#Ultimate florist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 1 year ago

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after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable.

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it?

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family.

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this.

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight.

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.”

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.”

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first?

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really?

“I want to do it.”

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not��”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.”

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure.

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was.

Did Sukuna feel the same?

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.”

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was?

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.”

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face.

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk.

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed.

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was.

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.”

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.”

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.”

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.”

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?”

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.”

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom.

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds.

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it.

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked.

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here.

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?”

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.”

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V.

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking.

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it?

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.”

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such.

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.”

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?”

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.”

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body.

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?”

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment.

Holy fuck was all you could say.

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty.

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.”

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier.

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing.

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.”

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself.

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out.

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?”

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw?

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.”

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.”

“Okay…”

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you.

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be.

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding.

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore?

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance.

“Haaa—!”

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock.

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!”

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!”

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you.

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.”

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.”

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have.

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.”

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.”

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?”

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.”

Why did he sound like he was giving up?

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.”

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.”

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.”

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay.

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly.

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s.

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.”

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.”

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on.

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued.

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this?

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.”

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.”

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon.

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school.

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.”

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.”

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.”

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.”

“Be serious,” you warned.

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.”

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.”

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?”

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?”

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior.

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.”

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment.

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.”

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark.

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?”

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?”

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires.

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.”

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?”

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.”

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this.

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too.

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue.

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together.

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating.

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close.

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face.

His ex-girlfriend of three years.

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?”

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies.

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.”

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?”

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.”

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here?

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.”

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?”

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.”

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve.

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.”

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!”

“Since you want a sleeve, we��re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head.

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed?

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it.

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?”

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.”

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?”

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.”

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?”

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?”

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.”

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life.

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right.

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart.

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?”

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.”

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp.

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.”

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.”

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.”

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?”

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad.

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit.

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.”

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.”

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared.

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.”

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“...Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.”

He knew what she was about to do next.

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses.

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.”

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face.

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.”

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night.

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you.

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago.

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do.

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart.

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?”

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?”

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.”

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?”

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.”

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?”

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out.

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.”

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!”

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!”

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.”

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.”

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you.

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you.

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way.

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others.

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up.

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop.

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.”

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully.

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.”

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well.

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.”

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.”

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.”

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future.

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #tattoo artist sukuna #biker sukuna #tattoo artist x florist au

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yamujiburo · 1 year ago

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Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

#hanamusa #hanamusashipping

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callsigns-haze · 8 days ago

Text

Maybe us one day

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Xaden's life has changed completely. Ever since he became King of Tyrrendor, your lover, overcame venin, his life has been perfect. Hs squad now grows, in many ways, and the old Xaden Riorson would have not suspected this to be his faith.

Word count: 13.4k

This contains mature themes: mentions of giving birth, kidnapping, blood, war I don't think there is any spoiler in fairness, it's just what I'd love the ending to be.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the faint chirping of birds outside, signalling the early morning. The cool, pale light of dawn filtered through the wide windows, casting long shadows across the polished countertops. You stood at the sink, the knife in your hand sliding through the stems of wildflowers with practiced ease. Each snip was soft but definitive, the rhythmic sound blending with the gentle hum of the world waking around you.

The bouquet you were arranging was far from perfect—wildflowers rarely behaved the way delicate garden blooms did—but you didn’t care. You needed this. The act of creating something with your hands, something beautiful in a world that had seen so much ruin, felt grounding. Cathartic, even. The vase stood waiting on the counter, half-filled with water, droplets clinging to the glass like dewdrops.

The house was still. Xaden was likely still asleep upstairs, his chest rising and falling in the deep, unguarded rhythm you’d come to recognize as his only true form of rest. His responsibilities as King of Tyrrendor weighed heavily on him, even in the year since the revolution had ended. Peace had not come easily—it had demanded sacrifices, including pieces of himself he’d never truly reclaim. But now, Tyrrendor had something it hadn’t had in generations: hope.

You ran your thumb over the stem of one of the flowers, feeling the ridges and imperfections under your skin. Three days ago, Violet had given birth to her son, Alic. The name had startled you at first, dredging up memories you thought you’d buried. Aaric’s brother. The man who had challenged Garrick Tavis during Threshing, who had tried to take his dragon and paid the ultimate price.

And now, there was a child carrying his name. A child Violet and Aaric had brought into a world that was finally safe enough for him to grow up in. You weren’t sure how Xaden truly felt about it; he’d mentioned Alic’s name only once in passing before falling silent, a shadow crossing his expression that you hadn’t dared to press. You’d learned, over the years, to wait for him to bring things to you when he was ready. And he always did. Eventually.

Chaire’s presence unfurled in your mind like smoke curling through a quiet room. Why are you awake, Lumiere? The sun has barely kissed the horizon, and you’re playing florist?

His voice was a rich, rumbling thing, laced with dry amusement. You smiled despite yourself, pausing to brush an errant strand of hair from your face. I couldn’t sleep.

Hmm. There was a deliberate pause, his amusement shifting into something sharper, more knowing. Or perhaps you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d say to Violet when you see her next.

You rolled your eyes, though you knew he couldn’t see it. I’m not thinking about that.

Liar. The word was a purr, low and teasing, but not unkind. Your thoughts have been circling like vultures for days. You humans have such a peculiar attachment to guilt. Alic is long dead, and his name is just that—a name. Yet you brood as if his ghost is perched on your shoulder.

I’m not brooding, Chaire. But the truth of his words pricked at you, and you sighed, setting the knife down. It’s just... complicated.

It always is. His tone softened, the bond between you humming with warmth. But it’s done, little one. The past cannot be rewritten, and Violet’s choices are her own. They do not diminish you, nor do they tarnish what you have now.

You leaned against the counter, the cool marble pressing into your palms. The bouquet was almost finished, the wildflowers forming a chaotic but oddly beautiful arrangement. You’d placed the brightest blooms at the centre, surrounded by smaller, softer ones. It felt symbolic in a way, though you couldn’t quite articulate why.

Chaire’s presence lingered, a steady, comforting weight in the back of your mind. You should wake him, he said after a moment. Your mate will sulk if he finds out you were up before him and didn’t say anything.

A small laugh escaped you. He doesn’t sulk.

Oh, he sulks, Chaire countered, his amusement returning. And you let him get away with it, which only makes it worse.

You shook your head, pushing off the counter and reaching for the vase. The bouquet fit perfectly, the wildflowers spreading like a burst of sunlight. It was messy, imperfect—but it was yours. Just like the life you and Xaden had built here, in the fragile peace of a world no longer at war.

As you turned toward the stairs, ready to wake him, Chaire’s voice curled through your mind one last time, soft and uncharacteristically tender. You are enough, little one. For him, for this world—for yourself. Don’t forget that.

You reached for the rose, its deep crimson petals unfurling like velvet against the pale morning light. It was stunning, the kind of flower that demanded attention, even among the wildflowers you’d gathered. But as your fingers brushed the stem, a sharp sting blossomed at the tip of your index finger.

You hissed softly, pulling your hand back and glancing at the small bead of blood that had welled up. Without thinking, you brought your finger to your lips, the coppery tang of your blood meeting your tongue. The sting faded quickly, but you didn’t stop to linger on it. The bouquet wasn’t finished yet, and the vase demanded your full attention.

The roses had to go in next, carefully arranged among the wildflowers to create a contrast between elegance and chaos. You leaned in, frowning slightly as you adjusted the angle of one bloom, tucking it just beneath a spray of lavender. The quiet world around you faded as you focused, completely absorbed in the task at hand.

It wasn’t until a familiar, silky sensation wrapped around your waist that you realized you were no longer alone.

The shadows came first, coiling around you like a lover’s embrace. They were warm, alive with the faint hum of Xaden’s magic, and they tugged gently, pulling you back a step before you could react. A startled laugh escaped your lips as you straightened, the bouquet momentarily forgotten in your hands.

And then you felt him—solid, warm, and undeniably Xaden—press against your back. His arms circled you, drawing you flush against his bare chest. The scent of him enveloped you, a mix of cedar and something darker, uniquely him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his posture as relaxed as his hold on you was firm.

“Up before dawn and playing with flowers,” Xaden murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Should I be worried?”

You twisted slightly in his arms, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His hair was a tousled mess, dark strands sticking out in every direction as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Which, judging by the lazy smirk on his lips and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, he probably had. He was shirtless, his skin still warm from sleep, and the soft gray sweatpants slung low on his hips left little to the imagination.

“You’re awake,” you said simply, your voice softer than you intended.

“I am now.” His lips curved into a smirk, though his dark eyes were warm as they swept over you. “You’re making enough noise to wake the entire citadel.”

“I’m not noisy,” you protested, though your tone lacked conviction. You turned your attention back to the bouquet, but Xaden didn’t let you go. His arms tightened slightly, keeping you anchored against him.

He glanced over your shoulder at the arrangement in your hands, his expression softening as he took it in. “It’s beautiful,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You’re beautiful.”

A flush crept up your neck at the unexpected compliment, and you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

“It’s more than that,” he countered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The sensation sent warmth pooling in your chest. “You could make a battlefield look like art.”

You didn’t respond, too flustered by the quiet intensity in his voice. Instead, you focused on the bouquet, adjusting one of the roses to avoid meeting his gaze. But Xaden wasn’t one to let you off the hook so easily.

He shifted slightly, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, his touch light but possessive. “Are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind, or do I have to guess?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the stems of the bouquet. But before you could answer, Xaden leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. It was gentle, almost absentminded, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you all the same.

“Take your time,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that made your knees feel weak. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he rested his chin on your shoulder, his dark eyes watching as you arranged the final flower. The weight of him, the warmth of his presence, made the world feel a little less heavy. For the first time in days, you let yourself exhale.

You leaned against the counter, turning the bouquet slowly in your hands, the flowers casting long shadows on the marble as the early sunlight caught their petals. Xaden still stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The quiet intimacy of the moment was grounding, yet the words you needed to say caught in your throat like thorns.

He noticed, of course. Xaden always noticed. His hands, rough and calloused yet achingly gentle, tightened slightly on your hips. “You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, his voice still carrying the rasp of sleep. “Too quiet. That usually means there’s something weighing on you.”

You swallowed, staring down at the vibrant arrangement in your hands. The roses seemed brighter now, almost glaring in their perfection. You set the bouquet down carefully on the counter, buying yourself a moment to gather your thoughts.

“It’s not an easy thing to explain,” you began, your voice softer than you intended. “I love Violet and Aaric. I really do. They’ve both been through so much, and seeing them find this kind of happiness after everything…” You paused, exhaling shakily. “It’s beautiful. I love that they invited us to meet their son. I want to be there for them. I do.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but his presence behind you was steady and grounding. His thumbs traced slow, comforting circles against your hips, silently encouraging you to continue.

“It’s just…” You hesitated, your fingers brushing absently against the edge of the countertop. “It’s complicated. You and Violet—you’ll always have this bond because of Sgaeyl and Tairn. And I know that’s not something either of you chose, but it’s there. It always will be.”

His silence was heavy, but it wasn’t impatient. He was giving you the space to speak without interruption, and for that, you were grateful.

“And now, with Alic…” You trailed off, biting your lip. The name felt heavy on your tongue, weighted with a history you weren’t sure you could untangle. “He’s theirs, Xaden. Their son. And I know it’s irrational, but it makes me feel…awkward. Like I don’t belong in this part of their lives. Like I’m intruding on something I can never fully understand.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and the moment they did, you felt the sharp sting of vulnerability settle in your chest. You turned your head slightly, catching Xaden’s gaze. His dark eyes were unreadable for a moment, his expression guarded yet softened by something that looked like understanding.

“Say something,” you whispered, the weight of your confession pressing down on you.

Xaden’s lips pressed together, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed your words. Then, slowly, he shifted, turning you in his arms so that you were facing him fully. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. The tenderness in his touch sent a pang through your chest.

“You’re not intruding,” he said, his voice low but steady. “And you’re not irrational. This…all of this…it’s complicated as hell. I won’t deny that. But you have just as much of a place in this as anyone else. Violet and Aaric invited us because they care about us, because they want us to be part of their lives. Not because they feel obligated, not because of the bond between Sgaeyl and Tairn, but because they trust us. They trust you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. The gesture was intimate, grounding, and it silenced you before you could protest.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” Xaden continued, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to figure this out alone. We’ll go. We’ll meet Alic. And if it feels awkward or messy or too much, then we’ll leave. Together. But you’re not an outsider in this, love. You’re mine, and that makes you part of everything I am.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweatpants as if anchoring yourself to him. His words settled over you like a balm, easing the ache in your chest.

“You always know what to say,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly.

He smirked, leaning back just enough to brush his lips against yours. “Only because I know you better than you think.”

You smiled softly, the tension easing slightly as Xaden’s words sank in. His hands were still cradling your face, his dark eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and quiet intensity. But even now, you couldn’t help the teasing edge that slipped into your voice.

“Did you read my intentions just now?” you asked, tilting your head playfully as you raised an eyebrow at him.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smirk forming. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re doing that thing,” you continued, pretending to be serious even as the corner of your mouth quirked upward. “The whole ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking before you say it’ thing. Did you read my mind or something? Because I didn’t feel you reaching through the block.”

His smirk deepened, and the low chuckle that escaped him sent warmth curling in your chest. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You didn’t deny it.” You grinned now, leaning into his touch just a little more. “I’m onto you, Xaden Riorson. Admit it—you’ve been secretly reading my mind this whole time.”

“I don’t need to read your mind to know you,” he countered smoothly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re an open book to me. Always have been.”

You scoffed, trying and failing to suppress the flutter in your chest. “That’s what someone who’s secretly been reading my intentions would say.”

His smirk grew wicked, and before you could react, his arms tightened around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. A squeal of surprise escaped you as he spun you around, his laugh rumbling against your back like a thunderstorm.

“Keep teasing me,” he said, setting you back down but keeping you firmly in his grasp. “And I might have to prove just how well I know you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, breathless but grinning. “You’re too soft to prove anything right now. You just woke up.”

Xaden leaned down until his lips were hovering just above your ear, his voice dropping to that dangerously low tone that always made your knees weak. “Careful, sunshine. I might be soft now, but I can change that.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were utterly still, caught in the heat of his words. Then you shoved lightly at his chest, laughing as you pulled away. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” he said, his smirk softening into a genuine smile as he pulled you back into his arms.

You didn’t argue, because he was absolutely right.

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out, light and airy as it escaped your lips. It started softly, barely more than a sound of breath, but quickly grew until you were grinning, the tension in your chest unravelling completely. Xaden tilted his head at you, his dark brows raising in that way he always did when he caught you in a moment he didn’t entirely understand but found entertaining nonetheless.

“What?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. His arms were still looped loosely around your waist, keeping you close, his body warm and steady against yours.

You shook your head, biting your lip as another laugh bubbled up. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice light and almost incredulous, like the weight you’d been carrying had been lifted so suddenly you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. “I was so worked up about it—about everything—but now… I don’t know. I just feel excited. Like—there’s a baby in the squad now. A baby, Xaden.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush, and the giddiness in your voice was impossible to miss. You let out another giggle, leaning your head against his chest as the realization fully hit you. “I mean, how weird is that? After everything we’ve been through—revolutions, battles, betrayals—and now we’ve got… a baby. In the squad. Can you even imagine?”

Xaden’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think Alic’s going to be taking on Threshing anytime soon, if that’s what you mean.”

You snorted, swatting playfully at his chest. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I just… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of amazing. After everything we’ve lost, everything we’ve fought for, there’s this little life now. Something innocent and good. It feels… hopeful.”

The words came out quieter, softer now, and you looked up at him, your eyes shining with a mixture of emotion and newfound excitement. Xaden’s gaze softened, his usual sharpness giving way to something warm and unguarded. He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment before trailing down to your jaw.

“It is hopeful,” he agreed, his voice steady and certain. “And you’re allowed to feel excited about it. You’re allowed to feel everything, even if it’s messy.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as his words settled over you. And then, as if you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, you let out another laugh, stepping back slightly but grabbing his hands in yours. “Can you imagine? Violet’s probably already teaching him strategies to overthrow the government, and Aaric’s probably arguing about which flying technique is the safest for kids.”

Xaden chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could feel the tension in him ease as well. “They’ll be lucky if Alic doesn’t try to steal a dragon egg by the time he’s ten.”

You laughed harder, the sound filling the kitchen like sunlight. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him. With parents like that? He’s bound to be trouble.”

“And if Sgaeyl and Tairn have anything to say about it,” Xaden added, his smirk growing. “The kid’s going to have two of the most overprotective dragons in history watching his every move.”

“Oh, definitely.” You shook your head, still smiling. “Can you imagine Sgaeyl trying to teach him manners? She’ll probably lecture him about posture and poise while Tairn sneaks him extra treats behind her back.”

The thought sent you into another fit of giggles, and Xaden finally broke, laughing quietly along with you. He pulled you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as your laughter finally subsided into a contented sigh.

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice soft against your hair. “You know that?”

You looked up at him, your smile still lingering. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I really do.”

You were still smiling, the warmth of your earlier laughter lingering as you glanced back at the bouquet on the counter. A faint hum of excitement buzzed through you, thoughts of tiny Alic and the strange, hopeful future ahead swirling in your mind. You reached out to adjust one of the flowers, still chattering, your voice light and teasing.

“Do you think Violet and Aaric are ready for the chaos? I mean, a baby with their genes? That’s a future instigator of revolutions if I’ve ever seen one—”

You trailed off mid-sentence, realizing Xaden hadn’t responded. Slowly, you turned to glance at him over your shoulder, expecting to see his usual smirk or a quip forming on his lips. Instead, he was just… watching you.

