#now all it needs is someone who completely changed their face with plastic surgery

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

they've so many members in the family i thought i was watching korea's kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi

[daidonzo]

Natural disasters aren't that bad

Author's note: This is Chishiya's point of view of Chapter 29 of my first fanfic, As much as you want. Can also be read as a standalone. •ᴗ•

Hope you enjoy!

＊✿❀○❀✿＊

Chishiya woke up in a hospital room.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, as sometimes medical students needed to work twenty-four hour shifts. During them, it was unlikely there was something to attend to at all times, so when things were quiet they would opt for taking brief naps in the rooms meant for doctors to do so, which had bunk beds and little more. They were cold and dirty, however, so Chishiya just went for the empty beds on patient's room.

This time, however, was different.

He flexed his fingers and moved his limbs, seeing what worked and what didn't, doing his own physical examination. He had a few already-treated wounds in his torso, but little more other than that. He didn't feel too bad, a slight pain here and there.

It was nowhere near as annoying as his neighbor's groans, and moans.

He looked towards his right, where the other person he had to share the room with was. He looked a lot worse than him, body completely covered in bandages. He even had difficulty breathing.

When the doctor came in, Chishiya asked what happened. They explained to him that Shibuya had been hit by a meteorite, and that there were a lot of people who had passed away, many others injured in the hospital. He had gone into cardiac arrest, but was brought back.

"Where you with someone?" The middle-aged doctor asked, tapping his glasses with his index finger so that they would stand straight over the bridge of his nose.

Chishiya was already shaking his head negatively when he remembered.

The face of a girl. Young, about his age. He frowned, slightly. One second, her features were clear on his mind, as if he had spent months with her. The other, it was nothing but a blur.

Strange.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about it, almost obsessively, up until the morning hours. How could he sleep, if his new roommate did nothing but cough and complain? At one point, Chishiya couldn't stand it anymore.

He stood up, got dressed and left the room.

He knew this hospital well, he had done his practices here before choosing to specialize in cardiothoracic pediatric surgery.

He also knew how to avoid being seen when he didn't want to.

He walked through the corridors. The hospital was overflowing, most likely because of the meteorite. There were nurses and doctors everywhere, coming in and out of rooms, throwing plastic gloves to bins after examining a patient, transporting thermometers, plastic cups filled with pills, oxygen masks and plenty of other stuff between places.

He came to a halt after crossing a corner.

There was a couple there. A man who was in his forties or fifties and a woman of about the same age, who had her face buried in her hands while crying, her shoulders shaking. The man was hugging her, speaking in a language Chishiya didn't understand. The woman finally lifted her head, nodding, and dried her tears with the back of her hands, smiling sadly at something he had said.

And Chishiya saw the same girl whose face had plagued his thoughts since that afternoon, albeit twenty or thirty years older.

Was it her? Was it a family member?

He went back to his room, feeling more confused than before.

------------------------------------------------ A few days later, he was released from the hospital.

He was by the entrance, doing all the tedious paperwork, reflecting on everything that had happened.

Since he almost died, a lot of things had changed with him.

He felt like he had wasted his life until that moment and he had the hope to, from now on, live differently. And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was because of that girl.

He would recognize her anywhere.

But, if asked to describe her features, he wouldn't know where to start.

Two young women walked past him, giggling excitedly, a pretty one with dreadlocks in her hair and the other wearing a baseball cap that covered her face. They sat down in a close bench, kept talking and laughing in a tone certainly too loud for a hospital, and Chishiya stared at them.

If they didn't want to draw any attention, they were not doing a good job.

It was then when the girl wearing the cap raised her head, and he could see her clearly.

It was the one he had been thinking about. The one whose parents (now, he was sure) he had seen in a corridor that night after he first woke up.

He examined her face. Her lips were full, if only a bit too big for the rest of her face. She had a strong jaw and faintly protruding chin. A very normal-looking nose, maybe broader than what was generally thought ideal. Her eyes were beautiful, slanted, but sunken and giving her a tired look. Her skin was pale and clear, but covered in dark bruises.

Overall, no one would have said she was ugly. No one would have said she was stunning, either.

But the more Chishiya looked at her, the more he liked her looks and the emptier his head became of any coherent thought.

She laughed.

And it was as if he had been blind all his life and was just now seeing the sun for the first time. Or looking at a field of flowers. Seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the world.

She was looking at him now. And talking about him to her friend, because the woman in dreadlocks turned around and stared, without any discretion.

Chishiya couldn't help but smirk, liking that he had caught her attention. He had to come close. He had to know who she was. He left the pen and the papers he was filling up in the counter.

And just walked straight to her.

"Hello. Sorry to bother you, do we know each other?" His tongue suddenly felt heavy in his mouth. His palms were sweating. Was he nervous? That was not a feeling he was accustomed to.

Her cheeks were red, clearly ashamed by the situation. Chishiya wasn't sure if it was because of him or because her friend was laughing out loud. He silently hoped it was because of him.

"I'm not sure." She finally answered, first looking in another direction, but then focusing her eyes on his.

"Maybe we have seen each other around the hospital?"

But Chishiya knew it wasn't that, because he had thought about her hours after waking up, without having left his room yet.

"I just woke up today for the first time. I got hit by that meteorite. I went into cardiac arrest." Not many people held his stare. But she did. The way she looked at him was cautious, timid, searching, determined. A corner of her mouth bent upwards and she directed her sarcastic grin at him, which he honestly found quite disarming. "According to the doctors I actually hit my head very, very hard and quite a few times, so it might be that we actually have seen each other before and I just don't remember."

"I would remember you." Chishiya simply said.

Her friend in dreadlocks used the sudden silence that followed that sentence to very obviously pretend to receive a phone call and leave the two of them to speak in privacy.

"The thing is… I do remember you." The blonde man continued, because what he had said wasn't quite right. "I just can't place you. But I also was there when the meteorite hit, and also went into cardiac arrest, so I guess not remembering something or someone is not out of the question."

She simply shrugged, adorably. Her mouth and nose were no longer too big for her face, they were the perfect size. What had he been thinking about? Her jaw and chin only accentuated her uniqueness. Her eyes were nothing but enchanting, captivating. Her pale skin contrasted with her red lips and with her hair, and the bruises only proved how strong she was.

"Maybe we met right before the meteorite hit and we have post-traumatic stress so none of us remember. I guess then we should meet again. Have a second-first meeting."

She extended her hand, waiting for his, still with that alluring smile.

He shook it.

"Name's Chishiya."

She told him hers. He knew he could never forget it again.

[chrysanthemum9484]

The little device you held in your hand had just showed to be able to be able to let you exist indefinitely between the nanoseconds. You could use it for a lot of things.

You could use it to steal, to cheat to kill... None of this things even entered your brain for a moment. All you wanted to do was to rest and relax (and study too... You had spend too much time from your life creating that device that you ignored your education).

What worried you however was letting that power get to your mind and corrupting you. You didn't care much for money beyond living comfortably in a small apartment, nor did you care for things in the world like global warming and war. Yes, those could complicate things but as long as your little invention was kept a perfect secret it would be fine.

...

Three years passed.

You completed your education at a horrifying pace and started a job.

You were working hard to save for that small apartment. The rising prices worried you though. You were thinking about creating a new invention to earn the money needed to buy said apartment.

...

Five more years passed.

With the help of your little invention you made enough innovative inventions that now you had 4 million net in your bank account. You worried that your friends would start seeing you only for your money and make it hard to have a boyfriend.

As such you decided to find one of your doppelgangers out in the world and to pay them to be your face while you get a plastic surgery to change your face just enough to be considered a different person.

And it worked. The person, Pamela, was more than happy to be your face and to receive payment for every time her services were required (with all expenses covered of course) and set up a lot of ground rules but you were both happy with this arengment.

...

Takashi was a great boyfriend. He didn't even react when you told him the truth about your identity and your world changing patents.

After meeting him you found yourself using your little invention less and less and you had decided to destroy it once you marry. It just felt even having the option to cram an hour's worth of time in a nanosecond a sacrilege. Expecially when hiding it from someone you lived with.

...

It turned out that Takashi didn't care about you at all. You caught him cheating one night right before your wedding night, saying to the hook up for the night how she was much better than his fiance in every way.

Calling off the wedding felt good after that and you were glad that you hadn't destroyed your little invention yet. You knew you spend at least a week's worth of time in the time dimension between the seconds. It was the first time in years since you spend so much time in there. It felt almost therapeutic to cry for so long in such a short amount of time, taking the time to go through the stages of grief. You knew that people would be asking questions but you didn't care. You would just say that you speedran this stages and people would drop it.

You didn't feel like dating for at least a few years.

...

You are 87 years old now. You haven't dated anyone but you have adopted three wonderful children who have also adopted and had more successful love life than you.

You knew your time was coming. Had already destroyed your little invention, making sure that no one will ever know that you had even made it.

You were right now surrounded by all of your children, grandchildren and all extended family. Pamela had unfortunately passed away last year but whatever family she had was there too.

You knew it in your soul that you were dying today, your little invention having left you more in tune with your body than any other activity ever could.

It was a good life even if you never married and had children of your own.

You’ve just created a handheld device that lets you slip into the interdimensional space between space and time. While there, you don’t age and, don’t experience time dilation and can travel long distances instantly. So, since you’re a very smart an imaginative person, you use it to sleep.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right? 

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

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

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

[consumeconstantly]

A Discowing at the Wayne Gala

Summary: Getting Jason to go to the Wayne Gala each year was more difficult than putting the Joker away in Arkham; he insisted the part was full of pretentious, rich social climbers who were horribly boring. As it turned out, all he really needed to persuade him was an upset, drunk girl rambling about how much she was going to deck her highschool enemies there to convince himself that he’d be in for a great show. (AKA the extremely chaotic and nonsensical salt/crack fic)

____________________________________________________

“I, Mar--” she hiccupped, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng solemnly swear to rip Lila a new one with Discowing’s godawful costume.”

“You say it girl!” called some random person from across the bar. 

“I will--” another hiccup “--use Batman’s Batmobile to run over Kim. And slam Red Hood’s ugly ass helmet onto Adrien’s stupid face.”

“Better yet,” Marinette pounded the table, “I will use their stupid utility belts to dismantle Gabriel’s empire. Somebody give me a yeah!”

“Yeah!”

All in all, the sight wasn’t that atypical for a bar in Gotham, if it weren’t for the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was barely five feet, wore pigtails, and knocked five men on their asses when they tried to approach her. 

“Take that, Hawkass,” she hissed. “Think you can pull a fast one on me when I’m drunk, do you? Well I’ve got news for you!”

Her words slurred together, and she leaned on the bar for support. “When I get my way, you’re going to be tied up into a pretzel and dumped into a volcano, then the tundra and then we’ll see how you like your stupid little jewlery touched.”

“Dupain-Cheng,” her blonde companion hissed. “Get yourself together. We don’t need another one of your breakdowns now. You know we’re going to be busy tomorrow night, and I don’t want to deal with you completely hung over all throughout the gala.”

“Aww,” Marinette squished her cheek onto Chloe’s “You know you love me.”

“Yes, yes, but I’m not going to tolerate this bullshit. If you want to make good on your plans, you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Ughhhh, why are they even invited to the stupid gala? It’s not even like they’re rich! Oh wait, I guess they are…” Marinette pressed her face to the bar, which was undoubtedly dirty. She reveled in it’s coolness, brushing her bangs out of her face. “And why do you have to be right? I guess I have to stop drinking if I want to make any of my plans work.”

“Your plans will work, hungover or not. It’s just a question of how much you’ll be able to enjoy them. I don’t want you complaining for months after the fact that you don’t remember half of what happened.”

“I guess you’re right. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and I'm feeling a little too warm to ice them out.” Staggering, Marinette got to her feet. “Call an Uber?”

“It’s already here.”

#

“What made you change your mind?” Tim frowned at Jason, doubtful that he wasn’t going to cop out at the last second. He was sure that he was only putting on his suit as some sort of deliberate ploy to get out of the Gala. Truthfully, it wasn’t required that all of them attend the Gala, but it was one of the few events that brought together most of the Wayne family.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Let’s just say I’m expecting quite the show.”

#

Jason kept a hawkish gaze on the entrance, waiting for the appearance of one short, pigtailed girl, and a taller blonde. They arrived almost forty five minutes into the Gala, which was good timing; not late enough to be considered rude, but most people have already arrived and have made their rounds.

Marinette looked different out of the dim lighting of the bar, and even though she definitely looks like she’s nursing a light hangover, she still managed to look stunning. With a matte-black floor length dress that attracted all light in the vicinity towards it, it’s hard not to look her way; Tim, for one, stared at the outfits that Marinette and her companion are wearing with stars in his eyes. Any moment now, he’s going to approach them. Or he would if he weren’t on Jason-sitting duty.

“I’ll play nice,” Jason promised.

“You? Nice?” Tim sounded incredulous, and it’s not like he can fault him. Whenever Jason did successfully get roped into coming to the Gala, it’s a sure thing that he gets at least one fist fight started, if not an everyone for themselves sort of situation. 

“They’re the reason I decided to come. It’s not me you have to be worried about.”

Tim groaned. “Really? They’re trouble makers? But they’re wearing MDC!”

Jason chuckled, slipping a hand into his pants pocket. Tim was weirdly obsessed with the highly secretive French designer. Nobody ever saw them in person. “Wearing your fashion icon doesn’t mean they can’t kick ass.”

Tim rocked back on his heels, looking at the two girls calculatively. “That’s right. If anything, they’re more likely to kick ass, because that’s the kind of confidence that MDC inspires in their designs. Well, if you’re not going to fight them, I’m going to introduce myself.”

“And I can’t leave my little brother alone.” Jason said, watching the blonde girl point in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel Agreste’s son and his plus one.

Who knew that doing a preliminary reading of the guests would be so informative? He could only guess what kind of beef Marinette had with Agreste Jr.--Bruce had enough problems with Gabriel; even though Wayne Enterprises only dabbled in fashion, Gabriel was a ruthless man when it came to his competitors, and tried to edge them out of the market multiple times. Foolish on his part, not taking into consideration that both Bruce and Tim were very, very stubborn people who only get more difficult to face when dealing with a challenge.

Wayne Enterprise might primarily be considered with R&D and technology companies, but underestimating the amount of influence Tim could gather when someone pissed him off was just a bad idea.

“Hi, I’m Tim--”

“--and it’s lovely to meet you, but we’re on a mission right now,” finished the blonde girl, who Jason was now 98% sure is Chloe Bourgeois, daughter of Paris’ mayor and Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois. “Dupain-Cheng, it’s your time to shine.”

“God,” Marinette muttered underneath her breath, ducking her head. “I can’t believe you’re holding me to what I said while drunk last night.”

“It’s not just what you said drunk last night, it’s the most effective way of dealing with that liar. She’ll be so embarrassed she’ll hide away forever. Maybe get some plastic surgery and change her name. Daddy will make sure she can never step foot in Paris again.” 

“Chloe,” Marinette groaned. “We all know how that panned out last time. Do you want a repeat performance?”

“By that time Hawkmoth will already be taken down. No need to worry about evil butterflies.”

“Evil butterflies?” Tim frowned. 

“We can fill you in later, Marinette has a car to steal.”

“Chloe!” 

“Oh stuff it, Dupain-Cheng, you’re no goody two shoes, even though you pretend to be one.”

Marinette whispers into Chloe’s ear, eyeing Jason and Tim. “Do you have to discuss that with other people around?”

“Well,” Chloe crossed her arms. “You boys aren’t going to rat us out, are you? They’re part of the infamous Wayne family. They’ll definitely be in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You know they already reached out-- I can’t risk--” Marinette kept cutting herself off. “Fine, but if you-know-what falls through, I’m putting it all on you.”

“Like they’re going to pass you up just because of what’s going to go down at this gala. If anything, they’ll be glad to know that you’re as vicious as you are creative,” Chloe checked her nails and touched her hair, making sure it was in place.

