#little planner sheet

[yuyuunon]

🍃

[halfrican-heat]

ALL MINE (Ony)

"You come here, I'll knock your pussy out the damn frame. Remember the last time I made you miss your damn plane? Remember the last time I wet you down with champagne?"

A/N: Hey! I'm down bad for this man rn, lol. I've got lots of ideas for him though, so yay! Happy reading :) Inspired by @lingeriae and this post! Requests are open, too! Get at your girl.

Warning(s): Explicit Sexual Content; Penetrative Sex (p in v), Oral Sex (F receiving), Cursing, Public Sex (Outdoors), Cervix kissing, Wedding details, N Word Used, Black reader in mind, AAVE/Dialogue with Dialect, Dominant!Ony (when tf is he not in my mind), Depiction of marijuana usage, Depictions of alcohol consumption, Mild Dubious Consent; Beta'd by my besties <3

Pairing: Ony x Wedding Planner!Reader

Song Inspo: All Mine - Brent Faiyaz

His eyes drilled into the side of your head, trailing the curves of your body.

As maid of honor, your dress was a little different from the other bridesmaids. Make no mistake, your girls looked good with a t on the end. You made sure of that, but you all agreed upon something more…tailored for the lady making the most moves. So, your dress was designed to your tastes and fit you like a glove. It accentuated all your assets and Onyankopon was taking stock. 

The two of you had only fucked once but there was this heightened tension ever since.

During the entire wedding process, Ony had been a pain in your ass. Because he was the best man, the two of you had to collaborate on many of the joint events-- like the Engagement Party and Bridal Party mixers. He was a terrible flirt and spent most of his time trying to get in your pants. Then, if it wasn’t you, he was flirting with any lady he could. And they would swoon just as soon as Ony flashed that handsome, megawatt smile of his. 

But for some reason, Ony liked the challenge you posed. The way you were resistant to his charms. Unfortunately for you, Ony was interested in you. He liked you.

You dealt with his bullshit for a good while, putting in a valiant effort because you were doing your best friend and fellow soror, Kendra, a favor. Y’all went back to diapers and stuck together through everything. You were a celebrity event coordinator, specializing in weddings, so you were doing double duty by being her maid of honor and planning the entire wedding. But shit hit the fan between you and Ony the night of the final Bridal Party mixer. The two of you got into a huge blowout fight that ended with your cute little cocktail dress torn and strewn about the floor of Ony’s hotel room, his tongue licking champagne from places it shouldn’t have been. 

“You doing so good, ma.” He had whispered, fucking you into his sheets. 

You ended up missing your damn plane the next morning. Needless to say, he moved up on your list of people you wouldn’t mind spending time with. But he quickly moved back down the list after he ghosted you the next day. During the rehearsal dinner, you found him talking up some girl in the hotel lounge. He made eye contact with you as he flirted with her, looking away to give her his full attention. 

So, you kept it cordial and cute after that. You acted like it didn’t bother you. Did he have amazing, life-changing dick that made you want to murder him and the bitch from the hotel lounge? Yes, yes he did. But were you a classy, sophisticated bitch who successfully planned a destination wedding while being the maid of honor and dealing with Ony’s shiesty ass? Yes, yes the fuck you were. 

And no nigga was gonna make you second guess that shit. 

The “Lounge Incident”, as your friends lovingly dubbed it, had happened a week ago. Fast forward to the present and there you were, watching your best friend dance and act a fool with the love of her life. You were happy for her, of course, but it did make you feel a little wistful.

The wedding ceremony wrapped up two hours prior and you found yourself nursing a glass of champagne at the reception. You were pretending to be unfazed by the looks Ony was sending you from across the room. You stole a glance at him when you felt like he wasn’t watching you and…dear Lord. 

His white dress shirt was tucked into his green slacks, suit jacket long forgotten, with a few of the top buttons opened. His gold chain shined at you, almost winking, as it matched the gold Rollie on his wrist. He flashed a smile to one of his homeboys and you felt your knees wobble a little. You looked away quickly and crossed the room to find your girls. They were standing around one of the reception tables talking.

“Aht, don’t bring that energy over here, ma’am!” Your friend, Chelsea, said. “That man look like he ‘bout to jump your ass.”

“Please tell me y’all not about to fuck at this wedding,” Liyah groaned.

Your girls laughed loudly and you hid a smile behind your champagne glass as you took a sip. You risked a glance back at Ony, finding his gaze already on you. He didn’t care to hide the fact he was staring at you, not even giving the young lady in front of him a glance as she spoke to him. You whipped around, clearing your throat. 

“Bye, girl. It ain’t even like that.”

The table went quiet, all the girls looking over your shoulder. A shit-eating grin spread across Chelsea’s face as she raised her hand, waving playfully. 

“Hey, Ony.”

Your eyes widened as his chest pressed against your back, his warmth surrounding you. You tried to pretend to be unbothered as your friends gawked with wide eyes and smirks. 

“Hey, ladies.”

The smile was evident in his voice, sending chills down your spine. But you took a sip of your champagne with a neutral face, not acknowledging him. In truth, you didn’t need to. He leaned down so that his mouth was close to your ear, hands braced on the table as he trapped you against his chest. His chain brushed your neck, not helping the goosebumps erupting all over your skin. His words, low so only you could hear them, didn’t help either. 

“Say bye to your lil friends so I can eat your pussy.”

He paused as you turned your head slightly, your faces close to touching. 

“And stop playing with me.”

His eyebrow arched at you as he pulled back, taking a sip from his whiskey glass. He addressed your friends again, setting the glass down. 

“Ladies,” He said with a charming smile. 

With that, he left you standing there as you slowly looked back to your friends who gaped back at you. 

“Bye.” You said finally, scurrying from the reception hall as fast as your legs would carry you.

You found Ony outside the building, perched against the wall. A blunt hung from his lips as he gazed at you sidelong. You approached slowly, hips swaying with each step. His eyes never left yours as he sparked up and inhaled, exhaling the smoke slowly. You felt dizzy with need but you weren’t down that bad. Not yet. 

You took the blunt as he passed it to you. You let the smoke soothe you before you exhaled. You took a few more pulls before passing it back to him. 

“Take your panties off,” He said finally, after a long draw. 

You tutted, crossing your arms. 

“You just gon’ act like you ain’t ghost me, Ony?”

“I was wrong for that. But I'm here now, ain't it?” He said casually. 

You rolled your eyes, turning to go back inside. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him, his lips pressing firmly against yours. His mouth teased yours, opening it as smoke billowed between the two of you. His arm slid down to your waist as you exhaled the smoke he gave you. 

He took another pull, exhaling, before he looked back down at you. 

“I told you stop playing with me.”

“Maybe I'm done with you," You bluffed. "Maybe I got me another nigga to fuck on now.”

Ony scoffed, tucking the rest of his blunt away for later.

“Aight, that’s enough of that shit,” He mumbled, grabbing your hand as he pulled you to the side of the building. 