His dark eyes were fixed on you, unblinking, his expression unreadable. There was no teasing smirk, no sharp remark. Just an intensity that made you feel like he was seeing through every layer of you, like he was memorizing the way the morning light kissed your face, the way your lips quirked as you spoke, the way your fingers danced absentmindedly over the counter.

“What?” you asked softly, tilting your head at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched, leaving you confused and just a little unsettled. You shifted your weight, your brows furrowing as you studied him. “Xaden?”

Still, he said nothing, and the longer he stared, the more your nerves bubbled to the surface. “Okay, seriously, are you trying to read my intentions again? Because I’m telling you right now, there’s nothing particularly exciting happening in my head.”

That earned the faintest twitch of his lips, but it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting. He just shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, your voice quieter now, edged with curiosity. “The whole mysterious, brooding thing. What are you thinking?”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant. “Nothing,” he said, his words deliberate, like he was choosing them carefully. “I just… You’re incredible. That’s all.”

Your confusion deepened for a moment before your chest tightened, warmth flooding through you at the sincerity in his tone. “Xaden,” you started, but he cut you off, stepping closer and lifting a hand to brush his fingers against your cheek.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how incredible you are, do you?”

You blinked up at him, his words sinking in slowly, leaving you momentarily speechless. The weight of his gaze, the warmth in his touch, it was all so much and yet not overwhelming. It was grounding, like standing at the edge of something vast and infinite, knowing that he was there to catch you if you fell.

“I—” you started, your voice faltering slightly before you cleared your throat. “You can’t just say things like that, you know.”

His lips twitched, but the smirk that usually accompanied his teasing remarks didn’t fully form. Instead, he cupped your face with both hands, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “Why not? It’s true.”

You scoffed lightly, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed your attempt to play it cool. “Because it’s not fair. You say something like that, and now I’m the one who doesn’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first,” he said, his tone lighter now, though the depth in his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re never at a loss for words.”

“Guess you’ve finally managed to shut me up,” you quipped, your voice soft but carrying the hint of a smile.

His lips finally curved into a proper smirk, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll consider it one of my greatest accomplishments.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound quiet and warm between the two of you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

The teasing glint in his eyes was back now, but there was something deeper there too—something steady and unyielding. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The heat of him, the strength in his hold, it was all-consuming in the best way.

“I’m still here,” you agreed softly, your hands sliding up his bare chest to rest against his shoulders. “And I always will be. No matter how insufferable you get.”

His expression softened at your words, and for a moment, the teasing melted away, leaving nothing but raw honesty in its place. “Good,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his tone, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached up, your fingers brushing through his dark, unruly hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re stuck with me, Riorson. Get used to it.”

“Gladly,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with promise as he pulled you even closer, the world outside fading away entirely.

You pulled back just enough to glance at him, a playful glint returning to your eyes as the weight of the moment lightened. “Alright, enough of the sentimental stuff,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re going to help me wrap this bouquet, right?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his fingers still resting on your waist. He seemed amused by the sudden shift in mood, but there was no hesitation in his gaze as he nodded. “I didn’t realize I was a florist now, but for you? Anything.”

You laughed, stepping away from him and moving toward the counter where the bouquet was resting. “Good. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need all the help I can get. And since I’m not exactly a professional when it comes to flower arrangements—” You gestured vaguely at the messy array of stems and petals, “—I think it’s only fair that you do your part.”

Xaden grinned, following you to the counter, his hands resting on the edge as he looked down at the flowers with a mock seriousness. “Alright, what’s the plan? Do I need to make them look pretty, or are we going for the ‘just throw a bunch of stuff together and hope for the best’ look?”

“Definitely the first option,” you teased, picking up the roll of floral wrap and a pair of scissors. “I’m not leaving here with a disaster on my hands. I need this to be at least presentable.”

He made a show of dramatically inspecting the bouquet, his eyes narrowing as if the flowers were a puzzle only he could solve. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the chance to tease you right back.

You handed him the roll of floral wrap, and he immediately began unrolling it, his focus intense as he fumbled with the edges. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You look like you’ve never wrapped a gift in your life.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at unwrapping things,” he shot back, his smirk widening as he glanced over at you.

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” You rolled your eyes playfully, moving to straighten the flowers as he awkwardly tried to manage the wrap. “Just try to keep it together, okay? We need this to look like it wasn’t made by a toddler.”

With exaggerated concentration, Xaden carefully arranged the wrap around the stems, but his movements were all slow and deliberate, as if he was savouring every moment of the task. You could tell it wasn’t exactly second nature to him, but there was something endearing about his determination.

“I don’t know if it’s the flowers or the fact that I’m just trying not to make a mess, but I feel like I’m getting a crash course in floral design,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Well, consider it a life skill,” you teased, watching him carefully as he worked. “Every person should know how to wrap a bouquet. It’s a part of being an adult.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied dryly, finishing the wrap with surprisingly decent precision. “How’s that?”

You took a step back to inspect his work, your lips curving into a smile at the sight. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely good enough for what you needed, and the effort he’d put in was more than enough to make you appreciate it. “Not bad, Riorson. I’ll let you keep your ‘florist’ title for now.”

He gave a smug little nod. “I knew I had it in me.”

“Alright, now let’s tie this off.” You handed him the twine, and without missing a beat, he wrapped it around the stems, securing everything in place with surprising ease.

When he finished, you stepped back, your hands on your hips as you surveyed the bouquet. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Sure, if you’re into making flowers look presentable,” Xaden replied with a teasing smirk.

You grinned at him, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You know, I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He gave you a knowing look, stepping closer and brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “After all, I’m the one who helped make this bouquet look almost perfect.”

You carefully set the bouquet into the water, making sure the flowers were resting comfortably in the glass vase, the soft morning light highlighting their delicate petals. The faint scent of roses filled the air, and for a brief moment, everything felt serene, like the calm before the storm of excitement about to follow. You stepped back, admiring the bouquet before turning to leave the kitchen.

Just as you stepped into the hallway, you felt a pair of strong arms slip around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off your feet. A startled laugh escaped you as Xaden’s presence enveloped you. “Alright, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and amusement.

Xaden didn’t answer immediately, only holding you securely against him. You glanced up at him, catching the way his lips curved into a playful smirk, his eyes dark with that signature look of mischief. “I’m carrying you,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half baffled. “What happened to I’m just going to stand here and look at you like you’ve lost your mind?”

He gave a low chuckle, carrying you effortlessly as he started up the stairs toward the bedroom. “I figured we could mix things up a bit,” he said. “Besides, you’ve got enough on your mind with the baby talk. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t overexert yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart fluttered at his gentleness. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a tenderness behind it that made you relax against him.

You couldn’t help but grin at the easy banter, but as he carried you into the bedroom, you found yourself feeling a sudden surge of excitement that wasn’t entirely about the bouquet or the quiet morning. You had been looking forward to hearing all about Violet’s baby, and you wanted to share what you’d learned from Brennan and Mira.

“You know, Brennan and Mira are absolutely over the moon about Alic,” you said, your voice soft with affection as you settled against his chest, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. “They met him yesterday.”

Xaden’s grip on you tightened slightly, but his eyes remained focused on the path ahead. “Yeah?” He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “What’d they say?”

“They’re completely taken with him. Brennan couldn’t stop talking about how perfect he is, how he already has his eyes, like Violet's, and how he's got this little furrowed brow when he’s thinking,” you said with a fond smile, the image of the baby, so new and innocent, filling your mind. “Mira kept going on about how tiny his hands are, and how he’s going to grow up with so much personality because Violet’s already spoiling him rotten.”

Xaden’s lips quirked at the mention of Violet spoiling her son. “I don’t think she’s going to have much of a choice, considering the way Tairn’s already attached to the kid.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agreed, laughing softly. “Mira was saying Tairn is practically hovering over him, like he's the new baby dragon. She said if Alic makes the slightest noise, Tairn’s on alert.”

Xaden’s expression softened at that, his eyes briefly flicking over to the side. “Can’t say I blame him. It’s probably strange, for all of them, having a baby in the family after everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a change.” You paused, your fingers lightly brushing against his chest as you leaned into him more, your mind turning over the complexities of the situation. “But, I think it’s a good change. Like… a new chapter. For everyone.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and thoughtful. “I’m glad we’re part of it. I’m glad you’re part of it.”

As Xaden stepped through the door of your bedroom, he gave a small sigh, lowering you gently onto the bed. You shifted slightly in his arms before your feet hit the ground, and without a second thought, you darted toward your vanity across the room. The soft light from the window illuminated the space, casting everything in a gentle glow that made the room feel peaceful—but not peaceful enough to stop you from running around like a whirlwind.

Xaden blinked in mild confusion, watching you rush to the vanity. His brow furrowed as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing your movements. “It’s still early, you know. You don’t need to get all dressed up this early,” he said, a note of concern in his voice, though there was amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t even glance at him as you practically flung yourself into the chair at your vanity, pulling open the drawers to rummage for your essentials. “I have to make a good first impression, Xaden. It’s important.” You replied in a voice that was far more serious than it should’ve been, though there was an undercurrent of excitement. Your hands worked quickly, pulling your hairbrush through your tangled hair, ignoring the small knots as you made the swift, efficient motions.

Xaden’s confusion deepened. “First impression? Who exactly are you trying to impress this early in the morning?”

You paused for only a second, catching the glint of his dark eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Your hands didn’t stop moving, however, as you pulled a strand of hair back from your face and began curling it with a quick flick of your wrist. “Alic,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You focused on smoothing down a few stray strands of hair, your motions precise. “I’m meeting him today, and I need to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed.”

Xaden’s eyebrows shot up as he slowly walked over to the side of the bed, clearly still processing. “You’re getting ready for a baby?” he asked, the bemusement in his voice barely contained. “He’s, what, like… a day or so old?”

“Exactly!” You practically bounced in the chair, turning to face him with a grin as you applied a light coat of mascara to your lashes. “And I need him to know that Auntie YN is cool. You know, I’ve got to look the part.” You winked at him through the mirror, your energy suddenly sky-high.

Xaden crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser now, clearly bewildered but trying to hold back his own laugh. “You’re serious,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re over here getting dressed up for a baby that can’t even see straight yet?”

You threw your head back with a laugh, a quick, light sound that bounced off the walls. “It’s all about the vibe, Xaden. First impressions are everything. Even for babies.”

Xaden just watched you, his eyes softening as he took in the way your hands moved with such precision, as if every moment mattered. He didn’t interrupt as you finished curling your hair and began lightly applying makeup, your face growing more polished with each swipe of product.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his tone a mix of mockery and affection. “But if you end up spending all this time getting ready, you might miss your chance to actually hold the kid.”

You shot him a side-eye, your grin playful. “I’m making sure I look good doing it.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking over your work so far. Your hair was falling in soft waves, and your makeup was subtle but perfect, enhancing your natural features. You really did look like you were about to step into the room and make a strong impression—not just on a baby, but on anyone who saw you.

He couldn’t help but smile at you, the affectionate look in his eyes finally matching the teasing grin he often wore. “Well, I’m just glad you’re not trying to impress anyone else, or I’d be jealous.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you finished adjusting the last strand of hair. You gave him an exaggerated pout. “Oh please, Xaden. You know you’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

Xaden stretched out on the bed, feeling the cool sheets beneath him as he let out a deep breath. The energy from the morning was still buzzing in his veins, but his body was craving the soft embrace of rest. He had no intention of fully falling back asleep, but the idea of relaxing for just a few more minutes sounded too good to pass up. His eyes flickered over to you as you adjusted yourself by the vanity, but his thoughts quickly drifted to Violet.

With a mental nudge, he reached out to the bond between him and Violet. His connection to her wasn’t one he used lightly—only in moments like this, when he felt the pull of the bond, like he needed to check in on her.

The warmth of her presence washed over him, the familiar sense of her emotions seeping through the bond, like a slow-moving river that always carried the weight of their history. He settled into the connection, finding a calm, steady rhythm in the flow of her thoughts.

Violence? he sent, his voice playful as he mentally prodded her.

There was a brief pause before her response came through, thick with exhaustion but also laced with amusement. Xaden... Her voice was soft, a little worn, like she had been through a battle. Which, in a sense, she had. What do you want?

Xaden couldn’t hold back a chuckle, his mind’s touch light as he teased. You’re the one who woke me up, Violet.

Her mental voice tightened with a hint of surprise. What?

He grinned, imagining her expression even though they weren’t physically in the same space. You didn’t close me off when you gave birth. Your emotions flooded through the bond, and now I’m awake since then in fear of a surprise attack. Thanks for that.

There was a brief moment of silence on her end, and then Violet’s mental voice returned, slightly breathless and tinged with embarrassment. Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I must’ve forgotten to—

Yeah, I can tell. He mentally laughed, not really bothered by it. His tone was playful, like an old friend joking about an old habit. But I’m glad you’re doing alright, even if you forgot to close me off like you usually do. You know, the next time you're about to have a life-changing experience, I’d appreciate a little heads-up.

Violet’s response was a soft groan, and he could practically feel the weight of her exhaustion in the brief shift of her emotions. I didn’t exactly plan on having to keep track of all that right now, Xaden. It wasn’t exactly a quiet birth.

He smiled, his connection to her soothing as he reached out with a comforting thread. You don’t have to explain. I can only imagine what it was like. How’s the little guy?

Violet’s mental presence softened, and there was a warmth in her emotions as she shared a picture of little Alic in her mind, a tiny bundle wrapped in blankets. He’s perfect. Just… a little overwhelming, you know? But he’s perfect.

Xaden’s heart softened at the image, feeling his affection for her and her son surge through the bond. You’re handling it like a pro. But you’re going to be on your feet in no time, just like always.

There was a pause before Violet responded, a wry edge to her mental tone. I hope so, because I’m not sure I can handle much more of this. It’s not exactly easy, especially with Tairn being so... She hesitated, unsure how to describe the dragon’s devotion to his new son.

Overprotective? Xaden offered with a chuckle, knowing full well how Tairn could be. The dragon had a soft spot for Violet, and now that her son was here, it only made sense that the dragon would be just as protective.

Exactly. Violet’s mental voice was tinged with humour, but there was a fatigue to it as well. If he wasn’t so big, I’d say he’s just a big baby himself.

Xaden laughed at that, the sound filling the space around him. You two are alike in more ways than you think.

Violet snorted mentally, though it was accompanied by a fond affection for her bond with Tairn. Maybe. But I’m not sure I’m ready for this. There’s so much I need to figure out.

And you will, Xaden reassured her, his tone steady. One step at a time. Besides, you’ve got plenty of people who’ve got your back. Everyone’s here for you.

There was a moment of silence before Violet’s mental presence softened again, almost as though she was sinking into her exhaustion. Thanks, Xaden. I don’t know what I’d do without you... and without the rest of them.

Xaden smiled, his heart warm with the unspoken bond between them. You’re not alone, Violet. Never have been.

She gave a mental sigh of relief, a quiet smile in her voice. Good to know. Now, I’m going to try and get some sleep before I’m asked to be social again.

Sleep well, Violet, Xaden responded, his mental touch lighter now. And remember to close me off next time.

He could almost feel her smirk through the bond as she replied. I’ll try not to forget. No promises though.

With a final chuckle, Xaden broke the connection.

You stepped back into the bedroom, brushing your hands against your dress to smooth out invisible wrinkles, your energy practically radiating as you prepared for the day ahead. The bouquet was ready, you were dressed to make an impression, and everything felt like it was starting to come together. Xaden was sprawled out on the bed, his head propped up on one arm, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to your whirlwind of activity.

He turned his head to you as you entered, his dark eyes softening with a flicker of amusement. “You’re buzzing around like a little sparrow,” he teased, his deep voice warm and steady. “I feel like I should warn Alic to brace himself.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, grabbing a stray hairpin from the vanity and tucking it into your hair. “I’m just excited, okay? I want to be ready.”

Xaden chuckled and sat up, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, his tone shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful. “I spoke to Violet through our bond a few minutes ago.”

That caught your attention immediately, and you turned toward him, your hands stilling in your hair. “You did?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. “How are they? How’s Alic?”

“They’re good,” Xaden said, his voice softening further, as if the weight of the bond lingered in his chest. “Violet’s tired—she didn’t exactly get much sleep last night—but she’s okay. Aaric’s handling it well too, from what I could sense.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you stepped closer to the bed, sitting on the edge beside him. “That’s a relief,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine warmth. “I’ve been wondering how they’re holding up, especially Violet. This is such a huge change for her.”

Xaden reached out, his fingers brushing lightly over yours as he gave a small nod. “It is, but she’s tougher than she thinks. She’s already so smitten with him, and Tairn’s practically glued to her side. I think she’s going to be just fine.”

The tenderness in his voice made your heart ache in the best way, and you squeezed his hand lightly. “That’s good to hear,” you murmured, your mind already imagining Violet with her son, Aaric by her side, the love between them shining bright.

Xaden’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on you as if weighing his next words carefully. “We should head down to see them in about an hour or so,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Give them a little more time to settle before we show up.”

You nodded, the idea making sense, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “Oh, so now you’re the one telling me to slow down?” you asked with a playful smirk. “Weren’t you the one practically dragging me out of bed last week to spar at dawn?”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. “That’s different. Sparring is a necessity. This? This is you trying to impress a newborn.”

You laughed, leaning into him slightly. “Touché. But fine, we’ll wait an hour. I can pace myself.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back on his hands as he watched you with that relaxed, confident air that was so uniquely his. “And maybe in the meantime, you can stop fretting about whether Alic will like you. He’s a baby, YN. He’s not going to hold you to some impossible standard.”

