#and she will have a full life with him albeit a sometimes boring one

[lingeringscars]

The thing with harper is that...she's a good soldier. She'll do what needs to be done, and she won't complain. She'll do what she can and do her duty to help as many people as she can. But if given the choice between duty and peace, she will choose peace. She will choose to grasp at the moments where she can live in that peace, comfort, and safety for just a little while longer.

[vansmaybeonthewall]

reputation // are you ready for it?

prologue summary: The one where you, a somewhat well-known singer, figure out exactly how to leave your boyfriend who so happens to work as an assistant coach at West Ham.

Eventual Jamie Tartt x Reader

i was inspired to make a series by @buckychristwrites and @illiterateaffairs, who made the beautiful series' 'About You' and 'Distractions' respectively, so let's give this a go

word count: 0.7k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Folklore and Evermore are fantastic for someone like (L/N), but is it enough to top the charts?"

"While (L/N)’s storytelling and emotion come through, does she have the audience for such a piece?”

“Previous attempts at topping the charts proved difficult, country or pop, what can (L/N) do next to be number one?”

“Fans approve of the narrative, but do the numbers?”

“It’s definitely a reach releasing two albums within a year of each other. I mean how desperate can you be?

“After experimenting with an album sampling multiple genres at eighteen, is this what (L/N) is finally good at?”

~

It’s exhausting. Everything. Trying to prove yourself while also trying not to seem full of yourself. How can someone just rise to the top of the charts? How can you be good enough? Every day there were articles calling you names and how much of a failure you are and could be. The bad always outweighed the good things people had to say. How can you make someone see who you are and what you are trying to do? It’s impossible to conform to every single version of yourself that people want you to be. It doesn’t help when your boyfriend has already achieved his dream. Helping coach his favorite team. A bittersweet thing to see. His compliments that can seem backhanded at teams. You’ll get there sometime babe. Don’t worry, you’re number one to me. Humiliating coming from someone so fake and narcissistic. Oh yes, the boyfriend you have put your life on pause for, albeit being together for two years, has been cheating on you for the past 3 months. Utterly humiliating.

It only gets worse considering he took over the job of managing you and where you play as an artist. It gave him some sort of promotion of rank amongst the other coaches. Nobody really recognized you at the football events he “booked” for you. Why would these older men listen to songs about a fictional love triangle? The only ones who recognized you were the bored teenage daughters dragged along to such events.

And asking for help is out of the question. Your best friend was only so far from you, playing for A.F.C  Richmond. Phone calls and texts could be made any second of the day and you would be swooped away, but you chose not to. Colin has a busy life as you do, so it wouldn’t be right to call him about every single problem you were having, right? You were both doing what you’ve wanted to do since you were kids (one enjoying it more than the other), so why should you disrupt his life with yours?

But when you wake up the next morning with the opportunity of a lifetime, it seems like life has taken a turn for the better. 

“Babe! Babe!”

You turn towards the doorway of your writing room resting your hands in your lap from their place on the piano. Derek leans against the doorway, trying to catch his breath.

“They want you to play! At the stadium!”

What.

“What are you on about?”

“Rupert wanted to one-up that ex-wife of his and Jasmine gave the idea of getting someone popular amongst fans to perform at halftime in a game against Richmond! Fantastic isn’t it! You’ve got to thank Jasmine for this, god that woman is amazing.”

Derek disappears down the hallway still shouting at the news. You sit wide-eyed and frozen. Not only at the news, performing in front of hundreds of fans at what possibly is one of the biggest games is a huge opportunity and you should be happy about it. Well, you are, but the name that left your boyfriend’s mouth gave it a sour taste. Jasmine. The woman he kisses and loves behind your back. And the one who gave you a chance at the spotlight in two months' time. Popular amongst fans? Was she being serious or being sarcastic? Nonetheless, what the hell.

An amazing woman, you think.

You stand and make your way to the nook in the window. You stare down at the people who walk past before grabbing at the journal and sitting yourself down. Opening the journal to the page marked by a pen holding its place, you start writing down your next idea. 

reputation 

You drag the pen quickly on the page leaving a straight line underneath the word, a smirk making its way to your face.

[icallhimjoey]

Soft Joe ideas? What about strangers to lovers where a reader is determined to flirt with Joe using only corny pick up lines to brighten up his mood. She could be a barista he sees every day or something like that...

No smut, but giggly soft Joe.

giggly soft joe?????? yes, excellent, i need him (ima make this a five parter, i HOPE YOU ENJOY) Wordcount: 2.2K

---

Sunshine Blend Dark Roast

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

This amount of energy was not what Joe was expecting this early in the morning. Or, what he could really handle, this early in the morning.

It was weird how he had spotted you from across the street; the coffee shop was fairly crowded already, yet, you'd stood out. Morning commuters all desperate to get their first fix of caffeine in before stepping into offices. It was as if you were lit by a spotlight that moved around and followed you. No, wait. Joe was wrong. There wasn’t a spotlight – you were the spotlight. Beams of glitter shot out of your skin, your eyes, your smile. Joe had seen it from across the street, and it had lured him in just like he assumed it’d lure in any other guy.

“Good morning,” you sing-songed, like it was a Friday afternoon, and the sun was out, and everyone was happy because they just got off work and knew they wouldn't have to wake up to an alarm the next day. Except it was Monday. Monday morning, half past eight, and the weather was gloomy. Grey, cold. Very wet.

Joe got in line and let his eyes scan the menu even though he knew he’d go for the most boring, albeit the best, option in his opinion.

You asked people for their order, talked to them like you knew every single one of them personally, recommended flavours like you knew their taste profiles, asked their names like they did in other coffee shops and passed cups onto your colleague. Would sometimes step back and help, poor steamed milk into large paper cups, or scooped ice into even larger plastic ones.

Until it was Joe’s turn. You told the person in front of them that their drink would be ready for pick up at the end of the counter, then turned and made eye contact with Joe.

Joe, who was wearing a beanie, burgundy, beautifully knitted. Wet, from the rain, just like his grey coat that had dark spots all over the shoulders from fat drops of water that had collected on leaves and streetlights before they fell, to make their marks more prominent than the regular old water droplets that shot down straight from the clouds.

It was Joe Quinn, the actor, who you immediately recognized as the celebrity that he was. In your little coffee shop. On a random Monday morning. Seven thirty. Joseph Quinn.

Joe saw you gasp a small breath. Saw how you sucked in both your lips to bite on. Saw the big eyes you made, staring directly at him. Joe saw it all, and he really wished he didn’t. He was just getting a coffee like everyone else was. Your features quickly changed though. You crinkled your eyes like Joe had seen you do at every other person that came before him, and they would no doubt crinkle like that for every person that would come after him. Your lips pursed into a cute smile, dimples on full display for anyone to see.

“Hi, what can we get ya?” upbeat, happy. Like you’d just had the best sex of your life. Had no worries, or had ever had them for that matter. No bills that needed paying still. No looming tasks that you were secretly procrastinating. No anxiety, no ill will, no darkness. Just light. Pure sunshine.

“Large americano, please,” Joe asked, and because when eyes were on him and he’d have to speak, he’d suddenly fidget, become all nervous, Joe only then decided to slide the beanie off his head and find his wallet in his pocket.

“Are you sure?”

Joe halted. What? That was a weird question to be asked. When had anyone ever before asked Joe if he was sure that what he’d just ordered was really the thing he wanted to order? Never. It was Monday morning, and he was barely awake, and this was definitely a weird question to be asked.

“Um, yes?”

But Joe got asked weirder questions on the daily now, so he kind of just went with it, but cringed anyway. Cringed deep within his core where it was dark and only he could feel it, because showing cringe made people uncomfortable and that’s the last thing he wanted. People would do anything to keep him in conversation for longer. Ask for a pic, tell him they loved him, that he had beautiful eyes, and then would ask him weird questions to keep him there for longer. At what time was he born? What kind of milk did he drink? What was his favourite piece of furniture? Why did his parents decide to call him Joseph? Personal questions they had no business asking, and questions Joe half the time didn’t even know the fucking answer to. Made him say I don't know a million times until he'd start wondering, what did he really actually know?

“Just checking.” you shrugged. “I love a man who's sure,” a little small smug smirk played with your lips and that was cute, but far too forward. Definitely cringe worthy. Joe coughed a small chuckle to let some of the cringe out in the best way he knew how.

“What’s your name?” you asked, large paper cup in hand, sharpie ready in the other.

“Robert,” Joe had the false name so readily available, you knew he must have used it more often. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. You asked a question, and not a second later he’d answered it with a lie. You knew, and you smiled. Let Joe tap his card to pay. Told him his drink would be ready for him at the end of the counter in a minute before turning to the next customer, the last person in line for now, someone you knew, Joe thought, because you didn’t need to ask for their name.

Then you turned, started helping making drinks. Asked the guy who’d come in after Joe if he didn’t want any pumps of peppermint maybe, or vanilla, for an extra little kick of flavour. As you said it, you kicked your leg, punched an arm, and you giggled at yourself. The guy smiled and said, “Do whatever, you know what I like,” and Joe didn’t think your face could show more excitement if you’d tried. “Shouldn’t trust people like that,” you then spoke as you got busy, contradicting yourself completely. “What if I poisoned you?” you turned, big eyes at the customer who kept his eyes on his phone. “I’m sure the coffee would be great still.” He quipped, and Joe saw your whole face scrunch up as you nodded. “Yea it fucking would.”

You made coffees and seemed to love it. What a complete 180 from every single other barista he’d ever gotten a coffee from. Sure, some of the hipstery variants, guys with curly moustaches, suspenders and tattooed arms, they’d be into it too. But not like this. Those guys wouldn’t skip, hop and sing along to the music playing as they did the annoying tasks of cleaning up after themselves as drinks poured into cups from machines on their own.

One large americano.

You called for Robert. Joe stepped forward, smiled politely as he took his drink and instead of placing it down for him to grab, you held it in your hand for him to take it from you. As he took it, you held onto his cup still, which forced him to look you in the eye.

“Enjoy,” you smiled so sweetly, you might as well have been made of sugar. Only then did you let go.

“Thanks,” Joe smiled, bashfully, a little uncomfortable. Unsure of what you were doing exactly, if this was normal. You saw his ears go red, and pursed your lips tighter to not let any laughter escape. You made Joe blush. Cute.

As Joe walked out of the coffee shop, back out into the rain, the cold air immediately told him how flushed his face really was, the contrast was too much to easily ignore and he sighed. He was... a little annoyed. It was a random Monday morning, and Joe was just getting a coffee. Was this yet another thing to add to the list of all the other normal mundane things he could no longer do without people being weird?

The list seemed never ending now, and Joe hated it.

Joe had a very vivid imagination, so with everything, he’d think of the best possible outcome which would feed him the self-confidence he needed to pursue. Whatever that was; he’d imagine something all working out just fine, and then he’d just go for it. But every coin had its flip side, and so during the pursuing, during the going for it, Mr Self-doubt would rear its ugly little head up and hiss the most unthinkable worst-case scenarios into Joe’s ears, shoot hot worry into his veins. It was something inside him that would whisper warnings, over and over.

Ever since people suddenly seemed to be wanting more of him, Joe was meeting more and more people that in theory should really silence that voice. They’d tell him how much his work had meant to them, how good he was at what he did, how much they valued him - it was all nice things; things that should build him up in every which way.

Yet, it didn’t.

It only seemed to amplify the ugly voice more. Gave it more things to argue against. More things to counteract.

Any time someone would pay Joe a lovely, innocent, sweet little compliment, the voice was fast and vicious and would immediately find several counter arguments to remove all credibility. Make sure he never believed any of it. And Joe would worry enough as it was. But now it all seemed bigger, denser, more all-engulfing, and sure, it was always nice to meet kind strangers who just wanted to be friendly, but the dark side of his brain would grow, and if he didn’t get enough rest, it could completely take over some days.

Joe never minded the voice before. Kind of kept him from being a cocky prick.

Now the voice just made him avoid.

Avoid tasks, avoid new situations, avoid people, interactions - he had to, of course, for his job. And he would do them just fine. He’d be so fine, such a trooper. But outside of office hours, Joe would avoid. He’d procrastinate and worry and drown in self-doubt and so instead, he’d find solace in the things he knew already. The people he knew already. Joe stuck with his old friends. They were the dirty dishes he did whilst an unwritten essay had its deadline inching closer. They were the room he deep cleaned whilst his looming phone laid on his desk with unread messages he had still to open and reply to. They were the kitchen cabinets he went through to find everything that had gone off whilst he had badly written scripts waiting to be read.

Joe found mental psychological discomfort in a lot of the things that were now new to him, so he’d delay and avoid. Do dishes instead.

But then, enter you.

The voice seemed quiet, eerily so, but Joe just thought it was because it was confused. He was confused.

Are you sure?

Who asks that?

What if I poisoned you?

Shit like that would never fly in a Starbucks, or a Costa Coffee.

Joe drank his coffee on his commute, and it was good. Nothing special. Just coffee, the way he liked it. And with every sip he took, he got more into his day. The schedule ahead, his mind going over all the things he had to do that day, and whilst he found focus, you drifted from his thoughts. He had a meeting in half an hour. Then another, but through zoom, with America. Lunch with his publicist most likely. Afterwards some time to himself. Then script reading. He needed to do so much reading, and although he loved reading, there was something annoying about the have to of it all.

Joe finished his coffee, and you no longer occupied any of his brain space.

Until, suddenly, you popped right back in.

Because as Joe went to throw away his cup, he saw it.

Joe

Not Robert. He had said Robert, and you’d called out for Robert, but the cup read Joe. You’d written Joe. Black sharpie on a brown paper cup. Joe. His actual name.

He let out a weird laugh, looked around as if someone else was there and would tell him, no way, she wrote your name? that’s hilarious. As if anyone he’d show the cup to now would understand why it was significant that a coffee cup read his own name. Of course it would. But, it shouldn't. Not this time. And yet, it did. Joe.

He looked at the cup again, your handwriting beside the logo, and then disposed of it.

“Morning,” Joe walked in, greeted the woman behind the front desk.

“Ooh, someone woke up at the right side of the bed this morning,”

Joe stopped, realized he had a big old shit-eating grin plastered onto his face and a pretty, loud bubble-gum-pop of a girl on his mind. He furrowed his brow as he thought it over, a little confused, but smile unwavering, then said,

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Shapeshifting Masterlist

A Big Mistake to Make (ao3) - jilliancares

Summary: When an adventure as a little boy has dire consequences for Dan, he’s sure to cut off all contact with his (former) best friend. Alternately: A halloween werewolf fic. Alternatively, alternatively: A best friends to enemies to lovers fic.

A Day in the Life of a Shapeshifter (fur, ears and a tail.) (ao3) - fin_flora

Summary: Sometimes Dan and Phil just want to spend a whole Sunday on the sofa, cuddled up together as they do everything and nothing in between.

And sometimes Dan likes to be a Neko so he shifts into one.

A Human Heart (ao3) - andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)

Summary: Phil's mother has always said that there are creatures in the forest and Phil has always thought they were just stories. Then one day he runs into the forest looking for somewhere to hide and meets Dan, a man with antlers and the ability to talk to trees. Phil's world opens up but there are dangers in the forest that he can't even begin to imagine.

Bite Me (ao3) - TheWolfWithinMe

Summary: Dan's a werewolf, and not a very good one at that.

He's left a victim alive.

Can he fix his mistake? Or is it already too late?

Dirty Paws (ao3) - fin_flora

Summary: Dan and Phil are who they are. Youtubers, partners in life and business, and shapeshifters.

