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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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ronans-sepiaphotograph · 3 years

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Sunflower, Vol. 6

(A Jerejean AU)

Part one.

Part two:

Tired eyes are the death of me

Mouthful of toothpaste before I got to know you

I've got your face hung up high in the gallery

I love this shade, sunflower, sunflower

Your flowers just died, plant new seeds in the melody

This wonderful edit is by @91percentpynch which inspired me to start writing this AU. I adore her and Jean Moreau is the love of our life and the light of our existence and the moon of our sky.

The next time Jean stepped foot inside Knox florists was one month later because he couldn't get Jeremy the shop out of his head. There were hazel eyes and cymbidiums, yellow blonde hair and chrysanthemums and Jeremy and his bright smile.

Jean never wanted anything before. Want meant making yourself vulnerable, stripping down your walls. It had only led him to pain and hurt, blood and tears. But there it was again, this overwhelming ache, this annoying brightness that made Jean want.

The shop was empty except for Garfield sniffing a pot of hydrangeas as Jean was about to open the door, Luna bouncing beside him already.

The bell chimed and a second later, Jeremy's head popped up from behind the counter. He still had his stupid smile on his face that made Jean's heart stutter in his chest. And there were leaves and rose petals stuck in his flowy blonde hair. He waved enthusiastically at Jeremy and Jean smiled a small smile.

"hello" "hi" "how are you, Jean Moreau?"

Jeremy's French was so terribly Jean sighed.

"Jeremy your French is terrible" "I know but it makes you smile so it's win"

Jean didn't know whether to fling himself out of this world or to press his lips on Jeremy's.

"perhaps you can teach me. I can pronounce croissant" "oh mon dieu no" "or avant garde" "stop" "or crème brulée" "no Jeremy-"

Jeremy was staring at him, his smile wider than ever which just made Jean wonder whether he did something.

"did I something?" "You're laughing" "I can laugh" "it's the first time you've laughed that I've heard"

They were both blushing. Jean literally sighed and buried his head in his arms on the table. Jeremy laughed and Jean wanted to tattoo his laugh on his heart even if that made no remote sense.

"if it's okay I'm gonna sit here and sketch" "can I see?" "Maybe later?" "Okay"

He did. The studio was closed today as Aaron had gone home to visit his boyfriend and twin brother. And Jean got terribly bored at the studio alone. And he remembered he had Jeremy's card. So, he was back. He had been busy for a month with a lot of commissions so he had been talking to Jeremy via text. It was quite fun as Jeremy was just as bright when he texted.

He pulled out his sketchbook. There were all sorts of things that he'd sketched. Flowers and vines, hands and eyes, animals and birds. He had tattooed a few even. He looked around but his eyes landed only on Jeremy who stuck out like a sore thumb against the sea of plants.

He gave in and started putting Jeremy on paper. The mess of his blonde hair, wavy and long. His large eyes and pointy nose that dipped at the right angle. The curve of his cupid's bow and the freckles on his face, dusted across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

It was slow and delicate, the scratch of graphite against the paper because art came slow and eventual, like rainfall on a sunny day.

Jeremy was not short, just that Jean was taller by a few inches. He was tall and angular and had muscular arms and beautiful hands with nerves jutting out when he flexed his hands. His nails were almost always painted a bright yellow.

Jeremy came alive on Jean's sketchbook and the Jean took out his pencils to fill in the colour. He spent a good minutes trying match the colour of Jeremy's skin until he was fed up and went with the closest shade.

When he looked up, Jeremy was tending to a rather large bouquet of tulips and roses as he chatted with his customer. The hope blooming in Jean's chest wilted he saw Jeremy blush while talking to the woman.

Jean vented out his frustration by aggressively scribbling his pencil until the tip broke with a crack. He didn't even know why he was angry at this, this mess of feelings that had bloomed in his chest.

And why would Jeremy even like him? He was too broken, there were too many sharp yet delicate pieces of him that he himself couldn't keep a count of yet he was trying to piece them together, one by one. Why would Jeremy pick those up and cradle them when he could have someone who'd give him all he wanted. Jean had survived, barely and he didn't know how to live. Live in the way life was supposed to be lived in.

Jeremy noticed him and sat beside him after he handed the woman her bouquet. Jean didn't say anything but continues to colour his sketch as he felt Jeremy's eyes linger on him.

"Jean?" "Yes?" "Is that me?"

Jean didn't say anything but responded by slamming his sketchbook shut and gathering his pencils. Jeremy flinched beside him. He got up, eyes burning as he grabbed Luna's leash and walked to leave. She tilted her head in question but followed him nonetheless.

Be still my unsteady heart, he angrily reminded himself as he prepared to storm out.

Then they were, Jeremy's fingers closed around his wrist that made his heart hammer louder than ever that it was ringing in his own ears.

"don't go please"; the broken edges of Jeremy's whisper that told him to turn around.

"did I do something wrong?" "No" "then?" "It hurts" "what does?" "Everything?" "Okay" "you" "me?" "You hurt me"

The silence began to eat him slowly, creeping up from the ground. When he looked at Jeremy, his eyes had darkened to a stormy hazel and his frown was there, underlying. He loosened his grip on Jean's and stepped backward but Jean caught his hand again.

"I've never felt this way about anyone. But you are making me feel these, these emotions that made hope blooms until your girlfriend came here" "I don't have a girlfriend?" "The lady who came in earlier" "oh, she was my sister. She asked me- whether- whether you were my boyfriend" "oh"

There was Jeremy, blushing again, slowly lacing their fingers together; carefully, elegantly, slowly as if giving Jean time to pull away but their fingers tangled and oh, oh, oh, Jeremy was so warm and Jean was so cold. Because Jeremy was alive and warm and his heartbeat was faint staccato under Jean's fingers and Jean was cold and learning to live and his heart was a thawing piece of frozen flesh.

"well" "I'm sorry" "don't be, please. Would you like to have lunch with me?" "Okay" "do you like tacos?" "I suppose"

Jeremy laughed brightly as Jean let go and sat back down. Jeremy called a place and ordered food and came back to sit beside him.

"can I see the sketch?" "Yes"

Jean pulled out his sketchbook and showed the sketch to Jeremy. Jeremy's fingers were feather light on the paper as they grazed his own features, delicate and beautiful. When Jeremy looked back at him, his eyes were bright and twinkling and full of admiration for Jean.

He looked with such ferocity that for the first time Jean felt seen. He felt vulnerable and fragile and felt like Jeremy would break him the way he wanted to be broken, just to be healed again.

His smile was gentle and persistent, it made Jean's heart flutter again. And he was suddenly leaning closer towards Jeremy, closer and closer until their breaths mingled.

"I fear you'll burn me" "what?" "You're so bright like the sun I feel like you'll incinerate this very second until all that remains is nothing yet, yet I can't help but be drawn to you" "oh"

And Jean watched as Jeremy's fingers inched towards his face, slow so as to give Jean to pull away but Jean didn't, he wouldn't. And Jean's skin was on fire as Jeremy's fingers grazed his cheeks, traced the tattoo of the moon that has risen there and the trail of little stars that began at his cheek and cascade down like a starry waterfall down his neck and onto his back and into nothingness.

Jean's inhaled sharply as Jeremy breathed as he traced his finger delicately across Jean's face as if he was made of glass and too much pressure and Jean would crack.

Jean was toughened like a diamond or a rock and nothing could break him anymore but Jeremy. Jeremy made him feel like he was a delicate little thing, a bud, a blossom blooming on a dewy morning.

Jean moved and Jeremy's face was under his hands as the pupils of Jeremy's eyes widened. He rubbed his calloused thumbs across Jeremy's cheeks and Jeremy closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, they were twinkling like stars.

"Hazel mixed with green" "huh?" "The colour of your eyes when you stand under the sun and the rays hit them perfectly"

Jeremy laughed and Jean leaned forward and looked at Jeremy. There was no hesitation, none at all. Jean let his feelings wash him over, trample him over and he had surrendered in this want. He pressed his lips against Jeremy's and they were soft, and warm against Jean's chapped and cold ones. And Jeremy's hands were gentle in his hair, carding through it.

When they pulled away, the unsteadiness in Jean's heart had calmed down as he looked at Jeremy. There was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks that clashed with his freckles and there was that lopsided smile that was different from his usual ones. Jean thought that this one might be special.

"I have nothing to give to you, Jeremy Knox. Except me" "and I'll try to give you everything you want" "I'm broken and there's too many pieces" "then let me pick them up with you, for you" "I fear you'll break me. I fear you'll break me and help me heal when I'm too shattered" "I'll try to make you feel less broken"

Jeremy didn't assure him that he'll make Jean whole. Jean supposed Jeremy knew that feeling whole was just bullshit. It was false hope and fake words for those who were afraid of the truth.

Jean pulled up his sleeves, to reveal his scars and tattoos and Jeremy was staring wide-eyed at him. Jeremy's fingers hovered around his arms and Jean whispered a quiet yes and Jeremy grazed his fingers against his scars, the flowers and vines tattooed around them and the sunflower on his forearm. Jeremy smiled at him through glassy eyes. Jeremy moved his fingers, slender and long and graceful against Jean's skin, like an artist mixing colours on a pallet, careful and methodical.

"you gave me the sunflower, Jeremy Knox" "I remember" "this one will never wilt" "I'll give you a million sunflowers more if you want"

Jean smiled, it was not as bright as Jeremy's but it'd do and pressed his lips against Jeremy's once more.

It felt a lot like blooming.

#all for the game #aftg #nora sakavic #jean moreau #jeremy knox #aaron minyard #kevin day #artist jean #florist jeremy #kevaaron #jerejean #usc trojans #psu foxes #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #pratt posts

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introvert-celeste · 3 years

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saw ya post and got an instant idea! mayhaps if ya're alright with such an idea to write: vollyball owning a flourist shop after graduating from little homeworld, with maybe some pearl x volly or whoever you like shipping volly with the most. idk this was first thing that came to my mind lol.

So. I got this prompt over a year ago and I'm sorry I haven't responded to this until now, but it's done now! As usually, I tried entirely too hard on this one. I haven't written a ship fic in a long time so it was hard to get back into the zone, but I think it turned out alright. Fic under the cut!

Volley sighed contentedly, basking in the warm, early morning sun. Years ago—millennia, centuries, or even just a few years prior—she could have never guessed that she would find herself in a place like this, a space all her own, a place where she could exist and grow.

It was a modest building in the southeastern quadrant of Little Homeworld, only a few blocks from Tulip and Bluebell’s lovely little home near the center of town. Flowering vines crept along the pale pink walls, softening the appearance of the angular, notably gemlike architecture. An overflowing garden seemed to occupy every inch of space on the small property, almost overflowing with flowers and foliage of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Perched as she was on the second-floor balcony, Volley could see the country unfold before her, sloping gently toward the ocean. It was on a quiet street off the main road, but not so quiet that it became dull. Even now, as the clock tower struck 7 in the morning, there were gems of all kinds emerging from their own lovely little homes, continuing their own journeys.

Volley took a sip of her strawberry tea, feeling silly and sentimental and incredibly grateful. She closed her eye, relishing the moment, the air sweet with the smell of strawberries and a thousand flowers.

The distinct sound of metal against metal rang out in the distance, drawing her attention to the town square. From her vantage, she saw two figures sparring in the midst of a crowd of rapt onlookers, one holding a defensive stance as launched into the most graceful, flawless offense Volley had ever seen.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true; she’d watched Pearl’s technique plenty of times in past year, ever since she moved to Little Homeworld—they were routine at this point, regular demonstrations for Bismuth’s class—and yet every time was just as exciting as the first. Even now, from so far away, she was gripped by excitement, watching Pearl’s slight figure slashing, flipping, twirling, a combination of dance and combat that was entirely new, admirable, beautiful. Volley sighed dreamily, losing herself in the movements.

And then the flurry ended as soon as it began, as Pearl leapt high into the air and slashed downwards with one final, resounding clash, met with cheers from the gathered crowd. Not for the first time, Volley felt as if she were waking from an odd spell. She spared one last look at the scene below, noticing that Pearl had removed her jacket, her lithe, pale arms glowing sunlight as she showcased the sword—likely freshly forged—to the admiring onlookers.

The heat rose to her face; she quickly looked away, unsure of what to make of these new feelings. Or perhaps she had felt this before, long ago… She shook the thought from her head before it could fully form. She had a busy afternoon ahead of her, no use dwelling on silly ideas like these. Pearl was her friend, and that wouldn’t change. Besides, why would a gem as amazing as her be interested in someone like her.

“Good morning, Volley!”

Volley yelped in surprise, nearly toppling over the edge of the balcony. After a mad scramble, trying not to upset her teacup and the multitude of plant pots crowding the narrow space, she leaned over the railing to address the familiar voice below.

“Oh Pearl!” She cried in a flustered voice. “Good morning! Isn’t it such a lovely day? Simply breathtaking! That’s what the humans say, right? Come in and I’ll be down in a sec!”

She was not one to be easily embarrassed, but there was something about Pearl’s quizzical, mildly amused smirk that caught her completely off guard. Face burning, she hurried inside her apartment, out of sight.

Perhaps it was the fact that they’d hardly spent any time together outside of Little Homeschool in ages, always busy with their own projects, and now Pearl was there outside her door. Indeed, Volley looked around the cluttered room in dismay, all sorts of gaudy oddments and clusters upon clusters of flowers in half-finished arrangements lining every available surface. It was a hobby that was quickly—but not unpleasantly—consuming her idle hours, a hobby she was particularly proud of. Looking at the mess with fresh eyes, however, all she could feel was shame; she knew that Pearl wouldn’t approve.

“There’s no time,” she sighed helplessly, picking her way through the clutter.

There was one thing amid the mess that she was particularly excited to show her, even in her dismay. Gently, she scooped up a small, finished bouquet she’d completed in the early hours of the morning. It was when she felt the most inspired, or perhaps it was the only time of the day when she was particularly pensive. She’d been thinking quite a lot lately, more than she was comfortable with. Clutching the bouquet close to her chest, quelling her rising nerves, she made her way downstairs.

As her reputation as a top-notch gardener and florist spread throughout the colony, the downstairs room quickly transformed into a shop of sorts. An impressive array of arrangements sat clustered around the room, as well as a multitude of potted flowers and succulents too delicate for the outdoor elements. Gems and humans alike were free to stop by and take what they like in return for the little trinkets she so enjoyed, although their enjoyment was enough payment in itself. At this moment, however, she was relieved to find that no one else had wandered in that day, only Pearl, who looked about the room in appreciation.

“Oh Volley, I am so impressed!” she exclaimed. “You’ve really made this space your own. I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner.”

“It’s nothing much, not much more than a hobby…” Volley shyly ducked away from the compliment in polite deference. “Certainly, compared to what you’ve accomplished. I saw your performance a moment ago and it was absolutely stellar, as always.”

There was a hint of concern behind Pearl’s eyes, as she cast her a gentle smile. “While I’m flattered by the compliment,” she replied, grasping Volley’s shoulders lightly, “my success doesn’t negate yours. I mean, just look at what you’ve done in a few short months!”

Volley blushed deeply, not expecting her sudden warmth. She hid behind her gift, thrusting it between them. “Um, this is for you,” she explained in a small voice. “I-I was going to give them to you later, but…well, now you’re here, so…” she trailed off, watching as Pearl inspected the gift closely; with interest or scrutiny, she couldn’t quite tell. “Um, I thought you might like lilies and hydrangeas, and I added some…some small roses here and there. I hope that’s okay.”

Pearl gazed at her in surprise. “Of course, Volley,” she assured her, casting another fond glance at the cluster of flowers and toying with the satin ribbon. “It’s a beautiful gift. Thank you.” Sensing her unease, she continued, “is everything alight?”

Volley began to speak, but she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even begin to describe how she felt that the moment. Was she alright? She had everything she could possibly want and a life she had never expected, not in her wildest dreams, and yet it felt as if things were far more complicated than she was prepared for. In truth, she was terrified, which was not an unusual experience in the least for gems adjusting to the new freedoms of Era 3. Of what, however, she could not say.

All she could do was stand there, regarding this gem with whom she shared such a complicated relationship. She knew, without a doubt, that Pearl resented her, or had at first. She knew that she could be frustrating, that she wasn’t incredibly smart or neat or talented. She envied, admired Pearl’s confidence, bravado, and unabashed dominance. All the Pearls who met her wanted even an inkling of what she had, and Volley was no exception. She regarded her creation in Pearl’s capable hands and hated the shame the bubbled up in her, wishing beyond all else that she could boldly claim the pride she had felt of it hours ago.

“I just hope it isn’t too trivial,” she finally stated in a small voice, forcing back her shame. “I-I know it isn’t very impressive, but I’m trying to get better.” She could feel treacherous tears welling in her good eye. This was not how she had wanted this interaction to go at all.

Just then, she felt Pearl pull her into a tight, genuine hug. After a moment, Volley gave in to the embrace, burying her face into Pearl’s shoulder.

“Nonsense,” Pearl finally replied firmly. “I love everything you’ve done. I admire you, Volley.”

I love you. The thought flashed through her mind and caught in her mouth. “I admire you, too,” she revised, reluctantly pulling away from the embrace to smile at her. “I always have.”

