#but seriously what does daisy do

[wildshadowtamer]

it's fascinating being semi-aware of other fandoms that your not in, maybe through a mutual or someone you follow entering a new fandom, maybe just through pop-cultural osmosis. Becuase at a certain point you realise your mental concept of that fandom is wildly off from the actual thing.

like, for instance, i know the rough plot of mario, i think. if it has one. like, italian plumber brothers who may or may not be from new york have to go save the mushroom princess and stop the sort-of-tyrannical leader of a different group of mushrooms. the leader also has like 9 different kids, and ghosts and time travel have gotten involved at least once.

but, anything past that, i only know from the people i follow. of which is that luigi and bowser are gay, mario and peach have twin girls and are probably in a qpr, and that the mario movie was decent. oh and daisy exists but i have no clue what game she exists in or what her plot importance is.

and its so funny being an outsider in this way, because a mario fan could tell me literally anything about it and id have to just accept it because i dont know this shit. you could tell me hes the long lost son of bob the builder because an official book released in 1996 only in japan said so. like yeah sure man, ok. the fandom equivelant of "i'll incorpate that into my belief system"

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Daisies and Haircuts

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Usually, Logan can get a read on everybody. Except, when it comes to you, he can't. So he makes it his mission to find out the truth, but when he does...he doesn't exactly know how to take the news.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff with a bit of angst, some steam towards the end. Descriptions of blood, casualties and aftermath of a tornado. Not Proof Read.

If there was one thing Logan prided himself on, it was being able to tell when people were lying or telling the truth. 

However, from the minute he met you…he didn’t have an explanation for it. 

Most of the time, he could hear people’s heartbeats or their breathing. Both would quicken when they were lying. Even the best liars couldn’t hide from him. 

But there was something about you he just couldn’t shake. Your voice didn’t change or shake, your heartbeat didn’t speed or falter - neither did your breathing. 

And yet he didn’t believe a word you said when it came to you being human. 

Professor Xavier had reached out to you to fill in one of the teaching positions when he met your cousin. And from his knowledge, your entire family was mutant. From grandmother, to grandfather, to cousins, to even siblings. 

And somehow, you were the only human. 

No mutant gene detected. 

And even if his school did have a reputation for having mutant teachers, you were the first human to attend the school in any manner. 

“Logan, if you’re gonna just stand there all day, you might as well offer to help.”

Your back was completely turned to him. You had been writing on the whiteboard for the last five minutes, not once looking anywhere near the door where he was leaning. 

“How did you know it was me?”

You chuckled a little as he walked inside, picking up a pile of books on the way in. “Please, I could smell the cigar smoke.”

Logan shrugged, placing two books at the end of each desk as he made his way to you. “You know, I can scare Storm, Jean- even Scott. But never you. I wonder why that is?”

Logan stood beside you as you turned. He was looking at you like how he always did. A knowing smile (maybe it was a smirk), but a look of wonder and curiosity in his eyes. 

You just smiled up at him. “Logan, I grew up with over twelve cousins. There wasn’t a day when you didn’t have to have eyes in the back of your head, and still at least one kid ended up hurting themselves.”

Walking around him and back to your desk, his eyes followed you. 

“That’s not the only thing.”

“What ‘thing’ exactly?” 

Sometimes it felt like this conversation between you and Logan happened every other day. You had been working at the school for a little over a year, and before that had shadowed for at least six months to understand how to truly help your kids. 

He had been like this since day one. 

Maybe a little more gruffer and scarier in the beginning…he had made you jump just a little when you closed the fridge door and found him standing there with that sceptical, over-protective look on his face. 

“You know what ‘thing’.”

You shook your head. “I really don’t, Logan.”

He walked closer to your desk and leaned his hands against it, coming face to face with you. “You’re a mutant.”

As he was so close, your eyes scanned his face and around his body. “You need a haircut.”

“It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“I can cut it for you. Just take a little bit off the sides.” 

“Why do you keep avoiding the subject?” Logan asked with a laughing smile as he stood back up. 

“Because you seriously need a haircut, Logan.” You moved your fingers through the top of his hair. “You look like a crazed mountain man who’s just escaped from Frankenstien’s lab.”

Logan stepped away from you during your analogy. “Are you calling me a green monster?”

“Frankenstein is the Doctor.” 

“Huh.”

You shook your head. “Either way, you need a haircut.”

“Fine, but I will get it out of you sooner or later.” 

“Goodbye, Logan.”

Those were Logan’s final words before he left your classroom, but not before taking a final look at you as your head was turned. 

The next time he saw you was just before lunch when a couple of kids were playing a round of football outside. And for a while, Logan’s eyes remained on you as you read your book. It was like the world didn’t exist outside of your book. 

And yet you were tuned in to everything that was happening. 

Logan heard one of the kids shout before the ball went flying past the posts and it was heading straight for you. He could barely finish shouting your name before…

You caught it. 

Without looking up, you had caught the ball in your hands, simply looked up and then threw it back. “Be careful!”

“Sorry!”

Logan was a little in shock as he stood at the top of the stairs, his arms folded across his chest. He’d seen your reflexes a few times before. You had caught plenty of mugs that were about to fall off the side of the counter, just as you walked into the room. You’d also stopped piles of books crashing loudly to the ground, opened windows just as tennis balls came flying at them, as well as catching them and throwing them back. 

And now you had caught a football without even looking up. 

You hadn’t been at the school two years and yet Logan practically had a list tallied in his head of the things that had happened that simply couldn’t just be explained away. 

Could they?

“Oh, come on. Just admit it. You’re a mutant.”

Your lungs were tired of sighing. “Logan. I’m not a mutant.”

“Your entire family has the mutant gene.”

“So,” you shrugged, twisting some pepper into the pot before replacing the cap and setting it on the side. “It skipped me.”

“Your reflexes are barely human.”

“Logan, like I have told you a million times, I grew up around a lot of kids. A lot of mutant kids who had no control over their powers. I had to get good reflexes just to save on the amount we spend on broken windows.”

Logan moved out of your way as you walked across the kitchen, taking a couple of things from the fridge. 

“You never get scared.”

You looked back at him. “Are you calling me brave?”

“Nobody can scare you, Y/n. Last Halloween it was like you knew when someone was hiding around the corner.”

“It was Halloween. Everyone tries to scare each other on Halloween.”

Logan closed his eyes in frustration for a moment. “Not even Halloween. Nobody can scare you. Even today, you knew I was standing by your door.”

Stopping what you were doing, you looked at him. “Logan, when it comes to you, I can smell the cigar smoke a mile away. And, besides growing up in a household where it was normal to try and scare each other, nobody in this school is exactly going to be the next Prima Ballerina.”

Logan’s arm practically shot out. “That’s another thing! Your sense of smell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is this about the cigar smoke? Are you becoming nose blind to it?”

“You smelt Scott’s burnt breakfast before the rest of us did. You knew when Rogue had changed her shampoo. You even knew Storm had planted some new flowers in the garden.”

You went to open your mouth but Logan cut you off. 

“And don’t say you saw the flowers because you were with me that whole afternoon and didn’t see Storm until after dinner.”

You sighed. “It wasn’t because I saw the flowers. I was going to say I saw the dirt on her hands when she walked inside. Plus, I knew she was looking to plant more flowers in the garden beds.”

Logan leaned forward. “Did you have a conversation about it?”

“About the flowers?”

“Because I don’t remember her telling us when she was going to plant them because she wanted them to be a surprise.”

You shrugged. “The dirt still gave it away.”

Logan shook his head. “That’s another one right there. You know…how do you know what we’re all thinking? I know you’re not reading our minds because if you were, it would be like when the Professor or Jean does it. No…it’s something else.” 

Logan was truly watching you. Studying you. Listening to your heartbeat. Listening to your breathing. 

“I was a psych major. I studied my ass off and read up extra things in my time. It’s not so hard.” You explained to Logan. “Most of the time it’s just body language. And remembering the small things. They go a long way in getting to know who a person is.”

“I don’t think it’s just that. Maybe it’s part of it.” Logan sat up straight. “But that’s not your whole story.”

“Why are you so fixed on my story?”

Except, rather than explain, Logan gave you that smile again and walked towards the door. “You’re the psych major, you figure it out.”

“You still need a haircut!”

And like clockwork, Logan was watching you and then questioning you everyday. He’d done it since day one. 

When would he finally realise you were telling him the truth?

A couple of weeks later, you found yourself inside the Professor’s office with Logan and a potential new student and their parents. 

Only, it soon became clear that as much as their child was finally happy to be somewhere where they didn’t stick out like a sore thumb because of their powers, the parents couldn’t have been more uncomfortable. 

“But what about…what about his mutant…problem?” 

You felt your back become straighter as your feet carried you forward, only to feel a small tug from the bottom of your jumper where Logan’s hand was pulling you back to stand beside him. 

“I can assure you, Harry’s mutation is not a problem.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the three teachers he had quit because of him. You know we can’t even walk down our street without parents judging us for letting their kids' favourite teachers walk out on them.”

Harry seemed to fall into himself. “I already said sorry. I didn’t mean for them to-”

“Harry, it’s quite alright. Sometimes people don’t fully understand what it means to teach a mutant like us. Luckily, we have some of the best teachers right here.”

The father looked at both you and Logan. “These are the best?”

“We have a full staff, however most are teaching right now. Harry, this is Professor Logan. He will be your new History teacher and this is Professor Y/n. She will be teaching you some English, but mostly Social Sciences. She is also our school councillor, so if you ever feel you wish to speak to someone, she is the most qualified for the job.”

Harry gave both you and Logan a small smile. 

He moved into his dorm a week later and started classes almost immediately. 

“Okay, fine. Let me ask you this then.”

Logan hadn’t left you alone all day, so you had finally put him to work. Carrying the pile of books you were pulling from the shelves as you rolled along on the ladder. 

“Why give a human a job of school counsellor in a school filled with mutants?”

“Other than the fact I’m qualified for the job.”

Logan shrugged. “Isn’t it better to put someone into the job who understands what the kid is going through? Rather than just put a diagnosis to it?”

You turned round and he looked up to you. “It doesn’t matter if your human or mutant, everyone has gone through something at some point. Maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be able to walk through walls, or have metal grow out of my knuckles. But I do know what it’s like to feel like an outcast. To feel lost. To feel alone.”

Logan just listened as you slowly turned back and started pulling the desired books from the shelves, adding them to the pile in his arms. 

“I might have gone to a normal school, but everyone knew my family was different. I was too mutant to fit in at school, but too human to fit in with my family. They love me, and I love them. But there were times when topics would come up and…I’d feel alone. Like because I wasn’t one of you, I wouldn’t get it. Eventually, everyone grew up and went on with their lives. Of course it wasn’t easy for them, but they still had each other. Even if every other ignorant asshole pushed them away, they still had each other. But some days it felt like…like I had no one.”

Logan just continued to listen. 

“So, I get your point. What would a human know about being a mutant? But sometimes that’s not the question that needs to be asked.”

A moment of silence passed between you both before finally Logan spoke up. “The kids…they’re lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

“And just so you know,” he added. “You’re not alone anymore.”

Looking down at him, you smiled. “I’m glad.”

Twenty minutes later, you were finished collecting books. Yet, just as Logan laid down the pile, half should have fallen onto the floor. 

Except they didn’t. 

Instead they glided off the top and landed in a semi-neat pile beside him with a soft thud. Logan turned around, shock clear on his face. But you weren’t looking at him, or at the pile. You were closing the doors to the outside balcony on the opposite end of the room. 

“One day,” Logan told himself. “One day.”

“What?”

Logan looked up. “Nothing.”

You just shrugged and walked to stand beside him. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Without looking at him, you flip over the cover of a book in your hands. “You still need a haircut by the way.”

“Don’t mention that, either.”

Two weeks later, as you and Logan were eating lunch together whilst marking some papers, there was a knock at your classroom door. 

Taking a bite of the chicken salad you had made him a bowl of, Logan flipped a paper round and handed it to you. “What does that say? I swear this kid just writes in scribbles.”

You took the page from him. “This is Rogue’s. Isn’t she your little sister or something? Shouldn’t you be fluent in this by now?”

“She’s not my sister. We just came here together. She was a runaway. Found me when I was a cage fighter and stowed away in the back of my trailer.”

Your eyes practically bugged out of your head before you tried your best to hide your smile. “You were a…cage fighter? You? Logan Howlett, as I live and breathe? You sat opposite me with your feet on my desk? You were a cage fighter?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a smile. “Okay, okay. Alright. I get it.”

You shook your head. “I mean, you’ve got the physique for it, I just…” you laughed. “I just never pictured you as a cage fighter. A cage fighter, really?”

“Are you done?”

You bit back another laugh. “I’m-” It came out. “Okay, yes.” You laughed again. “I’m done. Okay, okay,” you breathed through it. “I’m done.”

Logan just gave you a look and raised his eyebrow. 

You nodded with a wide smile. “I’m done. Finished. Promise.”

You even made a cross above your heart. Logan smiled and turned back to marking the papers as you read Rogue’s. 

“What did you picture me as?” 

You hummed a questioned response. 

“You didn’t picture me as a cage fighter.” You held in a laugh. “Stop it.” You tried. “What did you see me as?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. A lumberjack? Bodyguard? A cowboy? Your tags say ‘Army’ but your personality says ‘Macho Man with a Protective Streak’.”

Logan hid his blush well as he turned his head away, the smile on his face not going unnoticed by you. “Alright.”

You loved seeing Logan smile. It wasn’t often he did it, but when he did…you wanted to take a picture. 

Unbeknownst to you, Logan loved it, too. Maybe he wanted to keep up his reputation for how you saw him, as well as for how others saw him. But one thing he was glad of…most of the time when he did smile…it was with you. 

However, as you both shared a laugh, a knock came from your classroom door where you looked to find one of your cousin’s standing by the door. 

“I…there may have been a tiny accident.”

Pulling your own feet from your desk, you sat up and met your cousin half way across your classroom just as Logan pulled his feet from your desk and turned in his chair. 

“Show me.”

Your cousin held out their hand to you. A deep gash was in the middle. 

“Oohhhh kay.” You looked around you. “Logan, open up my top drawer in my desk. There should be some bandages.”

Logan did as you instructed and threw them to you. You caught them and turned back to your cousin. “How did this happen?”

“We were walking through the clearing. I slipped and tried to grab onto a tree branch.”

“And that caused the cut?” You asked as you wrapped their hand.

“Not exactly. I kinda…missed. And grabbed onto a rock instead.”

Logan stood beside you. “You must have found the sharpest rock in the forest.”

He said what you were thinking. 

“How long will it take to heal?”

“That’ll depend.”

“On what?”

“On if you’re thinking about trying to climb the tree again.”

Your cousin panicked. “B-but we weren’t.”

Logan detected a lie. 

“I have known you, your whole life.” You leaned in a little closer. “You need to stop climbing trees after it’s been raining.”

“Okay, fine.”

You took in a small breath. “It should be healed in a couple of hours. Just…wait until it’s dry before you do any more climbing.”

“Thanks, Y/n,”

As your cousin left, Logan remained fixed on his spot as you walked back to your desk. Pointing towards the door your cousin had just walked out from, Logan turned around to you. 

“That was a pretty deep gash. That’ll take more than a couple of hours to heal.”

You looked at Logan for a split second before looking back to the papers in front of you. “It’s part of their mutation. Small things he can heal from, just not as quickly as you. We don’t all have super-healing, Logan.”

Logan gave you a soft smile, but it was still questioning. He walked over to your desk. “But their mutation gives them the ability to control water. Nowhere on their file does it say ‘heal’.”

Your heartbeat jumped. 

Logan leaned up a little from your desk as you looked at him. 

He’d caught you in a lie. 

“Well, it’s not his primary power. My aunt mustn’t have thought it was important.”

Your heartbeat was normal. 

So was your breathing. 

Logan decided to drop it, but it was constantly on his mind. 

Your heartbeat had jumped when he got closer to your desk and mentioned the mutation. 

Either that was the very first lie you had told him, or your mask was slipping. 

For the next two days, Logan practically watched you like a hawk. It was rare his gaze was somewhere else other than you. 

He did question going to the Professor again, but considering he was adamant you weren’t a mutant, Logan considered it wasn’t worth the time. 

He wanted to know why you had lied to him. Or why it was now he’d only just detected it.

However, it was at least another month before he would come to find out the truth. 

“So why are we being called up?”

Scott turned towards the Professor, his arm across his chest. “Because last I checked, aren’t the fire departments meant to help with this kinda thing?”

“Usually, yes. However, we’ve been called personally. There are too many risks for just the average human being.”

A tornado had ripped through a small town, demolishing almost everything. From the brick buildings to houses to even schools. Some people were still trapped under rubble and others were hurt, if not worse. Except, the hospitals could only take so many patients at a time and the nearest hospital was at least two towns away. 

“You’ll be working alongside the departments already stationed there but the main priority is helping people out safely.”

Twenty minutes later, they were headed for the jet. 

And you caught Logan walking down the hall. “Where are you going?”

“There’s been a tornado-”

“In Oklahoma? I saw it on the news.”

“We’re going to help.”

You turned watching Logan walk further down the hall. “Wait, I’m coming with you.”

“What? Why?”

You threw your books into the nearest classroom, letting them softly slide against the desks and into their places. “I can help.”

Logan stopped and looked around. “They’ve already got too many casualties. We’re going because we’re less likely to get hurt.”

You sighed with a look. “Logan, I’ve seen at least half of the casualties. They’re gonna need more than just the X-Men. I can help.”

“Let her go with you, Logan.” The Professor rolled around the corner. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Logan took the Professor’s word for it. “Come on, before they leave without us.”

Passing your room on the way, you grabbed your jacket and a bag from under your bed. Logan looked at you curiously as you shut your bedroom door. 

“Medical supplies.” 

Logan just nodded and placed his hand at the bottom of your back guiding you down the hallway before you both set off running towards the jet. 

Upon landing, everyone got to work. 

Scott and Logan started helping those who were trapped under fallen buildings whilst Storm helped lift most of the rubble away as well as brush away most of the debris from larger areas. 

Jean began setting up medical areas for people to be treated and seen to, and you helped her. 

Thirty minutes later, you heard shouting. 

It was a kid. 

“Help! Please!”

Turning around, you yelled for Logan and he came running. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s my leg. I-I’m stuck. Please.”

“Okay, just stay calm. Logan help me lift it.”

Before Logan could even touch the wooden boards holding the kid down, the last half of the house shook. 

“Okay,” you looked from the house to Logan. “We have to move. Quickly.”

From the count of three, you and Logan lifted the boards from the kid, except, as Logan helped the kid out, the rest of the house began to fall. 

“Watch out!” A could firemen shouted. 

Logan barely had time to react, covering the kid with his body, waiting for the impact of the house. Except it never came. 

Slowly opening his eyes, Logan was met with a semi bright light of blue and when he turned around, he was more than shocked at what he saw. 

Coming from you was a safety barrier. The house had fallen but it had fallen onto whatever blue dome you had created. 

Despite the fact you had stopped the house from falling on yourself, Logan and the kid, there was a sting inside of you. How Logan was looking at you…pure shock and hurt…that stung you to your core. 

“Get the kid out of here.”

Logan slowly jolted back into action, pulling the kid out as you turned around and pushed the house back and up before lifting it to a safe distance away from the rest of the people. 

And Logan just watched you. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Logan looked around for the voice after a moment, realising the kid was still beside him. “No worries, kid. How’s the leg? Think you can stand on your own?”

The kid nodded before looking down and paleing. “It’s bleeding.”

“Whoa, hey, okay. Take it easy.”

Logan helped him sit down on a cinderblock just as you got to his side. “Let me see.”

The kid slowly lifted his leg. “I don’t like blood.”

You knelt down and examined his leg. “It’s okay, buddy. Just close your eyes so you don’t have to look.”

“What are you gonna do?” 

You looked at Logan who was all manners of concern, confused and intrigued. 

Looking from him without answering, you allowed your hands to slowly ghost over the kids legs. Before his eyes, a blue light emitted from your palm and slowly healed the cuts on the kid's leg.  

“Okay, you’re all sorted buddy.”

The kid opened his eyes and looked at his leg. The blood stains were still there, but the cuts weren’t.

“Thank you.”

“Do you know if there are any other kids around here?”

The kid pointed you in the direction of where a couple other houses had been standing only the day before and you and Logan went back to work. 

Over the next couple of hours, Logan’s gaze towards you had gone from shock to confusion to anger. 

You had lied to him. 

Not only that, you had lied to all of them. 

“Did you know?” Jean asked, standing beside Logan as he watched you with a little girl who had been crying. From nothing, you conjured up some daisies and whisked it into a flower crown for her hair. Logan’s heart was warm at the sight. The girl had gone from red and puffy eyed to smiling and hugging you. 

Then he remembered. 

“No. I didn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us? Why lie?”

“I don’t know.”

The girl almost skipped away from you and towards some of her friends she had spotted. You were still crouched down and as you turned, you spotted Logan and Jean. 

One moment of eye contact with you and Logan started walking away in the opposite direction. 

Jean watched as he walked away and you lowered your head, standing and looking around to see if anyone else needed help. 

A firewoman approached you and asked you for help moving some old pieces of the school building. 

When you returned an hour later, the only person you could find was Storm. 

“Those were some pretty cool things you did earlier. My only question is, why not tell people about it?”

You looked at Storm as you helped her hand out small baskets of food for people. “Easier to keep to myself.”

“You know, the first day the Professor told me about you, he said you were something else. I thought it was just because you were the only human in your family. But clearly he saw something else.”

“I’m sorry, for not telling you all.”

Storm shook her head. “You never had an obligation to. It’s your life, Y/n. You get to decide how much you share with the world.”

You sighed, spotting Logan helping a couple of people out by the broken swings in the park. “I wish others could see it like that.”

Storm nudged your shoulder. “He’ll come around. He’s like a walking lie detector. He’ll be more mad at himself for not figuring it out.”

You gave Storm a thanking smile before going back to handing out supplies. 

By nightfall, most things had been cleared up and the hospitals were less packed with patients thanks to yourself and Jean. 

On the ride back you could practically feel the anger radiating from Logan. He would barely look at you. Jean and Storm seemed to be the only ones not pissed at you for not telling them. 

By the time you landed, Logan was the first off the jet, his feet heavy against the stairs as he made his way back into the school. 

“Is there anything else we should know, or do you have more lies stuffed up your sleeves?”

“Scott.” Jean warned. 

“What? You can’t tell me you’re not pissed that she’s lied to us.”

“Scott, she didn’t have to tell us if she didn’t want to.” Storm told him. 

“Still would have been nice to know.”

As Scott walked away, Jean touched your arm. “I’ll deal with him. He’s just hurt, he wasn't the first to find out.”

“How come you two aren’t mad at me?”

Storm and Jean looked at you with a faint smile on their faces. “The power you displayed today…we know what it’s like to want to hide that.”

“And we also know what it’s like to want to keep a secret. You didn’t have to share that part of your story with us, but you did because you wanted to help someone. No one can be mad at you for that.”

“Thanks, guys.”

Jean and Storm smiled as they hugged you. “Anytime. But this does mean you are making us all flower crowns. I wonder if we can get Logan to wear one?”

The three of you walked side by side back into the school. “He needs a haircut, first.”

The next day, you found yourself in the Professor’s office, the rest of the team already there.

And Logan didn’t seem any calmer. 

Just eerily quiet as he watched you from the window, walking inside and standing in the middle of the room. 

“I understand there is something you may need to share with the class?” 

You nodded. “I guess you saw it on the news?”

The Professor nodded, but he didn’t seem mad. “That, and Scott was the first to come and see me this morning.”

You looked at Scott but he just scoffed. “They have a right to know we’ve got Class 4 mutant-”

“Class 5,” you corrected. 

They all turned and looked at you with shock. Logan just stood, his arms still across his chest. 