What's that you ask?

Well, let me tell you a story, let me give you a glimps, and we wont start at the beginning as you might think.

Why? Because that's a story for a different time.

Hold the Weight of Worlds (ao3) - letspartyrightnow

Summary: The curse could only be unleashed by a life being taken. Dan still remembered the blood, the screams, the terror in his mother’s eyes. The rush of power and strength that consumed him after, right when the curse was coursing through his body, and how it was unimaginable, painful, yet liberating.

That’s what scared him the most.

Ride With the Moon in the Dead of Night (ao3) - Cadensaurus

Summary: A 2009!fic where Dan's a vampire and Phil's a werewolf, and it's a full moon, and their nocturnal instincts come out to play.

Spotted (ao3) - indistinct_echo

Summary: Despite having the entire universe against him, Phil finds his way back to the forest and to the man he can't remember.

the beast you've made of me (ao3) - azurephil

Summary: Phil’s eccentric aunt lives hours away in the countryside and needs someone to house-sit while she goes on holiday during the summer. He expects it to be peaceful, albeit boring. Then he meets the gardener.

The city is so loud (but you drown out all the noise) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil's pack might have kicked him out for mating with a human, but his love for Dan was much stronger than anything he'd ever experienced before. It wasn't easy to adjust to living with Dan in his - now their - small flat in London, but Phil would do it again in a heartbeat. With Dan by his side, Phil was sure he could get used to all the weird things humans did.

The Spring Sun in your Eyes (ao3) - TheMarginalThinker

Summary: Dan's mind has a funny way of messing with the rest of his body after winter is over, but nothing he or Phil can't cope with. This one happens to leave him a little worser for it is all.

The Vampire Fell in Love with the Angel (ao3) - Emowolf16

Summary: The afterlife can be a lonely place for Dan. An Angel, but no like any other angel, servant of God, Dan must serve in the afterlife after his tragic unknown death. He can't remember how he died.Phil,a vampire of the Vampire society, must live an unwanted eternity in a world he never knew existed.Theo, the vampire lord, is the ruler of the vampires, and Phil's hatred for what Theo has done to him grows.

An unexpected meeting in the oldest cemetery in England, bring Dan and Phil together in an epic journey. Read on...

To Bite The Hand That Feeds (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Daniel Howell is a lycan, his and his family's secret safe from the public. It isn't until Phil moves into town with lycan parents that things become a problem.

Dan has to learn how to control his wolfy nature while also making and maintaining friendships. Can he do it, or will his secret be revealed to the world?

When You Least Expect It (ao3) - omgdatphantho

Summary: In the town of Havenshire lives a clan of shapeshifters. Enter Dan, the youngest son of the Alpha. He has one desire: to find his mate. Enter Phil, a human looking to make a new start in Havenshire. Their worlds will collide as a large storm bears down on them.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 124

Chapter 124: "Tell Us"

Vincent is such a gentleman the way he's being a good host to the duo by bringing them tea and lightening the mood, while Cislo & Barbara are over here adding to the tension and doing their best to come off as intimidating (and succeeding).

The way Barbara just scoots in between them without a word is fantastic and I wish the anime played with everyone's extreme expressions more. There's so many in this chapter and they're all so good.

Revisiting this chapter after season two makes me sad because the anime had the whole conversation feel so bland. Everyone spoke proper and polite; there was barely any sort of humor, which is unfortunate because it's the silly moments that make this scene so memorable and gives a far better look at the Lambda trio's personalities. Even seeing Ray play along is hilarious, albeit he's only doing so in an attempt to not start any kind of drama.

Neither one of them have any respect for personal space and I'm laughing at our duo's expense. The anime was definitely kinder to them without making this scene awkward for Emma & Ray but that's boring. I love how uncivilized the first half of this little chat is with Barbara & Cislo acting like irritating children.

It's honestly adorable how they're such big fans of Norman. I guess I'd fancy someone just as hard if they saved my life too.

Pfftt wait, I never noticed how Vincent was getting pushed back by the speech bubble before! The poor guy!

We'll never know exactly which stories were told that brings Vincent to tears since the anime decides to just glaze over that entirely. The manga does too of course, but I always have that hope that some minor details will get expanded upon when it comes to anime, but that's certainly a stupid thought to have with this season especially.

It's possible that Vincent was at Glory Bell the same time as Yuugo & Lucas, right? I know the bunker dads escaped sometime in 2033 and Vincent being born four years prior, but I dunno. That farm functions more like a village (apparently) so who knows if they might've ran into each other at one point. Regardless, I still wanna know where the Goodwill Ridge IDs are located.

Still unbelievable that the five of them alone were able to escape a prestigious farm such as Lambda and destroy countless others. Yeah Norman and Vincent are real intelligent dudes while the other three are crazy powerful, but damn. I guess anything is possible with a couple explosives and protagonist with plot armor on your side.

Oopsie, there goes all the silly, little feelings we were having.

It was all fun and games but now the intimidation is back full force and even worse with actual rage. Barbara is being so intense that she scared Ray outta his seat (which the anime didn't include btw).

Can't deny that her voice actor did a wonderful job with her anger though. I also like this one shot a lot better than the panel.

Favorite panel/moment:

The anime is far from perfect though because they completely missed their chance to animate that fantastic spit take of Ray's! They remembered his reaction and have him choke on his tea a little bit, but it's no where near as dramatic as this and it's a shame since it's once of my very favorite panels of him. Would've loved to hear him stifle a laugh too.

End of volume 14.

[cursivebloodlines]

It shouldn’t be possible for Tessa to feel so energetic at this hour. Sure, she was an early riser but the night before had been a late one. And she hadn’t even had her morning coffee yet. Considering their discussion last night, that might’ve taken a toll on anyone. Love confessions and feelings shared could be draining sometimes. But not for her. Instead, she felt the opposite:  elated and full of beans. Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in her that sparkled, the type of thing that usually had people rolling their eyes at her for being so idealistic. It was the exact same when they learned of her hobbies, her unrealistic expectations of the great unknown. Of ghosts and aliens and astrology. The type that people who chastise her, even her own friends, for being so willing to believe in things that didn’t exist - including her idealistic perception of love. Tessa always called those people boring; where was the fun in life if you didn’t believe in something beyond the universe? Diego, whilst he never hesitated to poke fun at her or roast her when she did (and when she didn’t deserve it, albeit she usually managed to get her taste of revenge), he never ridiculed for it. At times, she was even willing to admit he was maybe open to her ideas. Either that, or he did a good job of pretending to. She much preferred to think of the former - he couldn’t possibly have been that good of an actor. But this renewed sense of energy could be how everything felt lighter because he was here and with her. Maybe it was because Diego was the last thing she saw before falling asleep and the first she saw when she woke up. Could it get any better than that? It wasn’t that much different from the countless times this had happened, but this time was different because everything was now out in the open. The vulnerability in it was beyond something she could put into words other than it was beautiful.. Yeah, she still had plenty to process and her thoughts to get in order but she was looking forward to it. Looking forward to looking forward. Her heart was so full of love right now, it was intoxicating. It made her want to take back the need to think about it. What more was there to think about?

Well, everything, actually. Tessa wanted to ensure that when she (inevitably, because she knew damn well there was no other option at this point) told him how she felt, how she really felt about him, that she wanted for them to take the leap of faith and explore what could be. She wanted to ensure she was doing it for all the right reasons. Not because she was completely consumed by his confession last night, not because she was completely swept up in the moment, not because she wanted to rush. She wanted to be sure that this was what she felt. She wanted to ensure that even when the rush wore off and the dust settled, that she was still completely ready for things to change. It was becoming increasingly difficult to take her time with it all though, because it was all she could think about. The words that left his lips, the way it made her feel. The perfect scene around them, the jokes and laughter between them, the fleeting moments where she was oh, so tempted to close the distance between them. He was distracting. Definitely Diego’s fault and not hers. A girl can be in denial, can’t she?

Here he was, the same as he always was, poking fun at her. And she responded in the way she always did, rolling her eyes and trying to stifle a laugh but failing miserably. Then, Tessa proceed to pick up the cushion on the couch and throw it at him. “Shut up, you,” she shot back pathetically, “Don’t try me. I will do it.” She would never dream of it. Tessa respected him way too much to follow through on that. The internet was permanent like that and with someone who had an established social media presence like she did, she would never even dream of dragging him through it like that. Not without his consent. But they were kidding around, so she had to throw in an empty threat. Another playful roll of her eyes at the alien comment. What became a teasing torment soon found it’s way to being a term of endearment. Was it weird that she secretly loved it, even when she protested otherwise? Not many people would be thrilled with being called ‘little alien’ and Tessa probably wouldn’t, if it’d been anyone else calling her it. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Diego; it was no wonder why her heart fluttered every time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied with an feigned innocent, sweet smile. “I’m lovely, and you know-” She was very nearly tempted to add the line, you know you love me but feared that it might makes things awkward. Well, not awkward but almost like…it was complicated and it just felt like it was in poor taste, given recent events. “And you know it.”

And yeah, he absolutely one hundred percent nailed it when he implied she enjoyed being his pillow. But why would she give him the satisfaction in knowing he was right? Pfft. Not at this hour. “Uh, that’s because you’re heavier than me and I don’t have the strength to? Duh.” The last part wasn’t really a lie; whilst in that comment she suggested it was physical strength she was lacking but in reality, it was her beating heart which refused to move him. Besides, how many times had she used him as a pillow in the past? Maybe she was only returning the favour. However, Tessa knew it went way beyond that. She didn’t want to separate herself from him. If that wasn’t love, then truly, what was? Honestly, the more she thought and considered it, the more she wondered how on earth had she not realised this sooner. Last night, was as though he’d opened her eyes to all she’d been denying herself. Opened her eyes that he was there, right in front of her, open hearted and ready for her. For whatever their relationship consisted of after she made her deliberation. “So, yeah, definitely still a hostage situation.” A slow smile etched its way to her lips as her eyes watched him, every slight detail and reaction - it was how she noticed the colouring blush tinging his ears. Little details like that she wouldn’t normally come across, and no, she wasn’t staring. Pfft. D’s retort only made her want to play along and tease him even more. “Do you wanna know?” She could have a lot of fun with this, even if it was only made up.

Tessa crossed her arms over her chest, her head tilting as she eyed him, biting her lip to stop the stupid smile from gracing her lips, a rebuttal at the tip of her tongue. Shit, what was the last thing she remembered watching? Shrugging, she looked up at the ceiling like it would give her answers. It didn’t. “Oh, you know. The bit where the…the um, the guy did the…thing.” But she was adamant that she’d been watching. Very convincing. Even if her eyes had been watching the TV, she’d been too busy talking to Diego, looking at Diego, thinking about Diego…It wasn’t her fault he was so damn distracting. Which seemed to be a recurring thing these days. “What’s the last thing you remember then?” Deflecting from the question she couldn’t answer by asking him the same question. Perfect. Her hands rested on her hips as she pretended to scowl at him. The way he was giving her orders in her own house! The cheek of it. But it felt so natural, as if this was equally parts his place than hers. How comfortable he must’ve felt for doing that. “Wow, so you’re already giving me your breakfast order and now ordering me around my own house. Whatever happened to ‘ladies first,’ D, huh?” she teased, knowing full well he could do whatever the hell he wanted and she would give it to him. Her gaze drifted to his hair and a little grin crept on his lips as she moved towards him, one hand running through his hair. “Your hair looks cute like this though.” Could hair even look cute? According to Tessa, it did now.  She slowed down as her fingers made their way to the back of his head, drifting down to his neck and then to his cheek. She couldn’t help herself, lingering a little too long, trying to focus on anything but the way her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating erratically. All of it felt so natural and right. The most comfortable, tender, real. It was then it dawned on her: weren’t the best love stories, the ones rooted in friendship? How she didn’t see or admit it to herself sooner, she would never know. A light flush coloured her cheeks as she was lost in thought, clearing her throat to bring her back to reality and reluctantly dropped her hand. “Go on then, don’t take too long though, okay?” Tessa insisted, a teasing tone in her voice as she grinned at him.  

Keeping up with Tessa had not always come to him easily. In fact, many times, Diego wondered why he put himself through all of it. Was this girl's company truly worth the added stress? Lucky for him, he got the answer to that fairly quickly. Of course, no one really assesses someone's friendship and relationship potential at the same time. Diego only got as far as 'she's a good friend', but nothing more. When he came to term with his growing feelings, he was content. Call it a typical guy thing, but he didn't have many follow-up questions. Good friend equaled good girlfriend material, right?

He watched as she went through the motions to fully wake up. She hadn't said anything yet, about how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the couch. It was possible that she'd just save those remarks for later. Although, Diego had an inkling that he'd just deal with the teasing when it came. And with Tess, it always did. He didn't mind though. It wasn't intentional, but sleeping next to her was an irreplaceable moment. It wasn't the first time, of course, but it was the first time he fell asleep next to her with complete vulnerability. All parts of him were out in the open for her to leave or take. With last night's confession, there was no part of him that was hidden. "I have a hefty social media reach," his hands rested on his waist, teasing in an exaggerated tone. Diego really should tread carefully, because she was right. He was familiar with her social media presence, and at first, he had been hesitant about that - fearing one day, his worse picture would end up online. "You are a menace little alien."

Diego could only roll her eyes at her description, hostage. Someone in this room was a drama queen, and it wasn't him. "Hey, you could've pushed me off, but maybe you just like being my pillow. So, not really a hostage situation when you really think about it." But, he was silently grateful that she did stay with him all night and didn't abandon him in the living room. Surely, her bed was more comfortable, but having her here - Diego would take a hundred days on this couch over his own bed. His ears felt warm, an unconventional flush reaching them when she batted her eyelashes at him. How did she have this much energy so early in the morning? "Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he wondered out loud. It was unlikely he uttered anything in his sleep, so he played dumb.

"Oh, coffee is definitely on you. This is a more of a, I'm inviting and you're paying, kinda situation. Hey, we watched part of it. Right? What's the last thing you remember?" He offered her a wide grin when she agreed with more than one yes, god this girl was going to be the death of him. “Pancakes okay? I could go for a stack with maybe like a hash brown on the side. Lucky you that you can get changed, but before you run off, I'm going to at least splash some water in my face and do something about...this," he said, gesturing to his messy hair. "Then, bathroom is all yours." As he spoke, Diego didn't notice how...domestic it all sounded. How comfortable it all was.

