#if u look close enough i used different pens for each of their outlines

[lime1991]

what a wonderful collection of characters im sure nothing will go wrong during this fun company outing...

[kpoppwriter]

Soulmate!ATEEZ Headcanons - Meeting their Soulmate

 ❧ Anon asked: Heyy! I was wondering if you would like to write an Ateez soulmate!au headcanon? like what type of soulmate bond would they have (tatoos, colourblind untill they meet their soulmate, feeling pain when soulmate feels pain...) and how they will meet their soulmate very briefly. I hope is okay for you and i explained it well. Love the blog💞

❧ Anon asked: Hii can i request a fluff non idol soulmate au scenario of yunho? This is specific but can u include it where both of u are able to sense and feel each other's emotions and feelings? I love ur writing. Thank you 🥺🥺💕💕🥰🥰

❧ A/N: so I looked up a bunch of different soulmate aus so no one would have the same one and oml there are a lot of soulmate aus. Some of these are non idol!au as well this took me so fucking long to write omg each one is like the size of a drabble

~※ Main Masterlist ※~

Hongjoong - You can hear whatever song your soulmate is listening to

That familiar sound of singing echoed in your head. You were practically hypnotized by it. You were so entranced that you didn’t realize you had been zoning out while standing in front of the recording studio. You shook your head and headed into the studio. The group you were going to work with for the day stood up and greeted you. You noticed they were practicing for the recording. One of the boys got up and went into the booth to record. You put on your headphones, as did he. You started recording then started the track. Your mouth went slightly agape when you heard that familiar voice but this time in the headphones. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts when you heard the man asking for your opinion on how the recording sounded.

“I think...here, try it like this.”

You sang the last part, the part he had just recorded, changing a few of the notes to fit the track better. Now the man in the booth was the one with his mouth open. He blinked a couple times before looking back at the lyrics in front of him. He’d definitely have to say something when the two of you had a moment. 

Seonghwa -  The outline of your shadow is your soulmate

You stood with your back against the sun, your shadow hitting the pavement in front of you. You stared at the shadow trying to engrave the outline into your memory. You were so curious about the shadow that you saw whenever the sun was bright- What were they like? Did you know them already? What did they look like? Who were they? 

While you were lost in thought, your friend Seonghwa walked up beside you. He called out your name bringing you back to reality. You looked over at him, sending him a smile. You looked down at his shadow. The shape felt familiar to you. Too familiar... 

Yunho - Feel each other's emotions

You sighed as you leaned back in your desk chair. You were far too stressed out from your homework. You really just wanted to stop worrying about your homework but you had to get it done for class the next day. You ran a hand through your hair, deciding maybe you should take a bit of a break. You made your way to the kitchen to grab a snack and some water. When you returned to your desk, you heard your phone ringing. 

“Hey Yunho,” you said answering the phone

“Hey Y/N. You feeling okay?”

“I’m just a little stressed out right now. How’d you know?”

“I guess I just have a sixth sense,” he chuckled, “You wanna hear what Mingi did today?”

You let him tell you the funny story of his adventures with Mingi, making you feel a lot better. He was always right there the moment you started feeling bad, even if you didn’t tell him. Maybe he did have a sixth sense...

Yeosang - A red string tied around your pinky is connected to your soulmate’s pinky

You’ve never seen your red string. You knew it was there, everyone had one, but you were never close enough to your soulmate to actually see it. That is, you didn’t see it until you moved to Seoul. 

You were out at a local coffee shop just relaxing on your day off. You sipped on your drink, a book in your other hand. You looked up briefly when a small group of boys dressed in athletic wear wandered into the coffee shop. They were chatting among themselves as they got in line to order their drinks. You didn’t think much of them until you went to take another sip of your coffee. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a bright red string tied in a bow around your pinky. You followed the string with your eyes until you were met with one of the boys. He noticed you staring between him and your pinky, his eyes glancing down at his own pinky. He quickly muttered something to his friends before coming over to you.

“Hi, I’m Yeosang.” 

San - Timer for when they’ll first meet

“You have to stop obsessing over your timer,” Wooyoung peaked over at San’s wrist

“It’s almost hit 0 though! I’m going to meet them any minute!” 

San and Wooyoung continued to walk through the halls of the KQ building towards the practice rooms. They didn’t notice you also walking down the hall. You were looking down at your phone when you bumped into something- or rather, someone. You apologized profusely, a dark pink blush appearing on your cheeks. The blush was mostly from the embarrassment of running into someone but also because the person you ran into was rather attractive. You quickly scurried away down the hall. San and Wooyoung just looked at each other in confusion and surprise. Wooyoung’s eyes glanced down at San’s wrist. 

“Hey, look!” 

He pointed at the counter on San’s wrist. There was a large zero where the numbers counting down used to be. San looked up at Wooyoung then back down the hall where you went. 

“Wait, were they...?”

Mingi - Write something on your own skin, appears on the other’s skin as well

You were too young to know. The two of you just thought you both had magic powers or something. No one told you about how soulmates could draw and write on each other. You wish someone had. 

You rushed into your kindergarten class and sat down at your table. You pulled out a piece of paper and your crayons. You started drawing, your eyes constantly glancing up at the door to the classroom. 

“Y/N!” 

In came your best friend Mingi, a large smile on his face. He sat down beside you and looked over at your paper.

“That’s a pretty rainbow,” he smiled

“Thank you,” you giggled, “You wanna draw too?”

You dug around for another piece of paper but you didn’t notice Mingi had already pulled out a pen and began drawing on his arms. You giggled when you started seeing the flowers and stars appearing on your own arms. You took out your own pen and doodled on the free skin on your arms. The two of you happily laughed and doodled together completely oblivious that you were sitting beside your soulmate.  

Wooyoung - Get the same injuries as your soulmate does

“My soulmate needs to chill out. This is the third bruise this week,” you groaned while putting some ice on your leg

You left the nurse’s office and headed towards the entrance of your school. Just as you were about to leave, your friend sent you a text. You mentally slapped yourself. You had promised your friend that you’d come with them to the school’s dance club meeting. You really wanted to reschedule due to your bruised leg but knew they’d scold the hell out of you for rescheduling on them for the third time. You sent a text saying you’d be there in a second before limping down the hall towards the music room. 

You arrived at the music room a few minutes later, your friend standing outside the door looking impatient. 

“There you are!” they looked down at your leg, “Did you get hurt?”

“I didn’t,” you huffed, “My soulmate did.”

“Ah, well at least Wooyoung won’t be alone then.”

“What?”

“He hurt himself and can’t really participate today so the two of you can hang out.”

The two of you walked into the room, the other members of the club greeting you. Your friend introduced you to Wooyoung before going off with the other club members. You tried to strike up a conversation with him, asking him about his injury.

“I bruised my leg trying out a new dance move,” he said pulling up his pant leg to show you the purple bruise that looked similar to yours, “What about you?”

You said nothing, only showing him your own bruise. He looked between your leg and his, his eyes going wide in surprise. His eyes wordlessly said what you were both thinking.

Jongho - Each other’s initials on their wrist

“Just come with us, Y/N!” Wooyoung whined, “It’ll be a lot of fun!”

“Will you shut up if I say yes?” you looked over at the boy

You rolled your eyes playfully when Wooyoung promised to leave you alone if you came out with the members of Ateez to karaoke. You hadn’t met all the boys yet so you were a bit apprehensive at first but after Wooyoung’s relentless pestering, you finally broke down and agreed. 

You and Wooyoung walked into the karaoke room, the loud sounds of singing and yelling coming from the room. Everyone, well almost everyone, were on their feet singing along with the song being played through the speakers. Wooyoung quickly joined in on the fun but you decided to sit with one of the boys- one you didn’t know. You introduced yourself, leaning in close to hear him tell you his name- Jongho. You talked for a bit before the boys were pulling Jongho up and shoving a microphone in his hands.You peeked at the initials on Jongho’s wrist. Your eyes went wide when you saw your initials on his skin. Was it just a coincidence or...

[starlight-writes-stuff]

hi, do you think you could do another blurb for ethan? maybe something nsfw? like, a party hookup? im thinkin about fratboy!ethan 👁👄👁

(wc: 5.5k) pls im always thinking about fratboy ethan :,) but yes i can do this 100 % ! this ask prompted something deep in me and i ended up making a playlist to go with it as well 🤧here’s the link to that if ur interested https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4yXuVtAKBHexm5ifE9NQ2B ! A L S O i’m sorry this took forever to get to ,,,, life has been a lot recently lol . reblogs are always appreciated ! <3

AYO LOOK AT THESE ! : smut (obvious but still) , sex while under the influence (with explicit consent given) , softdom! ethan , marajuana use , alcohol use , unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it , plz) , swearing , college au , an unus annus reference if u look close enough , and i believe thats it . enjoy ! xoxoxoxo , starlight .

a little party never killed nobody

it was the exact same as every other college party you’d ever been to. shitty music, shittier alcohol, shittiest people- except for him. 

when ethan nestor had invited you to a frat party, you’d laughed in his face. you knew that he was a member of data data data, but he wasn’t the type that made it his whole personality. as far as you’d observed, he wasn’t the partying type, either, but there he was, texting you the house address.

“so you’ll come tonight? it’s going to be a pretty big thing- a lot of people coming. you should be able to walk right in, but if anyone gives you shit just tell them you’re with me,” he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips. you and ethan hadn’t been talking for long; technically, you hadn’t even known that he’d existed two weeks ago. 

when ethan had first sauntered up to you in physical sciences, that same smirk painting his face, you’d picked up on the underlying chemistry right away. he was a flirt by nature, but he seemed to play it up even more around you- the brunette boy had asked for your number the first day you met, and you’d been talking almost constantly since. he was funny and sweet and extremely charismatic, and he made your heart flip in your chest with the smallest glance. the two of you hadn’t hung out alone yet, so this party felt like a big deal.

or, at least, that's what you’d thought.

when you showed up at the front door of the frat house loud, bass-filled music was already shaking the window panes in their frames, and you could hear what sounded like a hundred different voices all talking over each other. ethan hadn’t been kidding when he said that it was a big party; at least half of your year was here, plus the older and younger students interspersed throughout the throngs of people as well. as you made your way to the kitchen, ethan was nowhere to be found. you felt as if all eyes were on you as you started to pour a drink, and dimly, you wondered if people could tell that you didn’t belong.

however, most of your anxious thoughts had been subdued after the first solo cup of vodka lemonade, and you were now well through your second. the music pounding throughout the house felt as if it had infiltrated your veins, filling them with a warm, buzzing sensation that loosened your limbs. at some point, a guy had come up to chat with you. then another. you weren't sure how many times you’d given out your snapchat tonight, but it had been a lot, and you were about to do it again. 

the guy you were currently talking to introduced himself as danny. he was some sort of business major, much like every other guy that you’d spoken with tonight, and was very clearly trying to hit on you. even through the alcohol-induced haze, you remembered who you came here for and you weren't leaving without him. you put a hand on danny’s shoulder, effectively cutting him off in the middle of his sentence.