It was a more hidden spot, behind large bushes that wrapped around the front of the building and off to the side. From there, you could see guests entering and exiting but they couldn’t see you unless they were looking hard enough. Your eyes widened as he kneeled in front of you and shoved your dress up your legs. You swatted at his hands, panicking as your eyes darted around. Ony stilled, his gaze hard as he grabbed your hands and looked up at you.

“Don’t piss me off.”

Now, you were down bad. 

You took a shaky breath as he released your hands, going back to bunching up your dress. 

“Hold that,” He said, tossing your leg over his shoulder. 

You did as he asked, taking the garment in your hands. Your body flushed with heat as he shamelessly nuzzled his nose against your soaked core, smelling your needy scent. He kissed your clothed core and pushed your panties aside, holding them in one hand as he slipped a finger into your dripping cunt. He moved the digit in and out, brushing against that soft spot inside you. 

“Oh, fuck,” You whined, your head falling against the wall. 

“Yeah, say that shit you was sayin’ now,” Ony taunted, sliding another digit inside. “This pussy all mine.”

You panted, bracing yourself with a hand on his shoulder, as you forced out your next question.

“What about that bitch from the lounge, Ony?”

“I was gonna try what she was offering, but she wasn’t you,” He said easily, his eyes glued to his fingers moving in and out of you. “Damn, ma. You sucking that shit in.”

“Ony,” You whimpered. “I don’t want to play no games with you--”

“I’m not. That shit not an offer to me when you’re around,” He said firmly. “Now, you gon’ keep complainin’ or you gonna let daddy eat his pussy?”

“Ony--”

Any rebuttal you had became a wanton moan as he didn’t wait for a response, his mouth descending on your clit as his fingers continued to move inside you. You covered your mouth with your hand, trying in vain to stifle the sounds of pleasure he was snatching from you. He pulled his fingers from you gently, spreading your sopping pussy wider as he fucked his tongue in and out of you. 

He ate you out messily, drinking up your juices like sweet nectar. The slurping noises were lewd as he sucked on your clit, teasing it with his tongue before dipping it back into your weeping hole. His performance was drawing pathetic whines from your throat as you tried to keep the two of you from getting caught. Heat pooled in your belly as his mouth on your core drove you toward a heated finish. 

Then, he stopped completely. You let out a confused moan as the pleasure waned, your orgasm evading you. The confusion didn’t last long, however, as you heard his belt coming undone. He pulled himself from his pants as he tore your panties. He hiked your leg around his waist and slid home without warning.

“Hold on to me,” He grunted, his other hand supporting your back.

You wrapped your arms around him, your head resting on his shoulder as he thrust into you. His pace was rough and deep, fucking you like he owned you. Maybe he did. Maybe you wanted him to. You muffled a scream into his shoulder as his length kissed your cervix, unrelenting as the drag of his cock against your tight walls sent you into oblivion.

“Fuck, baby,” He groaned. “You so tight f’me. Takin’ me so good.”

You choked back a sob as his tip brushed that soft spongy spot, bringing back the pool of pleasure from before. Ony noticed your reaction, angling his hips to hit it over and over again. Your whimpers and moans were his own private mixtape as you keened and cried in his ear. He stretched you so good, the feeling of being this full something new and foreign to you. Ony was a bad habit, and he was making sure you wouldn’t be able to kick him any time soon.

That pool of pleasure warmed further with each snap of his hips into yours. Your quiet, open-mouthed cries built in intensity as the temperature inside you began to rise, swirling like a tsunami. You felt yourself teetering on that delicate edge and so could Ony. He picked up the pace. 

“You gonna cum on your dick?” He taunted, egging you on. “You gon’ show me who this dick belong to?”

Your climax crashed over you as you slapped a hand to your mouth, muffling the sob that broke free. He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it as your body seized around him. He could barely pull out, opting for shallow thrusts as you came down from your high.

You sagged against the wall, trying to catch your breath as Ony pulled out. He fixed your dress and smoothed it down around the hips. He tucked himself back into his pants and dug his wallet from his pocket, fishing out his room key. 

He flashed it in front of your dazed face before placing it in your hand. He pulled you off the wall, making sure you looked good before nudging you in the direction of the front doors. 

“Go to my room. Third floor, 303. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You looked down at the key card in your hand then back to him. He sparked up his blunt again, blowing out smoke as he smacked your ass. 

“Go ‘head, ma. I’m coming.”

You jumped slightly from the impact and found your feet moving you out of the bushes. You stumbled back into the hotel lobby, walking on wobbly legs to the elevators with his room key clutched in your hand. Your girl, Chelsea, was coming from the restrooms as the two of you made eye-contact. She smirked, her eyes trailing over you. She subtly adjusted the top of her dress, nodding at you.

You took the hint, fixing yours. 

She went back into the reception hall without a word as you fumbled to press the elevator button. 

Your night was not over yet.

[anniflamma]

I'm making my little travel planner/budget sheet for the Daniel musical trip. I've never been to the US, so it will be a new experience. My first day will be spent in Washington, just to rest from the flight and get used to the time shift, and I sat here for a whole minute thinking, 'What the heck can I even do in Washington? What is there to see??'

Forgetting that it's Washington...

[draczrys]

please i need modern!lucerys headcanons 🙏🙏 if you don't do modern aus ghost!luke i think would be fun

harry gilby my fav luke fancast <333

SWEET BOY. ❨ modern!lucerys velaryon headcanons ❩

his love language is quality time

"i'm home!" luke's voice rang out through the small london apartment, pulling you from your book to find him bundling three bags through the front door.

"i thought you were spending the day with your mum and jace?" you asked, brows knitted, setting down the ear-marked novel to turn on the couch.

luke shrugged and abandoned the tesco bags at the door, an arm on either side of your head whilst he ducks to peck your lips. "but you're going away tomorrow for a few days, so i wanted to spend the day with you instead."

your lips pull into a small smile, reaching up to find his cold lips again. luke chuckles against them, nudging at your nose. "pick a movie, i'll go put the snacks in a bowl."

he’s a cat person

a month into living together, luke arrived home with a bashful grin and a suspicious lump under his coat. after bracing you, he produced the most adorable little black kitten from his pocket. between the animal's big eyes and luke's pout, how could you say no?

arrax quickly became part of the family, growing into a beautiful sleek cat, always following luke around the apartment. he was smitten with the animal, constantly sneaking him treats and lifting him into bed when you weren't looking.

"he's going to get hair all over the fresh sheets, luke," you warned him, slipping into pyjamas. but it was too late, arrax was snuggled up beside his neck, the duvet pulled over them both. your two boys were impossible to say no to.

he’s an expert date planner

`'close your eyes." you didn't need to, considering luke had both hands covering your face and stopping you from seeing anything at all. you could feel him grinning with excitement, guiding your unsteady feet along the path.

a small gasp escaped you as your vision returned. the gardens of his mother's estate, dragonstone manor, had been transformed by candles and fairy lights. in the grass was a blanket and cushions, accompanied by a basket overflowing with food and a bottle of champagne. the stars up above shone down on the scene, a soft song playing nearby.

"oh, luke..." you murmured in wonder, turning back to him with wide eyes. "this is beautiful. what's the occasion?"

he shook his head, taking your hand. "no occasion. just wanted to have a nice night."