[eremiie]

how do you think aot would kiss their s/o ————

how aot characters would kiss you;

eren kisses you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. it’s full of passion and every emotions he’s feeling at the moment and you can feel it too somehow— it’s usually always like this as well. when he’s angry you can feel it, when he’s sad you can feel the sadness, when he’s giddy you can feel it. it’s like he’s pouring everything into you with that kiss, his hands are grabbing onto you somewhere, you can feel him breathing on you, it’s like you’ll disappear any moment.

levi kisses you like he needs it. don’t get me wrong, it’s gentle and it almost feels like nothing is there, almost feels meaningless, but i promise you that kiss meant so much to him. he wished your lips could’ve been on his for longer, and even sometimes when you’re ready to pull off his lips linger on yours for a bit more. it’s almost too soft, like he’s gonna hurt you, and you need to ask for more if you want it, cause he’ll give you more. 

armin kisses you like you’re the most fragile thing on earth. he cups your face, starts by kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and you can hear him giggle before he connects your lips together. it’s so soft and it’s only a peck at first— and then he goes in for more and he might get a little carried away. he’s just so infatuated with you, and he’s studying your lips and how they move against his so he can remember it.

jean kisses you like he’s lovesick. it’s so romantic, and it almost pains you how sweet it is. he tried his best not to fuck up your first kiss that it was corny in the most adorable way, and everytime after that you can still feel how you felt that first time he kissed you. he’d take you by your hips and press you against him so he can feel your warmth, smile down at you before connecting your lips— and it feels nice, it’s not too forceful but it’s not delicate either. it’s this perfect balance that you can’t shake and it fills you completely. he’d peck the corner of your lips or your cheek after and you can’t help but bury your face in his chest because jean!

connie kisses you like he knows there’ll be moments like these again. he knows there’ll be moments like these again, so each kiss is rare and it’s never too much. it’s always impulsive, you’d both be laughing at something and he just leans in for a kiss! just like that. it’s so quick that it’s almost a peck, it’s a little sloppy and your teeth clash��� like neither of you really know what you’re doing but once again, there’ll be moments like these. you can make it better next time. (news flash, it’s still the same!!)

reiner kisses you like he’s scared. it’s like he thinks he’ll mess it up— he takes your hand in his and leans in so unsteadily, continuously looking up at your eyes to make sure it’s okay, that you want to kiss him. at that point just grab him and connect your lips together. when you do he melts into it so flawlessly, like he was made to kiss you, and it almost feels natural at that point. he almost sounds hungry for it, like he’s been wanting it for the longest time. he’s groaning because he’s filled with euphoria at the way your lips dance together, and because his love for you is so unshakeable. albeit him kissing you so nicely, when you break lips through his pants of breath he’ll still manage to ask “was that okay?”

porco kisses you like he doesn’t want to. it’s kind of funny because the way he rolls his eyes when you ask contradicts how he grabs onto your shirt and pulls you as close as possible to him when your lips meet. i said reiner’s felt hungry? porco’s is hungry. like he was craving your lips and didn’t have the balls to kiss you himself. it’s rough, it’s messy, but that’s how he likes it. and he hopes you do too because they’ll most likely continue to be like that, especially with that yearning look he gives you.

colt kisses you like he was overcome with fidelity. it’s so domestic. his kiss makes you feel the future, and it’s a determined kiss, like him letting you know he’s not going anywhere and you aren’t either. he’ll wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you against his chest, kissing the top of your head before he pulls you back a little to really kiss you. somehow he makes this kiss tender, yet at the same time it’s hard— or more so heavy with zeal.

zeke kisses you like he’s has something up his sleeve. it’s a little odd— it doesn’t feel too loving. but no worries, he shows you he loves you in other ways. he’ll hold your chin and pull your face to his and sometimes he’ll lift his glasses to the top of his head before he connects your lips together. it’s a tad bit sensual at first but he’ll slip his tongue in. he never fails to slip his tongue in. it’ll search your mouth and once he’s satisfied he pulls back with a string of saliva connecting the two of you that he’ll break with his finger before putting his glasses back on and continuing what he was doing like it was nothing. catch the little things, like the small smirk that stays on his face after. or the little “hmph.” he manages to make. he’s satisfied. he hopes you are too. 

mikasa kisses you like she never has before. somehow everytime you kiss it’s like it’s her first time, and it has to be the cutest thing ever. she gets all shy— and that strong woman you know so well suddenly conceals herself. she’ll adjust her clothes because they suddenly feel too tight on her, her face is flushed and she feel small when she taps your knee. you already know what she wants because you know enough about this side of her, so make it quick, a softhearted kiss that’ll satisfy her. not too long because she might burst! you can feel how she loves you through it, and it leaves you feeling equally as pleased.

sasha kisses you like it’s a game. it’s cute and cheery, she’ll drop everything just to feel your lips against hers because it feels good. she’ll lean in and bump noses with you before pulling back with a laugh, her hands on your knees to stable herself as she kisses you for real. she’s laughing into the kiss but those laughs melt away into pleasure. it’s nice the way her lips move against yours, and it makes you giddy. it makes your heart warm and it fills you with pure adoration. 

hange kisses you like they haven’t ever in their life. it’s nice to watch, the way she perks up when you start leaning in and the tilt of her head. you almost laugh in her face. she’ll scramble to take her glasses off and push her bangs out the way, and she’s waiting for you to meet her lips. sitting with her feet tapping the floor in excitement. and when your lips do meet their eyes open again for a split second before they topple you over and kiss you like it’s a feeling they haven’t felt. and she experiments with your lips, kissing every inch of them. she’s mesmerized. it makes your heart burst and you’ll almost want to cry with pure joy at the fact that she’s yours.

historia kisses you like she’s trying to tell you something. it’s almost motherly, it’s a confirmation of her love— like she’s telling you that she loves you. she’ll pull you close, and the way her eyes flutter shut before she touches lips with yours is heavenly. her eyebrows are a bit furrowed, like she’s wary the kiss won’t be satisfactory, but that crease between her brows disappears and her hands settle on your arms, dispelling her passion unto you. these are the best kinds of kisses with her. because if it’s not this, it’s a little cute peck to the cheek that leaves you wanting to feel her skin on yours again.

hitch kisses you like she was craving you. she’ll crawl on top of you, and if she can’t one of her body parts will be touching yours. it’s her charming smile that’s alluring, and that small upturn of her lips that tells you she knows what she wants. and the two will kiss, but somehow that ravenous feel only lasts for a little bit. she’s quenched and it’s only her love for you left behind that becomes evident in how she slows down her lips against yours. it’s intimate and the two of you only pull away when you’ve ran out of breath.

annie kisses you like she’s kissed you one time too many. its you who puts in the work, but you can feel the twitch of her lips and it’s quite pleasing to feel. you know you’re getting under her skin in a good way, you know she’s melting at the fondness of it all. sometimes she even scoots a little closer to deepen the kiss— but she never asks for more or gives you more, even if the both of you want it. well, you never get time to ask for more because she’s trying to distract herself or leaving the room right after. it takes a while to get used to the bored expression she still manages to have even after the two of you kiss. but although her eyes are still half lidded and jaded, she’ll refuse to make contact with you, and her cheeks will begin to redden. and that’s how you know she liked it. that’s how you know you still got it— and it’s endearing. don’t worry, she loves you. 

pieck kisses you like she’s giving you something you need. maybe it’s the way her hand comes up to your jaw, the way she shakes her head at you with a overly sweet smile before kissing you. it’s almost overwhelming, the way her lips move alongside yours so skillfully. they slot together almost perfectly and she’s bleeding this warmth, this comfort that you absolutely soak in. you just wanna pull her against you and never let her go, and she’s feeding you her love through this kiss. i guess it is something you need— at least something you’ll wanna feel as many times as you can.

yelena kisses you like it’s something worth earning. the tilt of her head, the quirk of her brow. but nevertheless she’ll lean down and press her lips to yours. her lips barely graze yours at first, and it’s you who has to complete the kiss. who has to pull her hands from behind her back and wrap them around you while you try your best at wrapping them around her shoulders. it’s then the kiss becomes somewhat fervent. she’ll kiss you harsher, sounds elicit from her here and there despite her trying to keep her composure and make it about you. she’s in love with you— the facade broke faster than she could blink, but it was nice seeing her get gushy for you, kiss you like you’re a drug. only, she’d return to that calm put together demeanor right after, and you can’t help but pout. you’d get her again next time.

[manias-wordcount]

Heyo! I love your Zuko series a lot, so I decided to request something! I saw your post where you mentioned wanted to write for FMA, so I was wondering if I could get a fluffy Edward oneshot? No smut please :) Thanks in advance! <3

Kiss it Better (Edward Elric x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡:  𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗺 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗱 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗳𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

“Hey Ed?”

It’s not often that you get to visit him.

“...yeah?”

And yet, the hotel room you share is quiet. The sunset is gorgeous, but you wouldn’t know that. The brown, cloth curtains by the big window and boring and drab. They cover up your view of the outside almost completely. All that’s left is the small sliver of sunlight streaming in through a tear in the fabric. It paints the floor and just parts of the room in a warm orange. Everything feels slow and full and sleepy. You feel safe here. You feel safe because  he’s  here.

He wanted you to see the city tonight.

“Does it ever hurt?”

But you’re more than satisfied with just him in your sights.

You don’t miss the way he tenses up at your question. How his previously lax expression went rigid. In fact, it would be hard not to notice considering how close you two are. His face is just barely a breath away from yours as the two of you lay on the bed. He’s on his side, just looking at you. A gloved hand comes up- which one, you never really could remember- and comes to rest lightly on your hip before tugging you impossibly closer. A nose brushes against yours as his lips set in a straight line. A second passes as he falls into deep thought. Then another. And another. And another. Until finally, a melancholy smile graces his face.

“Does what hurt?” He answers in a murmur, his voice a soft lull. A pout spreads across your face as he lets out a chuckle. He knows what you were asking though he never makes it easy for you. His eyelids flutter close as he inhales deeply. He sounds tired. You  know  he’s tired. But you don’t say anything as he exhales softly and leans into you. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

You can’t help but swallow, knowing that you’re going to have to tread carefully for as long as he’s willing to entertain you right now. You don’t talk about what happened. Not with Al and certainly not with Ed. It wasn’t your place to ask- even in the moments where you finally had the courage to ask. In fact, Granny was the one who told you weeks after it happened. That your best friend growing up had lost an arm and a leg. And his little brother had lost almost the entirety of his life.

After that, the topic was skirted around. No mentions, no further details. All you knew was what was told to you. But sometimes, you swear you can see it. The pain on his face. The silence that carries. The aura of the two brothers who have seemed to have lost everything but each other. And it terrifies you. Their constant drive to move forward. The fast-growing maturity in their voices. The danger that they put themselves in over and over again. All that Al and Ed do for others- all that  Ed  does for others. It terrifies you so, so much.

So when Winry invited you to come with her to Central to repair Ed’s arm, you jumped at the chance. The letters he would write back home just weren’t enough. The limited phone calls you would receive weren’t cutting it either. You needed to see him for yourself. To see if he was okay- despite the ruined arm. Your reunion was sweet albeit quick. You surprised him at the station, hiding behind Winry until she stepped aside to let him see you. And when he did, there was no containing your tears as your ran into him. Finally, after all this time.

He still embraced you like he always did, even without the usage of one of his arms. Holding you tight and close as if you were going to lose each other the moment you let go. But you didn’t. You didn’t lose each other. Even as you finally parted to say your hellos to Al, he was still right there. A smile on his face almost as giddy as you felt. Though it wasn’t before long when Winry had to get settled and begin working. You were around to hear her tear him into him for being so careless yet again. And admittedly, you couldn’t contain your giggles as Ed tried every excuse in the book to appease the young mechanic.

Though when it came to repair and re-attachment, it was Al who kept you occupied. At first, you didn’t think anything of it. Winry’s job required concentration, and Ed’s position as a State Alchemist meant that he’d be busy with work either way. Deep down though, you knew it was intentional. Another thing you couldn’t understand. Another thing they didn’t want you to see. You know it’s for the best. The less you know, the better is what they always say. Yet that doesn’t stop you from worrying. Day in, and day out.

But now that the repairs are done, Al and Winry are out picking up replacement parts. It’s one of the first moments you have alone with him after all this time. Everything was finalized last night, and tomorrow morning you leave back home for Resembool. That’s why he wanted to take you out tonight. To show you the parts of the city he claimed for himself. And that’s why you wanted to spend tonight in. Just to be close to him. In case this time is your last. So that’s why you have to know…

“ Does your arm…ever hurt?”

This time, your question  really  catches him off guard. It’s all in the way his golden eyes widen and his bottom lip quivers. Perhaps it all has to do with the innocence behind your question. You never knew much about Ed’s automail. All the things that Winry said and did to replace his leg and arm always went over your head. Even now, your mind wanders to what few memories you have of his unobstructed metal arm. They were fleeting at best, and yet you could still remember just how complicated everything looked. All shiny and new and important. But it’s always covered up. Always hidden. For good reason, you’re sure.

Ed always had a way of protecting you.

So it’s really no surprise that when he recovers from his initial shock, it’s with a goofy grin and mirthful energy about him. It reminds you of those days when you were both children. Running and round and playing tag over fields and fields of grass- just hoping for the day you would be brave enough to tell the boy you always loved just how you feel about him. But now, you’re older. Much, much older. Still, you can’t help the shy smile that overtakes your own face as you find him laughing softly at just how little you know. How little you’ve always known. About automail. About alchemy. About him too.

“ Well…”

It’s swift the way he moves, and it’s no wonder you’ve heard rumors of just how good of a fighter he truly is. Because before you can even blink, his hand is off your hip and brought towards his face. The tip of the fabric from his glove is pinched between his teeth. Amusement danced in his eyes as you’re caught watching in awe the way he slowly tugs his glove off, exposing his hand made of steel.

“It only hurts a little bit. It’s nothing I can’t handle, though.” He confesses, keeping his voice light as your eyes focus on the way his hand glints in the dark room. He flexes his hand, moving his fingers to allow you an up-close view of the joints working that causes his mobility. It makes you sad to think about how “But… I heard a kiss from a pretty girl could make me fix me up real quick.”

“I…” Your eyes go wide at his response, completely caught off guard. In some ways, this is the Ed you knew. The one who was bold and cocky, even as a young boy. But in other ways, this was the Ed you never thought you would see. One who liked you back, despite the time away. Despite the distance. Despite the fears. “Ed…”

“So what do you say?” He’s whispering as he inches closer and closer to your face, closing the gap in between you. And as his breath fans over your face, the state of his arm is long forgotten in your mind. He licks his lips once…twice before his eyes flicker down to yours. Sealing the deal for you for once and for all. “Think you can help me out here?”

But you don’t let him finish. Because it’s not often that you get to visit him.

And it’s not often that you get to kiss him either.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right? 

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

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

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

[seokstrivia]

Neon Lights | dpr live

↬ Summary: You and Dabin work in a club, that’s it, that’s the fic

or, a cute moment between two friends 

↬ Club!AU | word count: 2.4k

↬ DPR Live x Reader: friends to lovers au, slowish burn, it takes place in a club where the two of you work, confessions, one-shot, fluff, minor angst, it's just short and sweet 

↬ A/N so this is my first khh fic on this account, if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask, I hope this was enjoyable and you all welcome my love for khh to this blog, thank you <3 

A long and tiring sigh parted your lips as you dragged your feet towards the cloakroom. Sure, getting paid meant that you could buy food and feed yourself, pay bills and stay warm through winter, but you were 100% certain that it did not mean never getting any time to rest.

You were putting your jacket away when you heard a small chuckle behind you, one that you knew all too well. A pout formed its way onto your lips while you turned around to face the one person you would do absolutely anything for.

Hong Dabin— your work best friend.

“Good to see you’re happy to be here!” His tone was chirpy, but as usual, laced with sarcasm.

It made you roll your eyes before straightening your shoulders and crossing your arms. Almost in a way to intimidate him or stare him down, but he only smiled in return and you sighed in defeat.

“Do you know how hard it was to stay awake during my last lecture today?” You moaned as you followed him to his spot at the bar. “Clarkson’s monotone voice seeps right through me, I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”

Dabin shook his head before laughing at the forlorn expression etched into your face. Sometimes he wished he could take a picture so he could keep it forever, but you would probably threaten him and force him to delete it.

He knew you well. Maybe, a little too well.

“You’re just being dramatic as usual,” he told you, earning a scoff in return. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal once we’re out of here.”

That was enough to lighten your mood and get you situated at the front door, minutes before opening, with a smile on your face.

The rest of the night was nothing more than a blur, your job was to sit at the register by the front doors making sure anyone who walked in paid before going any further into the club. But it got boring and quiet after a certain time and, to be honest, the only thing keeping you going was the thought of getting something to eat with Dabin.