“hey, do you know where ethan is? ethan nestor, i mean? he’s the one who invited me here.”

danny looked disappointed, but seemed to shift and slot puzzle pieces together in his head, snapping his fingers. “you're the girl he invited? that makes so much sense, actually. yeah, he’s out back- toking up, probably,” he explained, gesturing towards a door you would’ve never noticed. “out there and down the stairs. need an escort?”

you almost denied his advances but spotted an old fling loitering by the hidden door. giving danny a tight smile, you drained the rest of your drink and held up a finger. “one sec! stay here.”

butterflies flooded every inch of your being as you stumbled over to the makeshift bar, pouting a variety of liquors into your cup. you were going to see ethan outside of class. on his turf. something about it shook you to your core, but you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

sure, ethan was hot- that was obvious. but he’d been flirty, too. were the two of you a thing? if you weren’t, why had he been talking to danny about 'the girl he was inviting’? clearly, ethan had been talking about you, you just weren't sure of the context. you tried to swallow all these fears as you topped off your cup with lemonade, taking a small sip. trying not to spit it out, you added more juice; you’d made the strongest mixture you could think of, and it tasted like some sort of poison. that didn’t stop you from taking another small sip, then a bigger one. you needed the buzz.

“okay! let's go.”

danny led you out the door and down the stairs with no issue, and you quickly realized how tipsy you were - the stairs seemed to bob and warp under your feet, and you grabbed onto the handrail with a death grip. he noticed this easily, laughing a bit. “are you good?”

“great. it's the heels and alcohol- they don't mix well.” you laughed at yourself, regretting the chunky, heeled boots you’d thrown on.

“you can ditch them, if you want. we’re going out onto a deck, so you won't be in grass or anything,” danny explained, pointing to a pile of shoes by the door you were about to exit. you weren't going to argue with that, thankful that you’d chosen cute socks as you wrestled the footwear off and tossed it onto the pile. your stomach flipped as danny opened the door, cool night air biting into your warm skin, waking you up a bit. the sourish-sweet scent of marijuana flooded the small stairwell, and danny chuckled. “told you he was smoking.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way you felt watching ethan take a long drag off of some sort of pen, letting the vapor pour from his lips in pale blue plumes. something about the easy way the smoke seemed to float from his mouth went straight to your center, and you dug your nails into your palms, trying to get yourself under control. ethan finally realized that more people had joined the small crowd on the bench, and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to light up as they roamed all over you lazily. this only furthered the sensation between your legs, the coils starting to tighten in your lower stomach. 

what the hell?

“y/n, you made it,” ethan said, a smile taking over his face. he quickly hopped down from where he’d been sitting on the guardrail and made his way over, wrapping an arm dangerously low around your waist. he hugged you tightly, making your heartbeat stutter as you squeezed him back.

you mumbled a ‘hello’ into his neck as ethan let his touch linger, your body held tightly to his. someone cleared their throat, conversation starting back up, and ethan reluctantly pulled away, dropping his eyes to yours. he kept a hand on the small of your back, sending electricity running up and down your spine. “having fun?”

you could barely talk as you forced yourself to respond. “yeah, lots. you’re a hard person to find.”

ethan grinned again, letting his head fall back as he laughed. “my bad. i thought you would text me when you got here. found someone to take care of you , though?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. the facial expression did absolutely nothing for the situation building up under your skirt- only worsening your want for the tall boy in front of you. 

“who?”

ethan smirked, dropping his lips to your ear. “that's what i like to hear. you look pretty, y/n.”

the way he said your name practically undid you, ripping your self-control apart at the already weakened seams. you let a hand wander up and down one of ethan’s sculpted arms, outlining the planes of muscle through his hoodie as you crossed your legs; sure, it was the ladylike thing to do, but you were desperately looking for some sort of friction, anything to lessen the need for him.

“thank you.”

ethan nodded, the hand that had been perched on your back sliding over your hip before finding your hand. he laced his fingers into yours, and you were shocked at how forward he was being. the two of you had flirted heavily- and okay, maybe you’d sent some suggestive pictures back and forth- but ethan seemed to be claiming you as he led you over to the round table where all his friends were sat. again, you carved half-moons into your palms with your nails as you added up all the chairs- there wasn’t enough. you began to let go of ethan’s hand, ready to boost yourself onto the railing, but he gave your fingers a gentle squeeze. you watched as ethan settled into the overstuffed outdoor chair, gesturing at his lap.

fuck.

you took a brief moment to admire the mess you’d gotten yourself into before you gingerly sat on ethan’s lap, trying to make yourself as small and weightless as humanly possible. that didn’t last long, though. ethan circled an arm over your hips, pulling you onto his lap firmly. you couldn’t breathe as you settled into him, crossing your legs tightly. your lower body was tucked away, hidden under the table, but still. you tucked a small portion of fabric between your thighs, ensuring nothing would slip. 

you didn’t say much as ethan continued to conversate with his friends, passing the silvery, skinny device around the table. 

soon, the talk turned from school and classes to typical, stuttering stoner laughing; everyone besides ethan and danny seemed to be a complete lightweight, gone after one hit of the cartridge. however, both the boys were on at least their fourth hit and still seemed relatively composed. they’d started to talk about some sort of economic study, and you’d quickly grown bored and confused. after sitting through 10 more minutes of the terminology you didn't understand, you began to wiggle around on ethan’s lap, loosening his grip on you. 

at the same moment, you and ethan both shifted in just the right way, causing one of his legs to end up between both of yours just as your hips rolled forward. delicious friction flooded your system, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, trying to stifle a moan. you fought with everything in you not to rock your body again, sensation overwhelming your impulse control. before you could do anything, one of ethan’s large hands found your hips, squeezing just enough to leave fingerprint-shaped marks on your skin. ethan knew what he’d done- you could hear the satisfaction threaded through his voice.

“you okay? what d’you need?”

you tried to steady your voice, painfully conscious of the people around you. while most of ethan’s friends were high enough that they wouldn’t notice, you knew that danny would pick up on any changes in your demeanor. you swallowed hard before answering him.

“i'm gonna go get another drink.” another gentle squeeze practically lit your skin on fire, and ethan held the pen up to you. 

“wanna try this instead?”

you weren’t going to lie- you’d been a bit jealous of the boys, not even thinking of passing the device to you. with shaky hands, you reached to accept the cartridge, but ethan had different plans. a sinful look found its way into his slitted eyes as ethan held the pen up to your lips. “go ahead.”

you could’ve passed out from the command, the look, the way that he’d started to bounce his leg. it was as if he was trying to break you- like he wanted you to give him some sort of sign that you wanted him. you did, more than anything. desire seemed to curl its way into every inch, every cell of your body, its spurs digging into your skin. 

you met ethan’s eyes deliberately as you accepted the cold metal into your mouth, inhaling deeply. you took immense pleasure in the look that crossed ethans face as you pulled away with lungs full of the hazy drug. you held your breath for as long as possible before letting the vapor drift from your lips, just as ethan and done earlier. you watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, his eyes snapping off of yours and over to danny.

“i’m gonna take y/n to get a drink. watch them, will you?” he asked, gesturing to the rest of his friends. danny just nodded, mumbling a low ‘have fun’ as ethan practically lifted you off of his lap. adrenaline coursed through each and every one of your veins and ethan laced his fingers through yours, leading you inside. 

ethan barely let the door shut before his hands were on your hips, pinning you to the wall of the small stairwell. his lips met yours roughly, and you couldn’t hold back the whimper that had been building in your throat for the past hour. you felt ethan smirk at the soft noise before he bit at your lower lip, dragging the soft flesh between his teeth. again, you let out a whine full of pleasure- he just felt so good. you let your arms circle ethans neck, one of your hands knotting in his dark hair. you pulled at the roots gently as ethan’s tongue rolled against yours, your body entirely succumbing to him.

he forced himself to pull off of your body, and you let out a small whine; you’d been waiting on this. ethan smirked, his laugh coming out dark and much raspier than usual. “don’t worry doll, i'm not done with you yet. just can't have you here.”

the words went right through you, only adding to the ache between your thighs. ethan took your hand with a profound gentleness, and dropped a soft kiss on your forehead. “before this even starts, are you sure?” 

you nodded eagerly, getting up on your tiptoes to recapture his lips, but ethan pulled back. you furrowed your eyebrows at the tall boy, confused- until he brought a hand up to your face, holding your jaw. ethan tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “i need words, baby. are you positive? i can-”

“so sure. i promise.” you nodded at him, your eyes never leaving his. “i want you.”

ethan swore under his breath and kissed you hard before leading you up the stairs. you started to feel the effects of the drug as ethan took you from kitchen to living room, up some stairs… you lost track of all the places you’d been, allowing the weed to cloud everything in a gauzy veil. you felt good; light and somehow heavy at the same time, and you enjoyed the way that everything seemed to slow down. finally, ethan opened a door and pulled you in behind him. you realised where you were- his room. it smelled like ethan, like citrus and musk and something you could only describe as boy. 

you let out a small giggle as ethan reached for a remote, colored lights dousing the room in a sultry red glow. “setting the mood?”

quickly, you were shut up in the best possible way. ethan kissed your roughly, all teeth and tongue and hands everywhere as he backed you against one of his walls. you let yourself get lost in him, basking in the warmth of your hunger for him. one of ethan’s cold hands made its way under your shirt, the other holding your jaw in place as he bit into your bottom lip once again, making you whine. 