"we could have done that at home on the sofa," you giggled, following his lead over to the blanket.

"shush, you deserve the best. quick or the ice cream will melt."

he can cook really well

the smell hits you at the top of the stairs, before you even unlock the front door. the entire apartment swells with the homely scent of rosemary and garlic, luke's quiet humming leading you into the kitchen.

"what-cha doin'?" you sing softly, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"making dinner," he matches your tone, smiling. turning in your hold, he carefully balances a wooden spoon towards your lips, the other hand acting as a safety net underneath. "try."

your lips part, letting him slip the spoon onto your tongue. the flavours burst in your mouth, unable to stop the soft moan that leaves you.

"holy shit," you murmur, peering over his shoulder to the pan. "it tastes like heaven."

luke smiles proudly -- no, cockily, his talents assured once again. rolling your eyes playfully, you pinch his side and roll up your sleeves, quickly delegated to vegetable chopping.

clingy bf!!

you've been awake for at least an hour now, basking in the weekend rest and the warm arms of your boyfriend. he's still fast asleep, snoring on your shoulder. you were perfectly comfortable, but the urge to pee had come on in the last five or so minutes.

as quietly and gently as you can, you slip slowly out of luke's grip and towards the edge of the mattress. you're almost there, having not disturbed him, but then he stirs. his grip on your waist tightens and quickly pulls you back into his side, never opening an eye.

"luke, i gotta pee," you whisper through a smile, but you don't dare fight his grasp.

"no," he groans, hugging you tighter and burying his morning curls in the crook of your neck. "stay. you're warm."

you giggle, head turning to press a quick kiss to his temple. "m'gonna pee all over you if you don't let me go. i'll be two minutes, max."

"fine." he groans again, reluctantly lets his hold on you loosen, letting you slip out from the duvet and onto the cold ground. "but be quick, i'm counting."

[littletism]

what’s in mimi’s bag? 🎒🎀

i would call this my agere bag, but i take this bag everywhere!

the front pockets don’t have anything special in them. really basic stuff like my glasses case, medication, and one of the pockets has some sticker sheets in it.

now onto the fun stuff! (under the cut to keep the post short on your dash!)

my ipad! i carry this with me everywhere because i also use my ipad as an AAC device. i keep my communication cards on here because my motor skills are too poor to deal with physical communication cards!

my noise muffling headphones! i bring these to events i know are going to be very loud and overwhelming!

my favorite stim toys! these are my infinity cube and my pop it game :]

my stationary stuff! my big journal and my little journal, my planner, and my coloring book!

my pepper spray, which i always keep on me. you never know when you may need it!

and the front of my bag opens to reveal all my crafty stuff! i keep my pens and pencils in here, my pencil cases, my crayons, my washi tape, etc! i also have two pacis + their clips in the top right compartment! oh, and a bottle of hand sanitizer of course!

[princessfbi]

For the Ship and Sentence: Ship: BuckTommy (love them). Sentence: The wind rippled through Tommy’s hair and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around his husband as they laid on the beach.

BuckTommy

The wind rippled through Tommy’s hair and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around his husband as they laid on the beach. Well, hopefully husband. If they ever got to that part of the whole married thing. Which seemed farther and farther away with each passing venue they had visited and immediately decided wasn’t for them. Tommy didn’t care. He would’ve been happy anywhere as long as Evan was there with him. Eddie had warned him. Tommy had seen his fiancé with a clipboard before but he’d always been privy to the “you’re the exception but only ‘cause you’re cute” rule. Nothing had prepared him for... Well. To be honest, it hurt more than anything. Not because Buck was unbearable or because Tommy didn’t feel heard about the wedding preparations. If anything, Tommy had to remind Evan that what he wanted mattered too and it was okay if he didn’t like something that Tommy did. It hurt because it didn’t feel like there was anything he could do to make it better. Evan wasn’t sleeping. He was stressed. He was overwhelmed. He was stubborn. His sister had offered to help him find a wedding planner but Evan had pointedly refused to even consider it until absolutely none of the venues had passed whatever standards Buck had set on one of his many many sets of notes. The clipboard had quickly been upgraded to a binder and any time he asked if he could help, Evan just waved him off with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. What was supposed to be a day of celebration and fun was poking at Evan’s side like a thorn he couldn’t pull out no matter how many times he tried. And nothing quite seemed to be able to soothe him. He tossed and turned in Tommy’s arms until the sheets were tangled around them. His eyebrows knitted together like he was fighting off a headache every time he so much as looked at flowers. The to do list seemed to be growing, not shrinking, and under no circumstances was anyone allowed to bring up that they still hadn’t set a date. Tommy still hadn’t quite forgiven Chimney for causing that particular downward spiral. It was supposed to be fun and it hurt Tommy more than anything that Evan wasn’t having fun and there wasn’t a thing Tommy could do to help. Sure, Tommy had dreams. He had little touches on the reception and ceremony he had opinions on. He never thought he’d get the chance to even get this far to begin with. But all that mattered to him was that he got to tell the world that Evan was his. That this adorable, gorgeous, kind man had said yes to forever with Tommy and Tommy loved him so much that it was a miracle he didn’t implode. He just didn’t know what Evan was trying to prove. Or rather who he was trying to prove the mysterious point to. Frankly, Tommy didn’t care. The only person who mattered was in his arms. “Breathe baby,” Tommy murmured into Evan’s ear. Evan breathed out as he fell back into Tommy’s chest and Tommy pressed a kiss to the soft skin beneath his ear. Inch by inch the tension that had been lingering beneath his skin melted away and Tommy watched as Buck dug his toes into the sand. Trying to tear Evan away had taken a lot of bribery and some gentle manhandling and he’d only agreed to get in the car when Tommy had told him he had another venue they could look at but they only had a very small window to get there. A little white lie. Or maybe not so much. He’d just managed to get them parked and to the beach before the sunset on the horizon and the colors bled into the sky when Evan shot him a look that said he was busted. It was just meant to be a distraction really. A moment of peace where Evan could turn off the miles and miles of thoughts racing through his head. “It’s perfect,” Evan said and Tommy squeezed him even tighter as he stared out at the tide. “Yeah,” he agreed because it was. Because anywhere with Evan in his arms was. But that spot on the beach? Well it had plenty of space to fit their loved ones too.

[lazywitchling]

It's NOT a New Years resolution. We've talked about this.

But since I am starting a new planner, I have blocked off a little section for three things: Consume, Create, Maintain. And each day, I want to have at least one thing in each box.

Consume can be: Watch movie. Scroll social media. Look at pretty art. Play video game. Read book. Listen to music. Listen to podcast. Drink a latte. Have a candy. Brew some of the fancy tea. Etc.

Create can be: Draw, paint, doodle. Crochet. Write a long blog post. Write in my journal. Put stickers in my journal. Work on a jigsaw puzzle. Make some food that involves more than opening a box. Have an in-depth chat about our D&D characters with friend. Arrange trinkets on a shelf to be aesthetically pleasing. Create a playlist. Etc.

