hoshi then opens the door big enough for his body to get inside as the familiar chime of the doorbell greets his ears. The shop is silent, empty without customers, highly caused by the “CLOSED” sign on the door with a red, thick font.“I’m sorry, we’re already closed—“ Y/n says from Hoshi’s left side while stacking some brochures. When she finally turns her head towards the door, a beatific smile appears on her face. “Oh! Hoshi.”

Hoshi smiles back, placing his coffee on the counter and leans towards Y/n, to which the latter eagerly closes the gap between their mouths. They share a quick kiss as a greeting, before Hoshi withdraws slightly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing over

y/n’s. He steals one or two more kisses, just because he can’t help himself.

“Hi to you too,” Y/n whispers, giggling. Hoshi cradles his lover’s cheeks with one of his palms, prompting Y/n to nuzzle against it. From here, he can also make out Y/n’s e/c eyes twinkling in delight—so captivating and blinding that it stupefies him.

“For someone who’s on her last day of work, you sure look happy,” Hoshi comments, arching an amused brow.

“I am happy!” Y/n replies, pulling away fully to finish her tidying duty. She moves swiftly behind the counters, the sole of her shoes creating noisy sounds against the tiled floor. “But not in a way you’re thinking.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Hoshi says, bringing the paper cup of his half-drunk coffee to his mouth and takes a sip.

“I like this job,” Y/n confesses, finishing her work and untying her apron. “My co-workers are nice, and my boss is generous to give me discounted ice cream.”

“I think the latter plays a bigger part,” Hoshi teases, knowing Y/n’s sweet tooth.

“Shut up,” the dancer juts her tongue out. “Meeting you here is what makes this job more special,” Y/n casually states, offering a smug smirk at Hoshi’s flabbergasted expression.

“Wow, Y/n,” he breathes out, before whistling with a shake of head. “You sure become bolder with your words nowadays.”

“Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?!”Y/n questions, pupils turning cat-like.Hoshi hums. “Well, you used to blush so much around me—“

“That’s – “ as if on cue, red creeps up to y/n’s cheek. “That’s because you always gave me those kind of eyes and used that kind of voice—!”

“What about now?”hoshi smirks, revelling in the way Y/n gets all worked up because of him. A nasty personality he has, indeed.

“Ugh, I’m not gonna talk about it!” the dancer scrunches her nose, a habit that Hoshi’s taken to notice whenever Y/n is frustrated. “Anyway! I was talking why I feel happy to quit work! It’s because I can spend more time with you now!”If Hoshi’s heart pulsates rapidly due to the abrupt swarm of affections in his veins, he does a great job of hiding it. “The real reason why you quit is because of the upcoming dancer season. We’d still be busy, either way,” he points out instead.

“Must you be so pessimistic, Hoshi?” Y/n pouts, looking a little dejected. Hoshi exhales guiltily.

“My bad,” he chuckles, ruffling the crown of Y/n’s head. “You know that I’d always try to make time for you, right, Y/n?”

“Of course you do, you whipped asshole. Only you would come to a shop that sells something you dislike.”

“Mingyu-oppa!” Y/n jumps due to

Mingyu’s unannounced appearance from the back room, before gawking at his revelation. “Wait, what? Does Hoshi not like ice cream?”

“Ask him yourself,” Mingyu shrugs.

Y/n immediately whirls towards Hoshi, displaying her best puppy face to lure the truth out of her boyfriend. And concede Hoshi does, not before shooting daggers at a snickering Mingyu.

“Yes, y/n, I don’t eat much sweets. You happy now?” he admits reluctantly, tugging the collar of his jacket in embarassment.

“Oh my god, Hoshi!” Sawamura bounces on her feet. “After all of this time, you didn’t come here for the ice cream?!”

Hoshi sighs, not before downing the remnant of his coffee and throwing it in the nearest trash bin. “I don’t see what the issue is. It’s not like I exactly loathe ice cream, I just can’t handle it if it’s too sweet—“Y/n, however, wastes no time to approach Hoshi on the other side of the counter, circling her arms around Hoshi’s neck and kisses him hard on the mouth.

The hipster groans in agony, covering his face with his right palm. “This isn’t the outcome that I wanted,” he bemoans, lamenting in his misery.

Hoshi laughs nasally, eyes closing in pure mirth as Y/n continues to pepper kisses on his face. It eggs Mingyu even more as he seethes in irritation.“Okay, stop it, Y/n! Why the fuck are you so pleased at the idea of Hoshi trying to get himself diabetes for you?”

“Oi, that’s too exaggerating, don’t you think?” Hoshi sweatdrops.

Y/n ends her ministration and frowns at Mingyu. “But Mingyu-oppa! If I were in Hoshi’s shoes, I’d do the same! But currently he’s not working in a natto-based restaurant or something, so I shall reward his bravery in some other way!”

“Don’t do it here,” Mingyu snaps, “I’ve cleaned and locked all shit in the back room while you were busy with that idiot. Grab your bag and sweater and just go home.”Teary-eyed, Y/n beams brightly, “I express my sincerest gratitude for you,

Mingyu-oppa!” She exclaims, before dashing to the back room to collect her belongings.“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu waves her off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s my last day too, figures I’d do more than usual.”

“Aw, it wouldn’t hurt to admit that you care for her, ‘Mingyu,” Hoshi coos.

“And you!” Mingyu then throws the dancer a resentful look. “You owe me for all of the time you’ve made me into a fucking thirdwheel, bastard!”

At that moment, Y/n has come back, already clad in her warm, oversized sweater, and proceeds to stand next to Hoshi. That’s when an idea strikes him.