Hence, as soon as you were done with work and as soon as the place was vacant, you frantically sped towards the cloakroom to find Dabin. He was already there, tugging his jacket over his shoulders before twisting around to face you with a sheepish smile.

That’s not good. You sighed.

“No food?”

He went to open his mouth to speak; probably to spout out a reason or two, but you'd beat him to it.

“It’s okay! There’s always a next time.”

The smile on your face didn’t falter, it wasn’t fake— it was genuine and that was something he loved about you.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” That was the last thing he said before hurrying out the door.

You watched his figure disappear with pursed lips, wondering what came up—did something happen within his family? Did his friend finally break up with his snotty girlfriend? Did his goldfish die—wait, he doesn’t have a goldfish?

A giggle parted your lips as you laughed at yourself while moving for your jacket and bag. It was finally time to go home after a long and somewhat exhausting week.

Your bed was calling your name.

>

"You know what we should do?" Your friend urged, face way too close to yours.

"Sleep forever?" You mumbled in question while moving your face away from hers.

She chuckled in return, full and hearty before playfully bumping your arm with hers, "no silly! We should go clubbing this weekend."

A grunt left your lips, you knew this was coming from the second you'd informed her of your first weekend ever off work.

"That's far from what I think we should do this weekend," you told her before moving your chair slightly away from hers.

Mina was always bursting your personal space bubble without fail.

However, you could never stay mad at her, she was your best friend since birth and had never left your side. She was also extremely supportive, albeit annoying.

"I think it'll be fun."

You turned to stare at Mina, there was a pout on her face as if it would help convince you to say yes.

Unfortunately, it did help.

"Okay, fine! We can go clubbing."

A shriek of happiness emitted from her lips in excitement, it had been a while since you two hung out on the weekend and truth be told, she missed being able to spend time outside of University with you.

But, so did you.

Okay, so maybe you wouldn't be able to sleep the whole weekend away, but at least you'll have a good time.

Plus Dabin would be tending the bar.

The rest of the week was spent talking about what to wear, what time to be ready by and what drinks to buy to get a little tipsy before going to the club.

Mina wouldn't stop talking about, 'the best weekend ever,' it was annoying sometimes, but you couldn't bring yourself to get mad at her since it had been a while since you got the weekend off.

You missed it.

"Is Dabin working tonight?" Mina asked while finishing her makeup.

You were ready half an hour ago, but you never really dressed up. Comfort was always the way to go.

"Yeah, he should be unless he calls in sick," you told her while sipping on your drink.

Mina's eyes met yours through the mirror, the smirk on her lips had you rolling your eyes as she bounced her eyebrows up and down in a teasing manner.

"Shut up," you snorted.

She shrugged her shoulders before returning to her makeup, "I didn't say anything."

A chuckle parted tour lips making her smile.

"You didn't have to."

Sometimes you thought you could read her mind, but in reality, you just knew each other that well.

***

The club was already bouncing with people, most of the crowd was already drunk but, that was a given with cheap drinks.

Mina stretched for your hand and proceeded to skillfully advance through the crowd to get to the bar. A smile made its way to her lips when she noticed who was working at the bar.

"Will you buy me a drink while I quickly go and pee?"

You rolled your eyes at her before telling her to be careful and quick.

When you turned to face the bar after watching Mina disappear towards the toilets, you were met with Dabin's big, cheesy grin.

"Hi! I'm surprised to see you here," he teased, moving closer so you could hear him better. "I thought you would be in bed sleeping."

You flicked his forehead with your finger causing him to grimace in pain, "Mina said she wanted to go out, so... very reluctantly, I said yes."

He chuckled in response, feeling sympathy and understanding that you would much rather be asleep than somewhere loud and crowded.

"Well, can I get you anything?"

You shook your head, 'no,' before glimpsing at the direction Mina was standing, "he's gonna keep her distracted for a while, so I think... I'll just hang around here."

"And keep me company?" Dabin replied as he glanced away from the two now making out. "I'm flattered."

A chuckle parted your lips as you made yourself comfortable on one of the many empty bar stools.

The majority of the night was spent talking to Dabin, catching up and talking about how Uni was going for the two of you.

It was nearing 1:30 am when Dabin finally asked you if you were ever going to get off your ass and enjoy your night.

"You think there’s a reason that I sit at the counter talking to you all night while you bartend... No, of course, there isn't- WHO’S THAT GIRL AND WHY IS SHE WINKING AT YOU?"

You were drunk.

Dabin rolled his eyes and shook his head, "that's my ex."

You gasped in return, this was your first time hearing this, "you have an ex? But you told me that you'd been single all your life."

"I told you I was single most of my life."

"What's the difference?"

Dabin shrugged his shoulders, annoyed that you thought he'd been single forever. Did you think he was ugly or something? Maybe you thought he would only ever make it as a friend.

A sigh parted his lips as he stepped away to serve others at the bar.

You stopped staring at his ex only to find Dabin was on the other side of the bar—with a frown etched on his face.

Was it something you said?

When he came back towards your end, he handed you bottled water before turning to leave again, however, you were quick to grab for his arm, a look of concern lazed across your features.

"I'm sorry if I upset you."

Dabin removed your hand from his arm, he glanced over at his ex before making eye contact with you, "it's not like you would understand. You're the one who's been single their whole life."

His words didn't hurt because they were true, and they didn't mean anything to you. You just hadn't found the right person yet, but it wasn't difficult to understand that Dabin was upset.

And that it was most likely your fault.

>

"Are you working tomorrow night?" Mina asked.

You nodded.

"Is Dabin working."

An exhalation parted your lips as you shook your head, 'no.'

"He's off this weekend," you told her.

Mina knew you were still beating yourself up over the whole ex ordeal with him, even if you couldn't pinpoint exactly what you had said that upset him.

This is why she spoke to Ian, Dabin's best friend, and asked him if they were going out clubbing Friday night. Let's just say she was over the moon when he said yes, and you were slightly freaking out when she told you.

"Wow," Mina exclaimed when she reached the bar. "So, you're bartending tonight!"

You chuckled at the excitement in her tone and nodded your head, "someone called in sick, so I'll be stuck here tonight."

"This is great!" She shouted before going off to find the friends she'd come out with.

It wasn't long before the bar was filled with people asking for drinks, it kept your mind busy and distracted from Dabin.

It kept you so distracted that you didn't even notice him sitting on the stool at the far end of the bar. The very seat you'd taken just last week.

It made you smile, but also made you feel nervous.

"Hi," you spoke softly, but loud enough for him to hear. "What can I get you?"

The scowl on his face caught you off guard, but the slur in his voice told you that he was very drunk.

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

You stared at him for a solid minute before pinching his cheek, even though he was drunk, he could still feel the pain.

"Of course I don't think you're ugly!" You argued. "What gave you that idea?"

He shrugged his shoulders with a pout on his lips and stroked his cheek, hoping the pain would quickly subside.

"You thought I'd been single my whole life."

"That's only because you'd never spoke about your ex before," you told him. "I don't think you've ever told me anything about your personal life, to be honest."

Dabin stared into your eyes with his red and tired ones.

"I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions," you added.

And then, he smiled.

"If you liked me more than a friend," he slurred in a serious tone. "I would have confessed my feelings by now."

His words caught you off guard but you couldn't ask him what he meant since he was gone and, well, you had a job to do.

However, his words lingered endlessly in your mind for the rest of the night. Was this his way of saying that he liked you? Dabin liked you this whole time and you didn't even know?

Your mind was reeling by the end of the night, Dabin filled your mind with endless thoughts. Wait, if he liked you, why didn't he ask you out on a date?

A sigh parted your lips as you wiped down the bar, watching groups of people huddle together as they were all ushered out of the club.

Mina hurried over to the bar before leaving, her footing was clumsy, but it made you laugh. You assumed she's forgotten the keys to the flat and that's why she was rushing over, however, you were in fact, wrong.

"Did you speak to Dabin?"

You frowned in confusion, "I did, but he was drunk so it wasn't for long."

She nodded her head in response before leaving and waving goodbye.

You rolled your eyes, watching her stumble towards the male she'd met last week. A potential boyfriend she had told you, which didn't surprise you.

It didn't take you long to finish cleaning, but you were exhausted and couldn't wait for your bed. It was nearing 3:30 am when you left the club, the area was empty and quiet as you walked towards your car.

Dabin, who you thought had gone home hours ago, was leaning against the car door. Staring at the night sky, admiring the stars, something in your stomach churned, and you felt your heart begin to beat faster the closer you got.

"Hey," you smiled, keys in hand as you unlocked the car. "You need a ride home?"

His eyes finally met yours, he appeared to have sobered up as a smile rose across his lips, "if you don't mind," he chuckled. "Honestly, I just wanted to apologise."

"For what?"

"For being an idiot," he said. "Selfish, mostly. I got upset that maybe you'd never see me as anything more than a friend."

You punched his arm causing him to wince in pain, "you're an idiot, Dabin."

He shrugged his shoulders while rubbing the pain away.

"If you'd just told me how you felt or I dont know? Asked me out on a date," you argued. "You would have found out that I feel the same."

"You like me?" He asked carefully, eyes searching yours for answers—for anything.

"Yeah, I do."

A wide smile adorned his lips before his arms found your waist and lured you in for a hug, you giggled in return while coiling your arms around his neck.

"Will you go on a date with me?" He asked as he drew back to look at you.

You rolled your eyes, "took you long enough."

[redrobin-detective]

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way. 

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking. 

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons. 

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green. 

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked. 

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.” 

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.   

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up. 

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

[rinharu-purple]

On Jealousy

I owe this analysis/answer to an anon ask which I've accidentally posted, though only with the introduction sentence and then couldn't retrieve.🙈

Dear anon, this analysis is dedicated to you.

I HOPE YOU SEE THIS!!! 🙏🏻💫🙏🏻

Thank you @sin-with-quiche for proofreading and @lunabai78 for the spiritual support 💕💕💕

---—-----—

We have quite a number of moments in our journey with Gavin... Some are funny, some are cute, some are...mmm over the edge

(。-ω-)ﾉ

If you ask me whether Gavin is a jealous man, I would give you two answers:

1) Pre and early relationship... Absolutely!

2) Established relationship... The fitting colloquial term is "territorial".

In order to look at Gavin's attitude towards other males and whether to categorize them as jealous behaviour or not, first we need to describe jealousy .

Jealousy generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety.

The word stems from the French jalousie, formed from jaloux (jealous), and further from Low Latin zelosus (full of zeal), in turn from the Greek word ζήλος (zēlos), sometimes "jealousy", but more often in a positive sense "emulation, ardour, zeal" (with a root connoting "to boil, ferment"; or "yeast").

As you can see, there are different set of emotions that might boil or ferment the reaction of jealousy in one's belly.

My personal take on this is that jealousy arises from two simple things 1) Lack of self-confidence 2) Lack of trust towards one's partner (in terms of romantic jealousy). You don't get jealous when you know you're one hell-of-a-mate and are with the right person. Which is why as we will see in a minute Gavin fits the bill at the beginning but afterwards his jealousy isn't actually jealousy at all!

So which sets of emotions lead to his jealous behaviour and in which conjuncture?

We know that Gavin is completely attuned to MC. This also applies for his reaction towards the presence of other guys around her. So the type of jealousy he displays is attuned to MCs type of reaction to the source of his jealousy. He observes MCs aura and attitude carefully and then reacts in an either desirous, protective, territorial or downright pouty manner.

If he sees the person is overstepping their boundaries like TNTs Tyson or the guys catcalling her during Romantic Date, he gets protective. If he sees someone from his inner cycle being only the slightest overfamiliar with MC as in his phone call with Eli, he gets territorial and draws boundaries. If he gets ditched by MC and walks on her having lunch with another guy all the while she's being touched by him and she's not showing any protest, he pouts in the corner and stabs MC with his words "Too much of anything can get boring after a while" (love this moment and how Joe delivers this line with a strong tonation on the word - boooring-)

If he sees the person is actually drawing MCs attention, well... This is where we can look more into. Because this is actually a stereotypical example of making one jealous. Seeing your love interest with another person in an over-friendly manner.

In Trio Date, he worries that MC might have a crush on Kiro and a close relationship with him. Which is understandably an alarming situation for him, because he isn't that close to her himself and Kiro is... well... Kiro. Pretty much everyone's into him 🌟. But Gavin doesn't show any aggression or envy towards Kiro. On the contrary, he praises him for his charm and even says that he can see what people mean by that as in confessing to being charmed by Kiro himself. I really praise how elegant Gavin acts in the face of this situation 👑 Needless to say, it's a Gavin date, meaning the canon couple in this scenario is Gavin x MC (On a side note pretty bold and disrespectful of PG to put another LI in the supporting male role in a date for another tbh) And also RIP Chandler, the poor guy didn't do anything wrong ^_^

At this point I need to let one thing out of my chest though. I can't say that I appreciate him telling MC when and where to wear revealing clothes <spoiler alert> only for him. Even though we don't actually see him seriously forbidding her to wear them I think it would be better to leave her be the judge of it. But considering the fact that she gets catcalled even at his presence I can kinda see why Gavin gets protective here. On a side note, his girlfriend isn't better on this matter either. MC covers Gavin's body at the beach during 2021 summer event in CN server so that other girls don't drool over him 🤣 These two have some homework to do in that department I tell you that 😅

In the more mature phases of their relationship, we no longer see Gavin feeling himself threatened by the presence of another male. AT ALL! All Gavin jealousy after this point is only because someone is overstepping their boundaries and making "his girl" uncomfortable.

Gavin might be the one acting jealous the most frequently among the LIs, but he never ever gets possessive over her, limits her freedom or makes unconfirmed self proclaims on behalf of her. Being possessive over someone objectifies them and the moment you objectify a person, you no longer need to be in a relationship with them tbh. Leaving your partner room to breathe and respecting their personal space is important and Gavin does this the best alongside with Kiro. We also never see Kiro getting possessive, limiting or doing anything of that nature with MC.

Further in their relationship Gavin still acts jealous, but in an extremely cute, pure and harmless way. Be it against prankster ghosts, animals she's met in the middle of the desert, a wild child, service dogs, birds and co. Basically anyone and anything that diverts her attention from him for more than a nanosecond can be perceived as a threat but an adult male 😂At his core, Gav-babe wants MC all for himself but his jealousy is actually only adorkable.

(´∀｀)♡

In the main story, however, there is a certain LI which becomes the magnet for Gavin's firsthand jealousy and even kinda provokes this. And this is actually what I am dying to write about in this post😈. It only happens at the beginning of the story, but I love it so much and therefore it must be in this post.

Gavin shows signs of jealousy towards one particular LI at various occasions and that is...

Gavin shows obvious signs of jealousy towards our genius scientist and that is completely understandable! Lucien is the one who makes his advances first and is the most straightforward one throughout the main story. Plus, he lives right next to MC and, let's be honest here, is the only one who toys with MC's poor hormones the most. Just to give one example:

Gavin and MC don't become quite a couple before CH12 and S1 Gavin has some issues with self-worth and confidence (towards MC). When he meets MC again after 6 years, he is perplexed and is fairly clueless as to how to approach her romantically. Lest Gavin making the wrong moves, he acts weirdly around MC which further confuses her. Gav-babe is really weird at the beginning of the story 😅

The first time we see Gavin getting jealous about Lucien is in CH2, when he and MC spend a prolonged period of time for the first time as they investigate the time warping incident. Our birdcop is hopelessly in love with MC so when he sees her become so red on the phone with another person, he gets worked up.

