#carnation pair

[reallunargift]

spaport doodles page :)

[reallunargift]

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You set the mood right away with “uncharacteristically quiet”, which lets us know how they usually get along. Also the line “it made the young restless and the old reminiscent of their olden days” and the detail of cricket song... I love that imagery so much (I actually checked your blog while I was in the car and the cicadas were super loud outside, which really added to the experience~) Also, a convertible??? okay, hot guy, ok!

Under the cover of darkness, boys and girls became braver, and their hands and mouths more curious

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Like him losing his best friend over an accidental kiss.

So true, Toni, if you��re gonna lose him you might as well go all out and do it over an INTENTIONAL kiss! ;)

João hummed, content with Antonio’s answer, as if he had picked the movie himself.

Don’t ask me why, but I really like this detail.

gulped, taking in its length.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ok ok sorry sorry! 

The way you describe Toni’s contradicting feelings, the storm going on inside him is *chef’s kiss* Also how João not only notices it (showing how close/attuned they are to each other), but also reassures him! Also “Antonio being Antonio” asfdsgff that says SO much

Toni, I really want to know *points a mic at him*... how does going to a classic makeout spot save your friendship? (I mean, I guess it DID in the end, so I shouldn’t question him too much...)

It’s literally so hard to not simply quote every part, but Iberian patience made me giggle and their little fight to pay also feels so real hehehe

Antonio noticed how the projector’s beam illuminated the top of João’s dark hair.

Be still my beating heart..... I love this image so much, I can see it so clearly and I had to look away at this part.

I want to kiss him, he thought, then promptly tucked his hands under him, horrified at how easily the thought crossed his mind.  He’s your friend, he scolded.  Your friend. 

JUST THIS ENTIRE BIT MADE ME SMILE LIKE A FOOL AND I HAD TO TURN MUY PHONE OFF EVERY 5 SECONDS TO TRY AND COMPOSE MYSELF. And as if that wasn’t enough, JOÃO IS SO VERY CLEARLY PAYING VERY CLOSE ATTENTION TO TONI TOO, WHAT WITH NOTICING HIM LICKING HIS LIPS HMHMHMMMMMMMM  

“Just drink already if you’re that thirsty,”

In my mind he’s telling him “just kiss me already if you’re that thirsty” u//v//u

Antonio’s nerves were fizzy, too, bubbling and surging up, up, up, before he forced them back down.

And again, the words paint his internal turmoil in such a real way! I love the comparison to the drink and his stubbornness AND THEN THE CLASSIC HAND TOUCH AND I ASDFDGHFDGSFGF BECAUSE I’M SO WEAK FOR THIS STUFF! And it’s so fun how Toni stops and reads so much into every little movement and tries to figure out what to do

AND THEN.

I love you, I love you, I love you, Antonio wanted to yell, but no words passed between them. 

Oh my hearttttt, the entire scene again, the little details like Joãos adam’s apple, the “RABBITING WILDLY”, I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE!

wanting nowhere but out and inside João.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) sorry sorry sorry 

AND THEN YOU PULL THE RUG RIGHT FROM UNDER ME AND BLOCK THE KISS AND I ASDSFSDG I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!!!!

“We want our money back!” 

THIS IS ME! I WANT MY MONEY BACK, YOU OWE ME A SPAPORT KISS!!!! 

Antonio cradled his hand that burned with João’s touch, while João licked his unkissed lips in consolation.    

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO THEM? Antonio and his unheld hand, João and his unkissed lips, this is torture, what if i get on my knees and lose my mind, what then??

João’s dumbass replies of “Thank god that’s over with!” and blatant lying about the film is so funny, and I can imagine Toni pouting with the unspoken accusation that he didn’t even watch half of it. Sorry Toni, you were just so distracting :/

I really expected someone to be disguised as Zoltar haha! It’s so cute though... João’s sarcastic answer instead of a simple “no” is so perfect! The more I read it the more I think yep, that’s the kind of guy he is. And clearly his love language is teasing. Also the detail of watching the blue light on Antonio’s face... again staring at him, huh?

The questions João guesses Toni will ask are also so sweet to me. They’re silly, sure, but they’re also ENDEARING. He’s just so endeared by him, it’s so obvious.

Trust Toni to ask THAT. MY world stopped too! Also again, how very like João to take his sweet time before replying, huh? The way he has a smile just for Toni, and how it says YOU IDIOT, is so beyond adorable, I can’t, I’m smiling again just thinking about it.

The softer, more tentative kiss before the more passionate one is A++++++++, best trope, will absolutely read again. I don’t even know how to express how much I love this, the “his João” bit, the utter happiness that can be felt in way the scene is written! And again, the details, I’m in love with the details such as João’s thumbs over Toni’s cheeks and Toni’s hands tangled in João’s hair and <33333333 And again the imagery, the romance of kissing under the moonlight contrasted with the mundaneness of the warden stepping over popcorn. I don’t know, I loved that. I loved a LOT of this fic (all of it, actually), and I am just.. SO in love with how soft it feels. The setting is just GREAT, I can visualise the entire thing with them in the car, and I love the trope of friends to lovers with awkwardness after a kiss and uncertainty before the resolution <3 It's just so sweet, I'm so glad to be able to read it, and I'm so honoured that that little animation inspired you, seeing this really was the best!

Day 2 of @hetaberia-week

Prompt: Summer 

Antonio and João’s friendship is in danger. 

Or at least Antonio thinks it is. 

After their accidental kiss on the football field, which João had shrugged off as Antonio being Antonio, the Spaniard knew that he had to make it up to his childhood best friend. How? By kissing him a second time in the pitch-black parking lot of a drive-in theater. 

Inspired by this adorable animation.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧ ──────────────────‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

“What movie did you say that they were rolling tonight,” João asked ten minutes into their uncharacteristically quiet drive to the neighborhood theater, which was a shy distance from Antonio’s childhood home.

July 1st was a summer night like any other in that it made the young restless and the old reminiscent of their olden days. Everything felt suspended in time, and as far as Antonio was concerned, summer break was nothing but an infinite stretch of heat and cricket song.

Except for the humming of the convertible’s wheels and the wind whipping wildly at their hair, the boys sat in stilled silence – João, bored in the passenger seat, and Antonio, lost in thoughts that seemed to evaporate at the older boy’s question. 

“Casablanca,” Antonio chirped cheerfully, and chanced a glance at João to gauge his reaction. 

It was an old crowd pleaser that habitually attracted dozens of couples after sunset. Under the cover of darkness, boys and girls became braver, and their hands and mouths more curious. Sure, there was always a slight chance that the warden would shine a flashlight into your car and tap on your window to leave, but right now there were worse scenarios tugging at Antonio’s mind. Like him losing his best friend over an accidental kiss.

“Hm,” João hummed, content with Antonio’s answer, as if he had picked the movie himself. 

Antonio exhaled softly. 

He took that as a good omen for the rest of the night and began to slow down as the entrance to the drive-in theater came into view. A split second later, they spotted the queue to the ticket booth and gulped, taking in its length. 

“You’d think that they were giving out free tickets,” João whistled, and Antonio nodded in agreement, clutching the wheel tighter. 

It took all his strength not to hit his head against it. 

In the week that followed their kiss on the football field, Antonio sensed that something profound had shifted between them. Unlike before, he found himself torn between craving and dreading João’s company. His chest felt tight with nerves, and something else that he did not dare voice.

He’d decided that it would be best if he kept his distance from João until he made sense of the war waging within, but the older boy was quick to catch onto that. He’d wasted no time in assuring Antonio that the kiss had meant nothing to him, and that he’d shrugged it off as Antonio being Antonio. But knowing João as he did, Antonio could tell that he didn’t believe that. Neither of them did. 

In a desperate bid to save their friendship, Antonio suggested that they paid the old drive-in theater a visit. 

“Finally!” João sighed. “We’re getting close.”

And a visit they paid.

After moving up the queue with a slowness that put their Iberian patience to the test, Antonio stationed in front of the ticket booth just long enough to pay for two (he had rolled his window shut just in time to avoid João’s insistent bills) then drove to the refreshment stand, where he ordered a bag of popcorn twice the size of his head and two cans of soda. 

As they made their way to their parking space, the Spaniard silently pitied the person who had to pick up all the empty popcorn bags strewn around the parking lot.

“The movie is about to start,” the warden announced, and darkness fell all around them. From the corner of his eye, Antonio noticed how the projector’s beam illuminated the top of João’s dark hair. 

I want to kiss him, he thought, then promptly tucked his hands under him, horrified at how easily the thought crossed his mind. 

He’s your friend, he scolded. 

Your friend. 

He continued to fidget in his seat while João remained seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, pouring all his attention elsewhere. 

“Where were you last night, Rick?”

“That was so long ago, I don’t remember,” drawled the protagonist.

“What a fool I was to fall for a man like you!” Annia cried, and Antonio realized that João and him were almost shoulder to shoulder now. He did not remember his convertible to be so cramped before. His heart hammered in his chest and he wet his lips for the tenth consecutive time. Loudly. 

That tore João’s attention away from the movie, and as he turned to him, there was a touch of a smile in his eyes.

“Just drink already if you’re that thirsty,” he said and handed Antonio his drink.