“Thirdwheel?” Hoshi asks, tilting his head at Mingyu in a faux innocuousness. He pulls his unsuspecting girlfriend closer by the waist, to which Y/n lets out a soft gasp. “Whatever do you mean by that, Mingyu?”

“Huh?” Mingyu croaks out, widening his eyes when Hoshi lowers his head to Y/n’s face with a shit-eating grin.

“What are you – shit, don’t you two dare making out again – give me a damn break, I’m trying to close the shop here! If you two don’t stop right now, I’m gonna kick out both of you with a fucking broom – oi, did you hear me?! Alright, for fuck’s sake, Y/n, save the moan for later and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE—“

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

mystic meadow and the sweet spot

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: anxiety, awkwardness, shy!baker!harry, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: harry hates working the farmers markets, but the girl in the kombucha booth is cute

author’s note: hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

Harry used to hate working the farmer’s markets; there was so many people, so many awkward encounters, and so many stupid questions. The heat of the midsummer didn’t help either. He hated having to set the booth up and take it down, with the help of nothing more than an inadequate coworker, who spends most of his time on his phone or flirting with the other vendors. He hated working the markets, which is why he honestly contemplated quitting when his boss told him that he was scheduled to work the new rounds of the summer circuit, but the pay was double what he was normally making, in addition to mileage compensation.

It’s been a couple weeks since the market season began; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he has to set up his booth, put on a fake smile, try to sell as much as he can, and take the booth down, only to start it all again the next day in a different location. It’s exhausting, draining.

Today isn’t as bad as others. Cas, his poor excuse of a coworker, hadn’t even bothered showing up, but other than that, Harry hasn’t had any rude customers, and Andy, the guy who owns the spirits booth, gave him a couple bottles for cheap. By the end of the day, he sold most of the product, with only a few pastries and macarons to save for tomorrow, which will be handed out as samples.

He’s nearly all packed up when a girl meanders over near his booth. A loose yellow tee hangs off her shoulder with pale pink lace peeking out from the top of her chest, and she offers Artemis, the elderly woman who works the soap booth next to him, a soft grin. They make eye contact, and she gives him a warm smile. Thinking she’s a straggler who doesn’t know the market is closed, he offers her a tight smile while not-so-subtly boxing up the remainder of baked goods.

“Hmm, macarons,” the girl mumbles, fingering at the blue and white plaid tablecloth. “Any good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says softly. He has never been really good when it comes to small talk, which is one reason why he probably isn’t able to have any lasting relationships; he barely had any acquaintances, let alone meaningful friendships. He scratches the back of his head, beneath a wool beanie he apparently had to wear, even though it’s been burning hot all day. Sweat seeps into his hair, threatening to drip down his neck. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. He slides the tray of eclairs onto the side table, wrapping it with a healthy amount of plastic wrap before placing it in the insulated tote.

“And you’re not just obligated to say that since I’m a potential customer,” she smirks.

“Would never lie to such a pretty girl,” he says, smiling. He honestly can’t believe that those words actually came out of his mouth. A blush makes its way from his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and he prays that she can’t see it. The sun is setting; dull oranges and pinks peek over the tops of trees and wrap around her like wings, bright and comforting. He wipes his forehead, trying to conceal his blush from her. Just by looking at her, he’s sure that she wouldn’t even bat an eye at the rosy flush to his skin, but his stomach still balls up.

“Smooth,” she says. “You come here often?” Regret passes over her features as soon as she asks that, brows furrowing and head shaking. “Sorry, that sounded stupid. I just haven’t seen you. It’s normally Ryan or Cas,” she explains. She starts folding the tablecloth when Harry packs the final trays of pastries away.

“Well, Cas didn’t even show up today.” Harry can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his anger on this poor girl, but she’s looking at him with such understanding eyes, it’s hard not to completely break and rant about everything that’s been building up. She hands the cloth to him, which he takes with an appreciative nod. “But, yeah, ‘ve been workin’ this fo’ a couple of weeks,” he says. Feeling like he’s being a little too standoffish, he offers her a smile, nudging the tray that caught her eye toward her. “You like macarons?”

It takes a bit for her to answer, and she bites at her lip, fingers wringing together. The skin of her palms are stained a pinkish-purple.

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re my favorite.”

“Here,” he says, scrambling to get a box. He digs into the tote, easily ripping into the plastic wrap. “Take some. Better you than me. ’Ve had enough sweets to last me the rest of my life.”

“Thanks.” She takes the box of pistachio-honey, raspberry-basil, and orange cream. “Pretty,” she says, fiddling with the gold ribbon he tied around it and already picking at the label. She lingers for a little bit, like she’s waiting to find something else to talk about, fingers tapping nervously on the table top. “I, uh,” she stutters, gesturing toward the booth across the way from his and a little to the right, “work the kombucha stand over there.”

It’s a large booth with large, draping black curtains shifting. If the wind catches it just right, he can see streams of warm colors painted on them, layered and bold. Two men are taking down a large banner that says ‘Mystic Meadow Kombucha’ with the outline of a bull’s skull beneath it, wildflowers winding around it. It seems to be more extravagant than Harry’s setup, with 3 large kegs in the front, decorated with fake vines and flowers.

“D’ya paint?” He asks suddenly, gesturing toward her hands.

“I do, but these are from some beets. We were testing new flavors, and I, well—” She bares her hands, laughing lighty, “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll see you around,” she says after a minute, offering him a shy smile. Before she walks away, she raises the box of sweets with gratitude. “Thanks, again.”