Fun trivia, Joe's reaction to this moment can be found here

The second instance is when MC spends two nights in a row with Lucien in CH5 and then falls asleep in her office.

It is crucial to remember at this point that up to CH5, MC seems to be most romantically involved with Lucien and spends most of her time with him. LuLu mercilessly teasing her and flirting with her doesn't help much in that sense either because he is actively making advances on her. Thus announcing his candidacy for "Mr. Love". So when Gavin catches MC spending nights following Lucien, having phone calls with him, living right next door to him, working closely with him and blushes because of him, it's fairly understandable that our birdcop gets fairly jealous because at that point in the story Lucien seems to have a better shot at love with her than he does.

Btw, MC flatlines on his question as to who is the resource of her flustering this time around and doesn't explain herself ;)

Interestingly though, in the third instance, where Gavin sees MC and Lucien, he isn't jealous at all! In the famous "Rude Awakening" moment, the vibes we get at first is as if Gavin walks in to MC and Lucien. But actually our protective boyfriend is there to save MCs life. What's more, he doesn't give credit to Lucien's provocations, such as when he calls Gavin "dangerous" or pulls MC behind him, stays extremely close to her and plays the "protective boyfriend" in front of him. On Gavin's defense, the one actually saves MCs life and protects her is Gavin here as he deflects the bullet shot at her.¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Furthermore, he asks Lucien to take MC home, albeit not before telling her that he will be contacting her later, signaling to Lucien that he shouldn't stick along for long. A highly subtle way of "marking his territory", much like a wolf would. God I love this scene both in the main story and in the anime.

It is necessary to mention at this point that the chapter following this scene revolves around Gavin and MC clearing all kinds of misunderstandings between them and MC trying to bind with him. Hence laying the first stones in the temple of their relationship. After that point we no longer see Gavin showing any kind of jealousy towards anyone. So mark CH7 people ;)

----—-----—-----—

You know what I would love to see? Gavin getting jealous over Shaw. I wonder whether he even knows that MC spends time with him 🤔 Too bad that PG has left the idea "brother conflict".

If you would like to read another perspective on this, Cheri has posted her analysis here

[lokislittlesigyn]

Five Minutes - Loki x Reader [Oneshot] Part 3 of Sigyn’s Angst-to-Fluff Drabbles

Inspired by Cozy’s Fluff-to-Angst Fun and Games!

Pairing: Loki / gender neutral reader

Warnings: Alcohol mention. No active drinking, but a character is tipsy/drunk. Reader is a bit overworked from their job.

Author’s Note: Short(ish), sweet, and pure fluff. A hopefully welcome relief from the last fic I shared, too. :’D

@electroma89:

"please look at me, please just focus on me" for the Angst turned to fluff prompts 🥺❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of soft footsteps thudded behind you, your eyes glancing up from your work. Arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close. Your back squished into the soft sofa, your head now resting against the clavicle of - well, it could only be one person, really.

You smiled despite yourself. “Loki. You’re drunk.”

“‘M not…. ‘M lonely…” His nose nudged your cheek.

“You have been harassing me for the past half hour.” Your hand found his cheek, pushing gently. “I’m busy, honey-”

“Stop being busy, then.” 

The god - though, reduced to a self-described very full god - huffed warm breath against your face. You could smell the alcohol on it, along with a twinge of sweetness. What had he gotten into?

It wasn’t particularly odd for Loki to enjoy a few drinks. In fact he often sipped a delicious red wine as he relaxed after a long day, with a book for company. You might even join him. On social evenings, he’d enjoy a martini, perhaps two if the night called for it. Sometimes, he’d get a little buzzed. Perhaps a flushed face, a suggestive joke, a particularly flirtatious wink. But tonight - tonight he was simply impossible. 

He must’ve drank an entire liquor store. He was practically bouncing off the walls for hours. You’d never heard such karaoke - and worse? He was actually a good singer. 

“Why were you holding out on me last Friday, huh?” You had asked as you finished cleaning the kitchen with him. The god grinned, and laughed a bright, cheery laugh. Even though you’d eaten dinner alone - Loki had been out, as you’d had to work all day alone - he still stopped to help you with the chores. Albeit while remarking on how “positively radiant” you looked. Then again, despite being distracted, he was still helping.

“Well, I wasn’t in the mood then, love! Mood, yes - see, I’m in it now.” He tilted a plate your way, “Very much so. In the mood, that is. Why don’t you sing with me?”

“I’m busy,” You grabbed the plate, setting it on the appropriate stack. “I have to work.”

His face had fallen a bit at your response, but he ran after you, seemingly unperturbed, as you had walked to your workspace. Your apartment wasn’t very big, but it was home. Even though your office was often the couch, it worked, and it was familiar. Comfortable.

At least, when very full gods weren’t breathing down your neck.

Like one was now. 

He was still leaning over the back of the couch, hands caressing your sides as you desperately tried to focus on your laptop screen. His lips kissed your temple, then whispered their way to your cheek. The sweet breath ghosting across your face made your nose scrunch, and you bit your lip, trying desperately to swallow the laughter bubbling up in your throat. If you let slip even one giggle, it was all over. There’d be no stopping him.

“Please?” Loki begged. 

“I am busy.” You said again, with a little more force. 

He quickly grew more desperate. “Oh, can’t it wait? I’ve been waiting to see you all week…” His head lowered, now against your shoulder. He nuzzled it, tickling the skin there with his soft breath.

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“Loki,” You shuddered a little, “You know it can’t. My boss doesn’t care about weekends, she cares about results. So I work, or next week will be even more miserable than this week..”

“But I don’t want you to work.” His voice was almost a whine, almost a growl. You steadied another shudder. “Please look at me, please just focus on me.”

“Just give me a few minutes, okay? Five minutes.”

Loki slid away from you with a low, annoyed groan. “Fine. Five minutes.” He stood back, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch. Rocking on his feet. Wait- was he counting under his breath?

You couldn’t keep your lips from turning up in a smile. Quickly, you finished this newest assignment - it had been tedious, but you were so close, you could practically feel the relief of finally defeating the mountain of responsibilities that bore down on you Monday morning.

The clickety-clack of your fingertips against the keyboard mimicked that of Loki’s against the back of the couch, which had mysteriously neared your shoulders. You felt them, now, soft taps against the caps of your shoulders - not hard enough to drum, and in fact rather soothing. You had always loved his hands.

Wait. No. Focus! You’re almost there!

“Loki,” you scolded under your breath, squinting down at the laptop screen. The god retreated with a huff.

… But only for a moment.

“Five minutes,” you reminded him, typing up an email. Here’s the file you asked for… Please see attached…

“It’s been three and a half, surely I can indulge a little?” 

“Five. Minutes.”

Loki sneered. He must have knelt behind you, because you then felt his head settle next to yours, the most dramatic, exasperated sigh escaping his lips. Then his counting continued, you heard it clearer now. Four thirty-five. Four thirty-six.

You typed up another: the final email. Quickly as you could, you smashed the keys, attached the files, sped through the necessary salutations-

“Five minutes!” Loki leapt to his feet, racing around in front of you. You gasped and felt yourself be lifted by a pair of strong, sturdy arms, a kiss placed squarely on your lips. Your laptop, still on the couch, was mercifully safe. Of course Loki had been careful, even in this state. “My love, I can finally hold you!” He spun you in place, chuckling as he did.

Now you couldn’t help but laugh. Giggles erupted from your mouth while a million tiny kisses showered your face, in between mutters of “Oh, my beautiful,” and something in Asgardian you couldn’t quite make out.

“W-Wait- Wait, just a minute..”

Loki groaned. “No. No more waiting. Please! I’ve waited all week, I’ve done exactly as I should- You’ve finished, haven’t you?” He sighed, curls falling in front of his face. He set you on your feet and wiped them back.

“One more thing.” You leaned over, clicking “send” on the email, then closed your laptop. “Done.”

Loki beamed. “Come to me, my darling has, from o’er field and dale,” His hearty voice rang out, and he took your hands, pulling your arms, one after the other, and moving his hips ever so slightly.

“Dancing? We’re dancing now? Wait- Is that poetry? What is that?” You giggled.

Loki merely grinned. “Through struggle and strife, through shadow and dark, my life, my heart, return - prevail!” He placed a hand over his chest. “In place of sadness, feel I glee; my heart, it sings, my soul, it shines!” His voice turned soft, and his other hand cupped your cheek, his eyes meeting yours. “Joy floods through me, like tide through sea, for this I know: you are mine.”

“And…” He swallowed. You stared into his eyes, the softest smile on your lips. 

“And I am never letting you go again!”

You burst into laughter at his sudden change of tone, felt yourself be lifted again, and spun, then fell onto the couch with a soft, cushioned landing. You settled onto Loki’s chest, which seemed to be what he wanted - he held you close, running his hands up and down your back, kissing your hair. 

“I love you so, my darling.”

“I love you too,” You giggled, then sighed with relief at the closeness. “So much.” 

[quirklessidiot]

Title: blood son [oneshot; filthy rich sequel]  Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au ft. kageyama tobio as your son] Genre: major angst ahead, thriller, yandere!au-ish

Synopsis: A full circle of madness finally comes to an end.

Warnings: sexual themes, rape, yandere behaviorisms (just some obsessive and disturbing stuff), very dark themes, anxiety, trauma, depression, eating disorder, unwanted pregnancy/children (y/n hates her kid here), suicide,  gaslighting, and Y/N’s decent to madness

Notes: happy 800 due to a lot of uh people asking for a short sequel, here it is...for better understanding, please read filthy rich skskksks anyways onto the story…i cant write smut for shit sIKE also fuck men and women like this, if you see them chok’em and chunk’em in the basin.  yes tobio is ur bby boy here idk kageyama and sakusa have the same energy i just couldnt resist i swear sksks

Filthy rich // series masterlist

A moan escapes your lips when you feel the hot liquid fill your hole, your expression is tantalizing and completely erotic. Something that he can’t seem to stop looking at, your body that was now a canvas of his marks, was a reminder that no one could have you. 

You're oblivious to it all, the things he did. The things he wanted to do to you, the dark thoughts, you were like a small rabbit in the den of a large wolf. Completely trusting, completely dumb and he’s taking advantage of it.

He stuffs and fills you up with his seed so that you’ll never leave him. 

He wants to breed you.

Your belly swelling with his children.

It was definitely a dream come true.

Your eyes snap back to reality as the bus stops in front of the new town, you had moved towns earlier since the town started to become a tourist destination. The idea of staying there would be too risky despite having the alias of Kageyama Miwa. You were still in hiding and you feared to even open the news despite it being eight years since you ran away.

“Okaasan, are we going to go down now?” a small voice asks.

You turn to find his son staring right at you, it had been a cruel reminder for him to look a lot like his father. You knew that he didn’t have any part in this, he was a victim just like you but you couldn’t help but be distant and not-so affectionate.

This was his kid.

His blood.

You couldn’t help but shrivel away.

“...Okaasan will just take her duffel bag on the overhead, just wait right behind me.” You say quietly. Tobio was a good boy, he was quiet and obedient. If the circumstances had been different, you’d adore him but every time you looked at him, all you saw was his wretched father and the unnamed things he did in the name of ‘love’.

To be honest, you didn’t know what else Sakusa did aside from trying to get you pregnant and holding you back from leaving. 

You didn’t even want to try to find out. If he was willing to go through such lengths to have you stay, it was more than enough reason to run away. You held onto your child’s hands as you made your way to your new home, it was smaller than the last one but this was alright.

It was clean and livable.

Tobio stays at the side, out of your way as you begin to fix up the house. The young boy isn’t social for his age towards his peers and you should be worried yet you can’t bring yourself to be, “Okaasan’s going to go to the grocery store, would you like anything?” you ask.

“Milk.”

“Alright, just stay here okay?”

He meekly nods as you awkwardly pat his head and  tie your roughly chopped hair in a tight ponytail, over the course of eight years, time has not been kind to you. You had grown unhealthily thin, probably lost some hair due to stress, and the bags underneath your eyes due to the lack of good sleep was evident.

You tell yourself that he isn’t looking for you now.

That he probably found a new plaything but you couldn’t help but look behind your shoulder every time. You didn’t even expect to get this far away, last you heard whilst you were at the station towards the last town eight years ago, you were being searched up and down by the police all over Tokyo.

You really thought you’d be found out and you feared for the worse but the farther you went, the less news reports you saw.

They probably thought you had died.

Which was good on your part that time because you’d rather be dead in a ditch than be caught up with a man like him again.

“...-Kusa Kiyoomi is expected to marry the daughter of Akiko Corp soon…”

You tense up at the mention of the very familiar name as you pass by the appliance store, shakily you turn to the tv screen to find a video of Sakusa Kiyoomi with a woman who had the same hair color as yours. Everything around you is muted now as his cold gaze fills the tv screen, your heart is thumping quick. 

He isn’t here.

He isn’t here.

“...It’s quite the love story of the century, don’t you think? After the disappearance of Kiyoomi’s beloved eight years ago, he met her a few years back and he seems to be doing well.” The tv anchor smiles on the screen as she talks to her co-host but inside you were shaking, what did happen to your missing person report? Curiosity starts to gnaw your insides as you head to the internet café before going to the grocery store.

You didn’t have the guts to look then but after seeing that report, you pull up on the secluded part of the internet café and search up your case. Your mouth dries up, the search was still on-going much to your surprise. There was even a website dedicated to it, “...Y/N L/N might be suffering from hysteria and psychological problems, please contact us immediately when you see her.”

Your eyes narrowed at the report as you shakily cup your mouth and choke back a laugh, that bastard really had the audacity to diagnose you with that when he was the one sick to the head.

Once again, the bile on your throat starts to pile up.

It still wasn’t safe.

You’d probably live your whole life on the run.

On the run with his son that scarily resembled him, how fucking cruel.

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes glaze over the small town in discontent, apparently his bride-to-be wanted to get married here and who was he to refuse? All he wanted to do was get this over with so her father can shut up.

“Kiyoomi-san.” a small dainty voice calls out, he turns to his side to find (h/c) staring right at him. Akiko Hideyo is the daughter of one of the most powerful businessmen in Tokyo, he met her at a function a few years ago.

The very first time he saw her was from behind, it was a rather scary resemblance that he had to stop himself from approaching her by calling your name yet when he started to talk to her and hear her dainty voice, he realizes that she’s not even like you at all.

She was gentle and dainty like a deer.

Albeit his little bunny was gentle when they got together sometimes, he always recalled how you were filled with spunk. How you weren’t even afraid to put him in his place and how you were all over the place but seem to look beautiful whilst doing so.

He always recalled wanting to control you yet you never seem to succumb to it.

It had been eleven years since you first met, eight years since you had disappeared without a single trace and Sakusa is stuck with some third-rate look alike for relief. Every time they fucked, it was always from behind. Hideyo thinks it’s just his preference but in reality, it was because her back had such strong resemblance to you and he’d imagine every time that it was you.

He misses the roughness, the high, the erotica. 

The only things you could provide.

It was never enough, it was only you, you, and you.

“...Have you decided what flavor you wanted? Komori-san mentioned that you liked vanilla.” his fiancé meekly says.

Hideyo was boring.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s just doing this because he has never seen someone closely resembling you, “Anything would be fine.” He replied in a clipped tone. As the car comes to a halt for a moment because of a large truck backing from a driveway, his attention shifted towards a young boy bouncing a volleyball against the pavement outside his window. There are scratches on his knee cap yet the boy had a blank look on his face, he was sort of reminded of himself when he was younger.

