#i dont have any money but i need shelves so bad my room is empty and depressing and the walls are GRAY!!!!

[ot3]

did some wood staining for the first time today 👍 my technique is terrible but its fun and im excited to get these shelves finished

[jugheadangst]

Wine Snob

Pairing: Jughead x Reader / Jughead x Betty

Word count: 3,486

Summary: An AU where Jughead has been living with his mother this whole time but is now visiting his father over the summer during his break from college. He hit it off with Betty but it is you, the reader, the ends up stealing his heart in the end. Considering the nature of this fic, obviously the characters are over 21.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, tsundere af reader, kissing and touching but not much else - similar to the last one

A/N: ALLOW ME TO GO OFF ON A TANGENT for reference - I suggest any wine by Prophecy tbh. their bottle art is inspired by tarot cards. their sauvignon blanc is my favorite. the bitterness is to die for. Curious Beasts’ chardonnay is also delicious. but dont drink any wine from california because that shit is absolute trash water. just pay the extra money for imports. you’ll thank yourself later. i’ve yet to taste a marlborough wine i dont like sO THERE U GO.

Jughead doesn't like to admit it but he's kind of a sentimental guy. Broody as he might be, when it involves him and someone he cares about, he wants things to be special. Just right. Perfect, even. And so it goes without saying for the date he has with Betty that evening. They had never been close. How could they? Last he knew, she had been pining for Archie. But that was before Jughead's parents separating and before he moved away with his mom and little sister. He had always been given the option to visit his dad over the holidays - he had even been encouraged to do so. But he never actually did. He couldn't forgive his dad for not being able to hold it together for the sake of his family. For a long time, Jughead hated his sad and sorry ass. But as he grew from an adolescent to a young adult - from high school to college - that anger faded. And although he still couldn't forgive his father for being the reason why his family had to fall apart, Jughead could at least tolerate him now. So he decided to finally spend a summer with FP after all these years. Yet it wasn't his father who Jughead has been spending most of the summer with. Instead, it's been Betty. And tonight was the night he hoped to make a move into something serious between the two of them.

But what did it mean to Jughead to make a first date between him and Betty special? He thought that wine might be a good place to start. So he found himself at a store that sold wine exclusively. Not quite his daddy's local liqueur agency.

When Jughead entered, the ring of the bells above the glass door echoed throughout the empty store. For a moment he thought that he was the only one there but far in the back of the store, he heard the tinkling of bottles knocking against bottles.

"Hello!" a voice called out. "I'm back here if you need any assistance!"

Jughead took one long look around the store and called back, "I think I'm going to need assistance."

Standing at the front of the store was a new face. You didn't get these very often. Anyone passing through Riverdale would opt for a more convenient means of attaining their alcohol - grocery stores, mostly. The only ones who passed through the doors were regulars. And this wasn't one of them.

"Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?" It's the first question you always ask on the rare occasion you get new customers.

"Not really," the guy mutters. "I don't actually know anything about wine."

"First time buying?"

"Yeah."

"Best to start with something sweet, then. Although in this summer heat, dry is sometimes better. How well do you hold your alcohol?"

The poor man looks at a loss for words. His mouth is open and his eyes are darting around the store. His visible confusion is beginning to develop into panic.

Sighing, he says, "Look, it's for a date. It's my first one with her. I'm not a drinker and I highly doubt she is, either. I just want something nice."

You pause for a moment before responding, giving him a long look. It's not uncommon for people to become overwhelmed when they seek out a wine that isn't Arbor Mist from the bottom shelf of a grocery store but you can't help but feel like he's being a little rude right now.

"Fine," you say. "Rosé it is. Sweet, like I already said."

Without another word or beckon, you begin walking to the section of the store that sticks out from the rest of the shelves by color alone. This is where liquid in every tint and shade of pink imaginable is kept and it's a favorite among the regulars.

The man stands still in front of the selection and stares blankly at the bottles. You stand next to him, waiting.

"Any suggestions?" he asks, weakly.

You point out a bottle with a blonde woman on the front of it.

"Prophecy makes great wines of every varietal. And the price isn't too expensive either. It's a personal favorite of mine."

