#Potted Flowering Azalea

[daily-mc-block]

Potted Flowering Azalea

[classic-asian-art]

Flowering azalea in brown pot by Ohara Koson (paper)

[floral-art-prints]

Azaleas, Geraniums, Roses and Other Potted Plants by a Window by Carl Christian Carlsen (oil on canvas)

[k-hotchoisan]

the scentist

<san x fem!reader>

Your neighbour—Choi San—is such a gentleman on top of being a complete hunk and smelling so fuckin good. Especially so when he offers his hoodie when he sees you being drenched. Well, nothing could come out of such a simple gesture of kindness, right?

Genres/Warnings: perverted & obsessed scentist!San, Olfactophilia (sexual arousal from scent), masturbation on clothing, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, cumming untouched, armlock (light) breeding, pussy drunk San💙

💙 @san-network 💜

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify

A/N: WE BEEN KNEW THAT I’D LEAVE MY FAVOURITE MAN FOR THE LAST!! 😮‍💨 don’t be sad that this event is ending ok,, we got more to cum come 🥰 thank u for giving my fics so much love as always!!

🩷back to staying perverted

Lavender. Sweet pea. Azalea. Gardenia. 

The scents of the florals fill his lab, something he’s so used to already. As the concoction bubbles, he walks over to the other flowers potted along the shelf, pressing the petals against his nose, taking in their smell before he pulls away. He pulls off his goggles, walking over to his desk, staring at the standing whiteboard, filled to the corners with flower names, chemical compounds, and other miscellaneous details. Even though he’s doing fine, he feels that something is missing. Choi San feels stale and stuck. 

The rain is pattering down heavily against the pavement, he stares at the raindrops hitting the leaves of his plants. San often gets compliments on how beautiful his plants are, and how natural he is at gardening. San would don his signature smile and he would thank them for the compliment. Sometimes, his neighbours would come by to ask for gardening advice and San would gladly entertain them. This evening was no different. Another one of his neigbours who was growing greens had wanted to express appreciation by buying San his favorite fertilizers. Stacking them neatly in his cabinet, San then decides to head down to the reception to receive his parcel. 

Fuck. The downpour was so sudden. It totally caught you off guard, and you were drenched before you realised it. You make it to the entrance of your apartment complex, shivering slightly from the air conditioning. You shake off the excess water off your arms, and when you look up, your heartbeat quickens—your apartment complex crush is standing at his letterbox, filtering through his mail while he holds a parcel in his arms. He’s in a grey hoodie, and for some reason, it makes him look big, and it’s driving you insane. Shit, shit, shit. You pray that he doesn’t turn around and see you.

“Hey. Good evening y/n”, San greets cheerily. You force a smile, “Good evening San.”

San has his eyes on you, and you swear he’s eyeing you down—probably judging you for being drenched and shit. 

“Looks like you reached back just in time”, he teases, and you pout. 

“I feel like a drenched dog. Is this how dogs feel after a shower?” You reply, brushing your hands through your wet locks, all in an attempt to stop yourself from staring at San laugh—his voice is hypnotic enough to make you melt into a puddle already. The cold air from the air conditioning hits you once more, and this time you’re beginning to shiver uncontrollably on top of struggling to open your damn letterbox and not looking like a circus in front of your crush. 

You focus on fidgeting with your letterbox keys, your fingers reaching out to snatch the letters. When you close the latch, San has his hoodie unzipped, and he’s removing said outerwear. 

“San, what are you-“

He’s about to hand you the hoodie, but he instead opts to put his parcels in your hands, and he fucking fits the hoodie around your shoulders, and when he does, his smell floods your senses. He smells like a mix of floral—with hints of spice and citrus, and although for a brief moment, you have it locked in some part of your brain. His fingers brush against yours as he takes his parcels and letters from you, and it doesn’t help that he’s in a black shirt that hugs his biceps, shoulders, and chest a little too well. You barely muster the strength to peel your eyes away, feeling your heart flutter when his fingers brush against yours as he retrieves his packages back from you.

You look up, hoping that the fluorescent lights don’t highlight the heat that’s rushing to your cheeks. You’re still shivering, but suddenly you don’t feel as cold as before. 

“Thank you, San”, you smile. “I’ll wash it and return it to you ASAP.” San smiles in response and the both of you walk to the lift together, light conversations and laughter filling the spaces as your body and your heart gradually warm up.

San is exhausted—he’s been at the lab back to back, drafting report after report, and it’s been taking chunks out of him. Palm against his neck, he tilts his head, shutting his eyes as he stretches his neck, and then he sighs. His superiors finally approved his reports and now he has the god-given chance of going home and catching up on his sleep for the night.

The muffled sounds of his doorbell stir him up from his sleep. He doesn’t shift for a couple of seconds. Then his hands shift across the bedsheets to feel for his phone. The doorbell sounds a couple more times and San grunts in his groggy state, his fingers hitting against the edge of his phone, which he pulls closer to him to check the time.

It’s 2 pm. He crashed for 14 hours last night. 

He slowly sits up, letting his sight adjust to the afternoon sun filtering through his windows before he walks over to the front door. He’s slightly grouchy from the amount of sleep he clocked in, but as he swings the door open, the remainder of his sleep dissipates when he sees that it’s you standing before him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You ask, rubbing your neck. “I wanted to return you this..”, you bring up a paper bag to San’s view. San is still registering this.

“But you weren’t home for the past couple of days, and I don’t have your phone number..” 

San blinks. Then his hands reach out to take the paper bag, and his eyes glance downwards. 

Ah, it’s his hoodie. 

He looks up back to you. “Thank you. Don’t tell me you’ve been coming here every day to try to pass me this?” 

“Yes and no..?” you answer with a smile. It spreads to San, who suddenly feels a shot of guilt for making you come to his unit when he wasn’t even there half of the time. 

“I’ll treat you to dinner for the trouble I’ve put you through”, he says hastily. He thinks the way your eyes widen and how pink is flushing at the tip of your ears is so adorable, and then he cuts you off before you attempt to decline his offer, “Pass me your phone.”

The phone in your hand is in his now and he types in his phone number before he hands it back to you. 

He leans in slightly closer, and there is a particular scent that slowly starts to make its way to his brain. Is it coming from you? For some reason, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head since the day he lent you his hoodie. And there it was again, faint, but it was definitely there.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, y/n?”

He’s almost disappointed when he sees you shake your head, but at the same time, he has lab work to do, so he shuts the door after he sends you off with a smile, not knowing that you omitted that you wore his hoodie a couple more times after washing (mostly due to the cold weather).

He drops off the paper bag on his bedroom floor before he heads off to his home lab.

Unfortunately, the extra 14 hours of sleep still doesn’t spark inspiration for his chemistry, and he ends up spending barely an hour in his lab, mostly tending to his flowers, before he decides to call it a day. 

San is back in his bedroom, and he decides to unpack his hoodie from the paper bag. His hands reach into the bag and retrieve the hoodie, and when he unfolds the hoodie, his mind immediately hazes at the scent coming off the garment. Fuck. It’s even more prominent. It’s the scent that he can’t get out of his fucking head, and now it’s pretty much in his hands. 

You smell like fucking heaven, San thinks, placing the outerwear under his nostrils once more, inhaling, the smell completely entering the crevices of his mind. He groans and curses at the way his erection is pushing against his pants just from your fucking smell. It’s more than just the detergent you use—it’s so much more intimate and intoxicating than that, and it’s undoubtedly driving San fucking crazy. He’s so sure that this is the scent that he’s been chasing after.

San walks over to his bed, comfortable on the mattress while he pushes his pants past his thick thighs, his cockhead pushing against his underwear, forming a dark and wet spot. He inhales shakily, teasing himself, the precum thickening and staining more of his underwear. It doesn’t take him long to kick off his sweats and underwear completely, letting his cock spring out with a relieved sigh, before he slowly starts fucking his hand while his other hand has his head filled with your pheromones. 

The thought of you on that rainy evening, the way the rain had drenched your white shirt through, your bra showing, cupping your tits so fucking teasingly. San wonders if you did it on purpose because he would have just ripped your shirt open right then and there. His repressed fantasies begin to bubble up—the thought of him inviting you to his unit instead, letting his hands feel you up, making sure your goosebumps are from his touches rather than the cold because he swears he can warm you up quickly. He would press himself against you, taking in your scent, before he’d slip his hands underneath your pathetic white shirt, cupping your tits, then sliding your pants off—he knows he can’t even wait till the both of you reach his bedroom—the furthest the both of you would go? The fucking couch.

Your smell floats, and it’s dragging him deeper and deeper. San bucks his hips against his hand, soft moans pouring out his lips, whining your name against the fragrant garment, his precum turning thicker by the minute. He’s liked you ever since he met you when you first moved in, and now you’re filling up every part of his olfactory senses. He’s desperate to fill you up with him, make sure you’re holding your shirt up with your teeth, your eyes filling up with tears as he slams his cock into your warm pussy, over and over, forcing yourself to stay quiet so the neighbours don’t hear.  

Fucking hell. San’s thighs shake slightly at the thought of it. He takes another inhale, and it’s like a dopamine reset once more, perfect at the moment when he’s bringing himself to the edge. Your voice echoes in his head, the pretty sounds you’d make, the expressions that he would indulge in for himself.

Thick streams of cum bubble from his silt, and he almost suffocates himself from the sick pleasure of burying his face in his hoodie drenched in your scent, he catches his breath as the scent slowly fades when he pulls the hoodie from his face, panting from an orgasm that he knows will never be enough one time. 

As San washes off his high in the warm showers, he decides to attempt to recreate your scent, wanting to keep it all for himself. And he knows just a hoodie isn’t gonna be enough.

You’ve been flipping your apartment upside down, looking for your panties. At first, you didn’t notice that one pair went missing—chalking it off as you misplacing your laundry. But when the second one you swore you dropped off in the fresh laundry hamper disappears, along with a third, you realise something was amiss. You retrace your steps—you did have a couple of people over recently, but the majority of them were your girl friends, if you minus off how you and San have been going over to each other’s places for meals ever since the both of you exchanged phone numbers. Undoubtedly, your feelings for him have grown exponentially, especially when the both of you spent time with each other in (almost) close proximity. San had always been polite and helped around with cleaning up the dishes, and he had a very endearing habit of leaning in closer to you—whether to just tease you or to hear you better—it would never fail to make you act flustered around him before you would roll your eyes and push him away. 

Needless to say, the relationship had blossomed since that rainy evening. You just didn’t expect to grow so close with your apartment complex crush, and while there were nights where San’s face, San’s voice, San’s body would bubble up to the surface when your orgasms washed over you, leaving you squirming and shy once the post nut clarity hit, you thought to yourself that the relationship between the both of you was good enough for now.

You scratch your head, racking your brains as to where your panties might have magically disappeared to. You’re lost in thought until the ping from your phone brings you out of it. You go over to check, and it’s from San—reminding you of dinner at his place. Right, the panties can wait for now. 

“I hope I’m not late”, you smile as San opens the door for you to let you in. San returns it, “No, I just placed the order. It’s gonna take awhile.” 

You take a seat on his couch. No matter how many times you’ve been to his place recently, you always feel that it’s still so spacious. 

Then he breaks your train of thought. 

“Is there something you’d like to do while waiting?” You let your eyes wander around his apartment again, and they land on the potted plants on his window sill. 

Your eyes dart away from how San is staring down—his body is facing towards you, giving you his fullest, and it’s making you slightly self-conscious. 

“I’m wondering what you’re always so busy with.”, you say. You’re ready to be rejected when San doesn’t answer right away. Right, it’s probably something personal to him too. But you can’t help but overthink when he doesn’t reply immediately sometimes. It makes you feel so childlike. 

He stands up, gesturing you to follow him. “It’s a little embarrassing”, San replies as he guides you to the tightly shut door. He presses his fingertip onto the keypad—it lights up green and San pushes the door knob down, and the door pushes open. 

It is as if it is another world. The lights are dim and the air is a lot cooler, albeit slightly more humid thanks to the myriad amount of plants littered around the room. He has so many species—differentcolours and different flowers. The scents hit you next, the floral scent floating around your nostrils at different intensities. 

“A whole nursery?” You exclaim, walking near to some of the flowers. 

“Yes and no. It’s more of a lab”, San corrects you, walking over to the heavy desk just full of lab equipment. “Sorry, it’s kinda messy.”

You shake your head, still taking in the sight of his botanically busy room, amazed. 

As you near more of the equipment, the scents grow stronger. The whole lab smells so fragrant, and you’re surprised that it’s not overpowering, to say the least. 

“So, what do you do here exactly?” You ask, taking another whiff of the fragrance while staring at the rows of test tubes before you. 

“I make scents. It’s just a side hobby of mine on top of my research”, San explains. He picks up a test tube and gestures you to take a whiff, and so you do, pleasantly surprised at how much the scent smells just like him. 