“feel good?” ethan asked, breathlessly. you could hear the smirk in his voice, but you couldn’t help the way your back arched at the simple question. your nails dug into his shoulder as ethan slid his thumb under the band of your bra, and he let out a rough moan, managing to undo the clasp with one hand. ethan pulled away from you long enough to rid you of your shirt, discarding your bra on the floor as well while you practically ripped his hoodie off, desperate to feel his skin against your own. he clearly wanted the same, judging by the way he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you flesh against his chest. 

ethan managed to capture both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them above your head. you were unfamiliar with the feeling of being restrained, but the sensation seemed to send your heart thrumming even faster. he kissed you until your lips were sore and your knees were weak before finally dropping his forehead to yours. ethan took his chance, letting his eyes roam all over you and you watched his pupils grow larger until his eyes were practically black. “jesus fuck, y/n. you’re beautiful.”

your voice came out high and breathy as you responded. “ ‘could say the same about you.” you were practically panting, your body no longer responding to your mind as your back arched. ethan let out a hard breath. 

“do you know what you do to me?”

your eyes fluttered shut as ethan’s lips met the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue exploring the delicate flesh. he quickly found your weak spot and focused his attention there; he let his teeth gently sink into your skin, making you gasp before using his soft tongue to soothe the spot. he repeated this process all over your neck, sucking on your flesh when he found a sweet spot. you knew that you’d be covered in purple-blue bruises, but you’d wear them proudly- that was ethan’s motivation for marking you up.

ethan trailed soft, wet kisses all the way down your neck to your collarbones, groaning at the way you pushed your chest toward him. he hesitated, but started kissing back up your neck, your jaw, back up to your lips. he released his grip on your wrist and you quickly cupped his face in your hands, kissing him with everything in you. you wanted the boy to feel the way you wanted him, and you knew he could as his lips seemed to slow, the kisses getting deeper and deeper. you lost yourself completely in ethan, unsure of where he started and you ended. you could feel his heartbeat against your own, the two thumping rapidly, almost erratic.

the two of you stayed pressed up against each other, your back firmly against the wall for a while, until ethan finally pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “bed?”

you nodded eagerly, wanting the boy all over you. the two of you stumbled, half kissing over to the mattress, falling together. ethan quickly situated himself on top of your body, caging you in between his arms. he began kissing down your body at a torturously slow pace, tracing the dark marks he’d already left with his soft tongue, driving you insane. ethan took his time working down to your breasts, finally taking one of your sensitive nubs into his mouth. you let out an almost guttural moan at the sensation, pleasure overwhelming your senses. ethan hummed at your reaction, only intensifying the feeling. you tangled a hand in his hair, the other digging into his back, leaving long, red scratches on his pale skin. 

ethan swirled his tongue around your bud, taking extreme pride in the way you let your head fall back against the mattress, moans of his name spilling from your lips. he tucked an arm under the arch of your back, pulling your body even closer to him- he didn’t want any space dividing the two of you. ethan pulled off of your puffy nipple with a soft moan, wasting no time in kissing over your chest, pulling the other into his mouth. he covered your chest in dark, deep bruises, admiring his work under the sensual glow of the red lights. “so pretty..”

you couldn’t form full sentences to respond with, just broken moans and pleads and tugs on his hair. ethan found it endearing, the way you wanted him so badly. he couldn’t help but give you what you needed.

he kisses hastily down your body leaving small lovebites here and there on your ribs, your stomach. ethan hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your skirt and pressed a kiss to the exposed skin right above the fabric. “this okay?”

“yes, i- please,” you pleaded, lifting your hips to make it easier. ethan got rid of the piece of clothing, discarding it on his bedroom floor, quickly followed by your panties. he let out a throaty moan, his eyes working over you lazily, like he had all the time in the world. he admired your body until you wriggled underneath him, needing some sort of stimulation. 

“what do you want, baby?”

“you,” you whined, desperation weaving through your voice. ethan pressed gentle, warm kisses on your hip bones, fighting a laugh. 

“i know that. what specifically?”

“fuck, ethan. anything, just touch me. please.”

“okay, okay. and you're positive this is alright?”

“yes. i’m so sure. i swe-” your words died in the back of your throat as ethan pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing small, soft circles. “holy fuck.”

“already so worked up,” ethan mumbled, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. “this because of me?”

you were taken aback by the way your high seemed to multiply the pleasure by tens of thousands- ethan was barely touching you and you could feel your high approaching quickly. you couldn’t find the words to answer him as ethan shifted between your legs, giving himself a better view of your sex. “does that feel okay?”

a stream of swears left your lips as ethan quickened his pace, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. “so fucking good, just like that.” the knots in your stomach continued to tighten as you balled the sheets in your fist, tugging at his hair with the other hand.

ethan pressed a kiss dangerously low on your hip, looking up at you. “can i?”

your hips bucked at the tone of his voice, and you nodded vigorously. ethan kept his eyes on yours as he ran his tongue through your folds, lapping your arousal up. he couldn’t help but groan at the taste of you, the way you pulled at his hair, putting his mouth where you wanted it before letting your head fall back onto his bed. ethan started to suck at your sensitive bud, rolling his tongue over the bundle of nerves and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“i- fuck- i’m close.”

he hummed, the vibrations sending you over the edge. your eyes rolled back into your head while you tugged at his hair, your orgasm completely undoing you- the high only added to the sensation, making it that much better. your hips bucked under the skillful work of his soft tongue as ethan let you ride out your high on his face. 

ethan dropped a gentle kiss on your clit before peppering your entire body with them, giggling at the way you squealed. he finally attached his lips to your neck, your jaw, back to your lips. you kissed him hard, tasting yourself off of him. finally, when your exhaustion won out you pulled away, running your hands through ethan’s fluffy hair. 

“how was that?”

you propped yourself up on your elbows, pecking ethan’s lips. “so, so good,” you mewled between heavy breaths. ethan bit down on his lower lip and smiled, pride filling his system. 

“god, you look good moaning my name. you're beautiful, you know,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. ethan looked at you with a tenderness in his eyes, placing another kiss on your lips. “think you can go again?”

ethan started trailing down your body again, not waiting for an answer. he was laser focused on pleasuring you, making you whine and whimper for him- only for him. before he could get far, though, you were grabbing at his arm and shaking your head. he flushed, peeling away from you while starting to profusely apologize, but you pressed a finger to his lips. 

“want you. inside of me,” you explained between pants, still exhausted from the first round of stimulation. ethan threw his head back, swearing. 

“jesus christ, y/n. need me that bad, baby?”

his choice of words drowned you in desire, and you were all his. “yes. please, ethan?”

he wanted to fuck you until all you could do was moan his name just like that, over and over again. before you could process what was happening ethan had his hands all over you, roaming your body as he practically drooled at the sight before him: your already fucked out body, the sweet look painting your face, begging for him. ethan could barely control himself, his words coming out as rough murmurs.

“protection? i mean, i have it.”

you bit at your lip, hard. you were on birth control, and you wanted him- all of him.

shaking your head, you explained. “birth control. we’ll be fine, if you’re comfortable.”

you jumped as ethan moved a finger to your entrance, dipping into your sex. he groaned at the way you clenched around the appendage, his cock jumping in his boxers. “want my cum inside you?”

“yes- fuck, ethan, please,” you begged, reduced to nothing. all you wanted; all you needed was him inside you, ruining your body until you couldn’t take anymore pleasure. 

“so tight,” he mumbled, lining another finger up. you bucked your hips, the sensitivity almost too much as he stretched you out, watching the way your face contorted under his influence. ethan placed a large hand low on your abdomen, applying light pressure. “if you can’t take this, you won’t be able to take me.”

you nodded, pace almost desperate for him to continue. “feels good baby. so good.”

you took note of the pleased expression that stretched over ethan’s face as you praised the boy- you were just telling the truth, but clearly he liked to hear what a good job he was doing. ethan brought his thumb up to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves and you grabbed at his wrist, nails digging into skin. 

“gonna make me cum again,” you warned, but ethan only smiled at you, nodding almost condescendingly.

“wanna finish on my fingers, pretty girl?”

you wanted to say no, wait to come undone around him, but his movements felt too good. you dug your nails into his arm even harder, your other hand clawing into ethan’s soft sheets as the knots in your stomach came undone, your walls contracting around his fingers tight enough to make him moan. 

ethan let his pace slow, extending your orgasm as you practically rode his hand, crying out in absolute euphoria as he increased pressure on your clit.  unable to form words, you released your grasp on the boy’s arm, bringing your hand up to his face instead. you pulled ethan’s lips down to meet yours, whining at the feeling of his clothed cock grinding against your center.

ethan couldn’t take it anymore, quickly ridding himself of the soft sweatpants. you watched as his manhood sprung up, hitting his abdomen; the sight in and of itself enough to make you let out another bliss-filled noise. ethan let his eyes fall to yours as he stroked himself, shuddering at the heavenly friction. again, his voice came out low as he lined himself up with you.

“sure?”

far beyond words, you nodded and laced your fingers through his. 

ethan returned your grasp with a sweet squeeze, gliding the tip of his cock through your folds- coating himself in your arousal. the two of you moaned in sync; a sweet, satisfied sort of harmony. finally, ethan pushed into you slowly, gasping at the feeling. you couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled back into your head, the feeling of him inside you almost too much. 

“you okay?”

“so good,” you breathed, trying not to yelp at the feeling spreading through your lower body. ethan was well endowed- the biggest you’d ever taken- and it was an addictive sort of pain. he moved slowly, stopping a few times; allowing you to adjust around his length. when he’d bottomed out, ethan let his head fall back, groans escaping his throat.

“so fucking tiny,” he gasped, a groan cutting his statement off. “feel so good around me, gorgeous.”

you nodded at him, trying your best to meet ethan’s eyes as you praised the boy. “so fucking big- you feel so good,” you whined, your hips bucking. “want you so bad.”

a breathless laugh escaped ethan’s lungs as he maneuvered a hand behind one of your thighs, lifting your leg to hook over his shoulder. he pushed even deeper into you and black spots began to crowd the sides of your vision, the pleasure overwhelming. slowly, ethan started to pull out of you, eliciting filthy words and moans from you before he slid his length back in. 