Reaching out and taking the bottle that had been pointed to, the man follows you to the register thereafter. He hands you some money and leaves with a muttered, "thanks."

Hopefully you never see that miserable brood again.

The date did not go as Jughead had hoped. Try as hard as he may to have made it special. But how could he have known? As far as he's concerned, it wasn't his fault.

Jughead arrived at her house early and although she was still getting ready, he waited patiently in the living room meanwhile avoiding her mother's glares from the kitchen. He escaped out the front door as soon as Betty made it to the bottom of the stairs.

"So where are you taking me?" she has asked. And Jughead smiled in response. But that's all he did. Shaking his head when Betty prodded for more answers. Once you arrived at your destination, however, she shook her own head and rolled her eyes, muttering, "Sweetwater River? I should have know." Her tone had been playful, though.

"You should have known by the time we started walking through the trees," Jughead had pointed out. And they shared a laugh.

They shared a lot of laughs, in fact. From within his messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Jughead had pulled out a small blanket just big enough for the two of them to sit closely together. He certainly had not intended it to be this way - his bag was small and it was the only way he could fit the wine in along with it.

Which he eventually brought out. Once Jughead thought that him and Betty had settled in and gotten comfortable with each other, that's when he decided to open up the rosé wine he had bought earlier that day. And the laughing stopped. Betty's expression went blank and she just stared at the bottle in Jughead's hands.

"Would you like some?" he asked.

"Not really," she answered, looking away.

"What's wrong?" Jughead asked. "You don't like wine?"

"I don't like alcohol. Period."

"Okay, well, I didn't know. I was just trying to be...romantic, I guess."

The tone of Jughead's voice was deflated and he turned to shove the bottle back into his bag. But when he turned back, Betty was in tears.

"What's wrong?" he repeated. Jughead had moved in to hug her, an attempt to comfort her, but Betty shoved him away. Hard, too.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she shouted. Before he could even process what was going on, Betty was on her feet and running. He could hear her sobs fade as she moved through the woods.

"Goddammit," he muttered. And he got to his feet as well because there was no reason to stick around. Collecting the blanket and stuffing it in where the piece of shit wine bottle already was, Jughead made his way in the direction that Betty disappeared off to. But he wasn't chasing after her. No. He was going home.

Later Jughead would learn from Archie why Betty had reacted so poorly to the offer of alcohol. It had a lot to do with why things became sour between the two of them. According to Archie, he had drank a little too much and they had gotten into a fight. Archie wasn't too kind to her. He thinks that she might have a little bit of trauma attached to what happened and has therefore developed an aversion to alcohol.

"It triggers her," Archie supposed.

"And you know what?" Jughead asked - but, before Archie could respond, he answered his own question. "I don't blame her. Shit like what happened between you and Betty is how my own parents' split developed. So fuck you." Jughead hung up the phone before Archie could say anything back and he ignored follow up calls and texts thereafter.

It sucked what happened between him and Betty. But what sucked even more is that someone Jughead considered to be a friend could turn out to be such an awful person. At one time, he would have sworn that Archie was better than that. But time changes people. And so does alcohol, Jughead supposes. If his own father was any example.

The bottle that had only been partly responsible for his bad date hadn't left his messenger bag since he stuffed it in that night. Not knowing what else to do with it, Jughead had decided to just go ahead and drink it. Or at least try it to taste. Who knows? He might like it. But when he went to go get the bottle from the messenger bag that had laid abandoned by the door since that ill-fated night, it was nowhere to be found.

"Dad..." Jughead muttered with a sigh, shaking his head. It wasn't even worth confronting FP about stealing his ten dollar bottle of wine or about going through his personal possessions. Jughead knows that where it concerns his father, it's best to pick his battles, so he snatches up his keys and decides to drop into the store for another bottle. This time he'll keep it well hidden if he doesn't end up polishing it off by himself. He figures if both his dad and former best friend can do it, why not him, too?

It had been about a week since you'd first seen that rather rude newcomer. You almost thought your wish came true - that you'd never see him again. But as your (albeit bad) luck would have it, that afternoon he returns. You have enough time to expel an exasperated sigh before he reaches the back of the store where you are.