“See ya,” he says, eyes lingering on her, watching her skip back toward her booth. One of the men looks at Harry and smirks, nodding knowingly. The rest of the night, he finds his gaze wandering back over to her booth. A couple of times, she catches his eye, and when they leave, in an old van with a flaking paint job that wobbles over every bump in the road, she waves at him.

It’s ten at night before he gets back to the bakery, the sun long gone, but the dry heat still hangs heavy in the air. Marty, the owner, is still in the office counting the money for the night that she probably wasn't able to get to earlier. It’s a fairly small operation, with only two baristas, two managers, Marty and Ryan, and two bakers, himself and Cas, who probably won’t have a job after today’s no-call-no-show. Harry leans against the doorframe, handing her the bank pouch.

“‘M headed out,” he says. “See ya tomorrow.”

“How was it?” She asks before he can leave. He turns around.

“Wha’?”

“The market,” Marty supplies. “Is it still as bad as you thought?”

“Today was better than others,” he says vaguely, his mind wandering to the girl at the kombucha stand. A smile plays on his lips. Marty cocks a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“So you wouldn’t mind working next week?”

“Nah,” he says, “Tha’s fine.”

That night, he dreams of a girl, with pretty eyes, a yellow t-shirt, and stained hands.

In the weeks following their first encounter, Harry takes the time to visit the kombucha girl before the market opens, and at the end of the night, she stops by to get a box of leftover baked goods. He’s learned a lot of things over the past few weeks: her name is Y/N, she’s the daughter of the owners of Mystic Meadow, her main jobs being selling at local markets and businesses and coming up with the different flavors, she’s working on her bachelor’s degree, she’s single (Harry found it difficult to contain his joy when she told him that), and she’s an all-around sweet girl, who’s wonderful with people.

Harry also found out that he hates kombucha.

But that doesn’t stop him from getting one every time he stops by. It’s normally before the market is actually open to the public. She just gets so excited whenever he tries a cup of the newest flavor, normally an odd mixture of spices or herbs with vinegar and a fermented fruit flavor—it’s not even good fermentation, like with alcohol— it tastes absolutely horrid, but Y/N looks at him with such hopeful eyes the first time he has a sip; he couldn’t bear seeing the disappointed look in her eyes, so he accepts the little plastic cup from her, nodding thankfully, and takes it back to his booth, where it will sit for the remainder of the night, untouched and dripping with sweat, leaving faint rings on the tablecloth.

“I brought you something,” she says to him one afternoon.

It’s early August, the sun at its peak, beating down on his black tee; he really needs to learn how to dress for such heat.

“Yeah?”

She lugs a black glass bottle from the cooler in the far corner of the booth, hidden behind the wooden chair for her. Her smile stretches from ear to ear; it’s hard to contain his own, but why would he want to? When you’re in the presence of beaming sunlight, you shouldn’t shy away, rather, embracing it because you never know how long it’s going to last. Her finger is hooked in the small hole near the top, and she slams it down on the table, the decorated glass jar filled with inspirational quotes and stickers with the Mystic Meadow logo on them nearly toppling over. He clumsily grapples for it before everything falls.

“Sorry,” she laughs, rubbing the sweat that has already formed on the bottle. She holds it out for him to take. “It’s a growler of the pear and pink peppercorn,” she says, smiling. He takes it gingerly from her hands, turning it over and feeling the weight.

“Wha’?”

“You said it was your favorite,” she says, her grin falling slightly. His heart stops for a second. Guilt floods him as he smiles widely, dimples settling deep in his cheeks.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither of them, he’s noticed, are very good at making conversation. Y/N is normally the one to initiate the pleasantries, but it still takes a little bit before they can actually get into a deep conversation. Sure, when they finally find a subject that the both of them are passionate about, they can talk for hours, like her paintings or his music, but the starting off is always difficult. Granted, that’s not abnormal for Harry; he’s never been much of a talker. He can fake it if he has to, but he’s a bit of a blundering idiot sometimes, and he’s learned that the less he speaks, the less likely he is to embarrass himself—especially when he’s around Y/N.

He’s been trying to find the courage to ask her out on a date for the past few weeks, hell, ever since the day they met, but of course: he hasn’t. Granted, he’s never had much luck in the dating scene, probably because he can’t flirt for the life of him. There are some times where something charming comes out randomly, but it’s soon followed by an uncomfortable silence, and he gets embarrassed.

He just needs to go for it. He knows that. He tells himself that every time he misses his chance, when he waits too long, and the window of opportunity is slammed in his face. Y/N is a wonderful match for him, and she’s too sweet to completely laugh in his face or flat out reject him.

But it’s still scary. His heart is in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans, noticing the slight tremor. He tucks them in the pockets of his jeans (yet another terrible clothing choice for such a hot day).

He just needs to do it, rip it off like a band-aid.

“Was wondering,” he blurts out, shifting nervously on his feet. “Do you have plans on Saturday?”

“No, do you have something in mind?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and he melts. He wishes he could be as comfortable as Y/N, to not be constantly worried about the approval and validation of the people around him. He wonders what it’s like to wear his heart out on his sleeve.

He wishes he could live like that.

“Uh, I have work,” he says, “but after, maybe, we could get dinner?”

“Sounds like a date.”

—

The Sweet Spot Bakery and Cafe is a cute little shop on a corner in downtown, ironically next to a nutrition store. A blue neon sign shaped like a mug flashes in the corner of Y/N’s eye. Rain pounds onto the red and gold striped awning, dripping onto the flooded concrete. There’s cute flower boxes beneath the windows, but the flowers look sad and droopy, the dirt splattering out with every powerful raindrop. Antique metal tables are stacked in the far corner, out of the rain. Y/N shakes off her umbrella.