The drink was cold and tasty, but fizzy. Antonio’s nerves were fizzy, too, bubbling and surging up, up, up, before he forced them back down. He tried to swallow, but the lump lodged in his throat was more stubborn than him. And that said something. 

From above, the voices of the characters rang out again, dripping with sarcasm. 

“Rick is completely neutral about everything, and that takes in the field of women, too!” 

The crowd laughed.

Perhaps a bit of butter could make his throat work again, he thought. A heartbeat later, Antonio reached blindly inside the popcorn bag propped up next to João, and inhaled sharply when he felt something warm against his fingers. 

He froze.

Oh my god. 

That’s his hand, he thought. 

Despite himself, goosebumps sprang on his skin. He was torn. If he drew his hand back suddenly, then that would arouse João’s suspicion, but if he pretended to be absorbed in the movie long enough to let his hand linger on João’s, then…

What to do, what to do?

Sweat began to bead at his temples. 

“Is that cannon fire,” Ilsa whispered against Rick’s embrace, ��or is it my heart pounding?” 

Seemingly confused at Antonio’s immobile hand, João turned to look at him.

And green met green. 

Although it was dark, Antonio recognized the startled look on his friend’s face, the blush dusting his cheeks. An unspoken question flickered in João’s eyes. And an unspoken answer flickered in Antonio’s. 

I love you, I love you, I love you, Antonio wanted to yell, but no words passed between them. 

He could see João’s pulse quicken just above his Adam’s apple, and he knew that his did the same. As João began to lean closer, Antonio closed his eyes. His heart was rabbiting wildly in his chest, wanting nowhere but out and inside João. He could feel the older boy's warm breath on his face, almost feel his soft lips on his—!

“Booh!”

Then both of them jumped like two cats drenched in cold water, sending the popcorn bag between them flying and landing on João’s lap.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” someone shouted.

Antonio’s face suddenly flushed red, and he swiveled around to face the anger of the movie watchers, who must have surely seen them. 

“We want our money back!” 

A chorus of approval soon joined the clamor. 

As the red faded from Antonio’s face, it dawned on him that the crowd’s anger wasn’t directed at them, but at the newly-blank projection screen. He’d forgotten that the older movies would cut right in the middle sometimes, and by the looks of it, João had forgotten it, too. 

After a tense minute of waiting, during which neither João nor Antonio dared to breathe, the projectionist got the movie working again and the whole parking lot exhaled with relief. 

“Madre mía,” Antonio whispered and João echoed his sentiment.    

For the remainder of the movie, neither of them spoke or looked at each other. Instead, under the protection of darkness, Antonio cradled his hand that burned with João’s touch, while João licked his unkissed lips in consolation.    

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧ ──────────────────‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

After what felt like an eternity, after the crowd had clapped their approval, dried their tears and  started their engines, Antonio finally turned to João and searched his face. He’d expected to see a disappointed João in the passenger seat. Instead, the older boy looked relieved. 

He puffed out a laugh.

“Thank god that’s over with!” 

Antonio frowned. That wasn’t the reaction that he had hoped for. He chewed the inside of his mouth and looked away, but João was quick to notice and touched his shoulder. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” he lied. “I liked the movie.”

You didn’t even watch half of it, Antonio would have retorted had his throat worked. They fell into an uneasy silence.

I want to go home, Antonio thought. He didn’t know how so many things could go wrong at the same time. Before he could continue that thought, João’s voice brought him back to the now empty, street-lamp lit parking lot. 

“What’s that shining in the back?" he asked.  

Antonio followed with his eyes the direction to which João pointed. From a distance, it looked like a man standing behind a ticket booth. As they drew closer and closer, the fortune teller inside the box belted out: 

“Come let Zoltar tell you more!” 

Antonio wondered if the machine was an old carnival attraction that the warden refused to part with. That’s why he must have hid it in the back, he thought, then broke the silence. 

“You like this sort of things?” he asked João.

“Just as much as I liked getting popcorn all over my pants,” João smiled sarcastically. 

That’s right. The popcorn. He’d forgotten. Antonio ducked his head and kicked at the dust. He made to apologize, but the older boy interrupted him before he could. “Come on, ask it a question,” he prompted.

Antonio couldn’t tell if João was joking or not. He exhaled and thought about it for a second, his face illuminated by the crystal ball caressed by the animatronic. João watched the blue light dance on Antonio’s face. Knowing Antonio as he did, he was ready to tease Antonio mercilessly. He could almost hear him.

Zoltar, will I become a famous football player some day?

Zoltar, will I own a farm of turtles? 

Zoltar, will I ever win a lifetime supply of olive oil? 

In reality, Antonio settled on none of those.

“Does João like me, too?” Antonio breathed softly.

And the world stopped. 

Whatever it was that João had wanted to say immediately died on his lips. Antonio felt the older boy stiffen up, saw his mouth part in surprise. He certainly had not expected that. Not even Antonio expected his sudden bout of bravery. But he would not deny himself any longer. He would not fool his heart any longer.

He waited and waited and waited. The entire world was left suspended between his question and João’s answer. Time and its passage had ceased to exist altogether. Even the crickets had stopped their song to listen. 

When at last João’s eyes flickered to meet Antonio’s, Antonio saw that João’s expression had gentled, and his lips had quirked into one of his smiles that he reserved only for him.

You idiot, it said endearingly.

You idiot.

When João stepped tentatively towards Antonio, Antonio was ready. He could feel João’s warm breath on his lips, feel the air in his lungs escape, rush out and leave him empty, craving for João, only João. João brushed his lips softly over Antonio’s, barely there, but close enough for them to know that it wasn’t nearly close enough. Then, leaning in fully, thumbs pressed against Antonio’s cheeks, João kissed Antonio.

Somewhere inside him, everything was exploding at once.

João, his João, loved him back, every inch of him sang. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. 

Antonio responded eagerly to João’s kiss, gripping his shoulders and twisting his fingers into his long hair. They stayed like that until they grew breathless, and remembered that they needed to breathe just as much as they needed each other. 

Soon after they parted, Zoltar spat out a card. It was Antonio who unfolded it as João looked on from behind his shoulder. 

Love is right around the corner, it said, and Antonio laughed. 

João found the sound light, airy and wonderful. 

The Iberians kissed under the moonlight until the crunch of the scattered popcorn under the warden’s boots was but a distant sound, drowned out by their heartbeats. 

[nighthawkes]

had to sit through a meeting silently while a client disparaged my lovely good friend: carnations

[gabichive]

[love-for-carnation]

A Woman and a Young Man at a Window Johann Andreas Herrlein (1723–1796, German)

[wetbananapeel]

Red Carnation & The Deceased Hornet (2024) | Chicago, IL

[khioneee]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃.

simon makes weekly visits to your flower shop, leaving you curious about the person he’s mourning.

pairing. simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

word count. 4.2k

Every Tuesday, exactly at three in the afternoon—never a minute early, never a minute late—he walks into the shop. Simon always looks the same: tired and drained, pale skin stark against the bruised shadows under his eyes. The cracked red of his lips stands out like a wound, and the way he moves, slow and heavy, makes it seem like sorrow clings to him, weighing him down like an old coat that doesn’t quite fit. Among the bright flowers and soft light of the shop, he stands out like a dark cloud against a summer sky.

"Just a bouquet," he mutters, his voice rough, as though speaking is a struggle.

You grip the counter a little tighter, his presence unsettling yet familiar by now. "Any flowers in particular?" you ask, knowing what the answer will be.

"Doesn’t matter," he says, shaking his head. "Whatever works. I’m not staying long."

He avoids your gaze, as he always does, like looking at you would be too much. The question lingers at the edge of your tongue—Who are the flowers for? Why every week?—but you hold it back. The weight that surrounds him warns against prying too deep, like a thin layer of ice ready to crack.

Instead, you turn away and begin gathering the flowers. You choose yellow and orange roses, soft lilies, daisies, and carnations—delicate blooms that contrast with his rough edges. For some reason, the usual kraft paper wrap feels wrong today, so you arrange them in a small white basket instead.

He always drops more than enough money into the animal shelter’s donation bucket by the door, so you add a few extra roses—your own small gesture to a man who seems to be carrying too much on his back.

When you finish, you find him standing at the far end of the store, idly turning over small trinkets in his large hands. His fingers brush the edges of old picture frames and porcelain figurines, movements careful, almost reverent, like he’s touching something that once meant something.

You approach him quietly, the bouquet in hand. "Will you be back next week?" you ask softly as you hold the flowers out to him.

Your fingers brush his—just for a second—and it’s enough to make him freeze in place. His breath catches, and something shifts in him, like a fault line trembling just beneath the surface. His expression flickers, the tired vacancy in his eyes replaced by a sharp, aching sorrow.

"I… I shouldn’t be here," he mutters under his breath, as if he’s only now realizing it. His hand retreats from the bouquet, and for a moment, he stands there, lost, as though the ground beneath him has crumbled.

Before you can say anything, he takes a step back, stiff and disoriented, his shoulders weighed down by something unseen. "Sorry…" he mumbles, though you’re not sure who the apology is meant for.