“fucking hell, y/n. so tight,” he said, voice tipping up into a whimper at the end. he quickened his pace, the noise of sleeping skin filling the room. you could barely contain yourself, no longer fighting the stream of murmurs and swears leaving your lips as ethan continued to pump in and out of you. your next orgasm was already building, the coils tightening rapidly in your lower belly.

ethan let his hand wander down to your sensitive bud, almost coming undone at the sight of your eyes fluttering shut. you traced up his forearm, scraping at his sweet skin before knotting your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots. 

“eyes open, baby. look at me.”

you could’ve cum then and there, the instructions only turning you on further. you forced your eyes open, meeting his as ethan sped up again. an almost animalistic noise left your throat as ethan thrusted into you roughly- you weren’t going to be able to hang on much longer. ethan felt the way your walls were clenching around him, fluttering and tightening as he increased his speed on your clit.

“close?” he asked, unable to say much more than that. your grip around him was euphoric- he was closer than he’d like to be. it hadn’t been more than 20 minutes, but with the way you were pulling at his head, almost crying in completely bliss, ethan wanted to fill you to the brim with his cum then fuck it into your sensitive pussy, overstimulating the sweet flesh.

you nodded, humming a small “mhm,” as you looked at him with wide eyes. ethan paused for a moment, shifting your leg up even higher onto his shoulder before plunging back into you. you felt the head of his cock hit a new, even more delicious spot and you became almost delirious. looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, you felt a tear crawl down your cheek.

“gonna cum, ethan-”

“fuck- me too. let go, baby.”

your entire body seemed to shake and shudder under the force of your orgasm- it hit you like a fucking train. you felt ethan’s thrusts get sloppier as he buried himself inside you, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. he whimpered as he shot his cum deep into your pussy, the sensation all consuming. the two of you stayed like that for a while- riding out your highs with each other, rough moans turned to honey-sweet mewls. 

as your heart rate started to come down, you peppered the boy's face with soft, careless kisses: ones that he gladly returned. ethan finally found your lips, pressing tender, long kisses to the swollen skin. 

“you’re a fucking god,” you murmured, stressing the word as ethan’s face flushed even hotter than it already had been.

“that,” he huffed, breathing still hard and uneven, “would be you.”

you giggled at the statement, your voice hitching as ethan slowly pulled out of you. you could feel a mixture of him and you spill out, the substance flowing over your things as ethan kissed down your body, taking in the sight between your legs. 

“so pretty, baby,” he whispered, sinking a long finger into your pussy. your whole body spasmed at the feeling, completely overstimulated. ethan pulled out of you softly, watching the way his cum seemed to spill out of you endlessly. he placed small, delicate kisses to the marks he’d left covering your thighs, admiring his work. “can i keep you here for the night?” he asked, eyes turning affectionate.

you nodded at the boy as he came back up to meet your lips, then your forehead. as you settled onto his chest, drawing lazy patterns on his skin, ethan's voice seemed to return to normal.

“such a good girl.”

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

~

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

~

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

[sargeantwoof]

Lean Back And Breathe

In a school full of geniuses Peter expected to keep his secret?

Yeah, right.

Luckily for him, those who know aren't that interested in exposing that tidbit of information.

*************************

Peter shuffled to the side, dragging his face buried in his arms across his desk, missing the looks the team shot him. MJ cleared her throat, her face impassive aside from the minor tightening of her eyes.

"Well," she said, "The Yalta Conference was held when? And it was about what?"

Peter slid to the side again, his head getting dangerously close to the edge, knocking pens and papers from the desk. The muted thuds startled him, his head shooting up as he looked around panicked. His eyes caught on Ned first and then MJ, his body softening as he realized where he was.

"Peter?" Betty said quietly, causing Peter's face to swing to hers, his eyes blinking owlishly. When he realized where he was, in the middle of Decathlon practice, his face turned bright red and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Peter," Betty continued. "Are you okay?"

He waved his hands at her, not bothering to lift his head. Above him, Ned and MJ exchanged a look, the glance not missed by anyone else in the practice. The silence lasted another beat before Ned cleared his throat, blushing lightly as the rest of the team swung to look at him.

"Peter- he's, he's fine," Ned said, his voice growing stronger with each word. "He- uhh, he had to get- help his aunt late last night."

"Right," Cindy said, her brow arched. "That's why he's always tired." 

Peter groaned again, lifting his head up, tired annoyance etched across his face. "Why do you guys care so much?" He rubbed his eyes, unaware of the sweet picture he was portraying. In the back of the room, Flash snorted, covering his mouth at the glare MJ shot him. Peter yawned, dropping his hand. "I just- I had a lot of stuff to do for Mr. Stark and Aunt May."

"Oh, I'm sure you did," Flash muttered, keeping his gaze focused above Peter's head to avoided MJ's worsening glare.

Peter scrunched up his nose, blinking at them again, as if he had just realized where he was. "What time is it?" He asked, frowning. He glanced down at his watch, freezing for a moment before swearing and scrambling for his stuff. "Shit!" He cried. "I gotta go, Mr. Stark-" he shoved a pencil in his mouth, shoving his chair back, the two muffling the rest of the sentence. "Gottagobye!" He ran for the door, never looking back.

MJ sighed, dropping her head into her hands. "Well," Abe said brightly. "It really is never dull in practice is it."

"Are we continuing?" Charles asked, glancing around. "Even though Flash is his alternate he really doesn't offer much."

"Hey!"

"No," MJ said, sliding her notebooks in bag. She stood, Ned rising across from her. "We will reconvene tomorrow. 3 pm sharp." She offered the group a blank stare and a nod before she turned to go. "Later losers."

"Yeah, bye!" Ned called cheerfully as they left the room.  

There was a moment of silence after they left. One beat, two beat, before the rest of the team drew closer together.

"So," Betty said, raising her eyebrows at them. "They really think they're fooling us all don't they?"

Abe snorted, Charles rolling his eyes. "Uh huh," Cindy answered, her tone vaguely fond. "Parker thinks he's slick."

"I still think you guys are wrong," Flash said, scooching closer to them. He ignored Sally's scoff and lowered his voice, leaning in even closer. "There's no way that it's true."

Abe rolled his eyes, irritation flashing across his face. "Peter has to be."

"No-"

"DC?" Sally said, interrupting. "C'mon Flash he has to be."

"No," Flash repeated, the word sour in his mouth. "Because if he is, why hasn't he decked me yet?"

Betty huffed, . "It's Peter, Flash. It's like you've forgotten that you, and most of us," she gestured around the group. "Grew up with him." She shook her head, eyeing him with disbelief. "He cried when one of us stepped on a beetle in 2nd grade, obviously he's not going to punch you."

"But-"

"He's protecting people," Charles cut in. "You were gonna say, 'but now he's out there punching people' - and yeah," Charles admitted. "He is." He looked over at Flash, taking in the tense lines of his body. "But the difference is that those people deserve it."

"I called him Penis."

"You still call him Penis," Sally said, a wry twist to her mouth. "I think at this point we all assume it's more of a weird fond nickname than an actual issue."

"But-"

"But nothing," Cindy said, slapping a hand down on the table. "We all know Peter is Spiderman."

A clap echoed from the doorway, the six of them tensing and spinning to look. MJ stood there, backlight by the harsh hallway lights of Midtown. "God," she said, raising an eyebrow. "It took you idiots long enough."

***

Tony Stark: I may have bugged your classroom.         4:23 PM

Peter Parker: mr stark???       4:25 PM

Tony Stark: c'mon Pete, like you didn't have my number before.       4:25 PM

Peter Parker: i didn't realize u'd know mine??        4:26 PM

Tony Stark: You thought that I'd not know your number - that I'd know you were the spiderling but not know your        4:27 PM  number?

Peter Parker: … in hindsight that feels dumb        4:28 PM   wait, y'd u bug my class? Tony Stark: why wouldn't I?        4:29 PM

Peter Parker: basic privacy laws???        4:29 PM

Tony Stark: those don't apply to me. I'm Tony Stark.        4:30 PM

Peter Parker: I think they still do        4:30 PM

Tony Stark: whatever, not the point        4:30 PM The point is that I bugged your classroom and your fellow nerds know Peter Parker: know what?        4:31 PM     wait, mr stark??   they know what??        4:34 PM    mr. stark?? ***

Peter scrambled from the car, his face flushing when Happy sighed behind him. He had told Mr. Stark that he was more than capable of swinging to him after school but the idea had been vetoed every time. He shut the door behind him, mindful of slamming it. The last time he had forgotten about his strength he had crumpled the car door. Mr. Stark had thought it was hilarious but Happy had been more than a little upset.

"Bye Happy!" He called over his shoulder, slinging his bag over his arm and scurrying in through the doors Friday was holding open for him.

"Good afternoon Peter," Friday said, her voice a familiar tone in his ears. "Boss is waiting for you in the lab - would you like me to take you there?"

"Yes, please!" Peter said, glancing down at his phone. Around him the elevator hummed, the doors clicking shut behind him as it began to rise. He frowned at the sight of Mr. Starks texts, still open on his screen. He sighed, shoving his phone back in his pocket, resigned to having to ask Mr. Stark what he meant in person.

The doors opened, a tiny woosh of sound, the hallway empty in front of him. Peter glanced through the windows as he walked towards Mr. Starks labs door, taking in the scattered tools and bits of machinery strewn across the tables inside. He pushed through, the sudden noise almost overwhelming him.

"-And you need to stop!" Tony said, staring at Dum-E, a fond look on his face. He shook the wrench in his hand at the bot, ignoring the way the he drooped in response. "If you go towards the fire extinguisher one more time-" Friday cut the music, startling him into turning around. "Fri- Kid!" He said, grinning at him. "Just in time!"

"Just in time for what Mr. Stark?" Peter asked warily, sliding his bag off his shoulder and setting it on the table closest to the door.