Forcing a smile, you greet him. "What can I help you with today?" Before he can respond, you add, "More delicious rosé wine or are you looking to expand your palate?"

"I'll take your word for it that the wine you sold me is delicious. I wouldn't know. My dad drank it."

Rude as ever, you observe.

"But what about your date?"

"It was a disaster."

You stare at him and he stares back at you. After a long pause, you ask, "So...what is it you're looking for today?"

"Any suggestions for the man that will remain perpetually single?"

"No man remains single with the right wine, I'll assure you that."

His response is the last thing you're expecting. And he looks you dead in the eye as he poses the question, too.

"Does that mean you'll go on a date with me if I pick out the right wine?" You might just be imagining things but you could swear you see an eyebrow of his quiver - as if he's trying his hardest to repress a smug expression.

And broody, standoffish personality be damned, this guy is pretty cute. If you're honest to yourself and fair to him, people tend to say that you're not the most approachable individual, either. Birds of a feather, you suppose.

"I don't know," you reply with a shrug. "For a guy who knows nothing about wines, how could you possibly know what the right one is?"

"I'll figure it out," he says. "I'll do some research and come back to you."

You begin to feel a nervous, giddy feeling welling up in your stomach and it creeps its way up to your throat. You can't remember the last time you felt the flutter of a new romantic possibility and although you had your doubts about this guy at first, you can't deny the attraction that's started to develop.

"Fine," you give in with a sigh. "Do what you gotta' do and pick out a wine that impresses me. But be warned - I'm the one who picks out all the wine sold here so every bottle here is the best if I do say so myself."

"Well that just makes it easy then, doesn't it?" The guy is smiling and he's not repressing any expression of smugnes now.

"Get out of here," you mutter with a wave of your hands. "Don't come back at all, for all I care."

"You care," he says. "You will."

The still broody but now cute man is about to let himself out of the store before you call out to stop him. You just realized something.

"What's your name, anyway?"

"Jughead."

Rather than tell him that that's the stupidest name you've ever heard, you opt to share your own name, instead. And the way he says your name when he calls back a "see you soon" might have made your skin crawl with goosebumps.

Jughead doesn't know a damn thing about wine. But he does his research just as he says he was going to. It's just that it doesn't real help him. Like, at all. He's reading up on everything related to vintage, varietal, and vineyards, but with so many variations of all three, Jughead can't even begin to imagine how anyone could ever possibly pick a favorite from among it all.

But that's when he remembers. The pretty lady at the wine store does have a favorite and she told him. It was the wine he had bought for his date with Betty. She said it was a personal favorite.

That would be the right wine; no research required.

You feel like this Jughead guy walks in a little cocky. That's the first sign that gives away how in for it you really are. But you won't let him take away the spoils just yet. Jughead can walk in with a head full of knowledge and still pick out a wine you don't particularly care for. Though, since working at the store, you've developed a taste for almost everything. You still have your favorites.

"What have you got for me?" you ask him.

And he doesn't respond. Instead, Jughead slinks across the store to the section you had introduced him to the first time he entered. He looks at you. Looks at the bottles. Looks back at you and reaches out for the wine you had suggested.

"It's a personal favorite, no?" You almost want to slap the smile off his face if it wasn't how damn smooth he was being right now.

"That hardly took any effort on your part," you mutter as you ring him up.

"You didn't say I had to work hard for it," Jughead points out. "Just that I had to pick the right wine."

"You win, okay?" Locking eyes with Jughead, you ask, "Now what?"

"Now we go on a date," he responds. That smile you wanted to slap has turned into a shit-eating grin. What have you gotten yourself into?

Lacking any originality whatsoever, Jughead takes you to Sweetwater River. You know this is probably where he had taken his original date - the one that failed so miserably, according to him - but you hardly even care. You quite like the woods and the water. Just because Jughead a poor experience with one woman here didn't mean he had to have a poor experience with another. In fact, you're kind of looking forward to showing him the opposite. Not to get too far ahead of yourself or anything but you've been thinking about him a lot. You also think you're at least a little bit curious about what could happen between you two. Perhaps you were just a tad judgmental. First impressions aren't necessarily the true.