But the Professor smiled. 

“It seems we have quite a lot to discuss. Everyone, please excuse myself and Y/n.”

Slowly, albeit reluctantly, they all left one by one. 

Your eyes followed Logan but he didn’t look at you. 

With your eyes still on the door he’d just closed, the Professor rounded his desk. “He’ll come to his senses. They all will. Please, have a seat.”

Logan didn’t see or hear from you or the Professor in over three hours. And by the time dinner rolled around, the only person he did see was the Professor. 

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

Logan nearly shot out of his seat as he looked from the library window to the Professor. “Gone? Where-”

“Relax, Logan. She’ll be back soon enough. I told her it was best if she went and got a little fresh air. You could use some, too. Your brooding is practically stinking this place out.”

Logan fell back into his chair. “She still lied.”

“And she had good reason, too.”

Logan looked back to the Professor. “She comes from an entire family of mutants, Logan. Her childhood was spent being surrounded by those trying to manipulate powers to be something greater than they already were. If she had shown who she truly was, I fear she wouldn’t have become the person she is today. Her family, for as much as they care for her…half of them would have wanted her to stay and have her powers trained into something for their own gain. The other half would have shipped her off to hide out in a country, alone for the rest of her life. They would have been frightened of her, Logan.”

“But why lie to us?”

The Professor sighed. “Logan, if you had spent your entire life being one thing, how long do you think it would take before you feel comfortable and safe enough to share a whole other side of you to someone?”

Logan was silent for a minute. “She said she’s a Class 5.”

Charles picked up the hidden question behind Logan’s statement. “I’ve read her mind, Logan. She’s not like Jean. She’s in full control. Always has been.”

The Professor waited for a couple of minutes. “I know you care for her, Logan. Try and find a way to forgive her for not telling you sooner.”

He made it to the door before looking back at Logan. “Maybe take a walk. It might clear your head. I hear Ororo planted some Evening Primrose. They should be opening up soon.”

With that, the Professor left. 

And somehow, ten minutes later, Logan found himself taking the Professor’s advice. 

Zipping up his hoodie, Logan placed his hands into his pockets as he walked down the steps towards the gardens. It was still a little warm but there was still that hint of chill in the air that let him know Fall would be closing in soon. 

As time passed, Logan felt his mind working around the idea of you and the things you had told him, or rather hadn’t told him. 

And the Professor was right. 

The primroses had begun to open. 

Logan had never really understood why people would watch flowers or do anything with them other than plant them and pull out the weeds a few months later. But as he was contemplating about flowers and why these off all things the Professor told him to look at, he looked up and spotted you. 

You were sitting on an old swinging bench, watching the water softly ripple under the moonlight. 

Logan watched you for a moment. You were calm. You weren’t writing or scribbling in a classroom, you weren’t buzzing around the kitchen or the hallways. 

You were sat, alone, letting your mind concentrate on nothing but the constant movement of the water and the stars in the sky. 

After a few moments, Logan noticed the soft blue glow by the ground around the water. Within a second, he watched as daisy’s and some other wildflowers started to push up from the ground. All the while, a blue wisp, almost like glitter, circled around them and then died away. 

Then stems of grass began to lift before they stretched into what Logan figured out to be lilypads as they glided down onto the water. 

“Figured you’d kicked down a few trees by now.” 

Logan turned and looked back at you. Of course you knew he was there. 

“Trust me, I thought about it.”

Slowly, Logan started walking towards you. 

More flowers grew by the water's edge. 

“You should open your own flower shop.”

You smiled a little. “Would you believe me if I told you I was allergic?”

“I don’t know. Is it the truth?”

You looked up at him. “You tell me.”

Logan could hear your heartbeat. 

And he could hear your breath. 

Both steady. 

“I’m not hiding anything else from you, Logan,” you assured him. 

Logan just raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue as he moved to sit beside you. “Hard to tell these days.”

“I know you wanted to know but it was easier to keep it hidden.”

Logan nodded. “The Professor explained it to me. But everything you said in the library…”

“I was living a normal life, Logan. To my family I am human. To everyone else I was the only human in a mutant family. What I said to you that night…I meant it. I know what it’s like to be alone and to feel lost.”

“And now?”

You shrugged a little. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.” Logan looked at you. You turned in your seat and looked back at the water, your fingers picking at your own hands. “And Scott. And the others. The Professor wants me to stay on, but I don’t know if I can-”

“You should stay.”

You looked back at Logan. 

“You should stay,” he repeated. “The kids…they love you. Besides, who else is gonna be able to read Rogue’s handwriting.”

“What about the others?”

Logan gave a slight nod. “They’ll come around. Scott will come around. Jean will see to that.”

“And what about you?”

Logan didn’t know what to say. 

“I care about you, Logan. I don’t know if I could carry on working here knowing you hate me for lying to you. Even worse…not being able to trust me. I am sorry for not telling you the truth, but I hope one day you can see why I did.”

“I think the Professor explained most of it.” Logan told you. “And I get why you didn’t tell us. It still hurts, but I get it.”

Your gaze fell on Logan’s face as he watched the forest come alive under the stars. 

“I care about you, too.” 

Finally, Logan’s gaze held onto yours. 

Part of you was held in suspense for when he would look away. Your heart braced itself for him to turn away. For him to say something your heart didn’t want to hear and for him to leave. 

As Logan looked at you, your heartbeat was like an echo of his own. Faint in the background, drowned out by his own rushing through his ears. 

“Promise me…” Logan tried to find his words as his own hand found yours on the bench. “Promise me you’ll keep talking to me. That you’ll tell me things. That you won’t have any more secrets with me? Good or bad…I want to know them.”

You nodded. “I promise. So long as you promise me something, too.”

Logan gave a slight smile. “Don’t think you’re in the right area to ask for promises jus-”

You sat up and turned your body towards him, your hands enveloping his hand. Logan remained silent the minute he saw your relaxed smile. 

“Promise me you’ll talk to me, too. And that you won’t try and hide your smile from me.”

Your hand grazed Logan’s cheek and he practically smiled into it. 

“I like seeing your smile.” 

Logan smiled. “I like seeing yours, too.”

With his elbow propped up against the back of the bench, his fingers slowly brushed your loose hair from your face to behind your ears and down your neck. Logan turned his head for a moment, his other hand coming to hold yours against him before he pressed a kiss to your palm. 

From there, he simply placed your hand over his heart. 

And you smiled. 

His heart calmed at your touch, and he could hear yours. 

With a soft smile that was very quickly turning into a smirk, Logan leaned forward, holding you steady before he finally kissed you. 

He wouldn’t notice until the next day but the wildflowers that bloomed by the waters edge, just as he kissed you, dug their roots permanently. Even when questioned why they could grow so close to the water without any other explanation than it being a fluke, Logan knew the truth. 

And it anyone was to question their origins and their symbolism: Eternal Love

It might finally provide an explanation. 

Pulling back to catch his breath, he heard you let out a small laugh. 

“What?”

“You seriously need a haircut.”

Logan groaned. “Still?”

“Just a little.”

A few weeks later, Logan found himself being pushed into a chair in his room as you wrapped a towel over his shoulders and pulled out a pair of hairdresser scissors and a comb. 

“You know, you could have just asked to cut my hair. You didn’t have to trick me into it.”

“Logan, I have been asking you for months. Be lucky I didn’t ask Hank to knock you out and drag you here.”

“Do you even know how to cut hair?”

You started the first couple of snips. “One of the first things I learned to do. Besides learning how to cook. People can only take so many bowl cuts and parsnip soup from Great-Aunt Vi.”

Logan smirked. “Sounds delicious.”

“Sure, if you love parsnip water with cabbage.”

You moved around to stand in front of Logan, his legs opening for you to step into them. It wasn’t long before his hands found your hips. 

Your heart jumped a little. 

“Stop it.”

Logan looked at you innocently enough. “I’m not doing anything.”

His hands glided a little higher before you whacked his knuckles with your comb. He tried his best to hold back his smirk. 

“Tease.”

It was your turn to hold back your reaction. “I’m trying to cut your hair. Distractions don’t help.”

“Don’t look distracted to me.”

You smirked a little, continuing to comb through and cut his hair. “Believe me, I’m plenty distracted.”

Logan chuckled and his hands moved back down to your hips before making repetitive strokes up and down your thighs and back to your hips. 

Time passed slowly, albeit calmly. 

“Okay, all done.”

You held a mirror in front of him. “What’d you think?”

Logan nodded before pushing the mirror down and pulling you closer to him before you found yourself sitting in his lap. “It’s nice, but I think I prefer this view.”

You blushed before kissing him, his hand raking through your hair, his breath pulling you closer. 

It wasn’t long before you were straddling his lap, his hands holding you steady by your ass and thighs. 

“Shouldn’t we,” Logan kissed you. “Be getting ready,” He kissed you again. “For dinner?”

“Good thing it starts at seven.”

You giggled a little as Logan smiled before his lips made their way down your jaw line and down your neck. Your own arms wrapped around his neck as you rocked forward on him a little, a groan coming from the back of his throat. 

“That’s in an hour.”

“Gives us plenty of time then.”

You smiled. “To do what?”

A small gasp came from you as Logan stood up with you, your legs wrapping around him. “To get ready.”

With a suggestive eyebrow raise and a small bite of his lip, you let out a small laugh before kissing him again, his chuckle vibrating against your lips as he walked you towards the en-suit bathroom. 

A small wisp of blue turned on the shower, letting the water heat up, all the while Logan set you down on the sink counter, the blue wisp locking the door, and him slowly removing your clothes before his lips left a trail in their wake, your own hands working to remove his clothes. 

By a stroke of luck, neither of you were late to dinner (this time) but there wasn’t much time left for drying your hair. Logan was still towel drying his before you both reached the dining room. 

“I see someone finally got a haircut.” 

Hank was dishing out mashed potatoes onto each plate. 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh. honey.” Your hand pressed against Logan’s chest before you kissed his lips. “It was.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining afterwards.” Logan mumbled to you through a smirk.

You blushed brightly. Logan’s smirk prominent on his face,  his hand trained down your back and over your ass before coming to pull you in by your hips. 

Soon, everyone else piled into the dining room, you all finding your designated seats. With Logan’s beside yours, his hand remained on your upper thigh for most of the meal. 

However, no one seemed to notice that with each squeeze Logan gave you, a small row of daisies planted themselves outside, just below the windowsill. 

[jobean12-blog]

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: You have to attend a close relative's wedding and there's no one better to bring than your best friend, Bucky.

Author's Note: Seeing so much of happy Seb lately-and looking so good-made me want to write something sexy and fluffy so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks Daisy!🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet, tense and flirty, Bucky is the best in every way!

‘Come on up. Room 322.’

His thumbs hang limply over the phone screen, his brain going blank.

When he sent the text ten seconds earlier to let you know he’s arrived he figured you would meet him down in the lobby or at the hall.

Meeting you in the hotel room is a problem he anticipated when he gave himself a pep talk before leaving.

“She’s your best friend. Don’t do anything stupid…like go to the hotel room.”

His fingers finally start to move over the letters. ‘I can meet you down here…’

But maybe you need help with something?

He deletes the text, now typing, ‘is there anyone with you?,’ but that just sounds weird and possessive.

‘I can see you typing,’ you text. ‘Just come up. I need help.’

With a laugh, he deletes everything again and types simply, ‘be right there doll.’

His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.

The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.

“Come in Buck!”

Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”

“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.

Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”

You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.

“Bucky?”

He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.

“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”

When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”

“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”

He cringes but steps closer.

“My dress?”

You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.

Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”

“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”

He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”

But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder.

He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.

It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.

“All set,” he whispers.

You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.

“You look hot.”

“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”

You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”

With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.

“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.

Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”

His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.

“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”

“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”

With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.

You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.

You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”

He’d be happy to stand there all night.

You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”

He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.

“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”

“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”

“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.

“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.

He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.

You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.

You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?

You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.

Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.

He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.

“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”

“Thanks grandma,” you beam.

A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.

“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.

Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.

“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”

“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.

“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.

He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”

Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.

After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.

When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.

You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.

But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.

“Hey you two!”

Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.

“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”

Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.

“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”

She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.

“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”

She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.

“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”

You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.

The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”

“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”

Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’

Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.

“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.

“Sure,” you reply.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”

With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.

“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.

“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”

Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”

He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”

With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.

He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.

He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.

“You’re always so comfy.”

“Thank you.”

“And you always look out for me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Of course, doll.”

“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”

He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.

“Mine too, doll.”

Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.

And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.

“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.

He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.

“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”

When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.

“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.

His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.

“Bucky?”

“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.

You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.

He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.

Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”

You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.

You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.

Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”

The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.

With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.

He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.

“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.

“If you’ll have m…”

“Yes. Yes Bucky.”

[elmushterri]

I filled an entire page of my sketchbook with Nori!

I love them sm!!! This has to be one of my favorite of your rewrites, I seriously did not think I could actually care abt PJ Masks past the age of 6 but now I'm obsessed 😭

On another note, just a random thing I'm curious about, before breaking off from GunnTech, did the main three basically live at the facility since they were initiated? I guess they do from what I’ve seen, but I was just wondering if they ever had to go to like. School or something, when they're not training. And if they ever got to see their family again (though I doubt both the kids and their family would want to lol)

And one more thing, totally important and necessary to ask, how does Nori acquire the kids? (..that doesnt sound right)

Like does he break in to the facility from time to time or did they just bring them with him when they left GunnTech or does he take them in when he finds them just out and about??

NORI… OUR FAVOURITE PROBLEM! The way you draw eyes scratches my brain /positive.

I think the idea is that everyone does live at GunnTech, they have rooms and go to school. GunnTech also has a prison somewhere (like, sci fi, clean, sterile white prison, a glass front-wall for cells instead of bars, and that’s where everyone gets put in Season 4. But, before that, when the main three villains (or at least, just Luna and Nori) escaped, it wasn’t totally locked down so they had to walk out suspiciously/tell the security guards reasons (you need to give reasons when leaving GunnTech so, “I’m hanging out with a friend” comes with ‘who is the friend + give us contact details’) and then probably remove a tracker (unsure as to whether the wristbands are the trackers or the trackers are put into their chest implants), and try to avoid getting caught for the rest of the time (until season 3-4 ofc). The main story probably begins with the three MCs trying to find them and bring them back. Romeo’s wanted cause he stole tech, though, he’s not a mutant.

Nori risks his life basically (not literally but he risks huge punishment) by constantly breaking into the facility to get out new kids. Kids who haven’t yet been mutated all have one room (several large rooms for many kids’ bunk beds basically, not literally one big room 😭) and he goes in and saves one or two each time. Some kids don’t *want* to come with him, thinking this is a cool superhero opportunity. He has an easier time helping kids who are scared and having second thoughts. He’s very gentle.

Also reminder that Nori had their finger prints burned off yipeeee. He’s not letting that happen to the others. (It doesn’t happen to every kid, but GunnTech probably has categories (like, heroes: animals, space, spies, drivers, healers?) and if you’re in the (name is a work in progress) Spies Category (stealth category?) like Nori, you get your finger prints burned off.

Daisy is canonically one of the only two Ninjalino names we know! I might make her into a small side character so that art isn’t 100% solid but eh!

Also he can’t really just “take them back to their parents”. If you’re a child at GunnTech, your parents either gave you away for money or you’re an orphan.

Nori’s usually a sassy ‘problem’ but they have their really serious and gentle moments.

[ataliagold]

Flowers In Your Hair

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompt 'flowers'. Title from Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: General

W/C: 1249

Tags: Post Series 4 Volume 2, Everyone Lives, Established Steddie, Fluff, Soft Steve Harrington, Steve Loves Yellow Flowers, Eddie Loves Steve, El and Max are best friends, summer, this is just softness

Summary: Eddie enlists some help to find the perfect flowers for Steve. Despite his own insecurities, Eddie is learning that his boyfriend loves soft things.

___

“Robin, what kind of flowers does Steve like?”

Eddie was draped over the Family Video counter, having stolen the barely-working desk fan air flow for himself.

Robin paused where she was rifling through the box of returned tapes to give him a confused look. “Flowers? Really?”

Eddie threw up a hand, then regretted it, because that had taken far too much effort in the stifling heat. “What? You think a man can’t buy flowers for another man? You judging me, Buckley?”

Robin scoffed. “No. Just…why flowers?”

“It’s romantic!” Eddie whined. “We have a date tonight and Steve loves that stuff. He might not say it, but he does. On Valentine’s Day I got him chocolates and roses and you should’ve seen his face, honestly if we hadn’t been in public I probably would’ve got on my knees there and then -”

Robin leaned over and slapped a hand across his mouth. “Jesus, enough.”

Eddie grinned behind her hand, and poked his tongue out to touch Robin’s palm.

She snatched it away with a shout, fake gagging behind the counter. “Munson, that was disgusting.”

Eddie shrugged. “You love me, though.”

“Steve loves you,” Robin corrected. “And so, by extension, I’m unfortunately forced to too.” She smiled a little, taking any sting out of her words. “Seriously though, the kids are over there, watch your mouth.” She dipped her head towards the sci-fi section, where Dustin and Mike were loudly arguing over which tape to rent for their next movie night. Max and El were hanging back, Max eagerly trying to explain a movie synopsis to El. Whatever it was, it sounded violent, and El looked confused.

Eddie leaned further over the counter, letting the weak breeze from the fan flick his hair around. “Help me?” he asked, batting his eyes at Robin.

She screwed up her nose a little before responding. “Honestly, I don’t know. You said you got him roses before, right? Did he like those?”

“Well, yeah, but I think he liked the gesture more than anything else.”

Robin shrugged. “Just get him anything, then. It’s from you, so he’ll love it.”

“But I want to get his favourite,” Eddie lamented. “He deserves the best.”

“Well, I agree with you there.”

“Eddie?”

A small voice sounded behind him, and Eddie summoned the energy to turn his head. El was standing behind him, looking a little shy.

“Yeah, supergirl?”

“You wanted to know Steve’s favourite flowers?”

Eddie slid off the counter a bit, straightening up. “Yeah, I do.”

El glanced between him and Robin for a moment. “Steve used to help me and Max with our hair. When mine was longer, we would make daisy chains and Steve braided them into my hair, he even let us put them in his sometimes. We tried to use other flowers sometimes but they did not stay together very well. But Steve’s favourites are yellow ones.”

And that…made sense, Eddie supposed. Yellow was Steve’s favourite colour, after all, but Eddie wasn’t sure where to find yellow flowers. He couldn’t afford much at the florist, and what flowers were yellow, anyway? Sunflowers? Where the hell would he get those?

Robin tugged his sleeve, pulled Eddie back to the counter so she could lean over and whisper, “The Klines have yellow roses growing by their fence.”

“The old Mayor?” Eddie asked with a frown.

“Yup.”

A smile slowly spread across his face.

“There are marigolds by the school field,” El added. “And yellow violas and tulips by the cabin. I can show you.”

And that was how, a short time later, Eddie was snapping off fragrant yellow roses at the stalk where they were poking out between the stark white pickets of Larry Kline’s fence. Max and El were standing further down the footpath, acting as lookouts while Eddie huddled by the fence and took his quarry as quickly as he could.

At the first surprised shout from inside the fence, he darted away, collecting the girls with a grin as he ran past them.

He threw back his head and laughed, roses clutched in his warm hand, Max beaming beside him.

“That guy’s an asshole,” she told Eddie as they jogged away from the house. “Serves him right.”

They couldn’t move too quickly – Max’s bones had healed, but she wasn’t exactly up to a sprint across town just yet. But they made it to Eddie’s van parked around the corner, and moved on to their next stop.

Just like that, Eddie spent the afternoon traipsing along with the two girls. El showed him where to find all sorts of different flowers, and Max went along because where El went, she went. It was hot, the sun baking them from above in a cloudless sky, but Eddie didn’t care – this was for Steve.

By the time they were finished, Eddie had gathered a large handful of flowers in all different shades of yellow and orange, and the girls had wrapped them in some plastic procured from Hopper’s cabin and poured some water into the bottom to keep them fresh in the summer heat.

“There,” El told him proudly, handing over the bouquet while Max tried to find some ribbon in a drawer to tie around it. “They’re pretty. Like Steve.”

Eddie spluttered a little at El’s directness. “Oh…yeah. Yeah, they are. He is.”

El nodded. “Max often says so, too.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Max yelled from El’s room.

Eddie smirked, because the girl’s little crush on his boyfriend was no secret. “It’s ok Max, I agree with you.”

Max stomped back towards them, slapped a length of gold ribbon into Eddie’s hands, and then took El’s arm and pulled her back towards the room.

Effectively dismissed, Eddie returned to his trailer to rush through a shower and getting changed, barely with enough time left to get to Steve’s before their dinner plans.

Waiting in front of his boyfriend’s door, Eddie passed the bouquet from hand to hand, a little nervous.

This is stupid.

Steve Harrington, former jock supreme, once-captain of the basketball team, nail-bat wielding badass wasn’t going to appreciate some yellow flowers.

Eddie almost turned tail. Almost tossed the flowers into the back of his van to be dealt with later, almost gave in to the nerves in his stomach.

Almost.

Because there was a softness to Steve that Eddie was learning to know and love. It was in the way he treated the kids, the way he gently held Eddie’s hand, the way he baked cookies when his friends were coming over and apparently braided flowers into the girls’ hair.

Eddie took a deep breath, clutched his yellow flowers, and knocked on the door.

It opened after a moment.

“Eds, hey, sorry I just gotta get my shoes on -” Steve trailed off as he took in the sight of Eddie standing there, flowers gripped in shaky hands.

Eddie cleared his throat, held out the bouquet. “For you. If, um…if you want them. Sorry if it’s stupid, I wanted to get you something but I couldn’t afford much and El told me you liked yellow flowers so I spent the afternoon going around town and finding them, and the roses actually involved some petty theft but -”

Steve took the flowers with one hand, and pulled Eddie through the door with the other, lips seeking his mouth and swallowing the rest of his sentence.

When they finally pulled apart, Eddie smiled shyly. “You like them, then?”

“I love them, Eds.”

___

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | chapter two

chapter summary: Steve brings his daughter to her first day of Kindergarten.

the song: My Girl by The Temptations

6,251 words | please see the masterlist for warnings! | my blog is 18+

Steve can’t be sure if the sigh that escapes his lips and clouds up in front of him is due to the anticipation of the inevitable sticky situation that’s about to occur or annoyance in himself for continuing to provide her the jam. He supposes it could just be a sigh of acceptance, finally coming to terms with the new and almost constant state of his hair lately. Most likely though, it’s just a content, tiny burst of affection.

Because that’s the overwhelming feeling that blooms in his chest when sticky, sweet strawberry smelling fingers land in his freshly styled hair. His eyes flit up from the green sparkly laces between his fingers to see her tiny lips forming her patented pout.

Hair a bit lighter than his, curls slightly in a mind of its own kind of way beneath little pig tails, bouncing just above shoulders that are tucked up to her ears as she tilts her head to look around his. Big, curious eyes that he claims are like her mom’s, but everyone is adamant are also a carbon copy of his too - just like her nose that scrunches all too familiarly, dotted with tiny freckles that seem to multiple every day.

Steve taps the side of Charlie’s ankle as he finishes the first bow, and she sticks her other foot out for him, yellow lights at the center of daisies flashing as she stomps it down on the gravel. He glances back up to find her eyes still trained on the playground behind him, the furrow between her eyebrows only growing deeper as her fingers tug in his hair - either for his full attention like it isn’t already on her, or the aforementioned jam predicament, he isn’t sure.

“Daddy?”

He finishes the second bow, and removes her hands from his hair gently, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles and he sighs again. She is so sticky.

Steve shakes his head at his own thoughts and releases her hands to search his pockets, the other chucks the side of his knuckle under her chin.

“Talk to me, Goose.”