“Then what’s your little project now?” 

San pauses. He doesn’t look you in the eye for that split second. As he parts his mouth to answer, the doorbell rings, and it jumps him out of his thoughts. The food is here. 

Seated across San, as you always do, San is plating the takeout while you prepare the utensils. The topic of his lab comes up again, but you completely forget about asking about his projects.

Midway through the conversation, the rice cake that you were trying to eat somehow slips off the utensil and drops onto your clothes, causing you to jump in surprise, somehow toppling your plate with the leftover sauce, on top of staining on your clothes, much to your dismay. 

“Shit”, you curse, casting an irritated glance at the splatter on your clothes. The plate clatters on the floor. You stand there, slightly dumbfounded at the situation. You’re wondering if you should just head home to change out, considering that your unit isn’t too far from his. But before you have the chance to bring up that suggestion, San cuts you off.

“You can drop your clothes into the washing machine. In the meantime, you can borrow my hoodie. It should be on the clean laundry hamper.”

“San-“

He turns to you with a comforting smile. “It’s fine. Rice cake sauce isn’t the easiest to clean off when you leave it for too long. I’ll clean up the floor.”

You realise arguing with him isn’t work out in your favour, nor will it get the rice cake sauce off your clothes any quicker, so you decide to heed his words and head to his room.

Undressing yourself once you shut the door, you drop your soiled clothes into the washing machine. It was then you realise that you are pretty much naked, in Choi San’s fucking bedroom. Struggling to keep your head out of the gutter, you decide to focus on finding that damn grey hoodie. Your eyes scan his room, trying to search for the grey hoodie. And your eyes land on a thick-looking piece of garment on one of the laundry hampers. You walk over to pick it up.

You put his hoodie over, and there it is again—the spicy citrus smell. Choi San’s smell. Your thighs push against each other a little tighter this time. Then something in your peripherals catch your attention—a lace garment. You inch closer, and your heart drops. 

It’s a pair of lace underwear. 

Fuck. Is he seeing someone and he didn’t tell you? A thick lump forms in your throat. 

And then it goes away when you start picking up another two more panties from the hamper, and the realisation hits you like a fucking truck—these are your fucking panties. 

Things are not adding up in your brain, that’s for fucking sure. 

At that moment, San bursts into the bedroom, and a panicked expression scribbled across his face. His eyes are blown wide open when they land on the three pairs of panties in your hands. 

You stare back at him, almost mirroring his expression, the only difference being confusion for you instead. 

The corner of San’s lips pull into a half smile. “Oops.”

“San, what’s the meaning of this?” You ask, feeling your face flush rapidly. 

“Well”, San pauses. “you asked what scent I’m making next right? It’s yours.” 

“My scent?” You echo back in question to him. San sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he inches closer to you, trapping you underneath him when you finally hit his bed. 

“Yes, darling. Your scent”, his voice almost turning into a whisper, dropping octaves lower. “You’re so cruel—keeping something so intoxicating to yourself.” 

You swallow hard. San’s eyes still reflect his usual gentle demeanor, but now it’s slowly being tinted with something else. Something more ominous. Despite that, it only draws you in, like a prey being slowly hypnotized by her predator. You should be shocked, terrified even, but the only thing streaming through the nerves of your brain is the internal begging for San to just eat you up right now. 

You suddenly realise that the hoodie isn’t zipped up, the outerwear slipping down your arms. You remain still, your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage. 

“You can run out of my apartment now. I’m giving you five seconds”, San tells you, and your mind is spinning at the thought of him even giving you a chance to leave. 

Five seconds pass. You’re still staring up at the male above you, whose lips are curling into a satisfied smirk. 

His fingers cup your jaw, and he tells you, “Open up.” Sparks splatter across your eyelids the moment his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer on instinct, the feeling of his thick erection behind the two layers of fabric sending you into an orbit on top of his tongue teasing yours. He pulls back, licking off the strings of saliva between the both of you. His gaze is locked onto yours.

“Please? Let me taste you. I promise I’ll make you feel so fucking good”, his request sounding more like a beg. Your mind is hazy. Choi San? In between your fucking legs? You swallow hard, and then you nod. 

San lowers himself to your clothed cunt, his eyes shut in bliss when he presses himself against your pussy. 

“Heaven”, is all he mutters, his eyes casting you a glazed expression that was definitely about to drive you fucking insane, before his fingers pull against the waistband of your panties, slipping them off you. 

The moment you feel his tongue press against your pussy, your mind threatens to shut off. San is breathing heavily against your soaking pussy, taking in the sight, taste, and smell of what you’re finally giving to him. Every time your thighs jerk to shut at the sensation of his tongue licking you up, his hands push you open for him forcing you to take his tongue in your cunt, and it’s wiping out any remaining rational thoughts you didn’t even know you had. 

Your fingers tug against his scalp, pushing your hips deeper onto his tongue, your back arched from how fucking good he feels. His tongue is lapping you up, teasing your clit over and over again once he hits the sweet spot, his fingers leaving imprints on your thighs when he hears you whine and moan his name. 

All San can think about is how fucking amazing you taste—he knew it would be another fucking level than pressing his nose against the fabric of your panties and fucking into his hand for the past few weeks, but actually letting you fuck his face? He’s on fucking cloud nine. 

His glazed-out eyes shift to look up at you, watching the way you’re squirming under him, the sounds of his wet tongue fucking you, tasting you, echoing around his room. Your cream and pussy are the only things he can register, and he wants to keep it for himself, forever.

“S-San-“, you cry out, your mind just threatening to blank out at every flick of his tongue. He’s building your orgasm at such a dangerous pace, and tears are pooling at the corners of your eyes when you feel something funny bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “I think I’m gonna fuck-“

“That’s it. Let it go for me. That’s a good fucking girl”, San encourages, before his tongue presses against your clit, giving you another lick before white washes over you, your cunt pulsing violently against his tongue from the sheer pleasure, then clear fluids splattering onto San’s pretty face—who seemed unfazed, considering he’s still lapping your cunt up, while you’re almost thrashing above him as the overstimulation starts to sink in. Your moans sound like cries when you beg him to stop. San doesn’t relent, and he only stops when he suddenly whimpers, switching over to kiss your thighs, decorating your plump flesh with love bites. He pushes a finger in, letting you stain and coat his fingers, enjoying your whines before he pulls out and towers over you. 

“Fuck, if I’d known you’d taste this good, I would have stolen your panties sooner”, he mutters, cleaning his fingers with his tongue, desperate to taste you again.

You’re catching your breath from going through the most mind-blowing orgasm, watching San pulling his shirt over his head, and then slipping out of his sweats, your breath caught in your throat when his fat cock comes into view, thick and heavy, and covered in thick cum. 

San’s fingers curl around your neck, and he lowers himself to litter kisses across your neck and jaw, it’s giving you goosebumps, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. 

He pauses right at the shell of your ear. 

“I want to wear you over and over again. I want to lock you up in me—bottle you up so I can keep you for myself.”

“Then do it. I’m here for you to dip into your pretty little fantasies in, San.”

You swear you see something snap in the poor male, especially from the way he takes a deep inhale—shakily— before he parts your lips with his, leaving you breathless when your little steamy make-out session ends. 

“You don’t know what you do to me, darling”, San cautions when he pulls back. His hair is tousled but fuck, he still looks so fucking good. “And I’m not stopping even if you’re screaming.”

Fuck. 

He fucks his hand, soft sighs leaving his lips, as his cum dribbles down his length, before he lines up to your hole and pushes in easily. 

You hear him groan above you, your eyes are fixated on the way he’s losing himself in your pussy, and your mind is finally growing blank the more his cock fills you up. He’s stretching you open so fucking good, filling you up to the hilt. 

“You’re squeezing me so much, darling. Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyebrows are scrunched, his hands holding your legs up while he lets you adjust to his cock. 

But he doesn’t warn you before he starts moving, his impatience completely overriding any ounce of rationale he has left in him. 

“So good. San, you feel so fucking good”, your moans sounding like cries whenever his hips snap against yours, the obscene sounds only adding to the tension. 

“You take me so fucking well, darling”, San’s voice is ringing in your ears. “Look at your fucking pussy just swallowing me up like that.” 

You don’t even reply to that, your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your head is somewhere in fucking heaven where San is definitely fucking you into. 

Just when you feel that you were about fucking fall apart on his cock, he pulls out, and you barely manage to catch your breath when San instructs you to turn over. You do, your ass up for him, and he enters your cunt once more, before fucking into you from the back. You don’t fucking know how, but you swear that his cock feels even thicker from the back.

His hands press against your hips, fucking you deep before he lets his hands slide down your body and he stops at your neck, gesturing you to look up at him as he leans down to press his lips against yours—all while rearranging your guts from the back. 

He lets you pull back when you feel your neck is growing sore, and then he puts his body weight onto you, his arm tucking underneath your neck. 

“Such a good fucking girl for me. You feel so fucking amazing”, San whispers, tickling every crevice of your brain as he presses his nose against the curve between your neck and shoulder, his thrusts turning more like ruts. The arm lock around your neck isn’t cutting off oxygen thankfully, but the thought of him choking you out only drags you closer to your high. 

“Cumming, I’m cumming San-“, you whimper, tears trickling from your eyes from how much his cock is constantly hitting in such deep fucking spots of your pussy. 

“Me too, babe. Gonna fill you up so nice and good, that’s what you’d like, right?” San teases, his cock twitching in you before he groans, his warm cum filling you up so good right at the same time your orgasm hits you once more, making you squeeze even more cum from San, perfectly milking him dry in your pussy. 

“So fucking perfect”, you hear San mutter, and you can’t help but flush, even though he just fucked every ounce of sanity out of you. His lips trail down the nape of your neck, his eyes are locked onto you, hazy and tinted with a hint of a growing obsession you could never tell. 

He’s not letting go of you. 

[cgclarkphoto]

Squirrel -  cg photography

[marvelstoriesepic]

Paranoia

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home to an unlocked door - his mind convinces him something horrible happened to you

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: angst, fluff

author‘s note: Y‘all this is my first fic. So excited to get this all started!!

Masterlist

It had long gone dark as Bucky made his way home to you. A mission in Vienna occupied him for the last couple of days and he couldn’t wait to hold you in his arms again, breathe you in, and smoother you with kisses. Communication outside of the headquarters was denied much to Bucky’s dismay so instead of your melancholy voice he only got to hear annoying and unhelpful remarks from Sam through his com, who was tasked to watch his six.

He weaved his bike through the mostly empty streets, definitely faster than he was supposed to but eager to see you.

Walking up the steps to your shared apartment he couldn’t resist the giddy feeling welling up inside his chest, warmth spreading throughout his body. You and Bucky moved in together one year and three months into your relationship. Although it was his place too - you reminded him several times - he let you decorate it the way you wanted it, only throwing in a remark here and there.

He just loved the feeling of being surrounded by you - by the things you chose to include in the life you had with him. The couch, where you would cuddle up together, bundled in a blanket, limbs interlinked, watching a show together. The curtains, you would drag across the window to shield Bucky and you from the world outside. The flower pots littering your small balcony where you showed him how to take care of the plants after he drowned the azaleas last spring. Even the shoe rack where your sandals and sneakers were lined up right next to his boots reminding him of the life you shared. That this was real. That he had you and you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

That giddy feeling though left his body in an instant, with no resemblance of it ever being there. His heart sank to his shoes, even further but his brain couldn’t follow. He was feeling hot all of a sudden but nothing like the warmth that took hold of his heart just moments earlier. His mind was going haywire, wild eyes staring at his hand, which unbeknownst to him started shaking already. His key was still in his hand, ready to turn in the deadbolt of the lock, but all it took was a small push to open the door.

He didn’t realize he may be overreacting. Didn’t consider you could have just forgotten to lock the door. No. Unwillingly, his thoughts were clouded with the worst his mind could conjure up. This was New York after all. And he was the goddamn Winter Soldier for crying out loud. He did his best to make amends, trying to demonstrate that he isn’t the person people know him as but there will always be a few seeing him as the man Hydra trained him to be. He still got funny looks while walking the street, someone crossing the street when he approached and he noticed the sympathetic smiles people throw your way because they couldn’t seem to wrap their mind around how someone as sweet, compassionate, and gleeful can be with someone as him. He had trouble understanding that too.

So while it could have been a small mistake on your part Bucky was reeling at the easy access to your apartment. He shouldered his way into your home scanning the room and calling your name, a waver in his voice.

Nothing looked out of place, no evidence of a break-in. The fluffy white blanket was folded over the armrest of the couch. Piles of books were neatly placed in the bookshelf you built up together. Well, Bucky did, while you read chapter after chapter of the current book you were reading aloud. It took him two hours to build that shelf but not because he had difficulties. He just was afraid you‘d stop reading to him when he finished. Everything looked as it was supposed to but the nagging feeling didn’t let up and he chased down the corridor.