As he was about to look away, he sees a woman approach the young boy and bends down to his level to check the scratches.

The woman’s small figure isn’t even the least bit familiar yet his attention can’t seem to go away. He watches her tuck the strand of stray hair and he finally gets a good look and it feels like the world stops turning at how the woman scarily resembles you. Albeit the figure was smaller and the hair was another color and unevenly chopped short.

It was no mistake.

“Y/N.” He mumbles yet as he’s about to open the door, the car starts to move. Kiyoomi’s fist tightens as he uncharacteristically yells at the driver to stop the car, Hideyo jumps on the seat and before she could say anything else, the business mongrel is out of the car, running to where you stood.

Yet just like a ghost, you were gone and so was the little boy who had oddly resembled him.

These days you had even a harder time sleeping. Maybe it was because there was a little leak on the ceiling, or better yet, maybe it was because the heater wasn’t working, or maybe it was because you were at a new place which made it harder to adjust.

You sat at the side with your expense book on hand, your gaze on his son who was peacefully asleep. Tobio was growing older soon and he needed to settle down at one place for high school and college. A part of yourself ventured deep and dark in your mind, the thought of leaving him at an orphanage seemed better now.

He had a fake last name anyways, the bastard wouldn’t be able to find him. 

You’d be doing this boy a favor since you never saw him as your kid and he’d be away from his very messy world.

Your thoughts are immediately disrupted when you hear a brief knock on the door. This made you tense up, it was late, Why would there be a need for visitors? Your son is quick to be awoken by the second knock and you immediately press your hand on his mouth and while your other finger is on your lips to signal him to keep quiet.

Another knock.

Tobio looks worried, it wasn’t his first time to see an episode from you but this time, something feels different. You're shaking more and you look like you’re about to pass out any moment. “Stay quiet.” you mouth as you crawl towards the door and press your ear on it to confirm who was on the other side, too afraid to even take a peak on the window.

Silence.

The only sound that could be heard was your thumping heart, Tobio had voluntarily placed a hand on his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Another knock.

You shut your eyes tight, praying to whatever god out there for this person to leave.

“...I don’t think anyone lives here.” You hear someone say on the other side, the voice sounded so familiar but you just couldn’t pinpoint who it was, this wasn’t Sakusa for sure,  “Are you sure that the information was right?”

Silence again.

“Hm.” The person hummed, knocking again, “Well, this place seems like a dead end. The landlady said that she’s not familiar with the tenants here so we could be wrong…”

The voice started to decrease and you feel yourself slowly starting to breathe easier. Tobio slowly put down his hand and there you saw it, the fear on his eyes. You breathe in and out, calming yourself, this place isn't safe anymore, “Tobio, take your bags. We’re leaving.” you only say.

You don’t even hesitate to leave despite it being the middle of the night.

Tobio is right in front of you as you go down your small apartment and you think everything is well, you really do yet luck didn’t seem to be on your side that night.

“...Y/N?”

A dreadfully familiar voice calls out, didn’t they leave? Why? why was he here?

“O-Okaasan.” Tobio mumbles, grabbing your hand and hiding behind you.

Your head hurts, you wanted to just be selfish and leave Tobio here with this man, his father, the wretched, vile creature who had betrayed you. You wanted to run.

You didn’t feel safe.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t make you feel safe.

“Y/N…” He repeats, slowly approaching you, “It’s me, bunny.”

Oh, how you hated that pet name. It sounded like you were his plaything, like you could never escape from his set-up. Before you could say anything else, he invades your personal space once again and envelopes you in a very,very tight hug.

“I’ve missed you so, so much.” He whispers on your ear and your shivering, not from pleasure but from fear, “Shh, it’s alright. I found you. It must’ve been hard to be alone out here.”

Get away.

Get away.

“Get the fuck away from me.” You yell, pushing him off of you as you stagger away from him. Tobio remains behind you, completely shaking.

“Now, Y/N-” he tries to shush you, “We should go home now, you’ve spent so much time away from me but I understand, you were probably just scared to tell me you were pregnant, right?” 

He cups the right side of your face and places a chaste kiss on your temple, tears are threatening to spill as you realize that this was all over. You couldn’t escape now, this lunatic wouldn’t let you have at it.

The soft and plush bed is completely foreign to your back, Kiyoomi had you separated from Tobio because apparently you were still too ‘unstable’. It made you mentally scoff, between the both of you, he was the unstable one.

You wondered if they started to feed the small boy lies about you, Kiyoomi definitely milked it out to the press for sure. When he had found you, not only were your friends and family in a frenzy, the media was having a field day too. He had broken off the engagement and he used your ‘mental illness’ card on them and it worked.

Another story was weaved on papers, a love that transcended through time.

You let out a low sardonic laugh.

Mental Illness, you wondered if this could be a ploy for a suicide. After all, you’d rather be face first on the pavement than stay here with a son about to be fed on lies and a crazy bastard who sleeps next to you at night.

You stare out your window, the curtains were drawn as you looked at the free birds.

How envious.

“Y/N?” Kiyoomi comes in, a food tray in hand, “It’s time for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Y/N it’s been two days, all you ate was an apple-”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Y/N, our son-”

“He was never my son.” You harshly snapback, your voice sharp, “He’s yours through and through, a fucking incarnate of you and a curse. He’s not mine. He never will be.”

You suddenly feel the presence of the small boy behind the door and there stands his boy, staring right at your eyes yet you feel nothing for him. You never felt anything for him. The moment they placed him on your arms to nurse, there was no joy nor light.

All he brought was a painful reminder.

Kiyoomi places the tray to the side and closes the door behind him, Tobio’s blank gaze still on you, “...Those aren’t words a child is supposed to hear, Y/N. Especially ours…” he inches closer and you clench your fist tightly and he places his hand on your neck and lightly holds it. 

You aren’t scared of him anymore, the nicest thing this guy could do was kill you, really.

“Maybe we should have a girl this time, hm?” his hand trails upwards to softly caress the side of your face.

You’re immediately frozen by his sudden choice of words, no, no-

“Maybe you’ll learn to love Tobio even more when you’re pregnant with another of mine-” before he could finish what he was about to say, you raise a hand and slap him right at his face, it must’ve been hard since it left a mark, “Ah, Y/N. I didn’t know you still liked it rough-”

“D-Don’t, I-I can’t get pregnant.” You're shaking this time as you try to come up with a lie, “I-I can’t…”

“Oh?” He tilts his head, “Why not?”

“I’ll die.” You lied, “When I had Tobio I almost died, my body couldn’t handle it. T-The doctor had said that if I were to have another, I’d die…”

The lie didn’t save you that moment, really. He has become an expert at detecting your lies so instead of a reply, he harshly places his lips on yours and despite protests, he just pins you down.

He’s harsh on you that night, spilling and stuffing you with his cum, whispering that you’ll have it all and that you’d be his everything but all you could do was let a small hiccup escape your lips as you tried to hold back your cries.

‘Someone, anyone, please.’ you pleaded internally.

You don’t see Tobio until a week later, the boy has grown a tad bit chubbier and is adorned with expensive clothes. Sakusa, on the other hand, has been force-feeding you to the point where you threw up right after meals (secretly, of course) 

You sit down at the couch as your son blinks at you, “...I’m sorry.” He breaks the silence and you shut your eyes tight as you recalled the harsh words he heard last week.

“I’m sorry too, Tobio.” you could only reply because genuinely, you did feel like you went too far this time. He didn’t choose to be born, a part of you should’ve saved him the misery and left him at the orphanage that time, “Do you hate me?” you ask.

“No.”

“You should.” You say quietly, “You should hate your otosan too.”

Tobio remains quiet at your words.

“When you grow older, don’t end up like him. don’t end up like us. forget us when you have the chance.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good and If you ever get the chance to leave, promise me that you get out and don’t look back.”

Tobio may have been eight years old that time but he knows fear when he sees it and he knows promises aren’t meant to be broken. He remembers those words well because it was the last long conversation he has with you. 

The month of December rolls by and it’s cold, you’ve given up fighting back at this point. Your glassy eyes are directed to the window, not even wanting to look down at your bulging stomach. Kiyoomi doesn’t even need to tell you twice to not leave the house, you decide upon yourself to just stay at your room on bed the whole time.

You wonder, just how high is it from up here? Would it hurt?

“Y/N?” a dreadful voice calls out.

“Hm.” 

“You haven’t gone out of our room in two months. You haven’t even seen Tobio.” Sakusa points out, you were like a obedient doll now. So lifeless, so still, you wished he’d discard you already.

“I might say something again, I don’t want to bother.” You replied truthfully, gaze still avoiding his.

The raven-haired man starts to caress your plump face, you had grown chubbier since the beginning of your pregnancy, he couldn’t be anymore happier to finally be there for you.

This was perfect.

You were finally his.

You weren’t letting go.

“...Don’t you ever regret it?” You finally ask, turning to him, your blank eyes staring at his rather deranged ones, the eyes that you once loved was now just a reminder of your resentful life.

“Which one?” He asks, inching in closer to kiss your neck, your collarbone. You let out a meek sigh as you shut your eyes and internally prayed for this to be over quickly as he removes your ribbon that held your flimsy nightgown together.

“You killed people.” You uttered, “Took my life away, don’t you regret it?”

“Why would I?”

Right, how could a monster like him have such empathy? You feel his cold fingers brush against your folds, trying to stimulate it.

Everything except your body screamed no but you were just too powerless now. You wondered, how could you even end this all? Was jumping out the window the only solution now?

“...Right...” You let out a soft painful moan as he dips his finger inside. You’re under the idea that despite this happening countless of times, you’re body would be numb to it all yet each time it happens, it pains you even more,  “You even had to kill your ex-fiancé’s father for us to get married.”

You had come to realize just how deep his obsession was, the man was willing to kill to anyone who got in the way of your ‘love’. You remembered finding out about your ex-chief one night, about how he had chopped off his fingers and left him to bleed dry in the alleyway for the rats to feast on.

You remembered when a news came up that his supposedly future-father-in-law had died in a violent explosion during breakfast time and how he was nonchalant about it.

“...It’s all for you, Y/N.” He implores as he kissed your thighs and continue to stimulate your now wet folds, “All for you, Tobio, and my new little girl.”

“You’re sick.”

“Mhm. You smell good, I should continue using the soap from awhile ago when I clean you, right?” he hummed, ignoring what you had just said as he dipped his head in and take a kitten lick on your sex. You let out a small cry as your body betrayed you.

Your prayers for today are unheard yet again.

“...Y/N, you barely come out of your room these days.” Komori exclaimed, it turns out the visitor from last time who knocked on your door was him and as much as you wanted to knock his teeth out, you decide not to because you don’t see the point in doing violence these days.

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, pregnancy does take a toll on your body.” He nods in agreement, it seemed like this was a casual thing for him, like you just weren’t repeatedly rape or mentally abused by his cousin, “Tobio certainly takes after his father, don’t you think?”

Your blood runs cold at the mention of the little boy, you had small hope for him either ways so you didn’t exactly cared for him anymore.

“I suppose so.” 

“You’ve gotten boring these days, Y/N.” Komori plainly pointed out, “It’s a wonder how my cousin gets to stick around ya. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Komori’s eyes narrowed at your hollowed response, you were so ungrateful. Here his cousin was, treating you with such delicateness and with all the attention that the other women wanted but you looked anything but happy about it.

If this was Hideko, she’d be elated.

But no, he had to be stuck with an ungrateful pompous bitch like you.

“How high up are we, Komori-san?” you suddenly ask.

He blinks at the rather weird question, “Fifty floors.”

“Hm.” You hummed, “That certainly is high.”

Komori would regret answering that question very soon though.

When the winter dawned upon a new year and you finally snap, you decide to answer your own prayers and opt to salvage yourself from this madness and cruelty once and for all.

Sakusa Tobio is nine years old when you, his mother, six months pregnant, jumped out the bedroom window from a fifty-foot story building two months into the new year. Your face is flat on the pavement and completely unrecognizable, the last conversation you both had replays on his head like a broken record through the years and only when he’s old enough that he realizes that he was no one’s son. 

His okaasan didn’t loved him nor did he want to be associated with his father for all he did was bring pain and disgust.

The boy is eighteen, fresh out of the academy, right in front of his baby sister’s and your mausoleum. He makes it a habit to visit you both a day before your death anniversary,  not wanting to be in the same room as his father yet this year he makes an exception.

Recently, he had turned over some evidence and his own testimony about what his father had been doing. Everything, from illegal works to the people he killed to your tragic end. It’s enough to file a case and have him set to jail for life, even his fancy lawyers couldn’t defend him. 

His lips sting because his Uncle Komori had punched him in the face and called him an ungrateful bastard like you but it was alright.

It was all over.

He plans to change his name back to Kageyama Tobio (the haux name you had given him when you were on the run) right after all the fiasco, it’s a kind name and the first name you had given him, he likes to think that this was also a gift from you that time, a new beginning straying away from you and his father's cruel ties. He had also felt that it was too unkind for him to use your last name despite his grandparents' persistence (he was after all, conceived through forceful means).

And although he wanted to hate you for those words you said that time when he was eight. He couldn’t really bring himself to after hearing what you had to go through, you were a victim. He couldn’t dare imagine what his father did to you during the last few months leading to your death.

Yet, right now. It was finished.

You could rest now.

“I did it, Y/N-san.” He mumbles as he bows down. As he got older, he has also foregone the idea of calling you by the name you loathed and shriveled away from, “I got out and I didn’t look back. Thank you for everything.”

Kageyama Tobio never visits you right after again, as promised.

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

And goodness knows he didn't want a lot

Just time for one more fic where I unapologetically throw Chas under a bus.

Slightly altered canon...kayak boy was nothing more than a few drinks, and Liv is just somewhere else because I can't be doing with all that drama...and a couple of things happened a bit earlier than on the show.

Day 29

(AO3 link)

Aaron was freezing, standing in the queue for prison visiting was tedious especially in winter. Not that he would've missed it. After not hearing from Robert for nearly two years he'd jumped at the chance to see him when the visiting order landed in the letterbox.

He'd no idea what had prompted the sudden change of heart, Robert had sent divorce papers, it'd all gone through, so he was curious. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. telling his Mum he was visiting mates in London. The lecture he'd get if she knew where he was, was something he was more than keen to avoid.

He was nervous, his mind going over all the reasons Robert had got in touch, the worst case scenarios all he could imagine.

Finally the line began to move and before long he was at the gateway. He handed over the letter expecting to be let straight through.

"You've had a wasted trip pal." The guard told him already looking at the person behind him in the line.

"Hang on, I've got a visiting order. Robert Sugden."

"Like I said, you've had a wasted trip. He ain't here."

"Popped to the shops has he? He's serving life!"

"Not any more. He was released three days ago, now if you don't mind..."

"Well, where is he now then?" He couldn't believe it. After all this time, he was so close to seeing Robert and he'd gone. "Is there someone I can talk to? Where did he go..."

"Once they leave here they ain't our problem." Aaron stood his ground and the man sighed. "There's a place in Ryde, sometimes prisoners go there for a few days when they first get out...don't let on I told you, cost me my job."

"Thank you."

He went back to the car. half worried that Robert might be in some kind of halfway house with who knows who, and half furious that his ex-husband had let him drive all the way from Yorkshire two days before Christmas for no reason.

_____

He looks at the building in front of him and shoves his hands in his pockets. It looks tired and he can only imagine what the inside is like. He doesn't even know if he's in there hopes he won't, but if he's not then he's no idea where he is and that thought is even worse.