Maintain can be: Text friend and ask what's new. Write a letter to grandma. Call sister. Dust off the bookshelf. Put away that half finished craft project. Brush the cat, or clip his nails. Change the sheets. Go grocery shopping. Use a sheet mask. Use that leave-in conditioner. Throw out that dried-up nail polish. Etc.

Because y'all know that otherwise my ADHD ass will pick ONE of those categories and do it ALL DAY until I collapse.

[viking-raider]

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

[lau219]

After Hours

•• Robert Fischer x Reader ••

Mood Boards Previously shared sneak peek

Part 1

…………………………………………………………………………….

“You forgot to sign again,” Y/N said, lifting her head after glancing over the sheets of paper in her hand.

She’d been about to move on to the next topic they needed to discuss, but then she noticed the one thing she needed from him was missing from the document. As usual.

“Robert,” she said.

Holding the pages back out to him, she waited for him to take them from her outstretched hand, but he’d already looked away to look at a message on his phone, distracted and not replying to her.

She raised her volume slightly.

“Robert.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Robert!”

There we go.

“What?!” He lifted his head and looked back to her, frustration and surprise clear on his face as he furrowed his brow at her shouting.

“You didn’t sign this,” Y/N replied, her voice at a normal volume again, looking at him with equal frustration. “I need you to sign this.”

Not responding, instead just blowing out an exasperated breath, Robert glanced down at her hand and took the papers from her after setting his phone down. Hastily, he signed them before handing them back to her and then picking up his phone again. He was scrolling through his messages while Y/N organized and tidied the papers.

“You sign your name on dozens of documents every day,” she said. “Yet somehow, whenever it’s something I need from you, you always seem to forget.”

Robert didn’t reply, picking up a pen from his desk and writing something down. Watching, Y/N tilted her head as she continued to look at him.

“You really ought to slow down a little,” she said. “You’re always rushing. You should slow down and take your time on things.”

Again, he didn’t respond.

“Are you just going to ignore me now?” she asked with irritation.

“If I do, will you stop pestering me?” Robert finally spoke, his eyes now on his computer screen.

She gave a small humorless laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fischer,” she replied, her tone sarcastically apologetic. “I didn’t realize that I had to somehow do the job I was hired to do without actually involving you in any way. If only it was my name on the building instead, hm?”

Finally, Robert turned to her again. When he looked at her standing there with her hand on her hip and her head tilted in annoyance, his immediate thought was how beautiful she looked even when she was frustrated with him. But as usual, he forced himself to push any thought like that back down and answer her instead.

“I’ll have your name put on the building if it means you’ll stop pestering me all the time,” he said to her, but not harshly.

“Or, you could save us both the aggravation and just sign things when I give them to you the first time,” she replied.

They looked at each other for a quick moment, and then Robert raised his eyebrows.

“It’s signed now, isn’t it?” he asked her smartly.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head at his response, Y/N then pulled out the planner she always carried with her from under her arm. The floral design on the cover was, coincidentally, a perfect visual translation of her personality — colorful and vivid, yet elegant and soft.

But with Robert, Y/N’s softness sometimes gave way to something a little bolder, where, in situations like the one they were currently in, she wouldn’t tolerate him. She’d disregard the fact that he was the wealthy son of Maurice Fischer and co-owner of the company, that it was his money she was handing out, and that although she was a one-person department, he was still her boss. At times when he’d frustrate her, rather than grinning and bearing it, she’d let him know, in one way or another, that she was irritated.

And Robert let her get away with it.

Why? Maybe it was because she was incredibly good at her job. Maybe it was because he wasn’t nearly as much of an asshole as everyone assumed he was.

Or possibly, it was because he secretly could never stop thinking about her.

In truth, it was all of those things.

“The meeting with the candidates for the School of Arts grant is on Friday at 1:00 p.m.,” she said to him, continuing on again as she looked down at her planner. “I’ve narrowed it down to three schools, so we have to choose one after this meeting.”

Then she flipped the page.

“And we need to coordinate a time that works with your schedule to meet with the foundation board members. We need to convince them to give the homeless shelter another chance at the grant they were working for.”

“Why?” Robert asked, looking back to his desk.

“Because, unfortunately, they missed the deadline for submission due to some complications with the paperwork. So we need to restart the process again.”

Robert looked at her.

“You know the point of a deadline is to meet it?” he said, the hint of an amused smile on his face.

Y/N looked back at him.

“I know,” she said. “But this was out of the shelter’s employees’ control. City Hall didn’t get the documents they needed for submission back to them in time, so then their hands were tied.”

“Restarting the process means multiple new meetings with the board,” Robert continued.

“Yes,” she replied. “I know.”

“It would eat up a lot of time that we already spent on it the first time around,” Robert finished. “Not to mention, you already filled all my time next week with events for the last grant we awarded.”

Y/N tilted her head again.

“So are you saying you won’t do it?” she asked him.

When he just looked at her, she held his eyes as she spoke again.

“Please, Robert, this is a really important project.”

Robert smiled and shook his head.

“You say that about every grant proposal. You’re supposed to filter through them, Y/N, not try and get approval for every single one.”

“You and your father have the ability to make a difference, and that’s the whole reason your father hired me — to help you do that.”

“My father only agreed to starting a grant program because the board convinced him it would make the company look better,” Robert said to her. “Charity isn’t actually high on his priority list. Or on his list at all.”

Y/N gave a knowing smile then, laying her hand on his desk as she spoke.

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m asking you to approve the reapplication for this and not him.”

Robert looked at her again then, and there was something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite describe, but it seemed to be something almost akin to affection. It was the way he’d always imagine her looking at him. But once again, he pushed the thought down.

“You think I’ll say yes when we both know he’d say no to giving them another opportunity?” Robert said to her.

“Yes,” she nodded, continuing to smile, looking at him with those beautiful eyes.

“You really think I’m that much of a pushover?” he asked her, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

“No,” Y/N replied. “I don’t think you’re a pushover at all. But I know you’ll agree to do this.”

Robert raised an eyebrow.

“I’m pretty sure that means you think I’m a pushover,” he said.

Still looking at him, Y/N shook her head, her expression changing from warmly amused to serious.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, holding his eyes. “It means that I think you’re a better man than your father.”

Part 2

@nyxxie-pooh @xsweetcatastrophe @febris-amatoria @allie131313 @meister95

@wonderlanddreamer @mspookington-blog @an-eclectic-of-mass-destruction @teawonderfultea-blog1 @shopgirl6us

@vervainandspritz @cillmurphyslover @lara2719 @murphymania1976 @ll4n4

@the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @cardan-official @4ria790 @vastcapacity @helftmich

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Long War

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

War’s often did not last long when fought between warring galactic powers. They often fell within one of two categories.

The first would be a short but brutal war in which one side had overwhelming superiority over their rival and would decimate them within a short period of time either resulting in the defeated offering concessions for peace or being incorporated into the victors realm as a new territory.

The second and less frequent of the two would be a drawn out conflict that would reach a stalemate at some point due to the near equal power of the opposing sides resulting in a peace treaty or more likely a cease fire that would last for a few years before resuming hostilities.

These two outcomes were the most frequent as with the age of space travel often came great leaps and bounds in other forms of technology; many times said technology being diverted to respective military industrial complexes.