“I’m not fretting,” you protested, though the faint blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “I just want to make a good impression. You only get one first meeting with a baby, you know.”

Xaden’s laughter was deep and rich, and he leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re unbelievable,” he said affectionately, his breath warm against your skin. “But that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you leaned into his touch for a brief moment before pulling back with a grin. “Alright, fine. I’ll calm down—for now. But when that hour’s up, you’d better be ready to go.”

Xaden smirked, his gaze following you as you moved to the other side of the room to grab your shoes. “I’m always ready, sunshine. The real question is, are you?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face said everything. Today was going to be a good day.

Two hours later, you found yourself standing outside Violet and Aaric’s bedroom door, the hallway quiet except for the faint hum of activity somewhere deeper in the house. Xaden stood beside you, holding the bouquet you had painstakingly put together earlier that morning, though his grip on it was far from what you’d call ideal.

“Xaden,” you whispered sharply, your eyes narrowing at him as you adjusted your hold on the box of baked goods in your arms. “You’re holding it wrong.”

He turned to you, eyebrows raised in amusement. “How am I holding it wrong? It’s flowers, YN, not a sword.”

You huffed, reaching out with one hand to tug the stems slightly so they rested more evenly in his grasp. “You’re crushing the leaves on this side,” you muttered, fussing over the arrangement. “I spent forever making it perfect, and now you’re about to walk in there like it’s been through a hurricane.”

Xaden smirked, his free hand brushing against yours as he let you adjust the bouquet to your liking. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you replied, standing back to assess the bouquet in his hands, now satisfied that it was presentable. “First impressions matter, and you’re not ruining this one with your terrible flower-holding skills.”

“Noted,” he said, his smirk widening as he adjusted his stance slightly, now holding the bouquet with exaggerated care. “Better?”

“Much,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Now, just stand there and look charming. I’ve got the baked goods covered.”

Xaden gave a soft laugh, but his eyes flickered to the door as you raised your hand to knock. The sound was light but deliberate, and you shifted slightly on your feet, the box of goods balanced carefully in your arms.

The door opened after a moment, revealing Aaric, his expression warm and welcoming despite the exhaustion visible in his eyes. His blonde hair was slightly dishevelled, and he looked like a man who hadn’t had much sleep but was still running on the high of becoming a father.

“Aaric,” you greeted, your voice bright with excitement as you offered him a warm smile. “Hi! We brought some things for you and Violet.”

Aaric’s gaze flickered between you and Xaden, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative as he stepped back to let you both in. “Come on in. She’s just feeding Alic right now.”

As you stepped into the room, you caught the faint scent of lavender and something warm, like freshly laundered blankets. The space was cozy, and though it was clear they were still settling into this new phase of life, there was an undeniable sense of peace here.

Xaden gave Aaric a small nod as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet with exaggerated precision, which didn’t go unnoticed by Aaric. “Nice flowers.” Aaric said with a teasing grin, glancing at Xaden.

You bit back a laugh. “Ignore him,” you said to Aaric, your tone light. “He’s been subjected to flower-handling lessons all morning.”

Aaric chuckled softly, closing the door behind you. “I’ll make sure Violet appreciates the effort.” He gestured toward the small seating area near the window. “You can sit if you want. She’ll be out in just a minute.”

You glanced at Xaden, who shrugged slightly before moving to set the bouquet down on the nearby table with a carefulness that made you stifle another laugh.

As Aaric gestured for you to sit, you set the box of baked goods on the table and turned toward him, your curiosity getting the better of you. He looked tired, but there was an undeniable happiness in the way he moved and spoke, like he was still soaking in the reality of his new life.

“How have you been?” you asked gently, tilting your head as you took a seat on the edge of one of the chairs. Your voice was warm but laced with genuine concern. “I mean, it’s only been a few days, but… how are you really holding up?”

Aaric ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, the corners of his mouth lifting into a tired smile. “It’s been… a whirlwind, honestly,” he admitted, leaning against the back of a chair near you. “Violet’s doing great, but it’s a lot to process. I didn’t think I could function on this little sleep.”

You smiled softly at his candour. “It sounds like you’re handling it pretty well. I mean, you’re still standing, so that’s a win.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Barely. Alic’s got a strong set of lungs for someone so tiny. But seeing him—holding him—it’s…” Aaric paused, his voice softening as he searched for the right words. “It’s something else. Nothing can prepare you for it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in the best way. “It sounds like you’re already an amazing dad,” you said earnestly. “And Violet… how’s she doing? Is she okay?”

Aaric’s expression softened even more at the mention of his wife. “She’s incredible,” he said quietly, his voice full of pride. “Even when she’s exhausted, she’s so focused on Alic. She’s a natural with him. I just keep trying to make sure she gets enough rest and doesn’t push herself too hard.”

You nodded, your admiration for Violet only growing. “That sounds like her. Always taking on the world without hesitation. But I’m glad she has you to look out for her.”

Aaric smiled at that, his gaze dropping to the bouquet on the table. “She’s lucky to have friends like you and Xaden too,” he said, his tone genuine. “It means a lot that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you replied softly, glancing over at Xaden, who was leaning against the wall, quietly observing the conversation with his arms crossed. His gaze flicked to you, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if to silently echo Aaric’s sentiment.

“Well,” you added, looking back at Aaric with a playful grin. “If you need backup for anything—diapers, baby cuddles, sneaking in naps—just let us know. We’re here for all of it.”

Aaric chuckled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “I might take you up on that. Especially the nap part.”

The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and all three of you turned instinctively. Violet stepped into the room, her petite frame wrapped in a soft robe, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her arms were cradling a small bundle, swaddled snugly in a pale blue blanket.

“Hey,” Violet greeted softly, her voice warm but tired as her gaze swept over you, Xaden, and Aaric. There was a light in her eyes, one that was both new and deeply familiar—the quiet, fierce joy of a mother.

You felt your breath catch as you caught sight of Alic. He was impossibly small, his delicate features just visible beneath the edge of the blanket. His tiny hand peeked out, curling into the fabric, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room stilled, all attention focused on him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Violet said with a small smile, shifting Alic slightly in her arms as she walked closer. “Feeding him took a little longer than I thought.”

“Take your time,” you assured her quickly, rising to your feet. “We weren’t in any rush.”

Xaden pushed off the wall, standing straighter as his dark eyes flickered to Alic. For all his usual confidence, there was a softness in his expression now, a quiet respect for the moment unfolding in front of him.

Violet moved to sit on the edge of the couch, her movements careful and deliberate. Aaric stepped forward instinctively, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he sat beside her, the silent support between them palpable.

You couldn’t help but inch closer, your gaze locked on the baby. “Oh my gods,” you breathed, a smile breaking across your face. “He’s perfect.”

Violet’s smile widened, and she tilted Alic slightly so you could see him better. “Meet Alic,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “The newest—and loudest—member of the squad.”

You laughed quietly, leaning down to get a closer look. “He’s so tiny,” you murmured, your heart melting as you took in his delicate features—the tiny nose, the barely-there eyebrows, the faintest dusting of hair on his head. “And so cute. Violet, he’s beautiful.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced down at Alic with a look of pure adoration. “He’s already stolen all of our hearts,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even Tairn’s been quieter than usual, like he’s trying not to disturb him.”

You glanced at Xaden, who was still standing silently nearby, his eyes fixed on Alic with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you wondered what he was thinking, but before you could ask, Violet looked up at him.

“Want to hold him?” she asked, her voice gentle but teasing. “Or are you scared he’ll cry the second you touch him?”

Xaden’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he stepped forward, his usual confidence returning in full force. “I think I can handle it,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

As Violet carefully passed Alic to him, you watched the transition with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Xaden’s large hands cradled the tiny bundle with surprising gentleness, his movements careful and precise. He held Alic close, his expression softening as he looked down at the baby.

“Well?” Violet asked, her tone light but filled with affection. “What do you think?”

Xaden’s eyes didn’t leave Alic as he spoke. “He’s perfect,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet reverence that made your chest tighten.

You smiled, stepping closer to stand beside him. “Told you need a good first impression,” you teased softly, glancing up at him.

He met your eyes briefly, a rare warmth in his gaze. “You might be right about this one,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Violet and Aaric shared a look, their hands brushing briefly as they watched the moment unfold. It felt like the room was filled with something unspoken—a quiet bond between all of you, forged in the presence of new life and old friendships.

As Xaden stood there, holding Alic with a level of gentleness that almost didn’t seem possible for someone of his size and strength, you watched as something in his expression shifted. His dark brows furrowed just slightly, his gaze flickering—not at Violet, but at something unseen.

You knew that look.

He was reaching for their bond.

It was a connection that had existed long before you, something forged through their dragons, Tairn and Sgaeyl, being mates. It wasn’t something he could break, nor something Violet could ignore, no matter how much life had changed between them.

Violet, who had been watching him carefully, exhaled a small laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she adjusted the blanket around her lap. “Checking in again, Xaden?”

You turned your gaze toward him, curious but not surprised.

Xaden’s lips twitched slightly, though his eyes were still distant, as if he were focusing on something beyond the physical world. “Making sure you actually closed me off this time,” he murmured, voice carrying that dry amusement that only he could pull off. “Unlike during childbirth, when you conveniently forgot and woke me up at an ungodly hour.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but there was humour in them. “In my defence, I had more important things on my mind.”

Aaric chuckled, shaking his head. “Like bringing a person into the world?”

“Exactly,” Violet quipped, lifting her chin slightly in triumph. “Priorities.”

You smothered a laugh behind your hand, watching as Xaden’s gaze refocused, his attention snapping back to the present moment. He shook his head slightly, as if shaking off whatever emotions had bled through their bond.

“She’s exhausted,” he announced, though it was clear Violet already knew that. His gaze flicked down to Alic, still cradled in his arms. “But happy.”

You glanced between them, watching the way Violet’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if there was something comforting in the confirmation—even if she hadn’t needed it.

Xaden exhaled, rolling his shoulders before turning his attention fully back to Alic. “And apparently, this one doesn’t know how to sleep unless someone’s holding him.”

Violet smirked. “Welcome to parenthood, Xaden.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You’re officially part of the baby squad now.”

He shot you a look, but there was no annoyance in it—just something softer, something unspoken. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it.

And you figured that was answer enough.

Xaden shifted slightly, adjusting Alic’s tiny body in his arms before glancing at you. His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe curiosity—as he lifted the baby just slightly toward you.

“Here,” he said casually, as if he were passing you a training weapon instead of a newborn.

Your eyes widened, and you instinctively took a step back, hands held up in protest. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’ve never held a baby before.”

Xaden raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Alic. “And?”

“And that’s a really small, really fragile human being,” you said, voice slightly higher than usual. “I don’t even know how to—what if I drop him?”

Aaric snorted from his seat beside Violet. “You’re more likely to trip over your own feet than drop him.”

“That is not reassuring!” you shot back, your pulse kicking up at the thought of somehow doing this wrong.

Violet laughed softly, shifting forward in her seat. “I promise, it’s not as scary as you think,” she said gently. “He won’t break.”

Xaden, still holding Alic effortlessly, tilted his head at you. “You fight people with swords and dragons, but you’re afraid of holding a baby?”

You gave him a pointed glare. “Yes, because swords and dragons make sense! Babies are unpredictable and squishy.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being pushy.”

Aaric leaned back, crossing his arms. “I, for one, am enjoying this.”

Violet elbowed him lightly but was clearly holding back a laugh.

Xaden sighed, his grip shifting slightly on Alic as he studied you. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice carrying that teasing edge. “Guess I’ll just have to keep him all to myself.”

You crossed your arms. “Good. You do that.”

Violet grinned. “You’ll cave eventually.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response—but deep down, you knew she was probably right. Aaric exhaled softly before pushing himself to his feet. He reached down, offering Violet his hand with a knowing look.

“Come on, Vi,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “You need to rest.” Violet blinked, clearly fighting exhaustion, but didn’t protest as Aaric gently pulled her up. She swayed slightly on her feet before leaning into him, her body visibly relaxing against his.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her eyelids were already drooping.

Aaric huffed a quiet laugh, steadying her as he led her toward the bedroom. “Sure you are.”

She didn’t argue, only letting out a soft hum as they disappeared into the adjoining room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the space suddenly quiet. You glanced toward Xaden, still holding Alic, his gaze fixed on the tiny sleeping baby in his arms. The room felt different now—smaller, more intimate.

“So,” you said after a moment, shifting slightly. “It’s just us and the baby now.”

Xaden hummed, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “Looks like it.”

You eyed the newborn warily. “You’re still not handing him to me.”

His smirk widened. “Not yet.”

The room was quiet now, save for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional shifting of Alic as he breathed in his sleep. The warmth of the space wrapped around you, making everything feel more intimate, more delicate.

Xaden still held Alic effortlessly, one strong arm supporting the tiny bundle while his other hand gently adjusted the baby’s blanket. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain reverence in the way he looked down at the newborn, as if he were memorizing every detail of him.

You swallowed, watching him carefully. “You’re… really good at that.”

Xaden’s dark eyes flicked up to you, his brow lifting slightly. “At what?”

You gestured toward Alic, still keeping a careful distance. “Holding him. Like you’ve done this before.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “I haven’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Then how are you so—”

“It’s not difficult,” he interrupted smoothly, shifting the baby slightly. “You just… hold him.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You’re really afraid of this, aren’t you?”

You hesitated, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability at the realization. “I just… don’t want to do something wrong.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment, his expression softening just slightly. “You won’t.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “You don’t know that.”

He studied you for a long moment before shifting Alic slightly in his arms. “Come here.”

Your eyes widened. “Xaden—”

“I’m not handing him to you,” he said, cutting you off. “Just… come here.”

You hesitated, your feet rooted to the ground. But the way he was looking at you—calm, sure, unwavering—made something in you melt.

Slowly, cautiously, you stepped forward.

Xaden adjusted Alic in his arms, tilting him just slightly toward you, enough that you could get a closer look without having to hold him. The moment you were near enough, your gaze dropped to the baby’s tiny face.

Your breath caught.

Up close, Alic was impossibly small. His tiny nose, the way his mouth moved slightly in his sleep, the faintest furrow of his brow—it was overwhelming in a way you hadn’t expected.

Xaden watched you carefully. “See?” he murmured. “Not so scary.”

You exhaled softly, unable to tear your eyes away from the baby. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden chuckled under his breath. “They usually are.”

You shot him a quick glare before looking back at Alic. Your hand twitched at your side, a sudden urge filling your chest.

Xaden caught the movement instantly. “You want to touch him.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to wake him up.”

“He sleeps through worse,” Xaden murmured. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated for only a second before slowly, carefully, lifting your hand. Your fingers barely brushed against the soft blanket wrapped around Alic’s tiny body.

Warm.

So warm.

A strange feeling swelled in your chest—something protective, something unfamiliar but deeply instinctual.

Xaden watched you the entire time, his expression unreadable. But there was something softer in his gaze, something almost knowing.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Okay,” you murmured. “Maybe I don’t fear babies.”

Xaden smirked. “Told you.”

Your fingertip barely grazed the soft fabric of Alic’s blanket before instinct took over, your hand moving with careful precision as if he were made of glass. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, delicate and impossibly small.

And then, without warning, his tiny fingers twitched.

You froze.

Alic’s hand, barely the size of your thumb, moved blindly before curling around your finger. His grip was weak, barely there, but it was enough.

Enough to make your breath catch.

Enough to shatter something deep inside you.

Your vision blurred instantly, and before you could even think to stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky laugh, quickly swiping at your eyes with your free hand, but it was useless. The tears kept coming. “Nothing,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Absolutely nothing.”

Xaden didn’t say anything, but you felt the warmth of his presence beside you, steady and grounding. He watched as Alic’s tiny fingers remained wrapped around yours, his grip so small, so fragile—yet somehow the most unbreakable thing you’d ever felt.

You sniffled, glancing at Xaden with wet eyes. “He’s just… perfect.”

Xaden’s expression softened in a way you rarely saw, his usual sharp edges dulled by the weight of the moment. “Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking back down to the sleeping baby. “He really is.”

Alic shifted slightly, his little mouth opening in a quiet yawn before he settled again, still clutching onto you like you were something safe. And for the first time, you truly believed you were.

Xaden exhaled softly and adjusted Alic in his arms before stepping back toward the large armchair in the corner of the room. He sat down with an ease that made it seem like holding a baby was second nature to him, his movements fluid, instinctual. Alic barely stirred, still curled in the safety of his arms, small and warm against his chest.

You watched him, arms crossed, standing just a few feet away. Xaden tilted his head, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You’re still hesitating.”

“I am not,” you lied, your arms tightening slightly over your chest. His lips twitched in amusement. “You’re still afraid you’ll break him.” You huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “He’s so tiny, Xaden. What if—”

Your words cut off as something cool and familiar wrapped around your waist.

Shadows.

Before you could react, they slithered over your body in a controlled, precise motion, curling around your wrists, your thighs—everywhere they needed to be to move you effortlessly. A surprised gasp left your lips as they tugged you forward, pulling you toward the chair where Xaden sat.

“Oh, you—” you started, but your voice turned into a quiet laugh as the shadows guided you right into his lap.

Xaden didn’t even flinch as you landed against him, his free arm immediately wrapping around your waist to steady you. His smirk was pure arrogance. “You were saying?”

You shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. “That was unnecessary.”

“That was effective.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shifted Alic in his arms, drawing your attention back to the baby. And just like that, your frustration melted into something else—something softer.