When he spots someone coming out he rushes inside, has to know one way or another, There's a desk with a bored looking guy behind it.

"I'm looking for Robert Sugden."

"Who's asking?"

"I'm..." He hesitated, he wasn't his husband anymore, and besides he wasn't going to advertise it anyway, he wasn't stupid. "I’m a mate. Is he here or not?"

"Room 10. Second floor, third on the right."

He finds it easy enough hesitating as he stands at the door. He'd never thought he'd see him again after he'd sent the papers and now...he had no idea what to expect. How was he out? After he'd rejected Vic's plea to appeal they'd both resigned themselves to Robert serving his full sentence. what had changed, and more importantly, how had Robert changed.

Aaron wasn't stupid, he knew he would've changed, it was inevitable. Even the shortest sentence had an effect and Robert had been looking at fourteen years. What would he be like?

He shook herself, he wasn't going to find out just standing here. All he had to do was knock on the door and he'd have the answer, so why couldn't he do it.

When he'd received the visiting order a part of him had hoped it might be the start of a reconciliation but now he wasn't so sure. Robert hadn't let him know he was out, hadn't cancelled the visit. He didn't know what to think.

Taking a deep breath he raises his hand and knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" He gasps at hearing Robert's voice after so long albeit muffled by the door.

"It's me." The few seconds it takes him to open the door last an age, but then he's there and Aaron can't breathe.

He’s different, of course he is. Aaron had imagined his husband in many situations but never in a million years did he expect to see him sporting a man bun or a beard. Aside from that and what looked like a slightly leaner body than before he looked just the same.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He asks after the silence goes on for an age.

“Like what?”

“Like why you sent me a visiting order two weeks ago and had me drive all this way only to be told you weren’t there. Do you know what went through my head? I thought the worst Robert!”

“They would’ve called you if anything had happened.”

“That’s meant to make me feel better is it? Why did you send it, the visiting order?” Robert doesn’t answer. “Well? Why didn’t you tell me you were getting out? Why didn’t you just come home.”

“Not home anymore is it?”

“Robert…”

“There’s a cafe down the road.” He goes quiet again and Aaron’s on the verge of leaving when he speaks again. “Meet me there in ten minutes.” With that he closes the door leaving Aaron standing there.

_____

He finds the cafe with ease and sits by the window waiting for Robert. Part of him wonders if he’ll even show up. He hadn’t exactly looked pleased to see him and he couldn’t work out why. He was the one who’d made contact, had made the first move so to speak, so why act this way when he turned up. It made no sense at all.

He’s on his second cup of tea when he sees him, standing outside as if working out whether to go in or not. Finally he walks in, blowing on his hands to warm them. He doesn’t take his eyes off him as he goes to order before sitting opposite him.

“Are you going to give me some answers now?” He wishes he wasn’t so sharp with him, but he can’t help it, his mind is all over the place, no idea what Robert’s thinking.

“I’m sorry if it’s all too much trouble for you Aaron.”

“What? Of course it’s not. I’m just confused. You sent me a visiting order. Do you know how happy I was to get that? Two years Robert, two years I’ve waited to hear from you, and then when I do, I get here and find you gone. I just…I don’t understand.”

“Why did you come? After so long.”

“You asked me to.”

“And that’s all it took? I divorced you, didn’t even talk to you, why would you even give me the time of day.”

“You know why, unless prison has completely addled your brain.”

“But…the way I treated you…”

“Maybe it’s me who’s addled then. You know why I’m here, but I don’t know why you’re here, why you didn’t come home.”

“I told you, it’s not home anymore.”

“Of course it is. All you had to do was come back.”

“Everyone’s moved on, maybe it’s better everyone just forgets about me.”

“Because it’s that simple.” Aaron scoffed. “Ok, so if that’s how you feel, why send me a visiting order? Why not just disappear.”

Robert doesn’t say anything, just stirs his tea over and over until Aaron’s had enough, and covers his hand with his own to stop him.

“I’m not going anywhere, whatever you tell me.”

“It was, I don’t know, about three months ago, not that long after Vic told me about him, my solicitor came back to me, said there was a chance, just a chance, but I should take it.” Aaron goes to interrupt but a look from Robert stops him. “I should’ve jumped at it, but…I called you, one afternoon, to tell you or I don’t know, maybe I wanted you to tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t get any call.”

“I know. Your Mum answered, as soon as I asked for you she went off at me, saying I should leave you alone, that I’d ruined your life…well you can imagine.” He can, all too well, he’d heard versions of it for the last two years. “So I didn’t tell you anything, but I let my solicitor do his thing, thinking it would come to nothing, but here I am.”

“I wish you’d called again, or the yard. I would’ve been there, in court, you know that.”

“Your Mum said you were with someone, um, Ben? I don’t know but she made it sound like you were happy, and I wasn’t going to mess that up. I've messed up enough of your life.”

Aaron can’t help swearing under his breath. “Ben was no one and she knew that. We had a few drinks and he helped me out with Liv a couple of times, but that was it. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“So…why send me the visit then?”

“For old times sake I suppose. Maybe a part of me still wondered.” He smiles then, that little smile of his that Aaron has missed so much.

“And yet you didn’t tell me you’d been released.”

“Yeah well.” He looks down at the table, as if he can’t meet Aaron’s gaze. “Maybe I needed to know…if you came to the prison, if you were willing to visit me there…”

“So it was a test?”

“Maybe…probably. I don’t think I was thinking straight. Maybe I thought…I knew you’d be there if I was free, maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, I needed to know you’d be there no matter what.”

“I would’ve been. I would’ve been there the whole time if you hadn’t cut me off. Surely you know that.”

“Of course I did, that’s partly why I did things the way I did. But after two years, and what your Mum said, I guess I needed to know that it was still true. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I can see why…it’s just such a mess. You know I’ve forgiven her so much over the years, but this…not anymore.”

“I didn’t do this to cause trouble between you.”

“I know. None of this is your fault. It’s her, always sticking her nose in, deciding what’s best for me. Well not any more.” Robert sighs, smiling a little at his tone. “I mean it.”

“She’s your Mum.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t give her the right to interfere in my life. If you hadn’t sent me the visit…if you’d spoken to her and…you could’ve gone off on your own and I’d never have known. That’s unforgivable.” Robert can’t help it, the laughter bursting out of him. “Stop laughing. I mean it.”

“I have no doubt. I missed you so much.” He reaches over and takes his hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you go to the prison like that. Me of all people should’ve known how it felt to turn up and not be allowed in.”

“It’s alright. It was just a shock that’s all. I found you, didn’t I? Can’t keep away from you, can I?”

“So what now?”

“Well I don’t know about you but I’m starving. So…breakfast?”

“It’s lunchtime.”

“So?” He taps the menu, a little bit dogeared but he doesn’t care. “All day breakfast, see? You bring me to some proper classy places mate.”

“Not your mate.” Aaron rolls his eyes at him. “Fine, breakfast. And after that?”

“Home, and no arguments. It’s your home, Robert. Everyone else can do one if they don’t like it. It hasn’t been the same without you…come home with me.” He says, tightening his hold on his hands, echoing his words from years before. “We’re going to spend Christmas together and everything else can wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean…if that’s what you want?”

“More than anything.”

“There is just one thing that needs sorting.” He starts looking straight at him, watching as his face turns to worry. “The hair, and the beard. What on earth were you thinking?”

_____

“So what now?” Robert asks, sitting back in his chair, sliding his cutlery together, the plate clean after polishing off the full English he and Aaron had ordered. “Wow that was good, not as good as yours mind.”

“Flatterer.” Aaron smiles. “Now, well it’s up to you. If it were up to me we’d grab your stuff and go home on the next ferry, but like I say it’s up to you.”

“I want to…it’s just…facing everyone. Your family, Vic, and then there’s Wendy.”

“It’s no consolation I know, but when it all came out about Luke she did help Vic out. Maybe we can just ignore her.” Robert nodded, but he didn’t have Aaron’s confidence. “As for my family, it’s really only Mum, and you leave her to me.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not, I know it’s not. I know how difficult it is to go home after getting out, even if the worst for me was a few months. But you’ve got me, you’ve got Vic, and god help me Nicola and Jimmy. We’re all going to be there for you.”

“Yeah.”

“But if you don’t want to go back then we can find a decent hotel and hole up there until we decide what to do.”

“I can’t drag you away from them at Christmas.”

“You’re not. All I care about right now is you. Two years, Robert, two years we’ve got to make up for.”

Robert doesn’t say anything, just stares out of the window at the dull gray skies, the sea murky and rough. Aaron lets him, gives him time to make his own decision. He knows only too well that you don’t get that luxury in prison. He takes the time to really look at him, the dim light in the hostel hiding the new lines on his face, the dark circles around his eyes. Underneath he knew his Robert was still in there, despite everything, he just had to be patient.

“I want to get off this island.”

“Ok.”

“I want to go back and have this last two years to never have happened.” He covers Robert’s hand with his own at that. “And I know I can’t, but everyone’s going to be looking, watching, judging. I don’t want everyone thinking I’m this animal.”

“Hey, no one thinks that. There’s not a person in that village who wouldn’t have done the same in your situation, me included. And you know what, anyone who does say anything is going to have to deal with me.”

“My bodyguard eh?”

“If you want. Not sure this is the place to be talking about your fantasies though.” He winks, happy when it makes Robert smile. “It’s not going to be easy I know that, but we can be a family again, and it will get easier.”

“Ok.” Aaron blinks. “Ok, we’ll go home.”

_____

They’re nearly to Hotten when Robert wakes. He’d fallen asleep not long after they got onto the motorway, head resting against one of Aaron’s hoodies against the car window. Aaron hadn’t the heart to wake him, just gazing over every so often to make sure he was ok. He looked so peaceful.

It hadn’t taken long to go back to the hostel and collect Robert’s stuff, just a small bag. He’d looked embarrassed when he’d packed it in mere minutes but Aaron had shook his head, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that he was there.

They’d not talked much other than Aaron filling him in on bits of village gossip, staying away from anything too heavy or to do with family, and in return Robert offered nothing about his time in prison. It seemed like they both wanted to keep everything pleasant enough at least for the time being.

“How long was I out.”

“A few hours. Hotten turn’s coming up soon. Anywhere you want to stop off on the way?”

“Is this your way of telling me, again, that I need a haircut?” He’d mentioned it a fair few times during the journey before he’d fallen asleep. He didn’t care really, it was just so alien to see Robert like that.

“No…well yeah, but I meant clothes or anything. I mean your stuff is still at home, but…”

“But what?”

“I stuffed it all into bin bags and shoved it into the loft so it might need a wash and iron before it’s any good. Sorry.” He risks a look at him, hoping he’s not angry but he’s smiling.

“S’pose I should be grateful you didn’t burn ‘em given what I did. It’s fine Aaron.”

“Well I did nearly chuck them, but in the end I couldn’t.”

“So, no to the clothes, but if we can find somewhere I’ll get that haircut.”

“There’s always Bernice.” He can’t keep his face serious as he says it, knows Robert would rather let Aaron cut his hair than let his stepsister near him. “I’ll find somewhere. You fancy driving for a bit?”

“Not on here maybe when we’re nearer home…it’s been a while.” Aaron nodded and flicked the indicator to take the Hotten turn.

An hour later Robert gets back into the car, and Aaron does a double take. The beard is gone and Robert’s hair is just how it used to be. If it weren’t for the less than fashionable clothes he could imagine they were just out doing their Christmas shopping.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.” He manages to force out the words, can’t resist reaching out a hand to touch his jaw. “Perfect.”

“Not sure I could ever be called that.”

“Don’t be daft. So, home?”

“Home.”

“You want to drive now?” Robert hesitates and Aaron’s about to tell him it doesn’t matter when he nods.

_____

Robert pulls over just outside the village, staring into the valley covered in darkness, an odd look on his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…didn’t think I’d ever see the place again.” He blinks. “S’pose I thought I’d not come back once I got out…you know if it was the full term. Wouldn’t be anything waiting for me.”

“Yes there would.”

“You really think anyone would wait that long and be bothered about me. Vic would be…well I guess she’d be married, maybe a whole herd of kids, Harry would be a teenager like…Seb.”

“We’ll call Rebecca as soon as we get home. You’re going to see him again Robert, I promise. Even if I have to go to Liverpool myself.”

“Not sure kidnapping him would do much in our favour.”

“I wasn’t talking about him, I meant Ross.” Robert bursts out laughing. They both knew who pulled the strings when it came to Rebecca. “I’m just kidding. Come on, no putting it off.”

Robert starts the engine, driving through the village fast enough not to really see anything, not wanting to see anything or anyone, even if he can’t help slowing as he passes the garage, before he pulls to a stop in the driveway of the house.

“I would’ve waited.” Aaron says quietly. He thinks Robert’s not heard him until he leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. “However long it took.”

“I knew that, just wouldn’t ever let myself believe it. Easier that way I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s lights on.” He says looking at the house, not sure what to say. “Liv?”

“No, she’s still in Dublin. Maybe I left them on. I left in a bit of a rush, I was running late. Right come on.”

Robert follows as he unlocks the door, frowning when he hears noises, assuming it’s just from upstairs. When he opens the front door he stops seeing Eve’s pushchair in the hall and then his Mum sat on the sofa, cup of tea in hand.

“Mum, what the hell are you doing here?”

“More to the point, what is he doing here?” Her tea goes everywhere as she jumps to her feet. Robert resists the urge to tell her to watch where she was throwing her tea as it would only wind her up. “Come crawling back have you?”

“Mum I asked you a question. What is going on.”

“You were too wrapped up in him I suppose to see that we’ve lost everything.” He looks back at Robert. “The pub. If you’d been here, if you hadn’t gone running after him you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

“Well I do, so tell me! Then you can tell me why you let yourself into our house without asking!” Just then Paddy comes downstairs holding Eve. The little girl immediately reaches for her brother and he takes her despite his mood. “Hello beautiful. Rob, can you take her.”

“Just a minute…” Paddy starts but Aaron just glares at him.

“Are you going to explain.”

“The pub, there was an explosion. You know we were in Scotland.” He nods, it’d been the one thing he was glad of, being able to get out of the village without endless explanations. “It’s ruined Aaron. We had nowhere to go.”

“So you just let yourselves in here?” Robert asks before he can stop himself, knowing his voice will only wind her up more.

“I don’t answer to you Robert Sugden.”

“No but you do to me. You didn’t even think to ask me? Not even a text?”

“I didn’t think I would have to. You’re my son and we’ve nowhere else to go. You can’t turn us away.”

“Oh I can. After what you’ve done that’s exactly what I can do.” He takes a breath, doesn’t want to upset his sister. “Can’t you stay at the farm with Cain and Moira?”

“They don’t have room. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What have I done?”

“So you don’t remember a phone call a few months back, answering my phone, and I presume deleting the call after so I wouldn’t know anything about it. How could you.”

“Chas?” Paddy looks at her and Aaron rolls his eyes, he knows he’ll be on her side. Once upon a time he could rely on him a hundred percent, but not anymore.

“I’m not going to apologise for stopping him worming his way back in.” She points at Robert and Aaron can tell she’s itching to grab her daughter from him, only him standing in the way is stopping her. “You were happy, you didn’t need him.”

“Yes I did! I always have. You had no right to tell him I was with someone else, none at all.”

“I wasn’t lying!” She spat out. “Give me my daughter. Paddy take her upstairs.” She orders when Robert hands her over. “You were with Ben.”

“For God’s sake Mum, I had a few drinks with him, that’s all. You knew that and yet you spun Robert a pack of lies to keep him away from me. You had no right.”