"I don't imagine you had any room for glasses in that little bag of yours," you say with a smile.

"What?" Jughead asks in response. "Got a problem with sharing saliva?"

You laugh and turn away, hoping that Jughead doesn't see the blush that's slowly creeping up your cheeks. You're worried about losing your calm and cool demeanor but this boy is breaking down your defenses and it's almost like he knows it.

After passing the bottle back and forth a few times, you wonder if he likes the taste. And he shrugs, saying that it's alright.

"Maybe if I hang out with you a little while longer, I'll develop a taste for this stuff." Jughead's gaze is piercing into your own and you feel your lips part, your response getting caught in the back of your throat.

"Do you...I mean, is that what you want? To hang out more?"

"Do you?"

"I do."

You don't even hesitate in your response. To cover the pressure of saying anything else or responding to whatever he might say next, you snatch the bottle and begin drinking deeply.

"Save some for me!" Jughead shouts, slapping at your hand and laughing.

The sudden influx of alcohol is something like a shock to your system. You rock back and forth a little bit, feeling quite woozy and dizzy in the head, before collapsing on Jughead. He catches you, though, and you don't notice at first but slowly you begin to realize that he's not pushing you upright. He's holding you in his arms - quite tightly, if you're not mistaken. So you let yourself slip lower so that you're laying in his laps with his arms still wrapped around your shoulders. He's leaning down to compensate for the length you slipped to. And as you gaze up at him, you can see the faint light of stars beginning to peek out of the purple-blue sky as night creeps across the landscape.

"You feeling okay?" Jughead asks. His voice is soft and you relish the deepness it has compared to the sound of when he speaks normally.

You reach up and run a hand across the skin of his cheek, soft as his voice, and whisper, "I feel great."

What you do next can't even be blamed on the alcohol because it's something you've been thinking about since you put Jughead up to the challenge of finding the right wine. Those lips - when he smiles, when he speaks - are just too tempting. So you close the distance between you and him. Reaching up with your other hand, you pull Jughead down and kiss him. Softly, slowly, tentatively at first. Exploring the possibility that he wants this like you do. And when he doesn't pull away, you know that he does. He kisses back harder than you do; gestures more aggressive. You don't mind it at all.

You're losing yourself in the moment of simply kissing and touching. It's been awhile since you've experienced anything remotely similar to this so this alone is enough. But Jughead breaks the moment when he pulls away, a soft pant brushing against the skin of your lips as he does so.

"Are you sure?" he asks. And you wonder what he means. "About this. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm not drunk," you tell him. And you're not. Truly. A little tipsy, sure. Fuzzy around the edges, still dizzy in the head. But, god, you're feeling good. And you feel so much better when his lips are pressing against yours while his fingertips brush against every little bit of skin he can find.

He pauses before he goes on with what he has to say.

"It's not that I don't believe you." He brushes a bit of hair behind your ear and smiles. "I trust you. But drunk or not. I don't want to take advantage of you even being tipsy."

How honorable. You want to roll your eyes but you don't want to be disrespectful to him, either. Not when he's trying to be respectful to you. Because how many other guys wouldn't have scooped you up back to their place by now? Or have just taken you as you are right then?

"Okay," you whisper - albeit reluctantly. "Do we have to stop kissing, though? I really like this."

"I like it, too," Jughead agrees, his smile growing. "And I suppose not." His fingers are trailing underneath your shirt, from your hips up to your ribs and then back down again. "But not much else, okay?"

"Okay," you say again.

Disappointed as you might be, there's a level of comfort you feel welling up from deep within you. It's the feeling of trust. Of certainty. That if this is how he's treating you now, whatever develops from tonight will be special. And if he ever hurts you, it won't be out of intention or selfishness. That's not something you've experienced in a long time - if ever, now that you think about it. And if that's what you're in for, you're okay with waiting it out by simply kissing and touching in the meantime. It'll be worth it.

Tagsies: @murderyoursoul @ secretlyablueunicorn @trumpettay @ raptornsain 

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, just message me! (And if you’ve already asked before, sorry! Message me again!)