#steven universe #asks #pearl #pink pearl #volleypearl #my writing #finally I can add a new fic to the ao3 #it's been too long #I don't think I ever uploaded that lapis and peridot prompt there either!#ooh I have some pearl and volley angst that I also want to write at some point but that'll have to wait awhile longer

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chaoticminhos · 4 years

Text

tulips

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: fluff, a sprinkle of angst

word count: 1.5k

a/n: <3 can you tell i don’t know anything about gardening

your eyes fell on the little garden you kept in front of your home. sighing, you made your way to the steadily decreasing corner of tulips. yet another was missing.

over the past few weeks, you’d noticed that your flowers kept disappearing. you’d walk out in the morning and find a few empty stems, cut cleanly near the dirt. at first, you thought it might have been some animal, like a rabbit, and that didn’t bother you. if a bunny wanted a daisy every once in a while, you weren’t gonna stop it. however, the cuts were clean and precise, obviously done by a person and a pair of scissors. bunnies you liked. people, however, not so much.

you crouched down beside the empty patch where you’d previously had a bundle of tulips. now, there was only stems and dirt. whoever was talking your flowers seemed to have a preference for tulips. you weren’t judging, they were your favorite flower too, but if they were gonna steal from your garden, couldn’t they at least steal from several places? your tulip patch was getting bare and it looked empty compared to the other sections of your small garden.

sighing, you decided you could plant some more tulips and they should be able to bloom before the season was up. you stood, dusting dirt from your pants, and made your way into your small home. it wasn’t anything fancy, just a little rundown place that you’d gotten for cheap, understandably. but you liked it well enough. it was close to the university you were attending and you liked having your own yard, even if it was superficial. you much rather preferred planting flowers in the ground than in pots. you felt bad confining them to a small bucket.

your shaky screen door slammed shut behinds you. the sound used to startle you, but you grew used to it.

it took you a few tries to find the drawer that had your flower seeds in it, and once you did, it took you a while to find the tulip seeds among the others. you picked a bag out of the pile, lifting it up to examine what type of flower it was. before you could even read the label, the contents of the bag emptied themselves into the open drawer. you sighed, cursing your past self for not sealing the bag before throwing it into storage. you set the empty seed bag back into the drawer, deciding to clean it up later. they weren’t the tulip seeds, anyway. you wouldn’t have to use them until next year.

after a bit more digging, you found 3 bags of tulip seeds of varying colors. you smiled to yourself, stuffing the bags into your back pocket and making your way back to your garden. as the screen door shut behind you, a strangers eyes locked with yours from the corner of your garden.

he was crouched down right by your precious tulips with a pair of scissors resting at the base of a pretty pink tulip stem.

“hey!” you called, “stop it!”

by the time you’d moved to stand beside him, he had cut the flower and shoved the scissors into his bag, standing to meet you, flower in hand.

you reached out to grab the tulip from his hand, but he swiftly moved it behind his back. frustration pooled in your stomach.

“give that back.”

he frowned, “no.”

you glared at him, trying to move past him and attempting to snatch the flower again. once again, he dodged your attempt.

“i need it.” he spoke, “you have a whole garden, what does it matter if i take this one?”

you stopped your attempts to get the tulip, it was no use.

“you’re not just taking that one! you’ve taken a whole ton. why don’t you just buy flowers instead of stealing mine?”

his frown turned into a pout, “flowers are expensive.”

you crossed your arms in front of your chest, shifting your weight to one foot and sending a glare in his direction.

“then grow your own flowers to give your girlfriend or something, i don’t care, just stop stealing mine.”

you didn’t notice the look of confusion mixed with hurt cross his features. when he didn’t respond, you continued talking.

“what’s her name?”

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

you sighed, “your girlfriend, the person you’re stealing and giving my flowers to.”

he nodded slowly, “ella.”

you hummed, but before you could ask any more questions, the boy took a few steps towards the sidewalk and away from you and your garden. you followed.

“hey, where are you going?”

he glanced over his shoulder but kept walking, lifting the flower up in the air.

“i have a delivery to make.”

you jogged to catch up with him, falling in line beside him.

he frowned, “what are you doing?”

you brushed a stray hair from your face.

“coming with you.”

“why?”

“it’s only fair i meet who you’ve been stealing my flowers for.”

he nodded silently, gesturing for you to turn a corner. the two of you walked in an awkward silence for a few minutes before you decided to break the tension.

“i know your girlfriends name, but i don’t know yours. what is it?”

without turning to you, he responded.

“chris bang.”

you nodded, “sounds like the name of some asshole who would steal someone’s flowers.”

although you hadn’t really intended it to be a joke, he chuckled and a small smile appeared in his lips.

“what’s she like? ella?”

he took a deep breath, “gorgeous. loves animals and music.” he paused, “and nature. tulips are her favorite flower.”

you smiled, “mine, too! which is why you should stop taking them from my yard.”

he didn’t acknowledge your remark, instead just continuing his description of the girl called hannah.

“she likes lily’s a lot too, but you don’t grow those. no one around here does, otherwise i’d bring her those too.”

you were so engrossed in listening to chris talk that you hadn’t noticed you’d reached the gates to a cemetery. he strolled through the entrance like he’d been there a thousand times before and continued on the path.

you raised your eyebrows, “you walk through a graveyard to get to your girlfriends house?”

you weren’t surprised when he didn’t respond. he lead you through the cemetery and along the path. it was only once he strayed from the gravel path that things clicked in your mind.

he stopped in front of a small grave stone reading ‘ella bang.’

your heart dropped to your stomach. this boy had been stealing flowers for his dead sister and you were yelling at him about it.

he crouched down, placing the tulip on a pile of more flowers that you recognized from your garden.

you kneeled down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know.”

he gave you a sad smile, “how would you have known?”

there was a beat of silence before anyone spoke again. you wondered what had happened to her. as if reading your mind, chris spoke.

“she passed away about 2 years ago from an illness. doctors never identified it.”

“i’m sorry.”

he stood, reaching a hand down to help you into a standing position, as well.

“it’s okay.”

the walk back to your house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. chris walked you home, stating that if you got lost on your way home alone he’d never forgive himself. you reached the end of your driveway and turned to the boy. he had his hands stuffed into his jean pockets as he glanced at your small arrangement of flowers.

“i’m sorry about the flowers. i’ll stop taking them.”

your eyebrows raised in panic, “no, no, no! it’s okay, you can keep taking flowers for your sister. under one condition.”

a confused smile found its way onto his features, “and that is?”

you grinned at him, “you have to let me teach you how to garden.”

he laughed, “okay.”

you reached out and took his hand from his pocket, leading him to the small box you kept your gardening tools in and pulling out two small shovels. you kneeled down by the empty patch of garden where you’d previously had tulips and showed him how to dig the right size hole, pulling the packets of seeds from your back pocket and helping him to plant them.

by the time you and chris had finished planting flowers, the sun was setting and your stomach was begging for food. you placed your tools back into the box, shutting it up and locking it.

chris moved to leave, stopped by you grabbing a hold of his arm.

“wait, want to stay for dinner?”

he grinned, “went from yelling at me for taking your flowers to inviting me in all in one afternoon, huh?”

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hphmmatthewluther · 3 years

Text

Matthew Luther and the Vault of Fear

Matthew Luther and The Vault of Fear

“Now, I know what you’re all thinking.” said Matthew, standing outside the door to the library.

“Please don’t worry, Matthew Luther,” said Tulip sweetly, “We don’t mind if you’ve done this to avoid the party in the Common Room.”

“You’re doing this to avoid a party?!” asked Barnaby, incredulously, “But parties are fun!”

“They...um...aren’t for me, okay?” replied Matthew, gazing at his feet. A few moments later, he looked up and brought his hands together. “Okay. Tonks, you’re up.”

The pink haired witch next to him nodded, entering the library with a large potted plant in her hand. Matthew, Tulip and Barnaby watched as she walked over to Madam Pince.

“What are you doing here Miss Tonks?” she said stiffly, “The Library is closed for the night.”

Tonks smirked. “What you really should be asking is ‘Why did I stuff my ears with Jelly Slugs.’”

Pince stared blankly. “E-Excuse me?”

Tonks brought her hand into the pot and pulled out a Mandrake, whose screech filled the air. Pince screamed, covering her ears, before running off out of the library.

“That’ll teach her to shush me.” Tonks muttered. Matthew, Barnaby and Tulip ran over.

“You and I would make a good team...” Tulip noted.

“WHAT?!” Tonks yelled as the Slugs squirmed in her ears. Matthew smiled, then turned to the others.

“Pince won’t be gone for long. Let’s go!” he said, pointing to the restricted section.

“This is it.” he declared, “Now, I’ll just-”

Suddenly there were footsteps. Matthew worried for a moment, but relaxed when he saw that it was Merula and Ismelda.

“Following me again, Luther?” Merula asked, sneering.

Matthew blinked. “I...you very clearly followed….are you...what?” he stammered.

“I...nevermind!” she snapped, “I want what’s inside the Cursed Vault. I’d thought I could sneak in while you were celebrating your victory...”

“But now we can watch you all bleed.” Ismelda said ominously. To everyone’s surprise, Barnaby stepped forward.

“Walk out the door, or I’ll, um...knock you through the wall.”

Merula stared. “Barnaby, you dolt. You can’t fight me.”

“It’s sort of my job to fight you.” Barnaby admitted. “Right?”

“But we don’t have to go there.” Matthew said, stepping between them. “Merula, I’m going to guess that this is between me and you.”

“Too right it is!” Merula declared, pulling out her wand. “Let’s go, Luther!”

Matthew sighed, before pulling out his own wand. Tulip noticed that he was smiling.

“Incendio!” Merula yelled, Matthew quickly dodging.

“This is a library, Merula!” he reminded her, “Depulso!”

She was knocked back, but didn’t fall over. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Matthew very narrowly dodged that one, turning to see it strike the Mandrake in its pot.

“Flipendo!” he yelled, knocking Merula back again. This time, she fell to the floor.

“Expelliarmus!” he said, a little quieter, as her wand flew out of her hands. “Well...that’s that, I suppose.” he said. Then, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ismelda pull out her wand.

“Everte Statum!”

Barnaby moved in front of Matthew, but the Ravenclaw pushed him back. “Finite Incantatem!” he declared, sending the spell right back into Ismelda’s wand.

“Barnaby, move.” Ismelda ordered.

“No. I don’t take orders from you anymore.” he declared.

“Then you can suffer with your new friends...” she sneered.

“Right, I’ve had enough of this.” Matthew said, pointing his wand at Ismelda. From nowhere, a gust of wind overturned pages and knocked books off tables, and sent Ismelda flying out of the library.

“I won’t forget this, you son of a-” she said, the slam of the door cutting her off. Barnaby gave a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Matt.” he said, wiping his brow, “That was a close one.” Matthew nodded in return before moving over to Merula, still on the floor.

“...You...” she began, “You’re great at Duelling, at Quidditch...you can even grow your hair long in just two weeks! What is it with you?!”

Matthew sighed, and held out his hand. “I got lucky.”

Merula scowled, pushing his hand out of the way and getting to her feet. “Whatever, Luther...” she turned to leave, as Tonks and Tulip opened the door to the Restricted Section.

“Where are you going?” Matthew asked, “I thought you wanted to see the Vault.”

Merula stared at him, confused, as did the others. “But...but I...”

“You’ve got this far, haven’t you? You were able to memorise everything in Jacob’s room,” Matthew reminded her, “I just thought it’d be a shame for all of that to go to waste.”

“Matthew Luther, what are you thinking?!” Tulip hissed.

“It’s fine.” he reassured her, “Besides, I’ve got this, haven’t I?” he brandished Merula’s wand in front of them. “Come on, Merula.” he beckoned, entering the Restricted Section.

“Oi!” Merula yelled, running in after him.

“Ooh, wait for me!” exclaimed Barnaby, following on.

“Is it always like this?” Tonks asked, “‘Cause if so, I’m a fan.” Tulip merely shook her head, and closed the door behind them.

“So here we are...” Matthew said to himself, looking around the chained bookshelves. “Look at this place!”

“Wow, I didn’t know fire came in blue!” Barnaby said excitedly.

“You’ve seen one forbidden library, you’ve seen them all.” Merula said, unimpressed.

“Ooh!” squealed Tonks, “I could get into all sorts of trouble with these books...”

Tulip nodded. “Now, your brother’s notes said that the book will reveal the entrance to the Cursed Vault. But how?”

“I don’t know.” Matthew confessed, “But we ought to hurry. Let’s split up, and look through everything. And be careful,” he added, “There might be Boggarts.”

They all turned and started looking. A few minutes passed, and Matthew found himself near Merula. She ignored him.

“Um, you can have your wand back, if you’d like.” he said, moving it towards her. “It’s very nice.”

Merula eyed it cautiously, then took it. “You’re an idiot, Luther.”

“Whatever you say.” Matthew said, looking through the bookshelves. Merula looked down at her wand,then at Matthew.

“Why do this? Why let me join you?” she asked, moving forward.

“Because...” Matthew began, “I know how irritating it is to leave a question unanswered. It’s the worst.”

Merula nodded. “Yeah, it is...”

Matthew smiled. “You know, I don’t know how my hair grew so fast. I just woke up on Christmas and there it was.”

“That is just...” she stopped mid sentence as she traced a blank space in the bookshelf. “This is the only space there is...” she said, looking back over the other shelves.

“You’re right!” Matthew declared, pushing the book into the slot. There was a rumble, as some of the shelf lifted up into the air, which was illuminated by blue candles. In front of them was a large, wooden door.

“You did it!” Tonks exclaimed.

“Right, come on.” Barnaby said, “If I know Ismelda she’ll have gone and got Snape.”

“He’s right, for once.” Merula admitted. “Let’s go.”

Matthew nodded, and pushed the door open. It was remarkably similar to the Ice Vault, though this time the knights were covered in ghostly outlines of various figures. Voldemort, hooded figures, Acromantula, Werewolves, Dragons, even Lightning. In the middle of the room was a glowing pillar.

“So this is a Cursed Vault.” said Merula, eyeing the images on the walls. “Smaller than I thought...”

“Proper spooky, though...” Tonks said, grinning.

“Ooh, hello knights!” said Barnaby, waving.

“They don’t seem to be enchanted in any way I can see...” Tulip observed.

“Right, let’s deactivate this curse, shall we?” said Matthew, leaning forward.

“Wasn’t as creepy last time...” he muttered to himself as he moved towards the pillar.

“Does anyone else feel sick?” Tonks asked, clutching her stomach. Suddenly, there was a voice.

“Nox.” it said, and the lights around the room were extinguished.

“That was...” Matthew began.

“Voldemort.” said Merula and Barnaby. Suddenly the room rippled and pulsated, and five shapes moved into view. Two of them appeared as Voldemort, one became a hooded figure without legs, one split into a copy of Matthew and Merula with hate-filled eyes, and the central shape turned into a cloud of smoke, which lingered in the air.

“Boggarts.” whispered Matthew. There was a flash, and each were face to face with their own Boggart. He heard cries of Riddikulus, and raised his own wand, but his attention was caught by Merula. The hooded figure leered over her, and it looked like it was sucking her soul out. Matthew didn’t think, and pointed its wand at the Boggart.

“Flipendo!” he yelled, knocking the thing onto the floor. He turned, and felt the cloud of darkness rush over him before he could do anything to stop it. He couldn’t see a thing, and felt the void solidify around him, choking him. For a moment, he saw Edwin in front of him, cackling.

“Lookin’ pretty hopeless, my guy.” he chuckled, before fading into the dark.

“No!” he heard someone say. He felt his wand vanish from his hand, then his bracelet, as breathing became very difficult.

“Luther, do something!” Merula yelled, but he saw nothing but darkness. “Fight it!”

“I...I can’t...” he wheezed, “It’s just...I have to...accept...”

“Bull! Please, you’ve got to fight it! I can’t help the others without you!” she shouted, as Matthew felt his eyes close.

“Please! Please!”

“Please!” said a seven year old boy waving a large stick he’d found in the garden around, “Just one spell!”

“I’m sorry, Pip. You’ll have to wait until you go to Hogwarts for that.” said Jacob Luther as he packed his schoolbag.

“But that’s not fair!” Matthew said, throwing down his stick, “That’s years away, I can’t wait that long!”

“I managed it, and I reckon you can too.” he said. Jacob paused as he eyed a book nearby. “Besides, you don’t actually have a wand.”

“I know that!” Matthew said, standing on the bed, “Aren’t there any spells that don’t need wands?.”

Jacob stared at his little brother. “Alright, Pip. There’s one spell I know that doesn’t need a wand. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

Matthew nodded as much as his little head would let him. “Yes, yes! What is it?!”

Jacob opened the book and turned to a page with an image of a cupboard on it. “Sometimes, Pip, scary things can’t be laughed away. They’re too much, or too scary for that. Instead of making something funny, we can make it hopeful. And that’s what this is for.”

Matthew stared at his brother. “I thought it’d be a cool spell, like a ball of fire or an ice-cream maker.”

“Anyway, this is it. It’s called the Gratia Salutaris. You just focus on your hand and think of everything you hold dear and couldn’t bear to leave, and then it works.”

“Cool!” said Matthew, “Hmm...what do I hold dear...Mum and Dad...you...the cat....the telly...”

“Merula...” Matthew breathed, the void suddenly retreating from his neck. “Rowan…” he could open his eyes again. He still couldn’t see anything, but it was a start. “Penny, Bill, Tonks, Tulip, Barnaby, Chiara...” there was another retreat. Matthew stared at his hand. It was glowing.

“Gratia Salutaris.” Matthew whispered. The void instantly flew back, glowing. A wave of light flew through the Vault, resting on the torches and illuminating them again. Matthew watched the two Voldemorts transform into a man in his sixties with the robes of a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher on. They smiled at Barnaby and Tonks before vanishing. The copies of Matthew and Merula stopped, and winked at each other before vanishing. The hooded figure (which Matthew now realised was a Dementor) was gone. He would have turned around to see it, but his attention was caught by his own Boggart, which had transformed into a large glowing rectangle. When he turned around, Merula’s boggart had vanished. From the look on Merula’s face, he didn’t need to ask what it had turned into.

“Matthew...” she said quietly, and a little confused. “What was that?”

“Who was that man?” Barnaby asked, “and why did he say I was a pleasure to teach?”

“He told me my abilities were incredible!” Tonks exclaimed.

“So what’s...that?” Tulip asked, pointing to the rectangle. Matthew stepped forward. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But then, in the glow, the dark outline of a man appeared. He knew then what it was.

“Sorry about the noise.” the man said, “You’re Matthew, right?” As Matthew nodded, Merula noticed he had been mouthing everything the man had just said.

“You’re safe now.” he said, “You’ve got a long journey ahead of you, though. This ought to help.” his arm stretched forward, and revealed Matthew’s silver bracelet and wand. He took it and put it back on.

“Th-thank you.” he said weakly. “W-Wait! Who are you?! Why did you help me?!”