Then, without another word, he turns and strides toward the door. The bells jingle softly as it swings open, letting in a gust of cold, rain-scented air. You watch as he disappears into the storm, swallowed by the rain, leaving only the faint scent of flowers—and the feeling that he’s carrying far more than anyone ever should.

You don’t see Simon for three long weeks. And when he returns, it’s not inside the shop—but at three in the morning, under the flickering glow of a streetlamp outside.

He stands there like a shadow—silent, worn, and distant, as if he exists somewhere far from this moment. His hood is pulled low over his unkempt hair, and his black jacket, torn across the chest, looks like it’s been through just as much as he has. One hand rests in the pocket of his jeans, the other dangles at his side, knuckles split and raw, as if he’s been fighting battles no one else can see.

At his feet lies a crushed rose, its petals scattered near the bushes where it must have fallen. And for a moment, you wonder if his heart lies there too—shattered and discarded among the ruins.

You step out into the quiet street, the cold biting your skin as you approach. Words linger on the tip of your tongue, but you’re not sure if anything you say will be enough. The silence between you is thick, oppressive, as if the night itself is holding its breath.

A distant siren wails through the empty streets, and a group of strangers staggers past, their drunken laughter too loud for the hour. One bumps into your shoulder, and the force sends you off-balance—straight into Simon.

He catches you easily, his grip steady and firm. But he doesn’t react. No flicker of emotion, no sound—just the same vacant stare, his gaze lost somewhere you can’t follow.

"Does any of this even matter?" His voice is low, frayed, and cold, as if it’s been left out too long, ready to snap.

You crouch down, gathering the crushed petals by his feet. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, trimming away the thorns with the small scissors always tucked in your work bag.

"Buying flowers for someone who’s gone…" He pauses, his words falling heavily from his lips. "What’s the point? They’ll never see them. They’ll never know they were meant for them."

The crack in his voice is small, but it slices through the night, sharp and raw. You know that kind of grief—the kind that lingers beneath the surface, waiting for a moment to break free.

"Maybe it’s not for them," you say gently. "Maybe it’s for… the ones left behind. Trying to find something beautiful in the loss."

For a moment, his gaze softens. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the exhaustion hidden beneath the rough edges.

"Do you need a ride home?" you offer, voice careful, trying not to push too hard.

He shakes his head, glancing down the empty street, his expression slipping back into something unreadable. "I shouldn’t have come here," he mutters, raking a hand through his tangled hair, frustration bleeding into his tone.

"You called," you remind him quietly. "Don’t you remember?"

You must be insane, coming after a man this massive. When his call came, you answered without hesitation, not stopping to think how reckless it was to trust a customer you knew nothing about. Rationality had left you somewhere along the way.

“Such a savior you are.” A bitter laugh escapes him, more a sigh than sound. "You shouldn’t waste your kindness on someone like me."

After months of quiet visits and fleeting conversations, it’s hard to believe he was ever a stranger. You’ve learned the way he pulls away just before he opens up, the way sorrow clings to him like an old wound that refuses to heal.

Simon flicks open a lighter, the tiny flame flickering between his fingers. The cigarette at his lips glows faintly as he inhales, the smoke curling into the cold air.

"You shouldn’t try to save me," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "I’m already lost."

You don’t push him for answers, knowing he won’t give them. "I’ll call a cab," you say gently.

"Why?" His voice cracks, raw and tired. The cigarette trembles slightly between his fingers. "Why are you being kind to me?"

Your heart tightens with the weight of everything you can’t explain. There’s no logic to how you feel—no clear reason for the pull that keeps drawing you to him. All you know is that ever since Simon walked into your shop, something within you shifted, and the thought of letting him slip away now feels unbearable.

"I don’t have anywhere to go," he admits quietly, his voice breaking under the weight of the confession. "She’s gone. There’s no one left."

The way he says it. It’s not just a statement. It’s a confession, a truth too heavy to carry alone.

"Loving someone that much…" You search for the right words, careful not to tread too heavily. "It’s not something you just let go of. It stays with you because it mattered."

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze drifting toward the sky where the moon hides behind thick clouds. The weight of the night presses down on both of you, but you stand there with him, sharing the quiet until it feels just a little less overwhelming.

And this time, Simon doesn’t walk away.

Simon’s frame fills the entrance, broad and imposing, but the way he stands, rigid and hesitant, makes him seem smaller somehow—weighed down by something invisible yet heavy.

"Hi, Simon," you greet him gently, already sensing the weight he carries. "Visiting her grave today?"

For a moment, his expression flickers, as if your words pulled him back from somewhere far away. "Who—?" He catches himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah… yeah, I am."

You nod, knowing better than to press. Some things are only said when the time is right. "Anything specific you’d like for the bouquet?"

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Whatever you think is nice… something you’d like."

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, unexpectedly personal. Your breath hitches, but you hide it behind a small smile. You step behind the counter and begin gathering flowers: soft pink roses, delicate white lilies, and sprigs of lavender. Something light, hopeful, but not too much—a bouquet that balances beauty and sorrow without overwhelming either.

The silence stretches between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with things unsaid. You can feel his gaze following your hands, watching as you arrange the flowers with practiced care. You wonder what it must be like for him, visiting her grave week after week, carrying a grief that never really leaves.

"It can’t be easy, coming by this often," you say gently, your voice soft as you focus on the bouquet. "That must be hard."

He shifts slightly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something invisible. "No… it’s not," he admits, his voice low and rough, as if the words scrape on the way out. "But it feels right. I’ll do anything to see her."

You pause, heart aching at the rawness in his voice. As you finish tying the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you hand it to him. "She must have been lucky to have you," you whisper. "If you’ve been giving her flowers this often."

Simon’s hand hovers over the bouquet for a second, the compliment hitting him deeper than you expected. He shakes his head slowly, a sad, bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Not as lucky as I was to have her," he murmurs, voice quiet but filled with something raw and unguarded.

For a moment, the world narrows to the two of you. His hand brushing against yours as he takes the bouquet, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the cold weight of his words.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he mutters, glancing down at the flowers, then back at you. "For disturbing you the other night."

His apology catches you off guard, not because it’s needed, but because it’s so unexpected coming from him.

"It’s alright," you say softly, offering a small smile. "You didn’t disturb me."

Simon gives you a subtle nod, as if the exchange carries more meaning than either of you will say aloud. Then, with the bouquet cradled gently in his hands, he turns toward the door.

The bell chimes softly as he steps out into the night, vanishing into the shadows beyond the streetlamp’s flickering glow. You stand there for a moment longer, heart heavy with something unnameable.

Simon’s presence was different today—darker, heavier. The quiet energy that usually followed him had given way to something more burdensome. His broad shoulders sagged as if carrying the world, and his gaze was distant, clouded with thoughts too deep to share.

You offered him a small smile, though you could feel the tension radiating from him. “Hey, Simon.”

He tried to return the gesture, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice thin and tired, like it barely crossed the space between you.

Concern stirred in your chest, tugging you away from the counter. “You seem… off today. Wanna get out of here for a bit?”

He blinked, surprised by the suggestion, but didn’t protest. Maybe he was too tired to refuse.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your jacket from the hook by the door. “I’ve got a place I think you’ll like.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Simon sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in thoughts he wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t press him. The hum of the tires on the road filled the silence, carrying the two of you away from the noise of town and into somewhere softer, quieter.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time you arrived, casting the field ahead of you in warm hues of gold and lavender. Wildflowers swayed gently beneath the breeze, stretching out toward the horizon as if they could touch the fading light.

Simon stepped out of the car slowly, his breath catching slightly as he took in the sight before him. The field seemed endless, open and free—a stark contrast to the burdens he carried.

You sat cross-legged among the flowers, and Simon followed, settling beside you with his arms draped over his knees, staring out at the horizon like he was searching for something lost in the past.

For a long time, neither of you spoke, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers and filling the silence between you. Eventually, Simon’s voice broke through, low and rough like a confession.

“It’s been a year… since she passed.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of deep, unrelenting grief. His gaze stayed fixed on the sunset, as if watching the sun disappear beneath the earth brought him closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you whispered, wishing there was more you could offer him. “What was she like?”

At first, he stayed quiet, and you wondered if you had asked too much. But then, in a voice soft with nostalgia, he said, “A lot like you.”

The simplicity of the statement caught you off guard.

“How so?” you asked, glancing toward him.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“She loved flowers,” he murmured. “Used to fill the apartment with them, even though I told her it was too much. She’d just laugh and say there was no such thing as too many flowers.”

You could see it clearly—a home bursting with blooms, her laughter filling every corner, her presence bringing life to everything she touched. Now, it made sense why he returned to your shop so often.

Hoping to ease the heaviness in the air, you plucked a dandelion from the ground and held it toward him with a playful grin.

“Make a wish.”

Simon eyed the dandelion, a tired chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Wishes don’t work like that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Maybe not,” you said, twirling the stem between your fingers. “But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

He huffed another quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine.

“Any chance you got a whole field of these somewhere?”

You tilted your head in mock consideration. “Not yet,” you teased. “But we’ve got this one, and I’d say that’s a good start.”

He shakes his head lightly, but the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. It’s a small smile—barely there—but it’s something, and that’s enough for now.