“Doll? Come on baby, where are you?”

He stalked into your bedroom, hoping to see you wrapped up in a warm blanket and reading a book or taking a nap waiting for him but he was met with the empty sheets arranged neatly. Through his panicked thoughts, he couldn’t make out the quiet creak of the door to your laundry room further down the hall and rushed footsteps coming his way.

“Y/n!”

He was shouting at this point, sheer panic lacing his voice and turning on his heels to check the other rooms.

“Buck-”

Bodys colliding, a yelp, Buckys arms shot out to steady you. You found your balance again shooting a concerned albeit bewildered look up at him.

“Buck, what’s going on?”

“Oh thank god,” he breathed out while enclosing his arms around you, tugging you against him. Relief flooded his body and he swayed you both a little still feeling wobbly on his legs and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment while taking a big breath, filled with your scents. His hands roamed your body searching for anything that could indicate discomfort or pain.

You let him hold you for a few moments, feeling his chest heave with deep breaths, and only lightened your hold on him when his heartbeat evened out again. Without letting go completely you lifted your head and tilted backwards to study him better.

“What happened Buck?”

Your whispered concern got Bucky out of his mind and he opened his eyes to look down at you, the hold on you never faltering. He looked a little sheepish now, shaking his head in a small movement, and took a shuddering breath.

“The door wasn’t locked,” it came out with a rasp and he cleared his throat, eyes shifting a little before they met yours.

You furrowed your brows and turned your head in the direction of the door. A couple of seconds later it hit you. You got some groceries earlier today and got distracted by the beeping of the washing machine when entering the apartment. You just shut the door, put the groceries down, and moved Bucky's clothes to the dryer. You wanted them to be clean and dry for when he came back. Walking back you went straight for the groceries to store them away without sparing another glance at the door.

“Shit Buck, I forgot,” It was your turn to look sheepish. You grimaced, moving to meet his eyes again.

“Figures,” he chuckled, placing a kiss on your forehead, lingering there longer than needed, and caught your eyes again, sporting a serious expression this time.

“I’m not scolding you for forgetting baby, it happens, but I need you to lock that door,” he voiced in a whisper, blue orbs intently focused on you.

You sigh, breaking his eye contact, and nod heavily.

“I know Buck, I’m sorry,”

He shook his head, his flesh hand reaching up to caress your cheek and tilting your head to meet his eyes again. His lips met your nose, then your forehead, lingering there again, before holding your gaze and speaking softly.

“Don’t apologize doll, I just…,” He closed his eyes, hanging his head, trying to compose himself so as not to fall back into franticness.

“Hey,” Your soft voice and touch calmed him in an instant. Glossed-over blues met yours again and you brushed your lips over his in a sweet kiss. “I get it. I’m sorry I got you worried baby, won’t happen again. I promise!”

He leaned in to kiss you again angling your head to deepen it. It was slow and soft and you rested your forehead against his after pulling away.

“I missed you!”

He pulled you closer even though it was impossible, nuzzling his head against yours. His lips spread into a smile.

“I missed you too baby! So much.”

Your smile matched his. “You kill Sam yet?”

He chuckled lightheartedly, his body relaxing against yours, the tension in his shoulders leaving completely. He knew you tried to distract him and it worked. It’ll always work because you’re the only one able to ease his mind when his paranoia gets the better of him.

“All beauty has a little tragedy”

- Bridgett Devoue

[dsudis]

Dreamling Bingo Fill: What Remains

Square/Prompt: D2, "Scars"

Title: What Remains

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dreamling

Additional Tags: Scars, Hand Injuries, Graphic Description of Wounds, Retired Dream, The Kindly Ones

Summary: Dream is content with his scars.

Dream woke to a springtime smell, bright and sharp in his nose, and opened his eyes to see that the marigolds in their windowsill pots had bloomed, orange and yellow and cheerful. The morning sun was shining on them, and Hob was already out of bed; the sounds of him puttering around the flat were faintly audible over the music that was always playing if Hob had no one to talk to.

He didn't recognize the music, though he knew that if he listened long enough, the name would come to him. It was something up-tempo and cheerful; Hob knew, too, that spring was here. Spring, and Sunday, which meant a changing of bandages.

Dream lay on his back and raised his right hand into the light, studying it in the glow of the sun. The scars that made up nearly the whole inner surface of his index finger and thumb had faded from red to a vibrant pink which he found he rather liked. Yesterday he and Hob had wandered about some botanical garden or other, looking for a flower to match the color, debating happily over fuchsias versus azaleas until they found that stand of calla lilies that were absolutely inarguably perfect.

The scar also trailed downward from his hand nearly to his elbow, with a few jagged branches curling around his forearm. These, too, had healed to sturdy scars; it was only the palm of his hand where a waterproof tan bandage still obscured the wound.

It might not be a wound any longer. Today was Sunday; today he would find out.

He lowered his right hand a bit, and raised his left to meet it, trying, as he often did, to recreate what he remembered of his last moments as—whatever he had been, before he became a human being whose identification bore the name Morris LeReve, which Hob found delightful and Dream found as good as any other name. He had no right to the one he could no longer even speak—not Dream, though Dream was the nearest approximation in English, the one Hob had latched onto after hearing his sister say it.

His sister had been beside him, before it happened. They had sat side by side in some desolate place, and she had been sad, and angry, and resigned.

He had only been tired, so tired that he could feel nothing else through it, smothering under the weight of what he had been, back then. He had not been able to feel sadness, or fear, or anything, but he had known that he was about to die. He had known how it would happen: he would take his sister's hand.

He had not known that when he took her hand, there would be a great flash of light, like lightning striking from the tip of her finger to his palm. He had not known that dying would make a hole in him, letting loose all of him that was too much, too heavy to bear, too vast to be held in a form that looked like his.

It had torn free of him in that instant, in that great flash of light, and gone away to someone else who could, thus far, bear it better. And he had been left with this form, and this ragged hole in himself, and—

He smiled, dropping his two hands to rest on his chest, and remembered how it had been, the beginning of his life as he knew it.

There was the flash of light, and the impossibly vast something rushing away from him, or he from it—for he was no longer in that desolate place when he could see again. He had blinked the afterimages from his eyes, had still heard the echoes of the explosion in his ears. He had been leaning against something, just barely sheltered from the torrential downpour that had arrived along with him.

He had looked down and seen his hand, his arm—raw from fingertip to elbow, torn open to reveal wet red insides. He had seen the blood vessels of his wrist pulsing nakedly among the shreds of muscle, miraculously unbroken but horrifically vulnerable. He had not known where or what he was, but he had known that he was hurt, even if he could not exactly feel any pain; he had begun to keen, a high helpless wordless sound, for he had not known what words he could possibly use in that moment.

Then the door had opened, and he had barely begun to fall through it before someone was kneeling beside him. All at once strong arms were cradling him, and he had looked up into a face he knew just as Hob said, "My friend, my friend, what has become of you?"

"My friend," he echoed back, his head lolling against Hob's shoulder as he realized he knew what these words meant, and how they applied to this man. Hob had been worried for him, the last time they met. "My friend, my friend—" and then the words came to him and he answered Hob's question. "Death became of me. I became this. Here."

"Not a bit dead," Hob had said. "Too warm and chatty to be dead," and then he hoisted Dream up and carried him inside.

He had bandaged Dream's arm, asking again and again if it hurt, but it didn't; eventually he had conceded that there didn't seem to be enough left of the ruined places to have nerves to hurt with, and he attended to other concerns instead.

It was only days later that Hob had suggested seeing a doctor about it, but Dream had refused. That had been after Dream had remembered where the townhouse was, and realized that the key in the pocket of his jeans opened its door, and discovered the cards and papers neatly arranged on the table which made him not only the discarded shell of an unfathomable being, but also a human being and citizen of the United Kingdom named Morris LeReve.

Hob called him Morrie sometimes; Dream faithfully pretended to be mildly annoyed by it, so that Hob would continue to find it funny and thus continue to call him by it, just now and again. Hob would stop, if he were actually upset by it, and if he knew that Dream actually liked it, he would scrupulously call Dream by that name and no other, but Dream liked the ordinary name his sister and Hob called him by well enough. He liked Morrie being a thing Hob said just sometimes, half jokingly.

Hob always listened when Dream was definite about something, as he had been about the fact that his hand and arm would heal in their own time. Hob had done all he could to help without forcing Dream to change his mind: he had bought a variety of salves for the wounds, and yards of gauze and tape to shroud them in, and he carefully examined and cleaned and re-anointed the whole length of the broken places. First each day, then every other day, and then every three, every five, as the bandages grew smaller and more and more scar tissue could be exposed to air and light. Every day, whether bandages were to be changed or not, Hob rubbed in a cream to soften the scars, and helped him to flex his fingers and hand and wrist, to keep them mobile.

Now the marigolds Hob had planted to make his own salve from were blooming, and they might never be needed for anything other than their bright lovely colors.

There was only one way to find out. Dream got out of bed and then spent a few moments carefully tidying the coverlet and putting the pillows neatly in place.

It was one of the things he had never needed to do in his old life, one of the thousand things Hob had taught him to do with his own hands now that he was human. He could use his right hand nearly as well as the left now, even if his index finger and thumb could not bend on their own or grip; it was mainly a matter of smoothing things into place, and that his right hand could do well enough.

When he was finished he stood for a moment, admiring his work, and then he pulled on a t-shirt and went looking for Hob.

Dream found him promptly; Hob was in the kitchen, studying something on his phone. All the things for bandage changing were set out on the table, along with a steaming mug of tea and a jar of honey.

Hob looked up with a smile as soon as Dream walked in. "What would you like to do for breakfast today? Full—" Dream kissed him before he could offer a Full English, something Dream had declined every morning of his existence thus far. Hob thought he was wearing Dream down; Dream was sure he could train Hob out of it sooner or later.

"Poached eggs," Dream announced, sitting down beside his mug of tea and opening the jar of honey, noticing as he did that it was easy now, just like making up the bed. He spooned the honey out left-handed, until the rich sweet scent of it drowned out the tannic smell of the tea, and added, "I'm going to get them right this time. I watched more videos."

"Ought to move somewhere with beehives," Hob murmured. "Or stop bothering with the tea bags."

"Every man has a right to make his tea the way he likes," Dream informed him primly; it had been Hob himself who told him so.

He smiled when Dream defended himself, and didn't make any more objections, nor offer to put the lid back on the jar for him. Dream could do it just fine, and did, once he had had a sip of his wonderfully sweet tea.

Then he offered his scarred hand to Hob, his palm turned up to display the bandage.

"Right, let's do this," Hob said, and ceremoniously applied sanitizer to his hands while Dream peeled the bandage back.

It didn't hurt to pull it off; it didn't feel like anything, except maybe a faint tugging sensation. Everything the bandage stuck to was scarred.

He gasped a little at the sight of what the bandage had covered, but Hob made a calmly approving noise. "We did think it might be this week," he said, and ran gentle fingers down along the angry red spots that had been the last raw places when he put the bandage on—and now were scars, closed up and shiny-smooth. "Look at you go, you living creature. Look at you heal."

Dream smiled, feeling oddly shy at the warm, proud look in Hob's eyes. He hadn't really done anything, except to go on living all these weeks, and eating and sleeping and letting Hob look after his injuries—and learning things, and dancing, and laughing, and discovering all the ways his human body liked to be kissed and touched, and comparing them with all the ways Hob's body liked to be kissed and touched...

He had done a lot of things, actually. He had lived; he had healed. And now the last of the wound left behind by what he had been before was closed, and all that was left was one great scar.

And him, a person who liked his tea very sweet and was going to successfully poach some eggs today while Hob made toast. Here he was: living on, scars and all.

----

[This fic is also on AO3!]

[bumblebeehug]

Home

Summary: Natsu has found his home. Notes: At the end. Ao3

***

By the first week into October, Natsu had managed to change his temper completely. Lucy wasn’t surprised – she had seen it before, after all. But it happened, and she was as impressed as she had been the first time she saw it. Natsu was the most energetic, crazy and loving person she knew. He ran around going on missions, planning elaborate pranks, he talked loudly, and he fought at every change – and he always dragged Lucy along to play. She loved this side of him. He gave her energy, his happiness spread to her like wildfire – ironic, considering that he’s a fire mage. 

So, when the leaves on the trees became orange, red and yellow, she was surprised every time she saw his energy mellow out slightly. He still acted roughly the same, and he did what he usually did: missions, pranks, fights and hanging out with Lucy, but now with less of that extra stuff – shaking his legs, poking her thighs under the table to annoy her, carelessly interrupting people when they were speaking. She notices him taking the occasional pause whenever they’re outside, to take in the rapidly changing view and to take deep, calming breaths of the smell of rain and decaying leaves. It was clear as day: he really liked autumn. 

“Whatcha doing?” Natsu was surprised to see Lucy digging around in the flowerpots at her apartment complex’s entrance.