Xaden’s voice was quieter now, more coaxing. “You’re going to have to hold him eventually.”

Your heart pounded as you looked down at the tiny bundle, your fingers twitching at your sides. Xaden saw it. Knew you were seconds away from giving in.

He adjusted Alic again, then carefully, slowly, guided the baby toward you. His movements were deliberate, giving you the chance to change your mind. But you didn’t. With a deep breath, you let him settle Alic into your arms.

The second the baby’s weight pressed into you, your entire body stiffened. “Xaden—”

“Relax,” he murmured, his hand still hovering beneath yours, steadying you. “You’ve got him.”

Alic barely stirred, his tiny body curling slightly against your chest, his warmth bleeding into you. Something in your chest ached.

Xaden pulled back just enough to give you space, but his shadows still lingered against your skin, cool and grounding. His arms stayed close, ready to steady you if needed.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s so… small.”

Xaden’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “Yeah,” he said. “But you’re holding him just fine.”

The weight of Alic in your arms felt so impossibly light, yet it settled over you like something far heavier—something deeper. His tiny body was warm against you, his breaths soft and steady, little fingers twitching slightly in his sleep.

And then, it hit you.

A thick, overwhelming wave of emotion, crashing into you without warning.

Your throat tightened. Your vision blurred. A shuddering breath escaped before you could hold it back.

Xaden noticed immediately. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer.

You shook your head quickly, blinking against the tears threatening to spill. “I—I don’t know why,” you whispered, but that wasn’t entirely true.

It was everything.

It was the sheer innocence of the baby in your arms, the way he fit so perfectly against you despite your earlier fear. It was the tiny weight of him, the way his delicate fingers curled and uncurled slightly, completely unaware of the world around him. It was the fact that for the first time in your life, you were holding something so small, so fragile, and yet… he trusted you.

And he didn’t even know it.

A hiccupping sob broke free before you could stop it, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, then another.

Xaden shifted beneath you, his arms tightening slightly around your waist. His shadows curled around you instinctively, grounding, steadying. “You’re crying again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I—he’s just—” Your voice broke, and you took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Xaden was quiet for a moment. Then, his hand brushed against your back, slow and reassuring. “You don’t have to.”

That only made you cry harder.

You curled around Alic just slightly, cradling him closer, your fingers running carefully over the soft fabric of his blanket. He stirred just barely, making a tiny noise before settling again, completely at peace in your arms.

Your heart clenched painfully.

Xaden watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now—something almost knowing.

You sniffled, finally glancing up at him through blurry eyes. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

His lips twitched. “I had a feeling.”

You let out another watery laugh, shaking your head as another tear slipped down your cheek. “I hate you.”

Xaden’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening around you. “No, you don’t.”

You sighed, glancing down at Alic again. The tears still wouldn’t stop, but for once, you didn’t care.

You sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t stop completely. The overwhelming warmth of Alic in your arms, his tiny weight pressed against you, was something you hadn’t expected to feel so deeply.

Xaden watched you, his smirk just barely restrained. “You going to be okay?”

You huffed out a shaky laugh, still cradling Alic close. “No.”

His smirk turned into something softer, his hand rubbing slow circles against your back. You glanced down at the sleeping baby, your heart still aching in the best way possible, and then—without really thinking—you blurted out, “What if we just took him?”

Xaden blinked. “What?”

You looked up at him, a mischievous glint breaking through your emotional haze. “What if we kidnapped him? Just… casually walked out of here with him. Think Aaric and Violet would notice?”

Xaden let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know, love. Maybe when they realize their son is missing?”

You grinned, wiping at your face again. “We could make a run for it. I think we’d be great parents.” Xaden raised a brow, his shadows tightening around you almost instinctively. “You’re unhinged.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You giggled, rocking Alic slightly. “I’m just saying, if we left right now—”

“I fear what the lightning wielder would do to us,” Xaden interrupted, his tone dry.

That made you laugh even harder. “Oh, come on, Vi wouldn’t kill us.”

“She wouldn’t kill you,” Xaden corrected. “I, on the other hand, would be dead before I stepped outside.” You considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s fair.” Xaden rolled his eyes, though amusement still lingered in his expression. “Put the baby back before you get any more ideas.”

You sighed dramatically, looking down at Alic. “Fine. But just know, little one, I would’ve given you an excellent life.” You sighed dramatically again, shifting Alic slightly in your arms. “Fine, I guess we’ll let them keep him.”

Xaden huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Generous of you.”

You glanced down at the baby again, watching the way his tiny lips moved in his sleep, the peaceful rise and fall of his little chest. The warmth in your chest grew, deeper than before. “He really is perfect.”

Xaden’s shadows curled lazily around your waist, settling against your skin like a reassuring touch. “Yeah,” he murmured. “He is.”

For a long moment, the room was quiet—just the crackling of the fireplace, the steady rhythm of Alic’s breaths, and the occasional rustling of Xaden’s shadows as they moved around you. It was a rare kind of peace, one you hadn’t expected to find in this moment.

Eventually, you sighed. “Alright, I should probably give him back before his parents wake up and accuse me of actually stealing him.”

Xaden smirked. “You mean before Vi electrocutes me on sight?”

“That too.”

He chuckled but didn’t argue, shifting slightly as he helped guide Alic from your arms. You hesitated as you let go, your fingers lingering against the soft blanket wrapped around him. Xaden noticed. “You can hold him again later.” You swallowed, nodding. “I know. Just… didn’t expect to get so attached this quickly.”

His smirk softened into something else, something knowing. “I did.”

You shot him a look, but before you could argue, a quiet rustling sound caught both your attention.

You turned just in time to see Violet stirring in bed, her hand instinctively reaching toward the empty space where Alic had been. Aaric shifted beside her, murmuring something under his breath before settling again.

You glanced at Xaden. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nodded, standing with effortless ease, Alic still cradled securely in his arms. You followed as he moved toward the bed, carefully lowering the baby back into Violet’s waiting arms. She barely stirred as she tucked him close, instinctively settling into the warmth of her son.

Your chest ached at the sight.

Xaden lingered for a second, his gaze flicking between Violet and Alic before he exhaled quietly and stepped back. His fingers brushed against your wrist, a silent signal.

Time to go.

As you walked down the dimly lit hallway, Xaden’s arm still wrapped firmly around your waist, you couldn’t help but sigh. Your mind was still stuck on the feeling of Alic’s tiny hand wrapped around your finger, the warmth of him in your arms. It was ridiculous how quickly he’d burrowed into your heart.

Xaden must have noticed your distraction because his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your hip. “You’re thinking too hard.”

You huffed. “I do that sometimes.”

He smirked. “I’ve noticed.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway. His warmth was grounding, his presence something solid in the whirlwind of emotions still settling in your chest. After a few quiet steps, you sighed again, tipping your head up to look at him. “Do you think Violet and Aaric will let us babysit?”

Xaden barked out a laugh, his shadows flickering with amusement. “I think we’d have to get through Vi’s overprotective streak first.” You groaned. “Right. She’s going to hover, isn’t she?”

“Like a dragon over her hoard.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I guess that’s fair. If that were my kid, I wouldn’t let anyone near him either.”

Xaden’s arm around you tightened slightly at your words, and when you looked up at him again, something unreadable flickered in his expression. It was brief, gone in a blink, but you knew him too well to miss it.

You frowned. “What?”

His smirk returned, but it was softer now, less teasing. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He just hummed in response, steering you toward your shared room.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you turned fully to face him, crossing your arms. “Seriously. What was that look for?” Xaden studied you for a moment, his gaze sweeping over your face like he was debating something. Then, finally, he spoke. “I just think you’d be good at it.”

Your brow furrowed. “At what?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something almost careful in the way he said, “Being a mother.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered, eyes widening slightly as you stared up at him.

Xaden wasn’t teasing.

He wasn’t joking.

He meant it.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling too warm. “I—”

He stepped closer, his shadows brushing against your skin in that familiar, grounding way. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’m not saying we should steal Alic for real.”

That pulled a surprised laugh from you, though it came out breathless. “Good. Because Violet would absolutely murder us.”

Xaden smirked, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Without hesitation.”

You hesitated, searching his face. “But… you meant it.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Your chest ached in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. The idea of a family—of something more, something real—it wasn’t something you’d let yourself dwell on before. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

Xaden seemed to read your thoughts, because he didn’t press further. Instead, he just tilted your chin up slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture.

“We’ve got time,” he murmured against your skin.

And somehow, that made your heart ache even more.

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long but eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xaden rirorson x you #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x y/n #xaden riorson fanfic

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carvinglies · 5 months ago

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Soulmate tropes multifandom part one: Hunter x Hunter

part two || part three || part four ||

notes: I wanted to try my hand at writing soulmate au's so hopefully this is decent requests are open.

tw's:Talks of death in chrollos part, immortality in chrollos part, and angst in his part too.

Red string of fate you can tug: Kurapika

Kurapika’s soulmate frustrates him to no end, pulling their string at the worst moments with such force that he wonders how the hell they’re so strong. He could be sleeping and suddenly feel a tug from his pinky moving him to the other side. Kurapika understands he’s not heavy but there’s no way he’s that light! When he finally comes face to face with his soulmate giving them the equivalent of the stink eye.

Kurapika huffs before blurting out, “Why have you been manhandling me for no reason?” They have to stifle a laugh at his bluntness.

Immortal x mortal who keeps getting reincarnated but falls in love with immortal over and over: Chrollo

Chrollo’s soulmate constantly wallows in their own sadness, being immortal has no perks once you begin to live it. They hate having so many chances at life when they have to constantly wait for Chrollo again, watching him die months or days after a confession over and over makes them despise their never ending life Chrollo always dies after falling in mutual love with them making his soulmate swear to never fall in love with him again but always falling to the curse of the never ending cycle of reincarnation and death.

“I’ll always love you no matter how many life’s I live,” was always ringing in their ears in different voices but it was always him.

Really poor description on how you meet your soulmate is written on you: Feitan

Feitan’s face contorted into confusion when he first got the inky writing engraved into his skin, yeah sure he knew what soulmates were but the method whoever chooses soulmates picked out for him was annoying. I mean what kind of description of their meeting is, “bodies will hit it will be hot and sharp.” It threw him for a loop but eventually he decided to just give up on his soulmate. He didn't need romance, he's a thief for god's sake! But he was destined to meet you so when he bumped into someone holding scorching hot coffee that splattered onto him it hurt but it wasn’t bad for a nen user but just for the inconvenience he pulled out a switch knife holding it up to their wrist as a threat.

“Oh so this is what the text meant, how ironic,” the unknown person standing before him chuckled as he withdrew his weapon, coming to the same conclusion.

Someone can not experience true love until they meet their soulmate: Illumi

Illumi used to ask his mother about how he would meet his soulmate; she explained that methods are genetic and he would most likely be feeling no love until they meet the one. But he was quickly told to discard the idea of love and soulmates and encouraged to just marry the strongest person he would meet. Illumi drilled that fact into his head after some push from his parents he began to scout out potential candidates for marriage running into a florist worker their clay pot holding flowers were expected to smash into the floor but Illumi assumed that they were a nen user by the way they gripped their pot. Illumi walked off before hearing the same floral worker calling out to him holding a smaller bouquet, the plastic making a crunching noise as they moved to hold it out to the male's chest.

They grinned at him before hesitating, ultimately deciding to speak, “Here to apologize about running into you sir!” A weird fluttering feeling enveloped Illumi. He glanced at them studying their facial expressions and body language, thinking about them possibly cursing the flowers before giving them the pass, shrugging his shoulders and gingerly grabbing the flowers from them.

Countdown until you meet your soulmate: Uvogin

Never paid attention to the timer until Nobunaga pointed out that it was getting extremely low, in all honesty Uvogin kinda wanted to be in a romantic setting. He had his flings here and there but it wasn’t real love; he never pursued anything more due to his… job. So when he caught their eye during a stroll I mean who wouldn’t notice a 8 foot giant walking around! But then when he bumped into them literally I mean he actually slammed into them kinda, his soulmate was a little intimidated But Uvogin let out a hearty laugh like he always does.

They were the one profusely apologizing before he said, “Nah don’t worry about it I could never be mad at a cutie like you.” Before walking off did they notice the countdown on your wrist was at 00:00.

Speaking to your soulmate during dreams: Shizuku

Shizuku was indifferent towards the whole idea, but she also didn't get the hype people would get with soulmates watching people raving about meeting their soulmate while boasting was confusing. Well that was before she got her soulmate method, falling asleep after shifting in her bed for forever Shizuku dreamt of beautiful scenery with a person whose face was blurred out. Finally the two came to the realization, after a long while, that they can talk to each other and share intriguing conversations but whenever they try to say anything about their personal lives other than nicknames the pair would wake up suddenly like they experienced a nightmare. Shizuku, to her surprise, remembered every little detail about the person who appeared in her dreams, the blurry marks on their body and the way everything but their face looked, finding them interesting but not having enough time to deliberately look for her destined partner she became content with the small moments they shared. While out after a mission she craved a strawberry cake slice she opened the door to her favorite cafe strutting comfortably to the desk worker who greeted her with a smile and voice she was all too familiar with.

“Hello, what can I get you today?” Flashing their signature customer service smile they continued, “Take your time there's a whole lot of options.”

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amostnobleyandere · 7 months ago

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Persephone, Swept Away Into the Deep

Yandere! Wriothesley x GN! Reader

Summary: You’re a florist who catches the eye of the Duke, ruler of the underworld in Fontaine—and as the object of his affection, there’s nothing you can do to avoid your fate.

Warning(s): yandere, toxic behavior, possessive behavior, mention of blood, violence (Wriothesley beats someone up), stalking, obsessive behavior, unjust execution of the law, possessive behavior, corrupt official Wriothesley (?), drugging (needle injection), kidnapping, captivity, implied stalking, non-consensual touching, forced romantic relationship

A/N: I’m not sure if I did a good job at translating the themes ✨ of the hades and Persephone myth (however slight they may be in this particular fanfic) but I tried ;)

—————————

Every happy customer that came out of your shop would inevitably spread your business through tongue—that’s just the way things worked in Fontaine.

Of course, you weren’t complaining. You were running a thriving business and their lively conversations often brought you joy and pride. The little gardener on off of main street, the florist who sells the most beautiful bouquets you’ve ever seen, the flower shop tucked away like a hidden gem, they’d say, fondness in their tone and the echo of good memories in their minds.

You were proud of the lifestyle you had made for yourself and the reputation you had garnered. Your natural green thumb had made your shop quite popular among commoners and socialites alike, as anyone of any class could stroll inside to find something for a person precious to them; whether it was a child, a spouse, a friend, or an infatuation, you had helped mold their stories, crafting and shifting them around petals and bows.

Though some days, you let yourself dream. Of petals and bows, not meant for someone else, but meant for you. Though your business had seen many love stories, its owner had yet to find a love of their own.

On your worst days, you scoffed and thought to yourself about how ironic your life was.

But…some days, your aching romantic heart would have you sighing wistfully as you watched customer after customer buy carefully cultivated blooms to gift to their beloved. They would leave gleefully, only for you to remain in your shop, watching them walk out with a piece of you. A piece that you wanted to give to your own special someone.

Always watching, never experiencing.

And then suddenly, everything you had built was being torn down by the one thing you desired the most.

—————————

On a day that was insultingly ordinary considering the damning events that followed it, you were sitting in your shop, furiously pruning flowers and cutting stems and leaves. You were a little behind in work, so you had kept your shop open later than you usually would.

A festival was going to be thrown at the center of the city, and that meant you were busier than ever. Business was slow at the time, but it always picked up during events, as it was common for people to take advantage of the merry mood and ask out the apple of their eye, or propose, or buy a bouquet just to enjoy life.

And your bouquets were certainly beautiful, as you had heard from the many couples that walked into your shop, fawning over the arrangements and each other. You were sure you would see many lovers come into your shop once the joyous celebrations began.

You sighed, feeling the solitude of the your profession begin to seem depressing. It made you happy knowing your creations would be appreciated, yet, you knew the festival would end up torturing your heart with the same stale loneliness you often felt.

Friends had invited you to come with them to enjoy the festival together, so you weren’t all alone. Ultimately, you had declined.

Business would be booming.

…Plus, it wouldn’t be as special if you couldn’t go with someone special. It would only hurt to go out into the bustling streets and to see all those people holding hands, touching arms, carrying your bouquets, while your side was cold and your hands were empty…

You snipped at a rainbow rose a little too hard, hissing as the tip of the shears nicked your finger. You watched in mild panic and exasperation as the blood began to fill the small cut, feeling a sting form in your finger. Reaching for the medical kit you kept close by, you swiftly treated and bandaged yourself, watching the gauze go from white to a bright red.

Shaking your head, you waved away the pain and your nasty thoughts. You were sure your friends would be fine without you and, more than anything, you needed to be here to sell your flowers. It would be a waste to throw out your beautiful blooms because you let them wither, and soon customers would be grabbing for them…and who knows? Maybe you might meet someone.

Maybe you would even find someone to enjoy the festival with….

You heard the telltale ding of a bell and looked up, peaking out from behind the wall of floral remains you had constructed around yourself.

A man walked into the shop, and the first thing you noticed is that he was handsome. And big. Like, slightly intimidating big. A large, built stature, with broad shoulders and heavy boots on long legs. You pinched yourself, feeling your cheeks slightly heat up. Who were you to get flustered? And by a stranger? Pull it together.

“Hello!” You greeted cheerily, thankfully turning on your usual customer service voice without problem. “How can I help you today?”