Her pout disappears, a giggle slips past her lips just like always, but it’s not long lasting when a shriek comes from the playground behind him. Her voice lowers as she asks in a wobbly tone, “Who will do the underdogs?”

“Well, uh, I’m sure your teacher knows how to do them, cutie,” he reassures while his forehead wrinkles and he tries to determine if she’s looking for some reason not to go suddenly or if she’s just genuinely curious. She does take her swings seriously, so it’s not an out of the ordinary question.

Steve finds a napkin, and decides it’ll have to do for now, grimacing as the paper material hits his tongue.

“But what if she can’t, daddy?” Her voice whines as he continues his stand off with the sticky residue.

That’s it. He’s suing Smuckers.

He hums, squeezing her fingers that wiggle between his and the napkin doing absolutely shit all.

“Then we’ll just have to teach her, right? Everyone’s gotta know how to do the underdogs.”

Charlie huffs, but she shrugs her shoulders in some sort of agreement it seems. He wonders how someone so tiny can be full of such complicated emotions, curious thoughts, and brains that he absolutely can’t keep up with, yet still need her shoes tied and someone on jam removal duty most mornings.

Steve stares at her tiny hand in his palm, green sparkles on clear nails that make him swallow down something stuck in his throat, make his free hand run down his nose and swipe underneath it.

Don’t you dare cry, you fucking loser.

But he can’t help but feed the worm that’s been digging deeper and deeper inside of him for months: What if she’s not ready?

And he knows, he really knows, after all the long talks and preparation for this very moment, that it’s him who’s not ready, not her.

She’s so ready, and going to wow the socks off of every teacher with her brilliant and funny little brain and she is the greatest, most precious thing in the world and nothing bad is going to happen to her, dingus.

He recites it to himself over and over, verbatim what Robin told him as he tries to move on to her second hand. But as the gold heart shaped locket dangling from her neck hits his forehead, all he can think is, that starting today, the room full of people he trusts with her safety is expanding. And the problem with opening that door to the room is not Charlie exploring beyond the safe wall’s he’s built, it’s who can get in when he’s not there 24/7 to guard that door.

Visions of flashing Christmas lights, baseball bats meeting gray flesh, Russian guard’s hands and their beady eyes, potentially rabid bats and, you know, just the earth cracking in half and the world almost ending multiple times, while losing people he really cares about, threaten to overtake his mind and he huffs in then out, a quick and calming breath.

Steve wets the napkin with his tongue once more, but pieces of it stick to it this time and he sputters and blows a raspberry, and Charlie’s giggles soothe any worry that was climbing over him like writhing vines.

He let’s go of her hands and makes a bigger show of removing the wet clumps of cardboard tasting napkin from his tongue and coughs loudly. She laughs harder and his eyes widen and his mouth drops in a dramatic gasp.

“Are you laughing at your dad?” He jabs at her sides lightly, tickling and poking her while the napkin falls to the ground and she giggles harder. “Huh? That’s not very nice!”

Steve picks up Charlie, squeezing at her wiggling and gasping body as she laughs so loud he can’t even remember what he was so worried about. He blows a raspberry into her neck so she shrieks in a laughing protest, “Daddy! Too much…” she laughs and wiggles more, gasping around her words, “Too much happy!”

He’ll take the sticky fingers and messed up hair and cardboard taste in his mouth and worrying about another human more than he ever could about himself every day if it means he gets to hear that every once in awhile.

“Mr. Harrington?”

Steve spins at the sound of his name, slowing his tickling. As his body turns and he’s met with your smile, he nearly drops his kid.

You are so pretty.

His mouth goes dry, like the entire napkin is balled up inside of it. He’s sure his cheeks are turning pink from how warm he feels while staring at you. Your fingers wrapped around a bright yellow thermos tap at it while a clipboard rests wedged between your side and elbow. Your light gray tshirt is decorated with sparkly planets and the slogan “Kindergarten is out of this world!” and is tucked into a bright green skirt that he can sense Charlie eyeing appreciatively, though apprehensively from her new residence tucked into his neck.

He runs a palm down Charlie’s spine, reassuring her as you tilt your head and smile wider at her, your nose scrunching up when you do. It takes your kind eyes turning their gaze to him again for him to realize you’ve never met and you were asking if he was Mr. Harrington.

“H-hi. Yeah, I mean yes. I’m Mr. Harrington. I mean, I don’t, kids at school call me that, and I guess parents, but I mean that is my name. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”

He squeezes his eyes closed shut as if to erase that moment from existence forever. He can practically see Robin drawing a line on a whiteboard in the ‘You Suck’ column.

Your laugh drags his eyelids open, and it tugs at something inside of his chest that he thought disappeared a long time ago. Your hand extends and he bites his cheek, cursing all jelly and jam brands. He raises his hands up almost in surrender and Charlie clings to his neck harder, her face hidden in his shoulder as the back of her thighs balance in the crook of his elbow.

“I’m afraid we had a bit of a sticky jam situation this morning, so I don’t know if you want to proceed with a handshake.”

Proceed? With a handshake? Dude, you’re killing me here.

Your shoulders shrug, your voice all soft and smooth and a little sleepy as you joke, “They literally make us Kindergarten teachers take a class where they simply throw sticky substances at us, and if you flinch or grimace, you’ll never graduate. It’s all a part of the job.” Your hand clasps around his gently, but in a firm shake, as you introduce yourself, “I’m Miss Honey.”

He can’t help but notice the Miss not a Mrs.

Charlie perks up at your name, her forehead knocks his chin and he blinks rapidly from the sensation and her shout directly in his ear, “You’re my teacher!”

“I am?” You gasp, excited and smiling at her when you do and he thinks he might already be in love with you.

Charlie nods and then exclaims, “Daddy calls me honey!”

Steve fights a smile and his arm wrapped around her waist squeezes as he whispers, “How do we introduce ourselves?”

Charlie beams at him and slides down his front, foot pushing off of his thigh for leverage. She jumps to the ground forcefully, and almost trips and falls face first into the cement.

Steve’s already moving forward in anticipation of big crocodile tears, but stops himself when he sees you don’t move a muscle and simply watch her find her balance. He watches as you bite your lip in a way that tells him you’re hiding a smile as Charlie sticks her hand out towards you.

When you take it, she shakes it and takes a deep breath before slowly reciting, “My name is Charlotte Maxine Harrington. I live at six eight two Poppy Lane and my daddy’s phone number is seven six five four two…five-“

“Woah cutie,” he stops her, hands resting on her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “We don’t have to give her the whole speech, how about just the name?”

Crouched down to Charlie’s level now, you tilt your head at her, eyes widening as the tone of your voice turns to something syrupy sweet that he recognizes in the way he talks to her himself sometimes as you ask, “You memorized all of that Charlotte? That’s amazing! And there’s more? A whole speech?!”

She nods, eyes big and wide and voice excited as she hums, “Mhm. For policemans like Mr. Jim and firesmens like Uncle Eddie and teachers like Auntie Robin. Cause every-eveybody calls me Charlie, but if I’m scared and I need help they need my whole name and daddy’s phone number and if any food makes me itchy.”

Steve knows without a shadow of a doubt that not only are his cheeks pink, the tips of his ears are now too when you look up at him with raised eyebrows and something twinkling in your gaze. He clears his throat and focuses on his hand running through Charlie’s curls instead of you.

“Daddy’s gotta make sure his right hand gal’s got all the facts, right?” He kisses the top of her head again, inhaling her L’Oreal mangoes and strawberry and something distinctly his daughter that he is certain would be what the sun smells like if it could be bottled.

She tilts her head back, resting against his dark Levi’s so she can see him. Her grin is wide, showing off dimples she didn’t get from him as she nods again. “Right. Always be pepared.”

Steve brushes his thumb down her nose, and something stings behind his eyes again. He looks back over at you, slowly standing from your crouch with a fond gaze staring back at him. He swallows before his lips part, prepared to tell you that it’s all wrong. He’s not Steve Harrington, this is not Charlie Harrington, and no way is anyone starting Kindergarten today, but Charlie’s shriek never lets the words leave his mouth.

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water dumps over his head as he spins to watch Charlie race towards the parking lot, about to yell far too loud from fear, when she comes to halt right at the curb. Impatiently bouncing as her favorite person waves and runs towards her.

The familiar honey tinged red waves bounce as Robin scoops Charlie up in a hug that can only be comfortable for the two of them, all squeezing and no grace, kissing all over her face as she gushes and fawns over her like she literally didn’t see her last night.

“Hey babe! You look splendidly spectacular this morning! Did you do something different with your hair?”

“No!” Charlie giggles and spins once back on the ground, as if to show off her outfit. Which is pretty cute, if he does say so himself. Robin taps a finger to her chin. She holds up curls and circles Charlie, inspecting.

“Not the hair, not the hair…aha! Your nails! Green nail polish!”

Charlie shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips, and Steve relaxes as she tells her that Auntie Robin you painted them last night and how could she forget already, no it’s not that.

You’re watching him closely when he turns to look back at you, rubbing the back of his neck under your appraisal. Your smile all knowing as you reassure, “She’s gonna be fine, Mr. Harrington. Stopping to look both ways and being aware of cars is first week stuff, she’s a natural. And that speech? Time for you to relax.”

He knows he was never one for hiding how he felt from his facial features, but after having a kid and becoming a teacher, he’s had to learn to keep himself fairly composed. So he’s not sure if you can already read him that well or this is just the speech you give to all the parents. Nonetheless, he smiles back at you.

“I’ve never heard of that word before, what does it mean? Relax?”

Your laughter at his terrible joke makes something in his chest swell, almost as sweet of a sound as Charlie’s. He glances over to see Robin smacking her forehead and exclaiming that oh of course it’s the fabulous new green overalls.

“Also, call me Steve, please,” you smile politely and he knows you won’t, because he does the same thing to parents who tell him the same thing, “And I think it’s in that packet we had to fill out, but I’m a teacher over at the middle school, um, art, and so I’m only like ten minutes away if something happens, and she should be really good, she’s a great listener, but I know how she can be so please tell me. Seriously. And I know she didn’t do pre-school, but she’s so smart, she’s just struggling with her R’s and H’s sometimes, but I honestly think it’s because she talks so fast she just doesn’t care to slow down-“

Your fingers touch his wrist, catching it as he talks with his hands and he stops immediately, blinking at you with a held breath.

It’s like touching his skin shocks you and your fingers release from around his wrist quickly before you take a step back, shaking your head while biting your lip.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s oka-“

“Dingus!” Wing woman extraordinare interrupts, “Why on earth did cutiepie here just tell me she did not get a picture in this fabulous first day of school outfit?”

He focus’ on the pair walking towards him hand in hand with a scowl he quickly hides, rolling his eyes at Robin when Charlie quips, “Yeah, dad!”

Steve rubs the side of his cheek, glaring at Robin as you make yourself busy with your clipboard. “Because, we were gonna be late after we were so focused on finding the green overalls, and the green hair ties, and the green shoelaces and the green-“

“Because green is the best,” Charlie interrupts while putting her hands on her hips as if it weren’t clear how exasperated she was with him from her tone.

Robin snorts from behind her and mirrors her pose before sticking her tongue out at him. “Yeah, dad!”

Your laughter reminds Charlie of your presence and she tugs Robin’s matching polished fingers with her own forward.

“Miss Honey, this is Auntie Robin. She lives at…um…oh yeah…four one three-“

“Woah kiddo!” Robin whispers and crouches down, looking around dramatically like a spy. “Does Miss Honey know the super secret password? ‘Cause, remember, only the friends who know the super secret password get to know where Aunt Robin lives.”

Charlie gasps like she’s just recalled this important fact and nods, face seriouos. Robin mimes zipping her lips, locking, then throws the invisible key over her shoulder. Charlie copies her, then promptly steps towards you and loudly whispers: “Pickles.”

Steve bites his cheek and Robin laughs, running a hand over her curls. “We’ll keep practicing the whole locking of lips thing, huh?”

“Kay,” Charlie shrugs before she tugs on Steve’s pant leg. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?” He watches her grip the side of jeans in her little fist and stare at the swings with that pout on her lips again.

“Can I swing?”

A lump in his throat forms when he looks up at you, you glance at your watch and nod with a smile.

“Sure, cutie.” He starts to take off her back pack straps and she’s already racing across the gravel and he calls out loudly, “Don’t forget to be nice to new friends! Take turns! Say please!”

“Tank you!” She shouts back over her shoulder.

Steve groans at it all, her racing away, her forgotten H. He watches her slow down as she reaches the swings and point to an empty one next to a boy already pumping his legs. He nods eagerly and Charlie talks animatedly with her hands as she climbs into the swing.

He lets all of his weight drop against Robin, Charlie’s backpack limp in his fingers when his temple knocks hers and he whispers, “I can’t fucking do this.”

Robin sniffles and his head whips up.

“Are you crying?”

She swats at his chest and avoids his gaze, “No. I have something in my eye. Both eyes. Like a branch or something. Just…” she holds out her hand and blinks blue eyes that have turned a little more shiny, “Give me your keys so I can go get the polaroid, ‘cause I know you brought it, you sentimental idiot.”

He drops the car keys into her palm and she quickly turns away from him before he can catch the tears slipping down her cheeks. When he turns back around you’re hiding a smile behind your thermos again.

Steve clears his throat and runs his thumb and forefinger down his nose, squinting at the playground.

“It’s okay to cry you know, most parents do.”

“I’m not,” he clarifies, words thick in his throat and a struggle to get out.

“Okay, I believe you,” yours easy and tinged with laughter.

“I’m not,” he begs, pleading with someone in the universe so the burn behind his eyes doesn’t fully form and fall.

You must hear it, and decide to give him an out, because you pull up your clipboard. “I actually did need to ask you a few questions, you were my last parent to snag before we all go inside. We never got your authorized pick up list? Just if you can���t ever pick up Charlie, who we’re allowed to send her home with? We tend to also use this as an emergency contact list if there was ever some reason we couldn’t get a hold of you.”

The word emergency makes his heart beat harder and he looks over at Charlie swinging to make sure he can still see her.

“Oh,” he nods, licking his lips as he thinks through it. “How many people can I put?”

“As many as you want,” you shrug before adjusting your coffee thermos in the crook of your elbow so you can write on the clipboard.

“Here,” he grabs the thermos, “Let me. I feel like if I let you spill coffee on that skirt, Charlie might actually never forgive me, as you heard, we’re in a green phase.”

He’s awarded that laugh of yours again before you whisper a quiet thank you. Your lashes kiss as you blink at him, pen poised on the paper. It’s when your eyebrows lift expectantly that he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something still.

“Oh! Um…honestly…” he looks at Charlie who’s smiling at Robin holding up the camera now and nods towards her. “Robin Buckley,” he lists her phone number before adding on, “She’s a teacher here, music, um, honestly she might be picking her up most days. I coach soccer here in the fall after school, so I should make it, but in the spring I’m over at the high school for baseball.”

“Okay great,” you smile as you finish writing her number and look up at him, “Anyone else?”

“I guess Eddie Munson?”

“The ‘firesmens’?” You ask as you write the name.

Steve laughs, fiddling with Charlie’s backpack in his hands, “Yeah, and I guess I should do Nancy too…”

He gives you both of their numbers along with Hopper and Joyce and he doesn’t even want to imagine what would be going on that you couldn’t get a hold of him, Robin, Eddie, or Nancy and had to resort to calling them. And what’s worse, if you couldn’t get a hold of them either.

“We almost never have to call even the second person on the list Mr. Harrington, she’s gonna be just fine.”

“Right,” he nods, but doesn’t really believe you.

“For relationship, Robin is Charlie’s Aunt is what I gathered?”

“Oh,” he laughs and rubs at his temple, “Um by blood? No. She’s just my best friend, but I mean, I guess, to Charlie, yeah. Closest person to having a real one I think.”

“Oh, okay, gotcha” you nod, glancing down at the list and writing.

Steve feels the need to clarify when you hover over Eddie and Nancy, and he isn’t sure why. “They’re married, shouldn’t have said that. And again, family friends I guess, but Charlie calls them Aunt and Uncle. And Jim and Joyce, do you know Hopper? The chief? Anyways, they’re just Mr. Jim and Mrs. Joyce, but they’re essentially her grandparents I guess? I don’t really know…”

Your face does that thing that he hates, the look like you wanna tell him you’re sorry, or you want to comfort him but don’t know how. And it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate where it comes from, he just hates anyone thinking he can’t handle it, can’t handle her, all by himself, or feeling sorry for him in any way. Because there’s nothing to be sorry for, not when he has her.

Your mouth parts, but before you can speak, thunder rumbles loudly overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Steve groans, looking up at the angry clouds. The clear morning sky slowly turning gray without him noticing and he looks over to see Charlie already running for Robin’s legs.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” You ask as you watch her and several other kiddos get scooped up by parents.

Steve shakes his head, lips turning down in a frown as Robin whispers in her ear and starts back towards him. “No, she really doesn’t. No matter what I say or do, nothing helps. I honestly don’t know where it came from, I don’t think it’s the loud noises of the thunder, we’ve never lost power…I feel so helpless. Or useless. Like I can’t fix it for her. ”

The smile you offer attempts to reassure, but Charlie’s eyes fill with tears and Robin rubs a hand down her back, looking over her head at Steve with worried eyes.

“Sorry, I gotta…” he apologizes but he’s already moving towards her and he hopes you understand.

Charlie’s sniffles grow louder as another rumble cracks overhead, burrowing her head into Robin’s sternum and kicking her shoes against her thighs so hard, the little daisies light up.

Robin grimaces at the rough kick, and Steve gives her a mouthed apology as he relieves her of her comforting duties. “Hey, calm down honey. I’m right here. It’s just the rain being a little loud, announcing it’s coming soon, remember?”

He watches you and Robin and some of the other teachers start to gently guide parents and kids inside, smiling and distracting from the incoming rain, and he starts to follow but Charlie wails in his ear as he gets further away from the car.

“Dad-dy, nooo,” she sobs, shaking her head, “I don’t wanna go.”

His eyes blur as he sets her down in the entryway, kids running past as parents give him kind smiles when they walk around them.

“What?!” He tries to sound excited, but he’s wavering, throat too tight and eyes burning, “Why don’t you wanna go now? You get to color, and meet new friends! You get to go play music with Robin!”

“But,” she hiccups around a big sob and his thumb catches a new fat tear trying to trail down her pink cheeks. “You-you leaving and and I don’t like the storm and-“

“I don’t have to leave yet! We get to go put your backpack away, and see your new classroom together. Can we do that? I was so excited to see where you get to sit and draw me pictures every day.”

He’s grasping at straws as she shakes her head no and tries to climb into his lap. And he doesn’t even care if he shouldn’t, he lets her. And he squeezes her and kisses the top of her head as he cradles her, walking deeper inside.

Steve whispers in her ear about how Miss Honey must be magic cause guess what? Char, your cubbie is green. How’d she know? And oh my gosh, no way, someone has a sleeping beauty lunchbox. All the while humming her favorite lullaby between the exciting things he hopes grab her attention. And soon she’s not crying anymore, wet lashes tickling his neck as she peeks at the things he’s pointing out. Soon she’s climbing off of his lap as he forces his voice to sound happy about her hanging up her power rangers backpack she just had to have, and holding his hand as she walks to the doorway of the classroom.

All the parents are gone, aside from a few taking last peeks at their kids drawing or playing and Charlie clings to his knee as he hesitates in the doorway himself.

You’re knelt on the ground pointing at some books with two kids when you spot them. He’s not sure what you say to them, but then you’re walking over to them and not even looking at Steve as you crouch in front of Charlie hiding behind his leg, your sole focus on her and making her feel better.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Charlie!” You tell her, thoroughly relieved, “I have the biggest hugest favor to ask you, will you help me?”

Charlie looks at you, and takes a step forward as she quietly asks, “Help?”

Your nod is so enthusiastic, and you reach out your hand for hers, waiting until she rests her fingers in yours to lace them together. “I heard you are your dad’s best helper, and I need help finding all of the green crayons, can you do that with me? There’s so many in this bin! We need them for a special project we’re going to do later.”

She’s about to nod, he knows she is, when lighting flashes outside, and despite the blinds being closed, she knows. Charlie flinches and starts to retreat but you sigh, and nod your head, smiling still. “I know, rain can be scary sometimes. Do you know what I like to do when it rains?”

Charlie shakes her head no, and you smile encouragingly at her as she gets closer and places both of her hands on your arm instead of holding your hand, squeezing close to your side. “I love to bake cookies. They make my house smell so good. What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Um…” Charlie swipes at her cheek and looks around the room at kids playing and laughing. “Monstermashes.”

“Monstermashes? What are those? I’ve never heard of them, can you tell me what all goes in them while we find all the green crayons?”

She let’s you lead her to the table with the bin where two other kids coloring smile at her and say hi. She sits and you squeeze her shoulder as she tells you all about the cookies. It’s when you risk a glance at the door that Steve realizes he’s just standing there, crying.

Your smile is kind, but your head tilts ever so subtly, telling him to slip out while he can and he knows he should, but the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her goodbye or say have a great first day or I love you is ripping him apart and he squeezes his eyes closed.

He’s not sure how he makes it out to his car with how clouded his vision is, but he does. Thankfully he doesn’t have a sob leave his lips until the maroon door is slammed and his forehead presses to the leather wheel. He notices a little stack of polaroids under an orange post it that says “You sentimental idiot” on the passenger seat. He cries more when he sees the curled fingers around his. He cups his cheeks and slaps them, clearing his throat while muttering under his breath to get a grip.

And he does, eventually.

He goes to teacher workshop and sets up his own classroom and lesson plans and catches up with his co-workers. The thunder only lasts about a half hour, and then it’s just a normal rainy day, which he hopes you’ve managed alright with her. He only calls Robin once but that’s only because she yells at him that of course she’s fine, you think she’d let anything happen to that sweet angel? And he only grabs his keys to go early three times, but never makes it fully out to the car. He does have to take something from his little orange bottle when his breath isn’t quite right when lights flicker for no reason, but turns out it was just the custodian doing some checks. And then finally, it’s already time to go pick her up, and he’s not proud of this, but he speeds at least ten over the whole way there.

So maybe he’s a little early.

He’s slow to approach the classroom, and leans against the wall on the other side of the doorway, just out of sight. He hears your voice singing some sort of clean up song and the kids responding, he closes his eyes and tries to focus on if he can hear her. When the song is over, he opens his eyes to find you smiling at him from the doorway. Your shirt is stained, your hair messier than it was this morning. You’re clearly exhausted but absolutely overjoyed that this is your job as you call for anyone who’s favorite color is green to come grab their back pack. Charlie races towards the door with a few other kids and waves excitedly at him from her place in line.

When you tell them to grab their backpacks, she exits the room and leaps into his arms when he crouches down, expecting the hug. He squeezes her tightly, “Hey cutie, did you have a good day? I missed you so much!”

“So so so so good daddy, we played with cars and colored planets and Auntie Robin taught us a new song and and oh my gosh there’s too much happy to tell you.”

He gets a little choked up at that, a sob threatens to hiccup out of him that he tries to cover up with a laugh, kissing her cheek. “That’s so great! Go get your backpack, I think Miss Honey is waiting.”

“Oh!” She jumps out of his arms and skips to her cubbie, and brings it to you where you slip some papers into a folder, notably sparkly and green, into her backpack after you do the same with three other kids and three different colored folders. The others go sit down on a rug and you smile at him.

“Hi Mr. Harrington, Charlie had such a great first day! She was my awesome helper and she has some art projects to show you that I think you’re really gonna like. There’s also a note about what we did today for you in there, that also has some dates to keep in mind and it’ll always have announcements for things like snack rotations.”

Charlie tugs at his pant leg as Steve smiles at you, “Hold on, sweetie.” He runs a hand over her curls before turning back to you and lowering his voice, “Thank you. For this morning, but also, you know, the whole day.”