“Sorry, what? I’m a little bit lost.”

“Keep up, Drake. I’m beginning to doubt your title as child-genius.You have the unique opportunity to watch history in the making.”

#

“Wait,” Tim’s jaw almost dropped at the display in front of him. “How did you even--”

“Trade secret. Marinette doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“But that’s the Batmobile.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jason laughed. He stole the hubcaps off the Batmobile, Marinette stole the whole thing. What a sight.

#

Here’s how the rest of the night went: Chloe plied Marinette with copious amounts of water, trying to get rid of her headache. Marinette hopped into the driver’s seat of the Batmobile (to which Chloe cackled, “And she doesn’t even have a driver’s license yet,” and Tim paled to the shade of freshly fired ceramic plate.) They ran over Kim, who, somehow managed to get into the event as a server of sorts, at which point Tim swore that the background checks would have to be upped again. Marinette landed the Batmobile in the middle of the gala, barely managing to avoid several innocents who were in her path. She reached into the convenient storage compartment that Jason was previously unaware of and pulled out the Discowing outfit and his helmet-- seriously, how did she get those?-- and slammed the car door.

Security, of course, was waiting for them. How couldn’t they, with that big of a disturbance? Half of the guests were up in a tizzy-- mostly the ones who were experiencing their first Wayne Gala-- and the other half were looking on, amused. Tim waved the guards off as Marinette made her way to Lila and Adrien, like a vengeful Valkyrie.

“You,” Marinette grimaced. “Chloe, say the words, I forgot them.”

“We decided that words were useless, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Marinette said, before promptly slamming Red Hood’s helmet onto Adrien’s head hard enough for him to fall to the ground, likely concussed. Lila, who started screeching and running away made for a surprisingly difficult target. Well, difficult in the fact that she was using other people as shields, but once she came across a group of Experienced Wayne Gala Goers, she got pushed out of her comfort zone.

In eight inch heels and with her hair down, Marinette stalked towards her prey. 

“Lila Rossi,” Marinette intoned. “Your sins will be judged.”

“What are you going to do, Marinette? You have no power here. We’re in America now. No Ladybug to back you up. No public opinion in your favor.”

Marinette shuddered. “Ugh, your voice makes me want to vomit. In any case, I sentence you to life in Discowing’s costume.”

“You can’t make me wear anything!”

Famous last words, Lila.

#

“I’m still so confused. What just happened?”

“Don’t worry,” Chloe gave Tim a pat on the back. “You’ll get used to this kind of thing if you end up hanging around Marinette more often.”

“I think I’m in love,” said Jason.

“Get in the back of the line. The only thing Marinette has time for now are her plans to take down Hawkmoth.”

“I’m not opposed to joining you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jason paused. “By the way, has she already stolen the utility belts to take down Gabriel or does she need more? I’ve got contacts.”

 "Fair warning, everything in Paris is at least twenty times crazier than what you’ve seen here today.” Chloe swiped through a few notifications on her phone. “And please, do you think someone who hotwired the Batmobile needs your help getting her hands on a couple utility belts? If she really put her mind to it, she could get the Lasso of Truth from Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, Jason, I’m definitely not going to join you on that trip.” Tim turned his attention towards Marinette, who was currently passed out on the hotel couch. “Anyways, You two are wearing MDC, right? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

Chloe looked at the poor boy with pity. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

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i’m really churning out these jasonette prompts like butter (god butter is so freaking good you ever eat butter straight? i do. heart attack city & the next paula dean) even tho i only thought about joining in right when july was ending but here we are 

[deliciousangelfestival]

xWicked Romance : Chapter 4 : He’s cute.

Character : Mob!Steve Rogers x Retired Assassin Female Reader

Summary : Steve was hoping to meet the right one until he met her. But is he ready to be with her? He thought his life already dark because of his job. He wouldn’t able to find a woman that strong enough to face the hardship to stand beside him. Turn out his life is nothing compared to her. 

Warning : No smuts, since I don’t know how to write it. Peace y’all.

Steve woke up because he felt someone softly brushing his hair. He opened his eyes, finding her hand stopped. Both of them are lying on his bed.

Her head still laying on his arm, he move her body closer to feel her warmth. He bury his head into the crook of her neck and mumbled "Don't stop."

“That’s a nice way to wake me up.” His voice sounded deeper and raspy. 

(Y/N) chuckled softly when she heard his voice. “You’re too excited last night.”

She suddenly turned her body and jumped off the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Steve was surprised that she's easily escape from his arms.

“Stay there; I’ll be back.”

When she left the room, Steve noticed she was wearing his shirt and boxer. 

The smell of bacon and pancakes made him look at his door. She came in, bringing a tray filled with food, a glass of water, egg, bacon, pancake, and coffee. It's been a while since he had breakfast in his own house. 

Steve is confused if today is his birthday or not? He never got pampered like this. Usually, it was him the one who did this kind of thing. Not the other way around. 

He sat up, the blanket only covering his waist this time. (Y/N) gently put the food tray on his lap. She saw Steve had a confused expression on his face.

“You need a big breakfast to start your day.” (Y/N) said.

“How did you manage to do all of this?” Steve asked after he finished drinking water. 

“Because I woke up too early. I made breakfast for both of us.” (Y/N) said, walking in with another tray of foods. She sat beside him and kissed his side lips. “You completely tired me out last night.”

Steve gave a loud laugh; he never could imagine a girl like (Y/N) not just brave but also good at cooking. He didn’t notice she was able to slip out from his arm. Because of his habit he got from the military, Steve could get awake so easily even with a small voice and movement.

Both of them enjoy their breakfast together, a few dirty jokes there but not much since it’s still early in the morning. After that, they have another hot session in the bathroom. (snu snu time.)

The time they spent together (Y/N) told Steve he is free to ask anything from her. She’s pretty sure if she tells him everything about how she grows up, he wouldn’t believe any word that came out of her mouth. 

Steve doesn’t mind it; he prefers her life to be mysterious. She never failed to give him a surprise. He likes her spontaneity. Perhaps some day she could give him a heart attack. 

While they put on their clothes (Y/N) phone vibrates with a pop message from Peter saying he’s downstairs to pick her up. 

“Do you have to go?” 

Steve felt the time was not enough when she told him that she needed to go. 

“Come on, just stay a bit more,” Steve asked her with a pleading tone. He holds her wrist when she is ready to go out. (Y/N) saw his puppy eyes couldn’t help blurting out, “So cute.” 

Steve get worried; no one would dare to call him the mafia boss cute. At the moment, he questioned his masculinity. In which part she saw him cute. 

“I have too.” Her finger caressed his cheeks and touched his beard. “Let’s have dinner tonight. Okay?”

Steve answered, “Alright, see you tonight.” Before he released her, he gave a surprise kiss on her lips. 

With hazy eyes, he pulls away while (Y/N) is still shocked with the kissed “Wow.”

Steve chuckled and winked at her. “That’s a sneak peek for tonight.”

(Y/N) smiled, she doesn’t want to light a fire from Steve. She closed the door and left the house. 

When she walked out, (Y/N) saw two older couples get out of a car. She knew who it was. They are Steve’s mother, Sarah Rogers, and the former mafia boss Joseph Rogers. 

She looks at them as a couple; they look lovely together. But (Y/N) noticed when Sarah looked at her, she became a scary mother in law like on the TV. 

Sarah walk like a lady and stop infront of her. She told (Y/N), “Listen carefully. Regardless of what happens between you two. I can’t accept you. I know you are different from any other woman. Even if you can stop Brock with just one bullet, I’m not going to let some girl use my son again.” 

After she said her words, Sarah turned and left (Y/N) alone while Joseph finally followed her. 

Sarah walks too fast; she turns and talks to her husband, “Is she still looking?”

Joseph glanced through his shoulder “Yeah, and she’s waving at us.”

Sarah was bewildered. “What kind of woman Steve got into this time?” She thought the woman would get angry, but it turned out she’s still there and waved at them. 

“First, it’s a C.I.A then a journalist. Now what?” Sarah sighed. 

Joseph also feels the same way as his wife. Their son picks a girl that always reveals their business. It’s pretty funny seeing his wife getting so worked up. 

“Alright, don’t get mad. Let’s meet our son.” Joseph hugged his wife's shoulder. 

When the bell rang, Steve hoped it's (Y/N) the one who stands in front of his door. He didn’t even check the monitor; he quickly opened the door. 

"You're back…." Steve didn’t even finish his speech. His smile dropped when he saw his parents.

"Stevie." Sarah hugs him. 

"Mom? Dad? What are you- AHHH!!!” 

Steve hissed when his mother pinched his chest. He looked at his father with a look of ‘What’s all that about?’

Joseph answered, “We met her when we arrived.”

Steve finally understands why his mother became moody this morning. 

“I can see why you like her. She seems different.” Joseph whispered at his son while Steve nodded all the time. 

Sarah suddenly jumped in. “Are you sure she’s good for you? What’s her job? Please don’t tell me she’s a lawyer or a judge?”

Steve patted her back to calm her down. “Mom, calm down; I’m not dating from that side this time. She’s an analyst in automotive for a private company.”

“Ooh, that explains the nice car,” Joseph murmured. Sarah glared at her husband. 

“I hope you don’t get a heartbreak this time.” Sarah felt pity towards her son, Steve could be scary when he’s mad, but when he’s sad, he looks like a golden retriever puppy. 

He understands why his mother asked him this cause she saw how broken he was when his relationship ended with Peggy. 

####

From day one, they have obstacles because of their jobs. Peggy stands to abide by the law while he already saw how corrupt and hypocritical the government is. He saw his comrade die for nothing. 

His world almost crumbled when he found out that Peggy was ready to put his family into jail. And the most hurtful thing is that she did that to get a promotion. 

'What am I to you?' He asked her this question. She was unable to give him the answer.  

####

But behind the thunder, there’s a rainbow; his mother, Sarah, she used to not give a damn about what Steve and her husband did in mobster stuff. When she found out her son got used, she went livid. 

She told her son to make them regret treating him like that. Sarah knows her son is a mobster, his life is always related to dark stuff, but he always makes sure to treat his own woman like a queen. 

And right now, he knew he moved too fast with (Y/N), but he felt like she shares the same value with him. 

.

.

.

In the afternoon, Steve is in the car with Sam and Bucky. They’re heading to the hospital right now. 

Steve was looking at the window; he could see his reflection. He suddenly remembered what (Y/N) said in the morning, “Guys.”

Bucky and Sam ‘Hmmm’ at the same time.

“Do I look cute?”

Sam stops the car abruptly. Suddenly everything became silent. While Bucky cursed, “What the f#%* Steve?”

“Alright, the answer is pretty clear.” Steve scoffed, he doesn’t want to continue; their reaction is enough for him. 

Sam and Bucky are confused because their friend just asks them nonsense questions. 

“Well, we have arrived,” Sam said; he looked at Bucky. “You follow him; I will stay here. Make sure he doesn't get plastic surgery.”

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of the car with Bucky. 

“Is she the one who said you’re cute?”

Steve nodded.

“Hmm, you completely whipped. Well Steve, I completely understand,” Bucky tells him they’re in the same position since he’s with Natasha. 

Both of them stopped at the V.I.P patient room. They saw two bodyguards standing in front of the door. The bodyguard steps away when Steve approaches them. One of the bodyguards opened the door for him. 

Steve turns to Bucky. “Wait here.”

“Sure.”

Steve walked into the room; he thought Brock still fainted. It turns out he’s awake and eating. 

Brock was wearing a neck brace, his two legs wrapped in a cast, his left arm also wrapped in a cast, and his elbow fractured. 

Brock lifted his head when he saw Steve. He clicked his tongue. 

“Your girlfriend almost killed me.”’

“Huh?” Steve responded. 

Steve didn’t know that (Y/N) visited Brock before him. 

####

What happened 4 hours ago 

It was Peter who picked up (Y/N) at Steve’s place with her car.

She gets into the car and puts on her seatbelt. “Let’s go back to my apartment first; I need to change my clothes. I have to meet someone later.”

“Who?”

“A friend, he got into an accident last night.”

“Hmm.”

When they arrived at her place, Peter asked, “Let me guess your sick friend is Brock?”

“Yes.”

Peter shook his head. “Poor guy.”

.

.

At the hospital.

Brock is feeling drowsy because of the painkiller. Because of the car crash, his neck got the impact. 

He saw a shadow figure in front of him, “You!!!”

“Good afternoon Rumlow.”

“Hmph!!!” Brock wants to strangle her; he remembered her from last night. 

(Y/N) walked closer to his infusion bottle; she took out something from her pocket. 

“Wha--”

“You see, Rumlow, I kinda like Steve, but the Tom & Jerry fight between you and him has to stop. I don’t want you to appear and ruined the romantic moment like last night.”

Brock finally could see what she’s holding in her hand. (Y/N) notices he is looking at the syringe that she has.

“What inside this syringe could put you to sleep forever. You know what I’m capable of, right?”

Brock cursed, “#$%^*!!!”

(Y/N) nodded. “Correct, so if you still want to leave, just stay 1 million km from us, okay?”

Brock defeatedly answered, “Okay.”

“Great, go back to rest.” She opens the cap of the syringe and injects it into his infusion bottle.

“Bi*$#!!”

“Relax, it’s just another painkiller for you.” After she said that, Brock eventually fell asleep. 

When he woke up, his bodyguard gave him a food container with a small note 'I'm sorry, she’s pretty scary.'

####

Back to the present

“Really?” Steve was astounded.

“Your new girl is crazy.” Brock clicked his tongue. He can’t imagine having a girlfriend like (Y/N).

In Steve’s mind, her threat towards Brock is nothing. His heart fluttered when he knew what she did for him. Never in his life, a woman would threaten his rival for him. He never get spoiled like this. 

Steve chuckled; he got up from the chair and mumbled on the way out of the hospital ward, remembering what (Y/N) had done for him “My cute devil.”

He finds it cute, though; he never had a brave enough girlfriend to threaten his rival. He used to be the one who protects his girl. 

Steve wants to meet her again; lucky for him, she texts him first and gives her location. 

.

.

.

Steve arrived at the high-end restaurant that, even for him, it’s difficult to book a table. She won’t stop giving him a surprise. He saw her wearing a dress that fitted her figure. She looked beautiful and confident.  

“(Y/N).”

(Y/N) raised her face gently, the corner of her lips moving upward when she saw him. 

Steve felt like he could drown in it. Both of them had dinner together. While they’re eating, he needs to say something important to her. They were having wine when he grasps her hand. It made her look at him. 

He has to say it to give her the chance to walk away “(Y/N); I like you. I feel a connection between us. But being with me means sometimes you will be facing unexpected things. I know you are strong, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

She tilted her head a little and looked at Steve in front of her. She pinched his chin lightly. “Steve, I don’t care how many enemies you have.”

“I will kill them one by one.” 

She wasn’t saying a flirty line towards him instead of a deadly one. Everyone said she’s scary, but for him, she’s a great blessing in his life. 

“You know that I’m capable. I don’t mind working as your partner. Not just as your girlfriend.”

‘Thump!’ Steve's heart fluttered when he heard that word.

“Girlfriend?” 

“You don’t want to?” (Y/N) raised her eyebrows. 

Steve quickly answered, “Please be my girlfriend.” It would be crazy to decline it; he wants to show the world that she belongs to him. He’s afraid if he’s too late, she will slip away from his finger. To put it more plainly, Steve may not have met another woman like (Y/N). 

A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogged my post. 

To my followers and people who liked my post, I hope you don’t mind if I tag your name:

Tag:

@samwinter09

@colorfulpeachpurseghost

@marce170018

@stepheewdgirlie

@juliealma1

@valhalla-kristin

@fivebefore21

@iloveshawnieboi

@sarahbellesaurus

@kesyakesh

@xkarmenvlx

@jemimah-b99

[fangirlings-things]

GREY'S ANATOMY PREFERENCE: THE MOMENT THEY REALIZE THEY ARE IN LOVE WITH YOU

A/N: I've been rewatching grey's and fell in love with the characters all over again. I'm thinking about doing a female edition to this so let me know what you guys think 💖

Derek Shepherd → he would realize he loved you when he found you on an on call room, crying because of a patient’s diagnosis. You had gotten too close to that case, too involved even though he had warned you not to. To see you in such pain over someone else’s future, your compassion and the amount of care you showed to all of your patients, it made him see just how much he himself cared about you. How much he wanted to be the one by your side to comfort you when you needed.