“You’re still open?” The man asked, a note of surprise in his voice. The question sounded weirdly familiar for it to be spoken by a stranger, but you chose to ignore it. Plenty of people knew your hours, it wouldn’t be odd for one of them to send a new customer over.

You paused, taking him in. The stranger was tall, dark, and brooding, a person that looked strangely out of place in your little safe haven that was crammed to the brim with mosaics of colorful flora.

However, his eyes were the clearest color you had ever seen. They were like steel in their cool quickness, taking seconds to size you up. You unconsciously shrunk under the pressure of his gaze. Still, you smiled up at him.

“Yes, sir. We’re still open. What can I get for you?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure. I came here because of a recommendation; they say you’re the best in town, with the freshest flowers. I’m guessing you outsource from the country?”

“No, sir. I grow them myself.” You said, still smiling sweetly.

A flash of recognition behind those steel eyes. “Ah. You’re the owner then?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hummed, looking away in thought. “I’d like an all blue bouquet—something with an air of delicacy to it. Nothing too fancy, just something pretty and light.”

That sounded…really romantic. Delicate? Pretty? Those were words people used to describe bouquets with romantic intentions behind them. You had heard them time and time again, as you carefully put together arrangements and your customer fawned over the person it was for, tone sugary sweet. Those words never failed to clog up your chest with a bitter jealously.

A feeling of disappointment filled your chest and your heart sank. Of course, he was already going with someone. It seemed that everyone, except for you, had a date for the festival. Of course. That made sense. Anyone that good looking would most likely have a date—

You smiled, sweeping away the disappointment and putting back on a false merry face. You had just met this man, really. What was there to be sad about? You decided to fill the silence that was quickly making you want to curl up into a ball and hide.

“So you’ve got a date for the festival? I’m sure they’ll love it, since you seem to know what they’ll like. Can I get a name for the order?”

“Wriothesley. And, no. I haven’t got a date.”

Your brain short circuited.

“But you’re so good looking?” You blurted out, the thought in your head coming out of your mouth without warning.

Wriothesley looked momentarily stunned, and you wanted to scream. Of all the times to embarrass yourself in front of a cute guy, it had to be now—

“A-Ah!” You stuttered out. “I’m sorry! Sometimes my mouth moves faster than my brain! I just said what I was thinking, I hope you’re not insulted by it…or uncomfortable….not that I meant to insult you—“

He laughed, the sound startling you. When he looked at you again, he seemed less guarded, his eyes shining with mirth as he gazed at you with interest. Oh, and that smile. Oh wow. That. Wow.

“You know, people are usually too afraid to say stuff like that to my face. Or really, they’re too afraid to say anything to my face. Guess I was just lucky to meet you today, huh?” He grinned and let his voice drop as he spoke. The glint in his eyes turned bright, like a dancing flame. He leaned into your space, letting one arm rest on the counter.

You felt the smooth words roll down your back and over your skin, excitement or fear (or maybe a mix of both) running up your spine and through the rest of your body.

You laughed, trying to play off his words as if they were meant to be friendly. (At least, you thought they were meant to be friendly.) Maybe the naturally deep tone of his voice and his intimidating aura made your brain misinterpret harmless words as…predatory.

You grinned. “Well, I don’t know about luck, but everyone deserves a compliment every once in a while, right?”

He leaned back, that dangerous glint disappearing into his eyes as if it was never there. He crossed his arms, looking smug.

“Right.”

Silence filled the air again, and your curiosity got the best of you quickly.

“Goodness, I’m sorry but who is this for then?”

He chuckled and you were immediately relieved that he wasn’t annoyed with you. People didn’t like it when others pried into their business. The thought of Wriothesley with his leather boots, pretty face, and icy eyes glaring at you with disdain nearly sent you into shock.

“It’s for…a co-worker, you could say.” He continued. “She does a lot for me and I thought it might be nice to get her a gift to show my appreciation. Everyone’s in a good mood with the festival coming around, so I might as well, you know?” He smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you, though. No romantic feelings involved.”

You nodded, a weird feeling of relief filling your chest after finding out that a man you didn’t know and that you probably would never see again did not have a date for the festival.

Maybe you were just glad to know that you wouldn’t be the only person going without a partner.

You began to gather sample flowers, spreading them out between you fingers and taking comfort in the familiar weight of them in your hands.

“Not disappointed at all.” I’m also single, you thought, but thankfully didn’t say out loud. “I guess I’ve just gotten so used to lovebirds walking into my shop, I was surprised you weren’t one of them.”

“Because of my face?” He asked, amusement seeping into his tone. You wanted to smack that smile right off of his smug, beautiful face. Of course, you wouldn’t, because that would be a crime to everyone else who had eyes. You couldn’t mess up that piece of art.

You nodded, your face burning. “Because of your face.” You confirmed.

“Well, I’m flattered.” He said.

You thrusted the sample flowers out in front of you, mortified that he was making your already embarrassing situation worse with teasing.

“Pick out the ones you like.” You said, your face practically on fire.

He did, without further comment at that, but a smirk pulled at his lips the entire time. He looked at you, with that grin molded onto his perfect lips, more than he did the flowers in your hands.

He refrained from torturing you with teasing remarks for the rest of the conversation, and when you told him it would be ready for pick up in a few hours, he gently placed a bag of mora on the counter.

Only when he was walking out the door did you realize how much mora he had given you.

Your eyes bulged as you peeked into the bag, nearly fainting at the amount. Who carries this much on them?! What if he had gotten robbed?! Well, he would probably never get robbed looking like…that, but still.

“Hey!! Wait—Sir!! You gave me way too much!”

He waved as he closed the door behind him, the bell ringing cheerily as he ignored you protests without even turning around.

You stood gaping behind the counter. You turned to the bag, determinedly picking out the correct amount and putting the rest away so that you could throw it at him when he came back. Not his face, though. Never his face.

A few hours later, he came back, his face neutral and undisturbed, like nothing in the world could move him to react.

He saw you, and his expression twitched and changed, looking just as smug as when he left.

You wordlessly pushed his bouquet, which you had worked extra hard on out of spite, not because you wanted him to like it or anything, towards him. Again, without saying anything, you pushed the bag of mora back towards him.

He quirked an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut, also determined to win the quiet challenge that you had started. He (rather cheekily) slid the bag back towards you, a smile fighting to pull onto his face.

You, more forcefully this time, slid the bag back towards him, face betraying no emotion.

Eyes sparking with amusement, he held out his hand.

Oh my Archons. You thought. What does that mean? He doesn’t want to….does he? You hesitatingly raised your hand in response, suspicious of the man in front of you. He gently slid his hand under yours, making your heart pound in your rib cage. His gloves covered most of his hand, but the skin that did touch you was startlingly cold. Your skin downright tingled where his touched yours.

Whether it was from the temperature or just him, you didn’t know.

He placed the bag of mora in your hands, a graceless plop and a cheerily jingle sounding through the quiet room.

Okay. You take it back. This mora was going directly at his face.

“This mora is going right at your face.”

“What?”

“What?” You parroted. Inside, you were crying. The first time you’ve ever threatened a customer and it’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep and long and archons even his laugh sounded angelic.

“I could’ve sworn you just—“

“I didn’t.” You cut him off, panicking. You pushed the bouquet towards him, hiding behind it. “Enjoy your day. Thank you for your purchase. Have fun at the festival.”

“…Thanks.” He said, still amused, but following your lead and taking the flowers from your waiting hands. For a moment, maybe on purpose, his hands brushed yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up and down your arms, making your heart beat faster….Must have been the cold from his skin, sending you into shock or something.

He left the shop (without the bag of mora) and you wistfully thought that you would never see that beautiful face again, kicking yourself for not asking him out. You were both single, right? Right??

Ultimately, you went home with the same familiar wistful feeling that soon turned to giddiness at having almost held hands with such a handsome man—his personality was odd but that could be overlooked.

Overall, it was a good day.

——————————

Except he was there the next day.

And the next.

….And the next.

Everyday he would order a bouquet of a different color. Once he ran out of colors, he began grilling you on what kinds of flower combinations you liked best. You would tell him, practically shaking while trying to prevent yourself from imploding, and that’s what he would order. He spent an enormous amount of money at your shop as the ridiculous mora bag battles continued (you were going to throw it at his face, you really were. You just needed to muster up the courage).

He would take the flowers home, and you would be left with a burning face and a quivering heart.

Then one day he asked you if you would like to go out. With him. Together. And you said yes, tying a bow around his order with trembling hands as a strangling giddiness filled up your entire chest.

So, you went to the festival with him right after work.

For the first time in weeks you were closing the shop and stepping out into the fresh air during the middle of the day.

You had an amazing time.

You found out that Wriothesley was extremely funny, and that his dry, sarcastic wit could have you doubling over and laughing in seconds. You found out that he liked tea like, a lot. Like a concerning amount. You found out that the co-worker he gave the first of many bouquets to is a melusine and a nurse. You found out that he talked to the Chief Justice regularly and somehow knew a lot of important people.

You explained to Wriothesley that you actually did have a life outside of flowers. You told him about your friends, your hobbies, and whatever else you could think of in the moment, feeling comfortable with him after just a few hours together.

He bought you food, somehow correctly guessing your tastes at every stall you visited. When you protested and offered to buy him something in return, he merely shook his head with a smile and said you could buy him lunch another day.

You walked together through the streets under golden lights, eating delicious food and buying trinkets. At the end of the night, you tentatively inched your hand toward his, and he interlaced your fingers together, holding your warm palm against his cold one tightly.

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, thinking that absolutely nothing could change the way you were feeling.

Everything was going great until you got back to your shop, laughing and chatting idly with the man beside you.

Your heart stopped as you realized that something was wrong, and your hand left Wriothesley’s for the first time that night as you ran towards the open door.

The entire place had been ransacked. The money in the cash register was gone. Your precious flowers—countless blooms that you had taken the time to grow and cut had either been stolen or trampled on. One window had been smashed in with a brick. You lifted up your foot, feeling the shattered glass break into smaller shards under the pressure—Archons, it was everywhere. Luckily, the small vault you keep most of your savings in was still closed but dented in multiple places and on its side.

You nearly collapsed on the floor right then and there. It was only Wriothesley, who caught you as you were falling to the ground, that kept you from completely breaking down. You were mourning. All of your flowers. All of your hard work, ripped from your hands, without so much as a warning.

You felt rage and misery burn in your chest, resulting in hot tears running down your face as you pathetically picked up the ruined flowers scattered across the shop floor. Next to you, shadow cast Wriothesley’s face in darkness, hiding his expression from view. You heard him assure you that he would take care of it, that he would fix all of this for you, as he told you not to worry in that perpetually assertive tone of his. Your muddled and distressed mind immediately clung onto it like a life line, desperate for something to ground you.

Wriothesley would take care of it, you told yourself. If not him, then who would help you?

—————————

You found out soon after that the man who had robbed you was a rival store owner whose business had gone under ever since you had moved in. His storefront was situated on one of the more populated streets, streets that saw more foot traffic and that attracted customers of a higher class. Still, he had been losing to you, a small shop on some nowhere street, for months. In the end, arrogance and jealousy had driven him to attempt destroying your business.

Whether it be from fear and intimidation, or hopelessness from losing all the money you had made in the past couple months, he had hoped that you would chose to pack up and leave after he ruined the inside of your shop.

Fortunately, he was not a master criminal. A few shop owners on your street had seen his face and identified him to the guards. According to rumors you had heard from friends, he fought the guards during his arrest, shouting that he was not some lowly commoner to be pushed around. The guards and some mysteriously clothed people flooded around him, dragging him to the court house and sentencing him within the hour. He was allowed to go back to his shop, as his home was above it, but was put on house arrest for the time being and had guards stationed outside of every window to await further punishment.

It had happened so…quickly.

Wriothesley, during all of this, was very supportive.

—————————

It all came crashing down on the last night of the festival, a week after you had been robbed.

You were in the process of walking home before you realized that you had left your keys in your bag.

…Which was at the shop.

…That you would have to go back to.

Groaning, you made yourself turn around and trek back towards the storefront so that you could actually get into your house.

As you walked down the main strip of stalls and shops, you realized with a bitter heart that you would have to pass the shop of the man who made your life hell to get there and back quickly. You were glad that he had been caught and sentenced swiftly, but you were still incredibly angry about the damage that had been done to your business. The mental and emotional wounds left from the shock of seeing everything you had worked for destroyed were still fresh.

You fastened your pace as the night lamps began to turn on, the sky quickly turning dark as they became your only source of light. You knew the city was mostly a safe place to live, but that didn’t mean crime never happened, and it would be just your luck for you to get robbed a second time.

Then there was shouting.

You slowed your pace as you heard a voice echo off the tall buildings, only amplifying the panicked screams.

Uh oh. Had you walked right into a crime scene?

You looked around you, noticing that there were no guards in sight. Hopefully they had noticed the trouble and were taking care of it.

You sighed. You really needed to get into your house, as you weren’t too keen on sleeping on a bench for the night. Cursing whatever being had brought this upon you, you continued forward, walking in the shadows and hoping to avoid whatever drama was happening near the home of the man who had robbed you.

You turned a corner, freezing as you took in the sight of a group of men huddled together, seemingly trying to apprehend someone—

Wait. Was that—

You recognized that figure—those boots—that coat…

What was your boyfriend doing here in the middle of the night?

Swiftly, you moved back out of the light, eyes trained on the man you could now clearly recognize. You watched as Wriothesley raised his fist, his knuckles connecting harshly with someone’s jaw. You startled at the harsh noise of skin splitting skin.

You felt yourself flinch as blood splattered across the pavement. For a moment, you were grateful for the imposing figures blocking your view of the violent scene.

The victim was splayed across the stone due to the force of the blow, thrown right into the circle of people that had formed around him, pathetically whimpering as he tried to pick himself up.

You watched as he was dragged away, looking genuinely terrified, screaming bloodcurdling words as he went mad with fear. His pleas fell on deaf ears as those around him stood still, Wriothesley silently watching as he was picked up and thrown into the back of a carriage. The door squealed as he yelled that he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to go to the Fortress of Meropide, please—doors slamming shut, cutting off his final sentence as the men and the carriage disappeared into the night.

Wriothesley stood under a street light, a short distance away from where you hid in the shadows. His body was tense, his back drawn tight as he gazed at the retreating carriage, with the man he had assaulted and doomed to a life in prison lying within.

You stumbled back, you feet scuffling against the pavement. The noise sounded like an explosion in the dead quiet of the street.

His entire body stilled. He turned around, almost in slow motion, his eyes widening in horror as your gazes met.

You spun on your heel and ran, heart pounding in your chest. Heavy footfalls followed you, leather hitting stone with threatening thumps that seemed to get closer to you with every passing second.

You got to your shop, flinging open the door and rushing to the back of the building, heading towards the closet where you kept all of your supplies. Hearing the bell above your door chime mockingly, signaling that Wriothesley was in your shop oh Archons, you slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

For some reason, you could have never imagined him being so violent. You were shocked and terrified, seeing your new boyfriend, who you had only ever thought of as safe, as anything but. Now you knew. He was dangerous. You were so stupid for trusting a complete stranger—

You heard him run towards your hiding place, calling out to you as the heavy foot falls slowed to a stop.

“Y/N.” He said, voice calm and level, betraying no emotion at all. It was like he was discussing the weather and hadn’t just chased you down the street.

Your breathe hitched in your throat. Somewhere, in your frayed mind, you hoped, prayed he would just go if you were quiet enough—

“I never meant for you to see that. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

The doorknob began to turn. It stopped, hitting the lock.

You heard rustling and then a faint jangle as Wriothesley stepped away from the door.

You had left your keys in your bag.

The bag was on the counter, the keys were in your bag—

….He knew where you kept your keys?

You had never told him that.

The door knob began to turn. You grabbed onto the it with a white-knuckled grip, stopping it from the inside.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, beating rapidly as you desperately held onto the cool metal.

“Leave me alone!” Please was left unsaid. You shouted the words, terror making you shake and tremble.

Wriothesley fell silent. You heard him lean his weight against the door, his movements causing it to creak.

The doorknob stopped turning.

You prayed that he wouldn’t try to force it, or worse, break the door down. You didn’t know if it would hold, or if you could hold on, considering how strong he was.

You imagined his hulking figure standing outside, only a few mere inches of wood separating you, towering over you from your spot on the floor.

You were practically paralyzed with fear, and didn’t know what you would do if he actually managed to get in and get his hands on you—

“Damn it, I ruined it all, didn’t I?” Wriothesley murmured.

You jumped, not expecting the despairing admission amidst your racing thoughts that were trying to pinpoint where you had went wrong in life.

His usually playful voice was monotone, eerily flat for the self deprecating words he spoke.

You didn’t deign him with a response. You merely listened to the quiet that followed, feeling more scared than you would have been if he had been raging and banging on the door. There was something about the silence; something about it felt foreboding, like a threat was creeping up behind you and you couldn’t hear it no matter how hard you tried.

You heard him turn away a few minutes later, heavy footfalls walking towards the door, and finally the bell signaling his departure.

For a few minutes, you sat there and waited.

Eventually, you opened the closet just a sliver, looking out into the dim lighting with flickering eyes, checking every possible corner that he could be hiding in. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in here.

You slid out of the closet and almost immediately ducked behind the counter, still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Shakily, you peeked out from behind the counter, checking for any sign of him outside. When you found the street to be devoid of him, you silently gasped in relief.

You ripped your keys out of the door with rushed hands.

You went home alone, without Wriothesley, who had taken it upon himself to personally walk you there almost every night of the week. A part of it felt strange to deviate from the routine, but you needed no reminder to know that the man you had trusted and spent time with all week was now a dangerous threat. You ran to the door of your home, opening it hurriedly and slamming it shut.