“It was time I made the right decisions in life.” the man declared.

“That’s what you said last time!” Matthew said, exasperated.

“I best be going, now.” said the man, “Good luck, Matthew Luther.” It was then that the group realised that it wasn’t just a rectangle, as next to it was a white wooden door. The man brought his hand to the handle and pulled it shut. Then, they were back in the Vault.

“What was that...” said Tulip, “Who was that...”

“I don’t know.” Matthew said, “I didn’t know when I was six, either.”

“He looked familiar...” said Merula, her lips pursed.

“Maybe it was Father Christmas!” suggested Barnaby. There was muffled laughter, as Matthew cleared his throat.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, “What I saw of your Boggarts...”

The group nodded, though they all had worried looks. “Matt...” said Tonks, “We’re fine. You’re the one we ought to ask about.”

“It was like you were being crushed...” said Barnaby. “It was awful. I’d never seen Merula scream that much.”

“Yes, well, um, you’re alright now, right?” she asked, her cheeks slightly pink.

“I’m just fine, Merula.” he said. “Thank you for asking.”

She gazed down at the floor. “Can we just find out what’s in this Vault?!”

Matthew smiled. “I’d like nothing more. After all, we’ve got a party to go to. After this I don’t exactly mind.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm fanfic #hphm mc #hphm jacobs sibling #tonks #nymphadora tonks #merula snyde #barnaby lee #tulip kasaru

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mochikeiji · 4 years

Text

Undying Tulip

↠ Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Akaashi Keiji

↠ Warning: Florist Akaashi! Tattoo/Punk Bokuto! Future AU, fluff

↬ Word Count: 2,521

Summary: Keiji's mother was always a lovely woman. She would indulge her son with her own interest that Keiji finds suiting for his own liking. During his childhood, his mother had introduced him to different varieties of flowers from her small flower shop, one being her favorite, she explained to the young boy why. As he grows up, her small story always embedded in his mind, has led him straight to where he was suppose to be.

⇢ Day 3: Florist AU! Tattoo/Punk Bokuto, Future AU. Fluff (slight Soulmate AU) @bokuakaweek2020

✎﹏

If anyone were to know about the two mother and son was that both enjoyed serene related stuff. Having to own a mini but worthy flower shop named, Fukurō Florist, the two of them would spend their quality time with each other reading books.

This one particular time, little Keiji couldn't help but get a glint of interest in his eyes to see his mother read the same book everyday behind the counter as they waited for upcoming costumers.

"Mom." he called out from his spot on the small chair beside his mother. He hears her hum gently as she places a soft palm on the crown of his head, smoothing down the baby hairs that were standing.

"What's that book you always read?" pointing at the soft vintage colored book, he leans himself on his mothers lap, trying to get a look at ome of the page with big wondering eyes. Keiji was very expressive when he was around his mother, that's only because she was the only person he trusted with his emotions that time.

Giggling softly at her adorable son's innocence, she pulls him up with ease and settles him on her lap with the book now held infront of him.

"Well, it's not really those literature books that you read, Kei. You might find this one boring." observing her son carefully for a sign of any disinterest, Keiji only shook his head and grabs the book from his mother's grasp to read on his own.

"No, it's no problem. I was interested in this for a while now."

"Oh? Why so?"

Not noticing the way his eyes brighten from a certain page, Keiji immediately but carefully looks up to his mother with a wondering smile, "This mom," he points at the red picture, "This is so pretty. What's it called?"

Keiji's mother leans in her head forward to scan the flower from her book that Keiji was referring to. When she does, she smiles at the familiar like feeling bubbling up her chest.

"Oh, you're interested because of the Tulip?" said with a teasing tone as Keiji read the description of the flower with full on concentration.

"Tulip?" tilting his head, he looks at his mother for an explanation. By that, he was gently let down, still holding the book as he follows his mother on the side of her flower pots. She grabs one small pot that had a red ribbon tied around it and knelt down to his level.

"This is a Red Tulip," she glances down at the picture from the book to show him that it was the same, "Pretty isn't it?" Keiji gawks at the small, rose looking flower. Usually, other children would say why it looks boring or bland or small, but Keiji being the same as his mother, always full of curiosity, is easily amazed.

"It's my favorite flower, you know." his eyes left the flower, meeting his own mother's twinkling orbs, "This was the flower your father had given me when we were in college." reminiscing the time when she was a carefree woman who fell inlove with the man who was a splitting image as her son.

"But aren't roses common to give when you love someone, mom?" Keiji pounders, reviewing one page about the rose from the book. Not only that but whenever February came around, him being observant, he remembers numerous amount of people coming to their shop mostly for Roses during valentines.

"Roses are most common, you're right. But did you know Red Tulips have a secret meaning not everyone knew about?" placing the flower down on the ground, he observes the top of the flower. It was close to looking like a rose, he thought, but the tulip seemed more close from its top rather than rose, which has open petals.

"It doesn't say anything in the book, mom." He flips back to the Tulip's page, looking for something that might've related to his mother's words. He hears her chuckle, her hands placing above his and lowers the book down so he would look at her.

"Not everything is written in a book, sweetie. This one came from your father." his father was a busy man, but even so, he was a gentleman. Like Keiji, he was always lacking facial expressions, always quiet yet always gets things done on his own. But when it came to his family, his wife, he was the most lovestruck person he has ever witnessed and wonders to himself, "How can a person be so inlove?" despite being at a young age.

"When he gave me the same Red Tulip as this, I asked him why a Tulip and not a Rose," pausing, she looks at Keiji for permission to continue, he nods, "He told me that Red Tulips are unique, not everyone can appreciate something that isn't common to the world." each word his mother said, he was listening intently.

"Red Tulips, to him, it meant as a symbol. Undying Love, Passion."

Keiji looks down at the flower once more, seeing his own eyes twinkle just like his mother's meant he too was also struck by the story and his father's past words to his mother.

"And then he told me, like a Red Tulip, my love for you is undying. Even as the flower wilts, the Tulip will forever be the same as it was. Undying." he hears her sigh in daze, awestruck once more with her heart beating like the teenage girl she was before who was madly inlove with someone.

"Hmm...I kinda don't get it, mom." Keiji sneaks his way into his mother's arms, automatically wrapping themselves on his small body, "He said the flower died so how come its undying then?" looking up to his mother with a small hint of frustration lacing his voice, she could only let out a laugh at how innocent the tiny boy was and pats his head in affection.

"When you grow up, Keiji. There will be someone out there to show you what it means."

And thus leads to him taking over the Fukurō Florist when he reached college. Being the kind mam he was, he had pursued his mother to take a break from the shop and let him take over to help out with his families business. It wasn't as hectic as it sounds, Akaashi manages to finish the job and his studies without having trouble with his own health.

He was happy to have a part-time job experience already and won't have trouble finding one, the thing he needed to maintain was the main Flower Shop and make sure it was well known throughout Tokyo.

The only cons he thought to himself was whenever he works, there isn't a day that goes by without a courageous costumer pinning over him and asking for his number. His mother did say entertain the costumers for more service, so he gives out fake numbers. Resourceful, he thinks.

Since today was a slow day, he finds himself seated in the same spit his mother would use to sit with him on her lap as a child. Now owning the shop to his own, Akaashi pulls out once again the white, thick book from beneath the table. Flipping through the pages of varieties of plants and flowers and scanning for them if they had some left for the shop. He hums in peace, smiling softly at the corner filled with bright, yellow sunflowers standing proudly. He recalls a little girl coming over with her father for their little date, and he couldn't resist the adorable little one and gave her two sunflowers for free.

If anyone were to see him do such act, they would've shamelessly flirt with Akaashi for the entire day until he locks up. And he does not want to be stuck in the shop with a person who keeps talking their way to his pants.

The small bell from their door jingles, halting his eyes from his book and looking up to greet the new comer. But no words came out of his mouth when he saw what the guy looked like.

His hair had an odd but surprisingly good shade of silver/black hair. His ears had a lot of piercings that were silver, making his golden eyes shine brighter than anything in his features. Eyes lowering a bit to see his attire, he wore a fitted black, long sleeve. Akaashi swore his breath hitched at the sight of his chest popping out of his clothing. How did that manage to fit him?

Guys who usually looked like this meant trouble, but Akaashi wasn't one to judge someone by appearance. To him, he was down right attractive.

Meanwhile, the man who was named Bokuto Koutarou was in need of flowers for his mother. The struggle was all flower shops he goes into to, the owners would ask him to leave as though they thought he'd cause trouble by the way he looks.

They didn't even know what a big baby he is.

If others were to be in the same store as he is right now, they'd think he was seething in anger as he stares at the pot of plants when in reality he was pouting in sadness. His golden eyes quickly shift their gaze to the cashier, he caught Akaashi's wondering eyes for a second before jolting slightly and looked down on his book.

"He seems kinda cute." Bokuto smiles fondly. Akaashi on the other hand gulped when he saw his lips curl upwards, he can feel his entire body shake but not in fear. And for once, he so badly wanted to talk to him.

And faith played right into his hands when Bokuto came up to him.

"Uh, I'm sorry but," he scratches the back of his head in embarrassment, "I don't mean to distract you or anything, it's just, I've wanted to ask if you have any more flowers I could see?"

Akaashi's face blooms into a soft shade of pink, "No, no, I wasn't no— you're my costumer, you have the rights to call me," quickly getting of his post, Akaashi moves away from the cashier and goes in front of Bokuto, "Please uh, follow me." he leads Bokuto to the other side of the shop. Sicne years have passed, his mother and father managed to upgrade their store a little bigger. Able to add a garden behind where they could grow fresh plants and flowers.

Bokuto was in deep thought the moment Akaashi was up close, "Holy shit, he's cute up close." he thoughts as he coughs in a form of distracting himself from blushing.

"Here, these are the freshly grown ones." Akaashi kneels down on the soil that held a row of flowers, "It isn't much, but I hope you can choose your pick here, sir."

Bokuto snaps from his gaze when he was addressed too formally, "A-ah , no, you can call me Bokuto. I don't really like formalities.." he looks away when Akaashi stares at him in awestruck.

"U-understood," he gulps, "Bokuto." standing up, he dusts his knees neatly before leaving the owl haired male, "I will be back here if you are done. Please take your time." and left.

Bokuto didn't feel himself breath after Akaashi left. The way his name rolled from his tongue sounded so right it made his heart clench. Shaking his head, he brings up both of his palms to his cheeks to slap himself, "Calm yourself." and sighs before reviewing the rows of flowers.

Still, he wanted to know his name.

It had been 30 minutes since Akaashi left the guy named Bokuto behind the garden. Unable to shake off the fact that he allowed him, a complete stranger to use his name so casually. His cheeks were flushed, his insides felt so light. Somehow part of him wishes that this person would stay a bit longer.

"Excuse me."

He jumps before hearing the screen door shut open to reveal Bokuto smiling adoringly at him, "Ah sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya—" now was his chance, "Mister?"

Akaashi gulps, "A-akaashi."

He grins, hiding his giddy self, "Nice name you got there." he compliments, "Nice face too.." he thoughts, "Oh, um, here. I've already picked out the ones I was looking for." with care, he raises his hand that held 5 Red Tulips, fresh and healthy.

Akaashi's eyes widened a little, before grasping them out of Bokuto's hold, "I'll wrap this for you." bringing up the flowers to hide his flustered face, he sprints his way back to his post, bringing out an aesthetic paper and red ribbon to wrap the flowers neatly.

In doig so, Bokuto couldn't help but watch him. He notices how shaky his hands were unable to even tie the ribbon, "Here, let me." moving forward, he moves his hand away, much to Akaashi's surprise and dismay, he allows him and breathes softly. What caught his eye was his rolled up sleeved that showed a familiar tattoo.

"Is that?"

Bokuto hums, following the direction where his eyes were looking and smiles softly, "Yeah, it's pretty girly if you look at it." he chuckles, "But my mother told me something about this that made me want to tattoo it to myself when I was a kid."

Akaashi looks at Bokuto in wonder, silently asking him to continue with a pounding heart, "She said that this meant: Undying Love. That even if it wilts, its still the same. Love is undying."

It made sense now.

"Even as the flower wilts, the Tulip will forever be the same as it was. Undying."

His heart was fleeting. The thought of someone else knowing about his father's words, the reason his mother had found love in the first place made his entire world brighter.

He doesn't notice Bokuto finishing up the bundle of flowers until he looks down, "That's why I bought Red Tulips today, mother loves them, and since its her birthday so I might as well give her these." he says grinning. He looked far from intimidating. He was like a beaming child.

He sees a paper of cash silde down at his palm, "Well, I better get going. I wouldn't wanna be a hindrance or anything," chuckling lightly, he grabs the budle of flowers with care, "It was nice talking to you, Akaashi. I hope we could talk again sometime."

Just as Bokuto was about to walk away, Akaashi snaps from his daze, bringing his fist down, he raises his voice,

"W-would you like to grab a coffee sometime?!"

Bokuto looks back with wide eyes and Akaashi who had his face bright red and was sweating buckets.

That came out loudly.

"I-I'm sorry—"

"What time?"

Akaashi opens his eye to see Bokuto back in front of him, hand out as if he was asking for something.

"Lend me your phone number, I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"When you grow up, Keiji. There will be someone out there to show you what it means."

Mother, it's just as you said.

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smittenvixen13 · 5 years

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Succulents

Sorry for lack of Kore Complex! I don’t want to post anything subpar, you amazing people deserve better than that, and I’ve been so busy-sadly-with college stuff and birthdays/parties that my schedule’s been a mess. This was inspired by the amazing @lenoreofraven for their adorable Succulent AU found here. More fics on the way, hope you enjoy! ~~ AO3 Patreon Masterlist ~~ It had all started off when she was at the fragile age of four. Marinette, as she was later told, was very upset over being told she would not be able to have the hamster of her dreams, since they lived up above the bakery. Marinette had cried and cried, refusing even her most prized sweets. They were the reason she wasn’t allowed a cute hamster! She could never eat another pastry ever again.

Tom had lamented their plight to his mother, groaning softly as he recalls how stubborn his little girl was being, Gina had teased he had been the same when told no when he asked for a puppy, and asking for advice on what to do next. Gina suggested a hobby for her little adventurer, not drawing or “designing”, she did those already cute pictures and created fabric scrap outfits for her dollies, but something else entirely. “Your father introduced you to baking when you went through your tantrum, maybe see what catches her eye.”

So, he and Sabine did just that. They travelled all over the city to see what caught their little girl’s eye: miming, puppetry, a music performer, singing, and a dozen more things. But at each one, Marinette never displayed the spark she held for drawing or designing, only enjoying the different hobbies and careers people of the city had

They had practically given up hope by the third day until Tom felt a tiny fist tugging on his shirt as she pointed her chubby fingers towards a florist shop, just around the corner from the market area. There were a couple plants scattered around outside, dozens if not hundreds of plants all around them inside as Marinette darted away to marvel at all the pretty flowers. Roses and Daisies, Tulips and Lilies! And so many more plants than she’s ever seen!

But little sapphires found themselves drawn towards a tailored off area, tiny legs approaching the spikey plants and weirdly smooth plants, almost seeming like plastic. They were so…so different in comparison to the other flowers in the store. One ever looked like it was covered in soft cotton!

“Careful there, ”A soothing voice cautioned, as if they knew Marinette wanted to pet the plant, a lady with a dirty green apron moving a box of purple flowers to another shelf right beside her, “Don’t want to prick yourself on that one.”

Moving down from her step ladder, the strange lady smoothed out her apron before pointing towards the fluffy looking ones. “Those ones that look like they’re covered in fabric? They can hurt if you’re not careful. And sometimes, even when you are careful.” She chuckles, showing off bandaged finger tips. She pointed towards one with a pale green color, the tips almost a soft pink color. “But, those little Echeveria derenbergii are perfectly safe.”

Marinette looked awed, nodding as she simply admires the plants, absorbing the information. She didn’t know which ones were echovina dareburgi, but she knew to not touch unless an adult told her to-growing up in a place with lots of hot ovens had taught her so.

��Here, take this one.” The strange lady indicated, plucking one that looked just like a whale! It was a pretty pink color! “It’s nickname is the ‘Painted Lady’. It’s from a plant family generally called Succulents.” Gentle storm colored eyes found the girl’s parents nearby, watching. “My name is Mrs. Noire, Bridgette Noire, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Marinette seemed to grow flustered at the greeting, as if she were unused to being treated like a grown-up. Setting the pot down, better to not break it, she shook the nice lady’s hand like she’d seen Mama do for business deals. “I-I’m Marinette! That’s my mama and papa over there.” She rocks on her heels, biting back a nervous giggle. “That’s a pretty plant! Why is it different, Mrs. Noire?”

Plants were such simple creations to understand, so easy to bond with and have them bloom a permanent spot in your heart. Sure people tended to grow roses or daisies, and they were wonderfully beautiful!, but Marinette adored her sweet little succulents over all the plants in the world!

She went more and more often to Mrs. Noire’s flower shop as the years went on, expanding her little collection of succulents; when friendships didn’t bloom at her younger years, Marinette chose to focus on herself and her plants, expanding her craftsman ship as a designer and her green thumb as a gardener. If designing or baking didn’t work out, Mrs. Noire had jokingly told her that she’d be given the flower shop-her husband, Felix, liked to growl out that that wasn’t how it worked. The pair always giggled over his grumpiness.

Thanks to Alya, she’d manage to befriend most of her classmates, who she’d known for years, and eventually began to share her love of gardening. She had given a little Moon Cactus to Alya, nervously chittering off her hobby and how she’d cultivated a few of these and this one was a pretty orange and-.

Alya had thankfully stopped her before she ran out of breath, being sure to hug the noirette and stating that she was grateful for the sweet present. After that, it had been easy to give out a few more! Crown of thorns for Alix-mostly because of the name, bunny ears cactus for Rose, spiral aloe for Max, cathedral window haworthia for Chloe, and so on. It had been a nerve-wracking experience to give Adrien one of her succulents-which one would fit him?!-but she finally settled her eyes on her baby, her first one.