[veedramon-beanie]

Ignore the empty shelf at the bottom left and the (long since disassembled and now partial) Digimon collection on the top right shelf, but here’s the result of my late night sorting yesterday!  It’s so cool to see all my Pokemon plush set up together like this, aaa....!  I’ll go through them shelf by shelf so you guys can get a better look at everything!  I’m not gonna bother naming everything, though, like I normally do with my Digimon - because that’s too much work!  I’ll mention notable things, though.  Also assume most of my non-jakks pacific plush are bootlegs lmao, I know some that probably aren’t (bought on ebay, purposefully avoided bootlegs bc the officials/a certain style of official looked nicer, or bought off of a probably reputable site) and some that 100% aren’t (bought from the store, ie english-released Tomys and Pokedolls I bought straight from a Pokemon Center in Washington)

First shelf!  Just a shelf for special plush, or more accurately, plush I didn’t have room for anywhere else by the time I remembered to put them in.  Mimikyu is probably real since I was avoiding the bootlegs (so many cheap bootlegs...!  They looked soft, but I just loved the accessories on the official one too much to go with a bootleg...because the bootleg’s look so poorly made in comparison) and the Substitute plushie is.  Well.  I honestly don’t know.  I’ll be putting all my future plush up here too even if they have a place to go because haha, whoops, those shelves are p a c k e d in case you can’t tell.

Second shelf!  Here I have my normal types and electric types.  Fun fact: that Jakks Pacific Pikachu is my first ever Pokemon plush ever!  Cliche, I know.  But I picked him out from the only other option (bonsly) and he was the only non-bonsly plush in the store.  Also I like Pikachu, he’s cute.

Water type and Ice type shelf!  Aka best starter type shelf, even if my preferences vary over the generations.  That Keldeo secret sword form (at least I think it’s that form?) was bought from an irl Pokemon Center!  I go there every time we go on vacation to Washington (my dad has work up there every so often and we used to have family up there, but we haven’t gone for a few years...)  I wish I got that Amaura, Greninja, and Popplio from the Pokemon Center, tho, haha.  Also fun fact - the glaceon behind the popplio is probably a bootleg (it came with the same kind of tag as the vaporeon) but I actually bought it from a real store.  I felt like it had to be real if a real store was selling it for $10 and it had an alarm on it and everything, right?  I feel jipped.  Give me back my money, Universal Studios, I bought it in that Hollywood walk or w/e the fuck near your park.  Nah I’m kidding; I like getting plushies as souvenirs from places when I go on trips, and it was cool to get a Pokemon one!

Fire, fighting, rock, and ground type shelf!  That Tyrunt was also bought from the same Pokemon center (at a later date, though).  Also, that Jakks Pacific monferno in the back is the second ever Pokemon plush I bought!

Sorry for the light change on the next two, but:

Grass types and (er, some) dragon and flying types~!  The black thing in the back is a mega shiny rayquaza, but he’s actually way more massive than he appears in the picture!  Also, the smaller snivy is something I got from the Pokemon Center as well!  I actually didn’t mean to buy it, but I got it for free with one (that’s in the next picture - meloetta) and hey, I can’t complain if the machine gives me a free Pokemon!  The bigger snivy I got wayyy back when Black and White hadn’t released over here in the US yet (ah, the dark days when you had to wait for english translations of Pokemon games...) and I actually recently found his long-since-detached tag that I for some reason kept...cool!  (God I want the shiny version of this plush soooo badly though, shiny snivy was the first legit/non-event/ect shiny I ever got in the games and not to mention I have an emotional attachment to that specific plush anyways...totally a holy grail of mine!  Maybe some day I can get it....[unlikely, lmao, especially since I have cheaper holy grails I want like the porygon2 pokedoll and any Digimon beanie ever- but I can still dream...])