After that quiet evening in the field of flowers, something shifted between you and Simon. His visits became longer, lingering beyond the brief exchanges of bouquets. What had once been fleeting moments stretched into hours—sometimes the entire day—as if your presence gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in years.

But Simon didn’t just idle. He threw himself into the heavy work around the shop without a word. If there were heavy pots to lift or supplies to haul, Simon was already on it before you could even ask.

"I’ve got it," he would mutter whenever you tried to help, brushing you off with that quiet determination. He lifted bags of soil with ease, rearranged displays as if it was nothing, and hauled boxes of supplies like they weighed no more than feathers. He’d even repair things you hadn’t realized were broken—fixing wobbly shelves or leaky faucets without waiting to be asked.

He worked with an intensity that didn’t match the simplicity of the tasks, as if lifting heavy things or rearranging displays was more than just helping—it was his way of staying close to you. The repetition, the quiet rhythm of it, seemed to steady something deep inside him, keeping him grounded. If exhausting himself with work meant he could be near you a little longer, he’d do it without a second thought.

Some days, the two of you would talk as you worked side by side. You’d tell him the little frustrations of the shop—how the clippers were always dull, or how the ribbon spools always seemed to run out at the worst time. You’d walk him through the same explanations, over and over again, with the same quiet enthusiasm every time. And every time, Simon would listen. Closely. Intently. Like your words were something invaluable.

But the truth was, it wasn’t new to him.

He knew the rhythm of your voice, the way you moved effortlessly between tasks, your hands brushing over scissors, twine, and ribbons with ease. It was too familiar, a life he once knew—now distant, fragmented, slipping through his fingers.

And every time you smiled at him, he had to remind himself: She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t know me.

You weren’t the same woman who had once filled his life with flowers and light. The way you arranged bouquets, the way you laughed, the way you tilted your head when you talked—it was all a little different now. Not enough for most to notice, but to Simon, the subtle differences were glaring.

And still, the pull of familiarity was there, undeniable.

There were moments when he stood too close, lingering a little too long, as if searching your face for something lost to time. When the memories became too sharp, he’d force himself to remember: She’s not her. She’s not the same.

But the words didn’t stop the way his heart softened toward you.

The quiet comfort of your presence, the sound of your voice filling the shop like sunlight through the windows—he found himself craving it. If he could stay busy hauling heavy pots, rearranging shelves, or carrying supplies just to stay close, then that was what he would do.

You weren’t the same woman he’d lost. But in ways that scared him more than anything, you were becoming just as important.

“Here,” you said, holding the flower out to him.

Hyuck blinked, caught off guard. “For me?”

You nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. It suits you.”

He stared at the rose in your hand, hesitant at first, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. But then, with a small, uncertain smile, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed against yours in the exchange—soft, fleeting, but enough to make something stir quietly between you.

“Why a rose?” he asked, twirling the stem between his fingers.

You shrugged, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Because it’s beautiful, obviously.”

He gave a short laugh, the kind that carried both amusement and disbelief. “Did it remind you of me?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your grin widening. “Or maybe you just needed one. Ever think of that?”

He looked down at the rose in his hands, the smile lingering on his lips. For a moment, the usual shadows behind his eyes seemed to lift, replaced by something softer.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

You leaned against the counter beside him, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Roses are special, you know. They mean different things depending on who gives them.”

He glanced at you, curious. “And what does it mean when you give one to me?”

You smiled, the answer slipping out before you could stop it. “It means I want you to keep coming back.”

For a moment, Simon just looked at you, his expression unreadable. His breath hitched, and the weight of your words settled between you like the scent of roses on a warm breeze. Something flickered in his eyes, something that looked almost like recognition, but not quite.

He gave the rose a little twirl between his fingers before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket, as if it were something precious.

"I’ll keep coming back," he whispered, the words low like a vow meant only for the two of you.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by flowers and the slow hum of the day, something shifted between you—something delicate, like the first petals of a rose unfurling under the warmth of spring. You felt it bloom, soft and new, even though you couldn’t fully name it.

But Simon knew.

Because as much as he tried to convince himself that you weren’t the same woman he had once loved—weren’t the same person who had filled his world with light—this moment, the way you smiled at him, felt like a memory he had been chasing for years.

And as he stood there, with a rose tucked safely in his jacket and the sound of your voice lingering in the air, he knew he was already lost to you—just as he had been once before.

And this time, no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t sure he could let go.

So, Simon stayed—lifting, moving, fixing—working himself to the bone, not because the tasks needed doing, but because he needed this. Needed you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, even if you couldn’t remember the life you once shared, he remembered enough for both of you.

And being near you, no matter how different things were, was better than being without you at all.

The evening settled over the quiet town, the cool air thick with the scents of late autumn and flowers nearing the end of their bloom. Simon's steps dragged as he made his way toward your flower shop, exhaustion settling deep in his bones from weeks away on deployment. His body was used to this kind of weariness, but the heaviness in his chest, that was something else entirely.

Between his fingers, he toyed with the rose. The one you’d given him weeks ago, now dry and brittle, its once-vibrant petals curled and shriveled. He had carried it with him everywhere, like a lifeline, as if holding onto it might somehow keep him connected to you.

As he approached the familiar glow of the shop’s windows, Simon slowed. When he peered through the glass, he froze.

You were inside, dancing under the soft overhead lights—not alone, but with another man. His hands rested at your waist, and your smile was radiant, carefree in a way Simon hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. Even through the glass, he could see the happiness in your face. Happiness that used to belong to the two of you.

The knot in his chest twisted painfully. He knew things had changed. People moved on, especially when left with no answers, no promises. But seeing you like this, with someone else, felt like a knife to the gut he wasn’t ready for.

He thought of the accident—the one that had shattered your life and stolen your memories. The memory was jagged and relentless, lodged in his mind like a blade he couldn’t pull out. He could still hear the screech of tires, the shatter of glass, and your voice, soft and afraid, just before everything went dark.

You had been with him that night. Trusted him. And he had failed. The guilt twisted in his chest, blooming like thorns, sharp and unforgiving. If he had been more careful, maybe you wouldn’t have ended up in that hospital bed, lost to the world. Lost to him.

Inside, the man twirled you effortlessly, your laughter filling the shop with warmth. To you, the accident, the hospital, and everything you shared with Simon had never happened. But for Simon, it was a moment he could never escape. A scar that bled every time he thought of it.

He remembered sitting at your bedside in the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling the room. Your body had been bruised and broken beneath the white sheets, and your mom’s sharp voice echoed in his mind.

“You prick yourself because you don’t know how to take care of flowers,” she had said, her words as cold as the machines keeping you alive.

Simon hadn’t argued because she was right. He didn’t know how to care for flowers—or for you, not without breaking something delicate in the process. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. But trying hadn’t been enough. And now, he stood outside your shop, watching you dance with someone else—watching you live a life where he no longer had a place.

If it were before—before the accident, before the memories slipped away—he might have begged for more time. A proper goodbye. Maybe even a lifetime spent loving you until the flowers grew over his grave, the weeds plucked away so only beauty remained.

But now, he stood outside, a ghost at the edge of your new beginning.

The worst part wasn’t seeing you in someone else’s arms. It was knowing that you had no idea what you once meant to him. That every time you’d asked, "Visiting someone special?" you never realized it was you—your memory—he was mourning.

You didn’t remember the nights when your fingers ran gently through his hair, quieting his restless thoughts. You didn’t remember the mornings tangled in bedsheets that smelled like the roses from your shop, or the lazy afternoons when you’d hold up dandelions with that teasing grin of yours.

"Make a wish, Si," you’d say, eyes bright with playful mischief.

And every time, he’d push the flower back toward you with a soft, knowing smile. "I don’t need to. I already have everything I need."

And back then, it had been true.

But now, standing outside your shop with the brittle rose clutched between his fingers, Simon realized just how much he had lost. Not just you, but the version of himself who once believed love could be enough.

He knelt slowly at the threshold, placing the dried rose among the wilted petals and fallen leaves scattered near the entrance. The petals cracked under his touch, their fragility mirroring the ache in his chest. He didn’t bother plucking the petals—didn’t need to play the old game of ‘she loves me, she loves me not.’ Love, he knew, didn’t need an answer. It just was, even if it went unremembered.

Through the window, he watched you again, the man spinning you under the soft light, your laughter carrying in a way that felt like a distant memory.

And despite the sharp ache in his heart, Simon smiled—a small, sad thing, but genuine.

He had loved you once. More deeply than words could ever express. He still did. Even if you didn’t remember. Even if you never would.

Maybe that had to be enough.

With a deep breath, Simon tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away from the shop, his boots heavy against the pavement as he walked into the night. Behind him, the dried rose rested among the dead petals and brittle leaves, marking the spot where he let you go—not because he wanted to, but because he had no other choice.

The cool night air wrapped around him as he walked down the empty street. He thought of those dandelion afternoons, how you used to hold the flowers up to him with a grin, urging him to make a wish.

And for the first time, Simon let himself wonder what he would wish for now, if given the chance. But deep down, he knew the truth. No wish could bring back the version of you who had once loved him.

With your laugh still lingering in his mind, Simon kept walking.

It wasn’t the ending he wanted, but it was the one he had.