Tony blinked at him, the gleeful expression dipping for a moment. "Are we not re-calibrating the webs today?" He rubbed his forehead, smearing oil over his eyebrow. "I thought we were?"

"We are," Peter said, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "I was just - nevermind." He cut himself off, instead wandering closer to Tony. "Friday can you bring up the schematics from the last time I was here?"

"Of course Peter," Friday answered, the outlines unfolding in front of him in a haze of blue.

"Thanks Fri," Peter said, his eyes catching on a mistake he hadn't noticed before. He fiddled with it for a moment before glancing up and catching Mr. Stark smiling at him. He flushed, yanking his hand back from the schematics. "What?" He said, self-consciously.

"Nothing, Pete," Tony said, his face fond and open. "Just proud of you."

Peter blinked at him, blushing an even deeper red, his mouth dropping open. "Me- me?"

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes. "Who else would I be talking to here?"

"Friday?" Peter squeaked.

"Incorrect," Friday said, her voice as fond as she could get. "Boss is proud of you Peter."

Peter looked down, the action doing nothing to hide the shy smile on his face. "Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Of course kid."

Peter fell silent, reaching back towards the schematics, his hands much slower than they had been. He worked for another moment before realizing that he had never asked Mr. Stark his question. "Mr. Stark?" Peter said, getting a nod in response, though he didn't look up from what he was working on. "What did you mean earlier?"

"Earlier?" Tony said, highlighting a section of code to be revisited, willfully ignoring the fact that the entire section was basically neon yellow. "Like when I said I was proud of you?"

"No-" Peter said, a tiny smile on his face. "Like with the texts?"

"Oh," Tony said, looking up. "Your nerd friends figured out your Spiderman."

Peter frowned. "MJ and Ned already knew that Mr. Stark."

"No," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "The other ones who are on your team." Peter's face drained of color. Tony stood, setting down the tablet and striding over to him. "Did you really not know kid?" Peter shook his head, completely mute. Tony sighed, slinging an arm around him. "If it helps, it sounds like they've known for a while."

"What?" Peter said, his face shocked and voice strangled. "Since when?"

Tony bit back a smile at the obliviousness of Peter. "Since DC?" He said, the smile coming out full force when Peter groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

"God," Peter said, his voice slightly muffled. "They must think I think they're idiots."

***

"MJ, heyyyyyy," Betty said, her face slightly panicked. "How long- how long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," MJ answered, her face impassive. Ned appeared over her shoulder, his expression equally unreadable. They slipped inside the room, MJ locking it behind her. The six in the center of the room swallowed hard, fear flickering through their eyes. Though they knew that Peter would've never laid a finger on them, MJ was a complete anomaly.

"We were just-," Flash began.

"Shut up Flash," MJ said, her voice betraying nothing. She slung herself over a chair, turning it so she was bracing her arms on the back of it. Beside her, Ned followed, snagging another chair and sitting in it, his face completely serious. "Here's how this is going to go," MJ said. "We're going to have ourselves a little discussion."

Ned leaned forward, staring each of them down. "No one is going to tell anyone about this discussion." They nodded, Ned leaning back once he was satisfied. He glanced at MJ, gesturing for her to go ahead.

"If Peter Parker was Spiderman," MJ began. "Then he would have quite a reason for being Mr. Starks intern." She glanced at Flash, taking in his rapidly paling face and didn't fight the coil of satisfaction that settled in her stomach. "And,  he would have a well-deserved reason for missing so much practice." She smiled at them with more teeth than needed. "Isn't that just so interesting?"

"He sure would always be tired," Ned said, his voice low. "Would be hurt far more than most." He glanced around the room again, taking in Betty's pained face, Abe's pressed lips, Charles' tightening grip on his water bottle. He blinked rapidly, his face suddenly pained. "Of course, this is all speculation."

"Of course," MJ echoed. "However," she leaned in close to the group, the others leaning in almost unconsciously as well. "If word were to get out that this rumor was spiraling, well," she exchanged a look with Ned. "Someone would have to go down for it, wouldn't they?"

For a moment no one moved, the room falling even quieter, as if the school itself had heard MJ's warning and was committing it to memory. In front of her, Sally shifted, everyone's gazes snapping to her. She blushed, almost lowering her gaze from MJ's but soldiered on.

"No one here would do that," she said, her voice quiet but firm, her conviction backed by the rapid nods of everyone around her. "And we're the only ones who ever even thought-" she cut herself off, her voice quieting. "You don't need to worry."

MJ sighed after beat. "I like you guys," she said, smirking a little bit at Flash's shocked face. "Yes, even you Eugene. But," she said, her face dropping back into impassivity. "This is Peter's life we're talking about." Beside her, Ned coughed suddenly, his eyes wide.

"Uh," Ned said, his eyes on a familiar figure on the window. "I think we're about to get some company."

***

"Activating," Friday said, in response to Peter's query about the listening devices. "Broadcast begins in 3, 2, -"

"Shut up, Flash," MJ's voice came through, Peter's brow furrowing. "Here's how this is going to go. We're going to have ourselves a little discussion."

"Is this old?" Peter asked Mr. Stark, frowning.

He shook his head, his face placid. "This is all live, kiddo."

Ned's voice began. "No one is going to tell anyone about this discussion." There was a beat and then MJ started speaking again.

"If Peter Parker was Spiderman - then he would have quite a reason for being Mr. Starks intern." Peter groaned suddenly, gesturing for Friday to stop the device.

"I have to go," Peter said, glancing at Mr. Stark who was smiling at him.

"Keep your stuff here," he said, reaching over and ruffling his hair. "You and your partners can come back after. I know Pep wants to meet them."

Peter flashed him a smile, pushing his chair back and heading to the bathroom off to the side to go change. "Can you ask if Aunt May can come?"

Tony spluttered. "Your hot aunt can always come," he said, ignoring Peter's familiar Mr. Stark!

He strode out of the bathroom, fixing a glare on Tony before it melted off his face. "Can- can you send Happy to pick us up?"

Tony held up his phone. "Already texted him kid." He raised an eyebrow at him. "Got a change of clothes?"

Peter nodded. "Ned made me stash one in my locker."

Tony stood up, tugging Peter into a hug. "See you in a few hours kiddo."

Peter pulled back, smiling up at him. "Thanks, Mr. Stark," he said, his smile shy. "Love you."

"Love you too, Petey," Tony said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "Friday can take you up to the top so you can swing from there."

Peter grinned, turning to go. "MJ's gonna wanna have words with you," he called cheerfully over his shoulder. "She doesn't like being bugged." The door shut behind him, Tony watching as he slid his mask on, bouncing up and down in place as the elevator doors opened. He turned, waving at Tony before Friday shut the elevator, bringing him up to the balcony.

Tony smiled, shaking his head. "Friday," he said, the AI already bringing the audio from the device back up. "Keep playing and continue to record. I want to hear these threats."

***

"What?" Sally said, before the window slid open and Spiderman tumbled through.

"Oh shit," Flash whispered, his face dropping. "We're about to die."

Spiderman stood in silence for a moment, the whites of his eyes narrowed at Ned and MJ. In front of them, the others were mostly frozen, their hands tangling together in their sudden nerves as if that would protect them from a pissed off superhero.

"Goddammit," Spiderman said, reaching up and yanking his mask off, the brown eyes of Peter meeting MJ's. "I told you not to threaten anyone."

"I knew it," Cindy muttered, her face splitting into a massive grin. She yanked her hands back, knocking her fist gently against Flash's shoulder. "Ha! You're the idiot now." Flash groaned, his eyes never leaving Peter who flashed Cindy a smile before going back to stare at MJ.

Surprising everyone but the three of them, MJ cracked first. "Protection?" She offered, her mouth twisted. "Cause you wouldn't do it yourself?"

"I wouldn't do it myself because I thought it was just rumors," Peter stressed. "If I had known that Cindy had figured it out, I would've done something."

MJ shrugged, her elbow knocking into Ned's. "We were trying to help." Ned shot her a betrayed look and she shrugged again. "It was a group plan Leeds."

Peter shifted his gaze to Ned, ignoring the fact that the others were enthralled in their discussion. Ned sighed. "You do too much sometimes," he admitted. "We wanted to take something off your plate."

Peter sighed, looking impossibly fond all of a sudden. "Just a little warning next time?"

"To be fair," Betty said slowly, looking between the three of them. "It was very spur of the moment I think."

"Oh," Peter said, blinking. "Just don't do it again?" He offered, grinning when MJ shrugged and Ned nodded.

"How did you know?" Abe said, wonder in his tone. He flushed lightly at the looks he got. "That this was happening?" He clarified.

"Wait, yeah," Sally said, her brow furrowed. "Do you know when people figure it out? Who you are?"

Peter laughed, snagging a chair and sitting in it, neatly sliding into the group. "No," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Nothing like that." He glanced around the room, nothing sticking out to him. "Mr. Stark bugged the room."

"What?" Flash said, his voice strangled.

"That's illegal," Charles said, though his voice was light.

Peter's mask crackled to life, Mr. Stark's voice suddenly coming out of it. "And I'm Tony Stark, what of it?"

The room froze, Peter rolling his eyes at his mentors ego. "Mr. Stark," he said, ignoring the looks everyone but Ned and MJ gave him. "Please stop bugging my classrooms."

The mask was silent for a beat before his voice came through again. "We'll talk about this at dinner," he said, evading the plea. "MJ, Ned, you're coming with him, right?"

"Mr. Stark!" Peter said, fond irritation in his voice. "You know I haven't asked them yet, please, please stop interrupting this."

"Fine," Tony sighed. "I'll leave you to it." The mask crackled once more and when silent.

"Er," Peter said, glancing up at them. "Sorry about him."

Abe grinned at him. "This is the best day of my life," he said. "You've proven me right and I got to hear Tony Stark harass you?" Peter grinned back, grateful that someone was pleased with the turn of events. Abe shook his head. "It's an honor Spiderman."

"Oh geez," Peter said, flushing. "You don't - please-"

"I have questions," Cindy announced cutting him off.

Peter nodded but turned to Ned. "Can you-"

Ned cut him off. "I'll grab the change of clothes." He turned, leaving the room, exchanging a fond look with MJ as he left.