“Huh?” Lucy looked up. She hadn’t been expecting him to arrive just yet. They agreed earlier today to hang out, but since Natsu had to stop by the tailor she thought she would have time to prepare the flower pots for winter. She usually did this early in the morning, so Natsu didn’t know she was the one fixing the nice flower beds every spring, or that she was the one who cleared them when they died. 

“Oh I’m just doing some chores, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable inside,” Lucy encouraged, waving her tiny shovel. Natsu squatted down beside her, still visibly confused.

“Why are you digging everythin’ out?” Lucy was taken slightly off guard with this unexpected interest. After all, she was only digging dirt in a pot, nothing he would be interested in normally. But then again, he was quite on theme with his newfound tranquillity.

“I’m really only making space for new things to grow, I was thinking that I’d like to plant azaleas next year,” she told him.

“Are azaleas flowers?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you a picture when we go inside – I’m almost done anyway.”

Natsu waited patiently. He couldn’t help but wonder how those flowers would look – would they be some sort of flamey variant, or would they be cute and fluffy? Or maybe those were the wrong sort of words to use to describe flowers. Round or sharp petals? Thorns or no thorns? And then which colour? Could they pick and decide that themselves? Or had Lucy already picked? He was surprisingly interested – uncharacteristically so, even he was aware of that.

Lucy almost worked up a sweat, Natsu observed, taking his time to soak up the details. Her hair looked soft and light from the sunny summer, but her tan had started to fade. She was wearing gloves, the ones with a little pink detail, and her jacket was on the thicker side. Maybe that’s why she was getting hot. She didn’t wear any makeup today, he noticed. He liked it when she wore her face bare – not that she didn’t look good all dolled up as well, but he just appreciated the way she looked when she was just being her. She didn’t try to look like anyone else, like Cana with her dark eyelashes or Mira with her fair skin – she just looked like herself, light eyelashes and some freckles scattered across her cheeks.

It didn’t take long for Lucy to give up her efforts. The weather was getting worse by the second, and the warmth she initially worked up was gone as soon as the wind picked up. Feeling goosebumps up her arms and her neck, she soon turned back to Natsu, who was still keeping his eyes glued on her.

“Maybe I’ll leave it here for today, it feels like it’s going to rain,” she said, putting her tools away. “Do you want some tea?”

Natsu nodded, not really feeling bothered by the change in weather. Though, he didn’t exactly love seeing Lucy shiver. And he really liked the way she made tea – she always added a splash of milk and a lemon slice or cinnamon stick, depending on the flavour.

As they entered Lucy’s apartment, Natsu took a deep breath. It smelled like freshly baked bread, cinnamon and smoke from the fire she made when he wasn’t around. Underneath those tones, there was this homey scent of Lucy. The mixture of her hygiene products, her fabric softener, the subtle tones of wood and leather from different pieces of furniture, and then there was her scent. He had never found any other way to describe it. It wasn’t like normal body odour, like sweat or skin, it was something else completely. Like he could smell her DNA, or her very soul perhaps.   Well, whatever the scent was, he loved it. For him, being in Lucy’s apartment was equivalent to therapy. He didn’t even like his own home as much as he did hers – it didn’t have her flair.

Lucy broke their silence.

“Will Happy be coming over later? I got a new board game, I thought we could try it together.” She took off the boiling hot kettle from the stove. Natsu had taken a seat on the couch, still lost in thoughts.

“Yeah, he’ll drop in in time for dinner,” he told her. “He’s been at the river tryna catch tiger trouts all morning. He’s just been gettin’ carps though.” A low chuckle escaped his lips.

“Well, at least he’s got a food supply!” She chirped from the kitchen. “Look what I bought at the market yesterday.”

Lucy was balancing a wooden tray, filled with all kinds of snacks, plus some of that bread that had been cooling off. Some snacks looked like glistering jewels, others looked like they could be cursed meat disguised as small, wrinkly sausages. She put the tray down onto the coffee table. Just as Natsu had predicted, the two mugs each had a cinnamon stick in them. Natsu leaned over in intrigue as Lucy plopped down beside him.

“I couldn’t identify half of this stuff at gunpoint,” he mumbled. As he got a whiff of the smell coming from the mixed assortments, his nose scrunched. “Smells weird.”

“I’ll tell you what it is! First we got our drinks…”

She handed Natsu his cup, a dark murky orange one, rough and handmade, with little yellow flames painted in the glaze. He’d gotten it from Lucy a Christmas a couple of years ago, and ever since then it had been his designated one. As he held it he smelled a mix of spices from the steam.

“It’s a masala chai, it originated in Bellum over a thousand years ago! This mix is made with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, black pepper, cloves and black tea leaves from the area, but the seller told me that the recipe can vary. Then there’s just some milk and sugar as well, but I thought you might like it.” As Natsu listened to her listing up the ingredients, he finally found some sense in the jumbled combination of mixed spices. It made the drink feel more appetising. 

“Taste it!” She urged, Natsu seeing an intense glimpse in her eyes.

“Kay… You better not have put somethin’ weird into it…” he warned her before putting his cup against his lips, taking a small mouthful of the lightly tanned liquid into his mouth. Before Lucy could counter his rude claim, Natsu lit up. “Hey, that’s actually good!”

“Is it?” Lucy excitedly turned to her own cup, the one she had bought from the same pottery artist as she got Natsu’s. Dark blue with yellow stars painted where Natsu’s cup had flames. A matching pair, despite the themes being completely different. He liked the way it contrasted her pale hands, and he liked how she held it delicately with both hands so she wouldn’t drop it. “It really is!”

She turned to smile at him proudly, not containing her joy in the slightest. He could always tell when her happiness came from her heart – it showed in her eyes, in the fact that they squinted so hard that her eyes looked like two slits, resting on her pillowy cheeks. If he didn’t have his hands full, he would have reached out and pinched them. Test if they were as soft and plush as they looked.

“Right, so that’s the tea,” Lucy continued, not paying any attention to the intense stare that was coming from the mage beside her. “Then there’s this, it just looks like normal candy cane pieces to me, but the woman who sold it said that the people in the northern parts of Seven eat it traditionally towards winter.” The hard candies in the bowl made a jingling sound as Lucy picked it up. As she said, they tasted pretty much like normal candy canes. Natsu didn’t care for it all that much – the minty flavour left a cold feeling in his mouth, and he didn’t love to be reminded of a grumpy stripper every time he had a sweet. Still, they seemed delightfully handmade, and Lucy mentioned something about them being called polka pigs in a rough translation of their native language, and Natsu loved pork, so he took another piece in solidarity to its name.

As the two of them continued to taste test the different snacks from around the world, Natsu noticed Lucy edging closer. It seemed she hadn’t realised it herself, as she still was talking about the long, complicated production of those sausage-things that tasted much better than they looked (apparently there was beer involved? He didn’t really follow). Her position had changed from sitting on the opposite side of the couch to now sitting shoulder against shoulder. Every now and then she would lean closer, like she was searching his touch as much as he always searched for hers.

“Oh that’s right!” She exclaimed, suddenly diving under her coffee table. Natsu didn’t hide the confused look on his face when he hunched down with her.

“What?” He asked, trying to figure out what she was rummaging for.

“The flowers! Azaleas, I was going to show you a picture.” She crawled up into the couch again, her hair slightly messy this time, holding a small book. A Flower Encyclopedia was written on it, and she immediately started browsing the chapter index.

Struggling to see the contents inside the book, Natsu hoisted Lucy into his arms so he was looking over her shoulder. She seemed unfazed by his action, but her accelerated heartbeat begged to differ. Natsu couldn’t help but smile at her from behind. Her feelings could be so transparent.

“There it is,” Lucy mumbled, very aware of the blush on her cheeks. The page she held open showed a plethora of deep, pink flowers, sitting against a dark greenery. Natsu leaned a bit forward so he could see the book closer, letting his chin rest on her shoulder.

“They look kinda nice.” He tilted his head against hers, their cheeks squishing together with the motion.

“I thought you’d like them,” she whispered.

Natsu dug his face into the crook of her neck and took a deep breath. He couldn’t help it when the source of the smell he loved more than anything was right under his nose.

“Read to me,” he begged, hugging her closer. As his mouth was pressed against Lucy’s shoulder, she immediately felt his hot breath against her skin, earning a shiver. Still, she complied. Reading the pages went quickly as there were mostly pictures, but she knew he didn’t ask her to read in order to hear about flowers. She knew that he just wanted to hear her voice, so when she finished the thin book, she started talking about anything that came to her mind. Dreams, memories and things she had to do the upcoming week.

Natsu had dozed off after just ten minutes of reading. His soul felt fulfilled as he laid there, breathing Lucy’s air, hearing her calm voice, feeling her body heat pressed against him as they cuddled together. The tranquil air around the two of them acted as a perfectly curated space – he swore he could feel their heartbeats match up.

Life felt perfect. Soon Happy would arrive, and the three of them would share a delicious hot meal, listening to the cat’s fishing adventures – not before said cat teased the pair a little for acting all cuddly of course. Then they would take turns to wash up before playing that new board game long into the night.

But right here, right now, there was only Natsu and Lucy, and a comfortable couch in a warming embrace. The rain that Lucy had predicted earlier that day was smattering against her window, and before she drifted to sleep herself, she remembered thinking that this was what life was about.

_______________________

oops. i became possessed by a fic-writing fairy? so here's another fic lol. since it's the season and all. also i put in a surprising amount of research into this fic, looking at fairy tail maps (Bellum is basically the equivalent to India, Seven is north of Fiore - the candy cane stuff being called polka pigs is basically just a nod at the swedish "polkagris", same with the sausage - "ölkorv" or beer-sausage) hope you enjoyed this fluffy stuff! next on the agenda is angst! as always, thanks for reading<333 xx

[classicalcanvas]

Title: White Azaleas in a Pot

Artist: Claude Monet

Date: 1882

Style: Impressionism

Genre: Flower Painting

[loosescrewslefty]

Okay. I knew this day was coming soon, but it still hurts and, honestly, I am actually in tears while writing this post. My final floriography post for the Owl House.

Most of the flowers featured in the finale come at the end, when Belos and his toxic ass are gone and the Boiling Isles are allowed to florish again, and the first thing we see of this is a Purple Tulip, growing next to Belos' abandoned throne, which symbolizes "Royalty";

This is the third tulip to grace the show, after the Yellow Tulip ("There is Sunshine in your Smile") from Reaching Out;

and the Pink Tulip ("Perfect Lover") from Hollow Minds;

Then we see the Abandoned House again (NOW THE PROPERTY OF THE NOCEDAS!!!!!) with a wider arrangement of flowers out front;

I've spoken before on Snapdragons ("Beautiful, yet Dangerous") and just talked about the pink tulips, but the flowers in the pot on the deck are new, and appear to be Balloon Flowers ("The Return of a Friend is Desired")

Then we get into the Demon Realm proper, where we spot a flower next to Dell and Gwen that looks like a Peony ("Happy Marriage")

And after the adorable scene of Hunter and Willow frolicking together, we see Oriental Lilies in the background ("New Horizons")

The first shot we see of Flapjack's grave has it surrounded by what appears to be Azaleas ("Take Care of Yourself for Me")

And the last flowers we see are the ones that Willow grows along the grave.

Forget-Me-Nots.

And with that, the hidden messages of the flowers shown on The Owl House comes to an end. This has been such an incredible journey for me, from a dumb little post back in the middle of season 1 when I first noticed the pattern all the way here, years later with so many friends made, so many happy memories to cherish, and so much learned and taught to others. The love and care put into this show is something that will stay with me long past this finale, inspiring me to put the things I love into my own works and finding the courage to make what makes me happy without fear of how it will be accepted by others.

(Bluebells) "Thank you" Dana Terrace, TOH crew, and everyone who's followed along for this journey.

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A22

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: Secret Diary Exchange

Characters: Yodaka, Nagi, Netaro, Toi, Daniel

Summary: The protagonist and co. visit the morning market to get some souvenirs for everyone. However, they need to do some damage control due to the crowds forming from the narrow and blocked passageways… 

Thank you aca @/463ce6, myun @/myuntachis Niri @/Niri_riri and jes @/arcanecrayonn for helping me with proofing!

Location: Hakodate Free Market

Momiji: The morning market sure is lively, huh!

Yodaka: It seems that even the local chefs come here to get their ingredients. That goes to show what an excellent marketplace this is.

Yodaka: We should get some souvenirs for Danny and Toi.

Momiji: Leaving aside the Manager, who couldn’t even be bothered to wake up, I hope Toi-kun feels better soon…  

Nagi: *sniffing* Huh, I smell something good, it’s making me hungry. 

Netaro: Look over there! It seems they’re selling this “fish bone broth” along with a helping of rice! 