“It’s literally my job,” you joke, but you smile warmly at him, “But, you’re welcome. You just need to sign Charlie out and then you’re all set!”

You grab a binder from it’s place by the door and flip to the H’s, and hold it open for him. Typed up information about Charlie on top, and the dates of the month in a calendar for signatures, and at the bottom, the list of names. He gets a little emotional seeing: ‘Robin Buckley - Aunt’ and all the other relationships you’ve given instead of family friend.

Charlie tugs harder, this time on his belt loop and he laughs, picking her up. “Hey, I said hold on, what’s got ants in your pants, huh?”

She taps at his cheek, big eyes blinking at him as she whines, “Daddy, this is so impotant, I promise. No ants.”

“Okay,” he laughs, signing his name in the today’s box, “What’s up?”

“What are the crunchies?”

She asks it so seriously and he has no idea what she’s talking about, he looks to you for help.

You’re thanking the kids for the calm and listening bodies before you’re calling up kids who’s favorite animal is a penguin, so he looks at Charlie who’s waiting expectantly. “What are what?”

“The crunchies daddy. What are they? Miss Honey doesn’t know them.”

“Cutie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What are crunchies?” He bends down with her to grab her backpack that’s still on the floor and he hears you laugh.

“Daddy the monstermashes,” Charlie whines, like he should know this.

“Oh,” he draws it out, “The M&M’s? The chocolate candy I put in?”

“No,” Charlie whines, and she turns to you with a pout. “Daddy doesn’t know too. It’s no use! Hopeless!”

He doesn’t know how or where she learns these phrases so quickly and how she uses them so correctly but he does know that he’s not alone in thinking it’s the cutest thing ever when you smile at her.

“Hold on, I bet we can figure it out together!” You tick off on your fingers as kids who love potato chips go to their cubbies and get their equally different folders and a second parent enters the hallway. He starts to wonder how many folders you bought to be prepared for all their different interests. Colors, animals, shapes, characters, sparkles and no sparkles. He wonders what else you did today.

“Let’s see, we have peanut butter…” Charlie nods and you gasp, “Is it crunchy peanut butter? Peanuts?”

She makes a face, much to his dismay they’re a creamy peanut butter household, so Steve shakes his head no and you tap your chin. “Okay, and it’s not the m&m’s or…” you smile at Steve, emphasizing the R’s in a way that tells him the very important letters were left out of the word, “Butterscotch.”

Charlie nods and the two of you are silent so he chimes in with, “Rice Krispies? The cereal?”

You smile and Charlie nods, “That’s it! Krispies!”

Crunchies, krispies, he has to give it to her, that’s pretty close. And from the way you react, he knows you knew all day, you just wanted to keep her distracted.

“I’m so glad we figured it out! I had such a great time learning with you today, Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Charlie nods and waves, shouting in his ear, “Bye Miss Honey!”

You wave back, smiling at the two as the next parent takes his place and you call up a boy named Matt.

Steve heads down the hallway, looping her backpack over his shoulder as he whispers, “Should we make Miss Honey some Monstermash cookies tonight? You can bring them tomorrow?”

Charlie shouts yes directly in his ear again and his hair gets trapped under her hand in her excitement and all he can do is sigh.

A content, tiny burst of affection, for sure.

[hotvintagepoll]

Peter Falk (The Great Race, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World)—JUST A SILLY MAN!! Sabotages four different cars (including his own, oopsie daisy) in the film The Great Race. Not film but TV, however, he is also known as the lovably silly little man Detective Columbo. Nobody knows what he's doing or where he's going at any time (even him).

Jack Lemmon (The Great Race, The Apartment, Some Like It Hot)—He's the everyman, he's clumsy, he's strange, in nearly every movie he finds himself in the oddest of circumstances because he's taken advantage of or because of... bad luck? You empathize with him, he's really a little guy. And yet... Why is he so hot? Why does he have this charm, this hidden fire, this weird kind of... elegance? You can't help but sense this magnetism he radiates. There is power in his charming eccentricity and clumsiness. He just really draws you in and you want to explore what it is that makes him so scrungly and so attractive at once.

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Peter Falk:

He's a man who looks unshaven even when he's shaven. His soul is unshaven. The perpetual squint, the way his eyes don't always go in the same direction due to one being glass, the disheveled hair... I can only hope to look as scrungly as him someday.

Just look at him. Seriously. Just look at him. He's the scrungliest little guy. He out-scrungles them all.

Jack Lemmon:

his chemistry with judy holliday in their two movies together is ZOINKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but i couldn't find any clips of that so watch him have mad chemistry with peter falk instead in my favorite campiest film of all time instead

His character in Glengary Glen Ross is literally the archetype Pathetic Guy. Even if you haven't seen this film I PROMISE you have seen iterations of Jack Lemmon's character from it. His character in Days of Wine and Roses will break your heart and show what an amazing range he has. [editor's note: I haven't seen either of these films so don't consider them recs from me. Also please keep your propaganda within the 1910-1970 range. tw for alcoholism in the clip below.]

[the-laughing-lunatic]

All 9 mercs w/ a reader who got them flowers! (PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC)

(I recently got to 20 followers on this blog! :D I wanted to do a little something to celebrate that, so I grinded and wrote headcanons for all nine of the mercs. It, uh, took a while so I hope you enjoy!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

☆Scout - Daisies☆

Legitimately starts tearing up

Tries to blame it on the flowers

“I ain’t cryin’ I- I’m just allergic to flowers.”

“Oh, sorry, I could just return them then—”

“What? You’d hafta take ‘em out of my dead hands, I’m keepin’ em.”

Isn’t a huge flower guy but the fact you went out of your way to get them for him makes him feel all warm inside

Reminds him of when his mom would pick flowers to give to him after his Little League games

☆Soldier - Poppies☆

Would aggressively compliment you

“THESE ARE DAMN BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS MAGGOT!! I FEEL IMMENSELY LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!!”

Seriously though, he does

Since he was never allowed in the military he always felt jealous of the soldiers who got special flowers

But he wasn’t now, because you respected him

And if you did, that was enough

☆Pyro - Sunflowers☆

ABSOLUTELY LOVES THEM

Well, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the flappy hands and excited noises give you a decent idea

Will just spend hours holding them in their hands and looking at the flowers like they’re the most beautiful thing in the world

Draws sunflowers in all their drawings now

If they accidentally burned them they would get so sad and give you flowers back as a form of apology

Make flower crowns with them. Do it. 

☆Demoman - Bluebells☆

Like most of the mercs, he’s never gotten flowers before 

And he has no clue how to take care of them

“Thank ye, but, would ye consider showin’ me how to take care of them?”

Help this man out

Please

He would probably put them just on a table with no vase or water without you

Y’all would put the flowers in an empty bottle of scrumpy <3

☆Heavy - Violas☆

“Little merc has present for Heavy?” 

Surprised, but not so much as Sniper

Honestly the most chill about it out of all the mercs

He has sisters so he knows how to take care of flowers but he’s never been the one to receive them

Would press the flowers once the start to wilt and make bookmarks so he can keep them forever (sap)

And if he’s more protective of you during matches, who's to say the reason why?

☆Engineer - Bluebonnets☆

He sticks to the practical side of things, so when you give him a bouquet of flowers he’s utterly perplexed

He’s flattered of course, and thanks you greatly for the gift because he’s a Texas boy raised with manners

But he’s not used to pretty things and…doesn’t quite know what to do with them

He puts them in a vase with water but he finds himself stopping his work to look at them

They didn’t solve a problem, they didn’t hold a purpose yet people–including him now–seemed to love them

Eventually gives up trying to find a reason for it and just accepts it as they’re just pretty

Even though solving questions like “what is beauty” was never his forte, he’d somehow found an answer for it

And it was…well, you.

(He’d also 100% make you a flower out of scrap metal for you bc he’s a gentleman)

☆Medic - Cornflowers/Drosera Spatulata Sundew☆

There’s two flowers that he’d like

Cornflowers are one of his favorites, specifically the white ones (they remind him of Archimedes)

Not just because they are national flowers of Germany, but he also appreciates their medicinal properties

But if you somehow got your hands on a Drosera Spatulata Sundew he’d be pocketing you for months afterwards

Is absolutely fascinated with carnivorous plants and you get him carnivorous flowers???

The most romantic (or just super cool if platonic) thing in the world to him

Isn’t a botanist but he’ll be in the medbay all the time now just observing it and its reactions

He’s not sleeping for a while

He’d try to create a serum for whatever flowers you got him so they’d stay as beautiful as they are forever :)

☆Sniper - Wildflowers☆

No one has ever gotten him flowers before so when you show up at his camper van with hand picked flowers wrapped in twine he’s surprised, to say the least

Finds it interesting how he walked past those same flowers everyday and never cared

But when you gave them to him they felt…special.

Awkwardly mumbles a ‘thanks mate’ to you

Keeps them in an (UNUSED I REPEAT UNUSED) jar in his van

Smiles everytime he sees them

☆Spy - Roses☆

We all know this man is an old-fashioned lover boy so ofc he loves roses

But he’s never on the receiving end of them

So none are ever good enough for his high standards

“Eugh, where did you buy these, the gas station?”

Similar to Scout that if you say you could return them he’d absolutely refuse

Secretly thinks it’s really sweet 

Doesn’t act any differently towards you afterwards when he’s with you

But you find multiple bouquets of roses in your room and a note that says “if you ever consider buying me flowers again, buy roses from these boutiques instead of the trash you had before.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(Putting in all the tags is another reason why I don't normally do all nine of them holy shit)

[juustokaku]

Dear Daisy - Jongho x f!reader

Summary: Feelings for Jongho weren’t the only thing you developed. Falling in love meant falling ill in this case. 

Genre: fluff, angst 

Pairings: Jongho x f!reader, slight Wooyoung x f!reader 

T/W: blood, choking (not strangling), reader has the hanahaki disease, mean Jongho :( 

A/N: This was an attempt of the fic I promised when I reached 100 followers... two months ago... I was asked for fluff, but this is what the fic turned out to be. It’s quite long, so I’m not sure if anyone has the will and energy to read this, but to everyone who does and enjoys it: big thank you! 

Word count: 9 904 

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

It was no secret that your garden was the most admired yard in the whole village. All around the year, it was a sight for sore eyes even in winter. 

The stream where spring water flowed joyfully was frozen. The ice was too weak for walking, but its beauty made up for it. Sometimes, you did have to play a lifeguard and save children from the icy stream which was luckily not too deep. A cup of hot chocolate, fresh clothes and a blanket usually made them feel a little happier before their parents could come pick them up from your house. 

You also set tallow balls and other kinds of bird food in your garden, helping the birds survive through the cold season. The yard and the roof of your cottage were covered in thick layers of snow. Despite your home being beautiful during winter too, you loved spring. 

It was the best time of the year for your gardening hobby to bloom again. The flowers you grew were famous in the village and even people from the nearby villages and towns traveled to buy your plants. 

Maybe that’s why the mysterious man had started appearing in your garden when the weather got warmer. After his every secret visit, a bunch of the flowers you had grown from the scratch and cared for had disappeared. You were no genius but you realized soon he had been stealing your flowers. It upset you not only because the beauty of your garden suffered but because selling plants was a part of your income to be able to keep living in the little cottage. 

You had to gain courage to confront the man about it; he couldn’t keep robbing the results of your hard work. But whenever you stared at him from your window, an involuntary smile tugged the corners of your lips upwards. 

He looked focused on picking the best flowers, his brows furrowed. It was almost like stealing was his job, and he took it very seriously despite being awful at staying hidden. 

His habit of coming there would have been infuriating, but you couldn’t be that mad at him when he started tying the flowers together into bouquets. They started as clumsy and frankly quite ugly. 

By the 5th time he was rummaging through your garden, you had to do something. Not just because of the thievery but because he intrigued you. His actions were baffling, and you had never seen him before in the village. He couldn’t be from farther away; it would be stupid to travel from another town many times a week for flower bouquets. 

You slipped your shoes on and tiptoed to the garden, the soft, fresh-green grass silencing your steps. It was crucial to catch the man off guard, so he wouldn’t have enough time to run away. You felt like you had to talk to him, to know his reasons for sneaking and stealing. 

The man was crouched in front of your dear tulips, plucking them up from the soil. It hurt to watch but you couldn’t focus on that in that moment. 

You crept behind him, not too close. One deep breath in to prepare yourself and you spoke. 

“You could just buy those flowers like a normal person.” 

Against your expectations, the man in front of you didn’t seemingly get even startled. His head turned around slowly to look at you. 

Only then you noticed how handsome he was. His round cheeks looked squishable and black hair soft and smooth to touch. However, he definitely wouldn’t have appreciated squishes and pats on the head; he was clearly pissed. 

It was almost ridiculous how he looked like the angry one despite not being the victim of the theft happening right then. 

“It’s just a couple of them. You have hundreds of flowers, so why does it matter if I take a few for myself?” the man frowned. 

“Those few flowers are a few potential dollars stolen from my wallet,” you crossed your arms. 

As the man stood up from the ground, his stance intimidated you a little. He was still holding the red tulips. Even the color of the flowers was warning you about the man, but you couldn’t back down. 

“You’ll manage fine without a little extra money. I know your business is booming.” 

The man was thinking so selfishly and it really started to irk you. 

“This is the 5th time you’re here. You’ve stolen a bunch of flowers each time, so it makes at least 30 dollars.” 

“Then what do you want me to do? I don’t have money to pay for bouquets twice a week,” the man huffed. 

It was weird. Why would a grown man resort to stealing just because he wanted a bouquet he couldn’t even pay for? Sure, your flowers were lovely but they couldn’t be that enticing. 

“You could take wildflowers from the fields. They don’t cost you anything.” 

“No. I want yours.” 

“Then start paying for them.” 

“I told you already I don’t have money,” the man brushed his hand through his hair in frustration. 

Something about the situation was different, and you couldn’t shake off the sensation that the man wasn’t stealing just for fun; he actually needed the flowers. But you needed the money. Having no heart to kick him out of your garden and scream at him to never come back again, you made a suggestion. 

“Let’s compromise. You start working in my garden with me, and I’ll give you flowers for free.” 

Surprise flickered in his eyes but he didn’t let it show too long. Of course, his stoic image was more important than acting genuine. 

Maybe the man had a sense of justice and guilt after all, since he agreed, “Fine. I’ll come here tomorrow.” 

You smiled in satisfaction. Once again, another difficult situation handled with grace. It was concerning though, seeing how he had ripped the tulips from the soil with such force. How good would he be at gardening with his fierce grip? That would be left for you to see the next day. 

The next morning you woke up early, excited and nervous to see the man whose name you learned to be Choi Jongho. You should have been angry with him for stealing from you and even acting rude and self-righteous; but you were just too curious to get to know him to think sanely. 

Jongho was supposed to arrive in a few hours, so you had plenty of time to prepare a little surprise for him. After all, it was best to make a good first impression on new acquaintances – maybe you’d make a friend out of him as well. 

You pushed the oven tray in, and it took about 20 minutes for the scent of homemade bread fill the small kitchen. Some margarine, ham, and organic cheese would complement the bread well, and hopefully Jongho would like it. 

After setting the table and making delicious breakfast, you sat down on the porch and waited patiently. It was going to be a hot day, and you had been well prepared for it. Hats were essential for sunny days in the garden. 

Still, there Jongho came, marching to your house with his head covered only in hair – his hair color wasn’t of any help either in protecting him from the Sun. You were positive you had told him to dress accordingly to the weather, but after knowing him for a day you had a feeling that the man was as stubborn as a mule. 

“I see you forgot to wear a hat,” you chuckled. 

Jongho who had just arrived on the porch huffed, “I don’t need one.” 

You took a look at the rest of his outfit which was fortunately appropriate for the weather. His clothes seemed to be of somewhat thin material yet covered his legs and arms from the Sun. 

“Yes, you do. Come inside, I’ll give you a hat and some breakfast.” 

You got up from your rattan chair and gestured for Jongho to follow you only for him to shake his head. 

“I’m here to work, not to have a tea party with you.” 

It was no lie that you felt hurt by his words, brief pain deep inside your chest. Having had woken up a couple hours earlier to bake him bread had been futile, since Jongho rejected your offer with no regrets. 

“Have it your way,” you mumbled and led him to the garden. 

Jongho was just as hopeless at gardening as you feared he would be. He couldn’t have had an easier task – watering flowers – but he managed to mess it up by watering the flower itself, not the soil it grew on. 

Giving the lawn mower to him would have been too risky, since he could have driven it over your toes accidentally or on purpose, so his next task was to pull the weeds. At least his strength came in good use when he ripped the weeds and their roots from the ground forcefully. 

But it was impossible not to notice how he had started feeling ill. Despite his attempts at pretending to be a tough guy, he wobbled around dizzily and had to take short, unexpected breaks. It was obvious the lack of a hat combined with the burning sun had caused his body to overheat. 

“Jongho, do you want to come inside and have water?” you crouched down onto his level as he was sitting on the grass, holding his head and obviously feeling sick. 

“No. I need to work.” 

That damn man was like a stubborn child. 

“You can have the flowers even if you don’t work as much. I would just rather not have you faint here in my garden.” 

“Fine...” 

Pleasantly surprised by his acceptance, you walked inside your cottage with Jongho who had insisted he wouldn’t need your help to get up. 

The moment he felt the cool temperature the air conditioner provided in the house, he relaxed visibly and sighed. He was holding his hand still on his forehead, probably suffering from headache, testing his temperature or both. 

Jongho sat down on your couch at your gesture, and you brought him a big glass of water. Some of the water splashed on his lap as he took it from you with shaky hands, but it didn’t seemingly bother him. 

You watched as he emptied the glass down his throat. Jongho was probably the type to say a glass was half empty when you thought it was half full. He hadn’t even thanked you for the water. 

The two of you stayed silent for a moment before he presented a question with a light rasp in his voice. 

“Is the breakfast offer still good?” 

You thought back to the bread that had been left on the dining table, waiting impatiently for Jongho and you to enjoy it. You almost wanted to refuse his request and eat the bread slowly bite by bite in front of him just out of spite. But seeing his unwell expression tugged at your tender heartstrings. 

Soon, Jongho was munching on a slice of the bread, avoiding eye contact. His cheeks puffed out cutely while he had his mouth full of food, but you would never tell him how adorable he looked. 

“Which store did you buy this bread from? It’s pretty tasty.” 

You smiled triumphantly, your chest swelling with pride at Jongho’s indirect compliment, “I baked it myself.” 

Finally, Jongho turned his brown eyes on you. The color reminded you of soil in all the best ways. Though he definitely wouldn’t have appreciated that compliment. 

“You baked it yourself? I guess you’re a beginner still.” 

You frowned, “If you can’t appreciate my hospitability, you can go home. And no, I’m not a beginner. I’ve cooked and baked quite a lot.” 

The tension was thick as silence fell between you two once again, but you almost wanted to laugh at the awkwardness of the whole situation. Almost. 

Surprisingly, Jongho’s indifferent expression turned embarrassed, and he muttered an apology, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just on a bad mood because of the heat.” 

It was the first time you saw him acting vulnerable – if you could even call apologizing that. Still, it made you giddy to see that he let go of his pride for a small moment. 

“I understand,” you said, voice soft, “You can lie on the couch until you feel better again.” 

“Thanks,” Jongho nodded and lied down carefully, grunting because of the headache. 

Quite soon, he was asleep, in the most vulnerable state a human could be. You knew it was because he was feeling ill, but you liked to think he trusted you – which was most likely completely delusional. 

You brought a wet rag on his forehead in hopes of it helping to bring his body temperature down. Jongho flinched a little in his sleep at the feeling but made no sign of waking up. 

After a half an hour his eyes opened, looking around for a second as if to wonder how he ended up on the couch of a woman he barely knew. That woman had cared for him, but he still threw the rag on the floor ungratefully. 

“Wow. How nice of you,” you huffed. 

“You could have told me you’d bring some old, dirty rag on my forehead,” Jongho wasted no time in answering. 

“It’s dirty only because it was on your body.” 

“Explain what you mean by that,” a raised brow from Jongho told that you had irritated him, but you were not going to back down. 

“You’re much nicer when you’re asleep,” you sighed and grabbed the rag from the floor. 

Jongho was back to his grumpy self now that he was awake and feeling better. Secretly you almost hoped he would feel ill most of the time so that he’d treat you with respect. 

“Give me the flowers, and I’ll leave.” 

The two of you went back to the garden which was much cooler now that afternoon had turned into evening. You admired the hues of violet, red, and yellow the sunset had painted the sky with. 

“I want those,” Jongho pointed at a flowerbed of light pink peonies. 

You immediately had to reject his request which was honestly more like a demand. 

“You can’t have those.” 

“Why not?” he frowned. 

It would have been nice of you to open up, to tell the reason why those flowers were important for you. But had Jongho been nice to you? No. You did not owe him an explanation. 

“Take anything else in the garden. I don’t sell or give those peonies.” 

As you watched Jongho walk into the distance with a few daffodils, an exhausted sigh left your lips. He was a lot to handle for sure. 

The next days weren’t easy either, full of bickering and Jongho messing something up in your garden. More than once, while plucking bad, dried leaves of the plants he ripped the whole flower from the soil. Every time he was picking cherry tomatoes, he dropped them on the ground and “accidentally”, as he claimed, stepped on them.  

You gave him simple tasks but he managed to cause more harm than good. His incredible strength would have been useful with carrying rocks and other heavy things, but you feared he’d drop them somewhere it would cause great damage. 

But you couldn’t help but admire Jongho’s work ethic, the way he seemed to do his best to earn the flowers. It was hard to be mad at him when he looked so disappointed in himself whenever he ruined something. 

Nevertheless, there was no reason to have him work for you when it just meant more work for you with fixing his mistakes. You also felt like he didn’t enjoy spending time around you at all; the time had come to fire him. 

“Jongho. I’ve been thinking of something,” you said softly, interrupting Jongho’s work. 

He glanced at you, “Uh-huh?” 

You inhaled and exhaled, ready to tell him the harsh reality, “I can’t have you working for me anymore.” 

Jongho looked as devastated as the flowers that had wilted due to him overwatering them in the span of many days. 

“I... I understand. I haven’t been much help here,” he sighed, “And I’m not very good company.” 

You couldn’t deny the truth of neither statements so you just nodded. 

“That’s right. You’ll have flowers as a thanks from today’s work, but from now on you have to get your flowers from somewhere else. Preferably not by stealing from someone else’s garden.” 

Jongho let out a sad chuckle. It was a relief that he understood your reasoning and didn’t fight you back on this. 

You felt pity for him and guilt, but sometimes one had to think of their own good. There was no mind in letting him ruin both your garden as well as your day. 

After you had fired him a couple days ago, you felt unpleasant emotions you hadn’t expected to experience. Despite all the bickering and tension between you, a feeling of loneliness bothered you. 

You had friends, it wasn’t a lack of friends that gnawed at you, but you were often alone in your garden. It was a fresh change from the usual routine to have someone work in there with you. Although Jongho and you hadn’t gotten along very well, you missed him – probably just because you needed some company in general. 

A basket in your hand, you strolled around the village’s market. Although it was quite busy in there, you didn’t get a sense of claustrophobia. The townspeople had respect for other people’s personal space – that didn’t mean they had respect for other people’s personal business though. Even the younger ones in the village had received the gracious gift of gossiping from the elders. 

Then, a conversation of two women caught your attention. 

“Have you seen that new man in the town?” an old lady with a hideous hat whispered louder than probably intended. 

“Sadly, I haven’t.” a slightly younger woman shook her head. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised. He has been spending time at home awfully lot. Seldom steps out of his property, absolutely never greets me when I wave at him from my yard.” 

You had to hold back a chuckle at the hat-lady's huffy tone. 

“Is he handsome?” the younger woman asked. 