And the last shelf - my dark, ghost, psychic, fairy, and dragon types that I accidentally forgot to account for when doing the other shelves and then was like “well, shit” so I had to stick them here!  Yes I know tyrunt is on another shelf and noibat and noivern are flying/dragon and 100% should be on other shelves but by the time I remembered to put them + the shiny tyrantrum anywhere, I didn’t have enough room...all three of the plush are pretty big (especially noivern and tyrantrum tho) and as you can see, the flying Pokemon (and dragon too, but it’s harder to tell) and Tyrunt are some of the closest to the front and thus some of the last ones to be put on the shelf - and given that the bigger ones need to go to the back, I didn’t have a lot of options here.  PS - there’s a shadow lugia (99% likely to be a bootleg) pokedoll between umbreon and togekiss/next to the bigger shadow lugia and the purloin/absol and a Jakks Pacific lugia (100% legit, bought it from target at the same time I bought pichu a few pictures back) behind the meloetta (also 100% legit, got from the Pokemon center with the snivy) and the shiny Tyrantrum (100% fake, but it’s fuckin fantastically well-made)

Tbh though, I’d really recommend those bigger bootlegs, esp for Pokemon that are near impossible if not 100% impossible (like shiny mons that dont have actual shiny plush, or legitimately un-plushified mons) to get your hands on.  They have Digimon ones too (one of which I own - a Dracomon!) that are equally as varied and that’s pretty fantastic considering how selective Digimon is with its merchandise compared to Pokemon.  I know bootlegs are bad but they’re soooo nice, plus you can’t claim they’re stealing nintendo’s profits when nintendo (or bandai) hasn’t even made plush of those characters yet and likely has no plans to...so especially if you’re buying second-hand I’d go for it!  But of course, that’s really a matter of personal preference; you do what you’re most comfortable with ^^ but if you feel lowkey bad but still wanna buy one, just buy ones that don’t have legit counterparts, or something like that.  Or buy legitimate ones alongside the fake ones; that way you have a giant cuddle buddy that isn’t worth much collecting-wise AND a rarer, legit plush that you can put on display!

Anyways feel free to let me know if you would like to see any plushies more closely!  Always happy to do that~

[trimaplenut]

Title: The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Naegiri

Words: 2222

Rating: T

Based on this prompt

i dont know shit about police stuff or law dont quote me on any of it

“How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”

Makoto’s mouth hangs open, unable to reply immediately. He’s had troublesome customers and some odd requests before, but he’s never had someone storm into his family’s flower shop, slam twenty bucks on the counter, and ask something with as much barely-contained frustration as this woman has.

He’s also never had someone come into his shop that immediately makes him think please go out with me.

The woman, who looks to be the same age as him—great!—lifts a hand to her head and threads her fingers through her locks. Her hair, long and straight and colored a soft, light lavender, slips through the gaps of her gloved hand, cascading down her shoulders and back. It mesmerizes him as she repeats the action over and over again, and his fingers twitch as he wonders what it would feel like. In contrast to the tinge of annoyance in her voice, her facial expression is a cold, hard wall that betrays none of her thoughts or feelings. But rather than pushing him away, it just makes Makoto more curious—what emotions are hiding behind that iron mask of hers, why keep them secret from the world?

And her eyes—dear lord, the things he could say about them. If her hair was soft and light then her eyes are harsh and bright, a vivid sea of amethysts shining and twinkling in the sunlight from the windows, staring straight at him as if they could see every inch of his soul, slowly filling with… confusion…?

Makoto blinks.

Right, he’s in the shop. She asked him a question. He’s supposed to be doing his job.

How long has he been staring? He’s pretty glad the place is empty right now.

“U-Um,” Makoto stammers as his brain is harshly pulled back to reality. What was the question again? Something about swearing with flowers. His eyes dart around the shop’s shelves and survey the different species of plants they have on display. “There’s not really any one flower that means… that, specifically…” He’s sure he can think of something for her, though. He skirts around the edge of the counter—

Ouch, his hip! Gah, that table edge is a lot sharper than he thought!

Suck it up, don’t embarrass yourself in front of her!

He bites the inside of his lip to keep the pain out of his expression and scampers about for the different flowers he needs.

After several minutes, he now has numerous pots spread out across the counter, each containing flowers of differing species and a slightly varying color from the others. “But if you had a bouquet of these flowers,” Makoto continues, “I think that would work.”

She doesn’t reply immediately. Instead she inspects each pot of flowers, one by one, before finally turning to the florist standing beside her. “In all honesty, I hadn’t expected you’d be able to fulfill such a request,” she finally admits.