A sweet chime sounds when she pulls open the door. Inside, the scent of coffee and sugar fill her senses. There is just something so comfortable about being in a bakery or even a cafe that always reminds her of warmth, of intimacy, of home. The shop is fairly empty, with an older man reading in one of the corners, snug in a velvet chair, and a couple quietly chatting on the other side, hidden behind a hanging plant, their legs crossed over each others’ on a leather stool.

An older woman greets her from behind the counter, obscured by a gold espresso machine. She’s short with graying black hair, brown eyes peeking behind horned glasses. Her red painted lips stretch into a smile.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, is Harry here?”

As if he could hear her, Harry stumbles out from the back, the door swinging idly behind him. Flour coats his arms to his elbows, with a few stripes on his nose and forehead. The green bandana struggles to hold back his hair, curls slipping onto his forehead.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He wipes his hands on the apron, a cloud of white billowing out. He coughs. He shoos the woman away and leans against the counter, his features impassive. To the untrained eye, he looks normal, fine, calm, even, but Y/N has learned how to read him; from the faint blush on his cheeks to the look in his eyes, which are unable to meet hers. He looks anxious, more so than usual, and there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry, I forgo’ to tell ya, but I’m scheduled to close tonight.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “We can do this some other time, then.”

“I can take my break in a bit. Marty doesn’ really mind how long it takes. D'ya wanna sit? Be out in a minute,” he says quickly.

“Sure,” she says, nodding. She opts for the corner booth, away from the other customers. Harry comes out from behind the counter only a moment later, like he promised, clean with a large white mug clutched in one shaky hand and a white box, wrapped in a pretty gold bow, in the other.

“Here ya go,” he says, sliding a large mug toward her. Foam sloshes over the edges and onto the table, wetting the napkin under the cup as well as her hand. He curses under his breath, grappling for the napkin dispenser. A poorly shaped face made with cinnamon smiles up at her, and she wants to aw at the sight, her lips pouting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping her hand with a stale paper napkin.

“It’s fine, H,” she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous (more nervous than usual). It’s not like this is his first time meeting her; they’re comfortable with each other, and they joke around, and he also knows that she’s interested because of how understanding she was when he told her that his shift changed, or maybe that is a sign that she’s not interested.

He really needs to stop overthinking these things.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to talk with her without his hands clamming up or his heart beating out of his chest. Maybe it’s the pressure of it being defined as a “date” that makes it even worse. He just hopes that he doesn’t psych himself out.

“Thank you.” She grins.

“No problem. Remembered that ya told me once that you liked honey and cinnamon.”

Her heart swells at his words. Even though Harry puts on an uneasy exterior, he’s very attentive and loving. None of her exes would have remembered how she took her coffee after she mentioned it once.

“Sorry,” he says again suddenly, looking at the sad excuse of a smiley face on her drink. “Don’ normally work the front unless it’s too busy.”

“You should. Such a pretty face, I can’t keep it all to myself.” She pinches his cheek, and he shys away, swatting at her hand playfully. He nudges the box toward her.

“Macarons. Your favorite,” he says, and she nudges it to the side, taking a large gulp of the coffee.

“How’s it been today?” She asks, rubbing some of the foam off with her thumb.

“Slow,” he admits, breathing out shakily. His feet tap nervously on the floor, tapping back and forth, from heel to toe.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his. “No need to be nervous.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “I jus’ feel like I should apologize again. I should’ve said something to you about my shift change.”

“It’s no problem, Harry,” she reassures him.

“I just got promoted. Marty needs help with orders and stuff, so I’ll be the bakery manager, now. She wanted me to close as a part of my training.”

“That’s great,” she smiles, lacing their fingers. He stares at them, his thumb tracing over her knuckles gently. Her skin is calloused and warm. He tugs her hand up to his lips, and she gives him a shy smile.

“You’ll still be working the markets, right?”

“Ya can’t get rid o’ me tha’ easily, lovie,” he smirks.

“Good.”

They talk for a good ten minutes, but the conversation is no deeper than the short interactions they normally have at the markets.

Harry wishes that wasn’t the case.

“Harry,” Marty calls from behind the counter, interrupting them. “A timer’s going off. What’s it for?”

“Oh, um—” He stands up, looking at Y/N with apologetic eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, downing the last of her drink and gathering her things.

“Brunch? I’ll text ya?”

“Harry,” Y/N calls out after he slips behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, not missing the red forming on his neck.

“See you tomorrow.”

She gives him a wink before leaving. Harry stands, stunned in silence, his fingers tracing the warmth lingering from her lips.

“Whipped,” Marty mutters, a soft smirk toying on her lips.

“Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I’m not judging. It’s cute, H.”

“I don’ need this, ‘kay?”

She throws a wet towel at him, catching his leg before the door to the back closes.

—

As promised, they had Sunday brunch, with bottomless mimosas and American biscuits, something he still isn’t used to, with jam and poached eggs. Y/N, who is a lot bolder when she has some alcohol in her, chattered on and on about her friends, her parents, and her classes. College never seemed like an option for him. He always held the belief that in his career choices, a baker or a musician, he doesn’t need a degree; you either have it or you don’t type situations.

But Y/N, the smart little cookie, loves school. She talked about how she may get an education degree, but one is plenty of work right now. She commended those brave enough to be in a double major. She asked him about his family and his job, mostly; he would rather listen to her than talk, so he kept his answers short and sweet.