“It’s so unfair, Derek. So unfair” you tried to contain your sobs, as he sat by your side at the floor, leaning his back against the bed. He had locked the door behind him, knowing you wouldn’t want anyone to see you like that. “She’s had cancer four times. Her children won’t come to visit. Her husband died years ago. She’s going to die all alone and there’s nothing I can do about it”

“Come here” he passed one of his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close, until you laid your head on his shoulder and he could hug you tightly. “She’s not going to be alone. You and I, we’ll be here for her” he kissed the top of your head, coming to terms with his feelings at last. “You and I” he mumbled, sighting.

Mark Sloan → he would realize he loved you when after a long shift, he saw you drinking at Joe’s with your closest friends. From across the bar he heard you laugh and tell jokes, having real fun. That with the talent you showed at the hospital everyday would make him see that you were an amazing person, someone he would really like to be together with. Someone he could love deeply.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked while approaching the table you were on, having just gotten the courage to do so, as your friends had just left together. He couldn’t help but find beautiful the surprised look on your face.

You pointed to the said seat with your right hand, that held the drink. “What do I owe the pleasure, Doctor Sloan?” the small smile on your lips got to him.

“I thought you could use some company” he shrugged, sitting down and asking two more drinks to be delivered. His eyes were intensely focused on yours. “And please, call me Mark”

Alex Karev → he would figure out his feelings for you because of a fight you two have. You were colleagues working on the same case and the fight would happen at the hospital, arguing in the corridors loudly enough for the nurses and other doctors around to have to come near and calm you both down. To see your determination, your fierceness in fighting him for what you thought was right, made him see how much of a strong person you were and it awakened things in him.

“You’re such a child! Did you know that, Alex Karev?” you shout at him, your fierce look locked in his eyes as you did so.

“And you're stupid, seems like we’re even” he had a smile on his lips and his hands on his waist, and the tone on his voice made your roll your eyes and turn around to leave. You could feel the eyes of all the members of the staff on you both. “So you’re walking away now? That’s mature” he spoke up.

“When you decide to see reason, page me” you said, without turning around. Your confidence made him actually laugh.

Jackson Avery → he would realize he was in love with you when you stood up to him during a patient’s case, where he was making a mistake on purpose in a diagnosis, to test the interns and no one else in your class had the nerve to tell him so. You faced him in front of everyone else, with politeness and yet, confidence. He was so admired and proud of your attitude, that he later went to compliment you personally in private.

“It was a good thing, what you did back there” he said with a little smile on his lips, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, since he had ended his shift and was about to leave. “None of the others dared to say anything, but you did”

“I had to” you looked down at your feet, embarrassed for receiving such a compliment from an attending. “The others wouldn’t say anything, so I couldn’t let the patient at risk just because you’re my boss”

“And that is why you’re scrubbing in with me tomorrow” he said, the smile on his lips getting bigger because of your words.

“Really? Thank you, doctor Avery!” you smiled brightly at him, finally looking him in the eye, letting your embarrassment aside.

“Perhaps after the surgery, I could take you to dinner” the plastic surgeon continued, and your eyes widened at that. Jackson Avery couldn’t just have asked you out. He chuckled by your expression, licking his lips for a brief moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (Y/N)” he turned around, and then walked away.

Owen Hunt → he would realize he had feelings for you that went beyond friendship when he saw you speaking up to a patient that had been disrespecting you. He would notice your educated arguing, the patience and your responsibility and that would make him respect you even more. Afterwards, he would see how you had been hurt by the patients words though, and the pain it caused him would make him notice just how much and strongly he really liked you.

“It was quite rough in there” he got close to you in the corridor, leaning his back against the wall as yourself did. “You did good, in defending yourself”

“I had to” you sighted, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m doing my job just like everyone else here, I don’t deserve to be treated like that when all I’m doing is trying to help”

“Of course you didn’t deserve that. Some people they’re just…” Owen sighted, shrugging slightly.

“Stupid” you completed.

He chuckled, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it lightly. “Yes, stupid. Don’t let them get to you”

Atticus Lincoln → he would realize how he felt about you as you two were scrubbing into a long surgery together, washing your hands side by side and you would admit to be going through a rough time in your personal life, outside the hospital. The fact that you trusted him enough to tell him that, made him happy and proud of himself. He loved the idea of being close to you, of making you feel good and that’s what he intended to do.

“If you want, we could do something together tonight” he suggested, looking at you with warmth in his bright eyes. “Maybe watch a game, order some food or grab some drinks if you prefer”

You smiled at him, continuing to wash your hands. “I would love that, Link. Any of those things would be really great”

“Great” he replied, averting his eyes from yours as he could feel his cheeks burning a little. The fact that you would love those things with him made his day. “That’s really great”

As you two walked into the OR, all he wanted was the end of that shift so that he could spend time with you.

Andrew Deluca → he would notice he had feelings for you when he has a nervous breakdown after a 48 hour shift, unstoppably trying to find a diagnosis for his patient, but having no success. You were the one who helped him, who made him eat and stood by him when others judged him for not being himself. You understood that he wanted to help, to be useful. And that meant the world to him.

“I-I have to find something, anything. I have to figure out what’s happening, (Y/N)” he stumbled on his words, hands on his hair as he took deep breaths, eyes running around the room as he felt like he was going to suffocate.

“Andrew, look at me” you got his hands in yours and made him look deeply into your eyes, smiling to try to give him some comfort. You hated to see him like that, so nervous. “We’re going to figure out what’s wrong. I'll help you. I’m here for you”

“Thank you, thank you” he passed his arms around you and hugged you tightly. You could feel his breath on your neck as you tightly hugged him back. He silently promised himself that after that craziness ended, he would tell you how he felt.

Nathan Riggs → he would realize he had feelings for you when he would overhear you saying to Jackson that you felt slightly jealous of Meredith because of him. Because he had been asking her out. It shocked him, to know you felt that way. He had always thought you considered him like nothing more than a friend. But to know that you in fact wanted to go out with him, to know that you had interest, it changed everything.

“I overheard you speaking with Jackson” he said, when you entered the on call room he had just paged you to. Your eyes widened and you wanted to run away and he continued to speak. “You said you were jealous of Meredith”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that” you sighted heavily, embarrassment filling your whole being.

“I’m glad I did, though” he walked towards you, standing now just a few steps away. His proximity made a chill run through your spine. “Do you want to go out with me, (Y/N)?”

You smiled to yourself, still not believing that was actually happening. “You know I do”

[simpleserendipity]

Wish you were here | Calum Hood

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader (established relationship) Warning: angst, swearing, death, blood (very minor) Word count: 2,218 words

This was inspired by the song Wish you were here by Neck Deep

Saying that Calum Thomas Hood is your boyfriend is an understatement. He is your lover, your confidant, your teacher, your best friend, and your soulmate. Every day you’re left wondering how you could have found someone like him among all the people in the world. How someone so caring, smart, funny, handsome, and kind fell for you. It’s like he was made to be yours and you were made to be him, there was no one else for you two but each other. Your relationship rivaled only those of a fairytale.

You two had nothing but hopes and dreams for your lives together until the day it all changed. The day that you lost him. You were right beside him when the accident happened. You took months to recover but he was touch and go from the moment he was pulled from the wreck and didn’t even make it through the night. You didn’t even get to say goodbye because you were still under surgery, a life-saving surgery you needed to survive. Not that you would call this living because without him it’s surviving, not living. Realistically there wasn’t like there was much you could have done but you keep thinking maybe if we hadn’t argued 3 days earlier, maybe if you hadn’t insisted on going to the party, or maybe if you hadn’t been singing so loud. You just keep thinking maybe there was one thing you could have done. You know that it wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t Calum’s either so you didn’t understand why the world was so cruel. You knew it was the fault of the ice on the road and the driver who was speeding and spun out into your car. You couldn’t tell if it was guilt that you survived and he didn’t or if it was just the pain of losing him. You knew that if either of you should’ve survived you know it should’ve been him, you always knew that Calum was the light in a lot of people’s lives, especially yours.

You knew this day would come, where you had to pack up Calum’s house. It took you months to gather the courage to set a time with everyone to pack up the house because the idea of setting foot in this house without the possibility of seeing him, makes you sick.  After the accident, you took care of Duke but you still couldn’t go into the house, Luke having to bring Duke to your apartment. Now Duke is one of the only pieces of Calum you would have left. You haven’t slept this entire week in anticipation of this day. but you thought it would be under such different circumstances. You always pictured packing the house to move to your home. You always assumed this house would be packed up so you two could start your lives together in a shared space, not because he was gone. Now all you’re left with is pictures of his smile, videos of him laughing with you, memories of nights you spent together tangled in the sheets, talking and laughing. You have all of his things but nothing would matter if he wasn’t around to use them.

Now you had Calum’s best friends and his family here, helping you pack up the house. The worst part was having to explain that while they left the house to you and it would be one hell of an upgrade from your shoebox apartment, you couldn’t stay here. This big empty house was only a home because of who you shared it with, it would never be a home without him. You assigned each person to a room, you took his bedroom for yourself, wanting to savor each memory the room would bring up. You moved to the nightstand, picking up the framed photo of you two that he had put up. You remember being so surprised when you saw he framed a picture of you two for his bedside, he said he wanted to wake up to your face even if you weren’t with him.

“______?” A voice startled you and you dropped the picture frame, the corner hitting the floor. The frame broke and the glass shattered upon hitting the wood floor. You broke it, one of the sweetest memories you had of him.

“Shit,” You knelt to clean it up before looking back to see Ashton coming over to you, “What’s up?” You asked hurriedly, trying to clean the glass from the floor.

“Hey hey hey,” Ashton urges, kneeling beside you, “Wait a minute you’re gonna cut yourself on the glass.”

“It’s fine,” You reassure, your tone shaking and tears pricking your eyes, “Did you need something?” You sped up your motions.

“I just came to see how you’re doing.” Ashton places a hand on your shoulder.

You scoffed, “I’m fine. How are you?” You continued to scoop the glass up.

“______,” Ashton places a hand on yours, trying to get you to not worry about the glass anymore, “I’m serious. I know this must be hard for you.”

“Ashton, I’m fine.” You huffed, shaking his hand off yours, focusing on cleaning the glass again. You couldn’t help but feel guilty because everyone was walking on eggshells around you as if they didn’t lose their brother/son/best friend, “How are you? I know this is hard for you too.”

“It is hard,” Ashton agrees, “But I know it’s gotta be hardest for you.”

“And why would it be hardest for me? I mean his parents lost their son, Mali lost her brother, you guys lost your best friend and your fans lost their idol. Everyone lost a lot-”

Ashton cuts you off, “You lost your soulmate.”

Your breath hitches at the words and your hand slips, slicing your finger on the glass, “Shit.” You looked down at your finger which was bleeding.

“______, I told you to be careful,” Ashton shakes his head, “Go clean up and I’ll finish boxing up the room.”

You just nod. It doesn’t take you a second thought before you’re on your feel headed to the large bathroom. The bathroom was all dark tile which should be more intimidating but all you could think about is the mornings you spent, showering together, the nights in the bathtub, or getting ready to go somewhere together. You stop at the sink and rinse the blood away. The blood is an awful reminder of the worst night of your life. You keep rising until it’s all gone, letting out a shaky breath. You slowly crouch down to look in the cabinet where Calum kept the first aid kit. You had to shuffle through the random products under the sink, “Where the hell is it Calum?” You muttered to yourself, feeling your heart sink a little more when his name left your lips. You rummaged a little more until the white plastic first aid kit was found, you moved to shut the cabinet but a little black box tucked into the far corner catches your eye. You move to shut the cabinet, not wanting to snoop in his things before realizing that he couldn’t yell at you about snooping anymore. You huffed to yourself, “What were you hiding Hood?” You grasped the box. It was black crushed velvet, a jewelry box. You carefully flip it open like someone would walk in and catch you. It revealed a ring, a diamond ring in the center, and two colored stones, one on each side, his birthstone and yours. “This can’t be,” The tears you had been holding back all day finally came streaming, “Calum you’re a dick,” You said in hysterics, looking up to the sky, “You really did it. You listened to my idea for an engagement ring and fucking made it.” You couldn’t quite discern what you were feeling at this moment because while you thought you ought to be in tears, you couldn’t help but laugh instead. “You made my dream engagement ring, then I assume you were gonna propose then you went and fucking left me?” You were in full hysterics now, silent tears streaming while your mind was racing. You decided to pull it out and slip it on. The ring fits like a glove hurting you more than ever, “And it fits perfectly. Of course, it does.” You sit down with your back slumped against the bathtub, still in shock of the find.

You wanted nothing more than to walk out of this room, down the hall to his studio, and see him sitting at his computer. You wanted to slap the back of his head and chew him out for hiding this in such an easy-to-find spot but you couldn’t. You instead slipped the ring off and back into the box, just staring at it. Ashton’s knock at the door startles you, “You alright?” He asks as he slowly opens the door.

You shut the box and look at Ashton, “Did you know?”

He glances between your eyes and the box, “______…” He trails off, which in itself tells you that he knew.

“Did you know when?” You asked, the tears finally drying up, all feeling sucked out of you. You couldn’t even muster up enough emotion at this moment to continue crying, you were drained.

“Your birthday.”

“Birthday? Interesting.” You chuckled to yourself, letting your mind wander to what it would have been like. Your eyes stay latched on the box in your hands. 

“He loved you so much ______,” Ashton kneels to be eye level with you, “He always said you were the only one for him. How he wanted a life with you.”

You looked up at his words, never knowing that Calum spoke of you in such a way, “I didn’t know he told you those things…” You trailed off.

“I heard it all the time,” Ashton reaches up and brushes the single stray tear away, “How a life with you was all that he looked forward to, how he had such big plans for you two.”

“I would have given anything for that life with him.” You whisper.

“I know,” Ashton sighs, “Maybe you should call it a day.” He stands up. You take a moment to gain a little more composure, not wanting to break down again completely in front of everyone. There was enough of that at the hospital and the funeral. You didn’t think it would be very helpful to anyone if you broke down and caused others to break down.

“Can I take this?” You ask Ashton as you stand up. You guys stand facing each other.

“I think you should.” Ashton nods, “He wanted to give it to you but either way you should have it.”

You don’t know what comes over you but the next thing you know, you throw yourself into Ashton’s arms, “Thank you.” You two stand pressed together for a moment before you pull back.

“Of course,” He flashes a sad grin, “Maybe you should call it a day, you can come help again tomorrow. I can tell everyone you left.”

You open your mouth to protest but instead you agree, “You’re right. I bet Duke misses me at home so I should probably go.” You smiled softly.

“Of course,” Ashton’s grin seems more genuine than any smile you've seen from him recently, “Give him an extra treat from me.”

You nod before moving past him, tucking the ring box into your sweatshirt pocket. You see the picture from the frame resting on the bed and also tuck it into your pocket. You went down the hall, looking carefully at all the pictures on the wall. Your pictures from Europe, the one of him that you took and he framed because he said it was the best photo of him ever taken, that no photographer could ever compare. You smiled at the pictures of you two together on the walls, the pictures you took of Calum and Duke, and all the pictures of the guys, goofing off. You sighed before heading down the stairs thinking of the mornings you spent chasing Calum through the house or late nights coming up the stairs to see him. You luckily didn't pass anyone as you slipped out the front door. You went running down the driveway so eager to get to your car. You’ve never wanted to leave Calum’s home more than you did right now. You hop into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind you. Instead of pulling your keys from your pocket, you pull out the jewelry box and picture.