“Dear God, very much so. But although you’re younger than me, it doesn’t mean he’s in your age range. I’d say he hasn’t reached even 30 years yet.” 

“I think I’ll try my luck nonetheless.” 

“Oh, Agatha. Have some decency,” the hat-lady scolded the other woman playfully. 

You were not one to gossip around with the other villagers, but that didn’t mean you were left completely in the dark. Based on the ladies’ words, it was undeniable that the man was Jongho. Honestly, it made you feel a little proud that he, who apparently rarely left home, had gone out of his way just to steal flowers from you. 

You looked around the stalls selling objects ranging from vegetables to vehicles like bicycles. Nothing extraordinary seemed to demand your attention, until a certain man appeared in front of you. 

“Hello, Wooyoung,” you smiled. 

“Well, hello there. You’re looking as dazzling as ever,” Wooyoung glanced at your looks; the way your long dress, once approved by the elders, had stains in the hem. Most of your dresses looked like that, given that you spent your days crouching on the ground and hands deep in the soil.  

“I will throw one of these eggs at you if you don’t stop with your sarcastic compliments,” you grabbed a freshly-bought egg from your basket to threaten Wooyoung. 

He didn’t seem to worry for his life and just smiled in amusement, “It wasn’t wholly sarcastic. Despite using those old, filthy rags as clothes, you’re as cute as a button.” 

“You really know how to compliment a woman,” you rolled your eyes but couldn’t resist a small smile. 

Wooyoung was the type to gossip around every time a new juicy piece of information was uncovered. You two were friends, and he was the reason you were able to keep up with the current rumors. He would have surely had something new and interesting to tell you again, and you were waiting impatiently to hear it. 

“I’ve seen the new man head for your cottage more than once... What’s up?” 

Jongho was definitely the talk of the town even though he had moved there a month ago already. You didn’t care if people were interested in him, but now that you had been dragged into the situation, you had to protect your privacy before the snooping villagers would start to spy on you. 

“He just bought some flowers,” you said. 

“With his body?” Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows, and you had to refrain from smashing one of the eggs into his head. 

“Not exactly. He helped me around in the garden. You could be of help sometime too.” 

“What do I get in return?” 

“A warm hug from a friend.” 

Wooyoung groaned in annoyance, “Not even a little kiss for your good ol’ pal Wooyoung?” 

After rejecting his attempts at charming you, which had almost become a routine, you made your way home. The basket in your hand was quite heavy, full of food ingredients for the next few days. Fortunately, it didn’t take you long to see the gate to your garden. 

What you didn’t expect was seeing Jongho standing on your porch, holding flowers in his hand. Had he been stealing from you again? 

You tried your best not to look angry, but the way you stomped to Jongho was a clear sign you did not appreciate him stealing your flowers. 

Your frustrated gaze didn’t scare him, not one bit. Although you were glaring daggers at him, he stood there proudly with the flowers. 

“Jongho. Why have you been stealing from my garden again?” 

The said man pushed the flower bouquet for you to take it. 

“They are not from your garden. They are wildflowers.” 

As you took a closer look at the flowers, you noticed that they were from the fields and ditches indeed, since you didn’t have those plants in your garden. It was fair game to pick them up. To be exact, it was a bouquet of classic white daisies. Although the flowers weren’t exceptionally beautiful, Jongho’s actions were. 

“Why did you bring this to me?” you asked as you received the bouquet. 

“I want to continue working here,” Jongho stated, “And it’s an apology as well for that one time I destroyed the roses.” 

You grimaced as you recalled the moment of him losing control of the lawn mower and driving it over your dear roses. 

“Apology accepted... I think.” 

A couple daisies would not replace the roses, but you appreciated Jongho’s kind gesture. 

“So, I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Hold your horses. I didn’t say you could work here again.” 

At your words, Jongho’s often so indifferent eyes turned disappointed and he genuinely looked upset. You didn’t enjoy seeing him that way but what could you do? Let him step on a wandering hedgehog on your yard? Or slaughter the fishes in your pond by pouring chlorine in there? 

Maybe you could give him an easier task. But was it possible when he didn’t even know how to water the flowers? 

“Fine. I’ll hire you. But you’ll do everything under my surveillance, until I deem your skills decent enough.” 

And to your surprise, Jongho gave you a small, relieved smile. The corners of his lips barely rose but it was more than enough to make your heart flutter. Hopefully you had finally managed to warm his icy core. 

“Thanks. I’ll try my best not to let you down again.” 

During the next week Jongho came to your garden almost every day, ready to work hard to actually earn the flowers. Even stealing them had felt better than getting them from you out of pity. 

You had set the flowers you received from him into a vase near the window. To Jongho it may have felt like they were observing him, reminding that he had better do great job now. 

“Good. Now water them near the soil instead of the flower part,” you taught Jongho how to water plants without absolutely obliterating them. 

He started pouring water like a tsunami had hit, the water coming out of the can with great pressure onto the poor flower. 

“No!” you exclaimed. 

Without thinking anything else than saving your plants, you took hold of the can to stop the downpour, your hands on top of Jongho’s. 

Although you hadn’t paid attention to it in the moment, you noticed only when he looked at you weirdly. 

“Sorry,” you muttered and instantly snatched your hands away, losing contact to Jongho’s warm ones. 

For a moment, he looked almost offended, like you had insulted him by touching him. He acted like he didn’t have dirty hands too. 

Then, a soft and amused chuckle slipped past his lips. It was like music to your ears; you couldn’t hear any malice or mockery in his voice. 

Neither of you addressed the situation as the two of you just continued watering the flowers. Despite your desperate attempts at acting like nothing had happened, the atmosphere had changed – not to worse surprisingly. 

And without noticing, you had gradually taken a liking to Jongho. Maybe even more than was good for you. He wasn’t the type you usually fell for; he was grumpy, borderline rude, and had stolen your flowers. But you could notice his stoic facade cracking from time to time, glimpses of goodness and lovability shining through. 

Whenever he messed up, he looked sincerely apologetic, beating himself up for destroying something up in your garden once again. Maybe it was because he feared he’d get fired again, or maybe he actually cared about doing good work. 

You also couldn’t help but admire the way he got more skillful with time. With some tasks he didn’t even need your guidance anymore. There was no way you’d trust him with the lawn mower yet after the rose disaster, but you felt proud, looking at Jongho get satisfied from finally succeeding in a task – no matter how simple it was. 

His occasional smiles and jokes made your chest ache. Someone would have told you it was just the feeling of being in love, but your doctor had something else to tell you. You hadn’t just developed feelings for Jongho; you had developed a disease as well. 

The chest pains and coughing that had begun to occur more often hadn’t concerned you. Only when light pink flower petals started coming out when you coughed, you contacted a doctor. 

“What is ‘hanahaki disease’?” you had asked, confused by the doctor’s diagnosis. 

The doctor had clasped her hands together, looking at you with a sympathetic, sad smile. 

“Your symptoms of chest pain and coughing up flower petals are part of it. The disease develops from unrequited, one-sided love and takes place in your lungs, growing as flowers,” she had explained, “Unfortunately, in your case it has spread to your heart as well.” 

“Will I... die?” 

“Possibly. Your only chances to live are if the person of your affections confesses that they feel the same way. It’s possible to also have a surgery but that will result in losing your feelings for them and even memories of them. However, if the disease progresses into its final stage or the one you love rejects you, you will choke on the flowers and blood.” 

“How is this disease even possible?” 

Sitting in a car, you gazed outside. Wooyoung had come to pick you up from the hospital, which was in a town nearby, still too far to walk to. You wondered why couldn’t you love Wooyoung, the man who cared for you already, who had spent almost a third of his life trying to win your affections. 

Still, you couldn’t erase your feelings for Jongho. A part of you didn’t even want to, although it would cost you your life. Just to love him for a short time with your whole heart until it stopped beating sounded better than living for long in loneliness, missing out on what could have been. To love and never be loved back is painful both mentally and physically even for people who aren’t sick, but for some people it’s harder to never be able to know what love is. What it feels like to receive a smile from your love, no matter how slight it is. What it’s like to exchange a few words even if they were just greetings, passing by. 

What it’s like to cry and scream into a pillow for hours, be the reason big or small. 

What it’s like to do anything to make them happy. 

What it feels like to die for them. 

You had it all now, the love you had craved for so long, thinking you were just unable to love. There was no way you would get the surgery if it meant losing everything you had experienced with and towards Jongho. 

It was foolish really, the two of you didn’t even know each other that well yet. Most likely, almost definitely, he wouldn’t even reciprocate your feelings, and that’d be the end. 

You were deep in your thoughts when suddenly Wooyoung’s voice brought you back to Earth. 

“What did the doctor say?” He glanced at you quickly, focused on driving. Although he rarely showed his gentler side, the quick glance was enough to tell he was worried for you. 

“She diagnosed me with hanahaki disease.” 

Wooyoung fell silent for a few seconds. You expected for him to ask next what the disease was, but he managed to surprise you. 

“Is it because of Jongho?..” 

Only thing you could do is nod and let out a heavy sigh. The trees passed by as Wooyoung kept driving in the mostly empty road, getting closer to the village already. 

“Have you considered the surgery?” he asked quietly. 

This time you shook your head and answered, “I don’t want to. Now that I’ve finally fallen in love, I want to experience it without running away from it like I usually do, being the coward I am.” 

Wooyoung gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, getting agitated by his worry for you. Clearly, he didn’t like the idea of losing you because Jongho didn’t possibly love you back. 

“It’s not cowardice. You can’t give up on your life because of Jongho.” 

“The surgery costs anyways. I don’t have enough money for that.” 

The next day, you had invited Jongho to meet you at the market. It was risky since you had no idea how he’d react to your suggestion you’d make when meeting him. 

You spotted him standing in front of a flower shop, looking through the window in concentration. Lots of beautiful flowers had been set there to attract customers. 

Quickly, you skittered over to him and smiled when he turned his head towards you. In response, you only got a nod. The mission of making Jongho fall in love with you and saving your life felt impossible when one moment he was receiving of your kindness, and the other he ignored you. 

“The flowers here are way uglier than yours,” Jongho blurted out to you. 

The shop owner, standing next to the flower shop’s door and smoking, having overheard Jongho’s words, gave him a harsh glare. He threw away his cigarette and stomped back inside, slamming the door shut. 

“Also, how does he think his shop is going to attract any customers when he is smoking next to the door?” Jongho wondered. 

You giggled. No matter how much you wanted to take the shop owner’s feelings into consideration, you couldn’t help but agree. 

“He’s quite a strange person anyways. Always comes to my garden, disguised as an old woman so he could buy my flowers without losing face,” you revealed, getting a snort from Jongho in response. 

Finally, he turned around properly to talk to you. When his brown eyes met yours, the familiar butterflies fluttered in your stomach – or maybe it was the flower petals in your lungs. Either way, you didn’t care as long as you were close to Jongho. 

“So, why did you want to meet me here?” Jongho inquired. 

You fiddled with your fingers, “I was thinking you and I could spend some time at a cafe. Take whatever you want, I’ll pay.” 

Jongho raised a brow. For a moment you thought he was going to reject your offer immediately. 

“Why?” 

“It’s a ‘thank you’ for working hard in my garden.” 

“The flowers are enough already,” he answered with no emotion. 

Your shoulders slumped. Jongho knew just how to break your heart. The hope that had been awaken when he agreed to come to the market was crushed now that he rejected your advances once again. 

“But I guess I’m quite thirsty.” 

It was his quite indirect way of finally agreeing, so soon the two of you were sitting on the terrace of a cafe that was as popular as could be in a village. 

People were walking by, the gravel under their shoes rustling nicely. It was a beautiful day, all of the migratory birds having returned from the South, and their chirping and singing reached your ears. Still, all your attention was directed at Jongho. 

He was sipping on an iced americano quietly. His black hair had fell slightly in front of his eyes, so you couldn’t see where he was looking. Sincerely, you hoped he was looking at you, longingly and lovingly in the best case. 

“I think you’ve done really good work in the garden,” you said. 

“Thank you. I’m trying my best since I still feel quite guilty for destroying your garden the first time I started working there,” Jongho simply nodded. 

Even though he didn’t seem that interested in the conversation, you felt warm just by sitting with him. A teasing chuckle left your lips, “I almost thought you did it on purpose. I mean, who thinks setting the weeds on fire is a good idea?” 

Jongho smiled, clearly amused by his past actions, “Oh, come on. It was just a moment of misjudgment. I thought it would get rid of the weeds for good.” 

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you,” you blurted out without thinking for even a second. 

Jongho raised a brow in his usual style, this time looking even more confused than before. 

“I-I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant you’re the best garden-helper I’ve had,” you hurried to fix the situation. 

Those kinds of slips could be even life-threatening to you. If Jongho found out you had fallen for him, he’d reject you. That would only mean a bloody, sorrowfully beautiful death for you. 

“I don’t believe that. You really have had worse workers than me?” Jongho leaned forward as if to check if his hearing had betrayed him. 

“Um, yeah. For sure. Once, my friend Wooyoung dug a hole under my shed, and it collapsed,” you lied rather not-so-smoothly. 

The man in front of you started laughing, his eyes looking like little crescents. It could have been of amusement, happiness, or mockery, but his laughter was the only thing that mattered to you. 

“Fine. Go ahead and lie to me,” Jongho rolled his eyes playfully, “That’s what everyone does to me anyways.” 

Your awkward conversation had turned into playful banter with just a push into the right direction, and you were elated that Jongho was receptive to your attempts at getting closer to him. Could you two be even called friends yet? Determined to make it happen, to earn a place in his heart, you weren’t about to give up. 

“So, why did you decide to move here?” you were curious to know which demon had possessed Jongho to make him move to such a small village. 

“I’m trying to make a person’s dream come true.” 

His response was vague, but based on his expression he wanted to avoid the topic. Not wanting to push further, you changed the topic. 

“Who are the flowers for? You’ve been quite adamant on getting them.” 

“For that person. Don’t ask more,” Jongho answered. 

The atmosphere turned strained, and you regretted prying onto his personal life. Clearly, he wasn’t comfortable sharing details about some things which you were confused about. You hadn’t realized those questions would be so private. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. 

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. But don’t ask those things again,” Jongho sighed. 

He got up from his seat, and you felt your stomach drop; had you really offended him that much? 

“Where are you going?” you looked up at Jongho with eyes looking pitiful. 

“Home. I have to take care of something,” he simply said and walked back inside the cafe, probably to fetch his jacket he had left to the rack. 

You were left alone with your own thoughts. The more you concentrated on the possibilities of Jongho hating your guts now and never wanting to see you again, the more you felt the familiar urge to cough climb up your throat. 

You couldn’t stop the violent cough fit or the petals that slipped past your lips painfully, falling to the wooden planks of the terrace. People were watching in concern, glancing at you and whispering to each other. That was the least of your worries now. Only Jongho mattered. 

Once the final petals fell, you decided it was time to leave. There was no mind in staying there, just wallowing in your own sadness. You didn’t know if coughing up flowers even was more painful than hearing Jongho’s cold, aloof voice. 

But when you walked inside the cafe to pay for his iced americano and your own drink, the barista told you a handsome gentleman had already paid for them. 

Your heart was about to swell so big that it could burst if it was poked with a needle. There was still hope. Jongho wasn’t completely out of reach, he didn’t hate you; there was no way he could, since he had paid for both of your orders. 

You didn’t want to listen to the growing voice in your head that nagged something was wrong. 

But the voice didn’t leave you alone even during the night. The nights weren’t as dark as in winter, but it didn’t make you feel better. Your soft bed swallowed you in just like your anxious thoughts did. You were nearly drowning in them. Thoughts about Jongho already having someone he loved bothered you. 

You couldn’t ignore how likely it was. After all, he had mentioned giving the flowers to someone. 

You tried so hard to sleep, to finally stop the thoughts for a moment, but they refused to leave. A headache was starting to knock on your temples. 

The thought of Jongho giving those flowers to some beautiful woman, flashing her a smile he never gave you. The thought of his warm fingers brushing against the woman’s while they exchanged words of affection. 

It made your chest ache. Lately, the pain had been getting worse day by day. To be honest, you were scared. The increasing chest pains, the bloody petals, the thoughts of Jongho loving someone while he rarely even smiled at you. There was no way to win other than by making him fall for you. 

But if he was already with another woman, you were not going to do the crime of stealing her man. That woman did not deserve to get hurt like that no matter how much you wanted Jongho. 

You had slept the night extremely badly – if two hours of keeping your eyes shut could be even called sleeping. Still, the excitement of seeing Jongho again flooded your veins with energy.  

In your energy burst, you prepared breakfast and fresh drinks for him, not even remembering the first day he had worked for you and rejected the bread you had baked just for him. It was like you never learned from your mistakes. 

Glass by glass, the self-made lemonade you had prepared disappeared into your stomach as Jongho never came. You waited for four hours. 

By the first hour, you were sure he was just late, the poor man running to your house. 

By the second hour, you thought he had slept in. He would wake up, panicked and call you to inform with his attractive morning voice that he would come soon. 

By the third hour, you considered he could be sick and couldn’t come. 

But when you had been waiting for four hours already, you had lost hope. Even thinking that Jongho had forgotten was too hopeful; surely, he just didn’t want to come. The once blue sky had been covered in black clouds, dark like your thoughts. 

Waterdrops started falling one by one, soon turning into a heavy rain. At least you didn’t have to water the plants that day. 

Unable to move for a moment, you kept staring into the distance, imagining that Jongho would run in the rain to your cottage and ask for shelter. Oh, how you wished you could just receive some basic respect and love from him. 

You gathered the plates, glasses, lemonade can and breakfast back into the basket, ready to go inside. Once again, your attempts at serving him breakfast and spending a peaceful morning with him had been destroyed. Did the universe or Jongho hate you? Despite having known him for a month already, he didn’t even give you a chance to get to know him on a deeper level. You weren’t asking for much; just normal conversations about your lives without feeling the need to hide something. 

Then again, you were hiding things from him as well. The hanahaki disease was progressing, getting worse every day, but you could never tell Jongho the truth. It was for your own safety – not just for the safety of your emotional well-being but your life. 

Jongho hadn’t appeared for a week. Every day you sat on the porch, waiting to see him walking to your garden. But there were no sightings of him even when you asked the other villagers about his where-abouts. 

The longer he was away, the worse your disease got. Whenever you coughed, more blood came out. It splattered on the floor and left a taste of iron in your mouth. Sometimes, the flower petals, which began to get bigger and thicker, got stuck in your throat and you had to dig them out with your hand. 

Despite all the love you had for Jongho, you began to realize you couldn’t let this go on. It could be too late soon if your hanahaki disease progressed into the final stage. The thought of never seeing Jongho again, feeling love for him, or remembering him broke your weak heart, but the thought of dying had begun to terrify you worse. 

The shorter, fun days in the garden turned into mentally and physically tiring work, lasting over 10 hours per day. Flower sales went up and people came to look at your garden every day, buying everything ranging from seedlings to jams you had made from the last year’s berry harvest. It was summer; while it was the busiest time of the year for you anyways, this time it was different. 

You tried to gather the money for the surgery. It was decided. Jongho wasn’t even around, and as the days passed, your condition got gradually worse. The chest pains lasted longer, a piercing feeling poking all around your heart. 

There was no way you could let Jongho keep working there; you needed those flowers he would choose as his payment. Money was more important to you now than it had ever been. 

You had tried to call him countless times to give him a chance of explaining. Just hearing his voice could have changed your mind about the surgery. Eventually you had to send a text message to Jongho, telling him you didn’t want him back in your garden again. He would never set a foot on your soft grass again or pick up flowers from the flower beds. 

Except that’s exactly what he was doing. 

One evening, you gazed from the window, deep in thoughts, and caught a glimpse of someone in the garden plucking up flowers snatched your attention. Immediately, you realized it couldn’t be anyone else than Jongho. 

You ran outside, not bothering to wear shoes. Your mind was racing and feelings conflicted. There he was again, in front of your eyes, at your reach. Were you excited to see him or mad at him for stealing your flowers? 

But when he turned around to look at you, you saw him properly and got your answer. You were definitely mad. 

As if stealing flowers from you again wasn’t bad already, but what he was holding in his hand was what made you see red. 

The only flowers you had told he couldn’t take had been ripped from the ground, leaving an ugly mess behind in the flower bed. He was holding your light pink peonies. The flowers would be dead in some days, just a memory of memories. 

“What have you done?!” you ran up to Jongho. 

It was impossible to determine if you were heart-broken or furious. Maybe there was only a fine line between those things anyways. 

“I can pay for them,” Jongho suggested, seeming surprisingly guilty. 

“I don’t want your shitty money! Those peonies were important to me.” 

Jongho’s confusion and guilt moved aside as he started defending himself, “Uh-huh? What importance they could even have to you?” 

You felt your blood boiling, threatening to burn your insides. The audacity Jongho had made you wonder how could you ever have fallen in love with a man so selfish and uncaring. 

“They are a remembrance for my parents, being the only flowers that are left from the time they were alive. Don’t you see how selfish you are being?” you took a step forward, glaring at Jongho with all your might. Maybe he’d die from your gaze, or maybe you’d die from heartbreak. 

His angry expression faltered for a moment, but he regained his control, “I’m not doing this for selfish reasons.” 

“You’re still being incredibly selfish towards me!” 

Jongho walked closer to you and looked straight into your eyes, “And why should I care?” 

The coughing was beginning again but you stood your ground, “I thought we were friends,” your voice broke a little in the middle of the sentence. 

“Then you thought wrong. I don’t have friends. You mean nothing to me.” 

You gasped. Jongho probably thought it was out of shock, but that was not the whole truth; you had started having trouble breathing. 

“You asked who the flowers are for?” he shook the peonies in his hand, “They are for a woman I actually care about. Who I love.” 

You had known it. Jongho was already in love with someone else and had been getting those flowers for that woman. All the signs had been there, but you had been such a fool in love that you lived in the delusion of him being able to love you back someday. 

“Hey... What’s wrong?” he asked as he started noticing your weird behavior. 

You couldn’t respond. The end had become; Jongho had rejected you. The coughs had started, but you knew it would not help. Too much blood, too much flowers. Too little time. 

You clutched at your throat desperately, but what use would it be? Your windpipes were full of the petals and would continue to be. All because you loved a man who couldn’t spare even an ounce of empathy for you. 

As you fell down on the grass on your knees, painting the ground with blood and petals, Jongho seemed to finally realize something was horribly wrong. 

You saw him calling someone, probably 911, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. Everything felt too fast, but it was better than to die slowly. The noises around you were starting to get quieter and slowly your sight blurred. You would have wished to see Jongho at least holding you during your last moments instead of talking in phone. Maybe he wasn’t even calling 911. He could have been talking to the woman he loved. 

But what had you expected? You meant nothing to him. 

It was dark for a long time. Felt like an eternity but nothing at the same time. 

When your eyes finally opened, you couldn’t even recognize what you were looking at. Your sight was blurry, could have been because you just woke up, but the tears in your eyes were the main reason. Why were you crying? 

In your mind, there was no cause for the tears. You couldn’t recall any moment that could have made you cry. There was a feeling of something missing in your chest, an absence of something you had grown used to. It was impossible to pinpoint it because it was like even your mind had a hole. 

After a moment, you could see what you were looking at: a ceiling. It wasn’t a surprise since you were lying down on a bed. With a few glances to your sides, it was clear you were in a hospital. An IV pump was connected to your hand with a tube. 

“E-Excuse me,” you murmured, not knowing if there even was anyone in the same room. 

Given the fact that it was not unusual for patients to be in the same room, you shouldn’t have gotten startled when a female voice answered behind a curtain dividing the room. 

“Do you need a nurse? Are you in pain?” 

She sounded young and kind yet weak, her hoarse voice indicating that she was in the hospital for a good reason as well. 