Weapons that could carve up continents from orbit or snap starships in two like twigs left little in room for anything else.

Humans did not share this notion.

In quite a contrast to the standard norm human military planners also considered lengthier drawn out conflicts. Data sheets and computer banks were filled with projections for supply consumption, industrial production capacities, troop conscription rates, and even the designated planetary ration levels that would be acceptable before general population revolts within their own territory.

This practice was first demonstrated when conflict broke out between the Drumengi and the Terran Republic after a series of trade disputes resulted in the Drumengi seizing several dozen human trade vessels and demanding a ransom for their return. This was a grave insult and the Terran Republic responded the next day with an open declaration of war.

While the Drumengi did not have a sizable fleet, they had invested in a wide range of defensive orbital installations that dotted their territory in what was known as the “Halo of Iron”. No fleet had ever been able to breach the defenses of the Halo and so previous wars had gone for little more than a year before a peace treaty was negotiated. The Drumengi expected as much and planned to force humanity to the negotiation table.

It was unfortunate no one had informed the humans of this plan as the terran’s had already devised a plan to crack the halo.

 Establishing a vast network of relay stations, automated satellite weapons platforms, and mobile fleet waystation’s that were brought in and placed along key trade routes into Drumengi territory, humanity established an iron halo of their own. Once the human ring was completed warning beacons were activated and a message was broadcasted in every language declaring the territory an active warzone and refused passage for any ship to try and cross through it.

Initially the Drumengi were inclined this was the prelude to a massive invasion fleet and prepared themselves, but as the months turned to years still no attack came. Human fleets patrolled the surrounding systems and intercepted all ships that tried to breach their lines with the help of the relay stations that were constantly scanning the surrounding space for ships.

Three years passed and soon every ship learned to avoid Drumengi space for fear of human retaliation; and that is when the Drumengi learned the true plan of humanity.

They never intended to besiege their defensive ring in some full frontal do or die charge. Instead they had formed a blockade that now was choking the very life of the Drumengi economy month by month.

It was never intended for the war to last more than a year, two at max, but now humanity was still showing no signs of relenting as the war dragged on to the fourth year. Critical supplies had not been stored in sufficient quantities for an extended war and while the public was assured of an eventual victory, Drumengi planners were beginning to panic. Worlds within Drumengi space were reporting that their stockpiles had dropped 32% since the war began and were increasingly demanding to open negotiations with the humans.

With little offensive capabilities the Drumengi were forced to sit behind their iron halo and continue to wait out the humans. Several delegations had been sent to other powers to open up channels and begin laying the ground work for peace talks, but each time they were informed that the talks were stalled by human counterparts who proceeded to drag their feet over every minor detail. One delegation went so far to report that a human diplomat would not accept any document unless it was written with a “Ballpoint Pen, color blue”. No one had any idea what that was exactly and even after researching it the device took another three weeks to be shipped in only for the human to reject it again saying that they had imported red pens instead.

The war dragged into the fifth year and supply levels had reached critical across the entire Drumengi domain. Supply levels had decreased by 67% for most worlds while fuel levels now were at a critical 13%. Travel was limited to military personnel, government officials, and what limited transportation still remained. Food riots had broken out in several major metropolitan areas on numerous planets and were becoming increasingly difficult to put down. In some cases the magistrates sent to neutralize the riots switched sides and joined the rioters, beckoning the military to get involved as well. That did little to settle the matter however as then the government worried how long it would be until the military switched sides as well.

With heavy hearts and empty bellies the Drumengi leadership finally came to humanity directly and offered to surrender. No terms were asked for save the resumption of trade and the dismantling of the human ring of iron.

The humans agreed to the first measure, but denied the second. Their ring of iron would remain, as a reminder of how easily humanity could cripple them again should the Drumengi ever show their hand again. They also insisted on reparations for maintaining such an extensive grid and exacted a high sum of credits as well. The Drumengi were outraged at this. They were told not only to surrender but to also pay for their imprisonment? The government would be overthrown within a fortnight when the general population heard the news.

Their pleas fell on deaf ears as the humans reiterated their demands once more.

As they had planned ahead for their long war, so too had they planned for the end result. They had changed the nature of the war and had steered it to the point where either outcome would be in their benefit. If the Drumengi agreed to the terms the current government would collapse in on itself as the general population railed against humanities demands, but if they refused their supplies would run out at the general public would once again violently rise up across their entire domain and their territory would become nothing more than mere pocket kingdoms for despots and criminals.

Regardless of the choice, the long war would finally be at an end.  

[ros3ybabe]

Day 1/90: 90-Day Challenge 🎀

Here we go again!!

Happy 1st of Febrary, lovelies 🩷

I was initially planning on coming back starting Monday but omg was I so tired after working all weekend and trying to keep up with school work. And now tomorrow is Friday, again? At least I'm not working double shifts this weekend, thankfully.

🏋‍♀️ Physical Health

walked ~10k steps

ordered some groceries

attempted to go to the gym (was having a bad day so it did not work out like that)

🧠 Mental Health

not much, but had a well needed, sorta relationship check in with my boyfriend due to some worrisome and upsetting dreams I had the previous night

♥️ Emotional Health

distracted myself from being sad and grumpy

📚 Intellectual Health

completed and submitted my 1st psyc assignment

planned homework for the next week in my planner

wrote down a sheet of things to remember for chemistry

🏘 Adulting

recieved my new insurance card in the mail and the virtual copy as well

set up an appointment with my therapist for this month

set up an appointment with my psych doctor for this month

set up an appointment with my PCP for this month

submitted an order for my birth control + other medication thru my pharmacy app

paid rent + made a credit card payment

🥰 Self Care

washed a load of laundry

scheduled some cleaning chores for the weekend afternoons

set up a morning routine (in my notes app) for me to begin following

bought some more electrolyte waters for the week

today was honestly not the best day for me mental health wise, if I'm being completely honest. I nearly cried a little but, was definitely overly mean to myself, and felt like garbage for a good part of today. but that didn't stop me from making myself a good dinner, relaxing a bit, being productive, and ending the day in a good mood.