Oh, how his sweet expression blossomed into one of utter joy, practically bouncing at the sight of the planter she brought him-she made everyones. “I-I remember you sa-said you liked dogs a lot and you can’t have one, so I made this.” It was a little puppy, a soft tawny color with the sweetest brown eyes, giving a happy expression, paws on the “basket” holding the little succulent.

At his silence, she felt her heart begin to plummet as her mind began to race with possibilities. “If you don’t like it, I can make a different one, Adri-.” She felt arms pull her into a hug, soft and sweet.

Adrien loved his present. Super excited for Marinette to be gifting him with one of her plants she gardened-he’s seen her planters, it’s big for her space-and began to rapidly ask how to care for it, how to water it, is it a lot like dessert plants that it doesn’t NEED water often or was it from a different region than he’s thinking. Her giggles were like soft tinkling music, before she explained to him how to care for his plant.

Obviously, he gave his new son a name. Darien Agreste, not so secretly named after Sailor Moon’s love interest, was the “eldest” of many brothers and sisters that he bought or cultivated-Marinette showed him!- and brought back home. His room felt less of an empty prison made to look nice, and soon bloomed-heh- into a garden for his kids.

He never really used his rock wall so he created little spaces for the babies to grow in, his gaming shelves were soon joined by glass terrariums and little trinkets he found near the Flower Store.

Sure his father tried to tell him to stop with the “flower nonsense”, but…these were his children and he wasn’t going to get rid of them ever. Besides, Gabriel Agreste rarely came into his bedroom anyway.

“I never thought I’d ever say this, but I am going to smack that boy.”

“Mari, at least wait until you’re both in private to smack him.” Alya jokes, smirking at the shocked gasp followed by a low groan at the implication.

Glaring hotly her best friend, she switched back to fondly glaring at her crush. “He has on…a dad shirt. A joke dad shirt.”

Said shirt had likely been an online purchase, likely delivered to Nino’s house so Nathalie wouldn’t intercept. It was nicely made, in the softest shade of jade, and the black script would’ve been gorgeous (especially surrounded by those white roses), had it not been for that stupid joke.

Front: You’re kids are growing like weeds?

Back: Mine are practically blooming!

“How dare he look cute like that.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. But she knew, deep down, that she was utterly content with this all happening. “Maybe I should get some for Chat too? He said he’s been getting into gardening…”

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just-come-baek · 5 years

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Wedding Fever 4

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Word count: 9.3k

Summary: Baekhyun is the best man, and I am the maid of honor at our friends’ wedding. Although should we be excited about our friends getting married, we seem to complain a lot more every time we meet for another preparation. Maybe it’s a bit fanciful of me to think that, but I hope, somewhere between choosing flowers and venting about the reception prep, he’ll like me just as I like him.

A/N one more chapter and we’re done. I hope you’ll like this update. The smut was supposed to be in this part, but I have a lot of things to prepare for the uni for tomorrow, so it’ll be in the last chapter. Don’t hate me that much, this chapter is a lot to handle even without it.

previous part | Masterlist | next part

***

When we returned home, everything went back to normal. Jiwoo and Hongbin were demanding as always, yet Baekhyun and I kept dismissing their commands chatting about everything instead of doing any wedding planning. Jiwoo ranted about flowers and their meanings, and even if Hongbin listened to her attentively, we couldn’t care any less.

“Can you stop flirting, and prove yourself helpful?” Jiwoo asked in an annoyed voice, and we just looked at her, knowing she wouldn’t stop pestering us until our attention would be on her. “We’re planning my big day; can you focus for a second?”

I wanted to correct her that it wasn’t only her big day, but also Hongbin’s though I bit my tongue, not wanting to stir the pot even more. Moreover, we were preparing for her big day; we still had almost a year until the ceremony. She was exaggerating, and how the hell did she come to the conclusion that Baekhyun and I were flirting? That was ridiculous!

“We’re not flirting,” I denied her accusations before Baekhyun managed to beat me to it; I had to do it because if I heard Baekhyun discredit the prospect of our relationship one more time, my heart would break into so many pieces no glue could ever put it together. It hurt me way less when I was the one who bothered to explain the nature of our acquaintanceship.

“We’re helping as much as we can,” Baekhyun added, taking my side of this small argument. I was thankful for his help, even though I knew how to reason with her since I had known Jiwoo for almost a decade. “And to answer your question, yes, we think roses are too basic.” He finished, and I giggled, admiring his boldness to criticize her choice of flower decorations.

Jiwoo believed in her impeccable sense in fashion; Baekhyun’s words must’ve struck the nerve, but she tried her best not to lose her composure. Facing such constructive criticism wasn’t her forte, though right now she seemed oddly calm.

Did her love for Hongbin change her so much?

I could barely recognize her at this point.

“OK, then what do you propose?” Jiwoo asked, folding her arms across her chest, tapping her foot against the wooden floor impatiently. Baekhyun hummed as he thought about an answer which would satisfy her finicky temper.

“What about tulips?” I interjected, and all of them looked at me, waiting for elaboration. “I just looked it up online, and it says that tulips basically represent consuming love. Besides, imagine that you walk down the aisle, wearing snow white dress. Your eyes wander around the church which’s decorated with colorful tulip bouquets.” I explained, and though Hongbin and Baekhyun seemed to be fond of my idea, Jiwoo wasn’t the tiniest bit convinced.

Couldn’t say I wasn’t surprised.

“Completely not my style,” Jiwoo said as she sighed, sitting down beside Hongbin, placing her hand on his thigh. “I want something more… elegant. Tulips sound lame.” I expected to hear exactly that, yet it still stung a little bit; she knew tulips were my favorite flowers, but it didn’t stop her from stating such a harsh view. “What else do you have there?”

“What about hydrangeas? You can arrange bouquets in many colors, even in bubble-gum pink and sky blue. They look very exquisite, and not everybody can afford them.” I read out loud, and I knew it piqued her interest, so I carried on. “In flower language, hydrangeas represent sensual love and devotion,” I lied. They represented vanity, and according to my humble opinion, the description couldn’t fit her better. “Have a look, they’re gorgeous.” I handed her my phone, and together with her fiancé, she studied the photographs.

“What do you think about it, honey?” She asked sweetly, as she threw her leg over his laps, now playing with his hair when he held the phone and wondered if the flowers fit the general wedding theme. “They look beautiful, but I just don’t feel it.”

I wanted to groan when I heard her complaints. Why on Earth did she invite me here if she wanted to castigate every idea I’d come up with? I was bending over backward to help her, and she didn’t even consider my propositions. Why did I even bother?

I should’ve stayed at home.

She offered a bottle of delicious wine, but it wasn’t worth the humiliation I was receiving.

“I want something opulent, yet unusual at the same time. Maybe we should experiment with flowers and foliage? We could contact the best florist in the city, and she’d help us make the perfect bouquets! I’m thinking about something extravagant like, for example, herbs, or perhaps something more exotic.” She voiced her thoughts, and Hongbin nodded, willing to do everything for Jiwoo to have the wedding of her dreams.

“Ugh…” Baekhyun groaned as he reached for the bottle of wine. “Too much sugar,” he bitterly commented when he looked at them giving each other Eskimo kisses. “I think I’m gonna throw up. Do you want a refill?” Baekhyun offered, and I stretched my arm with an empty glass, ready for another dose of alcohol in my system.

If they were going to make out in front of us again, I might’ve as well numbed my senses with wine. Recently, I was too sensitive to public display of affection. Whenever I saw a happy couple, I was reminded of the kiss that I had shared with Baekhyun back in his parents’ house. I knew it was unhealthy to relive that memory, and it had to stop.

The timing couldn’t be any better for a resolution. I watched the lovebirds being so in love, and I wanted to experience these feelings, too. I deserved happiness, and since Baekhyun didn’t want to give it to me, I had to move on and seek it somewhere else. He wasn’t the only fish in the sea, and it was about time I comprehend that.

By the time of their wedding, I’ll have found someone worthy of my love.

“I think I need something a bit stronger than that, but pour it nonetheless,” I answered, and Baekhyun laughed, shaking his head, as he couldn’t believe that I actually said that out loud. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” I toasted, considering this exact moment as the beginning of another chapter of my life.

***

The weekend finally arrived – the first one after I had made my brilliant resolution. I was enthusiastic when I thought about getting back to dating. Unfortunately, when I came back home from work, I felt a little bit anxious. I had been dating ages ago, (back when Jungkook and I were a thing) and I was terrified to get back into the game.

Trying to save me embarrassment, I decided to spend the week focusing only on myself; it’d be a nice change after spending an entire week ‘auditioning’ local bands for Jiwoo’s wedding. According to her, DJs were too cliché, but regional performers hadn’t met her standards, either.

Also, she had a meeting with the best florist in the country scheduled for the next week, whereas the music agenda was ‘outsourced’ to Baekhyun and me.

This weekend was going to be all about me. I’d cook myself a nice dinner, and serve it with a bottle of my favorite semi-sweet wine. And I’d read a newly published romance novel while listening to trashy TV playing in the background. Later on, I’d take a relaxing bath, put a face mask, and have the beauty sleep which I had been deprived for way too long.

It was going to be perfect.

Everything was well-planned, and I had already told Jiwoo I couldn’t help her this weekend, so if she seriously needed expertise on anything to trash-talk later, she had to turn to Baekhyun. Regardless of how little she valued my contribution, I was beyond her reach this weekend.

And frankly, I wasn’t even sorry.

Sticking to my plan, I opened the refrigerator and analyzed what I could prepare without going outside; I had all ingredients for pizza, and though I fancied something else, I decided not to be picky. My pizza is yummy, and even if I had an appetite for something different, I’d eat it deliciously.

Having turned on the cooking channel, I got to work. Kneading the dough was the worst part, so I started with it. I prepared the other ingredients while the dough was rising. Within thirty minutes, everything was set, and when the temperature inside the oven was sufficient, I put it in.

I set the timer, and sat on the couch, pouring myself another glass of wine. Unfortunately, just when I focused on the screen, the woman on the show stopped talking, and the commercial break started. Just my luck. Could it get any worse?

And to answer my question, it could.

The Cutest Butt | 18:41 | are you busy?

What the hell did he want? I was going to spend some quality time alone, mostly because I was trying to forget about my stupid feelings. And right now, he was going to intrude?

Nope.

Not today.

Me | 18:42 | yep

Me | 18:42 | I’m busy

Me | 18:42 | sorry

Me | 18:42 | why are you asking?

I couldn’t let him catch me in his cobweb again. It was a miracle that I escaped (or at least I thought I did) his trap and he was just trying to lure me in with these silver strings again. It was tempting, but it’d be a mistake. First of all, I needed the distance. And then, I’d go on a date with the exact opposite of him. It’d be impossible to move on if he was around.

The Cutest Butt | 18:43 | I just wanted to hang out…

The Cutest Butt | 18:43 | whatcha doing?

I groaned, not really having the heart to lie to him. Well… I could, quite easily actually, but at the same time, I knew I’d go insane due to guilt. Whether he was aware of it or not, Baekhyun was a very precious person to me, and I’d feel terribly with my confabulation.

Me | 18:44 | I have a business meeting

Lying to him via the phone was simpler than doing that to his face. However, I should’ve thought about his reaction before I texted him; he was calling me right away, and I had no guts to either answer or decline the call. Talking was way more intimate than texting, and I was incapable of telling him lies without breaking my voice. He’d catch me right away.

My phone kept ringing, and when I was weighing my options, I heard knocking on my doors. Yeah, it was my weekend, yet everybody seemed to want to intrude my time alone.

Fun-fucking-tastic!

Not daring to answer the call, I fumbled with the lock, since I figured out I’d shoo the pestering stranger away, and then deal with the ignored phone calls from Baekhyun.

All at once, Baekhyun dialed my number once again, the oven started to beep, and I swung the doors open, internally screaming when I saw the last person I wished to visit me.

Damn Byun Baekhyun.

He had his phone pressed tightly against his ear, as he looked at me, and smiled warmly. “Are you having your business meeting wearing this?” He asked, and I blushed when I realized I was standing in front of him, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, an over-sized yellow T-shirt, no bra, and most importantly, no make-up.

“I was getting ready to leave, actually,” I said, lying shamelessly. The aroma of pizza lingered in the air, and it definitely reached Baekhyun’s nostrils. And even if didn’t, the beeping was giving away the mystery behind the delicious fragrance. “And what are you doing here exactly?”

“I was meeting a client in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by, so I texted you. Then you wrote you’re busy, and I saw you had lights on, so I decided to check it out. I had a hunch that you were just trying to blow me off, but just in case there was a burglar I walked upstairs.” He explained, but his tone wasn’t the tiniest bit offended; if anything, he sounded amused and playful.

“Get inside, I hope you’re hungry,” I invited him in as I rushed to the kitchen to get the pizza out of the oven before it’d burn. Shortly after, Baekhyun joined me, and I reached to the cupboard for two plates and a wine glass for him.

“Wow, it looks and smells delicious,” Baekhyun peeked over my shoulder, “it probably tastes even better.” He added, and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re embarrassing me,” I said, and he just shrugged nonchalantly, letting me know he wasn’t going to stop complimenting me or/and my culinary skills because I told him not to.

“So… aren’t you going to reschedule your meeting?” Baekhyun inquired, as he sat down on the high stool, watching me cut the pizza for us. “It seemed pretty urgent.”

"The meeting is with myself," I genuinely answered, knowing there was no point in trying to keep lying. Baekhyun wasn’t interested in me, and I wasn’t going to act like a lady which I am not just to impress him. I was going to spend my evening just the way I planned it, and if Baekhyun wanted to intrude, he had to suffer through all of it. “You may as well join me. It’s gonna be super fun.”

“Oh, okay. What do you have in mind?” Baekhyun asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“We’ll eat, and then we’ll read some books. And later, we’ll do face masks. What do you think?”

Judging by the look on his face, he was terrified; his masculinity was very much threatened.

Having eaten the entire pizza and drunk a half the bottle, we moved to the couch; I occupied one side with a thick romance novel on my laps, while Baekhyun sat by the other end, reading something on his phone. The trashy TV was playing in the background, but none of us seemed to care about it.

Regardless of how hard I tried to focus on the reading, my eyes ran over the words, but my mind didn’t register them. I was at the bottom of the page, but I had no idea what I just read. And whose fault was that? Baekhyun’s! He didn’t even do anything; he just sat there. Effortlessly, he frustrated me, and I couldn’t concentrate on my novel.

“What’s going on? You’re glaring at me as if you want to dig my eyes out with a screwdriver,” Baekhyun said jokingly, and I reprimanded myself for staring at him so obviously. “Do you want me to go? Because if you need space, I’m a grown-up man, I can handle rejection.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just a little angry because of the character.” I answered, and it wasn’t a complete lie; the heroine was kind of annoying, and some of her actions (which my brain somehow recorded) made my blood boil. “You can stay here for as long as you want. You’re always welcome here.”

“You didn’t sound so welcoming when I was calling you…” Baekhyun said in an artificial offended tone. “But you shared your food with me, so we’re cool. Your pizza is to die for.” He added, and I groaned internally, thinking there’s nothing left for me to try to seduce him. The way to man’s heart is through the stomach, but in my case, even the feast wouldn’t work.

“Easy there. Complimenting me won’t get you another serving. This restaurant is closed.” I jested, and Baekhyun looked at me fondly, trying to make me give in. His eyes were glowing, his graze was soft, and if I hadn’t made my resolution, I’d have fallen for this trap.

“Too bad, I’m not full yet,” he said, stretching his numb limbs. Looking around my apartment, he massaged his stomach. “Well… you baked the pizza, so it’s only fair that now I cook something for you. Do you mind?”

“Not at all; you know where the kitchen is,” I said casually, relieved that he’d disappear out of my face. I couldn’t focus on anything when he was so close; more distance would do wonders to me. Now, with ease, I could take my phone, and install Tinder.

My problem was defined, and a new love interest would be the best remedy.

While Baekhyun was fumbling in the kitchen, I was setting up my profile. It was challenging to come up with an original bio and a passable profile picture, but by the time Baekhyun served his dish, I already swiped a few guys right. I had a whole week to weed out the weird ones, and I was positive.

“What is this?” I asked him since I couldn’t tell on the first glance what the hell he prepared. It looked strange, and it smelled even worse, but I appreciated the effort he had put into making it. Maybe, it tasted better than it looked, and I hoped it was the case.

“It was supposed to be spaghetti, but I think I’ve messed it up,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “You shouldn’t have let me in the kitchen. We should’ve just ordered takeout.” He confessed, and I laughed. Baekhyun was adorable, and even though I had made a promise to myself not to fall for him more, I felt more hooked with each sweet gesture of his.

“But you know what they say, “when you’re hungry, just have wine, maybe you’re just thirsty.” Thankfully, we have a lot of wine left,” I said, and Baekhyun smiled at me. Could he stop? It was driving me insane.

“It’s not a healthy approach,” Baekhyun remarked, and I poured us more wine.

“I never said it was,” I replied, smiling at him. “Let’s finish this bottle and go to sleep.”

“It’s not that late, I can go home,” Baekhyun said casually, and I had to admit – his words saddened me. Was I so repulsive? Boring perhaps? Sleeping with me hadn’t bothered him before, so what has changed? One moment, he is so warm and friendly, but in the other one, awfully cold. I hadn’t wanted him in the first place, but since he was already here, it disappointed me when he desired to leave.

“Oh,” I breathed out, not knowing what else to say. “OK, sure, if that’s what you want,” I added, and chugged down the rest of my wine, not risking the chance of slipping out something even more embarrassing. Baekhyun was in the area and stopped by for a while, and I turned the situation into an all-night pajama party. How silly of me.

Baekhyun finished his glass of wine, and then I escorted him to the doors. Casually, he said goodbye and wished me goodnight, but that was it. He went through the doors, and he was gone. In my head, I imagined him running back to me and kissing my breath away, but nothing of sorts happened.

And at this point, I should be glad it didn’t.

It was another reason to get over him; he didn’t see me that way, and it was about time I finally comprehended that. I had experienced it so many time that the words ‘he’s just not into you’ should be imprinted in my brain. Baekhyun was gone, and I was about to give my heart to someone who’d accept it.