Peter smiled after him, turning back to Cindy. "Sorry about that- your questions?"

"Yeah, how are you Spiderman?"

"Do you produce those webs?"

"When did you become Spiderman?"

"What do you do with Mr. Stark?"

"Have you met the Avengers?"

"Okay!" MJ snapped, her glare silencing them all. "Peter can-"

"MJ," Peter said quietly, reaching out and squeezing her hand, the rest of them watching avidly. "It's okay." She glared at him for another beat before squeezing his hand back. "Right," Peter said, turning back to Cindy. "One at a time?"

Cindy smiled at him, her normally open face even more delighted than usual. "How are you Spiderman?"

"I got bitten by a spider," Peter said, rubbing his thumb over MJ's knuckles. "It was, uhhh, biologically altered and so it altered me."

"What the fuck?" Sally and Charles said in tandem, blinking at each other and then back at Peter.

He shrugged. "It was an Oscorp spider," he said, as though that made it make sense. "It died after it bit me."

Flash snapped his fingers, pointing at him, things clicking into place. "You- you were sick for like a week after," he said, ignoring the look MJ shot him. Peter nodded, smiling tentatively at him. Flash flushed, dropping his eyes and falling silent.

"So," Abe said, breaking the slightly awkward silence. "Those webs- do they come out of you?"

Peter snorted, glancing over at the door and dropping MJ's hand. "It's Ned," he said, nodding to it right before the knock sounded. MJ rolled her eyes but stood to get it as Peter ignored the slightly shocked looks he was getting. "No," he answered, turning back to Abe. "I made the webs myself, and Mr. Stark helped me improve both them and the web shooters." Abe wiggled his eyebrows at him and Peter huffed. "You are not going to get to wear them."

"Damn," Abe muttered, a grin on his face. "I really thought I had you."

Behind Peter, MJ let Ned slide through, relocking the door. Ned tossed the clothes to him, nodding at the teachers closet. "Best place for you," he said, grimacing. "Someone on twitter posted that Spiderman was out swinging so people are frantically looking for you - phones are everywhere, even in the hallway."

"Fuck," Peter said, dragging his hand over his face. "I really thought I could be stealthy this time." Ned poked him, urging him up and towards the closet. Peter sighed but complied, trying to change as fast as he could.

MJ snorted, leaning close to Ned. "He definitely needs to listen to Natasha more," she said in an undertone.

"Hey!" Peter said, popping his head out of the closet, yanking the sweater over his head as he reached behind him, tapping the suit as it folded up. "Not cool, MJ!"

"You heard that?" Betty asked, her face twisting. "I barely could and I'm right here."

"Oh, yeah," Peter said, slipping the suit into Ned's bag and reseating himself, scooching closer to him, his hand snaking out and gripping his. "I've got like super hearing and strength."

"Like how-"

"Stronger than Captain America," Peter admitted, frowning when Flash shrunk in on himself. He glanced at Ned and MJ, only to see the both of them shaking their heads at him. He arched an eyebrow, sighing when all they did was shrug back at him. "Anyways," he said, turning back to them. "I actually do have to be somewhere now," he said, sighing. "I wasn't even supposed to be here, I had stuff to do with Mr. Stark in the lab today."

"That's okay, Peter!" Sally said, cutting off everyone else. "We can definitely text you questions later, right?"

"Sure?" Peter said, before frowning again. "Though I think I'm gonna have to ask Mr. Stark if it's okay - secret identity and all that." His face suddenly got serious, all the humor leaving his eyes. "I really really really need this to stay on the dl," he said, biting his lip. "I will do all I can to answer your questions and stuff but I can't have this getting out."

"Of course," Cindy answered, the rest of them following. "We've kept a secret all this time, we can keep doing it."

Peter smiled at her, the relief clear in his eyes. "Great!" He said, standing up from his seat and tugging Ned up with him. "And like, not a threat, but if Mr. Stark finds out someone leaked it-" he shrugged, his face not nearly as amused as it had been. "He takes that shit seriously."

"Got it," Charles said, shooting a look at Ned's backpack, where the mask lay. "We won't piss off Mr. Stark."

"Awesome," Peter said, grinning at them. "I'm gonna go," he said, gesturing to the door and holding his hand out for MJ to take, which she did with a sigh. "See you guys tomorrow!"

MJ unlocked the door, the three of them exiting, Peter's excited chatter carrying through the hallways for a moment before they rounded the corner and the sound muted before disappearing entirely.

"Oh fuck," Flash said, his face pale. "I'm going to die."

"Well," Sally said, her eyes alight. "I think that went really well." She exchanged a look with Cindy and Betty, the three rising together. "We're gonna go chat about this in a classroom that isn't bugged," she said. "My place?"

"Sure," Cindy said, Betty nodding in agreement. The three gathered their stuff, leaving as quickly as they could without outright running down the hall.

"Fuck," Flash repeated, staring at nothing. "I used to bully Spiderman."

Charles began laughing, Abe grinning at Flash. 'Well," Abe said, his voice bright. "At least it's a 'used to'."

Flash sighed, burying his face into his arms. "My life is a fucking nightmare. God." He sighed again once more before muttering. "Fuck!"

[chibistarlyte]

So Blooms the Soul (As Flowers on the Skin)

“Uh…Haru?” Rin said hesitantly from behind him.

“Hm?” Haruka hummed, turning around to regard his best friend, who was looking at him with an incredulous look on his face.

“Your soul mark…” Rin said, slowly raising his hand and pointing at the blade of Haruka’s right shoulder. “Did you know it’s bloomed?”

Blue eyes widened and the shock of the question was almost enough to knock Haruka into the pool.

“Wh-what?”

AHHHH HERE IT ISSSS my fic for the @nanaseharukabirthdayexchange !!! I was able to write this fic for @lonesome-writer !!!

Milo, thank you so much for including so many fun prompts in your likes list. It was an absolute joy writing this for you and I really hope you like it! ;u;

The fic in its entirety is below the cut, but you can also read it here on AO3!

It was a quiet morning in Tokyo, still early enough to where not a single soul traversed down the street where the Swim Free Flower Shop resided. The sun slowly crept into the clear glass windows of the storefront, greeting the plants inside with its friendly, caring light. The plants, in turn, welcomed the sun in like an old friend, turning to face the windows and soaking up the rays.

 Nanase Haruka loved mornings like this, when he could ready his shop for the day and bask in the peace before the city properly awoke. He breathed in the sweet, fragrant air of the shop as he watered the plants with his mackerel-shaped watering can—a joke gift he’d gotten from Nagisa that Haruka had, unfortunately, grown too fond of to get rid of.

 His effervescent employee sure wormed his way into his heart, Haruka thought with a smile. He poured the last drops of water out of the mackerel’s mouth before setting it aside and going to set up his hose with the spray nozzle to water the larger plants he had on the sales floor.

 It was still early in the summer, and as such, a lot of his perennials were beginning to bloom. The wide array of flowers he had on hand added such a rainbow of colors to his shop, brightening everything up with no effort whatsoever. But he still had some plants that hadn’t bloomed yet, that were still trying to grow their buds,like his imported phlox flowers from the United States.

 Blue eyes stared at the buds, still mostly green but with small bursts of purple and violet poking through at the top. According to his research, they wouldn’t bloom for at least another month, but that was okay. He’d take the time to nurture them and help them grow; he had no doubt they’d be a huge hit when they did bloom, especially considering their natural habitat was overseas.

 But, to be honest, the reason he’d sought them out in the first place was because they were the exact same flower as the soul mark he sported on his back.

 More specifically, his soul mark was on the blade of his right shoulder. He’d only ever seen it in the mirror or in the occasional photo, and there was no color to it whatsoever—just the solid black outlines of a flower that begged to be colored in—so it took him a long time to figure out what kind of flower bud it was.

 And the fact that it was still a bud, not a fully bloomed flower, meant that he still hadn’t met his soulmate. Which was fine by him, really. He wasn’t really concerned with finding that one person destined to be his other half; he had people in his life that he loved and trusted, and he had his shop. He didn’t really need more than that.

 A firm knock on the front door yanked Haruka out of his peaceful musings, immediately filling him with confusion. It was too early for Nagisa to show up for his shift, and several hours until the shop would be open for business. So who…?

 Haruka turned around to see a small delivery truck outside, with a tall man in a recognizable uniform waving to him with a smile from outside.

 Ah, it made sense now. Though he usually didn’t get his deliveries this early…

 Haruka turned off the hose and set it atop the water tank, drying his hands on his apron as he approached the door and turned his master key in the lock.

 “Good morning!” the delivery man greeted as Haruka opened the door, his smile warm and bright.

 Haruka was almost blinded by the genuinely kind and friendly aura he exuded. The florist felt tingles all the way from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, though he had no idea why. He just kept staring at the—much taller—man before him, going slightly lightheaded and losing himself in crystal clear peridot eyes.

 The man’s smile grew a bit uneasy at Haruka’s blatant staring and lack of response, and he tilted his head a bit. Olive brown fringe fell to cover his eyes somewhat, which Haruka found to be an absolute travesty. “Um…is there something wrong?”

 Haruka felt like his face was on fire…or, more like he felt extremely flushed. Swallowing, he choked out the only thing he could think to say: “You’re not Sousuke.”

 The man looked adorably confused for about two seconds before his smile returned in full, accompanied by a laugh that may as well have been music to Haruka’s ears. “Ah, Yamazaki-kun is driving the truck. I’m Tachibana Makoto. I’m new, you see, so he’s driving the route today and I’m taking care of the customer contact.”

 “Oh,” Haruka said intelligently. “That…makes sense.”

 Tachibana’s smile didn’t dissipate in the slightest as he held up his metal clipboard that contained a bunch of invoices in its grasp. “It says here I only have four boxes for you today…where would you like me to put them?”

 Haruka held the door open wider, kicking the rubber door stopper with his foot until it wedged between the bottom of the door and the floor. “You can just set them here,” he said, motioning to an open spot between the front window and his bouquet coolers, “and I’ll break them down as I go.”