You open the jewelry box slowly, “You always knew exactly what I wanted,” You whispered as you slipped the ring onto your finger, “You always knew me so well.” You turned to the picture, stroking the curve of his face tenderly. 

Now you were still grasping at the fact that you had nothing but the pictures and the memories to remember him. Your fairytale ending wasn’t what you expected. You didn't get your prince charming sweeping you off your feet and running away with you. You couldn't help but think not all fairytales can have a happy ending, so maybe this wasn’t one of those happy fairytale moments. Calum would always be your prince charming though, even without the happily ever after. 

[hndcrm]

There is actually something that jumps in my mind. Do you remember that sauna/spa/whatever in Hokkaido? Well, what about 47 is ordered to use that place to relive some muscle tension. And what happens when it's discoverd that he can't relax without some (someones) help?

It’s still a few days before Yamazaki should be checking into Gama, and Soders cannot be killed yet, if not for the risk of resulting in increased security, then for 47’s own ego. Diana seems to enjoy it when he flaunts his skills, after all.

He’s spent the last two days wandering around the facility, following Diana’s floorplans, checking for side entrances and hidden corridors, exploring as much as possible without changing disguises; unconscious staff suddenly being found after his appearance at the hospital and before the contract’s completion would be less than ideal. With no electronic key hackers to be found, his exploration was limited to creeping into corridors after staff members and hiding in closets along his path.

He spent this morning reading up on patient case files Diana somehow managed to acquire on the balcony of his suite, the cool wind on his face. A VIP patient, Jason Portman could be a good disguise to get into the hospital quarters, coincidentally checking in on the same day as Yamazaki. Portman is planning on getting plastic surgery to liken himself to a certain German high fashion model - the opportunity almost too perfect, he considers there must be a catch.

He eats breakfast at the restaurant, orders natto and an onsen tamago with green tea. It’s filling enough, and he leaves to take a walk up the mountain path near the facility, looking for potential exfiltration points or good sniping locations. The path is winding, but neither narrow or steep, and it’s far more pleasant than he anticipated, with birds chanting nearby. He walks back down, committing important locations to memory, though he doesn’t plan on using them. Sniping missions aren’t as exciting, and he cannot put on a particularly elaborate performance for Diana, so what’s the point?

He returns to his suite, and finds a missed call from Diana. He scolds himself, he should’ve brought his burner phone with him, what if something’s happened? Anxiously, he calls her back, and she picks up immediately.

“Diana, you called?”

“I did.” Her voice is steady, it seems she’s not in danger. “How are you feeling, 47?”

Strange.

“I’m well,” he responds, trying to anticipate the direction of this conversation. It’s aimless, Diana feels utterly unpredictable most times.

“Have you had a chance to relax at the spa? I hear the sauna’s top of the range.”

“I have not.” He answers evenly. “I’m here to prepare for a contract, not on holiday.” She hums in amusement, continuing.

“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans, 47. Yamazaki’s arrival is being delayed. Only by a day, thankfully, but it does mean you have some downtime. I’ve extended your reservation so that you’ll still have a reasonable window of opportunity to ensure the mission’s completion. Until then, well,” he hears that note of mischief in her voice, “I suggest you relax.”

He knows better than to question her instructions, but a day off is the last thing he needs right now. There’s nothing for him to do, and he knows he can’t really relax - he’d be only pretending to, because with a career like his it’s crucial to be constantly on the lookout.

“You know I can’t relax,” he retorts, hoping she’ll understand, give him something to do; he’d gladly do any bland paperwork over this.

“You deserve a break, 47.” She insists. “Most agents take weeks off between each contract, and yet I’ve been working you to death. This is an order - one day off, that’s it.”

“Fine.”

“And remember, you’re there as Mr Rieper, not 47. Think of what Tobias would do, play the part. I doubt he’d pass up the chance for a massage.”

She’s right. He can pretend to be someone else, easily, and it’ll make his cover more convincing. In a way, this is just setup for the mission, he tells himself, and that makes it more bearable.

“Oh, and, 47?”

“Yes?”

“Bring your earpiece.” She hangs up.

He walks towards his drawer and retrieves the small, clear gadget. Popping it into his ear, he checks himself out in the mirror, and leaves for the spa.

It’s fairly busy, there are people meditating and practicing yoga outside, with rows of white-robed patients sitting in the hot springs. Inside, people are sitting in the massage chairs, staff members attending to them with care. He walks past them, entering the corridor that he recalls leads to a toilet and the sauna. An interesting opportunity for the contrac, should it arise. He pushes the wooden door open, and then removes his robe, staying in his briefs. Immediately, the heat surrounds him, clings to every inch of his skin invasively, and he regrets this.

“In the mood for some heat, 47?” Diana teases through the earpiece, and he’s not sure what to respond. He’s not in the mood for any of this.

He sits down on the wooden bench, and the whole room is torrid and sultry. He takes a breath in, in hopes of relaxing, but his muscles are tense, and he’s not sure what to do.

He thinks of Tobias Rieper, of what he might do in this situation. He leans back onto the wooden walls, lets his arms droop more than usual, and decides he looks like someone who is relaxing. The focus on appearing relaxed, however, keeps him tense, and he thinks that there is no way that it’s this hard for other people.

“You seem tense, 47.” Says Diana, and his head immediately snaps up to look for cameras. Nothing. Her methods are incomprehensible. “Would you like me to help you relax?”

He knows the kinds of things she might have in mind. This conversation isn’t being sent for review to the ICA, and Diana has used that to her advantage before. He thinks about the things Diana says to him in safehouses when she calls him up late and he picks up only to hear the slick sounds of her touching herself, whispering in her heavy, breathy tone of what she wants him to do. He’d like to do all those things one day, if Diana ever let him. It’s unlikely, this job is stressful and he imagines this is probably her way of coping with it, nothing more, but on indulgent nights he imagines what life could be if her calls really did mean something more, and if Diana really wanted him like this.

Still, he could never turn her down, and he knows it’s the only way he could ever really relax, so the answer is obvious.

“Yes.” It comes out guttural, and he hears the hum she makes when she smiles. He wonders for a second if he’s misunderstood, if Diana will play some looped jungle sound audio and talk him through a guided meditation instead, but the sound of a zip being undone on the other side would suggest otherwise.

There’s a rustle of fabric, the snap of panties being pulled down, and then her breaths, coming heavy and anticipant.

“I want to hear you touch yourself, 47. Can you do that?” She asks, and he turns to look out of the door instinctively. “I’ve locked the door to the corridor remotely, you’re alone for as long as you need.”

Encouraged by the sounds of her pleasure, he reaches down for his cock and begins to stroke himself. She must know, because he hears her hum approvingly.

“That’s right, 47, just like that-” Her words are cut off by a particularly breathless moan, complimented by the continuous slipping of her fingers inside of her cunt, and it’s enough, he’s hard. He imagines what she might look like right now, slender legs up on her desk, heels ruffling the papers, her pencil skirt piled on the floor as she’s leaning into her desk chair, speaking such sultry obscenities through her headset. Every inch of him is dripping in sweat, he feels filthy, but continues, for an opportunity like this arises rarely, and he intends on stretching out every blissful millisecond.

He does wish this was being recorded for the ICA, so that he could intercept it and steal the recording for himself, have a reminder of Diana when she isn’t feeling this generous, for nights when he wants her so desperately that he contemplates initiating such a call himself.

“Tell me, what would you do if I was there with you?” She gasps out, and he’s too preoccupied by the heat and hormones and hunger for more to lie.

“I’d touch you,” he begins, his words punctuated with soft grunts, “I would kiss you, so much,” that’s what lovers do, after all. That’s the part he’s meant to be playing now, isn’t it? He hears her chuckle gently, and hopes it’s not at him. She doesn’t say anything, it’s all slick folds and breathy moans over the static, so he attempts to continue. There are many things he would like to do if she were here, but only if she would like him to. He’s worried about overstepping. Where does she draw the boundary? They’ll still have to work together after this, he’s never been the one detailing his fantasies over the phone, she was the expert.

“Is that all, 47?” She teases, and he loses his earlier confidence. “You’re this hard from the thought of just kissing me?”

“Yes,” he grunts out, and he can feel himself getting painfully close. She gets louder then, and he can hear her beginning to lose control, riding the waves of her orgasm endlessly. He imagines her hips bucking, her eyes shut tight and her lips parted, when he realises that she’s putting on a show for him, when he’s done nothing to deserve it. He comes then, hazy with the exquisite image of her carved into his head.

“You do seem far more relaxed now, 47. Perhaps I should do this more often?”

[straightlikewetspaghetti]

Demons of the Past

Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: Mature language

Word count: 3074

Ch.1 Stranger Danger

Poppy Min Sinclair had to arch her slender neck to see her reflection from over the shoulder of Chloe, who had been testing her new artistic vision on her for a good few minutes. For some time now, Poppy had become a canvas for Chloe's magical hands as she tried her luck at running a beauty salon, along with Veronica, who was doing her best advertising.

"What do you think V?"

Veronica tore her gaze away from her phone and looked towards Poppy wrinkling her nose slightly. She usually did that when she was seriously considering something. "As far as I'm concerned she could use some plastic surgery."

"Asshole," Poppy laughed hurling a pillow at her friend, which missed and knocked over a decorative vase standing nearby. Three girls looked in that direction and soon the three of them burst out laughing loudly, curling up on the floor.

"Enough, enough!", Chloe began to shout when she noticed that Poppy wanted to wipe her eyes from crying, and she caught her hands, looking at her with a chastising gaze. She wouldn't let her hard work be destroyed so easily. Poppy rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face remained constant as she silently teased the shorter girl along with Veronica. "Why am I hanging out with you guys..."

"You love us," whined Veronica hugging a reddened Chloe with one arm, who lowered her gaze quickly to her hands nervously playing with the hem of her skirt.

Poppy made the sound of displeasure she made whenever the two girls started acting too cute. She was glad for their happiness, but deep down she felt an incredible jealousy, because she herself would like to share her life with someone too.

The couple sort of understood the blonde, pulled away from each other and looked at her docilely.

"Don't worry Poppy, I'm sure you'll meet someone at the party tonight. From what I heard Zoey invited some cutie from the old days...", Chloe smiled as she tried to convey positive energy with her words. "Besides, you're wearing my makeup, no one will be able to resist you!"

"Cutie you say..."

Ch.2 Party Fever

She was the most beautiful girl in the whole room.

No.

She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

Bea watched from a dark corner of the room as Poppy twirled effortlessly to the beat of the music, attracting the stares of drooling people with her movements. Her tiny skirt didn't leave much to the imagination either, but that was Poppy Min Sinclair's style; if she wasn't the main attraction, what was the point of her presence?

"You're acting like a creep," she was snapped out of her observation by Zoey who magically appeared next to her, making her almost gasp.

"You should have some kind of bell around your neck, Wade," Bea rolled her eyes at her friend's laughter.

"Wow, she has nice ass... Ets, yeah, nice assets," Zoey smiled innocently seeing her friend's murderous gaze. "You'd better come over to her eventually,"

Her gaze went back to the dancing blonde. "It's been five years, what should I say to her?"

"Maybe something like; Heya Pops I already have money, maybe you want to come with me for a little Macarena?", the black-haired squirmed as Bea's fist landed right in her stomach, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. The slight pain she felt didn't stop her from laughing at the tomato-like look that appeared on her friend's face. "Come on babe, she's at the bar now, this is your opportunity."

Bea nodded and straightened up, ready to attack. "You finally said something with sense."

Ch.3 Deja-vu

"One Old Fashioned and Sex On The Beach."

Poppy turned behind her with a ready biting remark, but her voice froze in her throat when she saw the person standing behind her. And it was none other than Bea Hughes herself, her first drink, crush, kiss, sex, love, but also her first heartbreak. She stood before her as casually as if those five years of separation between them had never existed. Her short brown hair, now shoulder-length, was whiter than snow itself. Her childlike facial features had sharpened and she could see tiny wrinkles appearing from the overworked late nights. Her style had also changed, from boyishly sporty and bad girl to formal and important. She looked like a millionaire ripped straight from the cover of Forbes. She no longer resembled the person she once was.

"You remembered what I drink," the blonde choked out as the first wave of shock left her and the lump in her throat loosened. Talking to her seemed so unreal that she felt like she had lost consciousness and was now dreaming.

Bea smiled in response, though it was more of a tired smile than the beaming howl with which she had greeted Poppy daily in their school years. "There are some things that are hard to forget Pops," the white-haired girl shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slid the hundred across the counter towards the bartender, who with renewed vigor reached over and ran to prepare the drinks, nearly tipping over his own feet.

"Feeling generous tonight?", Poppy chuckled as she watched Bea tuck a rather thick bundle of bills into her pocket. In their teenage years, the white-haired girl had barely been able to make ends meet, but Poppy had always admired her ability to live from day to day and enjoy herself, even when an eviction order from her home hung over her head.

Bea laughed a throaty laugh that sounded almost like a cough. She nodded and tilted her head to one side, the way she did every time she got into a thoughtful mood. "There's nothing wrong with supporting the littles." Poppy's insides tightened to ask where she'd gotten all that money, but by some miracle her strong will managed to curb the urge and nip it in the bud. That would be tactless, and lack of tact is a trait that should not be associated with Min Sinclair.

"You can ask me anything you want," Bea looked her straight in the eye, making Poppy stop seeing anyone else but her. It was as if she had cast a spell on her and moved them far away, enclosing them in a safe bubble illusion. Even the music became just a distant rumble as the white-haired woman looked at her that way. The same way she had looked at her five years ago.

"I don't understand," the blonde cursed herself when she heard her own words, which sounded more idiotic than some of Chloe's wisdom. Bea seemed unmoved, by her clumsy attempt at pretending, in fact, a cocky grin appeared on her lips that she, oh so much, felt like tearing off now.

" Don't play games Poppy, we're not kids anymore," Bea reached for the drinks that had finally been brought in and handed one to Poppy, completely casually, fingertips brushing against the skin of her palm. "Drink up, it'll help you relax, and I know you have a lot of questions."

The blonde lowered her gaze to the drink and took a moment to look at the colors that danced on the surface of her liquor. How was Bea able to read her like an open book after all these years. Everyone said she had changed, but could it be that the change wasn't so great after all? And why was she always questioning herself in her company?

She was pulled out of her reverie by Bea, who unnoticeably slipped her finger under her chin and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other again. This time, however, she was closer, much, much closer. Poppy could without much difficulty smell the expensive perfume that didn't match the Bea of her memories, but did match the woman who sat before her. Just as in years past, Bea's thumb involuntarily stroked her cheek.

For a brief moment, the blonde let her selfish thoughts consume her and savor the touch, but it didn't last as long as she wanted it to. "N-no," she whispered and using all of her strong willpower she moved a safe distance away from the white-haired woman, who didn't object to her reaction. "I can't do it like this," she said as she walked away, escaping as quickly as possible from this cursed place, from this cursed past.

Ch.4 When It Rains, It Pours

When she left the building, it was already dark and chilly outside, and a light rain was drizzling from the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. At this point, however, she didn't care about ruining her expensive and designer clothes and makeup that Chloe had sat on for dozens of minutes. She needed to get some fresh air, cool down, and let her thoughts flow.

Why had she come back just now? Now that Poppy had put her life back together, without her and without thoughts of her.

"Sinclair!"

"You've got to be kidding me," she snorted under her breath hearing Bea's loud voice behind her, who as usual wasn't giving up. At least that hadn't changed. "What do you want Farmsville?"

Bea squirmed at that old nickname, but quickly imposed a stoic expression on her face and shoved her hands into her pockets. Even in this gentle rain and illuminated only by the slightly penetrating moonlight, she continued to look like a goddess, which annoyed Poppy immensely.

"You ran out so suddenly, I thought something happened and I thought..."

"Oooh now you thought?" snapped the blonde, who nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost ready to throw herself at the white-haired woman's throat. Years of pent up rage bubbled through her veins, making her skin almost burn with living fire. "Forgive my surprise, but I would never judge Bea Hughes for her ability to think!"