You tossed and turned as you slept that night, a doomed feeling settling in your churning stomach.

—————————

The next day, you took measures to start rebuilding. Perhaps you were just frantic to get back to some sense of normalcy after having the rug ripped out from under you the other night—or maybe you were desperate to have something to keep your mind off of the buzzing anxiety that was constantly gnawing at the back of your mind.

The man who broke in had already been put on trial and sentenced to an undetermined amount of time in the Fortress of Meropide, and had also been forced to cough up more than enough mora to cover the damages.

This, oddly enough, had all been told to you by a third party, someone hired by the court to watch over legal proceedings.

Someone was pulling the strings behind the case, and you didn’t want to think about who it was, just in case the pieces started falling together. (Deep down, you already knew.)

When you had heard he was being sent to the Fortress, you felt something in your gut twist unpleasantly, a kind of stone-like anxiety that weighed and sunk a permanent pit in your stomach. People who went there didn’t usually come back, or if they did, they weren’t the same. They weren’t viewed the same, either. What would happen to him once he came back? If he came back?

You shivered as the memory of him being dragged away resurfaced.

You sighed as you swept up errant pieces of class, determined to discard of every shard before you allowed any more precious customers or flowers to come through the door. The window had already been replaced, as a very nervous man had knocked on your door a few days after the…incident with Wriothesley, and claimed that he had been sent to repair it. You hadn’t even talked to anyone about fixing the window. A sinking feeling appeared in your chest as you watched the jumpy man chip away at glass and wood, his movements tense and swift. When you went to close the shop, you checked if you had locked the door three separate times before rushing home, practically running through the stone streets, running from absolutely nothing at all.

There was no sign of Wriothesley during the months it took your shop to recover. You were glad that he had taken what you had said to him in your moment of fear seriously. Still, you feared that he would show up on some random day, at some random time, and catch you off guard. That you would be reminded of the violence that seemed to follow him like a shadow, leaving trails of devastation in his wake.

Everyday you went home glancing over your shoulder while walking briskly down the street, always making sure to make it home before dark.

—————————

You unlocked the door to your home, hurriedly glancing behind you as you shoved the keys into the lock, pushing the door in quickly as it gave way. You closed and locked the door behind you, allowing yourself to relax minutely against the cool frame.

“Back so soon? I noticed you’ve been closing earlier nowadays. What’s that about?”

You froze, an ice cold fear creeping through your veins.

There, sitting in the dark of your unlit living room, was the man you had been simultaneously avoiding and thinking about constantly for months.

You could make out the silhouette of his hulking figure, leaning back into your favorite chair with his fingers laced together and knees spread apart, relaxed and causal. His eyes, which always held a mildly scrutinizing gaze, had turned razor sharp—they hadn’t moved from you since the moment you had stepped into the room. You were a pinned butterfly under that look, being dissected and picked apart by glacial, stormy irises.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice coming out a little more shakily than intended. You tried not to hyperventilate. You really tried, but you could already feel your chest tightening, like just being in his presence was suffocating—

He stood up. Rooted in place, you didn’t dare move. If you tried to run, you knew he would catch you.

He moved towards you slowly, like he knew just as well as you did that you couldn’t escape.

He stopped a foot away from you, his height easily trumping yours, his figure casting a large, beastly shadow in the dim lighting.

You tilted your head back to look him in the eye. Even now, those icy eyes were beautiful. You thought it was unfair. Now that you knew what he was, what he was capable of, you thought, his eyes should come as warning. They were the eyes of a predator. And yet, still cold and steely, clear like cryo vision that hung from his hip, which you had never even seen until now.

Still beautiful, reminding you of clear water and arctic oceans and quiet. It was so quiet.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you dared to break the careful silence.

He reached up, curled fingers gently caressing your cheek, dragging down along the side of your neck, as if a simple touch with too much force behind it would shatter you.

His eyes flickered to the place where your shirt had lifted to expose your collarbone, coat hanging off your shoulders and pulling the fabric down.

He ran his fingers over the exposed skin, making you shiver as you felt rough, calloused pads run across you gingerly, lightly. A delicate touch from a hardened man. He looked back at you, his eyes soft. Intense. Adoring. He had moved closer in the last few seconds, you remarked. You only noticed because you had to crane your head up more to look at him. His chest touched yours. He leaned down, ghosting his lips over your forehead. His hand had moved. One had settled on your waist, holding and trapping you close to him.

You felt a prick in the side of your neck, vision going black as you collapsed into his arms.

—————————

The next time you woke up, you weren’t in your house anymore. There was gauzy, heavy fabric hanging above you. You had been placed in a canopy bed in a room that was expensively furnished, and yet somehow untouched. You were in a bed, which was in a prison, at the bottom of the ocean.

Wriothesley walked in only an hour after you woke. You had a feeling he had been routinely checking to see if you were awake.

He looked down at you, his eyes painfully tender in a way that you regretted not noticing before. There was a fondness, a suffocating fondness, which told you that all those things he now whispered to you at night—how he wanted to protect you, how he had longed to have you for so long, how he had been watching you from afar with his heart in his hands, just waiting for the right moment to give it to you—

His eyes told you that they were all true.

Somehow, you couldn’t hate him.

Wriothesley had been living as a lonely prisoner in his own kingdom—his underwater kingdom that he ruled, because he thrived on the depths of the cold, dark ocean and its inhabitants that yielded to his power.

And yet the king of the underworld yearned for just a little bit of life. Life that you were familiar with—life that you thrived off of, and that thrived in return under your guidance. Life that you loved.

Life that had attracted you to him.

You didn’t know if anyone still talked about you on the surface; if they talked about your existence, or more so your disappearance, in hushed whispers with shifty eyes. No one talked about you down here—no one knew you existed, except for the head nurse and your husband.

You had been stolen away, under the ocean, that little shop off main street missing its owner forevermore.

You, who had always been surrounded by the life of the surface, had been transported to the underworld, a land of misery and lost souls, away from all life, surrounded and trapped by the love you once longed for—and mourning the life you once had.

—————————

Reader: *lets go of Wriothesley’s hand bc they got robbed*

Wriothesley: oh this jerk is gonna pay *sends the guy who robbed you to the bottom of the sea*

he’s been waiting to hold that hand for so long )):< wtf dude

471 notes · View notes

carylmeanslove · 14 days ago

Text

FLOWERS ON A VERY SPECIAL DAY

When the amazing @frantastical asked me to do an analysis of this beautiful flower arrangement. I of course, agreed to, because - 1. I love the language of flowers & 2. I love the language of flowers spoken in Lukola's love story.

We have a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a vase. Flowers that feature her favorite color(s). In case you didn't know this fact. Nicola has said she loves both pink & purple at different times during the WT. Nothing wrong with having two favorite colors. I am the same way about the same two colors. Sameies!

Also, I would like to thank @entertainingthethought to whom I agree with when she pointed out in a comment section that these beautiful flower choices were reminiscent of the flowers that were used to make the flower crown in Australia on the WT. Your comment helped me some in this analysis for it made me go back to re-watch those interviews. Where we know Luke was very helpful to her picking out flowers, them being the team they always are. We know how Luke seems to always remember things when it comes to Nicola despite stating he doesn't have a great memory. So, him remembering something like her favorite color(s) is a given.

FYI: You can probably tell by now all I'm writing here is with the belief that these flowers were a gift to Nicola from her husband, Luke Newton. So, if you don't believe so too, this post is not for you so move along, please. I am not putting up with the trolls anymore.

Now moving onto the actual analysis.

Pale Pink Garden Rose

Light Pink Garden Roses so beautiful besides being one of the colors Nicola mentioned was one of her favorites it's also a color that symbolizes femininity, elegance, purity & innocence. As well as ideas of happiness & joy. Also good for saying "Congratulations" & "Thank you"

Luke has a pure happiness & joyfulness for Nicola over her accomplishments/achievements.

Furthermore, thornless varieties symbolize love at first sight. I know we have all talked about how it's kind of evident that Luke fell for Nicola the moment he met her given his description of their meeting & how he mentioned at first that he believed in love at first sight then probably afterwards deciding to express that 'friends to lovers' was the ultimate journey he believes in. I believe it started as love at first sight, but he repressed the feelings due to both of them being in relationships at the time they met, but then it became a friends to lovers story.

We don't know if these roses are thornless, but it's a good chance they are due to it was likely delivered by/picked up from a florist where it's a common practice to remove thorns unless requested not to remove them by the customers. I decided to add this little bit of information.

Dear @frantastical was indeed correct in her post about the second largest flower in this arrangement, it is the Ranunculus (Persian buttercups)

Ranunculus (Persian buttercups)

It symbolizes Charm & Attractiveness/Radiance regardless of color. They're sweet & romantic, making it the ideal gift for loved ones.

We all know who has loads of charm & who is very attractive & has a radiance about her, especially to a certain English man of hers. I could easily hear Luke saying to Nicola "You light up the room" or "You're captivating"

Next flower there is in miniature.

Mini Daffodil Thalia (multi-Flowering Dwarf Daffodils)

A repeat symbolism of purity & innocence. Seems Luke is being very protective of Nicola. I don't blame him with all the hate she has been getting lately. It's no wonder he is feeling so protective. People ought to be utterly ashamed of themselves.

This flower is such a pretty addition to the bouquet arrangement. As pretty as the last of the flowers, which are also very telling in a couple of ways if you ask me. 😏

Which is...

Baby's Breath in Pink/lavender (Gypsophilia elegans or Gypsophilia repens)

More Innocence. More of protective, Luke. 🤗

😠 Come on people stop hating on Nicola! & I'm sure Nicola would echo the same to those hating on Luke as well.

All these meanings are totally appropriate for Luke to want to show in this arrangement.

Simplicity = We've heard Nicola also saying it's easy with Luke. So, this checks the other way around too.

Endurance = She hangs in there. She's tough & She keeps going.

Everlasting beauty = She is so beautiful & always will be.

I decided to add the greenery as well.

Eucalyptus leaves

The meaning behind the greenery. Strength = Nicola has loads of it. Purity (Innocence) = Repeat of that one. So protective, Lukey. Heaven & Earth = Someone is so thankful of his angel that came down from heaven to earth & into his life. To shine her light on him & to everyone she meets. Leadership = She is his/their fearless leader after all.

So that's it! This was a dozy of an analysis & when I've been quite busy IRL. I got there in the end. I just was going to do it. I just had too. I love Lukola & I just had to talk about this beautiful bouquet arrangement that, I too, like my fellow Lukolas believe was indeed from Luke. My reasoning for believing so is in this analysis.

The fact that this particular arrangement doesn't scream out romance (where other flowers in Lukola's journey has), it just makes sense this one is more simplistic when you take into account that Nicola has expressed wanting to be taken serious for her work & not her romantic relationship. Luke understands that this BAFTA nomination is important to her, for her career. Luke proved that by waiting a bit before interacting with her post (unlike a certain gay friend of hers) so Nicola could have time to shine all on her own. Luke knew that when he did interact with her post it would put the focus back on their romantic relationship. That's also why he chose flowers that showcased how proud he is of her talent & what she does. Not making it about his love for her (she has his love of course, that's a given) he just wanted to focus on her. Especially if we take into account how tired she must be lately. Taking care of BN & still going out to events for work. We could see how tired she looks in this picture of her while on chat with her mother.

Although she of course looks adorable, lovely & happy. She does look tired also. It's understandable of course & I'm sure Luke is such a big help in so many ways.

One last little thing I wanted to point out. Nicola made this flower arrangement the last post in her stories that night. In my opinion saving the best for last just as she did with her stories on her birthday. Luke is the final word for her always. He is the first & last person she sees every day after all. Very telling indeed.

ETA: As seen in below capture from her picture I believe there may be a couple white roses in there too.

So, more purity, along with more happiness & Joy.

@kiirol, thank you for the comment. You are right, Nicola has always thanked those who gift her things. This one she didn't. The reason is, because it's private. It's from someone she doesn't want to reveal. Who has she been very private about lately? Luke. Which Luke is fine with that, because he loves to see her shine. So very Colin coded. Most like his character indeed.

#Lukola #Lukola in language of flowers

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mhaikkun · 1 month ago

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Do you think you could drop some lore on your crimecity ocs? I'm literally OBSESSED with your art! (I love Falk's design so much!)

oh my god I would love NOTHINGGGG more than to talk about the crime city cast, thank you so much for loving falk bc I am a biased creator and he is for sure my favorite of them all

THE PLOT

orthrus is the utopian city of the country of atlas, as close to paradise as one can get on earth. but it harbors a dark secret: at sundown, the civilians retreat into their homes and the villains come out to play. every night, this two-faced city is ruled by unlawfuls, members of the criminal underworld.

WINTER (he/him, 25) "The Raven"

the shot caller, the most feared of all the unlawfuls. he works as a florist during the day and moonlights as a debt-collector, someone who blackmails and threatens his victims in exchange for a price, or else offers his aid to those who ask for it in exchange for a favor. he hates rain and doesn't drink. his surname is lost forever.

FALK NACHT (he/him, 29) "The Bloodhound"

a watchmaker by trade. he served as a high-ranking officer in the military but was honorably discharged after sustaining an injury from an altercation with a commanding officer that rendered him almost completely blind. he can now only detect light with what sight he has left, and he has sinced honed his other senses to make up for this loss. with his eerily keen sense of smell, he eventually became a tracker for the underworld. he hates tardiness and thinks dogs are annoying and difficult. as such, he does not appreciate the irony of being nicknamed after them.

BRENDOLINE BARBARA (she/her, 22) "The Madame"

the daughter of the mayor. her mother was killed as part of the corrupt city councilors' intimidation tactics against her father, magna barbara, whom she loathes for his weakness. frustrated with her powerlessness and the facade of her father's position, she becomes a vigilante.

GIOVANNI MERCURO (he/him, 28) "The Ante"

a croupier who runs the snake eyes gambling house and moonlights as an informant and thief. believing it to be the height of carelessness to be complacent and predictable in a city crawling with vermin, he refuses to be consistent: he never wears the same hairstyle twice, never plays the same game twice, and never sleeps with the same person twice.

ASHCROFT GUILLAUME (he/him, 37) "The Peregrine"

a hitman for hire with the air of someone who used to be noble. rarely getting jobs due to his exorbitant prices, when he's out of money and out of work, he plays the saxophone on street corners and in bars for loose change. as far as assassins go, he's about as resourceful as one can get: his saxophone assembles into a sniper rifle.

JACQUELINE SARTRE (she/her, 38) "The Witch"

proprietor of "the witch's brew" pub, and notorious drug lord and toxicologist by night. she may be sweet and slow to anger, but it's best not to test the limits of her legendary temper. money is her greatest motivator. canonically, she is in a common law marriage with ashcroft, whom she saved from the mortal wounds he had sustained many years ago (but for the purposes of the visual novel, she and ashcroft are both single).

HAYWOOD THATCHER (he/him, 43) "The Hunter"

a coffee connoisseur who gets only four hours of sleep a night and likes all his belongings to be arranged at right angles. in the city of orthrus, its mayor and its law enforcement are essentially decorative. as the chief inspector of police, he is worthless once the sun has set. still, he hunts for the ultimate prey: orthrus' most dangerous criminal, and his old friend.

NOBODY (they/them, ?) "The Gunrunner"

the enigmatic blacksmith turned nighttime weapons dealer, a complete mystery whose voice no one has ever heard. apparently, they like cake and cherries.

there are still two unreleased love interests for the game, but I'm working on their designs!!!! also there's a twitter and an official tumblr (but I haven't updated the latter in a while lol). if you want to support the game, I have a ko-fi too!

#crime city #crime city visual novel #crime city vn #indie game #visual novel #mhai art #winter crime city #falk nacht #brendoline barbara #giovanni mercuro #ashcroft guillaume #jacqueline sartre #haywood thatcher #nobody #PLEASEEEE I COULD TALK ABOUT THEM ALL DAY LONG

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bruisedboys · 2 years ago

Text

underneath kitchen lights — james potter x reader

summary — james has a crush on you, lily’s shy and unbelievably sweet coworker. you nurse a crush of your own. (based on all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine!)

or .. you got a slurpee for free, I caught you looking at me, in the 7/11 under fluorescent lights. I spilled mac and cheese on my pants, and thought about kissing you underneath kitchen lights!

contains — shy!fem!reader, florist!reader, strangers-ish to friends to lovers, rugby player!james, modern au, flirting, mutual pining, fluff, james being a total sweetheart, sirius being a twat and a good friend, wolfstar because I couldn’t resist, kissing, lovesick!james, idiots in love tbh, and ummm lots of references to all my ghosts!!

notes — um I am very nervous to post this. but also please don’t let it flop.

fem!reader 8k words

James has an embarrassingly big crush on you. For someone he’s only met twice now, you’re very good at getting stuck in his head. It’s hardly his fault — you’re lovely. You always smell like flowers (which is kind of a given, he supposes. You work with Lily at Harriet’s, the florist’s down the road). You’re very pretty. You’re quiet and a bit shy but you’ve spoken enough that James at least knows you’re polite and friendly.

He’s talked to you a grand total of one time. You’d exchanged a few words and James had been very very quick to fall in love with everything about you. Your hands as you wrung them in front of you — a shy tell, he’d guessed. Your voice, pretty and soft, and how it’d sounded when you said his name. The way you dressed, your hair, the quirk in your mouth when he’d made a joke, the hitch in your breath when he’d shook your hand. He was a goner the second he’d met you.

“Prongs,” drawls Sirius, followed by a hard punch in the bicep. “You know you’re not as subtle as you think.”