*Nagi moves away from Netaro*

Nagi: …… 

Momiji: You mean fish bone soup. Along with Hakodate’s specialty squids, you can also buy portions of sashimi and salmon roe here, and even share it with others! 

Yodaka: So you can enjoy fresh seafood on the spot? That is a lovely service for the tourists to enjoy.

Momiji: Yes! It’s worth observing together later!

Momiji: (At least, that’s what I’d like to do, but…)

Tourist A: Hmm, this aisle is too narrow, isn’t it…?

Tourist B: That just goes to show how popular this market is, packed with all these goods, but…

Tourist C: Which store is this queue for? I don’t knooooww.

Tourist D: Kazuo! Watch your step, or you’ll trip over those boxes! 

Momiji: (The path is blocked by tourists and piles of boxed goods… Alright, it’s time to get into work mode…!)

~~~(Hospitality Battle)

Momiji: Good, we managed to tidy up some of these goods while providing hospitality! This should make it easier for all the tourists to travel through the area!

Yodaka: Oh? It seems we’ve lost sight of Netaro. 

Nagi: Ah, he ran ahead to the squid-fishing corner.

Yodaka: My… He seems to possess an odd innocence about him, almost as if he were a child. 

Yodaka: When I think about how I, too, must have been at that age, I can’t help but feel nostalgi— kh.

*ringing noise*

Momiji: (Huh? Yodaka-san is rubbing between his brows…)

Momiji: What’s wrong? Are you alright?

Yodaka: …My apologies, it seems I was suddenly overcome by a headache.

Nagi: Oh, do you need to rest?

Yodaka: It’s alright, this happens often. More importantly, I wonder if ten will suffice.

Momiji: Ten of what? 

Yodaka: Crabs. It seems like they’ll deliver them in a cooler box. To our friends back in HAMA House, that is.

Momiji: Wha– But those are Red King crabs… 

Nagi: Just one of those costs about half a month’s worth of food for me… 

Yodaka: Oh, the scallops look delicious as well. Miss, I’d like to buy 30 of these. Perhaps I should also get some squid and salmon and have Yukikaze prepare a seafood hot pot. 

Momiji: A-Are you sure it’s okay to buy so much?

Yodaka: Hm? Well, the place is full of growing young men. Don’t worry, I’m sure there won’t be any leftovers.

Momiji: (How dandy of him…!)

Momiji: L-Let me help you! What will you be doing, Nagi-kun? 

Nagi: Oh… I’d like to help too, but there’s a shop I’ve been meaning to visit… 

Momiji: Got it. I’ll see you later! 

~~~

Nagi: Excuse me, I’d like those roses, sprigs of lavender, wisteria and azalea.

Nagi: Yes. Please send all of these to the hotel addressed here. Thank you very much… 

Nagi: (Okay… I managed to secure more flowers to give away. These should last me for the rest of the trip.)

Nagi: Hm?

Netaro: Nyam nyam. Haa~ Every bead of this salmon roe has such elasticity!

Nagi: (Netaro’s eating at the food court, all alone…)

Nagi: ……. 

Netaro: It truly feels as though I’m consuming life itself. I’m certain this is what it would taste like. And then there is this crab fish bone broth! 

Nagi: …… 

Netaro: Fish bone broth… Or was it fish bone soup? Hm… I’m not certain... 

Nagi: Fish bone soup. 

Netaro: ! Gii!

Nagi: …I wanted to check on you. 

Netaro: You. Weren’t you avoiding me because you were traumatized? 

Nagi: Ugh.

Netaro: Are you not afraid anymore? 

Nagi: …No, I’m still scared.

Nagi: …I could have just ignored you, but— 

Nagi: I thought that maybe you’ve been alone all this time, so I decided against it. 

Netaro: …Hm?

Nagi: Being so far away from your home… Well, I don’t know how far, but seeing you eating salmon roe all alone, with no friends or family here on Earth… 

Nagi: …I figured you might be feeling lonely.

Netaro: “Lonely.”

Nagi: Yeah. Sometimes you feel lonely when you think about your family or friends, right?

Netaro: Friends… 

Netaro: Ohh~! The squid at the fishing corner looked exactly like my superior, it was hilarious! I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, in the end.

Nagi: Oh, uh… Is that so… 

Netaro: Why would you become “lonely” when you think of family or friends?

Nagi: Huh, do aliens not understand what that feels like? Maybe there’s a fundamental difference here… 

Netaro: …… 

~~~(flashback)

Boy: Netaro… Do you simply not feel lonely? If that’s the case, you probably won’t understand… 

~~~(end flashback)

Location: Hakodate Free Market

Netaro: …… 

Nagi: Netaro?

Netaro: Humans feel lonely when they are alone, yes? There was a human who taught me that before. 

Nagi: Yeah. Being alone is unfortunate, and makes you feel lonely. 

Nagi: Even though there’s all this tasty salmon roe here, not having anyone to share it with would be unfortunate.

Nagi: Having someone with you all the time will double your happiness—

Netaro: Double!? What logic is at play here!?

Nagi: If you’re together, then sad things are halved…!

Netaro: On what basis!?

Nagi: Being able to share your life with someone else is when you can feel happiness for the first time. I’m sure. Probably. No, that’s definitely the case. I guarantee it.

Netaro: What a profound mystery!

Nagi: You haven’t been here that long, after all. As a representative of earth, I should help teach you this stuff.

Netaro: How reliable! Thank you!

Nagi: (Huh? I think I’m not scared anymore…)

Nagi: (Netaro feels more like some innocent kid now.)

Momiji: What’s got you so excited?

Nagi: Ah, Chief.

Netaro: Gii was teaching me how being alone is unfortunate, and lonely.

Momiji: W-Woah, that’s a pretty serious topic, huh… 

Nagi: Oh, um, not really… 

Momiji: Hmm, well, there’s many different ways to live your life… But to put it simply, I’d say that’s true. 

Netaro: Mmm, I want to learn more! 

Momiji: Oh, Yodaka-san’s here now. If you’re done eating, let’s leave too.

Nagi: Okay.