And this time, he would learn to live with it.

[reallunargift]

aiiiiiiiiiiiiii coooooooraaaaaaação!

all i see on stage is nyo!port singing and port dancing (feat. toni as a dancer too bc he can't say no to dancing or to either of them 😏)

[reallunargift]

I’m going back to work tomorrow thinking about them. 

[moonchild9350]

Firsts

Summary: Hyunjin reminisces on all of your 'firsts' together as a couple.

Pairing: nonidol!Hyunjin x fab!reader

Genre: established relationship au, fluff, smut-18+MDNI

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: time jumps, kissing, hand job, nipple play, clit play, unprotected sex (don’t), mention of birth control, creampie, Hyunjin is in love lol

Notes: just wanted to write another fic from Hyunjin's pov! this was supposed to be short but here we are lol

If you enjoyed please consider a comment, reblog, or like as it keeps me motivated ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

Firsts are scary. At least that is what Hyunjin thought wholeheartedly, that is until he met you. You with your cheery demeanor, your kind heart and lust for life. He loves your beauty, your body, your everything, but he also loves who you are on the inside.

Over the last year you’ve both shared many firsts with each other, each time they occur giving him butterflies deep within as if it’s the first time you’ve met.

— —

Hyunjin was nervous for your first date, the jitters getting the best of him as he checked his hair in the mirror for the millionth time. His heart was pounding within his chest, so hard he thought it was going to burst.

He picked out flowers for you earlier in the day, unsure of what you’d like. Maybe the roses? But also what about the carnations? He spent so long staring at the two options that the clerk came by to make sure he was okay asking if he needed any help.

In the end he chose the roses, sticking to a safe choice. He carefully cared for them home, making sure not to crush the delicate petals, their floral scent traveling to his nose causing him to smile. He kept them in water until it was time to pick you up, the stems dripping all over the floor and ultimately his pants staining them.

Hyunjin felt embarrassed at the stain, convinced you would slam the door in his face, tsking that he was a mess. However, you did the exact opposite, your squeal of delight reaching his ears, which turned a bright red in response. You whisked the flowers from his hands, setting them in a vase of water before following him outside.

He took you to dinner, at a cute little restaurant in town that you had been gushing about. He found it easy to chat with you, the conversation flowing nonstop. He made sure to listen to all of your likes and dislikes, wanting to learn more about you which was easy to do since it was you.

You both enjoyed your meal, staying for the cheesecake and that extra glass of wine, your hearts wildly beating at the prospect of other dates to come.

But all good things must come to an end, the night wrapping up way too soon. Hyunjin walked you back to your apartment in the warm night air, the city slowing down as people hurried home. He’d hope to see you again as he wanted to shower you with affection and treat you the way you deserve.

Hyunjin looked forward to more firsts with you, the concept not as scary as it seemed before

Not long after your first date, he took you to movie , as you had a love for films just like him. It was an older film, repurposed for the modern theater, one you both enjoyed and discussed many times over a late night chat.

The theater in town was old, the building itself a time capsule of when it was built in the early beginnings of the sleepy town.

You both sat in the red chairs, looking at each other as you blushed and giggled, each of you a nervous wreck. Hyunjin didn’t know what to do, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable, so he quickly looked away and focused on the screen, watching the ads that were playing.

Soon, the lights dimmed and the film began. He couldn’t stop looking at you from the corner of his eye, trying to catch a glimpse of you as you focused straight ahead. His heart was beating, his thigh bouncing up and down as he tried to pay attention to the film.

If he thought he was nervous then nothing could have prepared him for how nervous he would be watching you creep your hand to rest on the armrest separating you two.

Your hand rested there delicately, your perfectly manicured nails on display. His palms were clammy, as beads of sweat prickled at his forehead. He tried to subtly wipe his hands off on his pants, hoping you wouldn’t see.

Suddenly, you looked his way, his head turning to meet your eyes. You gave him a smile, butterflies fluttering in his chest at your beauty. He looked at your hand, now facing palm up and back to your eyes. You gave him another reassuring smile before wiggling your fingers teasingly.

Before he could overthink his actions, he quickly reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before resting his palm on top of yours. You giggled quietly before lacing your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze once settled.

Hyunjin was over the moon, a smile gracing his face as he turned to face the screen again. There was incessant pounding of his heart in his chest, as he held your hand in his, not believing that this was happening.

He found he couldn’t focus on the film, his thoughts on how your tiny hand fit in his perfectly, almost like two puzzle pieces finding their home together. He thought of how he could feel your pulse, the thump thump radiating off his skin. If he could feel your heart beat, could you feel his and how it ached for you?

His mind was a flurry of thoughts as he barely paid attention to the film, not even noticing it was over until the very end when you sweetly said his name, the sound sweet like honey to his ears.

He blushed, feeling embarrassed at his mishap.

“Ready then?” He asked you, squeezing your hand in his.

“Mmhmm I am,” you said, your eyes locked on him.

Hyunjin chatted with you about the film as you both walked down the sidewalk, your chatter warming his heart, creating a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. The street lamps set a yellow glow, illuminating the way as you passed others on their way to a destination only they know.

Stopping at a street corner, he takes a deep breath, his eyes gazing at you through his periphery. You stand there with your hands at your side, your gaze straight ahead.

Hyunjin desperately wants to touch you, feel your warm hand in his once more. He wants to feel how your fingers lightly brush against his as they bend and fold to rest upon his.

Would you pull your hand away if he reached out to grab ahold of it?

He thinks and thinks, his teeth biting his bottom lip as he ponders at what he should do. You’ve held hands in the theater, but it was dark inside and not as…as public. He’s not sure why he’s this nervous. It’s you, the love of his life, the sweet girl who bumped into him at the cafe down the street from your house. And of course you just met, but he feels as if he’s known you his whole life.

Taking a breath, he builds the courage to reach down and grab your hand, right as the signal to walk changes from red to white. He looks at you, his eyebrows raised as you stare up at him in shock, your cheeks flushing a beautiful shade of red.

“I’m…I’m sorry…”

Hyunjin was cut off by your hand squeezing his.

“Don’t be sorry, I like this Hyun,” you responded, your face spreading into a smile.

Hyunjin nodded his head and smiled back, his dimple popping up on his cheek. He shook his head in resolve and started walking with you by his side. He couldn’t believe something as simple as holding your hand could make him feel this way, as if he had just won the lottery and was the luckiest man alive. He’d make sure to remember this moment for the rest of his life that’s for sure

Your relationship progressed, both of you comfortably falling into each other’s routines, your two paths merging as if it was always meant to be.

You both opted for an at home date, agreeing to cook dinner together. Hyunjin never cooked before he met you, opting to fill his stomach with take out from the local restaurants. When you found out his diet was not the best, you flipped, shrieking how he needed proper nutrients and that you would take care of his meals.

That was the start of you cooking and bringing his meals to his home, making sure he ate properly each day. He blushed as you fussed over the containers, unloading them one by one from your bag. You explained when to eat what and what each item was, as you scurried across his kitchen.

Eventually, he suggested that you come over and show him how to cook basic meals, so that way you didn’t have to make extra portions.

This suggestion led to both of you elbow deep in dough, as you showed him how to make bread, your arms flexing as you carefully kneaded the dough. He watched in awe as you worked, little droplets of sweat dripping down the side of your face.

Hyunjin didn’t realize he was staring until you asked him a question as you used the back of your arm to wipe the sweat off your face.

“Hyun!” You said, giggling as he shook his head to break out of his reverie.

“What did you ask?” Hyunjin replied sheepishly, his hands reaching for anything in his reach.

You chuckled and bumped against his arm, “I asked if you had any questions so far?”

Hyunjin had many questions as he wasn’t paying attention to your instructions, but he didn’t want to dishearten you so he said no and continued to knead the dough that was in front of him.

You both worked in comfortable silence with soft music playing in the background. Hyunjin watched as you reached into the bag of flower, grasping a finger full. You were about to throw it on the counter so the dough wouldn’t stick, but at the last second you flicked your wrist towards him, the flour flying through the air and landing on his face.

Hyunjin let out a shriek, your cackles filling the kitchen as you doubled over clutching your stomach. Hyunjin chuckled, reached into the flour bag and grabbed a handful, launching it you.

An all out flour war began, both of you leaping and dodging each other, flour flying everywhere, the powder floating gently through the air. Your clothes were splattered with the white substance, as you pelted each other. Hyunjin’s deep laughter mixed your tinkling sound, the cacophony resonating throughout the little kitchen.

Hyunjin watched as you grabbed another hand full of flour, but just as you were about to launch it at him, you slipped on the powder littering the floor, your arms flailing forwards. You shrieked and drop towards the floor, your hands reaching out to grab onto anything you could.

He quickly reached out his hands and caught you, cradling you gently within his ams. You both were breathing heavy, your chests rapidly rising and falling, little puffs of air coming from your lips as you both stood there in silence.

Hyunjin helped you stand back up, his hands traveling down your arms. He gazed down at you, his eyes catching yours. You looked beautiful, your cheeks flushed with specks of flour, wisps of your hair falling into your face.