James scowls in the general direction of Sirius’ voice. He’d been staring at you, he’s sorry to admit. You’re talking to Lily and you’re smiling about something she’s said and you just look so pretty.

He badly wants to talk to you properly, he has ever since the first time Lily bought you around to a party like this one, but he’s scared of embarrassing himself. He’s not exactly the best flirter when it comes to girls he actually likes. His tongue gets all tied and he can’t say two words without ultimately embarrassing himself. He’s not as much of a charmer as everyone thinks he is. He’s also scared you won’t like him, but he won’t get into that.

“Shut up,” he advises Sirius, rubbing his sore arm. “I don’t even know what you’re on about.”

Sirius, sprawled on the couch next to James, rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, all sarcasm. “S’not like you’re burning holes into Y/N��s face or anything.”

For a split second James panics. He whirls around to look at you so fast he almost snaps his neck in half. Have you heard Sirius? Do you think James is a total creep now? No — you’re still engrossed in your conversation with Lily. James breathes a sigh of relief but it’s cut short when he realises Sirius is laughing at him.

“Mate,” he guffaws. “You’re hopeless.”

It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he says dryly.

Sirius grins with all his stupidly perfect teeth. “Y’welcome.”

James sighs and scrubs a heavy hand down his face. Maybe he is as hopeless as Sirius thinks. He’s certainly feeling quite hopeless right now. With you across the room and him sitting here unable to make himself get up and talk to you. As subtle as he can he twists to look over the back of the couch again to see what you’re doing. He’s just in time to see you disappearing into the kitchen by yourself, Lily now talking with the other girls by the ranch slider.

His heart rate spikes. This is his chance.

James is getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He dodges another hearty punch from Sirius, pretends not to hear Lily when she asks him where he’s going, and follows you into the kitchen on clumsy feet like a puppy on a leash.

He stumbles into Lily’s kitchen and there you are. Standing with your head in the fridge, the bright white lights cast over your skin. And there’s a lot of skin to look at. Your shoulders, your upper back. There’s a beauty spot on your back, just next to your shoulder blade. Your dress floats just above the halfway point of your thighs. You’ve got really nice legs. James snaps his eyes back up to your head before he can feel too guilty and clears his throat.

You start and then whirl around, eyes wide as saucers, one hand curled around the fridge door.

“Oh,” you say, breathless. “James. You scared me.”

James is so busy melting over the way you say his name that he almost forgets to speak. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head and your big dangly earrings jingle like bells. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”

You smile all soft and pretty and James really thinks he might pass out. He steps forward and leans against the kitchen island as casually as he can, when really he’s using it for support lest he keel over.

You’re looking at him like you’re expecting him to say something. He clears his throat again.

“Um,” he starts lamely. He braves through. “I, um— you look really nice tonight. I wanted to tell you earlier but Lily’s been stuck to you like a leech since you got here.”

You blink at him and James worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe this was the worst idea he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ideas. But then you beam.

“Oh,” you say, shocked like you can’t quite believe it. Which should be impossible, really, James thinks. You’re beautiful. It’s hard not to believe it. “Thank you, James.”

James smiles back. Your shyness at being complimented only fuels him. “You’re welcome. Just don’t tell Lily I called her a leech.” At this, you giggle, and James stammers through his next words, dazed from your laugh. “So, uh— are you looking for a drink?”

He gestures to the fridge, which you seem to have forgotten about, the door hanging wide open under your grip.

“What? Oh,” you say sheepishly, and suddenly you’re embarrassed and staring at your shoes. “No, I’m…” You lift your head and blink at him under your lashes. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

James is perplexed, but he’s not gonna laugh at you if you don’t want him to. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, I promise.”

You smile, then dip your head towards him like you’re sharing secrets. “I was cooling off,” you admit, sheepish. “It got too hot in the living room and Lily’s patio has mosquitos.” You hardly give him time to reply before you’re cringing, saying, “It’s weird, right?” Like you know he’s gonna think it’s strange.

He doesn’t think it’s strange. Well, maybe a little. But he’s been found in worse positions at parties. You look so embarrassed about it James is almost sorry he asked. Almost, because embarrassed you is adorable. You lean back and scrub your neck awkwardly, bracelets clanking on your wrist.

“No, I know,” he groans sympathetically, nodding vehemently. “Lily really needs a mosquito net or something, so we can open the damn door without getting eaten alive. Can I join you?”

You look baffled for a moment, and then shy all over again.

“You want to join me while I stick my head in the fridge?” You ask, an amusement to your tone that James adores.

James shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile outright then. “Okay,” you say, stepping aside so there’s more room in front of the fridge for him. “C’mon, then.”

James practically skips over to you. The moment he steps into your space he can smell your lovely scent. Flowery and sweet, something floral like hyacinth mixed with something sweet like honey. It’s intoxicating. He feels like he could drown in it. But there’s no time for drowning, not when your hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into your side, your feet shuffling to accommodate him.

“Move closer,” you urge shyly. “You gotta get the full experience.”

James moves closer. So close his arm brushes yours and he could hold your hand if he wanted to. He very much wants to. He imagines your skin is as soft as it looks.

The coldness of the refrigerator washes over him and it’s actually really nice. Even though he can be a total party animal sometimes, he understands why you would be here instead of in there. It’s quiet in here. Nice and cool. No lingering scent of heavy wine. No Sirius to tease him and no Marlene to badger him with questions about his love life.

“This is nice,” he says quietly, over the gentle buzz of the fridge.

You giggle softly. James thinks he’d like to make you laugh a million times over. “Isn’t it?”

“Mm,” James hums. “I should do this at parties more often.”

You laugh again, delighted at his joking. “You should. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely when I escape to the kitchen.”

James laughs too. He can’t quite believe his luck right now, squished in front of Lily’s refrigerator with you, elbow to elbow, the rest of his friends and the party long forgotten.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says, smiling big.

The next time James sees you, it doesn’t go quite as well as previously. To put it simply, it’s a disaster.

First of all, he’s late. Remus and Sirius are having a housewarming party at their new place and he’s had training all day so he’d forgotten all about it. It’s not until 9:30, an hour after the party was supposed to start, that he’s climbing in his car after training and his phone buzzes.

He picks it up, exhausted, expecting one of his teammates. Instead it’s a string of messages from Remus.

You’re late James!!!!

We started without u. Where r u????

Sirius is gonna wring ur neck

James scrolls through the messages with a mixture of confusion and dread. Confusion because at first he has absolutely no idea what Remus is talking about. Dread when he realises.

He speeds all the way home, showers at lightning speed, pulls on a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s sure aren’t clean, and he’s out the door within ten minutes of getting home. Still, by the time he gets to Sirius and Remus’ place it’s almost 10. His hair looks a mess but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t even think about the fact that you could possibly be there. That is, until he’s finished apologising profusely to his friends and Sirius mentions you. James perks up from where he’d been slumping on the couch, feeling exhausted and sorry for himself.

“What?” He asks, too loud. He tries to tamp it down but honestly, it doesn’t really work. He’s still buzzing with nervous energy when he asks, “Is she here?”

Sirius grins, looking uncharacteristically cat-like. “Uh— yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. His stupid grin only grows and James thinks he’d quite like to punch his teeth out. “She came with Lily. Moons thought we should invite her. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

James knows he’s teasing but can’t quite bring himself to care — the prospect of seeing you has demolished all other feelings of pathetic-ness. He leaps off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, guessing that’s where you’ll be, a barely touched drink in his hand and Sirius’ teasing following him all the way. He’s so busy fixing his shirt before he sees you that he doesn’t see you. He walks right into you on the threshold of the kitchen.

“James!” You gasp, stopping short.

James’ drink, to his horror, has spilt all down your front. His glass, previously full, is now half empty, the rest of it splattered all over your white top.

You barely have time to be surprised before he’s apologising.

“Shit,” he curses, mind blanking. His hands go to fix the damage before he realises he probably shouldn’t touch your chest, where his drink is now seeping into your top and showing no signs of stopping. He pulls his hands back lamely. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Oh gosh. I’m so dumb, I—“

Your rush to forgive him is almost as quick as his apology. “No!” You shake your head and it’s awfully cute despite the situation. “No, it’s okay, James. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

James grimaces. He tries not to look at the dark red stain that looks like blood on your white blouse. It is quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve spilt on you.

“It’s okay,” you say again, softer, reassuring, probably clocking the pathetic look on his face.

“Don’t, angel,” James says, shaking his head. “S’my fault.” He grabs your elbow gently and starts to pull you out to the living room, seeking Remus, who he knows will have a spare t-shirt that’s at least clean. “C’mon, I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“Wait, James. Wait.” You plant your feet in the doorway of the kitchen and James stops walking. He looks back at you, feeling guilty, hopeless, confused, and a bit endeared by you still, all at once.

“What?” He asks as gently as he can when he’s feeling like such a loser.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip so hard James is sure it hurts. You’re shy, he remembers. Quiet and polite. You probably don’t like people making a fuss over you, even though you should really. You’re pretty enough that people should be making a fuss over you all the time. “I think I’ll just go home, s’only a ten minute walk. I was going to leave soon, anyway.”

James frowns. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head. He also can’t let you feel uncomfortable. He conjures a compromise. “Look, how about you wait here while I go ask Remus for a spare shirt? And then I’ll walk you home to make it up to you.”

He knows walking you home isn’t near enough to make up for ruining your top. But it’s the best he can do right now.

“But you just got here, didn’t you?” you say, frowning yourself.

James shrugs. That’s hardly a problem for him. “Don’t worry. I see those two asshats every day of my life, sweetheart.”

You still look unsure but James isn’t changing his mind. He’s going to walk you home if it’s the last thing he does. But first, something for you to change into. He leaves you in the kitchen and finds Remus, whom he asks for a shirt, to which Remus says, “What’s that for?” too loudly.

James explains what happened dejectedly. He’s not exactly surprised when Sirius laughs at him for it.

It’s a quiet walk to your place. You live close, which is both good and bad. Good because it means every time James is at Remus and Sirius’s, he’ll know you’re only ten minutes away. Bad … well, for the same reason.

James tries his best to fill the silence with easy conversation. It’s not hard, especially when you’re so sweet and kind and answer his questions so pleasantly. You’re easy to talk to. You don’t laugh at him when he slips on his words. You don’t make him wait for answers. You ask him questions, too, timid as you are about it.

James finds he enjoys your company even more than he was expecting. You’re like a breath of fresh air. You’ve got the radiance of an early spring morning and the softness to go with it.

It’s safe to say he’s disappointed when you come to a stop in front of your place.

“This is me,” you say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You’re in one of Remus’ band tees and James thinks you look much better than Remus does in it. As much as he loves Remus. He realises he’s staring too late, his eyes following you as you walk up your front steps.

You unlock your door and then look back at him, timid.

“Did you want to come in?” You ask, sweet in your shyness.

James would very much like to come in. He also thinks he might fall on his face if he spends much more time with you. He’s already dizzy on his feet and he’s been with you all of fifteen minutes.

“No, no, that’s okay,” he says as kindly as he can. “I should probably get back, or Sirius’ll have my head.” At least he knows where you live now. In a totally not creepy way.

He steps forward to take your wrist in his hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. He can feel your heartbeat. It’s not quite as fast as his feels but pretty close.

“I’m really really sorry about your top,” he tells you. He spreads his fingers over your forearm, your skin warm as late summer under his touch. “Can I do anything to make up for it? Buy you a new one?”

He wasn’t joking, but you giggle, your face lighting up, your eyes crinkling at the corners. James feels something akin to a mad swarm of butterflies in his ribcage.

“No, James,” you laugh, breathless and lilting. Your free hand lands on his forearm and his skin burns under your touch. “It’s okay, really.”

“Okay,” James breathes. His head spins as you squeeze his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. You smell so nice. “But, seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do. It was such a nice top, it looked lovely on you.”

You flush like James knew you would. He’s slowly discovering he likes making you flustered more than he’ll admit.

“Thanks, James,” you say, and James imagines if he touched your face you’d be burning. “But, really, it’s okay. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See you around, angel.”

It’s only after you close the door and James is at the bottom of the steps that he realises he should’ve asked for your number. He really is as hopeless as Sirius says.

James Potter is on your mind most of the time. You can’t help it. You’re not above admitting you have a crush on him. You are above admitting how big said crush is.

He’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Sure, you don’t meet a lot of people. But you’re sure if you did he’d still be one of the best. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s unbelievably charming. He’s a bit awkward sometimes and you like that, it makes you feel better about your own social ineptitude.

It also helps that he’s very very handsome. You would look at him all day if you could. He’s all dark, velvety skin, inky curls that you’ve imagined weaving your fingers through more times than you can count. Deep brown eyes turned bright with his ever-present smile. Thick eyelashes, a lovely sloping nose, a quirk to his mouth that you think you could get drunk on. He dresses well, too, though you’re sure he’d look just as good in a hoodie and sweatpants. Or nothing at all. You’d squashed that thought before it could go any further.

You don’t even mind that he spilled wine all over your nicest top. Sure, the stain is never gonna come out. It’s sitting in your closet, ruined. Embarrassing as it is, you smile every time you see it. James had made up for it tenfold anyway, walking you home and telling you he was sorry about a hundred times. It would be hard to not forgive him.

“Y/N?”

There’s a call of your name from the office door. You’re in here on your lunch break, not really eating more than you are thinking about James. Margaret, the older lady who owns Harriet’s but only comes in Thursdays and Tuesdays, is poking her head through the door.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a customer out here asking for you? I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like, but he seems quite insistent.”

He. Of course, your mind flies straight to James. Which is ridiculous, you know, but it was already parked and idle at James, anyway.

“He’s asking for me?” You ask, perplexed. You don’t usually get personally requested by customers. And if it is James, you’re sure he’d ask for Lily instead.

“Yes, dear,” Margaret smiles, and she looks amused.

You get up because it’s your job, not because you’re hoping like hell it’s James. You put down your barely-eaten sandwich, brush past Margaret with a small ‘thank you’ and emerge into the shop.

There, standing at the counter, is James Potter.

“Y/N!” He says as soon as you emerge. He’s bouncy. Frazzled. You would even say excited. “Hi, lovely. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, were you on your break?”

“Oh, um, no. It just ended,” you lie. You still had a good ten minutes left. Not that you’re gonna tell him that.

James’ smile makes the lie worth it. “Perfect. ‘Cos I need your help.”

You think you physically perk up. Like a cat when it smells food is near. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Okay,” you smile. You’re happy to help if it’s James you’re helping. “With that?”

James explains that he needs a bouquet, your best work, better than a boring one you can get at the grocery store because he really really needs this person he’s giving it to to like it. Your smile fades at this. At the fact that he’s getting flowers for someone else. He won’t tell you who this someone else is. He also won’t tell you why he’s giving it to them. You’re sorry to assume it’s a girl he likes. Possibly Lily? Maybe that’s why he asked for you and not her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they’re close and she’s gorgeous.

Of course, you help him anyway. You recommend flowers that last the longest, colours that go together, which ones smell the best. He’s asks you what your favourites are and ends up going with those, saying he trusts your judgment.

You have to admit it’s all very endearing. And you have so much fun helping him that by the time he leaves, arms full of a huge bouquet made up of all your picks of flowers, you’re beaming. Despite the daunting fact that he’s walking out of your shop with a bouquet for someone else.

Margaret appears once he’s gone. She’s got this big smile on her face that you can’t quite make sense of.

“He’s a handsome one,” she muses. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your cheeks go redder than the roses on the shelf behind you.

Much later, you’re in the comfort of your small home, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese in your lap while the TV drones on. It’s some sort of romantic comedy that you can’t say you’re very interested in. Despite the lead male being very attractive. You’re about to change programmes when there’s a knock on your door.

You start. Nobody ever comes over. You don’t have many friends, and the ones that you do have, you tend to go over to their places, rather than the other way around. You’re so busy worrying about who it is that you haven’t even stood up before there’s another knock.

You get up off the couch, mac and cheese forgotten on the coffee table. You give your outfit a once over. You’re in sleep shorts and a hoodie that’s too big for you. Not your best work, but it’ll have to do. You fix your hair with little to no care and then open the door.

It’s James. You gape. You definitely should’ve paid more attention to your hair.

“James,” you say.

He beams right back, seemingly unaware of your sleepy appearance. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You stare at him. He looks pretty as ever. It’s only just going on sunset, and the colourful sky casts streaks of orange and golden yellow over his pretty face. The last bits of sun tangle themselves into his curls and drown themselves in his eyes. He’s dressed casual, but he still manages to pull it off, like you’d thought. A hoodie and jeans, a pair of beat up converse. He’s hiding something behind his back and you think you hear cellophane crinkle when he moves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he’s saying. He doesn’t have your number. But Lily does. Is it crazy to think he’s maybe asked her for it? “Is this a bad time?”

His kindness reminds you how to speak. “Uh— um, no. S’not a bad time, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you— um, did you want to come in?”

You’re rambling, you know. He hasn’t even told you why he’s here and you’re asking him to come in.

James smiles kindly and it makes it all better. He’s good at that. At making you feel okay for being a bit of an awkward loser (your own words, not his, of course.)

“I’d love to come in,” he says, all smiles. “But first, I have something for you.” He pulls whatever he’s been hiding out from behind his back and offers it to you between your chest and his. “To say I’m sorry about your top.”

You blink. It’s a bouquet. It’s the bouquet. The one you’d helped him put together. The one that has all your favourite flowers and colours and smells because despite you thinking it was for someone else, you’d still wanted the best for James. You blink again.

“James,” you say, a little breathless, a lot speechless. “They’re for me?”