The white-haired woman watched her in silent contemplation, answering nothing. Her silence irritated the blonde a hundred times more than anything she could say. The atmosphere between them was becoming strained to the limit and all it took was one wrong move, one misspoken word, and the catastrophe was certain. The rain intensifying around them wasn't helping either.

"I don't understand what happened. We were talking calmly like we used to, and suddenly you run out and do one of your tantrums..."

"Ha! Like we used to...," she interrupted her again in mid-sentence, mimicking her and almost bursting into maniacal laughter, but her mood had nothing to do with amusement. "I guess you've already forgotten that you left me for five whole years and now you're back and you expect us to talk like old friends?", her voice wavered between anger and tears. "Someone paid you to come back here? That's where you got the money from, right? You were hired to get revenge on me..."

"What," the astonishment in Bea's voice was almost palpable as she stared at the blonde shaking with anger with her eyes wide open. It was Poppy's nature to explode and make arguments for any reason, but what she was saying now sounded irrational, even for her. "I'm the CEO of my uncle's company, that's where I get my money from," she corrected.

"What," this time it was Poppy's turn to be surprised and her face even softened. "What do you mean, what about your dreams of becoming a music star?"

Bea scratched the back of her neck nervously and lifted her face up, letting the raindrops wash her face of any negativity that had accumulated. When she felt ready enough not to explode, she looked back at the blonde and sighed, her face looking more tired than before. "Those were childhood daydreams. A music career would never make me the kind of money an accounting firm would."

"Childish daydreams? You spent your first earned money on a guitar and an amplifier, how can you call that childish daydreams...", the concern in Poppy's voice was sincere, probably one of the more sincere feelings she had felt in recent times.

"I needed real options and real money," Bea replied dryly, ignoring any emotion from the blonde, who was looking at her with a worried expression on her face.

"What for? Why did you need the money?" she asked, not yet knowing that she would light the fuse from the bomb with that question.

"What for? Is that really what you're asking?", Bea's so far calm expression bent into unnatural anger, her eyes misting over from the emotions gripping her. "And isn't that what you wanted? A girl who can fulfill your every whim, with a stable life, a job and a mountain of money?", a realization and simultaneous remorse appeared on Poppy's face, but it did not satisfy Bea. "Yes Poppy, I heard your conversation with Veronica the other night when you thought I was sleeping."

Poppy blinked several times, unable to formulate a response. She replayed that conversation in her mind, all the words she'd said then that she hadn't really meant, but under the onslaught of people around her, her perception was distorted. "It's not like that..."

Bea raised a hand to silence any explanation from the blonde. She didn't want to hear it. "No Pops" she shook her head, her hair wet from the downpour sticking to her face, masking any tears falling. "It at least gave me the motivation to change my life, for that I will be grateful."

Ch.5 Irreplaceable

"You understand that she still had the nerve to be mad at me? Like it's my fault for changing for her," Bea had been lamenting to Zoey for about an hour, who, like any patient friend, silently let her rant.

"And she's telling me that she changed for me... After all, I didn't ask her to!", Poppy nervously walked around the living room almost already trampling a path in the tiles. A worried Veronica and Chloe watched her in silence, letting her get all the negative emotions out.

"I know she didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to finally be worthy of her, you know? I wanted to give her the future she deserved, and she wouldn't have it with me if I continued to follow my dreams," the white-haired girl slumped helplessly on the couch next to her friend, dipping her face into her hands. "After all, to a gorgeous girl like Poppy, it wouldn't be enough that I...”

"After all, she knew full well that she suited me the way she was, why did she take away the one person I..."

"Love."

"I wish I could be mad at her...", Bea muttered lifting her face and looking straight at Zoey who seemed to be in deep thought.

"But I can't," groaned Poppy leaning against Veronica's shoulder, who reflexively began to stroke the blonde's back, which slowly began to twitch from her silent crying. Chloe moved to the other side and snuggled into Poppy to give her her full support, knowing that no words could heal these wounds.

Zoey nodded and patted the white-haired girl's shoulder giving her silent support. Bea relaxed from her friend's touch. "Haven't you thought maybe it's about time..."

"To move on and find someone new? It's been five years," Veronica felt Poppy's whole body tense up and prepared for a burst of anger, from the blonde, but the blonde only raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows."

"No. She's irreplaceable."

Ch.6 Where Something Ends, Something Begins

It had been a week since the memorable meeting.

Since then, Poppy hadn't seen or heard from Bea who had sunk like a stone into water. Such disappearing without a word wasn't her style, but the blonde wasn't sure what her style was anymore. The days she lived as she always did, and the nights she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and reminisced about old times while talking to herself.

"Thank you for coming Poppy."

Poppy slipped her sunglasses off her nose and looked over at Zoey who was warming her hands with a mug of hot coffee. "Believe it, I was surprised myself that I agreed," she lied. She agreed without hesitation because she knew it was about Bea, and inside she was dying to know what was happening to her.

Zoey giggled at the blonde's nudge and shook her head. Although her words were biting, there wasn't an ounce of incivility in them. Such a habit between them. "You can probably guess why I met with you."

"Is it about Bea?", Poppy tried to sound as formal as possible and not show that she was thinking about it day in and day out, almost unable to focus on anything else. How pathetic it would be if someone found out she couldn't control her feelings.

The black-haired woman sighed grimly and nodded her head. For a moment she began to search through her backpack and pulled out a strange little bundle. Poppy tilted her head and looked at the colorful paper that only her Bea could choose. She smiled at the surge of positive memories.

"The day she left, she told me to give this to her. I honestly thought about it for a long time, against all odds I wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have," Zoey's gaze drifted somewhere behind Poppy's back as she couldn't stand the pain in the blonde's eyes that grew with every word she said. "But I think this will help both you and her close a chapter in your life" Zoey pulled money out of her pocket and placed it next to the empty cup. Without a word, she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stared at the package as if mesmerized. She squeezed it tightly and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

With trembling hands, she reached for the bundle and prepared to open it. Somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what she would find, but she hoped that it was only an illusion and that it would not really contain what she had in mind. Unfortunately, hope is the mother of fools and when she opened the package, a velvet box appeared before her eyes.

She opened it with tears in her eyes.

"Maybe in another life and another time we would have had a chance, but I will love you always."

[rkived]

drabble #5: the highlight of the day for pediatricsurgeon!jungkook is when generalsurgeon!reader stops by his office with his daily iced americano. except today, someone else has delivered it for him.

or, in which you should be a little more careful to who you tell jungkook’s coffee preferences. (hospitalplaylist!au)

↩ previous | 📍drabbles masterlist

Jungkook likes iced americano. 

He’s not really an avid coffee drinker. Definitely not one of those ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ sort of people, but he does like to drink an iced americano once a day. 

Not because he needs it to survive, but because it’s become part of his daily routine ever since he started working at the hospital. 

A routine you had started for him and that still to this day you continued to feed. 

He can’t complain. 

One of his highlights of the day is when you pop by into his office, whether it be announced or out of the blue, with an iced americano for him. 

He doesn’t even have to ask for one, you just always bring it to him. 

And on the days you can’t bring him his coffee, he just doesn’t drink it. As if there’s no purpose to go down to the hospital’s coffee shop and buy one for himself, because where’s the fun in that if it doesn’t come from you?

But today, surprisingly enough, Jungkook is drinking an iced americano that was not given by you. 

Instead, first year intern Lee Heeyoung was the provider this time. 

And it’s not unusual for interns and residents to give out small gifts to their superiors. Actually, when Jungkook used to be the favorite doctor around, it wasn’t a surprise when someone would shyly knock on his office door and bring a pastry or a drink from the coffee shop, a token of admiration and sometimes as a way to ask a small favor from the pediatrician.

Thing is, no one had ever brought him an iced americano before. 

Maybe because the pediatrician doesn’t seem like the type to drink one or because he always had his in the privacy of his office away from curious eyes, usually the only witnesses around for that were you and Taehyung.

First year intern Heeyoung had come into his office, a shy look on her face and Jungkook had to practically beg her to come in and his eyes widened slightly at the iced americano she was holding on her trembling hand, which Jungkook figured out was due to the coldness of the drink. 

She apologized for interrupting his free time and he assured her it was alright, then she took a deep breath and said:

‘‘Dr. Jeon, I don’t want to cross boundaries but I was wondering if, maybe, you could give me the opportunity to go into the O.R next time you have an operation. I know that interns usually don’t get to go in, but I just wanted to see if you would allow me to─’’

Then, Jungkook interrupted her.

‘‘Of course you can, Heeyoung.’’ 

And after she thanked him a dozen times with the biggest smile, she placed the cup of iced americano over his desk as she explained it was a way of thanking him, whether or not he complied to her request. 

She left shortly after, apologizing for the interruption once again and leaving before Jungkook could tell her there was no problem. 

The pediatrician stared at the drink in his desk and wondered what a coincidence it was that this is the one she decided to give him. 

He shrugged his shoulders and sipped the coffee anyway. 

Jungkook’s just about done with the drink when his office’s door opens suddenly, almost making him choke with the liquid in his throat. 

This is how he can tell the difference between an intern or resident with his friends. 

‘‘Oh! Kook, I’m so sorr─’’ 

Your apology at the notice of your coughing friend with an almost done iced americano on his hand makes you stop abruptly. 

Why is he holding an iced americano when you are holding his on your hand? 

Jungkook quickly recovers from his coughing fit and pouts at you ‘‘I’m going to have to start asking you guys to knock before coming in.’’ 

You completely ignore his comment and focus on the cup in his hand. The coffee cup holder you’re carrying feels heavy and…awkward. 

‘‘I didn’t know you went down for coffee,’’ you say with the softest voice possible, concealing whatever confusion you felt ‘‘you could’ve told me.’’

Your coffee cup felt lonely. Usually, you only bought Jungkook’s, but today you decided that you’d make him some company, buying yourself an iced americano as well. 

You didn’t even like the drink, but since Jungkook enjoys it you’d make a small sacrifice. 

Now you have two iced americanos and they don’t look appealing enough to force yourself to drink them. 

‘‘Oh, I didn’t buy this,’’ he clarifies and you look back at him with a raised eyebrow ‘‘one of the interns gave it to me. Lee Heeyoung, you’ve seen her?’’.

There’s a glint of annoyance in your eyes, but you quickly turn to look somewhere else before Jungkook can notice. 

Oh, you’ve seen Lee Heeyoung. 

More importantly, you saw Lee Heeyoung earlier that day when she casually asked you during the waiting line at the hospital’s cafeteria what was your favorite drink to order at the coffee shop.

‘‘Well, I usually go for a latte.’’ you answer with a small smile, it was hard to decide what your favorite drink was, but lattes were your go-to most of the time. 

‘‘Oh, I like that too!’’ she commented and you nodded, turning back around figuring the conversation was over. ‘‘And doctor, do you know what Dr. Jeon’s favorite drink is?’’ she shyly asked, making you turn around again. 

You gave her a quizzical look, but her face displayed nothing but innocence. 

‘‘He likes iced americano.’’ you answered and she nodded as if she had correctly grasped the information you had given her. 

‘‘Thank you, Dr. I won’t bother you any further.’’ she smiled.

You know you shouldn’t feel bothered by this because it’s not strange to receive stuff like that from interns and residents alike. You had gotten plenty of drinks and pastries given to you by the younger interns before.

But it just doesn’t sit right with you that your best friend had practically finished the drink you, and no else but you, have always brought him. 

‘‘Y/N?’’ he calls you over, noticing how you hadn’t answered his question about whether or not you knew Heeyoung. He notices the two drinks sitting on the table ‘‘I can still drink one of those─’’

‘‘No.’’ 

Jungkook is taken aback by your stern tone, he usually only hears it when he’s being scolded by something he did. But Jungkook’s sure he hasn’t done anything wrong. 

Right?

You instantly notice how angry that simple answer came out and you clear your throat ‘‘I mean─no. I bought this for, uhm,’’ you quickly try to think of any of your friends ‘‘Taehyung! Yeah, Taehyung.’’

You’re trying to convince yourself here because the neurosurgeon hates iced americano. He’s more of a cappuccino guy. Also, you’ve never bought Taehyung a drink before. 

‘‘Taehyung?’’ Jungkook asks, surprise hinting in his tone because he can’t believe that. ‘‘Taehyung is scheduled for surgery all night,’’ Jungkook informs you ‘‘and he doesn’t like iced americano, he always makes fun of me for drinking it.’’ 

Oh, right. 

You fake a cough ‘‘Really?’’

Jungkook nods and his gaze is entirely focused on you, waiting to see if you show any signs of this being a total prank. You’re never this oblivious. 

‘‘I didn’t know.’’ you fake chuckle and Jungkook’s head tilts.

If Jungkook knows you as well as he usually tells his other friends he does, he’d realize you’re lying and your facade is slowly fading away. And you’re hoping he does call you out because you’re definitely not bringing it up first. 

But instead, he shrugs his shoulders and decides that he won’t prod any further. 

“Did I tell you that Jin came by a few hours ago?” 

Jungkook changed the topic, retelling how your plastic surgeon friend had come down from his office for what felt like forever. And it was big news, considering Jin rarely leaves his office to exchange pleasantries, but you’re too focused on that damn cup now placed in his desk.

Mocking you with its emptiness, reminding you that Jungkook had drinked it without any second thought.

“He kept shifting in his seat, it was so funny,” Jungkook laughs “I told him not all of us had the privilege of having a leather couch imported from—”

The pediatrician is interrupted by you suddenly grabbing the plastic cup and throwing it in the garbage bin beside his desk. He’s rendered speechless by your action as you heaved with anger. 

“I was gonna throw that out later.” Jungkook mutters as you dust your hands in your lab coat. 

“Your welcome.” you mumble

A silence follows after and it’s not like the ones you usually both have. It’s not comfortable or peaceful, but filled with tension instead. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks carefully, not wanting to push any buttons since it seems you’re a moment away from yelling in frustration.

You don’t do that, however, you do look at him like you’re about to give him a piece of your mind and poor Jungkook is not ready for that at all. 

But you sigh. You close your eyes momentarily as you breathe in again. 

“Nothing.” you answer back with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes “Everything’s peachy.” 

Please call me out, please call me out on my bullshit.

“Alright, Y/N.” he sighs, hand scratching the side of his head “But can I—”

He’s not allowed to finish his request because you dump the two drinks you had bought inside his garbage bin without any further announcement. 

Jungkook is left with his mouth hanging open as he looks at the wasted coffee probably making a mess inside the bin. 

“I gotta go, I’m needed in the E.R.”

You’re not. Your phone didn’t ring with the usual tone you have set it up as whenever you have emergency calls. 

Jungkook is about to tell you that, but the shock of the drinks dies down by the time the door closes and he’s realized you’ve left.

— 

“Ah, fuck, not you again.” 

Taehyung has just finished his six hour surgery. Fresh off of telling the patient’s family members that everything had gone according to plan, but that the patient was to be kept in the I.C.U for further checkups. 

His neck hurts and he’s wishing he could have Yoonah come over to give him a massage. Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of his youngest friend waiting for him at his desk’s chair.

“Why haven’t you gone home? It’s late.” Taehyung asks him, laying down on his couch as he closes his eyes.

Due to his patient being in the intensive care unit, he chooses not to go home and stay in case anything happens. He knows this because of prior experience.

“I want to ask you something.” Jungkook quietly asks, ignoring his friend’s question.  

Taehyung hums “If this is about that boneless wings or regular wings discourse then I don’t wanna hear it.” his friend warns him.

If this wasn’t a serious matter Jungkook would have argued that regular wings are better than boneless ones, unlike what Yoongi had said on the groupchat last night. But he has more important topics to ask about right now.

“No, it’s not that,” he clarifies “I just—I want to know, since you’re the only one who’s dating in the group…” 

“Yeah?” Taehyung encourages him to continue.