Hyunjin’s breath caught as his gaze drifted to your lips, his mind wandering how they would feel on his. It’s not the first time he’s thought this, the idea floating around his head late at night as he laid in bed, his hand drifting to his cock that seems to always be hard during the night hours as he thinks of you.

Your eyes widen, your pupils dilating as you waited in anticipation for his next move. Time seemed to stand still as Hyunjin took a breath and gently cupped your chin, gently tipping your head up.

Leaning down, he slowly closed the gap between you two until he could feel your breath on him. There was a pause as you both stood together, his hand on your chin, his forehead against yours. Closing the final distance, your lips collided. Your lips were soft on his as he pulled you closer, his hands sliding down your arms, your torso until they reached your waist.

Hyunjin could hear fireworks going off within his head and he smiled at the cliche thought, as he continued to move his lips against yours. He shivered as you wrapped your arms around his neck, clutching onto him as he continued to kiss you gently but passionately.

Just when he thought he’d run out of oxygen, you pulled away partially, a string of spit connecting your two lips, as you fought to catch your breath. Hyunjin rested his forehead against yours and let out a chuckle as you smiled, your fingers softly carding through his hair.

You both stood there gazing at each other, your lips pressing together again and again in breathy exchange. The night went on, the dough forgotten as you embraced each other, listening to the sound of your hearts beating and the sound of the soft notes of a piano flowing throughout the room.

“Let’s watch a movie baby,” you cooed, snuggling closer to him, your head nuzzling into his chest.

You both were in your bed, spending a lazy day together. Hyunjin loved being in your room, being surrounded by your scent, with the presence of your interests scattered throughout the room. He pulled you closer, chuckling as you squeaked at the sudden movement.

Your legs were wrapped around his, your hand on his belly as he lightly brushed his fingertips down your spine. Hyunjin has dreamed of a moment like this for weeks, wanting you within his arms, the promise of more lingering in the air.

And that’s exactly how the night went. He remembers lowering you on your back, your hair splayed out on the pillow, your big brown eyes staring up at him.

He pressed wet kisses all over your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, his cock swelling at the sound of your sweet moans as he worshipped your body. He found himself grinding into you, his cock meeting your core with each pass, strangled moans leaving his lips.

Hyunjin held his breath as you rid yourself of your shirt, tossing it away before settling back onto the pillow. He swallowed as you fondled your breasts, your fingers playing with your nipples looking at him with a hooded gaze.

“Touch me,” you breathed, your lips parted as you watched his every move.

He grasped your breasts, cupping the flesh as his fingers brushed and tugged against your nipples. He listened to your moans, his eyes widening as you arched into his touch, your hands reaching out to meet his. Hyunjin reveled in how they felt perfect within the palm of his hand, soft and plushy, his mind reeling at the feel of them.

He groaned as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, your back arching into him as he licked and sucked, his other hand massaging your other breast. He felt euphoric, waves of pleasure traveling through his body as he pleasured you.

Releasing your nipple with a pop, he hurriedly rid himself of his boxers, his cock slapping against his belly at the force and pre cum oozing from his tip. He took in your gaze, as you licked your lips at the sight of his member, your hands reaching out to encircle his length.

He whimpered as you slid your hand against his shaft, your palm coming up to circle the head over and over. His mouth was wide open as he shuddered in pleasure, his hips slightly thrusting up into your hand. You stroked him harder, faster, your eyes trained on him, a smirk forming on your face as you watched him fall apart above you.

“Can’t…stop love,” Hyunjin breathed, his hand reaching out to gently remove yours from his cock. “Need to be in you. Will you let me have you?” He asked with hope in your eyes.

He groaned out as you parted your legs more, displaying your wet pussy to him.

“Of course baby,” you cooed as you reached down to part your folds so your leaking entrance was on display.

Hyunjin grasped his cock, stroking it a few times before pressing it at your hole. He was about to push in when he stopped, hesitating to proceed.

You looked up at him curiously as you asked, “why’d you stop?”

Hyunjin cleared his throat, his eyes roaming up your body until they landed on your brown orbs.

“I um…I don’t have a condom,” he replied, his eyes cast downward at the implications of not being able to have you.

However, he perked up when you responded, a wide smile on your face.

“I’m on birth control, so we don’t need one if you don’t mind.”

He felt his heart flutter, his cock twitching at the thought of not only having you for the first time but also bare. He gripped his cock harder and brushed his tip through your folds, the head catching on your clit before trailing back down to your entrance.

He pushed within you, his eyes trained on your pussy as your warm walls engulfed him like a hug. He faltered slightly, letting out a breath as the pleasure was too overwhelming. You were so wet, the slide easy as he pushed further within you.

He groaned as you whimpered, spreading your legs wider so you could watch where you two were connected. Hyunjin began thrusting his hips into you, his breath stuttering as your pussy clenched around him, holding him in.

He wasn’t going to last long, the feeling of you, the smell of you, even the sound of you being too overwhelming. He quickly attached his lips to yours as he brought his hand to your clit, sloppily circling the bud to get you to your high.

He could feel you shivering beneath him, your hands clawing at his back as he pounded into you. His face was buried in your neck, your lips at his ear whispering the most dirty things, causing him to groan.

You continuously clenched around him, your arms wrapping around his middle, holding him tight, your legs wrapping around his thighs pulling him deeper within you.

You whined his name, whimpering “don’t stop” over and over.

You were driving him insane.

He was moments away from claiming you, his cock swelling at the thought of getting to fill you with his seed. His hips stuttered as his cock twitched within your walls, his mind a mess as he couldn’t think straight.

You lifted his head and brought his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, the action tipping him over the edge, reaching that euphoria he has only experienced within the confines of his room or in his dreams.

It was better than he could imagine, causing him to whimper as his cum filled you within. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as you gasped as you reached your high, the rhythmic contraction of your walls milking him dry.

Hyunjin swallowed your moans, his body caging yours as he lazily rocked into you, riding out both of your highs.

He let out a shaky breath before pulling back, taking in your sweaty body beneath his, the clear sheen coating every inch of your skin. He withdrew his cock, watching as his cum seeped from your pussy, your walls contracting at the emptiness and pushing out the white liquid.

“I love you,” you whispered as you gazed up at him, a soft smile gracing your face.

Hyunjin felt his heart swell at the confession, his love for you expanding by the second.

You loved him.

He mouthed the words before running a hand through his hair.

You loved him.

Looking down at you lovingly, he pushed your hair back from your face, his eyes taking in the afterglow. He licked his lips and kissed you before laying down next to you and pulling you close.

“I love you.” He repeated, meaning every word as it left his mouth.

— —

Yeah firsts are scary. Hyunjin has never liked them. However, he doesn’t mind sharing firsts with you, the love of his life.

He remembers that as you descend the steps, dressed in a beautiful little black dress, your hair carefully fixed and makeup done to perfection.

Here Hyunjin is celebrating yet another first with you, your first anniversary, and he could not be happier and more satisfied.

You are his first but also his last.

Tag list: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * like flowers in your hair

warnings: none pairing: percy jackson x daughter of demeter a/n: I’ve been on such a percy kick recently 😕

“here”

you pick a blue flower from the ground and tuck it in percy’s hair, his cheeks flush a light pink hue

“what kind?”

“periwinkle”

percy laughs, you glare at him in response before searching your book for the flower. when you reach the page you turn it to show percy

“they’re also known as myrtles. they bloom in april and may. It’s the flower of sad remembrance and are often placed beside graves”

percy’s smile drops. “that took a turn”

now it’s your turn to laugh. you take another flower from a nearby bush and hand it to percy

“what’s this?”

“hyacinth. do you know the story?”

percy ponders before his answer. “wasn’t he fucking apollo?”

you gasp and hit his head. “perseus! that’s not the story, dumbass! hyacinthus and apollo were dating, yes- but zephyrus was jealous of the relationship because he loved hyacinthus. so one day while him and apollo were playing with a discus the wind was averted, striking hyacinthus in the head, therefore killing him. apollo used his blood to turn his corpse into a flower, creating the beautiful hyacinth”

“why are all the flower stories depressing”

“I’ll find a happy one”

percy throws the flower to the side as you search your book for a happy story

“this one” you point to your book “a carnation. pink symbolizes motherly love and white means good luck”

“I like that one. which flower is your favorite?”

you bite your lip and turn the pages again

“lilacs. they symbolize innocence and purity”

“oh” percy frowns “I think that’s ironic because we’re not-”

“you better not finish that sentence”

“yes ma’am”

you sigh and return to your book. percy continues to speak

“when we get married we should use white carnations”

it’s now your turn for your cheeks to turn pink. “married?”

“of course we’re getting married, flower”

you smile again, this time meeting percy’s sea green eyes. “I think white carnations would be perfect”

[heian-era-housewife]

Synopsis | In which the JJK men receive flowers.

Content | gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, toji x reader, reader is implied (but not necessarily) fem, toji's is ever so slightly suggestive, fluff ♡

Word Count | ~1.4k

A/N: The banner quote is not a proven statistic, but a marketing strategy once employed by Interflora based on a customer study. It was later developed into a social media/influencer campaign which included renaming their flowers with more "masculine" sounding names to increase Father's Day flower sales and scare partners everywhere into purchasing unnecessarily gendered plants. The more you know.