Makoto scratches his cheek. “Aha… I’m a bit of a dork when it comes to flowers.”

He freezes the instant the words leave his mouth. Idiot, why would you admit that to a stranger? A really, really pretty stranger?

“O-Or, well, that’s what my sister says,” he adds on quickly. “Or said. When we were… When we were younger…” His face flushes a little in embarrassment. Great recovery. Absolutely flawless. From now on, his mouth requires permission from his brain before he speaks a single word.

Her lips curve upwards and Makoto’s heart nearly skips a beat. “I’m thankful for it, regardless,” she replies. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear and lets out a sigh. “The previous three flower shops I visited weren’t able to help me.”

The smile drops from her face and it fills Makoto with unexplainable dismay. “W-Well, I’m sure they did the best they could,” he stammers. “I only know a useless thing like flower language because I was bored one night.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say such a skill is useless,” the woman argues, folding her arms across her chest. “You never know when that knowledge could benefit you in life. For a florist like you, if you know the meaning behind flowers and can explain it to your customers, it can add more impact to a bouquet or arrangement.” The small smile returns to her face. “And it certainly isn’t useless to someone who desires a certain meaning over color or appearance, such as myself.”

Makoto stares for a moment and then laughs. “I guess you’re right! Honestly, yours is the first time I’ve taken a request where the meaning isn’t a generic one of love or friendship.” He looks down at the ground to try and hide his flushing face. “I’m pretty lucky to know what I do, otherwise I wouldn’t really know where to start.”

She reaches out with a gloved hand and gently strokes one of the flowers’ petals. “So what do each of these mean?”

“Those are geraniums,” he answers promptly, “which mean stupidity. Foxgloves mean insincerity, meadowsweet is uselessness, yellow carnations mean ‘you have disappointed me’, and orange lilies are for hatred.” Makoto shrugs self-consciously at his knowledge. “It’s a pretty striking bouquet—full of color and loathing.”

He doesn’t think his face has cooled down yet, but he can’t avoid looking at her forever. Not to mention it would be pretty rude of him. He raises his head to see the woman smile with satisfaction. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“Can I ask who’s it for?” Makoto says, a minute or so later, as he hands over her purchase in exchange for the money. “It’s… quite a strong message.”

For a few seconds, her expression remains blank and he thinks he isn’t going to get an answer. But then her lips curl into a smirk and she gazes down at the flowers as if picturing something amusing in her head. “Someone who deserves it.”

Makoto lets out a small chuckle. “I’ll remember not to get on your bad side.”

The woman eyes him for a brief second before letting out a noncommittal hum. “Mmm.”

Was that the wrong thing to say? She clammed up all of a sudden but her response doesn’t give him a good idea of where he went wrong. He averts his eyes for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “Have a nice day.” As she reaches the door, Makoto suddenly gains confidence and waves at her. “Please come again!”

She doesn’t reply as she walks out the door. Makoto watches her through the store’s windows until she disappears from sight. He relaxes his weight onto his elbows and lets out a happy sigh. A dorky smile stretches across his face.

He really hopes she comes again.

“I would think that a detective like you would exhibit more attentiveness, especially after I made the effort to come all this way to this peasant hole.”

Kyoko bites the inside of her cheek, takes a deep but quiet breath in through her nose, and then breathes out. “I would think it’d be clear to you that—”

I have better things to do than satisfy your infuriatingly massive, attention-demanding ego.

“—I currently have a lot of paperwork that needs to be completed, and I would like to get home sometime before next Sunday,” she instead finishes. She just needs to keep up an act of civility. It’ll be worth it in the end.

“Do you think that excuses the delay? You are wasting my time. Unless those papers are related to the retrieval of my property, your prioritizing leaves much to be desired.”

But boy, does he make it difficult.

He being Byakuya Togami, one of the witnesses in her recently closed murder case. Originally, he was only involved as the employer of one of their suspects. Then it turned out that their original crime scene was a setup and the true scene of the murder was in an office building owned by Byakuya, committed by said employee. She managed to speak with him a maximum of three times during the case, and each time wondered what she was doing back in the same room as the insufferable smug bastard.