“Why am I here?” you asked. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t know. But you were under anesthesia most likely. You were asleep when they brought you here,” she answered. 

A heavy sigh pushed past your lips. You felt so tired both mentally and physically. The hole in your mind felt heavy, like something important had been ripped away from you, and you couldn’t remember what. 

“I hope you’re alright, and you won’t have to stay in the hospital for long. It gets quite boring here,” the woman behind the curtain continued. 

You smiled slightly although she couldn’t see it, “How long have you been here?” 

It was quiet for a moment as she pondered her answer, the only sound being the beeping of the machines around you. 

“Too long. I moved to a nearby village about two months ago, and I’ve spent most of the time in the hospital.” 

Despite her sad revelation, it surprised you how hopeful she sounded. It must have been awful to stay most of the day inside those four walls. 

“How much do you go out? It’s so beautiful outside,” you wondered, hoping that the question wasn’t too intrusive. 

She chuckled, “That’s the sad thing. It had been my long-time dream to move to the countryside to see the nature. I had been hospitalized for so long, and I was excited to finally get released. Now, my condition has worsened again.” 

You felt your heart ache for her. The world was so unfair; to give that sweet woman hope only to crush her dreams later. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

When she spoke, you could hear the smile she had on her face, “It’s okay. At least I have my brother. He brings me flowers often, so I could have a piece of the nature here with me.” 

The emptiness inside you throbbed at her words. Most likely, you just felt lonely, and you hoped Wooyoung would visit you. 

“That is so sweet of him. Does he live in the same village?” 

“He moved there with me. Honestly, I don’t deserve him,” she spoke, “He has been paying for my hospital bills for years, and I’m just a burden. I don’t even know how he affords the flowers he brings me.” 

A frown settled on your face at the woman’s words. How did she dare to call herself a burden? Every person is a burden to other people, some on purpose and some against their own will. The woman you were talking to was definitely not a burden so that she could take advantage of her brother’s kindness. 

“Your worth can’t be measured by some amount of money. You bring happiness to your brother by your presence and existence, and no money can pay for a true, caring relationship,” you reassured. 

“Thank you,” the woman spoke, sounding genuinely grateful. 

Then, the door opened and a man came in. He had black hair and was wearing clothes that didn’t reveal much skin. 

The man had a neutral face, eyes directed straight forward. But when he glanced at you quickly, his expression betrayed him. Feelings of surprise, sadness yet relief flooded over him, and he didn’t even bother hiding them again. 

With quick steps, the man approached you. The two of you just looked at each other, the other one confused while the other one had tears prickling his eyes. He held two flower bouquets tightly in his both hands, and he pushed the one with daisies towards you. 

“I came to see you.” 

“May I ask who are you?” you tilted your head. 

“I-I’m sorry...” the man bit his lip, clearly overwhelmed by his emotions. 

“That’s not a name,” you chuckled. 

The woman behind the curtain, having recognized the man’s voice, spoke up again, “His name is Jongho. He’s my brother.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you.” 

The man named Jongho did not look pleased. Devastation furrowed his eyebrows, and his lips quivered. You couldn’t understand why he had brought you daisies; you hadn’t met him or his sister before. 

“Don’t you remember me, Y/N?” 

You shook your head as an answer. Feeling quite worried for him, you wondered if you had lost your memories at some point. It would explain the hole you felt inside your mind. 

But you remembered everything else: your parents, all the years with Wooyoung, your garden. Every moment had been captured into your memory bank, but Jongho was a complete stranger in front of you. 

“I used to work for you. I-I had been stealing flowers from you but you suggested I’d start working in the garden to earn the flowers.” 

“I think I’ve lost my memories at some point. I can’t recall ever talking to you,” you mumbled apologetically. 

Tears started flowing down Jongho’s cheeks, and it looked like he wasn’t even trying to hold them back, “You taught me how to water flowers.” 

You couldn’t resist a surprised chuckle, “You didn’t know how to do that before?” 

“I also told you that you mean nothing to me... Just minutes after that, I had to call the ambulance,” he clenched tighter to the bouquet as he mumbled his revelation. 

That made you silent. Maybe you had known that man after all, but you still couldn’t feel anything for him. No hard feelings, no love. 

“Then I guess it’s fair now then. I mean nothing to you and you mean nothing to me.” 

Your honest words hurt Jongho visibly, but he forced an understanding expression on his face. 

He set the daisies on the nightstand next to your back-breaking hospital bed. Just looking at him made the emptiness grow. You didn’t doubt his words about the two of you knowing each other, but despite feeling bad for him, you sensed it would not be wise to reconnect with him. 

Jongho disappeared behind the curtain, obviously going to his sister. Their whispers were not audible enough for you to hear what they were talking about, but it was clear his sister was frustrated. 

You listened to them talk while trying to recollect memories of Jongho, of the times you supposedly knew him. But nothing came to mind. The more you tried to reach for the memories, the more it felt like the emptiness grew. 

Later on, Wooyoung had come to visit you. His revelation made you finally understand why you had lost all of the memories regarding Jongho. 

“You almost died, Y/N. Because of him,” Wooyoung held your hand a little too tight. It was clear he was trying to hide the turmoil deep inside of him, the fear of almost having lost you, “The doctors managed to save you with an emergency surgery.” 

Although he had told you that you had been in love with Jongho, which had caused you to develop hanahaki, you couldn’t remember anything or hold any fond feelings nor hatred towards him. Jongho’s rejection had almost taken your life, so you understood now the hope and sadness his eyes had shown. He must have been feeling guilt. 

Being in the hospital was not cheap but the cost of the surgery terrified you even more. Sure, you had gained money from selling the flowers, but it was not enough. You had to consider selling your cottage, to leave the house you had grown up in and the garden you had played in with Wooyoung since the age of five. 

One morning there was an envelope slipped in through your mail slot. 

Dear Y/N, 

This is the least I can do for you, but the most I can do in this situation. 

With best regards, Jongho. 

In addition to the letter, there were about 20 bills of $100 inside the envelope. It was the most Jongho could do to help you in paying for the surgery, given the fact that he was short of money due to his sister’s illness. It wasn’t nearly enough to cover all expenses, but you felt gratitude towards him. He wouldn’t have had to pay for anything; after all, he hadn’t known about you having the hanahaki disease. 

Eventually, the cottage was put on sale. You grimaced at the thought of someone buying it, making it their own, and possibly ruining the garden full of the memories of your childhood. It was the end of summer when you closed the front door of your home for the last time. 

Some days you blamed Jongho for ruining your life in just a few months, but he hadn’t brought only destruction into your life; you and Wooyoung had grown closer to each other because of him. There was no need to even ask for Wooyoung to let you stay at his place before you’d find your new home. The moment he found out you were selling your house, he suggested you to move in – said he wouldn’t mind if you stayed your whole life there in his care. You had answered, laughing, “You can’t even take care of a houseplant. How are you going to take care of me?” 

After that he had bought over 50 houseplants to prove your point wrong. Only one survived his tough love, but it was enough. After all, there was only one of you as well. You wouldn’t have wanted to compete for his attention with some plants anyways. 

[mypoisonedvine]

eddie munson with 90. "is it just me, or does your celebrity crush look a lot like me?", with fem!reader

I didn't use the exact line of dialogue just the concept, I hope you don't mind! I love this request though!!

warnings: just fluff and a wee bit of angst along the way, friends to lovers, 'unrequited' love (the love is requited they are just stupid)

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"Admit it-- you'd let him do anything he wanted to you," Robin laughed teasingly.

"Honestly? Yeah, probably," you agreed as you bit your lip.

"What if he's, like, a freak or something?" she wondered. "Like what if he's into something really fucked up?"

"It would still be hot, 'cause it's him," you decided.

"So if he came up to you right now, and said 'hey, you're cute, wanna come back to my place and take a bath with me in a tub of mayonnaise?' you would..." she prompted.

"I would ask if he knows where I can get bulk mayonnaise for a discount," you grinned.

"Ew! You hate mayonnaise!" she grimaced.

"Yes, but I love him," you explained.

Just then, Eddie hopped up to your table, straddling one of the attached benches with a smile. "Woah, who do we love?" he asked.

"Eddie, you can't just barge in to a private conversation," Robin corrected with a frown.

"Private? I can hear the girlish giggling from the theater room," he scoffed. "Besides, I wanna know the gossip. You've got it bad for somebody?"

He looked around the room as if he would figure out who it was by examining the students, but Robin shook her head. "It's not, like, a real guy. It's her celebrity crush."

"And future husband," you beamed.

"Would I know who it was if you said it?" Eddie wondered.

You thought about not telling him, but it didn't really matter, because Robin blurted it out. "Probably-- it's Kirk Hammett, from Metallica."

Eddie's eyes went wide for a second, before he grinned and leaned one arm against the table. "I guess I should take that as a compliment."

You laughed softly in confusion. "What?"

"You know-- 'cause I look like him!" he announced excitedly.

Robin tilted her head as he stared at Eddie. "Oh yeah!" she said. "You know, now that you say it--"

"No," you shook your head, "you're not like him."

"Yes I am!" he laughed, though it sounded more like a sound of bewilderment than amusement. "Come on, are you serious? People say it all the time!"

"Well, they probably just say it cause you play guitar."

"And the hair?!" he yelped, shaking his mane around for emphasis which made Robin snort.

"Lots of guys have long hair nowadays!" you rolled your eyes. "That doesn't mean anything. Robin's blonde, doesn't mean she looks like Goldie Hawn!"

"Wait, I don't?" Robin asked sarcastically, feigning offence.

"It's not just that-- you seriously don't see it?" Eddie pouted. "Look at me-- I mean, really look at me."

You did, narrowing your eyes slightly as you examined him; he held his arms out as if to show himself to you, which did give you a better view of his arms and ink, but you frowned and shook your head. "I just see Eddie," you shrugged.

He deflated a bit. "Right, well-- anyways, did we get Robin to share her celebrity crush?"

"That was the next order of business," you explained with a smirk, and you both put your attention on the girl across the table.

"Nope-- my lips are sealed," Robin assured.

"If we can guess her name, will you tell us?" Eddie asked.

"No, I'll never--" she started to insist, but the two of you were blurting out names already.

"Brooke Shields!" "Kim Basinger!" "Ooh, Annie Lennox!"

"Guys," Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she was starting to blush, too.

~

You and Eddie were sitting side by side on the ground, backs leaned up against the outer wall of the school; his knees were bent and his arms were draped over them, while you sat with your legs overlapping as you tied wildflowers from the lawn into a daisy chain.

"You're quiet," you noticed.

"So? There's not much to say," he replied.

"When has that ever stopped you from running your mouth?" you smirked, looking up at him, but he wasn't smiling back at you so yours sank. "You've been quiet for a while."

"Guess I'm not that peppy today," he decided, staring forward at his fingers as he mindlessly spun one of his rings around.

"Not today," you explained, "like, all week. Is everything okay?"

He shrugged a little as if to say, it doesn't matter.

"Seriously, just talk to me," you pleaded. "Whatever it is, I wanna help."

"You can't help, okay?" he snapped,

"I can't stop thinking about what you said," he admitted. "When you and Robin were talking about your celebrity crush--"

"Listen, Eddie, I'm sorry if I don't see a resemblance, but it's not that big of a deal--"

"No, no, not that," he sighed, "I meant... what you said after. That you just see Eddie."

You knit your eyebrows together, not sure what he was getting at. He finally looked back at you, and the sadness in his eyes made your breath catch.

"That's all you're ever gonna see, isn't it?"

You sighed a little, looking away for a moment. "Ed, not this again--"

"C'mon, babe, you know I'm crazy about you," he sighed, tilting his head until it leaned against the wall behind him. "And I know every excuse you've given me-- you're not ready for a relationship, you don't want to ruin what we have, you don't want to bring me into your messed up brain-- but if you're into this guy who looks like me but you don't want me then... then it must just be that I'm awful, right?"

"Eddie, no," you denied with a pout, but he scoffed and looked ahead again.

"It's okay, I get it," he sighed. "I wouldn't wanna date me either. You deserve all the fancy stuff, y'know? Getting driven to cool dates in a nice car, hanging out at his house and not, you know, a dirty old trailer--"

"I don't want all that stuff," you assured, moving in closer to him. "I want somebody sweet and fun and smart--"

"I knew it's 'cause I can't fuckin' graduate," he mumbled, but you put your hand on his arm to get his attention.

"Eddie, you're not listening to me," you scolded. "It's not you, it's me. And I know that's a cliche but it's true."

"How can it not be me?" he rolled his eyes. "I'm a freak, and a fuck-up, and a flunk-out, and you're basically perfect--"

"Oh my god, you're, like, my dream guy, okay?!" you spat out, louder than you meant to. He finally shut up, and looked at you like he could finally see it-- like he finally knew. "I always liked you," you continued, a little softer and shier than before, "but I knew if I... if we ever actually, you know, went for it, I'd just mess it all up. And you're the last person I'd ever want to hurt--"

He cut you off with a kiss: a sudden, sweet, hungry kiss that caught you off-guard for a second before you melted into it.

It wasn't that one kiss could make all your fears about a relationship go away... but it sure could make them seem a lot less important. And it definitely could help convince you that it was worth the risk.

When he pulled back, he held your face even as you tried to look away to hide it. "Sorry," he said, taking his hands away slowly, "I just had to do that."

"Oh, Ed," you hummed, "you're so cute I could die."

He got a little red in the face, which only made the cuteness more apparent. "Aw hell," he snorted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "You think I'm cute 'cause I look like Kirk?"

"No," you smiled, "I like Kirk 'cause he looks like you."

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 17

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

A/N: oh boy.....

“Baby, can I ask you something?”

Isla tears her gaze away from the window as she watches the town go by, turning to face her mom in the driver’s seat. “What’s up?” she asks, fixing the skirt of her summer dress.

Anne blows out a breath, left elbow resting on the sill of the car door. “I know this relationship of yours with Rafe, you’re keeping it a secret from your sister and friends.” Isla bites the inside of her cheek, already feeling the anxiety brew in the pit of her stomach over the subject of this conversation. “How much longer do you think you can keep this up?”

Isla sighs, head falling back against the seat in defeat. “Mom—”

“I don’t mind keeping it quiet from your sister,” Anne cuts in with a hint of a smile, glancing at Isla briefly before her gaze returns out onto the road. “But seriously, honey—”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Isla says, lips twisting to the side as she looks down at her dress. Spaghetti straps with a flowing skirt that stops a few inches above her knees, a pretty yellow color with tiny white daisies patterned all over it. “But I know no matter when or how I tell them, they’re not gonna be happy. They’ll for sure think I’m insane or something.”

She sees her mom’s eyebrows furrow, forehead crease. “It can’t be that bad. They’re your friends, your sister. Give them a little more credit.”

Isla scoffs, her smile sardonic as her eyebrows raise. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many fights the guys have gotten into with Rafe and his friends? There’s a lot of history between them all, and none of it is good. So I just—I don’t know how I’m supposed to look them all in the eye and tell them I’m dating Rafe. The only person who wouldn’t be totally pissed is Sarah. But the others? Especially Kie and JJ? They’ll think I’ve, like, betrayed them,” she mumbles, gaze dropping to watch herself anxiously play with one of the rings she wears.

It’ll hurt, when they find out. It will hurt them and it will hurt Isla, and her anxiety is preventing her from seeing the slight possibility that the reaction won’t be as big as she’s fearing, or that they might get over it quickly. It all just seems too explosive to go in any other way than badly.

“They love you,” Anna says firmly. “So they’ll get over it. It might take them some time to accept your relationship, but I know they will. Especially when they see that you’re happy with Rafe.” The idea of it makes Isla smile slightly, though she doesn’t let that seed of hope in. But Anna sits confidently next to her, which is a little reassuring for Isla, even if her stomach is still in knots. “And when your relationship isn’t a secret anymore, I’d love for Rafe to come over for dinner.”

That makes Isla’s smile widen slightly, shy yet excited at the notion as she nods, her earrings tinkling as she does. “Yeah, me too.” Then she scoffs, adding, “Just make sure Kie doesn’t poison his food.”

Anna lets out a laugh at that, shaking her head in amusement. As the car rolls to a stop at a red light, she turns to meet Isla’s gaze, her eyes soft and warm. “Look, I know you want to make sure the time is right to tell them, but don’t wait too long that you end up psyching yourself out of it, okay? It’d be better for them to hear it from you than somehow finding out some other way.”

Isla nods, chewing on the inside of her cheek, because her mom hasn’t said anything Isla doesn’t already know. Telling her friends herself is exactly what Isla wants. She knows the longer she waits, the more opportunity she is giving for the universe to play a card against her and have her friends find out about her and Rafe through another way. It would make the situation even worse if they didn’t hear it from her, even if the idea of telling them still makes her beyond anxious. She loves her friends so much. She can’t imagine her life without them.

Even so, their reactions aren’t something Isla is looking forward to. Avoiding the problem, for now, just seems easier.

Isla is still thinking about it after her mom drops her off at the dock, her mind still running on the ferry over to the mainland where she’s meeting Rafe. He already had to be at Chapel Hill for work on behalf of his dad, so he and Isla had made a plan to meet at Sutton’s for their date. Kie was working at the restaurant today, her friends occupied with something or another, so it was the perfect time for Isla to meet up with Rafe.

If anyone asked, she was meeting up with some friends she had made when she toured the university’s campus a few months ago, so no one would be the wiser.

When Isla turns the corner to get to Sutton’s, she smiles when, in the distance, she easily spots Rafe standing outside. His back is to her, but she recognizes him easily, her smile widening as she approaches him, artfully dodging any other pedestrian in the way. Rafe, though, stands in the shade of the mid-size tree along the sidewalk, seemingly busy on his phone, until Isla skips the last few steps until she’s sliding up right next to him, left arm winding around his waist.

“Excuse me, but could you by chance be waiting for someone?” she grins, giggling when he tenses up the second her arm is around him, but relaxing a split second later when he looks down at her grinning face.

Rafe’s own smile lights up his face, dancing in those blue eyes as he settles his arm around her shoulders. “Sure am,” he says, fingers brushing up and down the bare skin of her arm. It’s the middle of summer, and he’s going to make goosebumps break across her skin as his eyes drink in every inch of her. From the yellow dress against her brown skin to her wavy hair falling down her back to the gold of her jewelry; from her necklaces and rings to nose ring and several earrings. “Waiting for the prettiest girl around,” he finishes, dipping his head to press a sweet kiss to her lips.

Isla smiles, kissing him back and welcoming the fluttering in her chest. “Such a charmer,” she teases as they pull back, her right hand on his chest. “But it’s time for you to feed me.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, and Isla can never get tired of the sound. So light, making a hint of crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, showing off perfect white teeth and a smile that could heal anyone’s heart. No wonder he takes care of a lot of Ward’s business when it comes to face-to-face time with clients; Rafe is undeniably charming, his smile disarming and effortlessly making a person forget about anything else. Isla doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Yes, ma’am. Let’s go,” he says, walking them to the front doors of Sutton’s, opening one of the doors and gently nudging her forward to walk in first, following close behind her as they enter.

Isla smiles when she’s instantly hit with the scent of burgers being cooked and the salty tinge of French fries. There’s an Icee machine towards the back on the left, and while there are tables to sit at the front, towards the back are aisles and fridges loaded with snacks and drinks. The walls are white and red tiled, a menu board along the wall behind the ordering counter, right above the window looking into the kitchen where Isla sees people bustling around. 

Rafe had said this place wasn’t extraordinary, just a burger joint mixed with a store, but it’s the food that makes this place popular. It already smells amazing as they step up to the counter to order.

The man standing on the other side, an older guy with graying hair and a goatee, instantly grins when they step up. “Rafe Cameron, my man,” the man laughs, hand reaching over and Isla smiles as Rafe’s hand clasps his. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.” His gaze shifts over to Isla, his smile widening. “And who’s this lovely lady you’ve got with you?”

Isla sees Rafe grin as his arm rests on her shoulders again. “This is my girl, Isla.” Her heart skips happily at his words as he says to her, “This is Morgan. The genius behind the food you’re gonna eat today.”

Isla laughs. “I can’t wait.”

“Music to my ears,” Morgan says, waving his fingers in a come on motion. “What’ll you have?”

While Isla gets a cheeseburger deluxe, Rafe gets a steak burger, fries for both, and once he pays for their food and drinks, they claim a small round table against the wall while their food is being made. “Oh, hey,” Rafe says, shifting forward in his chair as he reaches into the back pocket of his pants. “Wheezie asked me to give this to you.”

He holds out a tiny brown cloth bag and recognition lights up Isla’s face as she reaches for it. “What is it?” Rafe asks with a chuckle, watching curiously. 

Isla grins as she undoes the strings that shut the bag. “You didn’t open it and look?” she asks teasingly.

Rafe settles back in his chair. “Wouldn’t invade your privacy if it was something you wanted to keep to yourself or something.”

Her smile softens as she reaches into the bag. “You’re adorable,” she says with a gentle laugh, pulling out the beaded bracelet Wheezie made. “See?” Isla shows him, holding the bracelet up.

A smile touches Rafe’s lips, his fingers twisting his own bracelet once. “You asked her to make you one?” When she nods with a hum, he looks at the bracelet again and says, “That’s a pretty blue.”

Isla observes the bracelet, the sky blue beads Wheezie had used and white heart beads in between, the blue color absolutely perfect. Isla bites her bottom lip, hesitating for a moment, a bit shy before confessing, “Matches your eyes.”

She sees Rafe’s smile falter a bit at the revelation, surprised, but his smile returns quickly, those blue eyes lighting up while Isla’s cheeks heat. Letting herself be vulnerable with him, emotionally, is something that has become easier—though it doesn’t stop her from blushing anyway. But Rafe always seems to welcome her shyness, her vulnerability, and hasn’t made her regret being open with him.

And it feels good—to let someone in, in a way that she hasn’t in a while. Rafe is sweet to her, soft, and she finds herself falling for him more and more. Despite the secrets, despite the complications that would come from telling her friends, her feelings for Rafe aren’t something she can ignore—she doesn’t want to.

“You’re a romantic too, huh?” he muses, his smile gentle but Isla sees the sheer happiness in his gaze that makes her pulse quicken.

“Of course,” Isla grins, putting on the bracelet to join the one she already wears on her wrist, the matching thread bracelet she has with her sister, Sarah, and Cleo. Her throat works as she fiddles with the yellow bracelet, sitting nicely next to the blue beaded one, and Isla exhales slowly through her nose. “I was thinking. . .”

“Uh-oh,” Rafe smiles, chuckling when she shoots him a feigned glare. “What about?”

Isla twists her lips to the side, right leg crossing over her left knee and adjusting the skirt of her dress. Sutton’s isn’t too busy, but there’s a subtle bustle of the cooks in the kitchen and other customers scattered around at tables. Letting out a breath, she admits, “I think I’m gonna tell the others about us.”

She watches as Rafe’s expression shifts, surprise washing over his face because no doubt she took him off guard. Truthfully, they don’t have conversations, at length, about Isla telling her friends about their relationship. Rafe has given her full reign on how to go about that because, the fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give much of a damn of people’s opinions on him, even his friends’. If anything, Isla knows Rafe’s friends would give him shit for dating a Pogue, even if a lot of them still see Isla, Kie, and Sarah as Kooks, but they’ll be quick to get over it.

But Isla’s friends, on the other hand, are a different story, more volatile. Anxiety has made her keep this a secret, but she and Rafe have been dating for nearly two months now, and things between them keep getting better and better. She wants to share that happiness, doesn’t want to hide it like some dirty little secret. Plus, Isla is tired of sneaking around; it started off fun, and it still has some of its thrill, but being with him publicly, without worrying about getting caught, is also something she wants.