I have no clue what tomorrow's post is going to look like since I have an 8am to 230pm class (we're going to be cooking for ourselves in preparation for the mini restaurant well be running next week). Right after class I'll have to change my shirt and head up a small hill on campus to my job, where I'll work from about 3pm to 930ish pm. so we will see what happens in tomorrow's update!

til next time lovelies 🩷

[astrobiscuits]

🎄🎵Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas🎵🎄

Holiday (365443) persona chart observations

🎅 Individuals with Ascendant at 1° or 3° get really excited in advance at the thought of Christmas coming. They tend to approach the holidays with the same innocent joy they had as kids even in adulthood

🎅 Stellium in 2nd house = tasty Christmas dishes and gifts are their only priority lmao

🎅 Neptune trine Venus tend to get lost in the beauty and bling of Christmas decorations

🎅 The sign and house where Jupiter is located tells you what type of gifts you might usually get on Christmas (it's also great to use as a gift guide!!):

🎁 Jupiter 1st house/Aries: gym equipment; sports-related merch; tickets to an event, which you're really passionate about; hats/head accessories; could also be something related to the natal Ascendant (check the description for your natal Rising sign for more info)

🎁 Jupiter in 2nd house/Taurus: lots of chocolate and sweets; clothes; art pieces; scented candles; perfume; fine china; kitchen utensils; cookbooks; (renewed) subscription to a movie streaming service

🎁 Jupiter in 3rd house/Gemini: a (new) car; books; musical instruments; handpan (if Jupiter is in Pisces or it positively aspects Neptune); your most memorable gift might come from a sibling or a relative (cousin, uncle, aunt)

🎁 Jupiter in 4th house/Cancer: plushies; heated blanket; board games; photo albums; your most memorable gift might come from your parents or it might be something passed on from generation to generation

🎁 Jupiter in 5th house/Leo: concert tickets; a trip to the tattoo parlor; gold jewelry; could also be something related to the natal Sun

🎁 Jupiter in 6th house/Virgo: Fitbit/smartwatch; aesthetic stationery (notebooks, planners, writing instruments); reusable water bottle; humidifier; pets

🎁 Jupiter in 7th house/Libra: make-up; beauty gadgets; a romantic partner/fiancé (no, but fr, you might get a love confession during the holidays); your most memorbale gift likely might come from your partner (if you have one)

🎁 Jupiter in 8th house/Scorpio: money/gift cards; sexy time toys; stockings; could be something the individual is obsessed with

🎁 Jupiter in 9th house/Sagittarius: trips to exotic destinations; henna hair dye; compression socks

🎁 Jupiter in 10th house/Capricorn: vintage decor; office chair; office purse (or just one that screams "high status"); sterling silver jewelry; high quality alcohol drinks

🎁 Jupiter in 11th house/Aquarius: electronic devices (smartphone, laptop, tablet, etc.); video games; anything related to supernatural beings (aliens, mermaids, fairies etc.); telescope; anything you've wished for/been manifesting

🎁 Jupiter in 12th house/Pisces: anything sleep related - pajamas, bed sheets, pillow sheets (or a new pillow), silk sleepmask; crystals; manifestation journal; tarot decks; art supplies

🎅 Christmas traditions based on the number of planets in angular/succedent/cadent houses:

❄️ High number of planets in angular houses (1, 4, 7, 10) = starting new family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in succedent houses (2, 5, 8, 11) = carrying out family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in cadent houses (3, 6, 9, 12) = tweaking/improving current family traditions or letting them go if they don't resonate anymore

🎅 Sun square/opposite Saturn & Ascendant conjunct/square/opposite Saturn = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but doesn't do anything to "destroy" it; might show a lot of sarcasm during the holidays; they might not celebrate Christmas due to reasons related to their position of Saturn

🎅 Sun square/opposite Mars = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but actively tries to "destroy" the holiday spirit for the people around them by picking up fights with loved ones

🎅 If you want to "hire" a Santa to show up with gifts for your kids on Christmas (aka choose one of your friends to fulfill this role), the best Santa would have atleast 3 of the following:

Sun conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Venus conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Sun/Moon in 5th house

Jupiter in 2nd house/5th house

Jupiter conjuncting MC

Sagittarius Rising or Jupiter as dom planet

Ruler of 2nd house (benefic planet) in 5th house and vice versa

Asteroid Abundantia (151) conjuncting Venus/Jupiter

❆❆❆ ~ 𝕸𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘, 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 ~ ❆❆❆

[nyoomfruits]

CHAPTER THREE

When Lando lets his head fall to the side, it’s to find Oscar has turned to face him during the night, and is now slow blinking at him in a decidedly annoyed way. Almost like a cat. A very grumpy, very sleepy cat. “Good morning,” Lando says. Oscar grumbles something ineligible and pulls the sheet over his head. His hair is poking out over the top of it, and it’s weirdly. Cute. Lando pokes at his shoulder. “C’mon, Oscar, don’t do this to me. You can’t go back to sleep. What if George comes back.” Oscar’s head pops out from underneath the sheets. His eyes are still small and bleary, and his mouth is almost a little pouty. “I will hide his folder. The vacation planner one. Maybe even his 5 year plan one if he really pushes me.” Lando mock gasps. “Oscar. You’ll make him cry.”

READ HERE

[nwarrior777]

(there is no spoilers in this post)

guys i have some unusual advice for you, which will make your disco elysium expirience so much more interesting

advice is...

...make your own investigation journal! i mean like. real one

[the text on journal: bullshit service officer]

then i first heard lore text in DE i thought "oh okay there is no way i will able to remember that" and just started to write down lore in my every day planner. and characters names, cause i don't remember even my friends name sometimes so

then i noticed, that quests system is a little... strange. it's a list but. i needed it to be more structured. and also! i had my own "quests" (goals?) which i wanted to do in the game but they weren't in the list. so i started to write it too, and it started to overcome my daily plans in my, yk, daily planner. so i was like "hey... i will make a journal specially for that! sounds cool"

and i thought like "okay it will take like half of it" but!!! i am on day 3 of game and already wrote all pages! so i had to add a bunch of paper myself!!!

it makes the process not just easier for people with memory troubles like me, it's brings new level of projection to the game - with this you have a feeling that you are investigating! it feels so interesting. it's like a extra bridge between you and game - you are in real world, the game is in computer, and the journal connect this two worlds

it will probably will not feels as much fun if you already played and know all the game details, but for the first run it's awesome addition!

i will not tell which structure and categories my journal has, it's much more interesting to make your own. the only last thing about is what i want to share:

i have "do and don't-s" (mostly don't-s) sheet were i write things which i don't want to say in dialogs or some actions which i don't want to do, (the reason of why you will (probably?) need this sheet - is one of the most favorite thing in this game. but as i said no spoilers. and no i am not about "what you should do and not" guides from internet, nooo, it's not about it. just play the game and you will get this part)

so yeah! get the real journal for this game and you will open new dimension of fun

[97-liners]

sugar and you, except with flowers and jihoon

cranky wedding planner woozi x florist reader

words: 2.1k

just a silly little thing i wrote this afternoon! spinoff of sugar and you (mingyu)

(May)

Jihoon is ill-tempered, foul-mouthed, and prickly. Whenever he’s distracted, lost somewhere in his thoughts, his face naturally settles into a scowl. His glowers could melt sand into glass. And so, it’s a measure of his competency, brutal efficiency, and eye for design, that he’s the most sought-after wedding planner in the city.

The first time Chan meets Jihoon, he’s nearly brought to tears. You’re in the back room, elbow deep in a sink full of camellia branches and pungent water, when you hear your teenaged part-timer calling for you in an anxious voice.

“Boss?”

You know he’s in trouble, because you’ve never heard Chan calling you ‘boss’ in the month that he’s worked here. “Coming,” you call out, drying your hands on the front of your apron. The camellias can wait. “What is it?”

You step out from behind the curtain separating the back room from the shop and come face to face with a very disgruntled looking Jihoon. Blinking at him, you slow to a stop, damp fingers still twisted in the fabric of your apron. “Jihoon? I thought you weren’t picking up your order until next Wednesday.”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Jihoon sighs. “The flowers for the venue can stay the same, but the bouquets need to be blue.”