Netaro: …Gii, you—

Netaro: You too, say the same things that he did. 

~~~

Toi: Uugh… *sniffling*

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Room

Toi: (I’ve been doing the diary exchange all this time, but…)

Toi: (I wonder how many times I’ve cried over Aa-chama’s replies now…)

Toi: *sniffling*

*sound of pages flipping*

Toi: “Why is Ani-sama avoiding me?”

“Perhaps he believes his life will be curtailed were he to remain with you.”

“However, just as one cannot replace their blood, it is a futile effort.”

“Shall I lend you my power?”

Toi: …… 

Toi: If I borrow Aa-chama’s power, will Ani-sama return to me…? Will he never leave my side again…?

Toi: …… 

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Lounge

Daniel: PT~ Lookie here!

??: “Nyaa”

Daniel: There’s a good kitty, I’ll be home soon, okay? Be good and wait for me~

Momiji: Daniel-san, what are you… Oh! PT!

Momiji: You’re looking at the pet camera feed, huh. Nayuki is looking after her, right?

Daniel: Yeah. But lookin’ at this just makes me wanna get home sooner!

Yodaka: So the little one we see around HAMA House is Danny’s cat?

Netaro: There was a cat!? I’d like to pet it! 

Nagi: Me too. Getting scratched is not a problem for me.

Daniel: Why are you so sure you’re gonna get scratched…

Daniel: PT is the cutest cat in the whole wide world! I’ll introduce ya when we get back.

Momiji: I’m sure Shuumai will sulk if PT gets all the attention.

Netaro: That green peas never comes near me any more… 

Momiji: (I do remember Shuumai barking up a storm when Netaro first showed up…)

Yodaka: That reminds me, what are we doing for dinner tonight? 

Momiji: Oh, we hadn’t decided yet, huh.

Momiji: The hotel’s buffet requires a reservation so… We’d have to eat at the restaurant below, or eat outside… 

Toi: Daimon Yokocho.

Momiji: Woah, you surprised me, Toi.

Toi: Our destination is Daimon Yokocho.

Momiji: Huh?

Netaro: Toi~ You’ve awoken?

Toi: …Silence. 

Toi: On your feet. We shall meet outside.

Momiji: (He just left…)

Netaro: …… 

Daniel: Wha– What’s up with him? Something seems off… 

Momiji: I was thinking the same… Is it because of what happened with Ryui-kun…?

Yodaka: Is this the answer he came to, beyond his depression?

Daniel: I don’t really know about kids these days.

Nagi: ……Changing how you speak, suddenly becoming distant… 

Nagi: *gasp*

Nagi: Maybe he’s at that age… 

Yodaka: Are you talking about…?

Daniel: Ah… You mean the type to look at a stormy sky all serious and go “it’s coming…”

Nagi: Wrapping their arms in bandages… 

Momiji: Aw, c’mon, Toi-kun’s actually a year older than you, you know? 

Daniel: Well, this kinda stuff depends on the person.

Netaro: I have absolutely no clue what this conversation is about. 

Yodaka: We’re talking about how we should go along with Toi’s change in attitude, Netaro.

Netaro: I see! 

Nagi: When he goes back to normal, forget everything. Just pretend like nothing ever happened.

Daniel: That’s the perfect attitude to have as an adult.

Momiji: Alright, let’s go with that. 

Momiji: (I’m worried about Toi-kun… We should find Ryui-kun quickly so that he can return back to normal…!)

Note:

The Hakodate Daimon Yokocho is the largest food stall village in Hokkaido.

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Masterlist

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Landscaping

1 - Murano - Enchanted Ivy Set (TSR)

2-5 - luna - Otono Set (Nuevo Arbusto, Arbolito 2, Hierbas, Hierbas 2)*

6 - sweetdevil-sims - Buyable Garden Weeds

7 - sweetdevil-sims - Boxwood Bush Recolors

8 - sweetdevil-sims - Heather Green Recolors

9 - simman123 - Water Willow (TSR)

10 - simman123 - Water Parsnip (TSR)

11-13 - Kandiraver - 4t3 Conversions (Hedge 1, Hedge 2, Flowers 7)

14 - Grandelama - Grasses M, L, XL

15 - simman123 - Extra Large Sumac (TSR)

16 - simman123 - Purple Basil Bush (TSR)

17 - simman123 - Pink Nandina Bush (TSR)

18 - simman123 - Small Japanese Maple Tree (TSR)

19 - simman123 - Japanese Maple Tree (TSR)

20 - simman123 - Small Japanese Pine Tree (TSR)

21 - simman123 - Japanese Pine Tree (TSR)

22 - simman123 - Japanese Cherry Tree (TSR)

23 - simman123 - Small Japanese Cherry Tree (TSR)

24 - simman123 - Cypress Tree Small (TSR)

25 - simman123 - Large Cypress Tree (TSR)

26-36 - Suza - Landscape 2 Set (Highgrass 01, Shrub 01, Shrub 02, Plant 14, Plant 17, Stone 01, Stone 06, Stone 02-05)

37-41 - aminovas - Small Flowers Recolors (Pansies Purple, Darker Coleus, Dianthus Soft Pink, Agapanthus White, Pansies Yellow)

42-46 - aminovas - Flowering Bushes Recolors (Azalea Light Purple, Chinese Lantern, Lantana, Lilac Purple, Daisy Yellow)

47-50 - CrowKeeperTheSimmer - Flowering Shrubs (White Rose Shrub, Purple, Violet, White Shrub Blooms)

51 - Polrbear - TS4-TS3 Hosta Plant Conversion*

52-62 - Gruesim - TS4 Plant & Tree Conversions (Agave Plant, Aspen Tree, Birch Tree, Bulbous Shrub, Dull Daisies, Hedge, Hedgerow, Oopsa Daisies, Shrub, Shrub B, White Birch Tree)

63 - Pralinesims - Medium White Rock (TSR)

64 - Pralinesims - Small White Rock (TSR)

65 - Pralinesims - Square White Rock (TSR)

66-68 - Ny Sims - Garden Collection (Gerbera Daisy, Pink Cosmos, Pot Marigold)

69-71 - SimAddix - Green, Orange, & Yellow Small Aspen Trees

72 - Denn Hanes - Almond Tree

73 - TechnicallySwagPizza - Tree Aspen Small

74 - mwthsims3 - Cherry Tree Default Replacement with special thanks to @noctsim for getting us a working link

*Found in Buy-Plants not Build*

*Preview pictures are from the creators or the CC's icons*

[violetsiren90]

Blame Me: Chapter 1 | Jungkook/Reader

Pairing: artist!freespirit!Jungkook/noona!f!Reader

Genre: Best friend's younger brother; slow burn; friends to lovers; eventual romance; eventual smut; neighbors/childhood friends au; forbidden(ish) love; summer love.

Summary: Upon returning to your hometown after breaking off your engagement to your boyfriend of three years, you reconnect with your childhood bestfriend as you attempt to put the pieces of your life back togethe r. It seems like nothing has changed in the sleepy little town until your bestie's younger brother returns home from college - very, very grown. As the summer stretches on, the stakes get higher - can you play with fire without getting burned, or have you ignited a flame that won't be extinguished?

Chapter Warnings: All my fics are 18+ (minors, dni); allusions to an unhappy home environment/neglect; descriptive scenes of shared meals (the characters will eat together a lot in this fic, as it is part of a family dynamic); mentions of promiscuity made in jest; the accidentally-in-bed-together trope; brief panic attack symptoms; MC has some issues with guilt and feeling like a burden

Updates: When I can! Life has been crazy lately.

Author's note: This is so incredibly late in coming, and I really struggled with it for whatever reason (the initial inspo was there and then it just wasn't coming) but I am still excited to tell this story and thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to read it!

*Inspired by "Blame Me" by Monsta X 💕

In case no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️ 💜

Tag list: @papijiminfeed @oopscoop @violeata @fancycollectormoon @fandomtales @booboobutt @jlee97 @lifeless-firefly @lovemepie67 @shaybtsforever @woomyteez @smutbangtan @raiu54288

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or send me an ask to let me know!

You watched the shiny white Tesla that had been your Uber grow smaller and smaller down the long shady stretch of Tiger Lily Lane. You stood on the sidewalk, behind you the warm asphalt of the road and long shadows of the tall, sprawling elms, and before you your childhood home. It was a little grey house with a blue door and white trim, kitchen windows like jovial eyes, curved at the top, staring out over a lawn overrun with crabgrass and lined with bushes of pale pink roses that grew flush with the unpainted picket fence. The porch swing was beginning to show signs of rust, but the two little hanging pots of azaleas that flanked it on either side were blooming and bright. The windows and flowers seemed to loudly stare out into the street,  assuring neighbors and passersby of a happy home, but you knew better. 

You shifted your duffel bag on your shoulder and sighed. You weren't ready to go in. The house into which your family had moved when you were in the third grade had never really been a home to you. In fact, it had been a place you had left. By choice. Granted you had paid the occasional visit, by choice. Because visits were temporary. This wasn't a visit - and the moment you walked through those doors, you would be shutting forever a chapter of your life in which, as stormy as it had been in recent days, had rescued you from the one before it.

An ugly feeling that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach since the pilot had announced that your plane was starting its decent was making itself well known as you stood outside the gate of house number 9195.

A voice snapped you out of your nauseated reverie, and as you turned to see its owner, new feelings washed over you. Better ones. In the lawn of 9197 Tiger Lily Lane stood a pretty, slim young woman with a sharply cut, silky black bob. Her catlike dark eyes were bright and intense, her face bare but lovely, and her clothes simple but strikingly presentable.

    "Y/n!" she called again, her arms extended with open palms in a gesture of embrace and inquisition.

    "Jiah!" you shouted, dropping your duffel with a thud and jogging into the ungated yard where she stood.

    No sooner were you within arm's reach than she pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side as she pressed out of you, along with all the air in your lungs, a muffled laugh. Suddenly grasping you by the shoulders, she jerked you back so she could look at you. You grabbed her arms to steady yourself, continuing to gasp out bursts of laughter as you protested.

"Jiah, hold on! Woah! I'm gonna fall!"

    "Who cares about that! I haven't seen you since...oh my god, since the summer we finished undergrad, I think? How are you? Are you going to be in town for a few days?"

You looked back over your shoulder to where two bulging suitcases stood beside your abandoned duffel, then back to Jiah's inquisitive gaze.

    "It's gonna be more than a few days, Ji."

    She squeezed your shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.

    "Wait, are you moving back?"

    You mustered a weary, uncertain smile.

    "Surprise!" you offered weakly. Her smile faded, lips drawing into a pensive purse.

    "You haven't even been in there yet, have you?" she asked gravely, her eyes searching yours, hand still on your shoulder. You shook your head, lowering your gaze groundward. She sighed.

    "Alright, c'mon," she said suddenly, marching toward your pile of luggage.

    She grabbed the duffel and tossed it at you, wheeling the other two bags up the driveway behind her.

    "You're coming with me for now. We have some catching up to do."

You didn't protest as you followed her over the threshold of the Jeon household for the first time in a long while.

    Linen. Every house has its very own unique scent - one that draws you into its aura, for good or ill, and wraps you in all of the memories and feelings it has afforded you; it can take you back to a moment in time, and who you were in that moment, unmistakable and fleeting - a smoke ring of a portal to a previous reality. Jiah's house smelled like linen. And lilacs? Something floral, but even more delicate.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as you stood just inside the door. The sick feeling in your stomach began to shrink. Every muscle in your body began to soften. You could hear the laughter of years ago. You could feel the bubbly schoolgirl giddiness of slumber parties under forts of sheets. Movie nights with cartons of takeout. Summer afternoons laying in the grass and tossing lazy wishes up at puffy white clouds. 

    "Y/n? Have you even been listening to me?"

You opened your eyes and blinked at Jiah, who was standing in front of you with two bottles of grapefruit IPA and a look of mild annoyance.

    "Sorry," you offered with a sheepish smile, slipping off your shoes, and traded the duffel in your right hand for one of the beers in answer to the question you had missed.

You followed her into the living room and plopped down next to her on a pretty white couch you didn't recognize, taking a long, wheaty swig from your bottle. She folded her legs up under herself and turned toward you, fixing you with earnest, expectant eyes. You raised an eyebrow quizzically.

    "Well, aren't you gonna tell me?" she pressed.

You smiled to yourself. Always so direct, Jeon Jiah. Even with half a decade stretching between this moment and the last you spent together, things were the very same. You were the Libra - the dramatic, messy one. The one with a heart full of dreams and a head in the clouds. She was the Capricorn with the strong sense of direction and the practical perspective. You always seemed to be in a quandary and she never failed to have a hard take on the situation. You sighed, taking another long sip of beer.

    "Have we really talked at all since freshman year of undergrad?" Jiah shook her head.

    While you had fought like hell to get out of Bellpond - even if it meant chasing your father's dreams of law school instead of your own - Jiah, who desperately wanted to join you in New York, had set aside her own longings to attend a local college while helping the family store survive the recession. Telling her the truth of what happened was going to be painful. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to transcend the assumption that what you were about to say would let her down.

    "It was a guy, wasn't it?"

You shot wide eyes up at her, mouth agape at her sudden interjection. 

"What?" she pressed with a shrug as she sipped her own beverage,

"That's always what it is with you."

    You blinked, trying to form some sort of protest while failing to find any evidence in memory to counter her claims. You settled for a rueful smile and a huff. 

    "I guess I always have had pretty terrible taste in men," you conceded.

    "Pretty terrible?" she pushed, her face pinching into a comically overt censoriousness. "It's like your number one turn-on is red flags!"

    "Hey!" you rebutted, launching yourself at her shoulder in a playful shove, and sloshing her beer in the process.

You froze in panic as she glanced down at her dampened cardigan, and then at you.

    "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

You jumped up and backed away, holding your hands outstretched in front of you as she stood up and slowly and menacingly advanced toward you. 

    "This is my favorite sweater," she hissed in a whisper.

    "Jiah, I didn't mean too, I'm sorry!" you whined, manic laughter punctuating your words as you backed around the coffee table.

    "It has lady bugs on the bottom," she hissed again, eyes narrowing as she raised the right hem to gesticulate at the embroidered insects in question.

    "And they're very cute," you placated, hands still raised in self defense. "Look, I said I was - Aaahh!!"

    She lunged at you mid-sentence, and you shrieked, tripping over your own feet in an attempt to flee and you toppled, one after the other, in a heap on the plush carpet. Before you could find out if your friend was in fact as strong as she had been in high school, the front door swung open and a familiar voice filled the room.

    "Jeon Jiah, get up off the floor and help your imo with all these damn groceries! I had to - AHHHH!"

    You looked up at the figure in the door as she let out a high-pitched squeal of delight. She was a petite bombshell of a woman in her early fifties, who, had you not known otherwise, you wouldn't have pegged for a day over forty. Bright and expertly executed makeup adorned her features - softer and rounder than Jiah's. Her permed dark hair was pulled up in a colorful bohemian wrap, and she wore compression pants, neon orange Nike's, and a crop top with a print of Joan Jett flipping the bird. She had dropped the bags of citrus and apples she had been carrying, sending the fruits rolling across the floor.

    "Aebeolle!" She shrieked, running forward, and bending down to pull you up by your armpits into a half-stand so she could crush you in a hug. 

    "Rosie!" You propped yourself up on your knees so that you could wrap your arms around the tiny woman's middle.

    Imo to her niece and nephew, she was Rosie to everyone else. While Jiah's mother had been the responsible one, staying out of trouble, and working in the family store after school, Rosie had been the wild child. Smart as a whip but with no patience for the system, Rosie had dropped out of high school at seventeen and jumped on a tour bus the following summer as the groupie of a grunge band. She hadn't looked back until Christmas Eve of 1999, when her whole world was shattered by a phone call.

She had taken the next flight back to the hometown she had promised to never set foot in again so that by Christmas morning she could have her niece and nephew in wrapped her arms. She left behind her life in the fast lane to take over running the Jeon's store and raise her sister's kids in their family home. 