“How—uhm, how do you tell when Yoonah’s jealous?”

Jungkook’s question is not one Taehyung had expected, it makes him abruptly switch from laying down to a sitting position. This is actually serious for once.

“Jealous, how? Like, when she’s jealous of other girls?” Taehyung asks, just to make sure this is what his younger friend is referring to. 

Jungkook nods with a stoic expression.

“Well, Yoonah is slightly different in the way she approaches jealousy. Like, with the other girls I dated they would never tell me they were jealous.” Taehyung begins to explain “But Yoonah, on the other hand, she’s up-front about it and like, aggressively so.” 

“Could you explain?” Jungkook shyly asks and Taehyung nods.

“Let’s say that Yoonah sees me talking to—I don’t know, a nurse? I might be having a normal conversation regarding a patient or something, but Yoonah sees it as if I’m telling the girl that I want to move in with her, have five kids and live on a farm.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung chuckles “and she tells me straight away that she doesn’t like the girl, that she doesn’t trust them and that I shouldn’t be talking to her.” Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly “I don’t know, she says she has a sixth sense or something.”

“But she tells you she’s jealous?” 

“Oh, hell no,” Taehyung replies “Yoonah would rather eat glass shards than ever admitting she’s jealous.” 

That must hurt.

“But I just know, y’know?” 

Jungkook looks at him like he’s lost and Taehyung sighs. Sometimes the youngest could be a little too slow for his liking.

“It’s clear when a girl is jealous, dude. Whether they try to make it obvious or not. They get defensive, evade your questions, get a little more irritable.” 

Jungkook gasps slightly and Taehyung cocks an eyebrow at him, wondering what is the matter. But the pediatrician is not telling him anything, especially knowing Taehyung’s a fifth placer who isn’t worthy of knowing information as important as this.

Plus he’s tired of hearing the neurosurgeon bother him with the fact that after all those hypotheticals that Jungkook was sure were never going to happen, they ended up becoming a reality. 

A reality that Jungkook had to put up with because his older friend could not shut up about it.

“I gotta go, thanks.” The youngest quickly excuses himself from Taehyung’s office, leaving the neurosurgeon with a puzzled expression and a few unanswered questions.

There’s a slight bounce to Jungkook’s step as he walks through the hospital’s hallways. 

He’s trying hard not to break into a grin, but he can’t help the slight smirk that appears on his face because now he knows.

a/n: let’s play a fun lil game in where u take a shot every time i mentioned iced americano n yes u should take another one now !! lol i don’t rlly have much to say besides jk n reader r both idiots but we’re making some progress :P hope u enjoyed <3

[joontier]

akin ka na lang (muli.) | drabble

translation: be mine (again.) 

synopsis: Dr. Kim Taehyung, locally known for his successful cardio-thoracic surgeries. One thing he isn’t known for though, is that he’s your two-timing ex who’s come to visit you in the new hospital you work at. 

pairings: taehyung x reader

rating: R (18+)

au: doctors!au; exes!au | genre: smut, slight angst, mentions of infidelity

warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation 

word count: 2.2k

request: by @taemaknae​​​ “silakbo track feat. taehyung + doctor!au (because we need more doctor aus hehehe” SORRY IT TOOK A WHILE BABE!! but here ya gooo! I hope u enjoy it luv hehehhehe

g/n: this is part of The Paraluman Playlist - a drabble game we’re holding for the whole month of August!!! Send in your requests lovelies;; ((why do i get the feeling that this could be a good prologue too ajsdfhoaiwjef)) also,,, this might be a part of a fic crossover with one im working on right now with jk wOOPS

navi. | m.list

“And that concludes the reports for this month’s cardiac surgery reports.” 

Ending your presentation with one last click of your pointer, you turn to your fellow doctors, resisting the strong urge to roll your eyes. Some of the seniors are already asleep, while those who are a closer to your age are obviously bored to the bone.

You’re seriously considering if you want to even bother asking the audience if they have any further questions when no one was listening in the first place anyways. Well, maybe except for the chairman who had been all ears the whole time.

Meetings like these are just a major waste of time – time you could have used to sleep your fatigue away after having completed a five-hour open heart surgery last night. If it only weren’t for the hospital’s board of directors that implemented this scheme.

The Ministry of Health and Welfare had only encouraged all hospitals to hold conferences like this to support medical-related research, but The Woocheon Group, after having been praised by the ministry itself for pioneering experimental medicine and clinical trials, upped its game, scheduling these quarterly conferences to monthly ones.  

This plan would have sounded engaging to most third parties, but to those who were chosen to create reports, such as yourself, do not find these meetings most pleasant. After all, these month-end reports will also be uploaded to Woocheon’s online journals. Not that these doctors would even read any of those even if published both online or in paper. Unless of absolute necessity as reference, of course.

Your eyes scan over the audience consisting of at least forty doctors until you lock eyes with the one and only Kim Taehyung - infamous for his recently successful cardio-thoracic surgery on a twenty-two year old athlete back at Daegu Medical Center. Unfortunately for you, he’s also the same man who cheated on you for another colleague a few years back. 

He was the reason you left DMC in the first place, unable to continue your career back at the center with such an unhealthy, hate-conducive environment. Obviously, you knew having to work with a cheater and having to face him for at least six days a week wasn’t going to do you any good. Hence, your moving to Seoul to officially pursue your fellowship at Woocheon Medical City. What you never expected though, was Taehyung coming all the way from Daegu to sit in with Woocheon’s internal conferences. 

For what? Why was he here? What reason does he have to suddenly show up like this? 

Whatever his business here was absolutely none of yours, and you promised yourself you were going to be the last person to concern yourself with such. 

“Any further questions?” 

You see Taehyung’s hand raise hesitantly, but retracts it quickly as another raises his hand. As you address the inquiry, you still feel Taehyung’s gaze locked on yours. Nobody dares to ask another question, not wanting to prolong the useless conference any longer. Thankfully, the hospital’s chairman ends the meeting shortly after that.

As you pack your things up while the rest of the crowd files out of the room, you feel someone approach you. In fact, you feel two - with both of the presences extremely familiar. When you look up from your desk, you see Taehyung and Chairman Jung Hoseok nearing the podium you stood behind from.

Taehyung lets the chairman approach you first. Good, at least the man still has a little bit of dignity left in him. “Dr. _______, great presentation today,” Hoseok applauds, “You are a blessing to this hospital,” the chairman adds, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

“All in a day’s work, Chairman Jung,” you give the man a warm smile. Taehyung notices the small gesture and diverts his gaze quickly, as if he was caught watching something private. You smile inwardly, wanting to drop as many hints as possible to let the blonde-haired man he isn't welcome here. 

The chairman finally takes notice of his presence as he turns around, much to your dismay. “Ah! Dr. Kim Taehyung! I wasn’t informed of your arrival… anyways, welcome to The Woocheon Medical City and may I introduce to you one of our best cardiology consultants here…” 

“Dr. __________, of course.” A wide smile forms on Taehyung’s lips, reaching out his hand for a handshake. You hesitate for a split-second - torn between not wanting to be within arm’s reach of your traitorous ex-boyfriend, or maintaining your usual professional demeanor. Maybe it’s best for you to go with the latter, and pretend you two are meeting for the first time. 

“We were colleagues back in Daegu Medical Center.” 

Or maybe not. 

Hoseok’s secretary comes over just in time, informing him of a friend  who wishes to meet him outside as well as the rest of the day’s schedule. “Oh, guess I’ll have to meet that one then,” Hoseok says, turning to the both of you. “Well, I’ll have to leave you both for a moment. I’ll see you both around.” With a short wave, the chairman leaves the two of you to “catch up”. 

“_________. Can we talk?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Dr. Kim. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have plenty of things to do.” Deciding not to meet his eyes, you scan the room, sending a silent plea to the last doctor who was getting ready to leave, wishing that he won’t leave you alone with this man. 

Taehyung blocks your sight with his body. Clenching your jaw, you tilt your head at him, waiting on what he has to say now. “Come back to me, please…” A scoff escapes your lips as you roll your eyes at Taehyung.

“I’d even beg on my knees, _______. I’ll do whatever you want, baby.” 

“You on your knees?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I am a changed man.” 

“Fuck you, Kim Taehyung.” 

“By all means, ________, please.” Rolling your eyes at your two-timing ex, you continue packing up, making sure you won't forget anything else on the desk. Funny how he can even extract innuendos from your display of hatred. At this point, Taehyung had already rounded the table and is now standing beside you.

You figure he’s fiddling with the projector (for all you care), that is, until you feel his warm breath fanning against your nape. His close proximity instantly gives you a chill and before you can turn to face him, he already has you trapped between his body and the podium. 

Taehyung can't hide the smirk that graces his lips when he sees you gulp. Fueled by your reaction, he proceeds to reach for the clicker by the opposite end of the desk, bending you a little bit forward, all the while pressing his erection against your ass. 

When he feels you hold your breath in, it only spurs him on, slowly grinding against you. “T-Tae…” you whisper out brokenly, weakly pushing away his firm hold on your waist. “You’re not…” All coherent thoughts get drained from your head when he takes your breasts in his hands, kneading them gently through your shirt,  “...s-supposed to do….” 

The door opens all of a sudden and the janitor enters, holding a plastic roll in his hands. Taehyung abruptly takes his hands off you, placing them inside his pockets instead. Thankfully, the janitor only takes notice of you and Taehyung’s presence after checking the trash bin by the last row and not when the latter had his hands all over you. “Oh, sorry Doc! I thought everybody had left already. I’ll just come back later.” Bowing once in your direction, he leaves quickly just as he had arrived. 

As you turn around to confront Taehyung about his brazen behavior, he’s already there, suddenly connecting his lips with yours. Nearly loosing your footing at the unexpected action, Taehyung instinctively places his hands on your back, pushing you further towards him. You place your palms against his chest, not wanting to get scandalized by making out with a guest. “Taehyung…”

The blonde-haired man pulls away from the kiss, only to attach his lips on that certain spot on your neck that ultimately gets you weak in the knees. ‘Does he remember?’ You think, mind getting hazy over the feeling of his pliant mouth on your skin after all these years. Then again, your mind betrays you with the vivid image of him fucking your friend in your very room – inside the same apartment you shared with that friend he cheated on you with.

Your judgment gets clouded once more as he fumbles with your shirt, unbuttoning the first one – enough to leave a hickey just above the valley of your breast. Taking your bottom lip between your teeth to hold in the moan the threatens to escape your mouth, your fist tightens around the fabric of his collar.

Sliding the swiveling chair from underneath, Taehyung pushes you down onto the cushion of the seat. As he kneels to the ground, your heart beats rapidly in your chest, the anticipation causing to form a few beads of sweat by your hairline. Pleasure shoots through your core as he hikes your skirt up, rubbing his hands all over your thighs.

Having him touch you like this after so many years ignited that fire inside you once more, the almost foreign feeling ultimately driving you close to madness.

Fuck, you missed this. Not him. Not Taehyung. Whatever thing this was with Taehyung that was so deliriously enticing: this magnetizing aura that drew everyone to him without him having to even try. Unfortunately for you, it had also drawn unwanted attention from perpetually thirsty women. You missed these feverish kisses, featherlight touches that sent electricity pulsing through your veins.

You repeat the phrase in your head like a fervent prayer. You miss the idea of this Taehyung, the Taehyung that ravished you on a regular basis, like you were the irresistible flame to the metaphorical moth that was him.

“Tell me to stop, baby, and I will,” Taehyung rasps, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“No panties? Still my naughty little slut I see,” Taehyung remarks, as he sees your naked core. It’s shameful how you’re embarrassingly wet within a short period of time, but you no longer put much thought on it, especially with a handsome man like Taehyung on his knees for you.

With dilated pupils, Taehyung looks up and you knew you had both reminisced the time this same scenario happened in his office at DMC. The infamous surgeon draws you out of your reverie as he plants kisses along the expanse of your thigh.

Urgently wanting to fully express his intentions, Taehyung wastes no time, bunching up your skirt by your hips and diving in to flatten his tongue against your wet core. You gasp at the contact and you practically feel him smile at your responsiveness.

Taehyung starts with a slow pace, letting his tongue swirl all over your cunt. “Oh!” you breath out when he flicks your nether bud with his tongue. Taehyung keeps your legs apart with left hand while he dips a finger between your folds with the other. As you shudder at the sensation, Taehyung continues his ministrations, pushing his finger in, reveling in the way your walls clench around his digit.

“You’re still so tight after all these years,” the man says, diving in once more as he familiarizes himself once more of your addictive essence, licking and sucking at your core for all its worth like it’s his last day on the planet.

Just as you were about to climax, three knocks on the door resonate throughout the empty room, and as you push your thighs together and signaling Taehyung to keep quiet underneath the table, the door opens one more time and the chairman’s head pokes through the side, eyes scanning the room to look for you. Fixing your appearance discreetly, you put on a smile on your face, ignoring the frustration that came with not being able to orgasm properly.

“Wanna go grab lunch with me, sweetheart?” 

“Sure. I’ll be out in a few, babe. Just… gotta go through some emails,” comes your breathless answer. “Okay darling. I’ll be waiting for you by my office.” When you feel Taehyung’s fingers start to dance back up along your legs, you swat them away, the realization of your unfaithful acts finally dawning on you. 

“Stop it Taehyung and get up from there,” you tell him, pulling down your silk skirt that’s shamelessly bunched up around your hips. As you tame the creases on your skirt, the light above you hits the rock on your fourth finger. The gleam hits your eyes perfectly, the diamond on your engagement ring seemingly mocking you of your infidelity. 

For the sake of your sanity, you don’t say another word to Taehyung who also had his eyes trained on your ring. Quickly you grab your things off the desk, not sparing your dejected ex-boyfriend a look. As you reach the door, you rest your head on the hard plastic, “I’m happy now, Taehyung. Please respect that.” With a sigh, you open the door, not daring to take a look back. 

Taehyung nods silently, looking away from your figure as a tear rolls down his cheek, regret and longingness weighing on him heavily.

[yanderecandystore]

The bullies with an S/O that’s just completely off the board? Like no matter how much they look the bullies can’t find /anything/ on them, all their school papers are forged and their home just isn’t able to be found no matter how hard they look? Maybe due to the S/O changing their identity after doing something bad?

That's hella specific and I love it?? XD

Sure thing boo, let me see what I can do.

Also, I'll change the ocs profiles to be paper drawings with digital coloring because believe me boo, I'm tired of redrawing them (and I believe y'all are tired of always seeing these new drawings).

I noticed that my paper art is a lot better than my digital art, and although I'm kinda proud of them I still feel a little petty because I wish to do cool stuff on the computer ;-;.

Anyway, just a heads-up if you see something off with the oc's bios.

TW/Tags: I have no idea what to tag this lmao // identity theft // illegal/unauthorized inscription // not an accurate representation of university/how universities work lol // abusive household/abusive parents // I may or may not have changed your concept a little, I'm sorry for it 😔

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Suspicion (fuck yeah, I don't know what to title this) [Yandere!Bully OC x Reader - Headcanon]:

→Adrien Coldwell:

For a person that prides themselves as the "know it all" when it comes to people's social media and reputation, he doesn't know anything about you.

This is a first for him, which is both annoying and honestly so intriguing. You didn't strike him as a person who would hide any secrets, and he had a hunch this was about to be good.

He searched for social media first, not finding anything about Avery Remington. Well, at least nothing with your face on it.

However, he did find something very, very interesting while looking at the school's documents, specifically the archives of all the students that have already studied here. He honestly didn't think he would find anything about you in these old papers, he was probably doing all this stupid work for nothing.

However, he was half right and half wrong. He didn't find anything about you, but this whole search wasn't completely lost, as he did find "you", Avery.

"- Student name Avery Remington, average grades and apparently no history of wrong doings or any bad behavior in general. Their registration to the Academy dates to 1980."

Oh. Ooooh, this was rich.

"- Huh." He said closing the documents and letting it where he found it. He was at least kind enough to let the palace a little organize after going through each paper trying to find your name.