You raise your eyebrow. “All of them?”

“And the boutonnieres too,” he says. “I know it’s short notice, I’m sorry,” he sighs, running his fingers through his already-tousled hair. He looks like he hasn’t slept in two days. 

“No, I can do it,” you smile at him. “I’ll come in this weekend to work on them. Chan,” you turn toward the boy, “can you go back and finish stripping the camellias?”

“O-oh, sure,” he responds, glancing briefly toward Jihoon before slinking past you and disappearing behind the curtain.

“Here, Jihoon,” you turn toward the wall of humming refrigerators along the back of the shop, “let’s see what we can do.”

Jihoon follows you, watching silently as you deftly pick out your selections. 

“What’s the vibe?” You pick out a small cluster of periwinkle-colored hydrangeas.

“Something with texture,” he responds. “Modern, not traditional, but not minimalist.”

“Some sage,” you pluck out the greenery and tuck it in with the quickly growing bundle in your arms. “These silver-dollar eucalyptus sprigs would be good too. As for the statement blooms, I’m thinking these delphiniums would do well. I have some dried blue thistles in the back as well. Some queen anne’s lace for extra texture. Um.” You look down at the mess of flowers and greenery in your hands. It’s a mess, completely unarranged, but you can already see the colors coming together.

Chewing on your lip, you shift some of the stems around, then you look up at Jihoon. “What do you think?”

Jihoon looks down at the flowers, then up at you. He might be looking at you more than the flowers, in fact. “I think,” he says, "you’re a genius.”

From behind a curtain of leaves and tightly-shut buds, you beam at him.

(Later, over steaming bowls of instant ramen and scattered thistle stems, Chan asks you how you know Jihoon.

It takes you longer than you’d like to answer that question, but you settle with what Jihoon would say if he was here: “we work together frequently.”)

.

.

.

(August)

By the time Jihoon comes around, iced coffees in tow, it’s pouring rain outside. The perfect Sunday morning of just a few hours ago is now gone, replaced with low-hanging gray clouds and relentless sheets of stinging rain. It’s so humid, the large glass walls of the greenhouse are covered in a dense layer of condensation.

You, too, are covered in a sheen of sweat as you twist green florist’s wire around stems of sunflower and seeded eucalyptus into a wreath. 

“It’s terrible in here,” Jihoon groans as he takes his place on the stool next to you. “It feels like I’m inhaling water.”

Laughing, you glanced over at him. “Jihoon, it’s a greenhouse. What did you think it was gonna be like?” 

Jihoon ignores your question, instead choosing to ask a question of his own. “Aren’t you hot? Look, you’re sweating. Here.” He holds out an iced coffee at you.

You take the cup from his hand and relish the feeling of ice-cold condensation on your skin. “Thank you, Jihoon,” you tell him, watching as his ears instantly flush red, “you’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not,” he says automatically. “You work too hard.”

“Aren’t you being a bit of a hypocrite?”

“Yes,” he answers easily. “And here.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small earthenware vase with streaks of blue-green glaze. “Saw this at a gallery last night. It made me think of you, so I bought it for you.”

“Oh, Jihoon,” you smile fondly. He places the vase on your work table, and then he rotates it slightly so the most interesting glaze pattern is facing you. “I love it, Jihoon. Thank you for thinking of me.” In your little office in the shop, you have a bookshelf filled with trinkets and knick knacks. There’s a school art project that Chan had gifted to you, various books on horticulture and the Victorian language of flowers, dozens of your own notebooks detailing watering orders and deliveries and watering schedules and soil formulas, and a small smattering of little glass vases and earthenware pots that Jihoon has collected for you over the years. Every week, you dust them all and wipe them down with a damp cloth so that they shine in the afternoon sun.

(A week from today when Jihoon visits and drops by your office to pick up an invoice, he stops dead in his tracks when he spots the newest vase on your desk placed between your monitor and printer. It’s prime desk real estate, dedicated just to his vase and the small arrangement of wildflowers that you’ve placed in it.)

It’s the weekend, but Jihoon is restless and itching for some work to do, so you give him a plastic tub full of loose ribbon and twine and set him to the task of spooling and organizing everything. He puts his laptop on the work table, right between your side and his side, and the two of you watch anime quietly while working. At the end of the afternoon, you have a dozen bright sunflower wreaths, and he has a full rack of spooled ribbon. 

When he helps you put everything away, back in the fridges and cabinets where they all belong, he accidentally brushes against you. For a moment, you’re so close to Jihoon, you can smell the coffee on his breath, and you wonder would it would be like to kiss him.

.

.

.

(December)

“Sorry,” Jihoon says, looking genuinely apologetic under the rising and falling waves of light coming from the passing streetlights. He’s driving, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, leaning your head against the cold window and watching him.

“It’s okay, I’m not cold.” The heating is wonky in his car, and he’s bundled up in a big puffy coat with his pressed white cuffs peeking out from under his sleeves every time he moves his hands on the steering wheel. His suit jacket had been given up for you to put over your legs like a blanket, despite your protests that you would wrinkle it. It’s okay, Jihoon had shrugged, ears red, I gotta bring it to the dry cleaners anyway.

“Oh, good,” Jihoon says. He pauses and laughs. “That’s not what I was apologizing for, but I’m sorry about the heating too.”

You frown. “What are you sorry for?”

Jihoon shrugs, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. It’s just the sound of the highway and the soft music from the radio that filters over the noise. Then, Jihoon tells you, “sorry for dragging you to a wedding and making you sit in a corner all night.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, and then you laugh. “Jihoon, you didn’t drag me to a wedding. You invited me to be your plus one, and I accepted. And you didn’t make me sit in a corner all night, we sat at a table and spent all night talking and eating.” Feeling very sleepy and warm, you grin dopily at him.  “And, for the record, I had a lot of fun.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond again for a few seconds, and you almost doze off before he speaks again. “Thanks. I, um, also had a lot of fun.”

“Thanks, Jihoon-ah,” you mumble. “Wake me up when we get to my place, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Sweet dreams.” 

(Later on, when he parks and stops the engine, he waits for a while first. You’re already awake, of course— you had woken when he turned off the highway and onto the quieter streets of your neighborhood— but you sit with your head leaned against the window and eyes closed, breathing quiet and even, and you let him have this moment. Here, in his parked car, where it’s dark and quiet, you let him watch you and chew on the inside of his cheek, hand balled up in a fist in his lap, clenching and unclenching as he struggles over whatever internal turmoil he’s working through. 

You decide to save him from his struggle and shift slightly, putting on a show of blinking awake, all dazed and bleary. 

“Cute,” Jihoon mumbles quietly.

You look up at him, wincing at your sore neck. “Huh?”

His eyes widen. You have an inkling that he didn’t mean for you to actually hear that, but he just flushes and pulls his lips into a thin line. “Did you have a nice nap?”

You smile at him and nod. “Thanks for driving, Jihoon. And thanks for inviting me to come with you.”