Afterward, they went to the park, cliche as it seems, because even though he’s lived in the area for nearly five years, he never took the time to stop by any of the parks, and Y/N took full opportunity of this: she gawked at him, pulled him out of his chair at the bistro, and slammed some cash onto the table. He tried to argue with her, that he should at least leave the tip, since he was at fault for their date yesterday not going to plan, but she wasn’t listening.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been to any of the parks,” she said, tugging him along the sidewalk. “There’s a nice one around here, only a ten minute walk. It has a pond and that cute little playground equipment—you know, the tiny slides with tiny stairs for the little kids. Do you remember those?” She stops. “Should we get bread to feed the ducks?” She shakes her head, answering her own question. “No, we can do it some other time.”

They spend the rest of the day by the pond, people watching, another one of Y/N favorite past times. After dinner, Harry didn’t get home until after sunset and went to bed with a smile on his face.

The next day, Harry spends two hours contemplating whether or not it was too early to send a good morning text. He nervously rolled around in his bed before he accidentally sent the message. She responded quickly after, and they talked for the entire day (seriously, he didn’t get up unless he absolutely had to).

Tuesday, market day, comes around quickly, and Harry gets there earlier than usual, not so subtly waiting for the Mystic Meadow van to chug through the grass lot, and when it does, his heart speeds up, but he doesn’t recognize the girl that hops out of the passenger side.

His mind runs amuck, as usual. Even though they talked nonstop the day before, he thinks that maybe she’s not here because she doesn’t want to run into him, that she was annoyed by him already, his wariness and nerves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that there are so many other possible explanations, but his anxiety wasn’t having it.

It takes him a while to gather the courage to go over to the booth, and he tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, pacing slowly in front of the other booths, organic fruit, soap, paintings, and jewelry, until he’s at Mystic Meadow. The chalkboard sign that usually says Y/N’s name in fancy lettering says, ‘Florence will be helping you today’ instead. A girl with very long, very bright hair turns toward him. Thick blue eyeliner outlines her eyes, and smattering of freckles enlivens her pale skin.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She looks taken aback by the question.

“Sick,” she answers slowly, brows furrowed.

“Oh,” he whispers. “‘M Harry,” he says. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she gives him a quick once over, leaning her hip against the table.

“You’re Harry?” She laughs. “We thought she was making you up.”

“Tha’s...” Harry doesn’t really know how to feel about that; it’s a cacophony of pride, excitement, and little anxiety. Pride for the fact that Y/N talked about him to her coworker (and potentially even more people, since Florence said “we”), excitement from the fact that Y/N seems very interested in him, and, of course, anxiety from this stranger's piercing gaze. He wonders what Y/N said about him; maybe she talked about how awkward he is or his gauky figure or his clumsiness—

“How sick is she?”

“Not too sick,” Florence says, winking.

“Oh, tha’s not—“

He hates the fact that he actually sounds disgusted, even though he honestly doesn’t mind the thought of it. Sure, Florence is right; he wouldn’t mind being with Y/N in that way, but that’s beside the point. They have only been out on two dates, and the first one was at his work, of all places, so he doesn’t really count that one. He wants to take their relationship slow.

“I’m messing with you,” Flo laughs, crossing her arms, “Although, it is nice to see a grown man blushing.”

“‘M not blushin’,” he says, wiping at his cheeks petulantly. “Uh, is Y/N alright? How sick—” He swallows thickly. His skin heats up even more, struggling to find his words. He’s trying to figure out how to ask where Y/N lives without sounding like a stalker. Maybe he should just ask Y/N himself.

“Where, um, does she—”

“Here,” she says, chuckling. She rips a piece of paper loose from under the register box and writes down an address with looping script.

“Thanks.” He leaves the booth with a quick nod, the paper clutched tightly in his sweating palm; hopefully, it doesn’t smudge the ink.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls out. He turns. “You’re a good guy. I’m glad she met you.”

If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure as hell is now.

—

Y/N looks worse for wear when she answers the door to her apartment, eyes tinted red with exhaustion, puffy and droopy, and she sniffles, a stuffy breath slipping through her lips. She’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide slightly behind the door when she sees that it’s him.

“What are you doing here?” She squeaks.

His nerves spike again, worried he’s intruding or maybe it was too soon for him to start showing up at her house unannounced, when he’s never even been there before (he knew asking Florence for her address was a bad idea). They have only been on a couple of dates, and now, he probably ruined any chances he had with her by acting impulsively and like a total creep.

“I asked Florence,” he answers softly. “Said you were sick.” When tears fill her eyes, he’s sure she’s going to yell at him for disturbing her and tell him never to come again. He doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything so much; his skin is hot, his racing heart sinking into his stomach. “‘M sorry. I jus’ thought, since you were sick, you may wan’ some company. I’ll leave, sorry, sorry—”

“No,” she says, grabbing onto his arm before he can leave. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but…” Her throat closes, and she tries her hardest to not start ugly-crying, but with Harry standing on her front porch, visibly drained from work, arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, makes it very hard not to break. It’s exhausting having to take care of yourself when you’re feeling ill, and with Harry simply there, and knowing that he was thinking about her, makes things so much easier.

“You’re so sweet, H,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“May I?”

“But—” She hesitates, nibbling at her lip. “I’m in my PJ's,” she says softly.

“And ‘m all sweaty from being in tha’ sun all day,” he smiles. He lets himself in, thick boots thundering on the hardwood. “I came straight from, but I did pick up some soup and Sprite and tea. Hope you have honey and lemon,” he rambles, tugging everything out from the bags.