Gojo

Blue ain't your color

What started as a simple trip to the supermarket has turned into two greenhouses, three floral shops, five phone calls (one of which kept you on hold for twenty minutes!) and now you're on your third day of searching for the perfect flowers with which to surprise your boyfriend.

You're not a botanist. How were you to know that naturally occurring blue flowers were the rarest sort? All you wanted was a little arrangment to match the hue of Gojo's crystal eyes, now here you were getting laughed at from your latest failed internet lead for not knowing hydrangeas have a season...and this is not it. Not wanting to go home empty-handed, you settle for a box of sweets with a bright blue ribbon and make your way back for his return from his latest mission.

Later that day while checking the time, you pause to admire the lock screen on your phone. It's a picture of Satoru, goofy smile plastered across his face, arms spread wide with flat palms facing outward, knees high as he runs with full abandon through a field of...

"Daisies! For me??" His voice nearly cracks as he takes the wild bundle in his hands, a vibrant blue ribbon holding them neatly together.

"Mhm! And there's some chocolate too!" You add, gesturing to a now plain white box on the kitchen table.

"You didn't have to do that!" He practically squeals, unable to hide his childlike excitement.

"I wanted to. Besides," you smile coyly at the daisies you picked mere moments ago. "They reminded me of you!"

Geto

World's greatest mom

It was the morning of Mother's Day. You, yourself, were very much not a mother. And yet, here you stood, one little girl perched on each hip as you held them close in a desperate attempt to quiet their teary sobs outside your local flower shop.

"I'm sorry girls," you cooed, bouncing them as you spoke. "It looks like everyone's sold out."

Earlier that morning you were awoken by two eager faces as Nanako and Mimiko had snuck into Geto's bedroom, where you had spent the night, to tell you their grand idea.

"Today's Mother's Day," Mimiko whispered shyly to you as she tugged gently on the sheets.

"We want to get Geto carnations!" Nanako continued boldly, spokesperson of the pair. "Because he's the best mom ever!"

If sweetness could kill, you'd be a goner. Your heart was threatening to burst as it was. How could you possibly say no?

Together, the three of you snuck out of the house and headed to find some Mother's Day carnations for "Mr. Mom" himself. But, as many a woeful partner has learned, the morning of Mother's Day is the worst time to find flowers. So, here you stood, empty-handed, a sad little girl on each hip.

What would Suguru do? You thought to yourself. He never missed an opportunity to make the girls happy, always finding creative ways to put smiles on their faces, truly earning the title, "Best Mom Ever". Strengthening your resolve, it was your turn to tell the girls your grand idea.

~~~

Suguru woke to the sound of giggles and crinkling paper. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he blinked several times before registering the sight in front of him.

"Happy Mother's Day!" the three of you said in unison, holding out a bouquet of homemade flowers to the now very confused sorcerer.

"What's all this?" He said looking at the small puffs of pink tissue paper and their green pipe-cleaner stems.

"We wanted to get you flowers...but they were all sold out," Mimiko muttered apologetically.

"So we made some instead!" Finished a bright-eyed Nanako.

"I love them!" He beamed, pretending to sniff the crinkled paper blossoms. "But...why?"

"Tell him, girls!" You said, stifling a laugh.

"Because you're the Best Mom Ever!"

Nanami

Forget-me-not

Dinner was ready, the table was set, and your husband , Kento, would be home any time now. The final piece to your romantic evening surprise was the floral arrangement you ordered specifically with him in mind. Heaving the large display to the table's center, you step back to admire your work. The flowers were a nice touch, inspired by a chilling post you'd seen on the internet- one you couldn't get out of your head.

As Kento stepped through the door, his eyes settled on the large arrangement of pure white lilies threatening to swallow up your little dining table for two.

"What's all this?"

"I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well it worked," he said with a smile, pulling you in for a hug. "One question, though. Why all the flowers?"

"I saw something online that said most men don't get flowers until their funeral!" You exclaim.

"Hmm..." He nods as he inspects the elegant bundle. "And were you anticipating mine? My funeral, that is?"

"Why would you say such a thing?" You ask, puzzled by his uncharacteristically callous joke.

"'With deepest sympathy,'" he reads aloud, pulling a small folded card from the center of the bouquet.

"WHAT?!" You shriek, yanking the card from his hand. You hadn't even seen it nestled behind the large white blossoms. "But why would-?!"

"You know white lilies are typically a funerary flower, right?" He states in his kind, but matter-of-fact tone.

"But I was sure I-" whipping out your phone you look back on your order realizing all too late that the arrangement you'd chosen from their "best selling" tab had the words "in memorium" just below the listing price. A small groan escapes your throat and then-

"HAH!" Kento's laughter startles you as he doubles over in a rare fit of humor.

"Well I'm glad YOU find this funny," you pout accusingly, feeling your romantic night had fallen to ruin.

"I'm just glad I get to enjoy them WITH you. But, I suppose if things had gone sideways at work today, you would've been prepared either way!"

"NOT funny, Kento!" You snap, one corner of your mouth twitching in contradiction.

"I know, I know," he says, pulling you in for another hug. "I love them. And I certainly won't forget them!" He comforts you.

"Well," you give in with a small chuckle. "They are in memorium."

Toji

Just a little prickly

"Toji," you humphed. "How come you've never given me flowers?"

"You've never given me flowers."

"That's different!"

"How?" He challenged. "Thought you were all about 'equality' or some shit?"

"It's not like you'd even appreciate them!" You objected. "Besides, you couldn't even keep a cactus alive."

"Wanna bet?"

"As a matter of fact I do!"

~~~

A few days later, after stopping by the plant section of a hardware store on your way home, you returned with scrubbiest most pathetic-looking little ball of spikes you could find.

"Oh Tojiiii~" You called out.

"The hell is that?" He said eyeing the ugly little plant.

"It's your new cactus!" You gushed, eyes twinkling with playful malice.