If she had her way around here, somebody else would’ve already given him back access to the office and she’d never have to see him again, but since he’s the heir to the Togami Conglomerate, one of the biggest and most influential businesses in the area, her boss had made it clear to Kyoko and her coworkers that he would be treated with the utmost respect—lest the police department suddenly find themselves short several thousand dollars of funding.

And that means leaving him in the company of the most competent detective in the precinct. Who is still immensely busy and no longer has the patience to deal with him.

And despite it, she still turns to him with a calm expression. “I’ve already organized to have the appropriate documents processed. I’m afraid all there is to do now is wait.”

Byakuya’s demeanor hardly improves, but he does recognize that continuing to belittle her won’t speed anything up, so he clicks his tongue and glares at a spot on the wall. An unfortunate officer walks in his line of sight and receives the full force of his fury. The officer stumbles for a moment, looks around to try and determine why she’s getting glared at, and then nervously walks away in a hurry.

Kyoko glances up, catching sight of the interaction as she reaches for her mug of coffee, before turning her attention to her drink. She takes several gulps of the hot beverage before returning to the paperwork.

“What sort of punishment will that plebeian scum receive?”

Or trying to return to the paperwork. Kyoko doesn’t look up as she replies, “It’s out of my hands as to what sentence they’ll give him. But he’s been charged with second-degree murder—I imagine he’s getting life with no parole for at least ten years.”

Byakuya’s lips twist into a sneer. “Let it be a lesson to him, and to anyone else who dares think of sullying the Togami name in such a manner.”

She can tell that most of the detectives within earshot are irked by his comment, questioning how he can put his family’s reputation over the fact someone was murdered. Kyoko’s personal opinion is slightly different—that the fact the truth was reached was more important than some flimsy sense of justice or status—but that’s neither here nor there. Not when the conversation topic offers her an opening.

“But, speaking of the case…” Kyoko reaches under her desk and pulls out a bouquet of flowers she’d purchased earlier. “Here.”

Byakuya raises an eyebrow. “What are those?”

Oh, the urge to respond with the obvious smartass answer is strong, but she can restrain herself on this one occasion, all things considered. “They’re as thanks. Your assistance was quite helpful, perhaps even vital to solving the case.”

He was helpful in that it saved her waiting for a court order to investigate his office building, but she would’ve gotten her way regardless of his level of cooperation.

They’re both distracted momentarily when another detective approaches Kyoko’s desk—he’s somewhat new but she can’t say she remembers his name immediately. He angles the folder in his hands towards her and says, “I’ve got the papers for Mr Togami, Detective Kirigi—”

Before he can even finish, Byakuya stands up from his chair and snatches the folder out of his hands. And then, just when she thinks she spent twenty dollars on a failed opportunity, the bouquet disappears from her grasp.

Case officially closed.

Kyoko turns to the detective and inclines her head. “Thank you for the papers, Detective.” The man flushes a little from the praise and tilts his hat down to hide his face. She turns her head as he leaves and focuses on Byakuya as he heads for the elevator. Only when the elevator doors obscure him from view does Kyoko’s expression transform into something smugger.

One of her coworkers, Yui Samidare, levels her with a look of confusion. “Kyoko, did you just give the asshole flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asks incredulously.

Kyoko smirks. “To let him know exactly how I feel about his attitude.”

She returns to her work as Yui starts yammering and blurting out whatever comes to mind—first of which is an accusation of attraction towards Byakuya, which thankfully doesn’t take long at all for Yui to change her mind about. Then she just demands to know exactly what Kyoko was up to with the flower gift—because if anyone has an ulterior motive to everything they do, it’s Kyoko Kirigiri.

Said schemer completely ignores what her fellow detective is saying. Her pen flies across the paper in front of her, but in all honesty, she’s not focusing on that either. Kyoko’s thoughts are solely occupied by the florist she met.

She wouldn’t have been able to carry through with her plan of subtle revenge had it not been for him. She’ll have to thank him for his assistance. Kyoko’s eyes wander across her desk until they rest on her mug. Perhaps she could ask him out for coffee one day. He was pretty cute, too.