She had been there for you, too. On those nights you climbed out of your window, a backpack slung over your shoulder stuffed with clothes and a toothbrush, to tap softly on their front door. On the following mornings she had filled your stomach with warm, hearty dakjuk and fluffy slices of milk bread, and let you watch cartoons as she worked out the knots clinging to your neglected hair. She offered the warmest hugs, the softest words of direction, and the loudest cheers of praise. She had always called you "aebeolle" which was Korean for "caterpillar", and she had always given you the nurture you needed to survive. If she hadn't, you weren't sure where you would have come by it.

    "What are you doing here? You finally paying us a visit?" she asked, clapping her hands to your cheeks.

    "She was about to tell me about how some guy wrecked her life. Again."

Jiah interjected, earning herself a smack on the shoulder.

    "Jiah, you brat!" Rosie chided, as she helped you to your feet.

She glanced up at you through fake lashes.

"You really do have the worst taste in men, though."

    You sighed in defeat.

    "Ugh, you two," you blustered, "Where is Jungkook when I need backup?"

    "Headed this way, for the summer, actually," Rosie remarked as she collected the fruit strewn across the floor.

    "So he decided to slum it, huh?" Jiah huffed, "I thought he was going to Ontario, or wherever the heck that last girl he met at that festival was from."

    Rosie shrugged, shaking her head with a smile.

    "I've lost track," she chuckled.

    You blinked.

    "Wait, wait, wait...are we talking about the same person?" You asked, holding a hand up in disbelief. "Jungkook. Your little brother. Tiny. Shy as hell. Looks like the weight of his head is gonna topple him over. Bunny rabbit teeth....is a lady's man?"

    "Well, not strictly," Rosie hummed, hoisting a bag of produce onto the counter. "His sophomore year in Paris there was that one guy...what was his name?"

    "Taehyung," Jiah offered, shedding her sweater and draining her beer.

    "Right, right," Rosie nodded. "I liked him. Too bad."

    Your mouth hung open. Jiah wrinkled her nose.

    "You're gonna catch flies that way," she remarked sardonically. 

    "I...I just cannot believe what I'm hearing. Jungkook. In my mind he will forever be the tiny gremlin I have to keep bailing out of trouble."

    Rosie smiled. Jiah scoffed.

    "Well, he's still a gremlin, if you ask me," she sniffed, chucking the beer bottles in the recycling bin.

    "When does he get back?" You asked.

Rosie shook her head as she divided the groceries between the cupboards and the fridge.

    "He's on his bike so, barring any unexpected stops - which are definitely not out of the picture - he should be here in the next couple of days. Probably by the weekend."

    You nodded, still trying to wrap your head around the newly acquired image of you and Jiah's childhood tag-a-long. Rosie approached you with a picture pulled up on her phone.

    "Look at him," she said with a smile, sliding the device into your hand.

    You blinked at the picture on the screen. There he stood - much taller than you remembered - a girl under each arm, filling out a pair of ripped jeans, a black tank, and an ascot. A fringe brushed the tops of his eyes, while the top half of his dark waves were bound back in a little bun. His right arm was covered in tattoos. He was grinning from ear to ear, with that same toothy smile you had committed to memory.

   "That's just crazy," you murmured, shaking your head, before handing Rosie's phone back to her. 

    "He's going to be thrilled to see you. I think he has a lot of happy memories from when you three were kids just banging around town together," Rosie remarked as she continued to sort the groceries.

    You smiled to yourself. You certainly did. You glanced at your bags by the door.

    "I guess I should get going," you murmured without conviction.

    "Not yet, not until I've fed you," Rosie responded, not skipping a beat as she began to pile the ingredients for bibimbap on the kitchen island.

You smiled to yourself. Rosie to the rescue, as always.

    "Okay, if you're gonna twist my arm," you sighed dramatically as you pulled up a stool on the other side of the kitchen island, followed by Jiah who grabbed the carrots and a peeler.

    You reached for a huge zucchini squash and knife. Jiah shot you some side-eye.

    "You're not getting out of telling us about the big debacle, you know. Time to 'fess up."

    "Yep, spill," Rosie concurred as she prepped the rice cooker.

    You heaved another sigh. Might as well get it over with, you thought. But for some reason, the words stuck in your throat, unable to come out. You looked at your hands, shaking as they tried to steady the knife over the squash. You couldn't do this. Not right now. Not yet.

    You let the knife clatter to the cutting board and scrubbed your hands over your face. 

    "Y/n?" Jiah asked, leaning over to look at you, "Are you okay?"

    You drew your hands from your face and looked up at her with tired eyes. She and Rosie had traded their teasing glances for expressions of concern. You gripped the edge of the counter to stop your stupid hands from trembling.

    "It's really not a fun story, you guys," you said slowly, trying your best to sound casual, "You're not missing out."

    Rosie reached over the kitchen island to clasp your hands.

    "No worries, aebeolle. We can talk about it some other time. For now, just stick to slicing up this zucchini and forget about that other one!"

    She shot you a wink as she cracked open a tupperware of marinated beef.

    "Imo! My god!" Jiah protested with a grimace as you and Rosie burst into a fit of giggles.

    It was all laughter and shots of soju and teasing Jiah about being a prude until you were gathered around the table with steaming bowls of goodness in front of you. Rosie closed her eyes and threw up rock-on signs with both hands.

    "May Stevie Nicks bless this food," she murmured before snapping up her chopsticks to snag a mandu and pop it into her mouth.

    You took a heaping bite of bibimbap, your whole body relaxing as the flavors and warmth returned you to a simpler time. Another wave of nostalgia washed over you as images of three little hungry kids fighting over the last piece of fried chicken replaced the scene before you. Your eyes wandered to the empty chair beside Rosie. There was a missing piece in the picture of comfort you had always found in the Jeon residence - a missing piece in the shape of round head bearing a pair of giant doe eyes that would light up when he'd win and water-up when he'd lose, and little short legs that ran faster than the longer ones, and a bright smile that was all innocence and central incisors.

You smiled fondly as long-dormant memories continued to appear like little spring flowers of the mind. Jungkook had perfectly completed your little trio, because though Jiah was your best friend, you and he had always understood each other in a way that came so easily. You didn't mind that everything brought him to tears, or that he invested himself so earnestly in even the smallest of his joys. You also didn't find it annoying that he wanted to tag along with the big kids, or that he hated being called a baby despite practically demanding to be treated as one. You knew in a way Jiah would only later realize that he was caught between wanting to grow up too quickly and not at all. It was the same battle between longings that waged war in your own heart, along with so many others who in some way had to raise themselves.

    "How's the oi muchim?" Rosie's question roused you from your reverie.

    "Amazing, like everything," you answered, waving your chopsticks over the spread of banchan.

    "I made it a little spicier this time," the older woman said, sampling the cucumbers again herself. "Trying to get these staples just right before the new place opens."

    "New place? Another store?" You asked, helping yourself to more sukju namul. 

    Rosie's eyes shone, a proud smile tugging at her lips as she gave her answer.

    "A restaurant, actually."

    Your jaw dropped.

    "You're finally doing it!?"

    Rosie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, nodding at her niece.

    "It's all Jiah's doing. She's taking care of all the logistics, I'm just figuring out the menu."

    "Well, if you need help, I'm in between gigs at the moment," you added eagerly.

    Rosie clapped her hands and wiggled in her chair.

    "We would love the help! We've only just started hiring some staff. So far there's one person to wait tables and someone running the kitchen."

    Jiah let out a huff. You quirked an eyebrow in her direction, and she appraised you with a look of wistful discouragement.

    "Too bad you can't cook, or I'd boot him out tomorrow."

    "Who?"

    "The chef," she sneered.

    "Speaking of, Jiah-ie," Rosie remarked over the food in her cheek, "How is Seokjin doing these days?"

The older woman chewed back a poorly concealed smirk as she glanced up at her niece, whose lips curled scornfully.

    "One day, I'll kill him, I swear," she grumbled, shoveling rice into her mouth as if she was punishing it with every bite.

You glanced over at your friend, then at Rosie, who wiggled her eyebrows as she took a sip from her glass.

    "Seokjin...not Kim Seokjin?" you asked. 

    "Yeeeeep," Jiah affirmed bitterly.

    "He's a cook?"

    Rosie nodded.

    "And darn good at it. The only thing he's better at is pissing off this one right here," she remarked with a smirk as she gestured toward her glowering niece.

  You smiled to yourself as Jiah started off on what would likely be a lengthy rant at the young man's expense. Seokjin, or Jin, as he was more commonly known, had attended the same small high school as you and Jiah. In a body of four-hundred students, everyone had played a well-known role - and while she had been the straight-laced valedictorian, he was the class clown. Natural enemies who found the other beyond comprehension, the bulk of the ire had always been on Jiah's side, while Jin had seemed to find her as amusing as he did inexplicable. The concept of the two of them attempting to run a business together was the stuff of sitcoms.

His ongoing feud with Jiah notwithstanding, it didn't really surprise you that he had tucked himself into the Jeons' life. His father owned most of the agricultural land in the surrounding area, and with his older brother having been slated since birth to take over the family empire, Jin had enjoyed a freedom of direction that found him often seeking out the phenomenon of being needed...and people always needed a laugh. But laughter is momentary, and Rosie, having the heart for strays that she did, always provided something more permanent.

    "So now we're probably going to have to keep Jungkook at the store, because you know how they get when they're together," Jiah tiraded on.

    "They don't get along anymore?" you asked, a bit crestfallen at the thought. 

    "The opposite," Rosie chuckled, "You put them in the same room and those dorks turn into a couple of puppies. They broke the back screen door roughhousing last Chuseok. Plowed right through it."

    You snickered at the thought.

    "But Jungkook is darn well gonna contribute while he's here," your friend asserted as she stood to clear the table, still on her agenda about the restaurant launch, "Not just cruise around finding pretty people to sketch between make-out sessions."

    Rosie waved a hand dismissively.

    "He's always willing to pitch in. But it's summer, and he's young, so don't you go all drill sergeant on him." 

     Jiah scoffed.

    "Sure, it's summer, but there's a lot to get done between now and opening, and -"

    "AND," Rosie interrupted, "I expect you to have some fun as well, young lady! Especially now that Y/n is back. You two better do a decent amount of carousing."

    "Carousing?" Jiah asked with a grimace, directing horrified eyes in your direction.

    You let out another laugh.

    "She's got a point, Rosie. I don't think anyone has caroused in quite some time."

    Rosie rolled her eyes, crossing to the sink and running the tap.

    "Well," she rejoined, undeterred, "Whatever it is they're calling it these days, you two better be doing plenty of it! Give your imo some fun to live through vicariously, why don't you?"

    Jiah shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

    "And, you," she said, pointing a sudsy wooden spoon in your direction, "Should just stay here for the night. Take Jungkook's room. Then you can rest and be ready for...you know. Tomorrow."

    You accepted the invitation with very little hesitation. It was a relief, and Rosie knew. She had always known. You shot a text to excuse your absence that you doubted was actually necessary and lugged your things down the hall and into the last bedroom on the left.

    The rest of the night was spent stuffed onto the little couch with bowls of ice cream while the three of you shrieked and slapped each other's arms and kick your feet watching reruns of The Golden Girls. It was nearly midnight by the time you slipped under the sheets of the full-sized mattress in the smallest bedroom.

    Though your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, you couldn't help but glance around at the walls and shelves, filled with scented candles, and action figures, Polaroids, and an incredible number of charcoal and graphite sketches. There were drawings of buildings, trees, cars, and people. And though there was little variation in color, the vitality and emotion that sparked along each line drew you from piece to piece. Your eyes drifted over a particular drawing - a girl's lower face - the tip of a nose, lips slightly parted, and her chin tilting upward. It might have been the delirium of your tired mind, but something about it seemed familiar. You stretched for a recollection just out of reach as you slipped past memory and into slumber.

    Weight. The first thing you registered as your mind began to again become aware of its physical trappings was a heaviness. At first your hazy consciousness likened it to blankets, then to the heaviness of a sleep without dreams...safety...security...

    And then something brushed the skin of your stomach under your shirt, drawing a hum out of you as your eyes fluttered open, and what they saw had you frozen in place. An arm. A large, muscular arm covered in dark ink was snaked around your waist, hand slipped under the hem of your sleep tee.

    Fight or flight mode suddenly triggered, you snapped up and pushed yourself away from the body attached to the limb, letting out a shout as you kicked your legs, and only catching a glimpse of dark hair and grey sweatpants as the intruder rolled off the bed and hit the carpet with a loud thud. You jumped off the other side of the bed before you could think, tangling your legs in sheets that brought you tumbling down onto your ass. Before you could thrash free of the bedding, a groaning figure peered with large, dark eyes from the other side of the bed. Dark, wild waves framing his sleepy head like a halo, and wide, round eyes still bleary with sleep, the young man passed tattooed hand over his mouth to wipe the remnants of drool away as he blinked at you from across the room.

    "J...Jungkook?!" you choked out in surprise and confusion, struggling to your feet.

    "You kicked me..." he groaned, his features taking on an injured look as he stooped to rub his thigh.

    "Why...when..."

    "Imo told me to wake you up for breakfast," he pouted.

You scrubbed your hands over your eyes. Same damn baby-faced expression. Huge, bulky man. With tattoos...and a lip ring? This Pokémon had leveled up. Maybe twice. And that was all your brain could register as your heart rate descended from two hundred beats per minute and the heavy fog of an interrupted sleep cycle began to dissipate. You tossed the sheet back onto the bed, and as your eyes flicked back to his face you noticed his had dropped a little lower. Registering with horror that you were in a thin cotton nightshirt with nothing underneath, you snatched up the sheet again, clutching it to your chest. What the fuck was happening?

    "Rosie told you to wake me up, so you decided to spoon me?" You asked incredulously as your embarrassment quickly morphed into agitation.

    Jungkook's eyes widened as they flew up to yours, seemingly caught off guard by the edge in your tone.

    "No, noona...it wasn't like that!" he said, standing to his full height, his brow creasing defensively.

    He was pretty fucking tall. His white tee and grey sweats did little to hide the fact that he was also pretty fucking big. Exasperated by these unbidden acknowledgements that had your brain buffering, you snapped a little again.

    "Then what was it like? You had your hand up my shirt, Kook!" 

    Your voice had unintentionally softened at his nickname, and he caught it, biting back a grin as you hugged the sheet over you just a little more snugly. 

    "It was kind of your fault, noona," he smirked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

    You shot him a quizzical and unamused look.