“Wasn’t real sure what kind of sick ya were, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got everythin’.” He gives her an awkward tight smile.

“Thank you,” she sighs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you wanna shower? I’m sure I have some clothes that can fit you.” She guides him to the bathroom, laying some towels and clothes into his arms. “The shower head screams sometimes so don’t be worried. It normally stops if you wiggle it a bit.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. Her shower is filled with dozens of half-filled soap bottles decorated the shelves and the little basket hanging from the shower head. The hot water is nearly all gone by the time he decides to use the no-more-tears strawberry shampoo. Her towels are warm and soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever felt before, and they’re big enough to nearly swallow him whole.

He finds Y/N in the kitchen with a warped mug, seemingly handmade, filled with steaming tea. She stares at the cap of medicine on the counter, breathing heavily. He can see the confliction on her features, one moment she’s nearly convinced that she doesn’t need it, that her body can take care of it overnight, but she also knows that if she didn’t take it, she’ll be in for one hell of a terrible night; then she remembers how awful it tasted the last couple of times she’s had to take it.

Her nose scrunches when she finally decides to down it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she says, “I was just about to head to bed.”

“Oh, uh,” he says nervously. “I don’ want to impose. I’ll leave. I jus’ wanted to make sure ya had everything ya needed.”

A part of him wanted her to invite him to be with her; that part that is touch starved and eager to be near her again wants to toss any worries to the side.

“As long as you’re fine listening to my coughing all night, I’m fine with you staying the night.”

She listens to nature sounds to go to sleep.

How cute is that?

For the first couple minutes, they were ocean sounds, but she didn’t like the seagulls; she had him switch it to rain after a little bit. She looked a little embarrassed when she started playing them, but Harry listened to music in order to fall asleep, so it’s really no different. He never thought about listening to nature sounds, but it’s definitely something he could get used to.

It takes them a bit to finally get settled together. They start on their own sides of the bed. Not wanting to push his luck and make her feel uncomfortable, Harry stays on his side, trying not to hoard too much of the blankets, with a pillow hugged to his chest. She’s afraid that he won’t like her being so close to him, given her current state of health. They stare at the ceiling stubbornly, one occasionally glancing over to the other.

Soon, the night-time medicine kicks in, and Y/N throws caution to the wind.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, rolling onto her side, one arm nestling underneath him with the other prying between the pillow. “You okay with this?” She looks at him with pleading eyes, and he smiles.

How could he say no to her?

“Definitely.”

And so, she snuggles deeper into his chest, eyes growing heavy at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, the scent of strawberry shampoo and Vix lulling the both of them to sleep.

—

Kissing her is something he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of. The feel of her soft lips over his, with tongue and teeth, aching and messy, is addicting. He never understood why people liked kissing so much; granted he’s only had five other ones to go off of, only two of them ever lead to a full-blown make out session on his bed, but still; how much fun could it be to practically suck another person’s face off?

But he severely underestimated the power of Y/N’s lips. The first time he felt them was a couple days after he spent the night with her when she was sick. It was a quick little peck he gave her when he dropped her off at her apartment, and ever since, he was hooked. It still completely baffles how much he aches for her lips when he can’t see her, and when he finally gets his fix, it feels perfect.

He finds himself craving the taste of her tongue.

How can someone’s mouth taste good?

It’s December, now, the market season long gone, and he and Y/N have been together for nearly five months. It’s more serious than any of his other relationships. Obviously, that’s not saying much since he hasn’t had many, but Harry slowly found himself opening up more toward her, which is more than any of his other ones.

He nips at the skin of her neck, tugging off her tee, and he finds the hickey he left a couple days ago, just below the collarbone, tongue pressing lightly on the tender skin. She whimpers.

“Fuck me, H,” she moans. She’s wearing a pink, lacy bra, the same one she was wearing the first day they met. He slips the straps over her shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses behind it. Her head lolls back against his, and his hand finds its way to her neck, caressing the warm skin. He can feel her heart rate pick up.

She slips her pajama pants and panties down, kicking them across the room. She slips further down the sheet, his hands firm on her hips. He tugs her frail bra up over her head. He fondles her breast for a bit before his lips trail down the valley, his warm mouth wrapping around her tender nipple, tongue soft against the pebbling skin. Y/N feels herself melt into him, skin sensitive to every teasing kiss he leaves down her body.

“Hey, babe?”

He rests his chin on her tummy, the thin hairs coating his jaw ticking her skin.

“Yeah?”

A sweet smile crosses her face at the chills that cover her skin when he speaks, lips so close to her skin, her pussy throbbing. Her thighs twitch. She runs her fingers through his hair, fingers smoothing the flyaways down. He kisses her bellybutton.

“I love you.”

He isn’t expecting that.

He chokes a little bit, his throat closing up on him.

“What?” He lifts himself up, crawling back up her body, and she cups his face. “Really?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She’s not afraid that he won’t say it back. Hell, there's a part of her that doesn’t even expect him to say it back. (There’s an even smaller part that thinks that he’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t want to think of that). She’s not afraid because she knows that she needs to be the one to reassure him, to love him, to coax him out of his shell, and she’s completely willing to do that, to put forth the time and effort, because she is wholeheartedly enamored with him.

She waits for him to process everything; she can see the confliction in his eyes. Ever the worrier, Harry is thinking of the negative outcomes that can come if he goes about this the wrong way, but he doesn’t dwell on them for too long. He thinks of the mornings that he woke up in her arms, the afternoons they spent in tje park, a new tradition for them, the evenings they spent in contemplative silence, where she would paint his profile and he would serenade her with another love song, and the nights they spent making love.