 “Sure thing!” the newbie said, nodding his head before disappearing to his truck. Haruka heard the metallic clangs of the trailer lock, the thump of the ramp coming in contact with the asphalt. All the while he just stood in his shop like a stick in the dirt, trying to regain feeling in his limbs that still felt slightly numb and buzzing with some weird energy. He idly rubbed at his right shoulder, feeling it burn slightly under his touch.

 Tachibana came in with two boxes piled on top of each other, balanced by a dolly. He was humming quietly as he worked, carefully sliding the boxes off the dolly before heading back to the truck for the remainder of the delivery.

 Haruka fished a box cutter out of his apron, slicing the tape on the first box in one swift motion. It contained some different soils he’d ordered, and he set to unpacking the bags and carted them over to the large storage cupboard at the back of the store. When he returned to cut into the second box, Tachibana had also returned with a carton of live plants—orchids, the shipping label on the side read. The fact that he was carrying such a heavy parcel with relative ease made Haruka unconsciously sneak a glance at the man’s arms. The sleeves of his collared uniform shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and besides the rock hard muscles in his forearms, Haruka also caught a glimpse of a flower bud peeking out from under Tachibana’s left sleeve. But it was quickly hidden again by the fabric, much too quickly for Haruka to discern what kind of flower bud it was.

 So, Tachibana hadn’t met his soulmate yet either.

 “Here, I’ll take that,” Haruka said, reaching his arms out for the box of orchids.

 “Oh, no, I’ve got it!” Tachibana insisted with that ever-present smile. “Would you like me to set it elsewhere?”

 Haruka gave up the fight much quicker than he expected of himself, and pointed to the counter lining the back of the store where he typically put together arrangements. “Over there is fine.”

 Tachibana did as he was told, still humming a soft little tune as he made his way to the back of the store.

 As much as Haruka wanted to watch the delivery man, feeling some kind of strange magnetic pull to him that he had a hard time fighting down, he instead wrenched his attention away and headed to the delivery truck outside. He saw his usual delivery guy, Sousuke, sitting in the driver’s seat tapping away on his phone. Sighing, Haruka impatiently rapped on the window with his knuckle to get Sousuke’s attention.

 The dark-haired man rolled down the window and gave Haruka a friendly smirk. “Morning, Haru. What’s up?”

 “Training the new guy by making him do all the work?” Haruka questioned, raising a brow.

 Sousuke snickered and leaned back against the seat. “Relax, he’s doing fine on his own,” he assured his long-time customer and friend. “Besides, my shoulder’s been acting up today. Figured it’d be better if he did the heavy lifting, y’know?”

 Haruka nodded in understanding, fixing Sousuke with a slightly more serious look. He knew Sousuke’s old swimming injury flared up on occasion, and those days were usually when Haruka would grab his own delivery boxes from the back of the truck. But now that Sousuke had someone helping him on his route, Haruka hoped that the man would give his shoulder a break.

 “Um…Nanase-san, could you please sign this invoice?” Tachibana said from behind, and Haruka spun around to find him smiling sheepishly at him.

 “That was fast,” Haruka remarked as he grabbed for the clipboard and pen being offered to him, causing Tachibana’s handsome face to flush an attractive pink.

 “Thanks?”

 A small, unbidden smile made its way onto Haruka’s face as he scratched out a signature of sorts using only the kanji of his surname. He clicked the pen closed and set it atop the clipboard, handing it back to the still blushing Tachibana. “You can call me Haru, by the way.”

 Tachibana blinked a couple times before seeming to realize he needed to take the clipboard back. “R-really? But we’ve only just met…”

 Haruka shrugged. “If you’re going to be a regular on this route, we’re gonna get to know each other eventually. I’d rather just skip the formalities.”

 If possible, Tachibana lit up with an even brighter smile than before. “Okay. Then you can call me Makoto.”

 “Alright, you two, enough chit-chat. We have to get to our next stop,” Sousuke scolded from inside the truck, turning the key in the ignition until the vehicle whirred to life. “Rin says hi, by the way,” Sousuke said to Haruka, waving his phone which presumably had a text message conversation open with Rin—Sousuke’s boyfriend and Haruka’s best friend.

 “Ah, sorry!” Makoto apologized, hurriedly tearing off Haruka’s copy of the invoice and handing it to him. “It was very nice to meet you, Haru. See you next time?”

 Haruka nodded and hummed in the affirmative. “Yeah, see you again, Makoto.”

 Makoto gave him a little wave as he dashed around the back of the truck, hurriedly locking up the trailer before hopping in the cab next to Sousuke. With a lazy salute from Sousuke and another brilliant smile from Makoto, the two drove off towards their next destination and left Haruka standing in front of his shop. His body still tingled.

.

 Haruka was quietly changing out of his clothes into his swimsuit when Rin decided to show up, claiming the locker next to him.

 “Impatient as always, I see,” the redhead commented teasingly, shrugging off his bag and jacket.

 Haruka, on the other hand, had just pulled on his knee-length jammers and was now digging around his bag for his swim cap and goggles. He merely gave a hum in response, hearing what Rin said but not entirely processing the words, his mind elsewhere.

 “Sousuke told me you met the new guy on his route,” Rin said, his voice muffled as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

 “Yeah,” Haruka affirmed distantly, folding up his work clothes and setting them neatly in his locker. He gently shut the door and stood idly by, waiting for Rin to change into his legskins. He didn’t offer up any more information, though just thinking about Makoto made butterflies flutter in Haruka’s stomach. He felt goosebumps all over his exposed skin, though it wasn’t cold in the locker room.

 Rin threw his own clothes into his locker and grabbed his swim cap and goggles, wearing his goggles around his neck like a necklace. He flashed a sharp-toothed smile at Haruka and stood with his hand on his hip. Haruka could just barely make out Rin’s soul mark, peeking out of his legskins at his hip—the tips of a fully colored blue delphinium stalk.

 Haruka remembered seeing Rin’s soul mark for the first time, before he’d really found his affinity for caring for flowers. It was something his late grandmother had instilled in him from a young age, but it took a while for Haruka to truly appreciate what she had taught him. He eventually followed that path, and now had a successful flower shop of his own.

 Part of that awakening of sorts had been thanks to Rin showing him his beautiful soul mark.

 Rin nodded his head to the door leading to the pool hall. “Looks like you’ve got some feelings to swim out,” he said to his best friend and they walked side-by-side out of the locker room.

 Haruka kept his gaze resolutely straight ahead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deflected, pursing his lips somewhat.

 Rin barked out a laugh. “Haru…we’ve known each other since elementary school. I know you’re not as emotionally constipated as you used to be, but shit, you look like you’ve been in a daze since you got here.”

 Haruka couldn’t contest that. However, he did narrow his eyes and give Rin a sidelong glance to his left. “Emotionally constipated?”

 Though Rin rolled his eyes, he was still smiling. “You know what I mean.”

 Haruka just hummed again, staring forward once more. He was usually pretty aware of his own emotions, able to accurately piece together what he was feeling about most anything after a little time to mull it over. Whatever weirdness he was feeling—whatever weirdness he had been feeling since early that morning—he was sure the water would help him think it through.

 Luckily, there were only a few other people in the pool hall at this time of the evening. Haruka allowed a small smile to grace his features. At least he and Rin would be mostly undisturbed in their swimming.

 “You wanna race, or are you just gonna do laps?” Rin asked as they approached the edge of the pool, already doing some stretches to prepare for their exercise. Haruka followed suit, focusing on working out his arm muscles since his signature stroke was the front crawl.

 “I think some laps,” Haruka said, shaking out his shoulders and stepping up onto the starting block.

 “Uh…Haru?” Rin said hesitantly from behind him.

 “Hm?” Haruka hummed, turning around to regard his best friend, who was looking at him with an incredulous look on his face.

 “Your soul mark…” Rin said, slowly raising his hand and pointing at the blade of Haruka’s right shoulder. “Did you know it’s bloomed?”

 Blue eyes widened and the shock of the question was almost enough to knock Haruka into the pool.

 “Wh—what?”  

.

 Haruka stood in front of the sink, back turned, head angled to try and get a glimpse of his soul mark. He felt those familiar tingles, the numbness from earlier spreading from his chest to every bit of his body. His limbs felt light and weightless like floating in water but heavier than a ship’s anchor at the same time. He could barely feel his fingertips poking and prodding at his shoulder as he twisted every which way to see it clearly in the mirror.

 “Hey, Haru, here…” Rin said, stepping into the bathroom with his phone in hand—he’d gone to retrieve it from his locker before chasing directly after Haruka. “Lemme take a picture so you can see it better.”

 Sucking in a deep breath, Haruka complied and turned his back to Rin. He vaguely registered the shutter snap as Rin captured the photo on his phone. The slightly taller man then handed his phone to Haruka, who took it in shaking hands and stared at his soul mark on the screen.

 It was a fully bloomed phlox, but not even just one flower, which surprised Haruka enough to make his breath hitch. While the bud had only been singular, now emblazoned on his pale skin was a cluster of eight—maybe ten?—blossoms with five petals each, all rounded at the tips and flared out like an umbrella. None of them had any color whatsoever, only the black, almost inky outlines that gave the flowers their shape.

 The fact that it didn’t have any color yet meant that it was brand new…that it had only bloomed within the last day or so.

 Haruka felt the room spin around him, shadows seeping into the edges of his vision.

 “Whoa, hey! Haru!” Rin cried out as Haruka swayed on his feet. He stabilized his friend with his strong arms, guiding the raven-haired man back out to the locker room and lowering him to sit on the bench in front of their lockers. “You okay?”

 Haruka hung his head between his knees, sucking in deep breaths and holding them for a few seconds before expelling them shakily. Rin’s phone hung limply in his hand, and he couldn’t muster the strength to even lift it up to hand back to him. It didn’t make sense…it didn’t make sense. How could he have met his soulmate and not realize it? How could he have even met his soulmate if he was at work all day until now?

 Unless…it was a customer? But no, all of the customers that visited his shop today were regulars…so it couldn’t have been any of them. What if it was just some random stranger on the train he took to get to the rec center? How would he be able to track them down, then?