    "I came in here to wake you up and you pulled me into bed. You kept calling me someone else's name...and..." he giggled, "'Baby', and you kept insisting we sleep for just five more minutes."

    You gaped at him in horror.

     "You pulled my arm over you," he continued, now a bit smugly, "And I had literally just woken up, so...being so comfy...well, I guess I fell back to sleep with you."

    You could feel the heat in your face. You had a history of pretty intense sleep talking, but you hadn't experienced it to that extent in years. You considered that you must have slept deeply as you stammered your apology.

    "Oh my god, Jungkook...I'm so sorry - that's horrifying - I didn't mean to..." 

    The younger man just laughed in response, breaking into his signature luminous smile. His eyes glimmered.

    "Didn't mean to steal my bed, demand cuddles, and then beat the heck out of me?"

    You let out a sigh.

    "Sorry."

He nodded, a little smile still tugging at his lips.

    "I accept your apology for the bruises...but not the cuddles. Those were nice."

    He threw a wink over his shoulder as he headed for the door, and you tossed a pillow and a string of expletives after him as he jogged, giggling, toward the kitchen. Still flustered and a bit thrown, you changed into real clothes before joining the others in the breakfast table. Rosie was placing mayak eggs alongside the piles of bacon and pancakes as you pulled out a chair next to Jiah.

    "You slept well! You must have been exhausted," Rosie remarked, handing you a mug of coffee.

    "Yeah, must have," Jungkook quipped with a smirk as he snagged three strips of bacon.

    You shot him a warning look as you stabbed demonstratively into a stack of pancakes, but his grin only deepened.

    "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until the weekend," you addressed him coolly.

    "Mm," he took a sip of orange juice. "I actually wasn't really supposed to be back until next week. I expected to head north to see a friend but she ended up being out of town, so I just came straight back."

    "A friend, huh?" Jiah crooned patronizingly, as she twirled a fork in his direction.

    Her brother nodded.

    "The same one you were talking to on the phone very loudly when you came in last night?"          

Jungkook scrunched his nose, sticking out the tip of his tongue in her direction.

    "Wow," she drawled, "How very adult of you. And for the record, friends don't call each other 'baby'."

    Jungkook snickered, glancing at you again before he mumbled, "Some friends do..."

    "So, Jiah - " you practically shouted, as you turned toward her in a desperate bid to change the topic of conversation, "You gonna show me the new place today, or what?"

    "The restaurant? If you let her drag you out there, she'll put you to work and you'll never be seen again," Jungkook hummed over an entire egg that he had pocketed in his cheek, casting teasing eyes up at his sister, who smiled back wickedly.

    "You know, Kookie, it's just so good to have you home! We needed someone who puts in those gym hours to do a bit of the heavy lifting." 

    Jungkook flashed another smile, puffing his chest and massaging his pectorals as Jiah feigned a gag.

    You chuckled, and Jungkook grinned as he tucked into his pancakes.

    Watching the two of them bicker and catch up, you realized that things felt a bit more whole again - familiar, if different. You considered that maybe the three of you could all fall back into stride. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

    After breakfast you gathered your things to head next door. You tried to slip out quietly, to avoid Rosie stalling you any further, but Jungkook caught you as he was coming around from the garage, an oil towel in his grease-stained hands.

    "You leaving?" he asked with a tinge of disappointment.

    "I can't over-stay my welcome," you shrugged, smiling wryly.

    His face took on a serious expression.

    "You know you're always welcome here, yeah? It's good to have you back," he pressed earnestly.

    You nodded, touched because you knew he meant it and that the other two members of his family shared the same sentiment. Jungkook wiped his hands on the towel casting a look over at the house next door. 

    "You staying there?"

    You nodded. His brow creased and the corners of his mouth turned down.

    "Okay. You can come here whenever."

    "I know," you said softly.

    His eyes looked worried and uncertain. You dropped your bag and pulled him into a hug. 

    "It's so good to see you again, Jungkook-ah," you murmured, dropping your head against his chest.

    His arms squeezed around you in return. He had always preferred to talk with his body instead of his words. Every playful punch, or little shove, or squeeze of his hand carried a message. This one meant it was good to see you too.

    As you waved goodbye you counted the Jeons' welcome among your blessings - not everything you had left behind would be so welcome to recall. But, life hadn't left you with many choices. So you began the long walk to the house next door.

-End Chapter 1-

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

New Y'all It's Fall update now available for both Bedrock and Java Edition! It fixes Potted Azaleas and underwater fog (on Bedrock Edition), and also tweaks the colors of Savannas and some other biomes.

Links:

Bedrock Edition (PMC)

Java Edition (PMC)

Java Edition (Modrinth)

Changelog:

Bug Fixes

[BE] Azalea Leaves and Flowering Azalea Leaves now look the same when covered as when they do when Fancy Leaves is disabled. (Vanilla inconsistency)  ৹ Does not apply to Java Edition because Leaves do not become opaque when covered there.

Pack now affects Potted Azaleas and Potted Flowering Azaleas. (Pack oversight)

[BE] Relatedly, the particles for Azaleas and Flowering Azaleas are now the correct color. (Pack oversight)  ৹ Does not apply to Java Edition because it uses a different texture for these particles and did not need to be fixed.

Potted Flowering Azaleas no longer have flowers on their insides, to match normal Flowering Azaleas. (Vanilla inconsistency)

[BE] Water in normal Swamps and Swamp Hills is now 90% opaque instead of 65% opaque.  ৹ Swamp water is intended to be 100% opaque, but Mojang broke it in game version 1.21.40. Instead of fully restoring the opacity, I decided to change it to 90% because it looks better.  ৹ Does not apply to Java Edition because the opacity of Water is hardcoded there and cannot change based on biome.

General Changes

[JE] Pack now reads as compatible with game versions from 1.21.0 to 1.21.3.  ৹ Does not apply to Bedrock Edition because version compatibility is an opt-out system there, rather than an opt-in one.

[JE] Pack now reads as compatible with game versions all the way back to snapshot 23w31a, which is the first to support multi-version packs.

[BE] Panorama is no longer the one from the Trails and Tails Update. (Removed panorama textures since the Tricky Trials panorama has no visible plant life aside from some Mossy Cobblestone)

[JE] Panorama now only shows the Trails and Tails variant in game versions from snapshot 23w31a to release 1.20.6. Otherwise, the vanilla panorama is shown.  ৹ Does not apply to Bedrock Edition because resource packs do not have version overlays there.

Tweaked the grass and foliage colors in the Savanna again (including carried Acacia Leaves texture). They should now be a warm golden brown rather than a dull reddish one. (This also affects Deserts and Nether biomes)

Tweaked the grass and foliage colors on Stony Peaks. They should now be more noticeably paler and colder than in the Forest, but not to the extent that they are on Windswept Hills.

Tweaked the grass and foliage colors on Plains. They should now be slightly lighter and yellower. (This also affects normal Beaches and Dripstone Caves)

[BE] Water in Jungles and their variants is no longer bright neon green. It is especially less green in the Sparse Jungle. Still a little green, though.  ৹ Does not apply to Java Edition because Water color is defined via data pack and inaccessible via resource pack there.

[BE] Water in normal Swamps, Swamp Hills, and normal Rivers is now slightly less blue.

Pack now affects Mossy Cobblestone and Mossy Stone Bricks! They are now slightly less green.  ৹ The Mossy Cobblestone on the panorama has been intentionally left out.

[BE] Pack now affects Water in the Tall Birch Hills, Modified Jungle Edge, and Shattered Savanna Plateau since I missed those biomes before.  ৹ These biomes are unused by world generation, and as such, are very hard to test. If you spot any issues with them, please let me know.

[BE] Pack now (finally) affects underwater fog in all biomes in which the surface water color is also affected.  ৹ This is done by adding new fogs and not by replacing the existing fogs for command reasons, but I am not sure how this affects resource pack compatibility.

[BE] Subpack Changes Do not apply to Java Edition due to the lack of Subpacks.

Removed Winter subpack! It has been moved to its own standalone resource pack called "Y'all, It's Winter!"  ৹ As such, all winter related resources have also been removed, except for the sound events, which remain for command reasons.

Renamed "Autumn" subpack to "Whole World".

Added "Forest Only" subpack.

Technical Changes

[BE] All affected block textures have been moved to "textures/cb_custom_blocks/autumn" for potential resource pack interaction, except for the textures for Mossy Cobblestone and Mossy Stone Bricks, since the terrain_texture.json entries for their walls have not been flattened.  ৹ This is done using terrain_texture.json and not blocks.json for potential interaction with Slightly Better Foliage Colors.  ৹ Yes, I know it's been a long time since I officially dropped Slightly Better Foliage Colors interaction. I will get it working again eventually.

[JE] All affected block textures (except those for Mossy Cobblestone and Mossy Stone Bricks) have been moved to "textures/block/cb_autumn" for potential resource pack interaction.  ৹ This is done using the model files without touching the blockstates files for potential interaction with Slightly Better Foliage Colors.  ৹ Yes, I know it's been a long time since I officially dropped Slightly Better Foliage Colors interaction. I will get it working again eventually.

[BE] Lowered resolutions of colormaps birch.png, swamp_foliage.png, mangrove_swamp_foliage.png, and swamp_grass.png to 1x, 1x, 1x, and 2x respectively. Hopefully this doesn't cause issues.  ৹ Does not apply to Java Edition because none of these colors are defined by colormaps there.

[augustinapril]

congrats on 200! i can't think of anyone more deserving than you <3

𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐦 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 — request one of the character in the fandoms above in an au from my list, and I'll write you a fic!!

florist au with tasm!peter parker<33

I love this idea :(( might write more of florist!reader with Peter bc it's cute. no spiderman in this au!! hope you like this?

warnings: none! just some awkward!Peter & gn!reader <3 proofread by @lemkay-luminary .

wc: 1k || 200 followers event

˗ˏˋ ★ ´ˎ˗

Peter thinks the flower shop is cozy. It smells like a dewy spring morning, a variety of warm colors fills his vision as he looks around in search of you and that stupidly cute apron you’re forced to wear.

You're hiding somewhere in the forest of colorful plants, his feet leading him through the leaves. The melodic sound of your voice meets his ears when he reaches a small stand of greeting cards beside the counter.

As he peaks around the corner, he finds what he's been searching for. You're talking to a little boy, leaning down to his height while pointing at a small pot of red azaleas. Your voice is soft as you speak to him, a smile sweet as honey graces your face.

"I'm sure she will love them," You assure, grabbing ahold of the pot and handing it to him, making sure his small hands have a good grip on it. "Should we go find you Tori so you two can pay for it?"

The boy nods his head excitedly as you stand, leading the boy toward where Peter is standing. Peter moves out of the way.

Just his luck that he ends up running into the stand of greeting cards, his foot catching onto the leg of it. He barely catches it, and it’s a miracle that none of the cards fell on the floor. “Are you okay?”

He snaps to you, meeting your worried eyes. “Uh, yeah I’m okay. Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He informs you, laughing in embarrassment. He’s sure his ears are as red as the azaleas you put by the register.

A woman interrupts—though it’s more like her unknowingly coming to his rescue—she picks the little boy up, as she rests the child on her hip. “Evander! Did you find mommy's gift?” Her hands reach up to brush some of his braids out of his face as she talks, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Sure did, momma. Y/n helped me find it.” He spoke, pointing at you. You chuckle as his mom gently grabs his hand, pulling it towards her.

“What do we say about pointing, baby?”

He rushes to correct himself. “That it's rude.”

She smiles again, nodding. “That’s right. It’s okay to forget sometimes, you’re not in trouble. I’m just reminding you, baby.” He nods, head snapping back in your direction when he hears the register make a ka-ching sound, hands bouncing eagerly. “Here’s your flowers, Evander.” You say, carefully handing him the potted plant. “Remember to tell Evangeline I say happy birthday.”

“Will do. What do we say, Evander?”

“Thank you!” Evander shouts, as he waves his hand at you with enthusiasm. You wave back with a broad smile.

“You have a good day, sweetheart!” The woman shouts back as the door chimes.

“You too Tori!” You return, and the door shuts. You exhale, taking a quick moment, then turning to him. Peter forgot he was here for a second, so caught up with your interaction with that mother and her son. It was clear you knew them somehow. “Sorry for the wait.”

Peter sheepishly shakes his head, waving off your apology. “It’s no problem at all, really.” He hates to admit that he’s nervous, but he is, and it makes him feel stupid. “I'm here to pick up an order?”

“Oh course!” You say, returning back behind the counter to look at a piece of paper. Your eyes scan over it, flickering back and forth quickly. There’s a beat of silence, one that makes Peter's heart pick up its pace before you speak. “You’re Peter Parker, right?”

His eyes grow wide in confusion. He wasn’t expecting you to know his name, and by the way you chuckle, the confusion is painted on his face . “We had chemistry together, I think.”

“Oh, yeah.” He doesn’t really remember anything from that class, but you don’t need to know that. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, high school sucked. You’re not obligated to remember every classmate.” You continue, writing something down on the paper before quickly excusing yourself. Peter questions if he can go through with his plan.

Aunt May had a way of persuading him into doing it. He told her about you after coming home one day, spilling all his thoughts about the florist he’s seen multiple times skating home that he had a growing crush on. May thought that he should ask you out, and as much as he wanted to, he didn’t know how.

Which led to May convincing him to order an arrangement of flowers and use them as an excuse to try and get your number. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do, but now that he’s this far along, he wonders if he’ll be able to get the question out.

Thankfully, you’re back before he can ponder on it more, a small arrangement of lavender and white blossoms. He can smell the lavender from here. “Here are your flowers.”

“Thank you,” Peter says as anxiety creeps through his system. He wants to pull back, let go of his plan and just tell May it didn’t work. Peter knows she would see right through his lie, and she would have wasted good money on flowers for no reason. He began to speak before he gave himself another chance to back out. “Hey, uhm, is there any chance I could possibly . . .” He pauses, nerves making him second guess himself before he continues, adjusting his shirt as the words come out quicker. “I don’t know, maybe i could get your number to go with the flowers?”

He looks at you sheepishly, his face heating up as your eyes widen slightly. He thinks it's the kind of surprise that means you’re going to politely reject him and you'd send him on his way. Instead he receives your beautiful smile, making butterflies bloom in his stomach, and then you’re reaching for a pen.

Your handwriting fits you perfectly, he thinks as you hand him the paper. Your number is scribbled in blue ink, followed by a little smiley face. He doesn't realize the note you wrote in the corner until he leaves.

'Hope to hear from you soon! :)'

˗ˏˋ ★ ´ˎ˗

please reblog if you enjoyed this!! If you want more florist!reader & Peter my requests are open. <3

[saltwaterandstars]

The garden is full of flowers now - new ones are opening every day. Here are a Californian poppy, a beautifully scented azalea, some strawberries, and a pot of forget-me-nots with some lemon balm that's self-seeded there, a few weeds, and a tiny oak tree!