Loving her is probably the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Love you too, babylove.”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she pulls his forehead onto hers.

He wants to thank her, for being patient, for being understanding, for loving him, for just being her, really. He doesn’t think she realizes how much of an impact she has on him.

She sits up and pushes him beneath her. He leans against the headboard. It’s cold against his hot skin, sweat slipping down the small of his back. They both struggle in pulling off his pants; he almost hits her in the head. She settles low on his thighs, straddling him, and her feet tuck beneath his calves. She spits on his cock, wetting the red tip, and strokes him slowly. He moans, pouting slightly.

“No teasin’.” He tugs her forward, until their chest to chest, his hands settling low on her hips, rocking her wet pussy back and forth over the length of his cock. Her clit rubs against the head, making her hips jolt within his grasp. He easily slips inside of her, his head knocking against the headboard. She teases him, still, just barely putting the head inside before pulling out slowly. It takes a couple more tries before she sinks fully onto him, a drawn out groan slipping past his lips. He pulls her back in for a kiss, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“So deep,” she moans, her thighs twitching and quivering at his side. She caresses the skin of his belly, thumb teasing along the thin hairs.

“There ya go, baby,” he coos. “Takin’ me so well.” He sets his hand on her lower abdomen, feeling the little bump. “Can feel m’self,” he smiles. He waits for her to start moving. It takes a little longer than usual, probably from the lack of preparation, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She moves her hips back and forth, wiggling about to find that one special spot.

He thrusts himself into her, and she nearly collapses completely onto him, with a broken whine breaking from her chest. Hands gripping her fleshy ass, he moans against her neck. She tastes of sweat and cherries, addicting, and she grinds harder into him, hands gripping the headboard, which hits the wall with every move of her hips. The mattress creaks noisily beneath them, but they can barely hear it over the sound of each others’ moans of pleasure.

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

She breathes out her response, a pledge of her own love; it’s weak, but that’s no surprise, since she struggles for air when he bucks his hips, hitting the deepest part of her. The aching in her chest only adds to the pleasure, the burning fire in her stomach. Her arousal slips down to his thighs.

“‘M gonna come, babylove,” he whines, skimming his nose over hers. Her teeth nibbles his lips, riding him faster.

“Come in me, H, wanna feel you,” she says breathily. His arms quiver around her, squeezing her tight to him, his face digging into her neck. Her toes curl when he comes, his nails digging into her skin. She eases him through his high, cupping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his forehead. She pulls his head to her chest, fingers carding through his curls; his heaving breaths leaves her skin wet. She moves up, whimpering softly, but he stops her, feeling some of his cum slip out onto his thighs.

“Hm, no, lovie,” he whines, wrapping an arm around her waist. He gently moves them onto their sides, while keeping his cock nestled deep inside her. “Wanna feel you.”

She loves being so close to him, warm and full. She’s never done this with anyone. It’s intimacy at its core, with Harry holding her so tightly against him. It nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s so glad that she met Harry, so thankful that she took that leap of faith and talked to the cute guy at the baked goods booth, who had wise eyes and a nervous smile. She’s glad that she inched past that guarded exterior to find his soft, gooey middle. Harry kisses her forehead, shifting slightly, and her sensitive walls flutter around him.

“Feels good, baby,” she moans, rubbing along his waist.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she says, still at a loss for breath, her fingers absently tracing over his inked skin. Goose pimples rise in their wake.

“I don’ like kombucha.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like macarons.”

—

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[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.  

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving  you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.  

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

 Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho. 

[harrygroves]

the time-travelers husband (harringrove)

There was nothing particularly endearing about that Thursday in October. It was quiet, normal, boring.

Billy liked boring. It was when he felt safest in the world. The thrill he got from a mundane afternoon was like what others experienced on roller-coasters.

He was wearing his favorite sweater, the thick, brown one that really made his eyes pop. He couldn’t be bothered with his hair most days and had it tied back, away from his face. The sweater kept the chill of the library to a minimum. But when he was locked in his humidity-controlled box where cataloging took place, he felt the beads of sweat roll down his back.

The library he worked at was the best in the city. It was old, held thousands of books, and he was in charge of the Special Collections. It gave him plenty of time to himself--he was alone most of the time anyways, exactly how he preferred it.

Most people had no need for the types of books he was in charge of. Artists, educators, academics--those were the people he interacted with, the ones who needed tomes of information or old books filled with black-and-white photos and copies of paintings, pages brittle and yellow. All the same, he was called upon infrequently, and that was fine, perfectly fine.

A colleague had requested special-edition biographies on that Thursday and Billy was walking them back towards the front, small steps that clearly indicated he had all the time in the world.

“Yes, Billy will be able to help you with that, he’s our Special Collections librarian.” His coworker said loudly, nodding towards Billy who set the books down as the customer turned.

“Can I help you?” Billy asked politely.

The man was admittedly attractive, around Billy’s age, with a mess of fluffy, brown hair and dark, brown eyes. He had a smattering of moles and his--perfectly pink--mouth was open, eyes widening a smidge, breath seemingly stopped in his chest.

“Billy?” The man whispered, adjusting his shoulder-bag.

“Yes?” Billy replied, confused at the familiarity in the customer’s tone. A tone that suggested the two had shared something special. Life-altering.

“Billy.” The man repeated, walking slowly forward. “It’s you.” His eyes are glassy, like he’s going to cry.

There were a few moments of silence between them and Billy gave a small shake of the head to signify that he was completely lost.