***

Next Friday, Jiwoo and I met for another bridal appointment. So far, she had tried on over twenty wedding dresses, yet not even one had met her expectations. Jiwoo had always dreamt about a huge ball gown, but whatever dressed she wore, she could find flaws.

“I must tell you something,” I said when we waited for our assistant. “I have a date tomorrow,” I announced, and Jiwoo looked at me utterly surprised. Was the news that flabbergasting? It had been too much time since my last date, but she shouldn’t be that taken-aback. “I’m very anxious about it.”

“There’s nothing to be anxious about,” Jiwoo answered, trying to calm me down. For her, it was normal to go on dates; even before Hongbin, she dated regularly. I, on the other hand, was a completely different story. “Did you finally ask Baekhyun, or did he ask you?” She inquired indifferently, as she picked up a catalog with their autumn collection.

“Actually, I’m seeing someone else. Baekhyun’s an old story.” I announced, and once again, Jiwoo glanced at me, completely not expecting such a turn of events. Jiwoo asked me about the guy, and I was a bit embarrassed that I met him via dating app, so I lied. “His name is Taehyung, and we work together. And I must tell you, he’s a sweetheart.”

“So it’s over between you and Baekhyun?” She asked, and I refrained from laughing in her face; how could things between Baekhyun and me be over when we never were in a relationship to begin with? If anything it was one-sided pinning, and it was definitely over. “Shame, even though he annoys me sometimes, you two looked cute together.”

Ouch!

The assistant finally came. “Hello, my name is Hakyeon, and which one of beautiful ladies is the bride?” He asked, studying our features, and I pointed at Jiwoo; she was the heroine, and I was just her sidekick and sometimes mental support. “Tell me about your wedding.” Hakyeon encouraged, and Jiwoo began her lecture about Hongbin, how they met, how he proposed, what style the wedding was going to be, a trillion of other unnecessary details, and her perfect dress. It took Hakyeon almost an hour to escort her to the changing room.

Every dress Jiwoo tried on was beautiful, but she was determined to find a flaw on each one. She wanted to look like a princess on her big day, but none of the dresses made her feel like one. All of them were captivating and elegant, but they weren’t the dress.

Hakyeon even tried to convince her to try a different style – a mermaid. In my opinion, she’d look gorgeous, but she had made her mind, and nothing could alter her concept.

After 3 hours of trying on wedding dresses and making another appointment, we left the salon and went to a nearby Italian restaurant. It was Jiwoo’s treat.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” she remembered when the waiter walked away with our order. “Hongbin and I bought dancing classes for us.”

“Oh, good luck then,” I said, not sure how I should take this information.

“Let me finish,” she added excitedly. “The dance studio had this 2+2 promotion, and we figured you and Baekhyun could join us. Two hours every Wednesday; what do you think?”

It was a bad idea.

Baekhyun’s presence was messing with my head, and dance is a very intimate form of interaction. However, it regarded Jiwoo’s wedding, and ditching was never an option. I’d have to suffer through it for her sake. It was just two hours a week, I could handle it.

“Sure.”

***

The dancing classes were actually not that bad. Baekhyun and I were not dancing the right steps, and no matter how terribly our performance was, the teacher was incredibly friendly and supportive. She was one of these very positive people, who despite seeing all your mistakes encouraged you to keep dancing.

Jiwoo and Hongbin seemed to be slightly better than Baekhyun and I. Unlike us, they weren't acting so awkward around each other. Also, they were pressured to dance flawlessly, whereas Baekhyun and I were just doing it for fun, so we could actually slack off a bit more.

“It feels so strange not being scolded,” Baekhyun whispered into my ear when our teacher instructed us to focus on the steps that we somehow took quite well. “She’s like the complete opposite of Jiwoo, and I’m not sure which end of the spectrum annoys me more.”

“I don’t know, either,” I said casually, trying my best not to feel affected by his closeness. “We’ve been under Jiwoo’s tyranny for so long, I think we’re used to being treated like that.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Baekhyun agreed with a deep sigh, probably thinking about a handful of memories in which we had been pushed around throughout the planning process. “Like always,” he whispered against my hair.

Wow, he was definitely too close.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked, curious whether I was right or not.

“About cake,” Baekhyun said in a serious tone, but I only chuckled; it was astonishingly random. “One of the reasons why I agreed to become the best man was because Hongbin promised to take me with them when they were going to pick up the wedding cake. And it’s been months, and so far there has been no cake. Can you believe it?”

“How could they?” I snickered, and Baekhyun shook his head, a bit disappointed that I wasn’t as serious as he was. “I can bet you’ll get your cake soon enough. And if anything, you know I don’t like desserts that much, so I will share with you,” I added, and Baekhyun smiled at me, now contented with my answer.

“OK, one more time from the beginning, and we’ll finish for today,” the instructor said, and all of us waited for the music to start playing. Slowly, we followed the rhythm, entirely focused on each other’s eyes. For short three minutes, we were in our own world, communicating only with tender glances and shy smiles.

“You were great, see you next Wednesday.” She clapped her hands, and we thanked her for the lesson, even if we had learned very close to nothing. But we had plenty of time left to grasp the basics, so I wasn’t that worried. By the time of their wedding, Baekhyun and I will have been dancing on a professional level.

“Wait up guys,” Jiwoo hollered when I stepped away from Baekhyun, wanting to change my shoes. “We wanted to thank you properly for putting up with all of this.” Jiwoo started, staring into Hongbin’s eyes, squeezing his hand fondly. “I know we are a lot to handle sometimes, so Hongbin and I booked a paintball ranch for tonight. What do you think?”

Jiwoo seemed very genuine about the matter, and I loved her idea. I could finally put an end to my pent-up frustration. We would go into the woods, and I’d have a chance to shoot all of them with the paint. Baekhyun – for confusing me all the time and being so oblivious to my feelings, Jiwoo – for pushing me around all the time in regards of her wedding and whatnot and Hongbin – for being there in the middle of my personal drama and not doing anything to help me. I had lots of anger bottled up, and she gave me an opportunity to unleash it.

“It’s perfect; let’s go,” I answered enthusiastically, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically judging by their confused stare; maybe it was slightly out of my character, but once she announced the news, I couldn’t help myself but feel ecstatic about it.

I hadn’t been honest about my feelings, and I had to take it out on something, and paintball seemed more than suitable.

***

“How was your date?” Jiwoo asked me when we were alone in the changing room, putting on camouflage overalls. “How was it? Did you make out with him?”

Frankly, the date with Taehyung was perfect; he was an ideal combination of warmth, wit, and composure. Moreover, he was absurdly good-looking; he had soft hazelnut hair, big captivating eyes, and an incredible sense of fashion. I’d love to go out with him again, but he had one major flaw – he resembled Baekhyun too much, and it wasn’t fair for him if I kept seeing him. I knew he was too good to be some sort of a rebound, and I had told him just that.

His smile was just identical, and I couldn’t stand being reminded of Baekhyun every time Taehyung flashed his pearls. I needed someone entirely different, and even when personality-wise they were remarkably contrasting, I couldn't handle looking at him every day. I just had to keep searching for someone else, regardless of how unnatural it felt to turn down such an astonishing guy as Taehyung.

Jiwoo mustn’t have known the truth, so I lied.

“Yeah, we did; Taehyung walked me home, and then we made out. He’s a great kisser.” We hadn’t gone further than holding hands during the walk after the dinner. “And I wanted to invite him inside for a cup of coffee, but he happened to be a real gentleman.” I’d just spilled the truth about Baekhyun, and how I wanted to move on. “We’re meeting next Friday.” We’re not meeting ever again unless I change my mind and he’s still single. “But now, when I’m reflecting on the date, I think I don’t want to limit myself to one guy just yet.” Another lie if Jiwoo asks me why I’m having a date with a different man.

“I barely recognize you,” she hollered, patting my shoulder encouragingly. “You go, girl!”

“Yeah, it’s about time I get some,” I added, determined to actually do it. When in bed with a nice guy, Baekhyun would be the last of my concerns, and that’s what needed to be done. I really strived a pleasant date and a couple of mind-blowing orgasms.

“Atta girl! You have my full support,” Jiwoo cheered genuinely, and I wanted to shoot her with paint just a bit less. Sometimes, she could be remarkably annoying, but in a few rare moments, she was exactly the friend I needed. (Especially if I needed a little push to do the stupid but spontaneous thing.)

“Thanks,” I answered, closing my locker.

“No problem,” she said, and I sat on the bench, waiting for her. “You know what; I have to make a quick phone call. Why don’t you get the markers? I’ll join you in a while,” Jiwoo proposed, and with a sigh, I obliged with her proposition. It seemed reasonable.

Quickly, I left the locker room and walked to the reception where they distributed markers. I was the fastest one among my friends so I could choose the color, and since I knew Jiwoo would kill me if I picked pink, I settled on green.

I waited for the rest, and when we were ready, one of the employees led me to the northern gate, while the others were escorted to the other entrances.

The forest was rather dark at this hour, but every few trees there were electrical lanterns, shining some light. It was notably silent; hooting aside, I couldn’t detect anything. Gingerly, I moved onward. If anyone was nearing me, I could hear them in an instant. I was about to win this. Failure was not an option – I had to be the last one standing.

It was maybe fifteen minutes, and I didn’t notice any of my friends. Did they manage to finish each other off before my arrival? That would be disappointing – I wanted to be the one to take them down.

Somewhere within my earshot, I heard someone’s presence. Cautiously, I looked around but whoever it was either hid behind the tree or just lurked in the shadows. Smiling excitedly, I held my marker high and aimed. Slowly, I spun around; I didn’t see my opponent, but I could tell that he or she was waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Suddenly, I felt hands on my body; one was wrapped around my waist, the other on my mask. Whoever caught me couldn’t shoot me, so I had a chance to free myself and then counterattack. I wriggled, but unsuccessfully; the opponent was stronger and taller than me which meant it could be any one of them.

Before I noticed, I was trapped, being squeezed between the tree and the opponent. Our position didn’t allow having a clear shot, so I still wasn’t worried about my victory. Confidently, I looked up and saw the most beautiful pair of eyes which I could recognize everywhere – it was Baekhyun. Slowly, staring at me, he took off his mask. Why the hell was he teasing me instead just taking me down instantly?

Was he one of the predators who played with its prey before killing it?

“You’re so dead,” Baekhyun whispered as he took off my mask.

“Don’t get so cocky,” I teased, thinking how to use the current situation to my advantage. Baekhyun underestimated my skills, and I had a chance to outsmart him. But then, my brain froze when he leaned in and kissed me fervently.

It wasn’t like our first kiss; right now, he was quick, passionate, and maybe even slightly aggressive. During our first, we were slow, enjoying our little moment, but now, he was kissing me hard as if he was running out of time.

It confused me, but I couldn’t help myself; the sensation overwhelmed me, and I kissed him back, shamelessly moaning when he pressed his body against mine. It was just a kiss, but without any doubt, it was the most erotic episode in my life.

After what it seemed a century, he pulled out. I felt as if he stole all of my energy with his lips, and I almost whined at the lack of his warmth.

I was utterly confused. What did the hell happen? Did he just kiss me?

“Why?” I asked barely audibly, but Baekhyun instead of answered me, he just smirked, and took a few steps away from me, shooting my chest four times with yellow paint.

“Cocky you say,” Baekhyun said in a low voice, and I bit my bottom lip in wrath. How could he play me like that? It was a low blow. Did he know about my feelings and use them against me in such an infantile way? How could he? Now, I was ashamed for harboring feelings for him in the first place. What a dick!

I couldn’t let him leave like that. Maybe I was dead, but it was just a game, and I had a set of paintballs, and I wasn’t going to let them go to waste. It wasn’t why I came here. I needed revenge, and that was what I was about to execute.

“Baekhyun?” I called his name, using a mixture of scared and confused tone. Immediately, he turned around to enjoy his victory, but then I pressed the trigger. I didn’t miss once, and when my marker was empty, Baekhyun was all covered with green paint.

“I hope it was worth it,” I angrily said before I stormed off to the northern gate.

***

After that evening at the paintball ranch, I didn’t contact either of them. Mostly because of Baekhyun, but also because I was busy coordinating Jiwoo’s surprise bachelorette party. It’s a tradition that the bridesmaids organize the bachelorette party, but Jiwoo forbade us to do anything; it was her party, and she wanted to prepare it by herself.

I couldn’t let that happen. I was the maid of honor, and it was my duty. That’s why I made a group chat with other Jiwoo’s friends and convinced them to throw her a surprise bachelorette party. (This weekend, so she wouldn’t suspect a thing.)

The first point on our list was a fashion show – Jiwoo loved brand clothes, and the idea of taking her there seemed perfect. Later on, we would go go-kart racing since she loves speeding, and then we would end up in the lounge in the most fashionable club in the city, ogling at the most handsome stripper they could provide us with.

Without any doubt, Jiwoo would love it.

It was eight p.m., and Jiwoo’s two other friends were to escort her to the racetrack where other bridesmaids and I were waiting for her to deliver the information about her surprise bachelorette party.

When she arrived, she was taken aback and swayed by our intrigue.

“Guys, you really didn’t have to,” she said with plenty of gratitude in her voice, but I only smiled and handed her the gear she would need to race. “First, the fashion show, and now this? I love you all,” Jiwoo added, taking the equipment from me.

“I hope you can forgive me ditching the dancing classes when you know what kept me busy,” I said, hoping she’d understand my reasons. I had to lie to her in order not to get caught.

“I actually thought you were avoiding Baekhyun, to be honest,” Jiwoo concluded, yet I quickly denied her suspicions although she was partly right. I was conscious I was a laughing stock to him, and I got enraged at the mere mention of his name. Now, when my emotions were out of the bag, I didn’t have enough pride to face him.

“Nah, I was just making sure that your surprise bachelorette party is perfect,” I answered with a bright smile upon my face, actually looking forward to having lots of fun. It was her night, but I still could race as if my life depended on it, and pick up someone at the club.

The moment all of us were dressed in racing suits, we got into the go-karts. And to make the race more interesting, we decided to have a bet – whoever gets first to the finishing line also gets a private show at the club with a stripper of their choice.

Just as I expected, Jiwoo, being the crazy driver, won the race – she was the bride, she deserved victory. It was her bachelorette party, after all. I, on the other hand, arrived almost the last, but my loss didn’t hurt me that much. I was just too happy for Jiwoo to care.

In the limo, there were a few bottles of champagne to get us in the right mood before hitting the club. We couldn’t intoxicate ourselves earlier, so the short limo ride was our first and last chance to do so.

“It’s better than I’ve ever expected it to be,” Jiwoo admitted when the glasses were filled with the bubbly alcohol. “I love you guys,” she confessed, drinking her champagne in one go, and although I wasn’t nearly as good of a drinker as she was, I mirrored her actions.

“The bar is high, and we’re not even finished,” Jiwoo’s cousin mentioned, reminding Jiwoo that she will have a hard time topping our bachelorette party. “The best is yet to come,” she added as she pulled a bag with gadgets which signified that we’re indeed participating in a wild bachelorette party.

“Oh God, please no,” Jiwoo groaned and rolled her eyes upon seeing the tacky decorations. “I take that back about loving you guys. You are the worst,” Jiwoo complained, but none of us really cared. It was a tradition, and she had to suffer through it.

When the champagne was drunk to the last drop and the limousine parked in front of the club, we exited the vehicle and marched to our reserved lounge. It was in the VIP section, and I was very excited to experience such a glamour life for the first time.

Once we were all seated, I told the waiter to bring the bottle of their best rum, even though I was already buzzed after having all of that champagne. Jiwoo wasn’t affected by the alcohol at all, and it was our job to get her drunk.

“I can’t believe you made me wear it,” Jiwoo nagged, taking off her fancy dildo tiara. “I have an image to maintain, I can’t wear shit like that,” she added, and since we didn’t want to hear her complains all night long, we decided to let her do whatever she pleases.

Excitedly, Jiwoo poured us drinks, and we made a solemn toast for her night. Tonight, her place was in the spotlight, and I was going to encourage her to grasp as much attention as she could. Tonight, she was a superstar, and all of us were mere admirers.

“Are you ready for the main highlight?” I asked when we put our glasses on the table.

“The highlight?” Jiwoo wondered as she looked at me. “Does he have a name?”

“His stage name is pretty shitty, but I talked to him yesterday, and I can assure you he’s completely your style,” I answered, and the other girls hollered excitedly, as she couldn’t wait any longer for the stripper to show up. His performance was for Jiwoo, but the rest of us were thirsty for some nudity. “His name is Wonho. Wait a second, I’ll go get him.”

Quickly, I notified the manager about our request, and she told me she’d send Wonho to our lounge in no time. “Oh my God, he’s coming!” I shouted when I saw him walking behind me. “That’s Wonho,” I excitedly said when I sat down in our lounge.

“Which one of the beautiful ladies is the bride?” Wonho asked, and the girls squealed despite his slight speech defect. Almost instantly, his eyes stopped at Jiwoo, and she waved at him, acting unnaturally shy.

Wonho’s performance was explicit; he rocked his hips sensually, and I could vouch I caught Jiwoo moaning when he was dancing on her thighs. His enormous muscles flexed as he moved, and though he was absolutely not my style, I couldn’t help but ogle. He was excellent at what he was doing, and it was apparent that the girls would agree with me.

Although there’s a no-touching rule, it didn’t stop Jiwoo from doing that. Wonho didn’t seem to mind her ministrations, either. Maybe it was a bit paranoid of me, but Jiwoo looked as if she enjoyed his show a bit too much. I quickly dismissed this thought; it was her bachelorette party, it was her duty to have more fun. They weren’t doing anything wrong, after all. It was as innocent as stripping could be.

Unfortunately, Wonho couldn’t dance all night long. The performance had to end, and though unwillingly, we let him leave. With a body like his, he must’ve had other customers.

When we finished the ordered bottle of rum, we ordered some fancy cocktails. The alcohol has already clouded my mind, but I was having a lot of fun, so I didn’t mind another dose. It had been too long since I had this much fun, and I was going to get the most of this night.