"You really are something else," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he accepted your spiteful gift.

~~~

Weeks passed. Months even. You'd forgotten all about the cactus, having long presumed it dead when one day Toji interrupted your would-be peaceful breakfast with a laugh bordering the maniacle.

"HAH!" He jeered pointing a finger directly in your face. "You wanted flowers?? Get a load of these!" 

From behind his back he plunked a ceramic pot onto the kitchen table, one you'd never seen. In it was the most beautiful little barrel cactus, golden spikes reflecting the morning light. Atop its crest was a perfect halo of brilliant pink flowers. It was nothing short of lovely and you wondered where he got it.

"Wh-where did this come from?" You asked, taken aback.

"What do you mean where??" He grumped. "It's that shitty cactus you gave me. What, don't recognize it?" He teased.

"No it's not. This thing is huge. And it's in an entirely different pot."

"Uh. Yeah. It grew, genius. I had to change its pot like three times."

You stared in utter disbelief. You had no idea he had kept it- no idea he even cared. It was honestly kind of...hot.

"Looks like you just lost a bet. Time to pay up, sweetheart." He boasted.

"Too bad we never decided on a wager." 

"Don't worry," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

[waitimcomingtoo]

Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

[hoshinasblade]

May I request a short drabble (maybe?) on how hoshina would react if he were given flowers :3

this is so cute, thanks anon!

hey guys, im not sure if my blog is back to being ok now because support hasn't replied to me. hopefully you guys see this lol.

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: fluff, established relationship trigger warnings: none, both you and hoshina are very silly individuals who are dating so now the silliness is doubled.

send me more asks here! i have set up a masterlist here!

hoshina soshiro, the best boyfriend in all of japan - his words, not yours - has his notifications on for all your instagram activities.

it all started when you were in the very early stages of dating, and he got upset because in his book, he is supposed to always be the first one to see, heart, and reply to your instagram stories. "that's bare minimum," he proclaimed.

you would be a bit weirded out if he wasn't so adorable.

you would post the dog you saw in your morning run and not more than a few seconds later he would respond with a keyboard smash, telling you that maybe the two of you should also get a dog. you would add a note in your profile and he would reply, making conversation.

"huh", soshiro hummed, his smartphone in his hand. the briefing in the operations room is still going on, yet his attention is on your latest instagram story. there are a few perks to being one of the best defense force officers, and one of them is no one could tell you off for not focusing on the matter at hand.

it's a picture of the front display of the flower shop somewhere in town. he's familiar with the place; he's gotten you something from there a year or two ago for your anniversary. has it been that long? he thought. soshiro knows he can be busy considering his line of work requires him to spend sometimes an entire day on the base. despite that, he makes sure to compensate for lost time and spend most weekends with you. your posting flowers can only mean one thing in his mind, and it is that you want him to get you a bouquet.

which he did.

it was a beautiful bouquet of pink carnations and even pinker gerberas wrapped in blush-colored paper. he annoyed the florist to no end, asking them for a flower arrangement that would signify eternal love.

the weird thing is you already have a bouquet of flowers nestling in your arms when he gets home. confusion overtook him.

"w-what's goin' on?" he asked when you gave him the bouquet. they're sunflowers, fresh and vivid in his eyes.

you were visibly puzzled too when he handed you the very pink collection of flowers he bought.

"i got them for you, what else?" you said in a matter-of-factly tone. "i mean, you'd been working hard these days, i wanted to show my appreciation," you said, fumbling with your thumbs. it didn't matter that you had known the guy biblically, it still flusters you when you do something romantic for him.

soshiro's face was no better. his lips parted, eyes wide, he suddenly turned around, his palms covering his cheeks. "d-don't look at me," he chuckled, suddenly shy.

you gave him a hug from the back, your arms not quite able to embrace him fully. "i got sunflowers because they remind me of you", you said.

soshiro froze, his heart swelling with emotion as he processed your words. sunflowers - the vibrant, sunny blooms that chase toward the light, mirroring his own feelings for you. he smiled, a gentle quirk from the corner of his lips. “have i told you that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?” he asked, bumping his forehead to yours until your noses touched then leaning in for a kiss.

“the best boyfriend to have ever lived just said so," you replied.

[z0mbiefrank]

some people are wondering who the moustache man is and i am too so heres everything i can think of so far

In the "long live" trailer, he is shown leading the dictator and politician up the stairs, and upon reaching the corridor, the politician joins him side by side with the dictator looming behind them.

When they enter the room, the moustache man walks with the politician to stand beside the secretary. He is also paired with the secretary in the "opera" trailer.

The symbolism around him strongly suggests he is someones dedicated lover, likely the secretary as he's paired with her the most.

I'm not an expert on flowers, but I believe the bouquet is made up of two very romantic flowers, red carnations (love, passion, affection) and baby's breath (everlasting love, innocence). The moustache man has a red carnation pinned to his jacket so the bouquet is likely from him.

Some MORE lover boy evidence comes from Gerard dressing up as this character in Las Vegas October 7th 2022. On this night, the drum read "My Whole Heart".

I would also argue, the Gerard look from Montreal September 2nd 2022 could possibly be this same character. Only, much like the secretary, he's got totally fucked up and he's lost his eyes and his flower, or his "heart".

This outfit match I am less sure of, especially since it took place before the Vegas show, but it is the same shirt and trousers, and again we have a lover themed drum "I only have eyes for you <3".

SO... although I don't know much about him yet, the results so far say he’s a good old fashioned lover boy

[fluentmoviequoter]

Dodgers Date

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!wife!reader

Summary: For your weekly date night, Tim takes you to a Dodgers game.

Warnings: incorrect descriptions of baseball (I can watch it but I can't speak it), pure fluff!!

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You’re on the couch with Kojo when Tim returns from work. He smiles at you, and his smile widens when you duck your chin at his unhindered attention. So far, you haven’t found a way to avoid getting shy around your husband. Which he takes full advantage of.

“Comfortable?” Tim asks after he changes.

“Me or Kojo?” you ask.

Tim shakes his head at your question and sits beside you. Kojo shifts so he’s lying between your side and Tim’s, and you lay your hand on his back. Tim leans over Kojo to kiss you quickly, then sits back and sets his hand on yours.

“What do you want to do this week?”

You furrow your brows and point out, “I thought you were picking this week.”

“You’re still okay with that?”

“As long as it’s not karaoke again.”

Tim’s head tips back as he laughs. It had started as a joke, an attempt to make you shy while you were still dating, but then you told him you’d never go out with him again unless he participated in the karaoke. He took a page from Lucy’s book and performed “Da Noise” by Flex and Flow. By the end of the song, you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, even if he did embarrass you.

“I promise, no more public performances,” Tim answers. “I have tickets behind home plate for the Dodgers’ game this week.”

You smile at his promise and lean toward him as he brushes his hand over your cheek.

“Would you like to go on a date with me to see the Dodgers win?” he proposes.

“I’d love to,” you answer softly. “But no foam fingers.”

“We need something to tell the grandkids,” he jokes.

You fall forward and rest your forehead against Tim’s shoulder. He rubs your back as he whispers an apology. Sometimes you don’t know which apologies are genuine, but it doesn’t matter because you love Tim. And weekly date nights are the highlight of your marriage.

When Tim texts you that he’s leaving work, you walk into your shared bedroom to get ready. Despite the ring on your finger, going on dates with Tim still makes you giddy, overwhelmingly happy, and occasionally shy. Life with Tim Bradford is never dull, and his insistence to keep your relationship alive and to never fall into monotony makes life fun, too. With the few minutes you have before Tim gets home, you change clothes – and maybe steal a Dodgers shirt from Tim’s side of the closet – then fix your hair the way you like. As you check your outfit in the bathroom mirror, Kojo walks in and approves by licking your hand.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur as you pet his head.

The front door opens as you put your shoes on, and you sit up quickly as Tim walks down the hall. He pauses in the bedroom doorway to look at you.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

You smile and thank him, then kiss him as he passes. He tells you about his day and asks about yours while he changes, but when he emerges in jeans and a Dodgers jersey, you fall silent.

“What?” Tim inquires. He looks down to check his clothes before he shrugs.

“Do you always have to look better than me?”

Tim takes your hands and pulls you to stand. He looks into your eyes as he asks, “When’s the last time we took you to the eye doctor?”

You try to pull your hands away after his bad joke, but he uses your linked hands to pull you closer. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, Tim leads you to the door. He picks up your bag and opens the door for you, the picture of a perfect gentleman. As he helps you into the passenger seat of his truck, there’s a bouquet of white roses and blue carnations with a keepsake Dodgers ticket in place of a card.

“Thank you,” you tell Tim as you pull the cellophane-wrapped flowers into your lap. “They’re beautiful.”

Tim takes a picture of you holding the flowers without drawing your attention, then runs the flowers back inside so they don’t stay in his truck all night. When he returns and holds your hand over the console as he drives, you somehow fall more in love with him.

Your hand remains comfortable in Tim’s as he leads you through Dodger Stadium and to your seats behind home plate. Tim leaves you to go buy food and drinks, but you suspect he played the I’m an Army vet turned cop, could I jump the line? card because he’s back in under fifteen minutes. He passes you a foam finger with the Dodgers logo on it, and you groan before you set it aside.

“Have a little team spirit,” Tim chides playfully. “A pretty girl like you brings good luck, but your heart has to be in it.”

“Stop,” you request quietly.

Tim sits beside you and only smiles in reply. He passes you your drink and balances the food so you can reach it easily.

“How many innings?” you ask as you take a piece of popcorn from the overflowing bag.

“Nine,” Tim answers. “You know that.”

“Not in the game. I mean, how many innings until you forget I’m over here and just watch the game?”

You smile and Tim rolls his eyes. You’ve been on enough dates to know that it’s rare, but not impossible, for him to get so caught up in a game he forgets about you and the date you’re on. Tim doesn’t reply before the crowd cheers as the announcer welcomes everyone to Dodger Stadium.

By the time the game starts, Tim has his arm around your shoulders and the foam finger is waiting on your lap. The Dodgers are batting first, and you shift slightly so that Tim can stand and cheer whenever he wants. He tuts quietly and pulls you close again.

“I’m not forgetting about my date,” he says over the noise of the crowd.

“When are you going to tell your wife?” you reply boldly.

The woman sitting behind you gasps, and you immediately regret joking about that. Tim tries to hide his smile as he looks back to the field, but your eyes are on him. When Shoehei Ohtani steps up to bat, Tim joins the rest of the crowd in cheering. You look away from Tim long enough to see him bat, then watch Tim’s face light up as Shoehei runs to first base.

“Do you want this?” you ask Tim, raising the foam finger.

He looks at you quickly, and you sigh as you slide your hand into the opening. When you raise it, Tim cheers louder than before. This is one of your favorite date nights, you decide.

After the first half of the ninth inning, your voice is nearly gone from yelling alongside Tim, your foam finger is discarded beside you, and Tim’s arm is still wrapped around you. He took a picture with you between the last two innings (though he did have to explain to the woman behind you that you are his wife and were kidding earlier before she agreed to take the picture for you). As the game nears its conclusion, and you’re sure the Dodgers will win, you lean against Tim. His arm tightens around you, and he kisses your temple.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you,” he replies. “Are you having a good time?”

“With you, always.”

“The Dodgers win!” the announcer yells.

The crowd stands to cheer, and you jump up with Tim. He doesn’t celebrate the win for long, however, before he opts to kiss you instead. You’re aware of all the people who can see you, but at the moment, you don’t care. When he pulls back and the guy beside Tim congratulates him, that changes, and you duck your head behind Tim’s shoulder to hide your smile and warm cheeks.

“You ready to go?” Tim asks as the celebration continues.

“Whenever you are.”

Tim takes your hand and leads you through the stadium once more. In the privacy of his truck, under the fireworks and the dimmed parking lot lights, he kisses you again. Dating Tim will never get boring.

“Thank you,” Tim says as he pulls back but keeps his hand on your cheek.

“For what?” you inquire.

“Loving me. Helping the Dodgers win… maybe not in that order.”

You shake your head as Tim turns in his seat. His hand rests on your thigh while he drives, and you discuss your favorite moments from the game.

“Any ideas for next week?” Tim asks.

“Kojo and I were thinking a family trip to the pet store would be nice.”

“That’s not a date.”

“Everything’s a date with you, Bradford.”

Tim nods as he turns into the driveway. “Just because I love you.” He watches as your eyes drop and smiles to himself. “Pet store it is, Bradford.”