The man let out a short laugh. “Y-you told me this would happen...and I was supposed to act normal but I’m not acting very normal, I--”

Understanding gathers in Billy’s mind. He knows. This guy knows.

Billy reaches out and grabs the man’s shoulder, uncertain but firm as he pulls him away from his colleague, walks with the man towards the quiet rows of books.

“I’m sorry, I really have no idea who you are.” Billy says, aiming for apologetic but it comes out annoyed.

 Billy lets his hand fall away from the stranger’s arm when they’re out of ear-shot from other people.

“I’m Steve, Steve Harrington. And--I--you don't know me. Look, I know how odd this must be for you--it’s odd for me but, I...would you like to have dinner with me? I’ll explain everything.”

Steve is looking at him with so much radiance, so much hope, and Billy’s never been looked at like that.

Well, not for years anyways. Not since he was a little boy. An image of his mother flashes through his mind but he clears his throat, shifts on his feet, looks left and right nervously and finds the eyes of his co-worker on them, watching with interest at what appears to be a personal conversation. Billy’s never had a visitor so he can understand the curiosity.

“Billy, we’ve been planning this dinner for a long time.” Steve says this with a toothy grin, like it’s an inside joke.

That feels weird. Billy tries to think of the version of him Steve knows.

Steve’s eyes are too bright, too seeing.

Steve knows him. Very well.

It’s unnerving.

“We have?” Billy raises his eyebrows.

“We’ll go to that diner you love, the one on Marsden, okay?” Steve asks.

Billy swallows roughly. He loves that place.

“Oh...okay.”

Steve looks him over. “You look like you’ve been having a hard time,” he says with concern. “It’s going to be okay.”

Billy can’t breathe.

Steve shakes his head, as if shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Okay, so--yes?”

Billy nods.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow night, alright? Seven?”

Billy just nods again.

Steve gives him another dazzling, toothy smile before turning and practically skipping away.

*

Billy almost doesn’t go. But at the last possible minute he throws on a clean shirt before disappearing, the clothes crumpling to the ground as he’s taken.

It’s snowing. He’s near a bridge. He’s stark naked.

It’s okay. He’s been here dozens of times. There’s a tall tree surrounded by clumps of bushes that he’s hidden a trash bag full of clothes and blankets in.

Once he’s dressed he watches the road from the bushes, watches the mail truck that starts spinning on black ice, sees his mother’s car unable to stop.

Billy watches their car get tapped, it swings round and round until coming to a stop.

He remembers the feeling of relief, and then the terror in the next moment when he watches as his fingers disappear.

The last thing he remembers of his mother is her concerned face watching him go.

Billy waits calmy. He never gets upset anymore.

A semi barrels into the mail truck, careening both vehicles towards his mother’s car.

And like magic, he watches his five-year old self materialize a few feet away from the bushes.

“Billy!” He shouts, running from his hiding place, throwing the blanket around the younger, naked him.

“Mom! Mom!” His past-self is shouting, watching the fiery mess of cars.

“Hey!, listen to me--listen to me, there’s nothing you can do, okay? Billy!” He shouts at himself. The child stops and looks at him. “You were in the car. Then you were gone and it was two weeks ago and you were reading a book with your mom. Okay? You time-traveled. Just like I did to come to see you. I know this is hard to understand but you will someday. I’m you when you’re all grown-up, okay? It’s not your fault. I know you’re scared but you’ll be okay, I promise.” Billy rubs the kid’s arms. “I have to go.”

It’s the last thing he gets out before he’s gone.

*

Billy’s late. He gets to the diner half past seven and sees Steve staring at the table, a glass of red wine in front of him, lost in thought.

“Sorry.” Billy huffs out when he reaches the table. “I was, uh. Detained.”

Steve isn’t angry or confused. “Are you alright?” He’s just worried.

Who was this guy?

Gorgeous was what he was. His hair was styled effortlessly, he was wearing a black jacket over a dark, wine-colored shirt and his eyes twinkled in delight.

Billy sat down, feeling sweaty and dirty.

He jumps right into it, cocking an eyebrow. “You do understand why it is I don't know you.”

A waiter comes up and asks Billy what he wants to drink.

“Beer.” Billy replies.

Steve looks confused. “You shouldn’t be drinking.” He says.

The waiter looks back and forth between them. “Beer.” Billy confirms, making stern eye contact with the kid, convincing him wordlessly to slip away.

“Why not?” Billy asks Steve when they’re alone.

“It. It makes you travel.” Steve says in a hushed voice.

“Okay, who are you?” Billy asks.

Steve flushes. “When you’re older, you’ll travel back to when I’m a little boy. For me, I’ve known you since I was six years old. You travel back to see me at the Meadow.” He’s rambling, eyes flicking all over the place, hands gesturing while he talks.

Billy stares at Steve, dumbfounded.

“This is...a lot.” Billy finally says.

Steve looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry. I...you told me to go easy on you and I’m not.”

From his lap, Steve produces a book--a journal, and places it on the table between them. It’s older, the cover bombarded with marker ink and stickers.

“I wrote down every time you came to visit me.” Steve announces proudly.

Billy stares at the book and nods a few times. He looks back up at Steve. “Which I gather I did? Or will do, fairly often.” God he’s thirsty. Where’s the waiter with his beer?

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “The last time I saw you I was eighteen. Seems like you go back to the same places a lot.”

It’s so strange to have someone else talk about this with him. “Yeah, it’s like gravity. Big events pull you in.”

Steve’s eyes sparkle. He leans forward, and in a small, cocky voice he says, “I was a big event.”