Well, "your name". The only things that he kept for himself was photos of both the old documents about Avery Remington, and the earlier documents about Avery Remington. It was clear that you did something probably really, really bad, and you know he'll take advantage of it.

He had built his own theory about this, as in: you somehow found the paperwork of Avery's registration and their previous school's records so you could somehow impersonate them and get a free entrance to this institution.

He knew that you had something to hide, no one can be so perfect. But knowing the action itself wasn't enough for him, he needed to know the motive behind it.

For someone that is lazy and doesn't bother to care about important things, he sure spent a lot of time trying to scoop some dirt on you. When he finds the perfect opportunity, without any witness around, he'll take the chance to use this information against you.

"- Well, hello "Avery"." His tone was already suspicious, his voice not hiding anything from you. He came here to belittle you for his own entertainment.

"- H-Hi Adrien." You said shyly, hoping that your anxious mind was wrong and that this was all just a misunderstanding. You were hoping that the growing feeling of him possibly knowing about your fraud, was wrong.

"- Ya know, I'm kinda jealous of whatever plastic surgery you went through to look so young, maybe you should ask the faculty to correct your age tho." He said while showing the pictures he took of the documents.

"- Wait! I-I can-"

"- Honestly, I didn't think you were over 60 years old! Could have fooled me." His smug face was the selling point. You knew that you wouldn't find any form to convince him that what was on his phone was false.

He had a victorious smile on his face. Ever since you entered this school you always acted a little too paranoid and almost too friendly for his liking, and to confess to himself that he has fallen for you would be the bottom of the pit to him.

Still, he wanted to know why you did it. Why didn't you pay to get in if you wanted the scholarship so badly? What, you were too poor for it?

And what about a talent, or the test? Obviously, the university hasn't gone out of their way to pick a loser like you and insert you inside their classes on a whim, as they thought you were Avery Remington, a student that is already registered in school's documents (yet, of course, their system haven't verified the date of the registration, either by incompetence or by a "small mistake"). So you didn't do the test too, simply pathetic honestly.

Your sad dramatic story explaining how you managed to get into the academy. You did your best to get into the academy by legal means, but they always rejected you. Apparently you thought it would be a good idea to use your grandparent's documents to squeeze yourself into the institution.

"- But why in hell would you do such a thing? Are you that pathetic dearest?"

"- I… I wanted somewhere to go. Somewhere I could grow into a better person, a-away from-" You cut yourself short when the memories of your old home started to come into view.

For some reason, your parents couldn't stand the idea of you getting into a decent university, if anything, they thought you weren't capable of even washing some dishes at the local pizzeria. In their eyes, you were worthless.

When you found out your grandparent used to frequent this institution, and that they managed to disattached themselves from their familial routes and thrive as a musician you got instantly inspired! Determined to follow their steps and prove your family that you're just as worth ass-

"- Urghhhh- Boring! I don't care about all of that. Are you serious? You committed a crime just so you could stick it up to your shitty parents?"

"- …. Yes?"

"- Huh. Geez you're cooler than I thought. Listen, how about we make a deal?"

The deal was simple, he would not tell anyone about your little secret, and he would even help you keep your scholarship and help you reach your ambitions as long as you started spending more time with him. Which, at first you thought it sounded absurd, this man is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give him attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Adrien was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Come on now, after this we can go eat something okay? Where would you like to go this time? Our last date I chose the best restaurant I know, so you better choose something of equal value."

…. Date?

→Alexandra Coldwell:

You were suspicious from the very start. Overly friendly and too- Ugh! Too cute?!

You were always skittish whenever someone called you. What, you had a problem with your name or something?

And the worst part was how no one seemed to know where you lived. Every group project with you was considered annoying by most of your classmates, as you never called people in your house or never let anyone have your address, not even your phone number??

You didn't have any social media, what are you, a weirdo? What the hell??!

She is not even pissed about you being a loser, she is pissed that she has fallen for someone like you! A complete weirdo that was always panicking over nothing.

She started stalking you with the intention of finding at least one thing that she could hate on you so she wouldn't feel so- Lovey dovey towards you!

But what she really found was something worth an entire gold mine.

A private phone call between you and someone who was losing their shit. She couldn't understand too much of the conversation as she didn't have any context, yet she could hear a lot of things that you and the person were discussing.

The person yelled [Y/N] multiple times while in the phone call, saying how you were absolutely the worst mistake of their lives (which by the way, rude much? Who is this asshole?), that you were a selfish brat that needed to learn to appreciate their hard work.

Oh… Oh. She now knows who you're talking with. She decided to record the entire thing the moment she saw you taking your cellphone to have a private call.

She was planning on recording your voice for her own hearing pleasure, but this? This was so… Interesting.

"- [Y/N]?" She called your attention after the conversation ended, and because you haven't been accustomed to people calling you "Avery", you turned around saying "what" instinctively.

And when you noticed Alexandra smirk for a split second, you regretted answering your parents call. Not that you needed anymore reason to regret it, but this was certainly the last nail in the coffin.

You begged for her to understand that you couldn't go back, you simply can't go back to them, ever again! You told her the whole sob story about how your grandparent had decided to run away from home and fulfil their own dreams as a musician, even if people didn't really hear their music all that much, and now that you think about it, that's probably the reason why no one have recognized their name at all.

Your grandparent had a really small fanbase, and you knew that because you were part of them. They weren't popular at all compared to Amaryllis Academy standards, yet they were happy singing their songs to the world.

You kinda wish your family hasn't broken the old recorder that belonged to your grandparent. Their first album was in there, it was cheesy and filled with errors, yet they sounded so happy when doing what they loved, and you wanted something like that for yourself!

You needed to live that hell hole and so you did. You rented a small apartment that was falling apart, the reason why you never gave people your address was because you knew they would bully the hell out of you because of how poor you are.

After finishing your story you noticed Alexandra snoring beside you. You thought she was only exaggerating, but then you saw her drooling and acting really dizzy after you woke her up.

"- Oh my God, so… That was it? You ran away to follow your dreams and stuff?" She asked, still kinda sleepy.

"- What? Of course it was-" You were fuming with anger, how dare she-

"- And I thought you only looked cool because I liked you! You're pretty strong for sticking up for yourself." She interrupted you, looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

She proposed to you a deal. How about you two keep this secret together, and, if anything does happen she'll still help you stay inside the institution. However, you'll need to work your ass out to become the best you can be, and you'll let her guide you through, because you're too much of a dummy to do it all by yourself. You'll have to spend time with her and let her help you out.

At first, you thought it sounded absurd, this woman is holding your whole life by a thin thread as long as you give her attention?? What?!

And although that sounded extremely suspicious, you accepted it, not knowing that for the next few years you would have to endure a harsh training to discover your talents and to improve them before you two graduated. However, you started to think Alexandra was starting to see your deal in a different light-

"- Why you never hold my hand? Come on, "Avery", won't you hold the hand of your dearest girlfriend?" She asked playfully while taking your hand anyway.

…. Girlfriend?

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33-Epilogue

As the star witnesses in Touka Shiromajyo’s murder trial, both Natsu and Lucy weren’t allowed to sit through the trial. It was fine with them, considering just the idea of testifying was becoming more than Lucy could handle. She’d made a lot of progress with Natsu and the therapists help, but facing the woman who tried to kill her... in the flesh? Knowing Touka, she’ll be staring them down from the defense table with some stupid smug grin. It made Lucy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Frankly, it wasn’t fair that they were having to go through this in the first place because the prosecutor offered Touka a deal. If she was remorseful and plead guilty to attempted murder and stalking, they would recommend only an in-house psychiatric treatment at a hospital versus jail time. But she’d refused the deal. As far as Touka was concerned this was all Natsu and Lucy’s fault for driving her to commit the act.

The defense really had very little they could do to argue against the facts of the case. Gajeel and his team did an excellent job tracing all the events of stalking from the beginning, so their best chances were to show Touka was completely mentally unstable, suffering from a disorder that made her incapable of knowing right from wrong or gain sympathy by attacking Natsu and Lucy’s roles. It wouldn’t get her off completely, but it might mitigate or shave time off her sentence.

The prosecution began by carefully laying out the timeline of events. In a stalking case that spanned years, this would be crucial as they moved through all the evidence to show when and the possible why’s that would establish Touka’s motives for kidnapping Lucy. It showed the buildup, the prosecutor pointed out, like an old coal train that slowly moved forward inch by inch, picking up momentum until it had reached its top speed, and unless someone pulled the breaks, there was no stopping it now. In order to provide a visual for the jury, they created a long board with all the points plotted out to use during the duration of their case. They kept it facing the jurors the entire time, a strategy to keep them focused on it.

In keeping with the strategy, witnesses and evidence were also presented in chronological order starting with Natsu, Gray, and a few other former students of Meguro Nihon. Both Natsu and Gray both testified that they didn’t remember or even interacted with Touka. The others were there as former club mates of the woman who testified they remembered her making comments about Natsu back then, but they also testified that they never saw or heard of him interacting with Touka.

“So, is it your testimony miss Fumiko that as far as you remember, there was never any interactions between the two?”

“Yes. Back then Touka and I were good friends, well at least I thought we were. I know she had a crush on him,” the woman blushed, “so did I, but Natsu was out of our league. Neither of us ever tried to approach him.”

“Thank you, miss Fumiko.”

The defense attorney then stood up to cross-examine the woman. “Miss Fumiko. How do you know that Ms. Shiromajyo never tried to talk to Mr. Dragneel? Isn’t it possible that she may have done so when you weren’t around?”

“Maybe... but I’m pretty sure Touka would have said something, if not before, after of what the outcome was. And I never saw her distraught about him.”

“Judge,” the defense objected. “Move to strike miss Fumiko’s testimony. It’s impossible for her to know the operation of another’s mind.”

“Objection!” The prosecutor fired back! “Miss Fumiko is just stating an observation.”

“Sustained,” the judge sided with the prosecution.

Undeterred the defense attorney pressed on. “Alright then, miss Fumiko. Did you ever observe Ms. Shiromajyo behave in any manner that concerned you?”

“I don’t understand...”

“Did Ms. Shiromajyo do anything that appeared as if she was obsessed with Mr. Dragneel?”

“No.”

“No further questions.”

The prosecutor stood back up. “Redirect your honor, I’d like to clarify what this witness understood ‘obsessed’ to mean.”

“Go ahead,” the judge granted.

“Miss Fumiko, how often would Ms. Shiromajyo talk about Mr. Dragneel?”

“Oh, daily! She kept a journal and would write things in it about what he did, what he wore, clippings from the school newspaper if he was in it, stuff like that. Sometimes we’d both talk about it, especially when he did something really cool.”

“I see. So, you actually saw the contents of the journal?”

“Yes. I remember it had a pink cover, and there were doodles and hearts with their names in it.”

“Daily chronicles, could that have been seen as obsessive miss Fumiko?”

“Objection!” The defense attorney decried.

But before the judge could respond, the prosecutor waived his hand with a smirk. “That’s okay. I’m done with this witness.”

“You’re free to leave Miss Fumiko,” the judge instructed the witness.

For the first three days of the trial, witness and evidence covered the time leading up to the Main event. Lisanna and Bixlow testified about their experience with Touka, along with two other college students who had a class with Natsu and had been approached by the woman. The manager and an employee of the movie theater testified about the assault incident in their establishment. The person Touka had tried to pay to kill Lisanna testified about that event. The doctor that performed the plastic surgeries was brought in to cover all the work she’d had done to transform herself, and other witnesses were brought in to testify about behaviors they’d witnessed showing her growing obsession. As the lead investigator, Gajeel testified about the police evidence, the methods they used to obtain what, how, etc. The defense attorney did his best to undermine Gajeel’s credibility due to his personal relationship to Lucy’s best friend. But the burly detective had been ready for it and proved to be undeniably unshakable in that regard. Nothing the man did through the investigation could be deemed biased.

Finally on day four, it was Lucy’s turn to testify. As they waited her turn in a soundproof side room, Natsu did his best to keep her calm. “Remember the affirmations,” he held her hands in his, staring up as he kneeled in front of her. “If you need a moment to breathe or you need a moment to calm down, signal the prosecutor.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be sitting in the gallery with Levy during your testimony because the judge is allowing it. Just look at me, keep your eyes on me the whole time. Don’t look at Touka.”

“Natsu— I-I can’t do this...”

“Yes, you can, you can do this. Just remember what we talked about. She can’t hurt you anymore, so don’t give her any more power to.”

Tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes. “I’m scared, Natsu.”

He leaned up, cradled her face in his palms, and kissed Lucy’s forehead. “It’s okay to be scared, but you’re stronger then you know. We survived because you’re strong, Luce, remember that.”

“O-Okay.”

A woman from the prosecutor’s office walked Lucy to the stand while Natsu and Levy went and sat in the gallery. It was a win for them that the judges allowed there to be a psychiatrist present as well during her testimony, just in case a panic attack was triggered. The defense of course had fought the motion, citing the inflammatory appearance to the jury, but the judge overruled them. Lucy did her best not to look in the direction of the defense and kept her eyes glued on Natsu as a grounding point.

It wasn’t always easy. Her body was visibly shaking the entire time along with tears trickling down her face through the hardest portions. They’d warned Lucy that her time on the stand could take at least two days, more if the defense’s cross-examinations stretched out. She prayed they wouldn’t. Lucy knew they would try to trip her up but hoped they wouldn’t push it too far because as the victim, badgering would actually be counter effective for the defense. That first day the prosecutor took her through the beginning, how she’d met Natsu, when Touka entered the picture, the day at the cafe. Having to bare her life like this to the public was humiliating even if some of it wasn’t a big deal. Like meeting Natsu, their whole story about meeting on the train, was it really relevant? According to the prosecution, it was meant to establish that Natsu was a single male when they met, and not as the defense asserted, in a relationship with Touka.

Lucy took the jurors through the weeks and months, how at first Touka seemed harmless, including the conversations she’d had with the woman as she tried to convince Lucy not to date Natsu. She was forced to explain what caused her to reject Touka’s beliefs in deciding to date Natsu, how hearing about the woman through the eyes of others like Gray changed her mind. Next, they covered the escalating behaviors, being followed and approached by Touka everywhere they went. Lucy spoke of her growing fears, and the creepy feeling of being watched along with corroborating dated photo evidence from her phone of pictures she’d taken of Touka during some of the following incidents. By the end of the first day of testimony, they managed to reach the movie theater incident without many objections by the defense attorney. Lucy didn’t know if that meant he planned to leave her alone or was simply waiting to reserve his cross for later. The unknown left her even more anxious and that night, Lucy struggled to get a decent night’s sleep.

“I hate her even more,” Lucy snapped. “Why couldn’t she just take the damn deal so we could all move on?!”

Natsu pulled his girlfriend close. “I don’t think we’ll ever know the answer to that. All we can do, is our best to move forward.”

“I know...” Lucy sighed.

“Look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?!”

Natsu chuckled. Lucy might be angry at the moment, but it was better she was letting it out instead of holding her emotions in. “You did really great on the stand today.” He kissed her lips. “I’m very proud of you Luce.”

That made Lucy blush, and her anger fade a little. “Thanks. But the hardest part will be tomorrow.”

“And you’ll do fine tomorrow too, just do what you did today. Stick to the truth, ignore the defense side, and just stare at your handsome boyfriend.”

“Pfft,” Lucy snorted a laugh, but he was right, and his humor was a pleasant medicine to take in. “You’re such a weirdo. But thank you. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Forever, right?” Natsu kissed her again. “Imma stick by you no matter what.” He smiled and cuddled her against him, “now go to sleep.”

And she did try her best to get enough sleep. Lucy even took extra melatonin to assist, but she still ended up waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare. Even though the prosecutor had gone over her testimony more than once in preparation, the idea of reliving the kidnapping left a sinking feeling in her stomach when faced against the defendant. Whereas day one she’d done well to avoid it, Lucy made the mistake of looking at Touka as soon as she’d sat down on the witness stand. Strangely, instead of fear, seeing the smug look on the woman’s face made her angry instead. So, Lucy steeled back her resolve to get this whole damn nightmare over with.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Karen.”