Tonight was a perfect opportunity to dance with my girl friends, and then get laid with one of the hot guys met in the club. It had never been my thing, but having been under the dry-spell for so long, I no longer cared.

Having drunk the sweet cocktail, I was seriously buzzed; (probably as drunk as all of the girls together.) In a perfect mood, I hit the dance floor.

I was having so much fun I didn’t realize how much time I was actually there. It felt like twenty minutes, but so many people were now on the dance floor, it probably was two hours.

Out of breath, I ordered another cocktail, and when the bartender gave it to me, I returned to our lounge where some of the girls were chatting frantically. Casually, I joined their conversation, and we all giggled when remembering Wonho’s performance. Without any doubt, they were to hire him again for another bachelorette party.

“You rocked back there,” Jiwoo’s cousin said, mentioning my dance moves, and I just shrugged, being used to hearing compliments about it.

“Thanks,” I replied indifferently, sticking the straw between my lips, sipping the cocktail. “And what about you girls? Why aren’t you dancing?” I asked, changing the topic, not being comfortable being in the center of attention for too long.

“We’re going for a smoke. Are you going with us?” Jiwoo’s co-worker announced, but I shook my head. I don’t smoke, and at this time when it’s so cold outside, accompanying them was the last thing on my mind. If they wanted to freeze their butts off, they had to do it alone.

“I’ll pass but thank you for the offer,” I said, watching them go outside.

Sitting alone in the lounge, I quickly finished the cocktail and went to the bathroom. Strangely enough, there was no queue in front of it; I just pushed the doors opened and walked inside. Only to rush out as soon as I saw a couple which fucked on the sink.

“Seriously?” I asked rhetorically, as I wasn’t able to believe they couldn’t have made it to the cubicle. They had to fuck right there for everyone to see. The audacity!

Annoyed beyond endurance, I stood a few meters from the entrance, waiting for them to be finished. I highly doubted they could go for long in such circumstances. And I was right; it maybe was three minutes, and they were gone.

However, I couldn’t believe my eyes what I saw. It was Jiwoo and Wonho. I knew what I had seen; she fucked the stripper, and there was no way I was misreading the situation. She really cheated on Hongbin.

Wow, so she hadn’t changed after all.

Having witnessed the infidelity, I lost my focus, functioning on the autopilot. I could remember going to the bathroom, ordering another cocktail at the bar, rejecting a few guys who wanted to dance with me, chatting with Jiwoo when she was ordering shots for herself, and lastly, Jiwoo calling someone to pick up “his girlfriend” because I had drunk one cocktail too many. I barely registered what was going on around me, but her phone call still confused me. Excuse you, I wasn’t anybody’s girlfriend.

As soon as she hung up, she told the bartender to stop making me drinks, and despite me, being one of the best customers that night, he had the nerve to obey her.

“I heard you’re causing trouble,” I heard a familiar voice when he leaned in and placed his hand on my back. “Jiwoo told me to collect you, so here I am.”

“Wow, since when you’re her bitch?” I asked, too drunk to filter my words. Jiwoo and Baekhyun had done me wrong, and I wasn’t going to pretend I was okay with their shenanigans. I was sick and tired of being their friend, and it was about time they found out what I thought. “I’m not causing trouble, so you can go back to minding your own business.”

“First of all, I’m not her bitch,” Baekhyun said, a bit fed up with my attitude. “I came here because I was concerned,” he added, and I laughed loudly. It was a good one. He was concerned – yeah, right. It was foolish of him if he seriously thought I’d fall for that. “It’s not funny, I mean it. And why are you acting like that? Has something happened?”

Plenty of things happened which led me to this situation, but it was for the better he didn’t know. Baekhyun wasn’t invested in this chaos, and I didn’t want to drag him in. It was already too complicated without him, and I knew he’d only stir more drama.

“It’s none of your concern,” I answered stubbornly, refusing to share anything with him. “And if you want me to feel better, just order me another cocktail. I’m thirsty,” I said, and Baekhyun turned to the bartender, ordering me a glass of water. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“You need to sober up, and I’ll take you home,” Baekhyun said, and I rolled my eyes, knowing I wasn’t going to leave with him. I was to leave the club with somebody who would fuck me, and since Baekhyun viewed me only platonically, it wasn’t an option.

“No way,” I spoke, jumping off the high stool. If he expected it to be easy, he was wrong. I was done with him, so he might as well leave right now.

“Don’t be like that,” Baekhyun whispered into my ear when he wrapped his hand around my wrist and pulled me against him. “Let me get your coat.” His breath tickled my skin, and I shut my eyes close, cursing myself for not pushing him away.

Baekhyun walked away to bring me my coat, and I stood there like an idiot, easily manipulated by his sweet talk. He knew what influence he had on me, and he used it to make me his little puppet.

Thankfully, it was the last time I’d see him. With the knowledge I possessed, I couldn’t be Jiwoo’s maid of honor anymore. The only excuse I had to meet him wasn’t valid now, and it gave me hope for starting anew with someone who appreciated me for who I was. I had wasted enough time on the friendship with them anyway.

“Here,” he said, mentioning me to turn around, so he could help me put it on. “Where is your purse?” Baekhyun inquired when he noticed I wasn’t carrying one.

“I didn’t bring it. I was supposed to get back to Jiwoo’s after the party.” I explained, and Baekhyun nodded, opening the doors like the real gentleman he made me think he was.

“So I’m guessing you don’t have your keys, either,” Baekhyun concluded, and I just nodded slightly. “It’s okay; you can crash at my place tonight. It’s not that far.”

I didn’t like that idea, but I didn’t have any other options. I didn’t have anyone who would let me crash at their place at such late hour without previous notice. I’d have to go with Baekhyun, rest, and then go to Jiwoo in the morning to get my keys.

“Are you feeling better?” Baekhyun asked me when we stopped at the crosswalk. “How much have you drunk?”

“You killed my buzz; how do you think I feel?” I answered, now almost completely sober. I wasn’t feeling lightheaded or dizzy or sick. “I feel okay. Don’t worry, I won’t throw up, I’ve had like two glasses of champagne and two and a half cocktails.”

“I think for you it’s more than enough,” Baekhyun snickered, and I fought the urge to argue. It was our last interaction, and I didn’t want to leave the unfavorable impression of me. I’d rather have him remembered me as chill and carefree. “What’s the occasion anyway?”

“It was Jiwoo’s surprise bachelorette party,” I answered, explaining the details regarding the celebration. “I still can’t believe she called you to escort me home.”

“Yeah, I feel the same way. I didn’t expect to see you so soon after what happened at the paintball ranch.” Baekhyun stated, and I looked at him, shocked that he actually had the balls to explain his strange behavior. “I know it was random, and I’m sorry for doing it. I j-just, I have no idea what got into me. I overheard Jiwoo talking on the phone, and she told someone you had a date with some dude, so I panicked.”

“And why would you panic? It’s not that we’re together. And you don’t like me that way, either,” I interjected casually, finding this story really amusing. He panicked – right, as if I’d believe that. He had never done anything that would indicate he was attracted to me. “Please, don’t make me laugh, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” Baekhyun said, stopping in his track in front of me, blocking the way. “How would you know how I feel?” He asked, and I wanted to answer him how lack of action is pretty self-explanatory. “You’re an amazing woman, and there’s not a thing I don’t like about you. I just didn’t want to act on my feelings because–“

“I don’t need to know,” once again, I stopped him before I heard something I didn’t want to. I didn’t even confess to him, yet he was still to reject my feelings in the most polite way imaginable. “Some things are better left unsaid,” I added, as I bypassed him, going forward even though I didn’t know where he lived.

Baekhyun groaned, and before I managed to walk ten meters, he ran up to me, spinning me around, making me face him. “Can you just shut up and listen to me?” Baekhyun asked in a slightly angry tone, and I obeyed his order, not used to his hot and bothered demeanor. “You’re unbearable now; you realize that, don’t you?” He added, but I didn’t dare to speak.

Sighing, he took a step toward me, invading my personal space. His eyes stared in mine, and his hands cupped my cheeks, holding me still if I ever thought of looking away. “Sometimes, you’re really unbearable. Sometimes, you do things you hate, and you get annoyed, and I have no idea why you’re doing it in the first place. Sometimes, you do lame things, yet you don’t care what others think of you. I’ve been thinking about you for a while now, and I know it’s out of the blue, but I think I’m in love with you. I understand you must be confused right now since I didn’t show you any affection, but it’s true. I didn’t act on my feelings because I was afraid we would screw up their wedding if something goes wrong between us. But when I heard you started seeing other people, I just risked everything.”

Baekhyun explained, and I didn’t know how to react. The way he put it made me angry and happy at the same time. I had been waiting for that moment to occur for way too long, and now when it happened, I was speechless.

“Just say something,” Baekhyun said in a low voice. His eyes were trained on me, trying to detect the slightest change in my demeanor. “Anything; please, don’t leave me hanging.”

“What do you want me to say?” I fired, unsure of how I should conduct this conversation. Baekhyun wanted me, and I wanted him, but it wasn’t that simple. He was Hongbin’s best friend, and I was Jiwoo’s, and she dared to cheat on her fiancé. There was a mess inside my mind, and I didn’t have energy or willingness to think it through now. “I’ve always thought actions speak louder than words,” I said, hoping he’d understand what I wanted him to do.

“You wouldn’t let me do that if you were indifferent about me,” Baekhyun whispered before he leaned in and captured my lips. It was the third time we were kissing, and it was a delicious mix of our previous interactions. He started gently, and it quickly grew in passion. His lips were soft, and I wrapped my hands around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I’ve never been indifferent about you,” I confessed shyly, feeling relieved that I no longer had to keep my feelings bottled up. “How could I? You’re just you, and it’s more than enough for me.”

“God, why haven’t I done it sooner?” Baekhyun asked rhetorically, yanking me against him, holding me tightly. His hug wasn’t nearly as good as in my wildest dreams, and right now, it conveyed so much emotion, I felt overwhelmed.

“And whose fault is that?” I snickered, and Baekhyun just sighed, enjoying our hug.

“Of course, it’s mine.”

#baekhyun smut #exo smut #byun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun #exo fluff #exo angst #baekhyun scenario #exo #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fluff #wedding au #husband

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s-j-rayne · 5 years

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The Windowless Tower, Pt. 1

There was this tower. Alice drove past it every time she took her bike to the train station. She always saw it, but she had never figured out its purpose or history. She saw it now, on her way back home. Dark grey stone walls, no windows, although there were the outlines of windows that made it look like it must have had some once. Ivy grew up to the roof, and there was a door, but it seemed as if no one had used it in ages. Alice decided to stop, and take a closer look at it. She parked her bike on the right side of the building, and took the four stairs up to the iron door. It had been blue, once, but the paint had cracks in it and the sun had bleached it to a faint blue gray. A chain hung around the handles, but it was cut, so Ali decided to just pull it open. A loud creaking went through the air; she turned to see if anyone had noticed, but as usual no one was around. Her thin golden bracelets clinked when she pulled the door open completely, and pushed past it inside. The noise of her boots on the floor went through the building like an echo, and the faint light that came through the gap in the door only illuminated the entrance. It was enough, however, for Ali to discover a light switch on her left, and she thought she might as well try to turn it on, and clicked it. To her surprise, a loud mechanical sound went through the walls, and slowly, one after the other, old light bulbs sprang to life above her, all around her, and illustrated an even older looking interior. To her left and right were short hallways with three doors on each side; in front of her was a desk, possibly a reception, and a two-sided staircase wound itself up to the top, to several floors covered in even more doors. Three small, rusted wheelchairs stood next to the desk, and the only light came from the light bulbs. There were no windows, only the outlines of them on the walls. Alice got even more curious; What were these rooms? What was this building? An old sign, the writing on it covered in thick grey dust, stood on the reception. She let go of the entrance door and took a few steps to get closer to the sign. Just as she had wiped the dirt off and began to read the sign, the door behind her slammed shut.

On the other side of town, on Jason P. O’Donnols control table, a red light switched on on his computer. He looked away from his phone now, to check what the light tried to tell him. Nursery Street 13, that was the address the light signaled. Weird, he thought. No one’s been in this building for centuries. He called out for his colleague, Keith. The thought of going there alone gave him chills. He did not like that building; he always felt as if it was too familiar, and too creepy. He often wished that they would just take it down, but the city officials obviously did not care whether it stood there or not, as long as the lights were off. Some Teenagers must have thought it a good idea to break in there to smoke some weed or something. Jason's job was to keep track of old, shut-down buildings, to ensure that all of them remained shut down. Together with his colleague, he got into the company car, an old chevy pickup truck, and they made their way to the old building.

Saint Adolfo Nursery for Odd Children

Dust stuck to the palm of her hand after she had uncovered the sign. So this is what this was: A nursery for disabled children. Reopened in 1894. This is so interesting, Alice thought to herself. She repeated the name, Saint Adolfo Nursery for Odd Children, and she liked the sound of it. Her mother, Helena, was a nurse, and she knew her grandma had been one, when she was younger, until she died at twenty nine, six years after her mum had been born. Her grandpa had raised Helena and her sister, and he had done a fabulous job. Alice loved them; they were full of joy, always smiling, and it felt as if no worry could pass their barrier of happiness, despite the drama they had endured. She herself knew only little about her nan’s death; it had been a working accident, sometime in World War II, and she had not been the only one to die that night. Alice always suspected a bomb had blown up the hospital, or a gunfight had found its way into the institution. Dwelling in memories, she absentmindedly walked up the stairs, to the first of what appeared to be a five floor building. There were paintings on the walls, obviously done by children. There were flying wheelchairs, kids who grew flowers on their heads, a baby with blue skin and horns, a boy with blue sparks coming out of his hands, a group of children with a nurse next to them, who appeared to have cat eyes. The walls were covered in them, a hundred or more paintings and drawings, some coloured, others black and white. They made Alice smile. She turned to take in more of the tower's inner life. Beside each door was a light switch, and on each door stood a name. Matthew, Jason, Suzanne, Louise, Catherine, Jeremiah. She decided to step into them, to see how the old beddings and other furniture looked like back then. She picked the room with the name Catherine on the door, and was greeted with light pink walls, covered in rose prints. The bed was covered in white sheets, and empty flower pots stood all along the walls. On the night stand, a black and white framed photograph stood facing the head-side of the bed. Alice stepped closer and picked it up. The photo looked familiar, somehow, to one of the paintings she’d seen on the walls. A little girl, about five or six, stood holding a nurses hand. Her hair was flowery, literally. Roses, tulips, daisies decorated the girls hair which grew to her hips. She wore a neat dress, and old-school shoes with it. But what struck Alice was not the flowery hair; it was the nurse’s appearance. She looked young, in her early twenties maybe, and she had the face of a human, but her eyes had no irises, or pupils. They were completely black, and the closer she looked, the more the appearance of the nurse scared her. She smiled, but her teeth were razor-sharp and spiky. And when Alice looked at her hands, she thought she saw webs between the nurses’ fingers. Frowning she put the picture down and left the room. On the next floor, she opened Jeremiahs’ door. The room behind it looked like a normal boys room, had it not been for the demon-ish drawings on the walls. There were numbers as well, always in fours, like dates, starting with 1274 on the left from the door, to 1935, which was written over the bed. There was another photograph, of a boy of about sixteen years, with dark skin and what looked like little horns. Next to him, another nurse, this time with four arms and four legs. Someone had written Mrs. Spidey above the nurse, and Jeremiah, 1896 above the boy. It only occurred to Alice now, that maybe Odd was not a synonym for disabled, but strange. Odd. This whole place was odd. Suddenly creeped out, Alice slammed the door shut and ran down the stairwell. All she wanted was to get out of here.

She had just reached the bottom floor, when a moving shadow caught her eye. She let out a shriek, startled by the young man standing at the reception, who now turned to face her. He wore a grey shirt, with a small, stitched on electrician turning a lightbulb on the bottom left. His name tag read Jason, and he gave her a small, crooked smile. “Sorry,“ she apologised, “I didn’t mean to intrude. Am I in trouble?“ she added anxiously. She thought she smelled something burned. Jason slowly shook his head. Weirdly slowly. “No,“ he said. “But I think I am.“ And with that he stepped to the side, where a body lay on the ground, steaming. Puffs of smoke came out of the the clothes; the same grey shirt as Jasons', a torch attached to his belt. Ali covered her mouth in shock. “What happened,“ she exclaimed, panicking, but when she looked at the boy Jason again, she saw it. Blue sparks protruded from his hands, and his irises were lined with silver streaks, like lighting, like electricity.

#shortstory #writing #writers #partone #reading #storytelling #storyteller #nursery #fantasy

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vcg73 · 6 years

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Fic: Mother’s Day

Today in the US it is Mother’s Day, and I had the urge to write a little story about Kurt and Carole.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first year, while he was in the florist’s shop buying a spray of his mother’s favorite pink and white roses to leave on her grave, he had bought a colorful bouquet of Gerber daisies too. He had no idea what kind of flowers Finn’s mom liked best, but something about the bright, cheerful cluster seemed to suit her. The flowers had practically smiled and waved at him from the collection of assorted bouquets in the big plastic vase in the corner, and he had known that they were meant for her.

Although he was not quite sure it was appropriate to give someone else’s mom a gift on Mother’s Day, she and Dad had been getting awfully close lately. And even with the new stiffness between Dad and Finn, and the Hudson’s having moved out of the Hummel house as fast as they’d moved in following the Gaga week blowup, he wanted to do something nice for her.

Carole had surprisingly seemed to bear him no ill-will over that incident. She had been, if anything, even kinder to him than before and he had found himself starting to love her. Whereas before, he had always thought of her as somewhat apart from himself. She was ‘Finn’s mom’, or increasingly ‘Dad’s girlfriend’, but not particularly his. Now he was starting to believe, and perhaps even hope, that one day maybe the four of them could be a real family.

He slipped into their house early that Sunday morning, using the key nobody had thought to ask for back, and left the bright flowers on the kitchen table with a simple note. ‘Happy Mother’s Day - love Kurt’.