“Are you—you’re sure?” Rafe asks, sitting up as his gaze intently searches hers. “Because I don’t want you to take that step if you’re not ready—”

“I’m sure,” Isla tells him with a nod, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a slight smile. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready. You know them. They’re stubborn. I think holding it off for too long might be worse because they’ll think of how long I’ve been keeping this from them, you know?” Her eyes meet Rafe’s. “I think you and I are in a good place, right? This works between us, it feels good.” Her cheeks heat up with her smile as Rafe grins a little too. “So, yeah. I’m gonna tell them, and hope for the best,” she adds with a chuckle.

Rafe nods, taking this in while his smile remains. “You know I got your back, yeah?” With a tilt of his head, he hesitates for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to be there when you tell them?”

A gentle laugh escapes her, eyebrows rising. “I think it might be better if it was just me.” The mere sight of Rafe would be enough to raise their hackles before Isla would be able to get a word out. “Maybe I should get them drunk first.”

Rafe snorts out a laugh, just as his name is called from the counter. “I’ll follow your lead, sweetheart,” he says, pushing himself up from the chair and heading to get their food.

Isla watches him, biting the inside of her cheek and absently admiring the firm shape of his ass in those pants while also picturing the scene in her head of when she drops this bombshell on her friends. There will probably be yelling, looks of betrayal and possibly disgust—Isla just needs to mentally prepare herself for all of them. And, honestly, she’s been doing that since the minute she and Rafe decided to pursue a relationship—hell, since their first date—but no matter how much she tries to prepare herself, Isla doesn’t think she’ll be ready.

It’ll be fine. Hopefully.

“Here we fucking go,” Rafe says when he returns, placing the tray in front of them and picking up one of the styrofoam boxes labeled cheeseburger deluxe and handing it to her. “This is yours. Dig in.”

Isla places a paper napkin on her lap before opening the box excitedly, feeling Rafe’s gaze on her as she admires the picture perfect burger and a good portion of French fries. It smells delicious as she picks it up, perfectly hot in her hands, and when she lifts it to her mouth, her gaze flickers up and catches Rafe’s.

“Are you gonna watch me eat?” she asks with an amused laugh.

He matches her smile. “Just the first bite. Wanna get your honest reaction.”

Isla shakes her head, smiling at his interest and curiosity as Isla finally takes a bite of the burger. Flavor explodes on her tongue and Isla’s shoulders drop as she chews, eyes widening at Rafe, who is smiling in satisfaction. “Oh, my God,” she mumbles after swallowing, reaching for a napkin to pat at her lips. “This is amazing.”

Honestly, it’s probably better than any gourmet burger she’s had. And Isla hates to admit it, but it’s even a little better than the cheeseburger they make at The Wreck—though, she’d never tell her parents that.

“I told you,” Rafe answers smugly, reaching for his own burger. But before he takes a bite, he asks, “You wanna try mine?”

Isla smiles as he holds the burger out, putting her own down and reaching for his. She takes a bite, the steak burger colored with different sauces and spices, but delicious all the same. She tastes the familiar tang of a pickle as she chews, nodding in approval as she hands it back to Rafe. “Delicious. I ate a pickle, sorry,” she apologizes with a grin.

Rafe chuckles and takes the top of the bun off, picking up the second slice of pickle and putting it in her container. “I don’t like pickles.”

Isla blinks. “Why didn’t you ask them to keep them off?”

He shrugs. “You like pickles,” he answers simply before taking a bite, leaving Isla smiling fondly at the boy before her.

“You’re so cute,” she grins, nudging his foot with hers under the table as she picks up the pickle and tosses it in her mouth.

“Cute, whipped,” Rafe hums with a roll of his eyes, waving around a fry. “Either one works.” He flashes a smirk.

Isla wiggles her eyebrows playfully. “Regrets?”

He smiles, but his gaze is serious. “Absolutely not.”

*****

Isla’s fingers brush along the spines of the rows of books, unable to help herself any time she’s in a bookstore. After lunch at Sutton’s, which had been delicious, they began walking down the sidewalk until they came across a bookstore and, like a magnet, Isla was drawn inside. Rafe had no arguments, following her in with a smile, but about ten minutes later, he stepped outside for a work call.

Isla already has three books in her arms since he left the store, which she knows will amuse him. It’s not her fault she can’t leave a bookstore without buying something. It’s a compulsion at this point.

By the time Isla’s ready to check out, she frowns at the front windows of the store, wondering where Rafe is. That’s a long phone call.

Once she pays and is happily dangling the strap of the paper bag from her fingers, Isla exits the store, ready to pull her phone out to text Rafe—only to spot him easily out on the sidewalk. Instantly, her confusion falters and a smile spreads on Isla’s parted lips, her heart picking up its pace when she sees the small bouquet of sunflowers he’s holding.

He’s already grinning, like he’s expecting her, and a breathless laugh escapes Isla, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she walks over and he holds the flowers out. Her sandals tap against the pavement as she approaches Rafe, stopping in front of him and reaching for the bouquet—except he clicks his tongue and pulls them out of her reach.

“Ah-ah,” Rafe grins with a lift of his chin, blue eyes dancing with mirth as Isla’s eyebrows raise. “Not for free.”

She’s quick to know what he means, her smile widening as she steps closer until there’s barely any space between them on the semi-busy sidewalk. Isla is wrapped in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, woodsy with a delicious undertone of spices, and with a hand on his chest, she rises on her toes with an upward tilt of her chin, and Rafe’s grin widens as he meets her halfway because he’s too tall for his own good, lips pressing to hers.

Isla sucks on his bottom lip and his answering groan is enough to send desire coursing through her, desperate need for Rafe making her head spin as his tongue swipes against hers. She knows they’re in public, but can’t bring herself to care as she feels his free hand pressing to the small of her back, his touch warm even through the thin material of her dress. 

Her head spins with his kisses, and she groans quietly before mumbling, “Wish we were home right now.”

“Yeah?” Rafe murmurs as Isla’s eyes flutter open, watching him look down at her with hooded eyes. His gaze flickers around them, then, before he smiles. The mischievous glint in his eyes has Isla raising her eyebrows before he says, “I’ve got an idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, her free hand clasped in Rafe’s, Isla is stifling a laugh as they walk down the carpeted hallway of an upscale hotel. “You’re insane,” she giggles as Rafe takes the keycard and taps it against the security lock of the hotel room Rafe booked for them just for the afternoon.

He holds the door open for her, using his grip on her hand to usher her into the room. The curtains are parted to let the afternoon sun brighten the room, the king sized bed practically calling their name as Isla sets the flowers, purse, and bag of books on the nearby table. It’s a simple, spacious room with a king sized bed with a bed frame against the wall, cushioned in the middle with a wooden frame. A TV opposite of the bed, a mini fridge with a glass door showing off the drinks and treats inside—though, all she and Rafe really care about is the bed, of course.

She feels Rafe come up behind her, his fingers brushing along her neck as he moves her dark hair over one shoulder, Isla’s breath catching when his lips ghost along her neck. “It’s not home—” Neither hers nor his. “But it’s the second best thing.”

“Mhm,” Isla hums as his hand snakes across her stomach, pressing her closer into him as she leans her head back against his shoulder. “You’ll hear no complaints from me,” she says, tilting her head enough to press her lips to his, grinning when he instantly returns the kiss.

Isla turns in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck and pushing herself into him, heat pooling between her legs when his hands slide down her sides before they cup her ass through the material of her dress, applying pressure to pull her closer. Isla moans and her fingers run through his hair as he moves them, no doubt moving them towards the bed.

Her skin is on fire, craving his touch, and she drops her hands to undo his belt. As his tongue teases hers, deepening the kiss, the back of Isla’s legs touch the bed. She has five seconds to toe off her sandals—thank God they don’t have clasps—and suddenly she’s being pushed down, a gasp of a laugh escaping her during the moment their kiss breaks as Rafe’s lean body climbs over hers, kissing her once again as she practically sinks into the soft mattress.

“This fucking dress,” Rafe mumbles into the kiss, Isla’s heart pounding as she feels his finger hook under one of the spaghetti straps. “Bet you wore it just to drive me crazy,” he rasps, pulling one of the straps down her shoulder.

Isla’s lips curl up because he’s totally not wrong. It’s one of her favorite dresses, for sure, but Isla had put it on with the simple thought of Rafe’s reaction to her wearing it. “Is it working?” she asks, pulling out his belt and tossing it to the side. It clatters somewhere on the floor.

Rafe growls quietly and Isla gasps into his mouth when he takes one of her hands and brings it to cup his cock over the material of his pants. He’s big and hard and Isla’s body practically sings with the desire of having him inside of her again. “What do you think?” he asks, nipping at her bottom lip and tugging at it sharply. She swears she feels the pull in her pussy.

“Gonna do something about it?” she asks breathlessly between kisses, her leg hooking around his hip to bring him closer, heart pounding as they breathe in each other’s air. 

She arches slightly when she feels his hand cup her breast through her dress, the bodice fitting nicely enough that she didn’t need to wear a bra with it. “Yeah,” he grunts, the air hitching in Isla’s throat when his fingers curl under the neckline of her dress. “Gonna taste every inch of you.”

Cool air of the room hits her in the next second when Rafe tugs the front of her dress down, the material soft and stretchy enough for him to do so easily. Rafe pulls back and Isla already misses the taste of his lips, but she catches the way his gaze darkens at the sight of her exposed breasts, hunger flashing across his face before he leans down and closes his lips around her nipple.

Isla cries out at the wicked touch, hand finding the back of Rafe’s head, fingers threading through his hair as he sucks at her nipple, tongue flicking and each teasing movement has Isla’s head tilting back, lips parting and eyes fluttering at the electricity that buzzes through her veins. When his teeth graze along her nipple, Isla gasps, fingers tightening in his hair as her back arches, pushing her breast further into the warmth of Rafe’s mouth as his hand cups her other breast, fingers tweaking and playing with her nipple.

“So fucking pretty,” Rafe mumbles, switching over to the other breast, and Isla lifts her head enough to watch him suck, his lust filled blue eyes locking on her dazed green, her heart pounding when she feels his tongue flick her nipple again. 

“Rafe, Rafe.” His name is all Isla can utter, lost in the head spinning ecstasy she feels from his mouth alone. “Please—”

She’s not sure what she’s begging for at this point, but he lifts off her chest and kisses her, swallowing her moans and licking into her mouth. His tongue plunders and ravages and takes, and Isla happily lets him as her fingers blindly find the hem of his shirt, giving it an upwards tug. The kiss breaks long enough for Rafe to pull the shirt off the rest of the way, Isla’s fingers admiring the hard muscles of his abdomen and feeling them flex under her touch.

“Can you do something for me, baby?” he murmurs against her lips. Isla hums in response, fairly certain she’d do anything he’d ask. Rafe kisses the corner of her mouth, brushes his lips against hers, and asks, “Sit on my face? Please?”

Oh, fuck yes.

She looks up at him, panting, admiring the lust in his eyes and pink swollen lips. She doesn’t miss the way her breasts glisten with Rafe’s saliva as she nods dazedly, and Rafe smirks at her instant agreement, moving to turn them so he’s laying down and she moves to straddle him, taking off her underwear and tossing it to the side. When her hand moves to undo the zipper on the side, Rafe’s hand gently grips her wrist.

“No.” Isla’s gaze flies to his, admiring his kiss swollen lips and the hunger in his eyes. “Keep it on,” he says, voice hoarse with need that Isla feels in her belly and between her legs.

Isla’s skin flushes, heart pounding and breath shallowing as she glances down at herself. The skirt of her dress is bunched up while the bodice has been tugged low enough to expose her breasts, nipples taut and perked not just because of the coolness of the room, but Rafe’s earlier ministrations. 

His hands brush up and down her outer thighs, a ghost of a smirk curving his mouth. “Come on, baby.”

It’s all the encouragement Isla needs, desire thrumming her veins as she shifts up his body until she’s hovering right above his face. She tries to keep the skirt bunched to her waist, but the second Rafe’s hands sneak up to her hips under her clothes and he pulls her down and a gasp rips through Isla the second his mouth comes into contact with her. With his grip on her, he makes her sit on his face and Isla has to grip the top of the wooden frame of the bed, head bowing as she feels Rafe lick into her eagerly.

She remembers that day on his kitchen counter, but here, Isla doesn’t hold back the moans that escape her as Rafe’s tongue pushes through her lips, licking into her opening as already making Isla’s head spin. Her knees rest on either side of his head, but she still feels herself tremble when Rafe’s tongue flicks against her clit and Isla throws her head back.

“Oh, God, Rafe,” she gasps, hips moving against him as her grip tightens on the frame. Even if she looks down at Rafe, she can only just get a glimpse of him from beneath the skirt of her dress. The sensation of his mouth working on her sends electricity zipping through her body, his fingers digging into her hips and helping her move as whimpers escape her.

“Could stay here all fucking day, y’know,” Rafe mumbles, his words accompanied by the crude sounds of him licking and sucking. “Favorite fucking thing. Heaven.”

The last word is groaned out as he sucks her clit into his mouth and a sharp cry escapes Isla because in the next moment, she’s falling apart above him with her heart threatening to pound out of her chest and liquid fire flooding her veins. Isla chants his name, over and over, until she’s shaking on top of him and body threatening to go limp.

But then Rafe moves them swiftly. With his hands on her hips, he pushes Isla backwards and shifts himself until she’s on her back and he’s moving on top of her, her head now by the foot of the bed. Isla giggles breathlessly at the sudden movement, stomach flipping excitedly at the way Rafe moves her around so easily. He grins down at her, messed up hair and swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

When he comes back over her, capturing her lips in a slow, dizzying kiss, he asks, “You want me?”

Her hands are in his hair, tongue in his mouth. God. “Yes.”

One of Rafe’s hands finds hers, linking their fingers together next to her head as he kisses her deeply. “You have me.”

*****

“Sarah will understand, right?”

A light scoff sounds from Rafe. “We’re sitting in a bathtub, and you wanna talk about my sister?” he asks, teasingly nipping at her neck.

Isla laughs gently, her back pressed to his chest. The warm water is brilliant for her muscles, which definitely got worked out after her and Rafe were done. Since Rafe had booked the hotel room for a few hours, they still had some time to kill, and Rafe took it upon himself to fill up the tub and because this is one of those fancy hotels, there was even a small bottle of bubble bath that he practically emptied in the tub.

“I’m just thinking,” she says, sitting between his legs with her head resting back against his shoulder. One of his hands links with her, resting on the lip of the tub, while his other hand brushes his fingers across her stomach under the water, so light yet enough to tug at her center. “I’m not looking forward to their reactions but I’m hoping, you know, that at least we’ll have Sarah on our side? Maybe?”

Rafe is silent for a couple of seconds as Isla watches his fingers play with hers, chewing on her bottom lip as she waits for him to say something. “You want me to be honest?” he asks quietly, making her heart thump.

“Yes.”

“I’d say it’s fifty-fifty,” he answers and Isla’s heart drops upon hearing that. And maybe he feels her tense against him because his arm snakes around her waist, holding her close. “I have a feeling my sister’s more loyal to your friends than she is to me.”

A lump forms in Isla’s throat when she hears the hint of dismay in Rafe’s voice. She knows Rafe and Sarah’s relationship isn’t perfect; they’ve had their issues, especially when Rafe and his friends got into it with Isla’s friends. Things can get tense between them, but Sarah hasn’t had any complaints against Rafe over the last couple of months—mostly because Rafe hasn’t been getting into fights with the guys. If anything, he pulled Topper back that night at the Boneyard, and Isla recalls Sarah commenting that she was pleasantly surprised at Rafe stepping in like that.

But to know Sarah may also be upset with Isla and Rafe’s relationship makes Isla’s stomach twist in knots. She was hoping that Sarah would be their safe bet because, as much as Isla loves her own sister, she doesn’t think Kie will be too receptive to this relationship. Maybe, over time, her friends will adjust and accept, but Isla is dreading that initial reaction upon them learning the truth. It makes her stomach feel hollow with nothing in it but dread, anxiety ruling over.

“I’m sorry,” Isla whispers, eyebrows furrowing together as she squeezes Rafe’s fingers.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Rafe instantly says. “My and Sarah’s relationship is slowly getting better, which is why I think it could go either way. If this had been months ago, she would’ve totally been against us,” he adds with a gentle laugh. “But maybe she’ll be quicker to come around. Honestly, baby—” He brushes his lips across her cheekbone. “There’s no telling how any of them are gonna react, right? I don’t think you should stress yourself out by running every possible scenario, you know? They’re gonna react how they’re gonna react. It’s out of any of our control.”

Isla sighs, pouting. “That’s not as comforting as you think,” she mutters with a short chuckle.

His grip tightens and Isla feels his head drop until his lips press to her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sounding truly regretful, which only tugs at her heartstrings. “I’ve got you though, okay? No matter what happens or what they say, you have me.”

Now those words have Isla melting, relaxing in his embrace as her lips curl up into a gentle smile. “Nice save,” she says playfully before turning her head enough to press her lips to his cheek. “But you’re right. No point in psyching myself out.”

It’s easier said than done, of course, but it’s all the more reason why Isla needs to tell her friends sooner rather than later. Like, tomorrow, maybe. The idea makes her heart thud unsurprisingly, but it’s a feeling she has come to be familiar with—though, one she can’t wait to get rid of.

She sighs then and says, “We should probably get out before we get all pruney.”

Rafe hums against her neck. “Sounds sexy,” he quips, making her laugh as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, if we have to.”

They make quick work of drying off and getting dressed again. Fortunately, Isla’s makeup isn’t too messed up, just cleaning off some mascara residue from under her eyes and reapplying her lip oil. She pulls her hair out of the bun it had been in for the bath, combing her fingers through the wavy strands so they fall nicely around her shoulders.

He gently taps her ass when they exit the elevator once the doors open up to the lobby, and while Rafe goes to check them out, Isla sits down on one of the couches, placing the flowers next to her as she checks her phone in case her sister or friends texted her. She only has notifications from their Snapchat group chat; Kie sending a video of her making a sandwich at work, JJ sending a picture of his bike that he’s working on, and Cleo sending a picture of Pope sitting at his desk while she seems to be laying in his bed.

Isla doesn’t send a picture or video in return, not wanting her friends to see where she is. But being occupied by her phone doesn’t last too long because a few seconds later, she hears an annoyingly familiar voice ask, “What are you doing here?”

Isla freezes, her heart pounding as she very quickly realizes that this can very quickly blow up in her face. With her grip on her phone tightening, Isla slowly raises her head until her eyes find Topper standing before her. He’s standing before her in a suit and tie get up, eyebrow raised at her as he waits for an answer that Isla doesn’t want to give, and definitely doesn’t owe him.

Panic blooms in her chest, but Isla shoves it down as she puts on a mask of indifference, tilting her head at Topper. He definitely doesn’t look happy to see her, his jaw tense and eyes hard, but that’s not what Isla focuses on. She’s more worried about talking her way out of this before he sees Rafe and somehow puts two and two together.

“Visiting a friend from out of town. She’s staying here,” Isla lies smoothly, gesturing to the lobby. Her gaze flickers past him, towards a sign on an easel in front of one of the ballroom doors. It reads Thornton Conway Archer, which is the name of the law firm Topper’s mom is a name partner of. Great. How the hell did she and Rafe miss that on their way in? Isla shoots Topper a tight smile. “Nice monkey suit. If you’ll excuse me,” she says, grabbing her bags and flowers and getting up from the couch, skin heating with anxiety of needing to get away.

“A friend from out of town, huh?” he repeats, unconvinced, as he steps in Isla’s way, making her stop short. She masks her panic with a glare. “Didn’t wanna show them the glories of The Cut, huh?” he says condescendingly, making Isla feel the urge to punch him in the face. Her friends have really rubbed off on her over the years.

Isla blinks at him. “Is there a reason we’re having a conversation right now?” she asks blankly even if her nerves are skittering, needing escape. Except Topper’s gaze has already flickered over Isla’s shoulder and dread pools in her stomach when she sees realization dawn on his face.

“Rafe?” he asks and Isla’s teeth press together. Maybe she can play it off smoothly that she had no idea Rafe was here; maybe their cover isn’t totally blown yet. Topper doesn’t look too thrilled to see Rafe and Isla knows it’s because of their confrontation outside of the country club. “What are you doing here?”

Isla raises her eyebrows, hoping to give off an expression of surprise as she looks over her shoulder to see Rafe slowly approaching them. Their gazes meet, and she can easily see the annoyance—and concern—swimming in his blue eyes as he makes his way over, pocketing his wallet. His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek before his gaze slides back to Topper, eyes hardening.

“Business meeting,” he answers simply. He glanced between her and Topper and casually asked, “Everything okay here?”

Topper scoffed, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “Why? Wanna come to her rescue again? You know—” He narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s pretty convenient that you two are both here.” Looking at Rafe, he asks, “Do you have a new hobby of coming to the Pogues’ rescue nowadays?”

“What can I say? Right place, right time,” Rafe lazily drawls and Isla admires his ability to appear unbothered. But there’s slight tension bracketing his mouth, so subtle yet Isla notices it because she knows him, and she knows that he’s a bit thrown off, too, to run into Topper here. Then Rafe’s glaze flicks to her meaningfully and Isla hears him loud and clear.

Isla inhales sharply, offering them a tight, close mouthed smile. “Alright, well, I’m gonna be anywhere but here,” she says with an upward flick of her eyebrows. Before Topper can stop her, she moves around them and tries not to appear that she’s fleeing—even if she is.

She’s about to head to the doors to exit, but recalls that she told Topper the so-called friend she’s visiting is staying here. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath before making a B-line towards the hall where the elevators are located.

Fortunately, she disappeared from the view of the lobby as she approached the wall at the end of the hall. Isla leans back against it, resting the bag of books by her feet as she tilts her head back and lets out a breath, eyes shutting. Goddamn—Topper has the annoying habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times. Not that his presence is ever welcomed, but lately it’s been on a whole other level.

She’s alone for maybe a couple of minutes when she hears footsteps, and by the time she opens her eyes, Rafe is approaching her. “Hey,” he says worriedly, glancing over his shoulder while making his way over. “You good?” he asks once he’s stopped in front of her, effectively obscuring her view of the hallway behind him.

Isla huffs out a breath, shooting Rafe an incredulous look. “Why is he always everywhere?” she asks in exasperation, letting out a breathless laugh that’s only slightly tinged with alarm. “Do you think he, like, suspects anything?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, shaking his head reassuringly. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know shit,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Let’s hope that’s true,” Isla huffs, running her fingers through her hair as she hopes to sway away the nerves that had risen.

“Hey,” Rafe says gently as he places his hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs brushing along the underside of her jaw. “Let’s not let him ruin our day, yeah?”

Isla smiles slightly, dipping her chin in a nod before Rafe tilts her head up by placing some pressure where his thumbs are, ducking his own head to kiss her gently. Her eyes flutter shut and she sighs into the sweet kiss, lightly gripping the front of his shirt as she parts her lips to allow his tongue to slip in. God, yes. With just one touch, one kiss, Rafe manages to make everything else disappear, and it is so easy to get lost in him.

“Alright. Time to go,” he sighs, bumping his nose against hers before pulling back and smiling down at her. 

They’re able to make it out of the hotel without another run-in with Topper, though just to be safe, they head out separately before meeting up a block down from the hotel. It had been a perfect, wonderful day as she and Rafe take the ferry back to the OBX, their fingers interlaced as they sat in the last row below deck, away from anyone around.

As she watches the water glitter, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see Kie had messaged in the groupchat.

From: Kie🐬

can u come to jb’s, isla?

Isla arches an eyebrow, but messages back.

From: Isla

yeah, i can be there in 25

It’s not long until they get to the dock back in town, which means she and Rafe have to part ways and she has to go see her friends. Rafe offers to drop her, but she insists on taking an Uber, kissing him goodbye and heading over to John B’s, texting in the chat to let them know she’s on her way. She puts the small bouquet of flowers in the paperbag of books, the bag dangling from her fingertips as she got out of the car and thanked the Uber driver before shutting the door.