Jihoon nods, cheeks pink, and accepts his crumpled jacket when you hand it back to him. “Um,” he starts, looking at your right ear, “I had a really good time. With you.”

“Me too,” you grin, leaning forward. He leans back for a moment, and then he seems to recollect himself and he straightens his spine again so that the two of you are just inches apart. 

“And, I think it would be nice if we could do this again,” he finishes his statement. 

He’s so cute and flustered, you can’t help but to tease him a little. “What, go to other weddings? As guests? Just how packed is your social calendar?”

“I mean, not weddings, necessarily,” he rushes to clarify, “but, like, other things. The two of us.”

Your heart feels so full, you’re afraid it’ll bubble over. Jihoon reminds you of the gardenia plant you keep in your kitchen. You had rescued it from a hardware store, purchased at a discount when it was sickly and yellow, and you spent months and months caring for it– running a humidifier next to it, timing the amount of sun it was getting and supplementing with grow lights, testing the moisture of the soil every week, and after half a year, your little gardenia shrub produced just one large, beautiful, white blossom. Gardenias are sensitive– they like sun, but only a little bit; they like humidity, but water on the leaves will cause spots; and they won’t tolerate being moved around. You had originally planned on moving the gardenia to the shop eventually, but you ended up keeping it for yourself, this fragile little resident of your kitchen counter. 

You decide to take mercy on Jihoon. “I like you,” you smile, unable to suppress the fond way you melt at him. “We don’t have to go on dates if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I do want to go on dates! I just…” he huffs out a quick bark of laughter and pushes his hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly styled hairdo. “I like you too.”

“That’s perfect, then.” You lean forward, even closer. “Jihoon, can I kiss you?”

“I–I,” he stammers, flushing even harder, “yeah. Yeah.”)

.

.

.

(May, again)

“Hi, boss,” Chan pokes his head through the curtain separating the shop from the greenhouse. It’s his last summer before he goes off to college, so you’re having him train his younger brother before he leaves town. You’ll miss Chan, that’s for sure, but Geon is a sweet boy. “Your scary boyfriend is here again.”

You frown. “Don’t call him that.”

Chan shrugs. “I think Geon is gonna cry if you don’t come out.”

Shaking your head, you grin and take off your gardening gloves. The roses can wait. You have a grumpy boyfriend to take care of first. 

[mafiasliege]

I dare you to let me go

(this is part 2 of my fic. Enjoy reading!)

Part 1 ↓

JAMESON

Jameson was standing in a maze. Green bushes everywhere. And whichever way he went, the end was green too. Except now. Now, a 5"6' hazel-eyed brunette was standing there.

"Heiress." He tried taking a step toward her, but the distence seemed to stay the same, maybe it was getting bigger. "Where are we?"

"Not we. You. You seem… stuck."

"I'm not stuck. I'm-"

"-fine? Is that your latest lie? Then why am I here, Jameson? again?"

Where was he? And why did Avery seem younger?

"It's not a lie, heiress." Jameson was starting to get angry now, he turned around and started walking away. Avery- or the girl who at least looked like her- spoke louder.

"I'm not her, you know. Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"Shut up."

"Maybe she just-"

"Shut up!-"

"Jamie, I'm gonna start yoddling loudly until you get your ass out here!" That was Xander, but Jameson had no regard for a yoddling threat between his gasping for air like a drowning man. Apparently, the things that plagued him during the day had started following him into his sleep now.

He pushed away the sheets and picked up his shirt from the night before. Under it was that box. They same green box. How long had he had it now? An year? Two? And did it matter, really?

You're fine. Just get this done.

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

Jameson got dressed and got to the room. He was surprisingly on time, the only reason being Xander making good on his threat to yoddle. He was actually decent at it, but annoying, nonetheless.

"Do you believe you're being paid to arrange a funeral?" Grayson's tone walked the line between a question and an accusation.

"I need this entire-"

"That's enough! Thank you" Lyra inserted herself in the conversation and dragged Grayson away by his arm from the event planners, who went back to doing their thing.

The dinner last night may have been non-existent the last straw a disaster, but this party's going to be epic. Besides, Avery would at least be home for at least a while on her own birthday, right? She'd promised.

Jameson helped himself to one of the appetizers on the long table covered in platinum and shades of violet. He hadn't had breakfast. After everything was set, he excused himself to the garage and tried calling Avery.

"Your call has been-"

"You're call has-"

"You're ca-"

He plunked his phone down with force. Luckily, it landed on the soft leather of the Valkyrie's seat.

"You alright there?" Nash. It was Nash. Why was everyone so concerned all of a sudden? Avery had just missed her own birthday that he'd planned for days. Not a big deal. At all. Janeson rolled down the car's window glass.

"I am fine."

"You're staying to sound more like Gray than Gray used to himself," Nash took that as his cue to get in the passanger seat.

"Whatever you and Avery have going on, just talk to-"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" It came out slow with a hint of frustration. They were face to face now. "There's always another call, there's always another problem, there's always another person expecting the most from her and she's trying to live up to them more and more."

To that, Nash had no answer. They just say like that for a while.

"Try talking to her today. She might just listen." He patted Jamie on the shoulder and got out.

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

"I can't feel my faxing legs," Max whispered, sitting in a crouch. After a long day of planning Avery's party, everyone was sitting in a crouch waiting for her to come and surprise her.

"Sit on me, then," Xander whispered back to her.

"Oh, get a room you two!" Libby whisper-yelled at them, just as the door rattled.

"SURPRISE!!"

"Oh, my God!" Said… Mrs. Laughlin, who almost dropped the tray of crab cakes in her hands.

"Ugh. I can't crouch for much longer! Where is this beach?" Max whimpered, kicking her feet.

After two hours, all the dishes were half-empty, the wine half-drunk, and half the people previously in the room had dispersed.

"So-"

"Before you say what your about to say, Gray, just like everyone else in this house, I'm okay, and so is Avery."

Grayson frowned. "I've been where you are, Jamie. If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

Jameson felt Grayson call out to him as he stormed out walked away.

He was done. He was so done. With his brothers' concern, with Lyra's unnecessary inputs.

With Avery.

The floodgates were open now, just like the door of his bathroom as he slammed it back shut. He was angry, no, frustrated. He was frustrated at the dinner, he was frustrated as he threw the green box from his pocket at the sink, he was frustrated as he felt the mirror shatter beneath his knuckles. He could suddenly see a thousand reflections of himself. But every reflection in every piece of the shattered mirror was a shell of what Jameson Hawthorne used to be. How he used to be.

He staggered back, still staring at his reflections until his back hit the door as he slowly sunk to the floor. And just like that, the tears and the memories came rushing out to the surface.

"Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"She told me she's going to make it up to you"

"If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

"How many times have you had your heart broken over the last five years?"

And with the painful memories and the exploding bottled up feelings came crystal clarity, for the first time in a long time.

I can't do this anymore.

Loving Avery had made him love himself too, it made him realise his self-worth. He got to see what he deserved. But this, right now? He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to pretend to be happy. He didn't deserve to settle for a shell of what him and Avery used to be. He always says he can't imagine a life without Avery, maybe that was never a good thing. He had to start living for himself.

And there was only one way to do that.