She had not said anything, though Finn had asked at school how he managed to ‘ninja’ the bouquet into their house and teased him halfheartedly about making him look bad. Then a few days later, when the Hudson’s came over for one of the tense and uncomfortable Friday night dinners that Dad insisted on, and Kurt secretly resented having to share, Carole had given him a look that unexpectedly made his eyes smart and his throat tighten, and she had given him a long tight hug that suddenly made him miss his own mother almost past bearing. He had clung to her for a few seconds, then pushed away and gone to tend to dinner, needing a moment to regain his self-control.

After that, things were still tense between him and Finn, and Finn and Dad, but there was a new ease between him and Carole that he could almost feel had caused a similar relaxation between her and Dad.

The second year, he bought her a vase full of ranunculus with a little card that simply said ‘I love you’. She and Dad had gotten married in the fall, and now that his exile from McKinley had finally ended, the ‘Hudmels’ as Finn had named them, were finally starting to feel like a real family.

There was no need to sneak the bouquet to her this time, but finding himself too shy to just thrust it at her like it was no big deal, he left the flowers outside of her and Dad’s bedroom on his way out. It was very early, but he and his other bouquet of pink and white roses had an appointment to keep.

When he got downstairs, he was surprised to find Finn waiting for him, dressed and clearly ready to go with his puffy red vest zipped and his hands filled with a little bouquet of mixed tulips, crocus, and snapdragons. A similar collection waited on the kitchen table for Carole. Finn lifted the flowers a little, a hopeful look on his face. “This okay? I know you always get roses, so I got something else. They’re fun to play with.”

In demonstration he reached up and squeezed the bulb of a blue snapdragon to make the ‘jaws’ open and close.

More touched by the gesture than he wanted to admit, Kurt nodded and grabbed his coat and keys. “She’ll love them. Thanks, Finn.”

The tall boy beamed and opened the door for him as they went out together to pay a visit to ‘their’ mom’s grave.

The third year, both brothers - as they truly thought of themselves now - made a similar pilgrimage to the cemetery. Finn had taken to going there from time to time, when he needed to think a problem through out loud without anyone thinking he was crazy or passing judgment on what he said. He found comfort in the silent yet somehow welcoming presence, and their spirits had become friends, of a sort.

Kurt found him out one day when he went to visit her and found the little stone bench on the walkway next to her grave already occupied. He had spent a lot of time on that bench during the past few years, talking out problems, hopes, fears, griefs, and joys with the gentle presence he would never stop missing and loving. He did not believe in God or Heaven, but somehow he could not stop believing in her constant, loving presence, and he did not want her to feel neglected or replaced by his new step-mother, however much he loved her.

To his own surprise, he was not jealous or resentful at finding Finn talking earnestly to his mother, whom he had somehow never quite realized was Finn’s own step-mother. He had simply hung back, out of earshot, until his brother’s hands stopped gesticulating, then went and sat beside him on the bench and told him a few of the things he remembered best about her. The way her eyes sparkled when she was excited. The surprisingly hearty belly-laugh that always startled people, coming from such a petite woman. The fact that she had loved grilled-cheese sandwiches almost as much as Finn did. Little things that he had never thought to share, but suddenly wanted to very much. And Finn had drunk in those details eagerly, wanting Kurt’s mom to be as real to him as the second hand memories of his dad were.

Finn was more than willing to make his second Mother’s Day visit to that well kept grave, and Kurt was glad to have him. Finn gave him space to be alone with her for a while, then they both sat on the bench and just chatted for a while. Somehow the distance that always seemed to keep them apart over school hours, with different friends, different hobbies, and relationships with partners the other did not always like, was never present during moments like this. In this place, they were just brothers and nothing else mattered.

They had gone home to give Carole a colorful pair of bouquets, in person this time, followed by a day of pampering. They cleaned the house, fixed her breakfast and lunch, and then Finn gave her his mother a shoulder massage while Kurt manicured her nails. Both were very conscious of the fact that this might be the last Mother’s Day they would spend in Ohio, and they wanted her to know how much they appreciated all that she did for them. Burt watched the day’s proceedings with a pleased air, and a smile that he could not seem to wipe off his face. He, too, visited his late wife’s grave, then came back and finished the day with his own contribution of a nice family dinner out.

The fourth year was sadly different. Finn was gone and his mother was still cycling through grief too powerful to touch.

As the second Sunday in May approached, Kurt wondered if it would be appropriate to send something home to her. He was afraid that it would cause her even greater pain to receive a gift from her stepson, and be reminded that the second more beloved giver would never be there to celebrate with her again. But on the other hand, if he failed to mark the day, would she feel even more bereft? Would she think he did not care for their family, and for her, anymore now that it was incomplete?

He asked Blaine and got an unhelpful reassurance that she was fine and seemed to be coping okay. He asked his dad, who seemed just as lost as he felt, still caught up in grief of his own. He asked Rachel, who took the opportunity to turn Finn’s death into a soliloquy about herself and her suffering. She had liked Carole well enough, but seemed generally indifferent towards a woman who might have become her mother-in-law at one point.

Realizing the decision was still entirely his, Kurt made up his mind. He managed to arrange his work schedule to give him a free Sunday, then borrowed a car from Chase - the only person he knew in New York City who owned his own vehicle and would not question Kurt’s sudden need for one - and drove all night to reach Lima by early Sunday morning.

He went to his favorite florist, who always opened at 5am sharp year-round, and bought three bouquets. A cluster of pink and white roses. A mixed bouquet of Gerbers, tulips, and ranunculus (which Finn had liked to call ‘ridiculous’). And a big cluster of colorful snapdragons. He stopped at the cemetery and left the roses and snaps on two well-kept graves, speaking a few quiet words to each of their beloved residents, then took the third bouquet home to the pretty frame house in central Lima. He let himself inside, making barely a sound, and waited until he heard the stirring of someone getting up.

Setting up a pot of the special chocolate blend coffee that Carole loved, he fixed her a tray with cereal and a pastry - she had never been a hot breakfast person - and added the daisy and tulip bouquet, prominently displayed in a pretty vase. When his dad came downstairs a few minutes later, he was startled and grateful to see Kurt, folding him into a tight embrace that lasted long enough for him to understand how much this gesture meant to his father.

They talked quietly for a while, catching up on things while not directly addressing the reason for Kurt’s presence. Finally his dad stood and clasped him by the shoulder, giving it a fond squeeze as he told him he’d just go pay the grave-yard a little visit, and that Carole should be awake soon.

Taking that as permission to intrude, he added a little milk to the cereal and coffee to her favorite mug and carried the tray carefully up the stairs. Carole’s door was cracked open a bit and she was awake, but she had not made a move to rise from her bed yet. She was staring absently towards the window, whose light curtains allowed rays of bright spring sunshine in to lighten the room.

There were tears on her cheeks, and the pained, far-away look in her brown eyes broke Kurt’s heart. For a moment, he paused, unsure once again if this had been a good idea. But as he hesitated, he shuffled a little in place and accidentally bumped the edge of his tray against the door. Carole looked up at the small scraping noise and then sat up, her eyes widening with surprise at finding Kurt where she had probably expected to see his father.

Finding nowhere to go but forward, Kurt pushed the door the rest of the way open and went to her, offering the tray a little shyly. “I know this probably isn’t what you wanted, but I thought maybe you might need it,” he said.

Carole sat higher against her pillow and accepted the tray. Her eyes filled again as she gently touched the bright petals. Her lips tilted upward in a sad smile when she squeezed the bulb of a pink snapdragon that Kurt had added to the display from Finn’s bouquet, leaving a ‘ridiculous’ from Carole’s bouquet to take its place. “He loved these,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, taking a seat on his dad’s side of the rumpled coverlet and taking her hand. “I left some for him.”

She nodded. “He’ll like that. Did you go see your mom?”

“Yeah. She’ll look after him,” he said, not quite knowing what made him say such a thing.

Carole’s eyes lifted from the flowers and met his own, “And you’ll look after me?”

“If you want me to,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

She swallowed and nodded. She gave the tray a little push, and Kurt obeyed the silent request to move it. Rising, he set the unwanted breakfast on the laundry hamper to take down later and moved the vase to the window-sill, parting the curtains a bit so that the crystal vase and colorful petals could catch the light and be admired by their recipient.

For a moment, he was not sure what to do next. Then Carole held out a hand and he gratefully moved back to his former position. “How did you get here?” she asked, seeming bewildered by his presence.

“Drove,” he said. “I borrowed a car from a friend.”

“All night?”

He nodded. Carole settled back down into her pillow and he obeyed the silent squeeze of her hand and settled down onto his dad’s pillow facing her. “I didn’t want you to be alone this year.”

The painful fact that, in the truest sense, she would be alone every Mother’s Day from now on lay unspoken between them, but Carole seemed to take heart in his loving gesture. She pulled his hand closer and kissed the knuckles. “Thank you.”

They lay silently together for a while, drawing comfort as each realized that in spite of the great loss that lay between them, neither was truly alone with it.

“You miss him too, don’t you?” she said softly.

He nodded, unable to form words past the painful lump in his throat. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he suddenly felt incredibly tired. More than just the long hours he had gone without sleep, it was the weeks of comforting everyone else for their loss without really receiving any solace for his own.

“He was your brother,” she said, sounding oddly revelatory as she looked once again toward the pretty flowers in the window. Then her eyes met his again and she said, “And you’re still my son.”

“I know I can’t ever replace him,” he choked, tears beginning to slide down, dripping off his nose and dampening the pillow beneath his cheek. “But I’ll do the best I can to fill the hole he left. I loved him, and I love you, Carole.”

Through the tears clouding her vision, she smiled at him. The first truly genuine smile she had been able to give since her son’s death. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

She leaned forward and kissed his damp cheek, and somehow that tender gesture opened the floodgates. He tried to hold them back. After all, he had come to offer comfort, not receive it, but those long weeks of pent-up grief would no longer be denied. Burying his face in the pillow, he attempted to stifle a sob, but the material smelled like Dad, and somehow that just made it worse, adding the long-held grief he always felt for his own absent mother on this day into the mix.

Carole did not hesitate, sitting up and pulling him to her heart; holding him close and stroking the thick brown hair that was being dampened by her own tears as Kurt was finally given permission by someone who loved him to express a loss he had suffered as deeply as anyone else.

Except, perhaps, Finn’s mother.

As they clung to one another, each finding comfort in the other’s understanding, the edges of two broken and bleeding hearts began to mend. Carole’s arms tightened around him as the tears started to ebb away. The selfless actions of a boy who had suffered the irreplaceable loss of a mother, had unexpectedly eased the pain of a mother who had suffered the irreplaceable loss of a son.

Finally, Carole kissed him again. “Why don’t you go to your room and get some sleep? It’s not very late yet, and you must be exhausted. Do you have to go back to New York tonight?”

He nodded. “I have two classes in the afternoon that I can’t miss, and a shift at the diner tomorrow night. I traded with someone to get today.”

She smiled, realizing again what he had done for her. “Then you definitely need some sleep first. Go on, Kurt. Have a good nap, and when you wake up, we’ll go out somewhere and have a Mother’s Day lunch together. We can catch up a little, and make some new memories. And . . . maybe share a few old ones.”

“My time is yours,” he said simply, letting her know that he had no plans to spend any of these few precious hours with anyone else. Not even his fiance, whom he had not even told he was coming to Ohio, knowing that he would be expected to spend time with him if he did. Things were getting better between them, but somehow Kurt knew in his heart that Blaine, who had never suffered through the death of a loved one, would not understand his need to spend this day in quiet remembrance.

Returning the kiss, Kurt rose from the bed and retreated to his old bedroom, leaving Carole to collect her thoughts and begin her morning routine in peace.

In the adjoining bathroom, he washed his face, sighing a little at the bleary-eyed young man in the mirror. His skin was splotchy and his hair was rumpled. His simple jeans and sweater combo was wrinkled and he was beginning to need a shave. But somehow, he decided as he peered into that reflection, he looked more at peace now. The constant tightness in his jaw had relaxed, and the little stress lines around his eyes that he had begun to worry might be a permanent fixture, had eased.

Musing on these changes, Kurt trudged back to his bed. As tired as he felt, he hesitated to pull the covers back. He considered for a moment, then left the room again, crossing the hallway to Finn’s former quarters. The trophies and posters and other signs of everyday residence had been packed up and put away, leaving the space a little bare. But a few small signs still remained. The bed still held the beautiful old quilt that Finn’s grandmother had made, and won a blue ribbon for at the Ohio state fair, much to Finn’s second-hand pride. And the windows still had the ugly cowboy curtains that he’d kept since he was born. The room somehow still felt like Finn, in spite of the lack of possessions, and Kurt smiled as he kicked off his shoes and snuggled under that beloved quilt.

He knew instinctively that Carole wouldn’t be angry if she found him here, and the touch of the thick blanket around his body felt almost like one of Finn’s bear hugs.

Just on the edge of sleep, possibly from the bouquet that had been resting in his arms earlier, Kurt swore that he caught a whiff of his mother’s favorite rose perfume.

THE END

#Kurt Hummel Fic #Carole Hudson-Hummel #Mothers Day Fic

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zoewrites · 7 years

Text

Jealousy Part 2 (Joji x Reader)

Read part 1 HERE

SMUT WARNING

The sun beams in from the cracked blinds above your bed that you forgot to close last night. It hits you directly in the eyes and you groggily roll to your side. You reach an arm out, expecting to feel Joji asleep beside you, but you come up empty. You finally open your eyes to confirm that he’s gone and the bed is cold. You lay there, wondering where he is and replaying last night’s events in your head.

The clock next to you reads 12:19 am. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept till noon. Luckily it was Sunday so you had work off but you’d started to wish you had a shift. The last thing you wanted to do was look after your hungover boyfriend and his annoyingly flirty friend. You prayed Maya would be gone by now, but as you opened the door, you could see that was far from the case.

You silently walked to the kitchen for coffee as you eyed the two of them on the couch, both focused on his laptop. You shut the cabinet extra hard after grabbing a mug, hoping to get their attention but neither of them look up.

Only when you’re standing in front of them do they notice you.

“Oh hey, babe.” Joji nods to the kitchen. “There’s a bagel for you on the counter.”

You look over and see a bag from your favorite bakery. “When did you get that?”

“We got breakfast when you were asleep.” Maya speaks up and you see Joji must have given her one of his tee shirts to sleep last night.

“Oh.” You grip the mug tightly. “You could have woken me and I’d have come with.”

Joji just waved you off, “Don’t worry about it. We were hungover and needed sustenance. I figured I’d let you rest.”

“Thanks.” You say quietly as you bite into the dry bagel. You listen as they continue their conversation. Joji is playing her the music that he’s been working on and for some reason it makes your stomach twist.

“You’re so talented. This is really good.” She coos.

“You think? I wasn’t sure about this one.”

The sight of them curled up together listening to his music made you want to cry. You weren’t sure if you were being overdramatic but that was something the two of you would do most nights. It felt special being the one he trusted enough to ask your opinion on his unfinished works. It felt wrong seeing another girl in that position. Your mind wandered back to the Instagram stories of them dancing together last night.

“So how was last night?” You ask.

“Oh my god, we were all wasted, especially Joji,” Maya laughs, “I’d forgotten how flirty you get when you’re drunk. Just like those college days.” She playfully shoves his arm and it’s enough to make your eyes start to water. Your first thought is to make a beeline for the bedroom and lock the door behind you but instead you take a shaky breath.

“Can I talk to you… for a second?” You motion to the bathroom and Joji gets up when he sees the look in your eyes.

You lock the door behind you, turning around. It’s a small, apartment sized bathroom so you’re practically pressed against him. He rests his hands on your hips when he sees the hurt expression on your face.

“What’s going on?” You can’t believe how clueless he’s acting.

“What’s going on?” You repeat his words back to him, scoffing, “What’s going on with her?”

“She’s my friend, (Y/N)... there’s nothing going on there.”

“Yeah? Does she know that?” He can hear the anger creeping into your voice and his hands leave your waist.

“I saw the Instagram stories she posted, okay? It looked more than friendly. And the way she talks to me…” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“Are you…” He runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, “Are you fucking serious? First of all, I wanted you to come out with us!”

“Oh my god.” You groan, “That’s not what this is about!”

“Really? Because it seems like you’re jealous for no reason. How many of your guy friends are always over? I never say shit about it!” He’s pissed now. More angry than you’ve seen him in a long time. “You go out with them all the time! You dance with them, how do you think that makes me feel?!”

“I’m not grinding on them! Not kissing them on the cheek! My friends aren’t trying to fuck me in front of my boyfriend, George.” You’re seething. You don’t care if Maya can hear your argument. You hope she can take a hint and get out.

“You’re ridiculous. I’m leaving.” He moves to grab the doorknob from behind you but you quickly block his exit.

“No, I’ll leave. Stay with her for all I care.” With that you spin around, flinging the door open and avoiding eye contact with Maya, who’s probably eating this up with a smile on her face.

You slip on a sweatshirt and shoes and walk right out the door. In the elevator, you can finally breath again. You see your reflection on the metal wall staring back at you, face flushed red with anger. You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket and quickly silence it as a tear falls from your eye.

You wander around the city for a while, the cool air helping to calm your nerves. You know you look crazy in your sweats, crying as you walk down the street, but it’s New York so no one bothers to look twice.

You end up in a Barnes and Noble where you can grab a drink from Starbucks and hide out until you can figure out what to do next. It’s busy so it’s a miracle you can find an empty seat in the corner of the cafe. You try and call your sister, hoping you can crash with her but she informs you she’s in Vermont with her fiance’s family.

“Is everything okay?” She asks, but you can tell she’s distracted. There’s voices in the background.

“Yeah, just wanted to say hi, I guess.” You don’t want to bother her while she’s on a trip. You wished it could be you and Joji away on vacation, this weekend never happening.

“Well hi.” She laughs. “I’ll call you back later this week when I’m back home.”

You try your friends, but they’re all either asleep or at work. You give up and decide to order a double chocolate muffin and zone out looking through trashy magazines.

The next few hours blend together. It’s almost 5 and you don’t feel any better than when you stormed out. Customers came and went all afternoon but you stayed seated, simply staring out the window at the people walking by.