Her lips still tingled with Rafe’s kisses as she walked across the patch of grass towards the Chateau’s porch, noticing the others’ cars and bike already parked. Isla’s not sure why Kie asked her to come over, though it’s not unusual for them all to meet up here, of course.

She spots them sitting scattered around the screened in porch, the murmur of conversation dying as soon as she opens the door and walks in. “Hey,” she greets, albeit a little slowly as all gazes turn to her. For some reason, she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

They all look at her, stone faced and hard eyed, and Isla blinks as she remains rooted on the spot, her gaze flickering to every face. Sarah won’t meet her gaze, instead looking down at her lap or at John B, who sits with pursed lips. When Isla looks to Kie, her sister stands by the wall, arms crossed and a furrow between her brows that creases her forehead. On the recliner, Pope sits forward with his elbows resting on his knees, chin resting atop interlaced fingers, and Cleo is fiddling with her switchblade as she sits on the arm of the chair. JJ isn’t facing her, instead looking out onto the Routledges’ land with arms crossed and every muscle of his body seemingly tense.

Isla’s throat tightens. Something is so very wrong.

In fact, Isla can feel the tension in the room, suffocating. Her pulse kicks up a few notches, the uncertainty of what she walked into filling her with unease.

“Um,” Isla starts, shattering the silence. Something tightens in her stomach, something foreign and indecipherable, as she lets out a short chuckle and tensely jokes, “Who died?”

It’s Kie who responds, a kind of hardness in her eyes that has never been directed towards Isla. “When were you gonna tell us that you’ve been hooking up with Rafe?”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Do you think that the fab five have their own favourite ships between Yuu and the twst boys? I somehow get the feeling that Daisy doesn’t actually have a preference, she just loves the chaos and gossip.

So I'm going to turn the Fab Five into the Sensational Six because I feel Pluto would like to add his own two cents into this:

Mickey Mouse: he just wants a break, you know? He thought that the most stress he'd get from running the club would be Pete's constant sabotage, the odd villain being up to no good, and Professor Von Drake being so irritatingly pompous. Yuu is such a sweet girl and he loves her a lot (he also really wishes Walt could have met her) - he's the founder and chairmouse of the Yuu Protection Club - but ever since she joined the club, his life has gone to both be both better and worse - yes, everyone is so much more better behaved and their solidarity in all things Yuu related is a breath of fresh air but then there's *gestures to everything*! You'd think that being almost a century old could have prepared him for one teenaged girl but he's broken out the wheel more times in a fortnight than he has in the years that club has been running. Between the petty insults, underhanded tactics and full on shouting matches that leads to destruction (and some of it coming from the heroes no less) as well as Yuu's own obliviousness regarding the situation, his fur is going to go grey - not to mention, the constant texts he'd get from Felicity and Oswald over how they want to meet their new niece (as if they haven't already kidnapped her that one day). I feel like he'd prefer a heroic character but he doesn't have anything against the villains at NRC because he knows with absolute certainty that they all do genuinely care for her. But at the end of the day, he just wants Yuu to be happy so who ever she decides would be fine by him - as long as they never hurt her :)

Minnie Mouse: okay so I'm going to say Neige. Here me out: while she is neutral on the shipping war, and is the one to reel everything in when it gets too crazy, she does have some of fondness for the boy that reminds her of her favourite Disney character. Yeah, she and Mickey say they don't play favourites but there's no doubt that they definitely hold a soft spot for the very first Disney princess/character and the main character of the first animated feature film (especially when you consider the history behind that movie and what it meant for Disney/Walt). she wouldn't want to admit it but watching Yuu's lovelife is kind of her guilty pleasure

Pluto: Probably Jack - you know, canine solidarity and all that. To be fair, I think he'd be split between being protective of Yuu and being jealous that Yuu would spend less time with him (I HC that there was a time that he was jealous of Minnie when she and Mickey would go on dates because he thought he was Mickey's number one). Would probably be conspiring with Donald to keep everyone away from her.

Goofy: He just wants her to be happy :D. No seriously, I don't want to make the 'Goofy is dumb' statement because he isn't - he's just a bit oblivious sometimes and we love him for it - but he has absolutely no idea that the shipping war is happening. He's just so happy that Maxy has a new friend and that he could look after Yuu while she works at the club ♡

Donald Duck: Absolutely Not! I get the feeling that after Goofy, Donald is the most dad-like (I haven't seen either of the Ducktales shows so I can't comment on his behaviour there) - like, I remember how sweet he was to Max during that one episode where he wanted a car and how he stood up to Goofy to tell him to stop being so overprotective. Plus, I feel like he's really distrustful of villains so the NRC boys being who they are probably won't earn any pointers from the sailor duck who isn't afraid to use his navy training.

Daisy Duck: is just absolutely loving this - there's more gossip during one night at the club than there is in a week at her salon! Like you said, she doesn't have a preference. She'll just take a seat next to Kuzco and ooh and aah at all of the tea she gets from Tinkerbell.

Thanks for the ask ♡

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

Can you please do twilight wolf headcannons where their wolves imprint are extremely hotheaded ( hotheaded NOT abusive ) and how the different wolves would deal with that ?

i think i interpreted this as like stubborn-ish.... idk! love my twilight headcanons, i wanna start up again.

sam: at first, it was a bit of a battle of wills. no raised voices. no arguments. just... debates. lively debates. where you both truly believe you know what's best. it always starts in a conversation, and ends in a conversation. he loves you regardless of how stubborn you can be.

jared: he doesnt take much seriously so he tends to tease. out of love. but you'll cross your arms and say something, and he'll do the same thing until you can't stop the little laugh. and the rare occasion where that doesn't work, he'll just pick you up, throw you over his shoulder. and walk you wherever.

quil: he's an angel. with patience for you like you wouldn't believe. he would just listen, and nod, and respond. and he's just impossible to get frustrated with because he listens, and he hears you. so when you're being stubborn and refusing to bend, he'll just sweetly explain himself. and it almost always ends there.

embry: em calls you his firecracker. he bends almost immediately to you. you "wear the pants" and he doesn't care at all. loves it even. you just have a strong will, and he admires that about you.

jake: ugh, idk. he'd probably just run off to canada or smth.

leah: leah is a stonewall. it's hard to tell what she's thinking. she's so used to pushing the boys out of her head and space that she accidentally does that to you sometimes too. which she's been working on. but it's hard for her, getting barked orders at all day by sam and then comes home and you're being stubborn. and you have to just let her win sometimes.

seth: sweet angel baby. sweet sweet man. he is like a daisy. he is that cute little purple part that grows on a thorn... and sometimes you worry that you're the thorn. seth never gets upset or frustrated, he's like embry, if you put your foot down and want it one way or the other, he'll do whatever. doesn't care, just cares about you really.

paul: paul is the one that will start a bit of an argument. like you're being stubborn, and he's being stubborn and one thing leads to another and you guys are yelling. you always argue from the opposite sides of the room, at pauls demand, he refuses for a mistake to slip out - but it wont because niether of you ever devolve to being mean, just passionate. and more often than not it ends with paul ravishing you from head to toe anyway, the passion from the argument being worked out in bed

[maryleclerc]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 (𝐈𝐈)

pairing: matt rempe x ballerina!reader ; jack hughes x ballerina!reader

summary: you can read part 1 for the context, cause if i write the summary i think i might spoil the whole fic

warning: english is not my native language, mention of cheating, being a single mom. this was written base on my imagination, please don’t take seriously.

a/n: yes i know i know i re-write this to make it better cause the 1st version of it quite not my liking so, hope this version be better

taglist: add yourself here. add to be tag in my next part!!

🎧 francesca by hozier

yourusername

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yourusername Finally I can show off my pretty, healthy baby girl. Meet my little princess Francesca Pearl Y/l/n 💗👑

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user1 aww hi Francesca, i’m Francesca too

user2 She does not said she’s a single mom but I know she is, and that’s made me love her even more

user3 @/jackhughes regret? too bad, too late already :(())

jackhughes with dbareux

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jackhughes Daisy and I are engaged 💗

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user1 Congratz Jack and Daisy, love you both

user2 Damn didn’t know her pussy is that good :))

user3 Omgosh what is this now

user4 tbh I’m so embarrassed when I am both Jack and Daisy fan. After knowing all the things happened to Y/n and her daughter

yourusername

liked by alleyrempe, yourfrienduser and 78,669 others

yourusername First time being back after awhile

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alleyrempe ☀️☀️

user1 How do you feel about Jack getting marry soon

user2 Let me answer it for her, she don’t fucking care and stop asking those stupid ass question

user3 She’s so pretty

nhlwags_andthewag

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nhlwags_andthewag [TODAY WAG] After receiving news that Jack and Daisy were engaged, Y/n officially unfollowed Jack on Instagram after 5 years of following each other on Instagram. Additionally, she followed Matt Rempe, Alley Rempe (Matt's sister) and the New York Rangers this morning, Alley also comment on Y/n post. Is this related to recent rumors made by NYR fans? Leave a comment below if you think the same as me

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user1 I know this is their privacy but I gotta say they’re dating and I think they both are in a serious relationship

user2 Well I mean she’s well known in the NHL so might be friend support friend. Ya know it’s hard to be a single mom such a young age, a supporter is really a need

user3 @/nhl_deuxmoi Can you confirm this??

user4 The easiest thing to confirm is to wait until NJD and NYR are on the same ice next week, I'm a fan of NYR and I know Matt, he looooves a good fight.

mattrempe

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mattrempe Great time in Maine, celebrating Cloe and Connors wedding!!

tagged: alleyrempe

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alleyrempe Brother

user1 Ngl Y/n rumors boyfriend look good af

user2 And he tall too

y/n and matt ig story

[miryum]

"Clark's Phone Number"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Cass and Steph’s phones pinged at the same time. Steph scanned the message then called over to Damian, “shouldn’t we be using the other group chat for this?”

Damian glared and typed something on his phone. The message was: I doubt we need Richard or Timothy for this revelation. Are they truly as invested in this cause as we are?

Dick created the group chat in the first place, Steph reminded her friends.

“We’re sitting a couple feet away from each other,” Cass deadpanned. “Why are we even using the group chat?”

Because it’s more entertaining, Damian wrote while maintaining eye contact with Cass.  

Anyone else notice that Todd and L/n aren’t here? Dick stopped their bickering by typing away in the larger, all-encompassing, precinct group chat that was titled Operation Lovebird. The group chat with everyone, including Y/n and Jason was graciously named Practically Hell, courtesy of Y/n, due to the six-six being “only one six away from Hell.”

Al Ghul was just mentioning it in The Best Ones, Cass replied. 

Why do you guys even *have* another group chat? Tim asked.

Because we’re ‘The Best Ones.’ Obviously. Steph added the eye-roll emoji.

Just tell us what’s happening with Operation Lovebird!!! Dick demanded. 

All we know is that they’re both gone, Steph said. 

If you were better detectives, you would’ve noticed the culprits entering the copy room together. Captain Wayne’s contact suddenly popped up on everyone’s screen.

A plethora of messages popped up after his comment, including:

Dick: Culprits???!!!!! Brucie, why???

Tim: Why is Captain in this chat again? No offence, sir.

Wayne: None taken.

Steph: omg are they…

Steph: … you know?

Cass: Fucking?

Steph: NO!!!

Steph: Smooching, obvi.

Damian: Brown, please. Stop maiming my eyes with your typed words. 

Tim: Though, seriously, what are they doing?

Wayne: Pull the security tapes and meet me in my office.

There was a scrambling around the precinct as the detectives (and Damian) ran to Wayne’s office. “Does anyone have the surveillance tapes?” the captain asked. The detectives glanced around and slowly shook their heads. Wayne groaned and commanded, “Cain, grab the tapes.”

Once Cass did as she was directed, Tim used Wayne’s computer and pulled the tapes onto the screen.  

On the tape, Jason stood in the copy room, glancing around anxiously as he fiddled senselessly with the machine. Y/n’s figure appeared on screen and she shuffled into the room, calling out to anyone who would listen, “yeah, I'm just gonna make some copies in here. In the copy room. Heh. Perfect cover. Nailed it.”

“Hey…” Jason waved awkwardly to his coworker. “Hi… Y/n…”

“Jason,” Y/n stepped towards him, smiling devilishly. “Why’d you wanna meet me here?” Her grin showed that she knew exactly why Jason wanted to talk to her. “To boink? At work?!” She gasped dramatically. “Todd, I expected better of you!”

Jason’s cheeks flamed up and Y/n congratulated herself on making the buff, six foot tall detective stutter. “No…” He said, “I wanted to talk about uh, Brian and Lacy.”

“Ah… yeah. Brian and Lacy,” Y/n nodded her head, demeanour shifting. “What about them? I thought they were a pretty cute couple.” 

“So did I,” Jason admitted softly. He took a step forward until Y/n could simply reach out and touch him. He had a faint bruise on the underside of his jaw from an incident with a criminal half a week ago. He stared down at his colleague, his gaze filled with agonised hope. “Brian wanted to ask Lacy on an official date.”

Y/n’s heart was being cleaved in half and sewn back up again by Jason’s own hands. “What about Brian’s old girlfriend, Daisy? Lacy was pretty sure that Brian was making googly-eyes at Daisy during their last meeting.”

“Just to be clear, Daisy being Rose?” 

“Yeah.”

“Brian went on a couple dates with Daisy,” Jason continued, “but soon realised that Daisy couldn’t hold a small, dying match to Y/n’s burning, beautiful fire.”

“I thought her name was Lacy,” Y/n whispered. Jason’s chest rose and fell and he moved even closer to her. Jason reached up towards her face and swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheek. He angled Y/n’s face up so he could finally look into her eyes with the redamancy and forelsket that had been stored away for so many years. 

“Yeah, well,” a corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I just made Lacy blush, which is usually an impossible feat.”

“You flatter me, Brian,” Y/n said. “It’s clear that you take your words straight from a romance novel. You spend too much time reading.” She reached up and brushed a tuft of hair away from Jason’s face. Her words were teasing, but her actions were careful.

“My words aren’t from a romance novel,” Jason reassured her. “They’re from the heart- yeah, no, I hear it now. A little too cheesy, huh?”

Y/n shrugged and said, “I rather enjoyed it.” She relished the feeling of Jason’s touch on her skin. She hoped to feel it more often. “Your kissing could improve, though,” she referenced their impromptu kiss at the restaurant. 

Jason chuckled lightly. “I doubt that. You seemed to like it a lot.” He spoke lightly while memorising her face. “So, what do you say to a date, darling?”

“Darling?” Y/n asked. “I thought I was the one with the nicknames.” 

Jason shook his head. “I think I’ve found your ten.”

“And now you’ve stolen my quips. Love, you’ve already stolen my heart. Soon I’m gonna see you in the interrogation room.”

“I bet you’d love to see me in handcuffs.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open and she let out a shocked laugh. “Mr. Todd! That’s no way to speak to a lady!” 

Jason’s hand was still cupping Y/n’s cheek and his other hand drew up to trace meaningless patterns on her forearm. “Does this mean you say ‘yes’ to the date?”

“What if it makes working together awkward?” Y/n’s hand clutched onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll be awkward together,” he answered easily. “I want this too much for a little awkwardness to get in the way. I want you too much, Y/n.”

“I wanna try this,” she decided after a moment. “I want you too. Tonight? At eight?”

Jason nodded quickly, afraid she would take it back. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Y/n stared at him and she couldn’t seem to place the expression on his face. It had a softness that looked suspiciously like love. His cheeks held a pink tint and his eyes gazed down at her and Jason knew he would spend the rest of his life holding her if he could. After a moment, Y/n realised, heart jumping, that Jason looked like he was in love. “We should probably get back to work before they realise we’re missing,” Y/n said slowly.

Jason nodded and moved towards the door, not before taking Y/n in his arms and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Should we tell the rest of the team? he asked quietly. 

“Probably not,” Y/n said. “They would get way too involved.”

“Should we tell them we’re spying on them?” Tim asked from inside Wayne’s office where the rest of the six-six was still crowded around the computer which displayed Y/n and Jason.

A chorus of ‘no’s and shushing erupted from everyone else and Steph squealed, “oh! They’re finally together! I’m over the moon! They’re adorable!”

“Brown, will your fangirling get in the way of your work?” Wayne asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes, definitely!” 

Wayne sighed. “Understandable.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Jason asked. “Symbolism and overall themes or simply personal enjoyment?”

“Both,” Y/n took a lick of her ice cream, legs swinging happily under the park bench.

“The Great Gatsby for symbolism and overall themes,” he answered after a minute of thinking. “And then my favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Yeah, I definitely knew that one,” Y/n nodded. “You’ve read it a thousand times in the precinct.” She shook her head, “I’ve tried to get through that book, man, but I don’t get the hype over it. Granted, I’ve never been able to get through the first five chapters.”

Jason began ranting about Pride and Prejudice before shaking his head in defeat and asking, “what’s your favourite book? Please don’t let it be Goddess Girls or Geronimo Stilton or some other children's series.”

“No, although those were great series.” She pointed her spoon at Jason accusingly. “As I’ve grown up and matured, it’s either The Fault in Our Stars, Memoirs of a Geisha, All Quiet on the Western Front, or Ella Minnow Pea.”

Jason stared at her and finally said, “those are all very different books. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve even read four books.”

Y/n punched him in the arm. “How dare you! I’m very well-read! You should see the length of my Ao3 history!” 

Jason laughed loudly and cradled his ‘hurt’ arm. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, Y/n.”

“You better be!” Y/n crossed her arms before finishing off her ice cream. “Now I’m not gonna have sex with you until our fifth date.”

Jason let out a dramatic groan. “I don’t know if I can wait that long, sweetheart.” 

“Keep calling me ‘sweetheart’ and you may not have to.”

“How was the daaaaaate?” Steph used her wheely chair to roll up to Y/n’s desk, grinning cheekily. She waved a finger in Jason and Y/n’s direction. “What is this, huh? Casual? Serious? I need to know how to make fun of you. Also, please get married in a barn ‘cause I have a lot of jokes that are centred around that.” 

“How’d you know about the date?” Jason asked.

“You guys are officially dating?” Dick was walking by when he paused and placed a firm hand on Jason’s chair.

Y/n looked at Jason helplessly. “...yes?” she said quietly. “Maybe?”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “This isn’t good,” Dick said.

“We said we weren't gonna tell anyone,” Y/n explained. “It's very new, and we're still figuring it out, you know?”

“Enough.” Dick stated. “Look, I love love, but I also love maintaining a professional work environment. As your commanding officer, I’m kinda disappointed in both of you.” He bent down and added in a stage-whisper, “but as you loving friend who sees himself as a father-or-brother figure to both of you, I adore you two dating and hope that it works out. Kori and I have a big binder left over from our wedding full of ideas and samples we’d be happy to lend you. Please lemme give a toast at the wedding.”

”I already have mine written,” Steph admitted excitedly.

Y/n’s head fell into her hands and Jason cursed Dick under his breath. Dick had to admit, Jason’s curses were getting more creative.

Bonus Scene: 

“You guys have a group chat dedicated to us?!” Y/n cried out. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dick chuckled. “It’s where we share blackmail, cute updates, and random stuff related to you guys.”

Y/n snatched Damian’s phone away, the closest person to her and much to his protest. “I can’t believe-” She scrolled through the messages before realising, “wait, I’m sorry, what are our contact names, Dami?”

“It’s simple.” Damian explained, “Richard is Moby Dick. Todd is Bamboozled from when he was drunk and said it out of context.  Drake is obviously CCA which stands for Computer/Coffee Addict. Y/n is Da Best Homie because she set up her own contact and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. Stephanie is Titus because she reminds me of my valiant and excitable dog. Cain is Cassandra Cain and Wayne is Captain Bruce Wayne. I also have Clark’s number and he’s listed as Mr. Clark Kent.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or unsurprised,” Dick mumbled.

“At least you’re a classic novel,” Steph crossed her arms. “I’m named after a dog.”

“Steph, you’re literally the epitome of a joyful dog.” 

“Aw, thanks!”

“You have Clark’s number?” Y/n murmured to Damian, “can I have it?” 

“No.”

Not my fav way to do it and I would probably rewrite it, but it's already on ao3 so... *shrug*

[wellofdean]

So...thinking about Dean and Jack...

Jack is not a child. He is NEW, but he is a cosmic being of unknowable power who was cognizant enough in the womb to save Kelly because he was still using her body as an incubator, and to show Cas a manipulative, glorious vision of his future actions specifically as they relate to Cas's desires. When he is born, he speaks English and understands peril, has the physical strength and angelic power to defend himself. He doesn't understand the world, but he is a VERY fast learner. There are a lot of ways in which children are vulnerable and need protection that simply do not apply to Jack at all. He is not a baby, physically or mentally.

Where Jack is vulnerable is in his sense of self and his identity. He is emotionally and spiritually vulnerable, and he is vulnerable to manipulation. From the first time Sam talks to him, he is asking Jack if he can re-open the rift, and Sam DOES want to use him. I don't blame Sam for that, it's a perfectly logical thing to want. Sam believes Mary might still be alive, and he wants to use Jack to go see, and hell, maybe as a weapon, too. Sam needs to believe that Jack can be good and useful to them, and he is not really honest with Jack at first. Dean is right about that.

Dean, though? Dean is completely, 100% honest with Jack in every interaction, no matter how ugly the truth. He tells Jack exactly what he thinks and feels. He has a very reasonable reaction to Jack as a still-unknown cosmic power, and Dean quite reasonably sees him as the reason Cas is dead. Dean is emotional and grieving, but he is honest. Later, as he comes to see Jack as something other than a threat, he is kind to Jack while still being honest. When he comes to love Jack, he loves him honestly. He never lies or manipulates Jack even one time until they lure him into the mal'ak box, and when they talk him into it, Dean can barely look at Jack and makes Sam do the talking, because he really just can't. Lie. To. Jack.

Jack emulates, loves and respects Dean. When Jack thinks Dean has to kill him, he understands and accepts it because he trusts Dean. I think Jack looks to Dean for an honest, clear-eyed assessment of his situation. Cas is blinded by love, Sam is more interested in utility, and Dean is being forced to sacrifice Jack, who has become his and Cas's son -- his family. If Dean can do it, Jack is willing to submit, and then DEAN CAN'T DO IT.

it makes no sense to me to apply real-world child/parent roles to them, to compare Dean with John, who was raising human children, or to think of Jack as an actual human child, and I don't blame Dean for any of it. Dean is so emotionally compromised in so many different ways and I think there is a widespread tendency to begrudge Dean his legitimate feelings when they aren't comfortable, and to apply reality-based roles to these characters who are not at all living normal lives. When it comes down to it, Dean STILL loves Jack (and Cas!) too much to kill Jack or to lie to him, even after Jack oopsie-daisy kills Mary in a moment of uncontrolled panic and has no soul and can't tell right from wrong, and can't even feel remorse. Jack is legitimately dangerous, and Dean is not wrong to try to contain that.

And, by the end of the story, when Dean is saying Jack is not family, not like Cas and Sam are, Dean has lost his compass, and we know that because he also deceives Amara, and tries to kill Sam. Dean is truly in error in those scenes, and doing the wrong things, and seriously, Dean is so good, so self-sacrificing, so full of love that I am able to forgive him a moment of error at the climax of his existential crisis. By that time, Jack is a complex character who is as heavy with grief and guilt as Dean is, and who feels the weight of the world, like Dean does, and who understands Dean.

Is Dean perfect? No. Is Jack a child? No.

I'm just going to say it: I think Dean was a good father to Jack, because what Jack needed more than anything else was honest information about who he was, what threat he posed, who loved him, and HOW to love, so that he could decide who he was and what he wants to be.

He got that from Dean.