“I only want…”

“What’s best for me, yeah I’ve heard that before. What you don’t get is, it’s only ever what you think is best for me. If you really cared then it wouldn’t matter what you thought as long as I was happy. If you really cared then you’d know I was miserable without him.”

“He left you Aaron, he killed someone.”

“No he didn’t. He was acquitted of that. It was Luke, you know the guy you all thought was great for Vic, the one you gave a job not weeks after Robert had gone, knowing how much it hurt me to see that family around. But oh no Chas Dingle knows best.”

“Aaron, calm down.”

“No, Rob. If you’d listened to her, if you hadn’t sent that visiting order I would’ve lost you. She would’ve won, again!” He turns back to his Mum. “I’m calling Cain, I don’t want you here.”

“I already told you he doesn’t have the room.”

“Then I’ll call the B&B. I can’t have you here not after this. This is our house.”

“Aaron…we can’t afford that. You know we don’t have any money thanks to Al.”

“Then we’ll pay. I mean it Mum. You’ve interfered one too many times. Robert’s done nothing that any of us wouldn’t do. I’ve done worse, I’ve hurt people when they’ve done nothing, but all of you judged him, tried to turn me against him because it suited you. Well no more. He’s back now and he’s staying.”

“Just like that. He broke your heart and you’re just letting him back in as if nothing has happened. You’re a fool Aaron.”

“Chas that’s enough.”

“I said I don’t answer to you! You always come up smelling of roses, don’t you. No matter what you do, or how many people you hurt.” She turns back to Aaron. “He’ll do it again, break your heart.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it’s my choice to let him back into my life, not yours. Now, will I ring Cain or pay for the B&B?”

“I can’t believe you’re throwing your sister out onto the streets.” Aaron sees Robert rolling his eyes out of the corner of his eye and wants to smile.

“I’m quite happy for Eve to stay. She doesn’t interfere in my life. But I can’t have you here. I’m sorry about the pub, and I’ll help sort it or whatever, you know that, but until you see that I’m not a child and I don’t need you to run my life then I can’t live in the same house as you.”

“But, Aaron…”

“I think you should go Chas.” Robert says quietly, hand on Aaron’s shoulder for support. “At least for now.”

It’s quiet for a good few minutes before she stomps up the stairs, not even looking at him. Aaron lets out a breath, sinking into a chair.

“Are you alright?” Robert asks, sitting opposite. “You don’t have to do this you know. I can always stop at Vic’s until they can go back to the pub.”

“No! This is your home. I could’ve lost you because of her, and she wouldn’t have cared. She would’ve been pleased.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you and her are at odds.”

“You’re not. Don’t ever think that.” He grabs his hand, sighing as he hears footsteps, getting to his feet.

“Right, well I won’t stay where we’re not wanted.”

“Mum…don’t make it sound like that. You came here without even asking me, made yourself at home. Don’t you even think that’s a bit odd?”

“Do you even care that we’ve lost everything, all of Eve’s toys, our stuff…Gracie’s box.” That makes him stop, he supposed he hadn’t thought.

“I’m sorry about that, but it’s not my fault Mum.” He stands taller, he’s not letting her guilt trip him over that, as if he doesn’t miss her too, as if anything he did could’ve made it better.

“Most sons would help their parents out.” Paddy pipes up.

“Most parents would support the choices their son makes.” He fires back. “I’m not making you homeless. I told you we’d pay for the B&B if there’s nowhere else. I’m sorry Mum, but I can’t deal with you being here.”

She doesn’t say another word, just flounces out of the door, leaving Paddy to carry their bags, and Eve. Aaron waves at his sister, wishes he wasn’t hurting her, but the weight that lifts when Robert closes the door behind them tells him he’s done the right thing.

“Well…that was a hell of a homecoming.” He laughs.

“I’m sorry. I wanted it to be perfect. Just you and me.”

“Well it is now. Your Mum will come round you know, in the end.” Aaron shrugs.

“Maybe. Nothing I can do if she doesn’t. She’s made her choices. So…glad to be home?” Robert nods. “I’m knackered.”

“You should get some sleep, it’s been a long day.” Aaron nods. “I can…I can sleep down here if you want.”

“What? No. Unless you want to.”

“Course not. But…well…”

“Robert, shut up and come to bed. I haven’t got the energy to persuade you. We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow.”

_____

“Aaron…where are you? You wanted this Christmas to be perfect and I’ve been slaving away over this turkey while you’ve been…well who knows where.”

He’d gone out first thing, saying he needed to pick something up, and Robert had just nodded, they’d been playing catch up on everything after the drama of the past few days, but it’d been hours and he can’t help worrying.

After Chas had left, they’d slept for hours, and spent the next day talking, him plucking up the courage to call Rebecca and try to see Seb. He’d not managed it, resolving to do it straight after new year once he was more settled. They’d not ventured out much, he wasn’t up to seeing loads of people, and part of him didn’t want to run into any Dingles. Aaron didn’t need to be made to feel guilty over asking his Mum to leave. The only one they’d seen was Cain, and he’d been surprised that the man was on Aaron’s side, only asking him to give his Mum another chance once everyone had calmed down. Robert wasn’t going to interfere, it was completely up to Aaron what he did.

Sighing, he sits down, resolving not to worry, instead answering his sisters text wishing him a merry Christmas from Portugal. He wished she was here but in a way he was glad he could get used to being home before seeing her. He needed to find his feet again.

“I’m back!” He hears Aaron call and gets to his feet, ready to ask why he hadn’t called when the words die on his lips because walking through the door in front of him is Seb. “I found this little waif, thought he could join us for dinner.”

He can’t speak past the lump in his throat, can only stare at his little boy. He’s grown so much, but he still has the same cheeky smile as he looks up at Aaron.

“Go on mate, say hello to Daddy Robert.” That makes him move, crouching down in front of the little boy.

“Hi. Do you remember me?” He gets a nod and then Seb runs over to hug him and he can only hold on and try and hold back his tears. “How?”

“Turns out even Ross isn’t immune to Christmas spirit. I called yesterday while you were out walking, managed to get Rebecca on a good day, got her to agree, made sure Ross didn’t scupper anything, and arranged to collect him after they’d done presents.”

“I don’t…Aaron!”

“He’s here until the day after tomorrow. Then they both said we’d sort something proper.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up.”

“What about…presents…” In the few days they’d had he’d not ordered anything, not wanting to jinx being able to see him at any point and now they had nothing.

“In the boot. I said I was going to the shops yesterday didn’t I? You just assumed I meant the supermarket.” He shakes his head, marvelling at his husband. Technically he wasn’t, he knew, but they’d never needed a piece of paper before, they didn’t now.

“Daddy?” Seb’s voice stops his reply to Aaron.

“Yes mate.”

“You home now?” He looks up at him, eyes wide, thumb in his mouth and he just smiles back.

“Yeah. I’m home now.”

[deceasedanddesist]

eyes off you ( hermione granger )

this is for kelly’s 3k writing challenge!! @anchoeritic ily kells<3

pairing: hermione granger x slytherin!reader ( half blood prince )

gender neutral! reader ( if there is a mistake or i accidentally used she/her pronouns let me know and ill fix it! )

warnings: small mentions of abuse at home, other than that just fluff and awkwardness.

notes: inspired by the song ‘eyes off you’ by prettymuch, the lyrics are bolded and italicized. y/n is the biggest simp. please ignore my grammar mistakes and my horrendous sentence structure. this also gives off major jily vibes, so do what you will with that information. I kinda went off with this I'm so sorry if it starts to get boring. images are from pinterest.

word count - 1.9k

hermione granger was a stubborn girl, that was one thing you knew for sure. when the two of you first met she had been adamant on hating your guts, excessive flirting and all. it was your persistence is what really got through to her; like starting to hang out in the library because you knew she would be there, and helping her pick up her books when some asshole seventh year—adorning the same infamous emerald green you did—tripped her up in the hall ( although not before threatening the bugger in her honour first ).

at the end of the day, the little acts of service were the things that made hermione swallow her pride and finally go on a damn date with you. at first, harry and ron were in utter shock that the girl was even considering going on a date with “the enemy” as they oh-so-subtly put it. but she just told them they were being overly dramatic, and that their input into who she decides to date was simply inadequate. so was it ever the surprise that one day when you finally worked up the courage to ask her, she actually said yes.

“are you serious?” you had expressed your complete disbelief of the words you just heard come out of the curly haired girls mouth.

“yes y/n, i am dead serious.” she had echoed back to you, looking thoroughly amused.

you were astonished, the girl that you quite frankly couldn’t take your eyes off of since fifth year actually agreed to go out with you. the gryffindor girl specifically that you had set your sights on, ignoring the warnings from your friends and backlash from your family, it had all paid off. becoming more defiant with your family last summer was no easy deed, but you knew the yelling and even the hitting was better than whatever they were scheming up for you this summer. lord voldemort was getting even closer to making sure he had a solid, fucked up, but loyal fanbase and you knew you would soon be a part of it if you didn’t get your shit together. you pretty much had a foolproof plan to get the hell out of your psycho household, you just needed to wait for the right moment to act on it.

amidst all of this, you knew it was dangerous to get involved with a muggle born, and you knew you were being selfish by risking yours and hermione’s lives. but there was something about her. the way she would make you feel when your insistent nagging got her lips to turn up just a little bit, or when you did something particularly embarrassing and finally got a boisterous laugh to erupt from her mouth in the middle of potions ( snape was not happy with the two of you ).

so you knew it was dangerous, you really did. but as soon as you saw hermione in the corridor right outside of the slytherin common rooms, waiting for you like you had anxiously asked her to after dinner yesterday, you knew you were down bad. you knew you were down bad because as soon as you saw her face drop when draco malfoy approached her, your heart lurched and you basically sprinted to where she was standing. she was in the middle of telling malfoy to shut up when you slid up beside her and threw an arm around her shoulder ( because protective instincts.... duh! ), somehow managing to simultaneously tell him to “sod off” and flip him the bird while hermione sunk into your side like there's no place she’d rather be.

as the two of you ran off, you couldn't help but mutter into her ear “mione, i'm not sure.....but i think his father will be hearing about this.”

you had a feeling that the laugh she let out was one you’d be hearing in your dreams for a while.

“so, where would you like to take me y/n.” she spoke, the air of the previous laughter still heard in her voice.

“tell me anything you wanna do.”

she hummed  “i don't know. how about the three broomsticks?”

while you were mulling it over, she slipped her hand in yours. your head immediately turned to meet her eyes.

there's no touch or feeling

pleasure or pain

anything like the way you're runnin' through my veins

the sudden affection had you choked up, and you had to clear your throat before continuing “um, that sounds great.”

as soon as the consent left your lips she was dragging you up the road and into the warmth of the pub, where madame rosmerta greeted the two of you at the front door. hands still intertwined, you ordered two butterbeer before wandering off into a booth. it was cozy, and you found yourself ravishing in the feeling of it all; going on hogsmeade dates, holding hands, and curling up in a booth with your drinks. it wasn’t long before you and hermione were mindlessly chatting about anything and everything, falling so deeply into conversation. only breaking out when you make her laugh, or when you go speechless at the broad smile that completely lights up her face, something that you noticed was specifically reserved for silly stories about harry and ron or her parents. you hoped that someday she would be able to talk about you with that marvellous smile on her face.

“you’re staring.” she looked adorably embarrassed at the sentiment, heat rising to her cheeks.

“I just can't take my eyes off of you.” it was a bold ( albeit true ) statement, and hermione swore to merlin you looked like you never meant any other utterance more.

“that's very generous of you, but i'm afraid i'm not that attractive.”

you looked at her in complete disbelief, “okay, okay, i’m going to wholeheartedly disregard what you just said,” taking a pause for dramatic effect “because you are the single most beautiful girl i've ever laid my eyes on, hermione granger.”

if the girl wasn’t blushing before, she was now. the way she was scrunching up her nose was the cutest, and you found her obvious inability to take a compliment quite charming. it actually boosted your own confidence, and you found yourself wanting to shower her with praises for the rest of your life just to see her reaction over and over again.

“what?” you teased, a sly smile making its way onto your face, “don't tell me potter and co deprive you of the flattery you deserve.”

the way she tilted her head and had her eyes narrowed ever so slightly told you everything you needed to know, she watched as your eyes widened in shock but shook it off because of the awkward air that was suddenly formed over the topic.

you were quite literally panicking, what if you just ruined everything? curse your slytherin ambition, you must’ve gone too far with your allusive comments. hermione hadn’t talked for about five minutes now, opting to finish her butterbeer, and the energy full of endless conversation dissipated long ago. your mug was still half full, sitting in front of you. you were just sitting there, staring at it, frantically searching your brain for something to talk about but you were fucking blanking. you were failing at pretty much the only thing you pride yourself on, and it happened to be the thing that got hermione to even go out with you in the first place.

once hermione was finished nursing her drink, you decided to speak now before she decided to make up an excuse to leave. “I'm sorry if I went too far, I do that sometimes and I made you uncomfortable, and i'm so sorry.”

then, she did the one thing you would have never even fathomed. she laughed. the girl was chortling, her head thrown back and when she finally came down from her fit she had tears running down her face.

“I'm sorry,” she said, noticing your eyebrows furrowed in concern “i've just never had someone apologize for complimenting me.”

you let out an anxious chuckle, “well you did kind of stop talking there, i figured i hit a nerve.”

“oh no! i just used to, um, fancy ron and he hasn't complimented me nearly as much in 6 years then you’ve had in an hour.” she stumbled over her words a bit as she spoke, evidently uncomfortable discussing her previous crush on weasley.

“well,” you dragged on, “i think you deserve all the flattery in the world.”

you swore to salazar slytherin himself her smile lit up the whole room, and your heart swelled when she reached over the table to grab both of your hands and link them with hers.

“how about we go for a walk, the black lake maybe?” the suggestion brought your attention to how dark it had gotten outside, you estimated that you had about an hour till the sun set. you smirked.

“I see you’re trying to snag a sunset kiss by the black lake, granger.”

your smirk turned into a full on smile as she got flustered once again, biting her lower lip.

“it's absolutely barbaric that you would allude to that, l/n.” the sarcasm was clear in her tone as you both erupted in a fit of giggles.

leaving the three broomsticks hand in hand once again, the two of you made your way down to the lake. you take off the sweater you were wearing to spread it across the grass for you and hermione to settle yourselves on. it wasn't very big, but neither of you seemed to mind as you snuggled into each other against the nights breeze. your arm making its way around her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her head on your shoulder.

you two watched the sunset in silence. it wasn’t awkward like a few minutes ago, there wasn’t a need to fill it with dialogue, it was completely comfortable. hermione adjusted under your arm and turned her head to look at you, the sudden change in direction making a few curls get caught in her glossed lips. before she could even lift her arm, you were already there, brushing her hair behind her ear. your hand found its home behind her neck as you angled your head to brush your nose against hers, her lip unconsciously making its way in between her teeth again.

you took a sharp breath and spoke, “every little thing you do drives me wild.”  

“are you gonna give me that kiss, or keep talk-”

you could feel her words melt away against your lips as you took action and pushed her head towards yours. her hands tightening around your waist and her soft sighs as your lips connect act as reminders that she wants this as much as you, and you are so damn thankful that she leans back in after you separate to take a breath.

and the sun sets with the two of you, hanging onto each other like you were each others lifelines, previous thoughts about your family or the stupid slytherin/gryffindor feud are long gone by now. 

you decide that you can deal with all of your problems in the near future, because now you have hermione safe in your arms, and that's more than enough motivation for you to stay right where you are.