Sorry guys. I have to post this really quick, sorry for spelling errors. Don’t worry about the Drev translations, they arent important

The civilian transport was very lucky.

In fact it was very lucky for a couple of reasons, the first being that it was only their secondary engine which had malfunctioned, not the warp core, second because at least their life support still worked, and three that they were close enough to an outpost , that their S.O.S was received in under a day by a very bored Tesraki, and an overly-talkative Rundi.

Their last stroke of luck might have been that there just so happened to be a UNSC ship passing by, on their way to the same original destination.

In fact, the civilian transport, piloted by some kind of space cruise company, offering interstellar tours, was attached to the harbinger in under an hour opening the doors and flooding the civilians with fresh cool air.

Krill was waiting with doctor Katie on the loading ramp just in case the civilians were in need of some sort of medical attention. He didn’t exactly have much experience with civilians. The harbinger was crewed, in large part, by military personnel and the occasional government contractor, so most of them were relatively professional, and most, if not all of them , were required to go through extensive training and physical testing before leaving their planet.

As the civilian humans disembarked, Krill got a sudden taste of human tourism.

Some very, very large humans, wearing widely unmatching clothing and strangely patterned shirts toddling through the doors with so much excess weight, he wondered how the human skeleton was capable of supporting such an egregious amount without simply imploding and turning to dust. The health implications were absolutely horrendous, and made him cringe to think about.

And if they weren’t big and colorfully dressed, they were rail thin, with plastic faces and puffy lips, the mark of cosmetic surgery done poorly. And with them they brought a hoard of screaming children, and moody teenagers their heads down glowering at their implanted communication devices, though Krill could hardly blame them from their moodiness.

A few more normal humans were there of course, averaging between the two extremes, and dressed conservatively for travel looking absolutely done with the entire thing and relieved when they stepped onto the cargo deck.

“Well it is about time!”

Krill and Dr. Katie turned their heads just in time to see the last human disembark shoving past the other guests and onto the floor, dragging with her two teenagers, one young child and her apologetic looking husband “It sure did take you long enough. And I swear once I have time I am going to be complaining to customer service. I will be complaining to the travel agency, and to the transport agency and.” She turned to glower at Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill,” And I will be complaining to you, whoever you people are for taking so long to show up.”

Krill glanced up at the woman who was only growing closer and closer, ominously looming over them. From this distance Krill got a better look of her badly maintained A line haircut, and her patchy blonde dye job with layers. She had a look on her face that were to suggest she perpetually had something sour in her mouth

Dr. Katie sighed, “Sorry ma’am. I can’t help you, I am a civilian medical contractor, not a member of the UNSC. I am just here to deal with any medical issues that you may have experienced during the malfunction.”

“Of course you’re UNSC, you work on the ship don’t you?”

Katie tried to remain patient, “Yes, I work on the ship, but like I said before I am a civilian contractor and have no ability to help you with your complaints. Is there any medical issue that I can help you with.”

“I demand a refund at once.”

Dr. katie Sighed, “I am a Dr. and I do not work for your touring company either. I am a private civilian medical contractor.” 

“And that was not a medical issue.” Krill added already annoyed.

By this time, the woman hadn’t even semed to notice him, but as soon as he spoke, she turned her eyes down towards him and screamed. She made a big show of falling backwards hand over her heart as if she had been shocked, “What is that!” Dr. Katie frowned, “This is Dr. krill, our OTHER civilian medical contractor.”

“Get it out of here, Immediately! I demand it be removed.” She backed away towards her family, “How dare you do something like this, my daughter has arachnophobia. I demand he be removed immediately”

Dr. Katie was frowning openly now, “I am not going to remove him from the deck. He is our chief medical officer, and not an arachnid. That is very rude, you may not know but it is considered a very offensive slur to call Vrul by those terms.”

“I don’t care, can’t you see what it is doing to my daughter!”

Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill turned to look at the teenage daughter, who, at that very moment looked like she wished to melt through the floor. It seemed that having all blood boiled out her ears in the vacuum of space would be way more preferable to this. Her husband was hiding his face, though no one said anything.

Behind her, the other tourists were looking wildly uncomfortable.

One of the large, colorful gentlemen stepped forward, “Why don’t we all just calm down, they are only trying to do their jobs.”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear them. They are civilian contractors.”

“You mind your own business.” She snapped turning back to the two of them. Behind her, her youngest son had gotten bored of the conversation and had wandered off. As they watched he busied himself with terrorizing the cargo crew darting in front of cargo carriers and screaming at the top of his lungs once he realized he could make his voice echo back to him.

“Ma’am, could you please get your son.” Dr Katie began, but was cut off.

“He can do what he wants. Don’t your bring my baby into this.”

“Mom-” The teenager began.

“Quiet Terrance.”

The boy shut his mouth joining his sister in wanting to melt through the floor.

She jabbed a finger at Krill, “Get that bug out of here NOW before I am forced to call someone.”

Krill watched in detached awe as Dr. katie grew very still. Her lips were drawn into a thing line, and the eyes behind her glasses narrowed sharply brows plunging, “I will not.” He was worried for a moment that Katie was going to flat out deck this woman, but she kept her cool, though her hands were balled into fists.

“I demand to speak with the manager!” The woman began screaming stomping her foot like a toddler.”

“Fine.” Doctor katie growled through clenched teeth, turning to look down at her implant before sending a text. 

The woman looked very smug sitting back with her arms crossed as Dr. katie and Krill were finally allowed to begin their work, going around to the other civilians and asking if they were feeling alright. The big colorful man, with the surprisingly pleasant voice  whispered an apology to them, “She's been a nightmare the whole trip. My wife and I were just coming out to gamble in some of those Tesraki casinos, you know try the exotic food, but she insisted that her son can’t eat any of that and that it shouldn’t be served on the ship or else he'd have some horrible allergic reaction. Honestly it's probably a load of bullshit.” 

His wife placed a hand on his arm, “Herold.” She scolded quietly 

“Sorry, dear. Anyway, you two are doing a great job.” Before looking down at Krill, “Watch out, there are some real xenophobes around these parts, and she might just be one of them.” 

In the background her kid was still making a mess bringing everything in the hold to a complete standstill.

Krill was appalled and almost impressed at how horrible this all was

There was a clattering towards the end of the room, and the group of them turned to see commander Vir, Sunny and a group of other drev walk into the space..

“Zha dah nee to chatahach nehkasi.”

“Zha janaik.”

“Tsa dee.”

“Geesee zha dee.”

“Nin tsa kasish, Chalan.”

“Zha nehrekazi. Zha lad nee gengi kasat.”

The group of them stopped in their tracks cutting their conversation mid go as the kid ran past them screaming, nearly knocking a pallet of crates off balance as he went.

Commander Vir frowned, “Hey! Knock it off!” The kid paused in his tracks a defiant expression in his eyes, and looked about ready to do something stupid. However a group of three Hulking Drev, and one eyeless human was enough  to send him scurrying to his mother, who was not happy.

She marched forward, “how dare you speak to my son like that. Who exactly do you think you are.”

“And who are you?” The commander asked.

“A paying customer.”

The commander looked confused, “Paying for what?” 

“Don’t play coy with me. You now what.”

“I can honestly tell you that I don’t know.” He turned his head back to the Drev “Nijeesh”, and motioned them off knowing this was going to take a while

She screeched, “Stop speaking to them in that language, this is a human ship! Speak human!” Krill an the other Drev looked on in confusion, considering that there were a couple of human languages to choose form, making her argument extra stupid.

“I paid for this tour, and now I demand to speak with your manager.”

The commander folded his arms, “We aren’t part of the tour company, we are part of the UNSC.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ma’am I cannot help you with the tour company. THe UNSC has nothing to do with civilian tours.”

She held up a hand in front of his face, “No, I won’t be talking to you anymore, not until is see a manager.” She snapped her fingers.

A small spark of fire lit in the man’s eyes, “I AM the manager.”

She laughed, barking like a condescending seal, “Don’t lie to me boy, you are too young. Now let me talk to an adult. The REAL manager.”

Commander Vir stared at her mouth open completely nonplussed, “I’m 25.”

“Exactly, clearly not old enough.”

He just held out his hands lost for words for a long moment before, a subtle change appeared in his expression. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “My apologies, ma’am, we don’t technically have a manager aboard the ship, but this just so happens to be the UNSC Harbinger, so maybe I can get Commander Vir to speak with you.” 

Her eyes lit up hungrily at that. And Krill stared on in wonder and fascination.

“yes , I will speak with the commander.”

Her two teenagers looked up from their shame, and Krill could tell by the wide eyed expressions on their faces, they knew exactly who their mother was talking to. Both of their faces went beat red.

Commander Vir turned walked a few steps turned around and walked back standing up straighter, ‘Hello ma’am I am Fleet Commander Vir of the UNSC Harbinger, how may I be of assistance.”

The woman looked livid, “This isn’t funny! Now get me the real commander now!”

“mom/” One of her kids hissed.

She held out a finger.

“Mom!”

She turned to glare angrily at her child, “Not while the adults are speaking terrance.”

“But mom! He IS the commander!”

She turned to glower at her son, who was brandishing his implant with a picture of Adam in uniform, one of the images used for the movie.

It was time for her husband to speak up, “Dear…. He’s the one from that movie…” he trailed off.

She whirled around to face him face red with embarrassment as he stood there with a shit eating grin, but then, in her embarrassment, doubled down even harder, “Well no wonder this place is so poorly run. You’re too young to have the position you do. Is there someone ELSE more experienced I  can speak with.”

Commander Vir just stared at her, “Ma’am I am the highest power you are ever going to talk to. Even if I was god's secretary, you wouldn't get past the door. Now shut up get your crotch goblin, under contorl and keep your xenophobic agest ass quiet. I am not going to bother being polite to someone who has openly thrown speciesest slurs at my crew.” He motioned to the other passengers, “The rest of you are welcome onto the crew deck for the time being.” The rest of her family members visibly wilted, “Your two kids and your husband are allowed as well, but until you can learn a little respect, and treat my crew the way they deserve, you and your youngest can stay on the civilian transport alone.” 

From where she stood next to Krill, Dr. Katie giggled, “I love it when he gets all righteous indignation.” Krill had to agree with her.

Watching him turn and leave the woman speechless with fury behind him was extremely satisfying. 

[thewritepages]

The Diary of the Older Collegiate (#TheFreshman Series) (1)

Synopsis : Annabelle Green is somewhat in a situation no thirty year woman would want to find herself in : (Un) Happily divorced, childless and with a job worth peanuts and migraine. The downward spiral of her life doesn't seem to end anytime soon until her sister reminds her of her most cherished dream.

College.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

MAY 3, 2019

3.30 A.M.

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

I hate myself.

No, really. I may have called it once or twice in the past due to mild anger or frustration, but this.

This is real.

I mean, I may be the only person who would:

A) Cry over a failed marriage during an interview

B) Scratch that, cry over a failed marriage in midst of the most IMPORTANT interview in my entire career!

C) Go straight to the pub later to drown my sorrows when I know perfectly well what would happen if I do get drunk.

D) Do what would be obvious to a broken-hearted, career destroyed, thirty year old drunk woman: Leave a string of carefully selected profanities on the voice mail of my beloved ex-husband.

E) Waking up several hours later on the side of god-knows-what street staring in horror at the drunken messages I've sent to everyone in my cell's contact list- which would also include my parents.

And to think of it, I managed it all in little less than 12 hours last night.

I think I'll just dig a burrow in my apartment and never come out of it. Wait a minute...

That's it! I'm never leaving my apartment again. It'll be perfect- I'll take up one of those work-at-home jobs they always advertise on the internet, eat ramen noodles for sustenance and stay protected from the world outside throughout my life.

In fact, I'll tip off my doorman to tell my family that I've left to pursue my inner self and I may never come back again. As many years pass by, my family would mourn over my presumed death while I get a plastic surgery done and change my name to something untraceable like Ronal Wallis.

Oh, jolly good! A brilliant idea. Why didn't I ever think of this before?

MAY 3, 2019.

13.30 P.M.

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

Err; maybe the whole change-my-identity-and-live-happily plan didn't exactly work.

Don't get me wrong, it didn't totally blow up or anything. My doorman, Steve did his job perfectly, informing my sister that I have indeed joined Deepak Chopra on a journey to find myself in a tiny village in the Himalayan Valleys. He narrated the story in such a sober tone that even I found myself believing him for a moment.

But Steve and I didn't realize that in order to leave the country, I would actually need my passport- The passport which is still in my ex-husband's apartment along with the rest of the stuff I was going to pick up this week.

Unfortunately, my sister was very much aware of this piece of information.

"Anna, it's been two months. You've got to get your shit together. You cannot stay dep-" I gave my sister a warning glance.

Not the D-word. Definitely not the D-word.

"I'm completely fine."I mumbled, looking down at the dregs of my empty coffee mug.

"No, you're not completely fine Annabelle Green. You've stopped calling, stop visiting all of us. Hell, nowadays you don't even get your ass out of the bed. Now, I know what Luc-"she stopped short, taking in my pained expression.

Another word I do not want to hear – Luc- Lucas.

Lucas .Lucas. Lucas.

"I'm sorry," Kat, my sister, bowed her head down low. "I shouldn't have brought him up."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." My eyes closed from exhaustion. "Kat, why are you here?"

"Well, last night you-"

"I KNOW. It was a mistake. And I think I sent an explanatory text earlier this morning."

"That won't stop me from checking up on you, Anna. I'm bloody worried about you."

My eyes descend down to her enormous belly. She shouldn't worry about me right now- I'm not the one who is due for two bouncing baby boys in less than two months.

Did I just say bouncing? Oh, Lord.

"How're the boys kickin'?" I pat her belly gently, forcing myself to smile.

Her face instantly relaxes. "Oh, they're kickin', all right," she smiles at me, "Didn't give me a wink of sleep last week."

Well, that makes the two of us.

"I can't wait for little John and Paul to meet their ol' Aunt Anna." At least this was true. The arrival of my twin nephews is the only thing keeping me up for the past couple of months.

"Anna, we have talked about this. I'm not naming the kids after The Beatles."

"Why not? I recommend you have another set of twin boys so we'll have the entire boy band in our family."

"And have four crazy boys running around the household? No thanks. Phil and I would probably die of insanity."

Sigh. Phil and Kat. Their story is the closest you'd ever get to a fairytale- childhood sweethearts; they were two young teenagers wildly in love but were painfully separated to colleges at the opposite ends of the country. When it looked like it was truly over between them, they reconciled during the summer after college. It was literally The Notebook all over again, leaving out all the letter writing and the crazy house building. I don't think Phil is capable of fixing a broken lock, let alone build an entire house.

Suddenly, I felt someone holding my hand tightly. I look up to see Kat's eyes filled with tears. "Annie, come home. Mum and Dad miss you. I miss you. We want to stay with you in these difficult times. A few days away from Seattle will do you good. "She gets up. "Mum, Dad and Phil are waiting for us in the car downstairs. I'll help you pack up."

My heart softens, but I raise my eyebrows in sarcasm. "So, they sent you to emotionally blackmail me, right? Well, it's working, Mommy –in-waiting."

She tweaks my nose playfully. "It always does, baby sis."

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

A/N :

Hi there, thank you for taking the time to read my new diary styled new ChickLit series:

"The Diaries of an Older Collegiate"(#TheFreshman).

If this chapter ignited an interest for this series, please let me by reblogging or sending me a message. I'm very new to Tumblr writing so it'll really help me calm my nerves :")

Lastly, I'm tagging a few lovely authors here whose works I've been binge reading and they've really inspired me to put out my work out here. Authors, if you like this chapter, I'd be very grateful if you could share it among your network and let me know :)))))

@go1denjeon, @ladyartemesia,@noteguk,@junghelioseok