So many couples strolling by hand in hand made your heart hurt. Just yesterday that could’ve been you and Joji, him walking you to work or maybe to a restaurant. Could this girl really come between you two and ruin a relationship you’d had for almost a year now? Sure you’d had little arguments here and there, but never anything caused by another person. It wasn’t as if this were only Maya’s fault either. Why couldn’t your boyfriend see the issue?

Your phone buzzes, pulling you away from your racing thoughts. It’s Joji. You’d ignored his calls and texts all day, but in a moment of weakness you pick up.

“Hello?” You say quietly, scared of what this conversation would be.

“Oh thank god, where are you?” He sounds panicked.

“Why?” You know it’s a stupid thing to ask but you don’t feel like indulging him. You hear a sigh.

“Just come home. Please, (Y/N).” You stay silent for a moment.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“What? Okay look, (Y/N), I’m sorry. Please come home and we can talk about this. I’ve been worried about you all day. Maya’s not here. Please just come back.”

You hold your breath as you unlock the apartment door. You’re then greeted by the scent of delicious food, it makes your stomach growl and you realize you’ve only eaten a muffin and a bite of a bagel today.

Joji appears at the end of the hallway and speaks softly, seemingly as nervous as you are, “Hey baby.”

He watches as you remove your shoes and hang up your purse. “Hey.”

“Are you hungry?” He asks and you nod, following him to the kitchen.

“Oh wow…” Is all you can say when you see large amount of food spread out over the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I went to a few places and also made some things. I don’t know how well Japanese food goes with Italian but…” He trails off, unsure of what you’re thinking.

“Thank you,” You smile, you’d never seen him so timid. Even in the beginning of your relationship he’d always come off as being so confident.

You pile dumplings and fried rice and fettuccine alfredo onto your plate, fully knowing there was no way the two of you would be able to finish all this food. He sits across from you at the table for a split second before jumping up, “I almost forgot.” He runs to the bedroom and returns with two potted plants. One with a beautiful purple orchid and one filled with red tulips. Your two favorite flowers. He sets them beside you on the table, along with a card.

“What’s this?” You pick it up, reading your name on the envelope.

“Open it.”

You gently tear open the pink envelope to reveal a handmade card inside. It’s a piece of paper with a doodle of the two of you, him in his dumb Fake Frank glasses. You can’t help but laugh. “You really outdid yourself here, Joji.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “I was going to write a full apology but it didn’t feel right not telling you face to face.” You stay quiet, letting him continue.

“First of all, I want you to know that I don’t have any feelings for Maya. It’s all you, it’s only been you for the past year and I hope you know that.” He looks down pushing his food around as he speaks, “I don’t want her, I’ve never wanted someone the way that I want you.”

He lifts his head as you stand and make your way to him. You sit on his lap wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You feel the tension in his body subsiding as his arms make their way around you.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel differently, baby. Maya wasn’t lying when she said I used to just fuck around.”

“I know.” You whisper against his neck.

“So I know I’m not good at this relationship thing… but I want to be… I know that’s not an excuse for last night.”

“I was jealous.” You admit, looking up at him. “I just want you for myself.”

“You have me.” He affirms. That was all you needed to hear. You abruptly press your lips to his, kissing hard. The dinner is completely forgotten as he tightens his grip on your waist, lifting you from the chair and carrying you to the bedroom. You moan as he kisses harder, both of you falling against the mattress. It’s turning desperate now, both of you nipping and suckling at each other until you’re panting for breath.

You whisper his name like a prayer, chest heaving. Your sweatpants are gone in an instant and the feeling of Joji’s hands running up and down your thighs leaves you shivering. They make their way underneath your sweatshirt, massaging you over the cups of your bra.

“Take this off.” Joji breathes against your lips, voice low and husky with desire. You whimper again as you work together to pull the fabric from your skin.

“Fuck.” He groans at the sight of your hardened nipples, latching his mouth onto one of them. He then continues downwards, swirling the flattened tip of his tongue across your skin. “You know,” he pauses, driving you absolutely crazy, “It was pretty hot seeing you jealous.”

You want to slap the smirk off his face until he slips his hand between your legs and runs his index and middle fingers against your wetness. You inhale sharply at the feeling, your hands clenching at the comforter beneath you. Joji breathes out slowly between clenched teeth and slides two fingers in, pumping them in a steady rhythm.

“Fuck!” You cry.

“Language.” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive knot of your clit. Your back arches of the bed and he uses his free arm to hold you down. You were seeing stars with Joji’s fingers pumping even faster into you. With no warning, his fingers are replaced with his tongue, sliding in between your folds.

You gasp loudly, the feeling of his tongue on your body making you jump. Two rough hands are now clamped down on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works his magic on your body. He swirls and flicks his tongue expertly until you’re squirming and grinding against his face, begging for release. No one you’d ever been with could compare to Joji’s skilled mouth.

When you reach your peak, shuddering around him with an uncontrollable moan leaving your lips, he dips two fingers back into you. He pumps slowly, riding out your orgasm with a smirk on his face. When your breathing returns to normal, he lifts his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. Joji then leans down, kissing you with an open mouth, making you moan at your own taste.

You could feel his hardness pressed between you and you wanted it. You were wet, aching, and ready.

“Joji, please.” You whispered between kisses. He loved it when you said his name with such obvious desire. He groans at your willingness and lowers himself into you with such agonizing slowness that you can’t help but shudder against him, angling your hips, seeking for him to fill the emptiness. He was moving so slowly, teasing you.

“Joji.” You groan, needing more.

“Yes, baby?” He breathes heavily.

“Please…” It’s too hard to form a complete sentence.

“What is it?” He moves slightly faster.

“Fuck me.”

He looks at you, blinking slowly as he takes in your words with a taunting grin on his face. You tighten your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper into you and clenching around him until Joji is panting and any control he had left was gone. He groans, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, increasing his tempo and the strength with every thrust. He bites down hard on your shoulder and your nails press harshly against his skin, raking them down his back as your body fills with the most intense pleasure. Your inner muscles ripple around him causing him to let out a string of curses in a language that wasn’t English.

Joji drew backwards, pulling himself up and lifted your hips so he can pound into you with a speed and force he could not before. The room filling with your cries and moans. He was relentless but he knew you could handle it. With one last thrust, he closes his eyes and gives into you.

You lay in silence for a moment, both of you trying your hardest to keep breathing after all of that intensity. Eventually, you twist your body so that you’re facing him and he lifts the comforter over the both of you. You snuggle up against him, pulling his arm around you.

“That was good. Really good.” You murmur, still slightly breathless. “Thanks for the food and the flowers and the card.”

“And the sex?” He looks down at you as you roll your eyes, smiling.

“Sure.”

He stretches his arms out, yawning. “God, I’m hungry.”

You scoff, “Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?”

He holds his hands up in defense, laughing, “Hey, I worked really hard preparing all that food for you and we didn’t even get to eat. You just jumped my bones out of nowhere.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You playfully shove him, happy that things were back to normal. You sit up, reaching for your underwear and sweatshirt.

“Wait!” He tries to grab onto you, pulling him back against his chest.

“Come on, stupid” You kiss him once more, “Let’s go eat.”

#joji #joji x reader #joji miller #filthy frank #george miller #joji smut #smut #mine

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somanydestiel · 7 years

Text

The Dandelion: Ch 1

the following two lines are for the whole fic

TW for panic attacks, abuse, homophobia, forced incest

Dan’s next door neighbor is kind of odd. // Collab w @emyright-funpics

Read on AO3

As soon as he sets down the last box, Dan takes a long look around his new room. The ceiling is high, one wall is all fancy glass doors to a small balcony where Dan can start growing flowers, and it features a walk in closet and en suite bathroom. It’s a nice room, admittedly, in a nice house, but he misses his old home. His room was small, but painted a pretty light green, plastered with posters, and the windowsill had all manner of small plants he would raise. Outside the glass was his little flowerbed, where he liked to raise roses most of all.

This new room feels impersonal, too large, and not like a home.

But Dan just shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts pushing all his things into the closet so that he can set to painting before setting up the furniture and unboxing his stuff. His overalls are already messy from the work he’s been doing all morning, so Dan happily gets the first pale yellow paint can, pours it into a tray, picks up a sponge roller and starts working. Before nightfall, it’ll be dry enough for him to drag in a mattress to sleep on. After he unpacks over the next week, Dan has plans to further decorate his room to make it his own. He wants to paint with his acrylics on the wall, make a mural. His dad’s friend gave him a ceiling spread that he can put up which will make it look like he’s staring at the stars as he falls asleep. All of Dan’s knick knacks will be arranged on white shelves that match his bedframe and dresser. The soft white carpet will be adorned with bright colors.

It’ll be a beautiful room, but it won’t take his mind of why he lives in it now. Downstairs his parents are setting up the lounge and kitchen, their own bedroom needing little work since they like to keep it simple in there. To keep his mind on more positive things, Dan sets to work, and he’s done by the time his mother calls him downstairs for lemonade and sandwiches for lunch.

“Guess what, sweetheart,” Dan’s mother smiles when Dan walks into the room, an over enthusiastic smile stretching across her glossed pink lips. She had informed Dan on their way to their new home that she planned to make a good impression and make friends in this new neighborhood, and it seems by the stranger sitting across the table that she was on her way to doing just that. “This is Ms. Lester. She has a son almost exactly your age, and they live right next door. Isn’t that right, Cathrine?”

“Yes,” the other woman smiles, however Dan notices that her smile is a bit more strained, her clothes a bit older, and yet her face is kind with soft eyes and wrinkles from a time when she might have smiled a bit more often. “Phil is in the greenhouse at the moment, cleaning up from his gardening club meeting. He’s a bit… Shy, but I’m sure a guest is welcome now and again.”

“Why don’t you head on over and say hello?” Dan’s mother suggests enthusiastically, her tone offering no second alternative.

Dan shoots his mother a look of distaste, looking like an annoyed teenager rather than show the fear running through his veins, telling him that talking to boys is a bad idea a bad idea not good that’s what got you here in the first place bad idea bad idea. Irregardless, he offers Ms. Lester a strained smile and takes a sip of lemonade. “I’m afraid I don’t know where the greenhouse is, would you mind showing me?” Over time, Dan has learned that staying with matronly women like Ms. Lester is a good way to stay safe.

“Of course!” Ms. Lester nearly shoots from her chair, a more genuine, and perhaps even relieved smile, adorning her face. Almost as an afterthought she thanks Dan’s mother for her hospitality, before bustling out of the kitchen and leading Dan towards a wooden gate in the fence of the house next door. As she leaves Dan’s house, her pace seems to slow, becoming more natural and leisurely, and as she undoes the gate, Ms. Lester turns to give Dan a kind smile. “Your mother said you came to the neighborhood to make a new life for yourselves? I hope you’re able to here. This is a small town, however there are plenty of ways to get involved. Do you have an interest in flowers, Dan?”

Make a new life. The words echo in Dan’s head for a moment before he can respond.

“Actually, yes. I have a bit of a green thumb, and I’m starting a garden on my balcony.” He looks down, playing with his sweater’s white sleeves. Typically people laugh and call him a fairie when he mentions his interest, but he gets the feeling Ms. Lester is nice and won’t make such a comment.

“Oh good,” Ms Lester smiles, and Dan isn’t quite sure, but he believes that a small sigh of relief falls from her mouth, rustling the soft strings of her shall. “Then I’m sure you and Phil will get along alright. Here’s the greenhouse.”

Once inside the Lester’s backyard, all Dan can really notice is the greenhouse, as besides a small patch of flowers and two ragged lawn chairs, the greenhouse takes up the whole of the yard. Its dirty glass windows stretch up into the sky, peeling green paint lighting up the metal frame which holds the hold thing together, flowers twisting about the windows and accumulating on a green spire at the top, nestled in place honeysuckle. Dan can hardly see through the aging windows, however it is quite apparent that the greenhouse is filled with all sorts of plants, scattered all about and further obscuring the view. Ms. Lester leads Dan over to a dirty glass pair of double doors, and the one she opens creaks softly, a sound of invitation.

“Phil,” Ms. Lester calls. A soft hum from the other side of a mountain of ferns is barely audible, however the older woman smiles at hearing it. “You have a guest, a boy has moved in next door.” Silence is the only reply, however Ms Lester smiles anyway and motions for Dan to enter.

Cautiously, Dan steps inside, immediately staring over the spirals of plants, all sorts of kinds- there are a few small trees, ivy, bushes, and above all else, an incredible abundance of flowers in every shape color, and size. A boy probably Dan’s age with black fringe, blue eyes, and mouth set in a firm line pops out of nowhere, watching Dan with a strange expression. Without thinking about it, Dan trails his eyes over the pale blue muscle tank the boy wears that compliment his eyes well, down the black skinny jeans that seem to compliment him, and back up to his face and the white flower crown half obscured by his messy hair. After all of that, Dan also realizes that the boy has crossed his arms over his chest, eyes hard with guarded insecurity.

Dan clears his throat and holds out a hand. “I’m Dan Howell, I just moved into town. I, uh, really like your plants.” What a great way to meet someone; stare at them like a creep then make a lame comment on their garden. The boy just stares at him, head tilted to the side, not taking Dan’s hand or introducing himself in return.

And then abruptly, for no apparent reason, Phil turns, busying himself with a pot of pink tulips, ignoring Dan completely. His face is full of concentration, his expression unreadable, however after a moment he abruptly speaks, his voice a soft, deep rumble. “In Holland, tulips used to be more valuable than gold. People would pay fortunes for them. I would rather have my flowers than a fortune. Flowers and plants are much nicer, don’t you think?” Whatever Dan seems to think, however, doesn’t appear to truly concern Phil, for he continues to fuss with the flowers, his eyes placed firmly on them and not Dan.

“I suppose so,” Dan replies slowly, turning to look for help from Mrs. Lester, but it appears she’s already left. “Are tulips your favorite kind, then?”

“Perhaps, however Angelica flowers are also quite nice. They were used to cure many things back before people knew how else to fix their problems. That’s why I make my flower crowns out of them,” Phil hums, moving along to the next potted flower, his blue eyes flying over the plant as if looking for something, his nimble fingers running along the leaves, and then a frown appears on his lips. “My Moon flower isn’t feeling well, perhaps more water will help. It shouldn’t be open at all right now, but here some is peeking out. Moon flowers only bloom at night. I have a special place for them in my heart.”

“Moon flowers are one of my favorites. I wouldn’t add more water, maybe try and use less fertilizer?” Dan says without thinking, and immediately chastises himself. Don’t be assertive, do you want him to hate you?

Before Phil can reply, Dan rolls up his sleeves and lifts his fingers to the soft petals, observing the thin veins running through. Moon flowers really are gorgeous, and he decides he wants to grow some on his terrace. He drops the bud and stuffs his hands back in his pockets, reprimanding himself again for being so forward and touchy. This greenhouse is clearly something that Phil takes a lot of pride in.

There’s a pause, and then quite suddenly Phil’s blue eyes are lifted to gaze at Dan, their color are pure and endless as the sky on a cloudless day, and yet they contain flecks of colors like the ocean on a day when the waves are stirred wild by the wind. Soundlessly, Phil observes Dan, eyes flicking this way and that, and then as suddenly as it started, the observation ended, and Phil’s eyes are back on his flower. “Yes, I believe you’re right. You like plants, then? Do they comfort you, too? Plants don’t change. They silently sit, hoping for someone to nurture them. People say that there are innocent little animals, and yet even they can harm one another. Plants, though, are truly docile, except those select few who feed on bugs and things. I suppose there are even monsters amoung the flowers, but they need to be cared for too. They’re predictable. Predictability is nice. You seem nice as well. What’s your name again?” Phil turns his gaze back to Dan, his blue eyes focusing on Dan’s brown ones.

A hesitant smile stretches across Dan’s face. “Dan. Yeah, I really like plants, and I’m planning on making a mini garden on my terris after the house is all settled. Did you maybe want to help? You clearly know what you’re doing.” He gestures at their surroundings, then pushes his hands into the pockets of his messy overalls.

“A mini garden? All gardens are important, no matter how small. You should include roses and blue cohosh; they suit you,” for the first time, a small smile flits onto Phil’s face, before suddenly it drops away, and before Dan knows what’s happening, Phil has turned, marching over to another row of plants. “But sorry, I can’t help. I… I don’t leave here much. My plants need me. Sorry.”

“Oh. I understand.”

Dan tries and fails to keep the disappointment out of his voice, then turns back to the door. He calls that he’s going home, and Phil doesn’t reply, so Dan walks back home and then upstairs, where his father has taken the liberty of taking the tarps off the floor and is assembling Dan’s bed frame for him.

“Your mother says that if you and I can get your room mostly put together tonight, we can go to the stores tomorrow and start picking up supplies for your garden. Why don’t you start a list of what you need?”

“Sure, thanks Dad.”

He runs downstairs to grab a notepad and a pen from the desk already set up in the office, then goes back to his room so he can stand on the terrace and get a feel for what he’ll be doing. The first things he jots down are roses and blue cohosh. For a moment, he stares at the words, unsure why he’s taking Phil’s suggestion to heart, then shrugs, beginning to jot down the type of pots he wants.

By dinnertime, Dan has a substantial list, and when Dan’s mother asks about the boy next door, Dan simply supplies that Phil enjoys flowers and gardening. The rest of his night is spent pondering over the strange boy, and by morning, Dan finds himself with various questions about Phil that he doubts will be answered anytime soon. Yawning, Dan wanders downstairs, only to hear his mother going on about something to Dan’s father in the kitchen.

“Yes, I went out to get your paper and I nearly tripped over them. Who are we from? What are we meant to do with them?” Dan’s mother complained, two pots sitting on the drainboard, one filled with blue cohosh, the other hosting three yellow roses.

“Oh, I think those are Phil’s,” Dan says tiredly and picks up the roses. “Dad, grab that? I should get these upstairs.”

Somewhere deep in his chest is a warm feeling that despite how aloof and strange Phil seemed yesterday, he still thought to send the flowers over. Smiling softly, Dan carries the put up and sets it where it will bloom in the sun.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #somanydestiel #tw

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