James laughs and you feel dizzy for a moment. He’s got a really nice laugh. “F’course there for you, sweetheart. Who else?”

He makes you take them from him, one of his hands guiding yours around the stalks. His skin is warm and sets yours on fire. You’re surprised the bouquet doesn’t go up in flames when you take it from him.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter. “I thought …” you don’t finish your sentence. You’d thought they were for some other girl who’d caught his eye. You change tactics mid sentence, “They’re lovely, James.”

“I know they are, dove. You picked ‘em out.”

You giggle then. He’s the sweetest boy on the planet, you decide. He let you pick out your own flowers, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve never properly been given flowers before, despite working at a florist’s. It’s a new feeling. Like a star burning in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to go out. It hovers in you ribcage and stays there, buzzing madly.

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your eyes to his. You find he’s already gazing right back at you. There’s a rogue curl falling over his forehead that you’d love to push out of the way. “Really. I love them.”

James flashes you a boyish grin. “Good, ‘cos if you didn’t, I’d have to have a word with the girl who chose them.”

You’re still beaming when he comes inside. He follows you into the kitchen, where you find a vase for the flowers. You set about taking them out of their packaging, cutting the stalks and putting them gently in the glass vase filled with water.

James watches you and you can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it all, about being in your space, but his eyes scan your kitchen like it’s a map he’s trying to figure out. Your mismatched mugs on the counter. Your magnets and Polaroids and receipts on the fridge. Your overgrown plants on the windowsill.

You carry your flowers to your small living room and put them in the dead center of your coffee table. The bouquet is so big it would block most of your view of the TV if you sat on the couch. You hardly care. You’d rather look at them than the TV, anyway.

Setting the flowers down, you spot your half eaten mac and cheese and hope James doesn’t take you for a slob. You’re lucky he didn’t catch you on a Friday night. You’d be drowning in ice cream, probably.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, half hoping he’ll say no, because who in their right mind asks their crush if they want macaroni and cheese? It’s so lame, but you can’t take it back now. “I have mac and cheese, but that’s about it, sorry.”

You cringe and wish you’d held your tongue, but James beams.

“I’d love some mac n’ cheese,” he says. “Unless it’s boxed, that shit tastes like cardboard.”

You get him some mac and cheese, glad you made it yourself, gladder you haven’t resorted to boxed food just yet. The two of you sit in the kitchen on your tall kitchen stools under your golden lights and eat. James is easier to be around than anyone you’ve ever met. He makes you feel special but not to the point where it’s too overwhelming. He’s kind and he’s golden, he acts like you’re the only person he ever wants to talk to.

Watching him eat in your home is more of a pleasure for you than you’d like to admit. He compliments your cooking. He says he likes the bowl he’s got, which is a white one with pink flowers all over it that you bought at a market ages ago. He gets a string of cheese dangling from his lip and makes a dorky face trying to get it into his mouth without using his fingers. You think you’d like to kiss him. His lips all puckered and eyes crossed as he attempts to scoop the cheese into his waiting mouth.

You’re so busy laughing at him that you don’t notice your own bowl balancing precariously on the edge of the counter. When you go back to take another spoonful, your hand knocks the bowl and it goes tumbling. Right into your lap.

“Shit,” you curse, gasping when a dollop of hot pasta lands half on your thigh and half on your shorts. The sauce spreads like wildfire over the fabric of your sleep shorts. Why do things keep spilling on your clothes when James is around? It’s becoming a theme. Your horror grows when the bowl clatters to the floor and while it doesn’t smash, it spills mac & cheese everywhere. “Oh, shit, that’s embarrassing. Um.”

You bend to clean up your mess but James beats you to it.

“Here, let me,” he says. He slides off his chair and is quick to start scooping up the ruined pasta.

“Sorry,” you stutter, standing helplessly as James cleans up your mess for you.

“Don’t be,” James shrugs and looks up at you, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles kindly. “Go change, I’ll sort this out.”

You feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for him that makes you want to kiss him stupid. You don’t. Instead you go down to your room and find something to change into. Seeing as he’s already seen you in your sleep shorts, you suppose your checkered flannel pyjama pants aren’t really much worse. Nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s just happened, you decide.

By the time you’ve changed (plus spent a lot of extra time staring at yourself in the mirror, practicing your smile), James has cleaned up the spill and is washing your bowls in the sink. You decide then and there that you like him a lot more than you’d initially thought.

You emerge into the kitchen on light footing. You feel like a magnet being drawn to him like this. It’s bizzare, how much you want to be around him, no matter how shy he makes you. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. A rip in the ocean calling your name. You know of the danger but you don’t really care. You ignore the signs because he’s James and you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. The warning signs basically don’t exist.

“Thank you, James,” you say, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

James flashes you a big smile, up to his arms in soap and suds, scrubbing away at a bowl. He looks like a house husband. It’s almost more than your heart can take. “That’s okay. Hey, nice pyjamas. Y’look good.”

You can tell by his tone he’s not teasing. He’s being genuine, which is somehow worse than if he’d been teasing. Your smile is so big it hurts.

James is gonna kiss you tonight. He’s sure of it.

So far, all of his advances have gone well. Perfect, even. Unless you count the drink-spilling incident, but if it hadn’t been for that he’d probably never have found the courage to get you alone again.

He’s taken you out to lunch once. He’s been into your work twice, not including the first time. He’s invited you to his rugby game tonight, to which you’d said yes more enthusiastically than he’d expected. It’s not exactly a date, per say. But he’d wanted to see you today and he had a game and his coach would blow his head off if he’d missed it for a girl. No matter how lovely said girl is.

He’s waxed poetic about you to Sirius and Remus more times than he can count. He’s yet to kiss you. Sirius thinks this is beyond absurd.

“So you haven’t even kissed her yet?” He asks, incredulous. He’s in his rugby kit, hair up in braids, chugging a Gatorade though the game hasn’t even started yet. “What’s the hold up, mate?”

James groans. Sirius is yet to understand that some people don’t like to jump into the deep end before they’re ready. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he explains, straightening up from where he’d been tying his laces.

“Oh yeah, you’re reaaally scary, Prongsie,” Sirius drawls, dripping in sarcasm. He rolls his eyes and then clasps James’ shoulder. He’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically genuine when he says, “Look, I think she likes you enough that kissing her won’t scare her off.”

James blinks and looks up at his friend. “You think she likes me?”

Sirius makes a face. “Are you kidding? What other girl would want to watch you eat shit in a field with a dozen other sweaty guys?”

And he’s back, James thinks. Trust Sirius to be a sweetheart one second and as asshole the next.

Soon enough James is out on the field and he wants to say his mind is on the game and not you but he’d be lying.

For the first five minutes he’s distracted trying to spot you in the stands. Then the next ten minutes are spent trying not to stare at you. You’re with Remus, whom James is hoping isn’t relaying anything he’s ever said to him about you.

You look as though, to James’ extreme delight, that you’ve dressed up for this. In a pretty dress and a jacket that borders on being so big on you it swallows you up. Sure, you’d still looked pretty drop-dead in your pyjamas the other night. But this is another level of gorgeous.

The first chance he gets he bounds over to you, ignoring his coaches instructions to ‘stay with the team’. Most of the team has scattered for half time, anyway. James makes a beeline for you.

“You came!” He shouts as soon as you’re in shouting distance.

You grin and wave at him, brilliant and dazzling and so damn pretty in the early evening sun. You’re not far up the stadium and James is grateful he doesn’t have to climb too many steps — though he’d definitely climb all the way to the top row to see you if he had to.

“Hi, James,” you say, looking happy as a clam to see him.

James beams back. He wonders vaguely if he looks as lovesick as he’s feeling. He can’t even bring himself to care if he does. He’s lucky Remus is nowhere to be seen — probably loving on Sirius somewhere.

“Hi, angel,” James says, smiling around his words, which come out all sticky-sounding and fond. “I’m so glad you came.”

You beam and rock on your heels, looking one part shy and two parts delighted, your hands clasped in front of you like you’re not sure what to do now.

“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. “I’m so happy to see you, I might explode if you say no.”

He’s joking, of course. Or maybe not so much. You nod, a tad vehement, James notices smugly.

“Yes, please,” you say, breathless.

James steps into your space, heartbeat a mile a minute. You smell like flowers again. Lavender, he thinks. He definitely doesn’t smell anywhere near as good. “You’re sure I’m not too sweaty and gross?”

You shrug. “I don’t care, James.”

“You should. You look lovely.”

You make a noise that sounds half pained and half pleased and it makes James’ heart skyrocket.

“Can you just hug me?” You ask, a hint of desperation in your tone that’s actually much more than a hint but James is trying to be a gentleman. “Please?”

James thinks if you keep this up (by this, he means, acting as though maybe you like him as much as he likes you), he’ll die on the spot. He hugs you. For his own and your sake. Wraps you up in a big strong hug that’s so passionate he accidentally lifts you off the ground slightly. You don’t seem to mind. Your arms weave around his neck like they were meant to and you hook your chin over his shoulder and go all melty.

James almost moans. He can’t believe how perfectly you fit in his arms. How your body melds into his so nicely. He’s big and firm and loud and you’re quiet and small in your own way. But it works, and James is so glad it does.

“How was work, lovely?” He says into your hair. Your hair, which smells like coconut and something sweeter.

“It was okay.” Your voice is quiet but you sound just as pleased as he does to be wrapped in each other’s arms. “Lily says good luck.”

“Hey!” This is Sirius, jogging towards the stands and the, for want of a better word, lovefest. “Why don’t I ever get hugs like that?”

James releases you but keeps a good hold on your waist, twisting to meet Sirius. “What? You want one too, Pads?”

He lets go of you and holds his arms out for a hug, half joking but also half serious.

“Not from you!” Sirius scoffs, backing away from James like his hug will give him an incurable disease. “From your pretty cheerleader over there.”

Sirius plants his hands in his hips and nods his head towards you where you’re standing behind James. James doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has probably made you embarrassed.

“She doesn’t want to hug you,” he says dryly, in an attempt to save you from his obnoxious friend. “Where’s your boyfriend? You can hug him instead.”

Sirius scowls but it doesn’t last long. You brush past James and it takes him a second to realise what’s happening.

“I’ll hug you, Sirius,” you’re saying sweetly. “C’mere.”

And to everyone’s surprise, you hug Sirius. James finds it both endearing and highly annoying. Annoying because Sirius is smirking at him over your shoulder, his hands on your lower back. Endearing because it’s apparent you’re trying to make friends with James’ friends and he couldn’t be happier. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as yours and his, though. And Sirius doesn’t quite lift you off the ground like James did.

James watches, reluctantly fond, as Sirius pulls away and smiles at you all kind and un-Sirius-like.

“Thank you, m’lovely,” he says, swooping down to kiss your cheek. James shouldn’t feel jealous, because Sirius kisses everyone on the cheek, but he does anyway.

His jealousy quickly fades when you practically skip back over to him, all smiles.

“Sorry about him,” James says quickly. He’s very used to apologising for his friends.

“No, that’s okay,” you shake your head and then take James’ forearm in your hand unthinkingly. Heat licks all up James’ arm.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “Do you—?”

The shriek of his coach’s whistle cuts him off. Time to get back on the field, it says. James groans, long suffering, throwing his head back like he’s been resigned to the worst fate in the world. You giggle and it makes it all better.

James’ team loses the game. It’s embarrassing and then it’s not, because you bound up to him afterwards and give him a hug even better than the one at half time, gushing about how good he was, telling him it doesn’t matter that he lost because he played amazing, anyway.

He sure feels like a winner as he walks with you to the parking lot, his duffel bag swept to his wrong side so he can walk as close to you as possible.

“I didn’t know you were so good.” You’re still gushing and James thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. “I mean, not that I didn’t expect it. You just never told me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” James murmurs, feeling overly feverish.

“What? What’s that mean?”

James gestures vaguely with his hands. “I don’t go around bragging, is what it means. And I’m not that good. We’re just a local team, babe.”

It’s your turn to flush. Head to foot you go all shy. He thinks it’s the pet name that did it. And maybe the fact that he’s pointed out your gushing.

“Right,” you say to your shoes. “Well, I think you should play for the country, is all I’m saying.”

James laughs, delighted and a bit startled at your joking, but mostly just sick as a dog in love with you. “Really? Wow, you should tell my coach that, sweetheart. I think he’d totally agree.”

You pick up on his sarcasm and burst into giggles that make James’ chest want to explode. He realizes you’ve almost reached his car and puts his plan into action.

“Hey, did you drive here?” He asks.

You look up at him and James thinks he sees an inkling of hope in your pretty eyes. “No, I caught the bus. Why?”

“Did you want to go get Slurpees with me? I saw a 7/11 near your place the other night.” Then, because he really wants you to say yes, “I’m paying.”

Maybe it’s James’ wishful thinking but he’s pretty sure you light up like a Christmas tree. He really thinks if you keep doing things like this his head is gonna get too big for his body. You beam, looking like an angel on earth in the last fragments of sunlight, skin painted in an array of bleeding golds and pinks and oranges.

“Yeah, okay,” you nod. “Except you don’t have to pay for me, James, I have my card.”

James shakes his head, grinning as he fishes his keys from his bag. “Nah, don’t worry. Pretty girls get slurpees for free.”

He’s ninety-eight percent sure you freeze up like a block of ice as he unlocks his car. He has the generosity to not mention it.

The drive to the 7/11 closest to your place is quiet. But good quiet. James puts on the radio and is delighted when you start humming along like he’s not even there, your fingers tapping along the window where you’ve rolled it down, the wind brushing over your pretty face. He can’t quite get enough of you. Even just driving in silence with you feels like cloud nine. He’s enamored. Totally lovelorn. He’s surprised he can even drive straight.

When you get there he parks the car and then tells you to wait so he can open your door for you. He holds your hand to guide you into the 7/11. It feels like walking on air.

You both greet the guy at the cashier, you much more shyly, but James is learning you’re nothing if not polite. It’s practically empty inside, which James is glad for. How is he supposed to kiss you if there’s a bunch of strangers around? He leads you over to the slurpee machine with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

“What flavour do you feel like?” He asks, grabbing a cup for you.

“Um,” you lick your lips and James wonders, not for the first time, how it would be to kiss them. “Grape, I think.”

“Grape?” He wrinkles his nose in pretense. “I’m more of a cherry guy, but I’ll let it slide ‘cos I like you.”

You giggle and flush, to James' extreme delight. He lets go of your hand to fill your cup for you, all the way to the top. He pops on a lid and a straw and passes it to you, cold condensation dripping over his fingers like raindrops.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the cup from him, your fingers soft as they brush his.

James gives you a big smile in place of a you’re welcome, then preoccupies himself with filling his own cup. He can feel your eyes on him all the while. Practically burning holes into the side of his face. His face, which feels like it’s on fire. He finishes filling his cup and shoves a lid on.

“Have I got something on my face?” He asks without looking at you, definitely teasing but he thinks you can take it.

You groan and punch him in the arm. Punch isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a brush of your knuckles. James hardly feels a thing. “James.”

James laughs, delighted at your reaction. “What?” He chuckles, picking a straw and turning to look at you. “You were—“

But you’re gone, turning into the candy section just in time for James to see the back of your jacket disappear. He follows you, grinning like mad.

“Y/N,” he says, sing-song.

“James,” you copy, with half the enthusiasm but twice the sweetness. He can almost hear you rolling your eyes.

James can’t help it, he snags your jacket in his fingers and pulls. You squeal as he twists you to face him, his hand coming to hook around your waist. Your slurpees get crushed in between your chests. James can feel the coldness of his soaking into his shirt but he hardly cares. You’re so close he could kiss you. He’d like to. It’s what he’s been trying to do all evening.

You’re gasping, breathless from the closeness and his sudden attack. “James,” you say again, panting. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Nuthin’. Did you want some candy?”

You swallow and adjust your grip on your cup where it’s pressed to his chest. You’re staring at his lips. He’s staring at yours, too.

“No,” you say, your pretty eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “I don’t want candy.”

James licks his lips, partly because he thinks he’s about to kiss you, but mostly to tease you. “Then what do you want?”

Your eyes follow the slow movement of his tongue. “Um.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, softer now. Less taunting. More sincere.

You stare at him. “We’re in the middle of a 7/11, James,” you chastise. But you don’t turn him down.

“So? There’s no one in here but us.”

He inches closer. His slurpee is probably spilling over with how much he’s squashing it but he can’t bring himself to check. He’s too transfixed by you, the hopeful look on your pretty features, eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted.

“Okay,” you breathe, hardly a word at all.

“Okay, what?” James says back, just as quiet. “I can kiss you?”

“Yes,” you nod once. Your hand ghosts over James’ elbow and he hopes you’ll grab it when he does finally kiss you. “Please.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He kisses you, and the very first thing he thinks is that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Thrown himself in the deep end, chum for the sharks. Because it’s glorious. It’s better than he ever imagined, better than anything he could’ve conjured up in his mind. You taste like grape slurpee, sugary and sweet. You’re tentative like you always are, but it doesn’t mean you hold back. You let him kiss you as hard as he pleases, tilting your head up to meet him, gripping his elbow with your free hand like you never want to let go.

He kisses you firm but careful, passionate so you know how much he likes you but soft enough so you know he’s okay to go slow if you need to.

Soon enough the moment is ruined — James shouldn’t have expected anything less. The guy at the cashier is wondering aloud if James is planning on ever paying for the Slurpees now dripping condensation into both of your clothes and hands.

James sighs and goes to pull out his wallet, but not before pressing another kiss to your smiling mouth.

feedback and reblogs are very very appreciated! please please lmk if u liked it (but not if u didn’t ahahah) xx

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