 “Haru, I think you should go home for tonight…you’re in no condition to swim, like this…” Rin said carefully, squatting down in front of his best friend. “I can have Sousuke bring the car ‘round so we can drive you home.”

 Words caught in his throat, Haruka swallowed hard before nodding silently. He felt Rin take his phone from his loosened grip and watched as his friend’s bare feet slapped against the tiled floor as he stepped away to call Sousuke. Haruka blew out another shaky breath, his hands coming up to grab fistfuls of his hair. The pain of pulling on the strands helped keep him grounded a little, allowed him to focus and center himself until the lightheadedness abated somewhat.

 He had never cared about meeting his soulmate, had never given it more than a passing thought for his whole life. Even watching the people around him meet their own soulmates and form unbreakable bonds with their destined persons, he never felt odd or left out because he hadn’t met his own. But now, when the moment actually came…it slipped through his fingers before he realized it. And it was too late.

.

 “What’s got you so down, Haru-chan?”

 Haruka looked up from his inventory form, peering at his employee through his dark bangs. Nagisa was looking at him with wide, earnest magenta eyes that had no business looking as worried as they did. Nagisa was supposed to be endless smiles and boundless positivity, and it irked Haruka that he was the reason for the blond’s concerned countenance.

 “It’s nothing,” he said, tapping his pen against the inventory sheet until the ink bled a puddle through the paper. He scowled and tore the sheet from the pack, dabbing up the wet ink with the already soiled paper and hoping it didn’t bleed all the way through the stack.

 “Then why do you look so gloomy?” Nagisa pressed, nuzzling his head against his boss’s shoulder, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to leave Haruka alone until he got some kind of answer. That was just how Nagisa was.

 His shoulder…

 Haruka sighed and clicked his pen closed, leaning against the counter. “Here, look at this,” he said pulling the strap of his apron over his head and tugging at the collar of his oversized shirt. He exposed as much of his right shoulder as he could to Nagisa, turning slightly to give the shorter man a better look.

 Nagisa peeked past the dark blue fabric and gasped at what he saw. “Haru-chan…your soul mark bloomed! That’s wonderful!”

 Haruka tugged his shirt back up, but left the top half of his apron still hanging down. “It’s really not,” he said dejectedly, leaning further down on the counter until his forehead was touching the soil-dusted surface. “I don’t even know who my soulmate is…”

 Haruka could feel the air shift around them with Nagisa’s sadness at his statement. “Oh, Haru-chan…”

 The jingling of the bell above the door drew both of their attention, cutting their conversation short for the time being. Haruka looked up from the counter and couldn’t help but shudder at the unexpected relief he felt when he saw who had come into the shop.

 “Good morning, Haru!” Makoto said, smiling his gentle smile and holding his hand up in a small wave as he made his way over toward Haruka and Nagisa.

 “Makoto,” Haruka acknowledged with a short nod, stepping around the counter when the strap of his apron caught on the corner. Haruka tripped at the sudden halt, but a pair of strong arms caught him before he could properly fall.

 “Are you alright?” Makoto asked, surprise still etched onto his kind face.

 Haruka hummed in response, noting the way his body was beginning to tingle again like a powerful electric current charged his blood and flowed through his veins as if they were wires.

 What the hell…?

 Makoto held onto him for a couple more seconds before almost jolting away as if he’d been stung. His bright green eyes met Haruka’s and they held each others’ gazes for what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, before Nagisa coughed none-too-subtly and gathered their attention.

 “Haru-chan, who’s this?” the blond asked with excited curiosity, leaning up to get a good look at Makoto’s face. Makoto backed away just a tad, a sheepish grin on his face.

 “This is Makoto; he’s the new delivery guy on Sousuke’s route,” Haruka explained, ducking his head to hide the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. He busied himself with fixing his apron to avoid any more…er, mishaps. Plus, as the owner of the shop, he had to look professional and presentable. A half-folded apron was neither of those things.

 “Hello,” Makoto said, holding out his hand for Nagisa to shake. “Nice to meet you…er…?”

 “I’m Nagisa!” the shorter man said brightly, taking Makoto’s hand in both of his smaller ones and shaking vigorously. “Very good to meet you, Mako-chan!”

 Makoto’s smile eased into that same gentleness as before. “I’ve got a bigger delivery for you today, Haru,” he said, turning slightly to face Haruka again while Nagisa still had a grip on his hand. “Sorry we’re a little late. Another stop ran over time by a bit.”

 “Not a problem,” Haruka said with a shake of his head. “Sousuke was usually later than this when it was just him, so don’t worry.”

 “I heard that,” Sousuke said, his deep voice drowning out the sound of bell chime on the door. He was wheeling a dolly in backwards with several boxes stacked on top of the metal lip, all labeled “FRAGILE.”

 “Oh, those must be the vases I ordered,” Haruka remarked, running over to clear a space by the coolers for Sousuke to set the boxes down. “Nagisa, could you put the door stopper down and help get the other boxes from the truck?”

 “Sure thing!” Nagisa said, practically jumping up and down in that enthusiastic way of his. Once he shoved the rubber wedge beneath the door, he bounded outside to retrieve some more of their packages.

 “Sousuke, let me take that!” Makoto said, taking the dolly from his boss before there was a chance for Sousuke to protest. The brunette followed Nagisa’s example and hurried out to the truck.

 Sousuke chuckled, rolling his shoulder. “They have way too much energy for this early in the morning.” His teal eyes then slid over to Haruka, darkening just a little with seriousness. “How are you doing after last night? You seemed…pretty shaken up, which isn’t like you.”

 Haruka looked down at his shoes, curling his toes inside. He didn’t really want to have to explain himself, especially with a near-stranger in possible earshot. Besides, he knew Sousuke had at least heard the gist of it from Rin in the car ride to Haruka’s place last night—he’d heard them whispering about it in the front seat. But he also didn’t want to leave Sousuke hanging.

 Instead, he changed topics somewhat. “How long did it take for your soul mark to start…gaining color? After you and Rin met?”

 Sousuke paused to think, tucking his hands into his pockets. It was then that Haruka realized, he’d never actually seen Sousuke’s mark. He’d only seen Rin’s, mostly when they went swimming. But it’d been in full color for as long as he could remember.

 “Well, I mean, we met in elementary school,” Sousuke said with a shrug. “And I know at least mine was in full color before he left for middle school in Australia, so…?”

 “I…see…” Haruka muttered, scratching at the back of his neck. He could feel his shoulder tingling again.

 “You didn’t have any color to yours last night, right?” Sousuke then asked.

 Haruka shook his head. “No, it…it was still just the outline…”

 “Can I see it?”

 Haruka froze, his hand at his side clenching into a fist. “I…don’t see why not?” he choked out against his better judgment. “It’s here…on my right shoulder blade…” he said, tapping at his shoulder with the hand that was already at the back of his neck. He didn’t bother taking off his apron this time, just shrugging enough of his shirt off for Sousuke to see the phlox blossoms on his skin.

 Sousuke came up beside him, tugging the shirt fabric away from Haruka’s shoulder enough to see the mark. “Uh, Haru, it’s…”

 “What?” Haruka asked, alarmed at Sousuke’s hesitance. The other man was rarely like that.

 “There’s already some color.”

 "What?”  Haruka repeated, already feeling that strange numbing sensation that he’d felt last night.

 Nagisa and Makoto were chattering away as they came back into the shop, Makoto with some more boxes on the dolly and Nagisa carrying a really tall box with aeration holes which meant that live plants were inside. They both froze at seeing Haruka’s ashen face.

 “Haru-chan, what’s the matter?” Nagisa said, setting down his box right where he stood and ran over to his boss and friend. “Do you feel sick?”

 Sick was an understatement. Haruka felt dizzy, like he was floating at the bottom of the pool and running out of air in his lungs, but his body was too heavy for him to swim to the surface. His stomach was doing flip-flops on itself and there was a deafening pounding in his ears that drowned out the concerned voices around him. Before he realized it, he was being picked up off the ground and carried in someone’s arms—where to, he had no idea. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling through hazy blue eyes, holding his breath so he didn’t puke. The tingling sensation grew much more intense, to the point where he felt needles all over his skin and his shoulder outright burned as if someone had set it aflame.

 When he came back to himself, he was lying on the small sofa in the break room at the back of the shop. Nagisa was standing above him, placing a cool, dampened washcloth to his forehead. Haruka’s palms felt sweaty and clammy, and he had a hard time curling his fingers into fists. They felt swollen.

 “Haru-chan, do you want to close the shop for the day?” Nagisa asked. “You need to rest.”

 Haruka barely managed a shake of his head. “N-no, I’ll be fine, just…go manage everything for a while until I can get up again….”

 Nagisa nodded resolutely. “You got it, Haru-chan. Mako-chan, come help me with the rest of the boxes?”

 Makoto looked up from where he stood at the end of the sofa. “Okay, sure, I can do that!”

 But before he could move, Sousuke stepped in front of him with his hand out, blocking Makoto’s path. “I’ll help Nagisa, you stay here with Haru until we’re done.”

 Hearing that made Haruka’s heart jump into his throat for some reason. He couldn’t figure out why.

 “O-okay, if you’re sure, Sousuke…” Makoto said, to which Sousuke nodded.

 “Water is in the little fridge over there if you need it,” Nagisa said, pointing to a mini-refrigerator in the corner of the small room. “We’ll hurry, okay?”

 Makoto hummed with a nod, and the two of them left to go finish getting the delivery in order.

 It was silent in the room, save for the sounds of Haruka’s slightly labored breathing. He was sweating up a storm, and he reached up with a shaky hand to press the cold cloth firmer against his forehead.

 “Um…do you…want some water, Haru? You might be dehydrated…?” Makoto asked, and damn if Haruka didn’t somehow find that nervousness adorable.

 “Sure, that might help,” Haruka rasped out, even though the thought of ingesting anything at the moment made his stomach churn. He listened to the faint sounds of Makoto shuffling over to the fridge, the opening and closing of the insulated door, the crunching of the plastic bottle in Makoto’s hand. A shadow descended over him, Makoto’s tall and broad frame blocking out the sunlight coming in from the windows.

 “Do you want to sit up? I can help you,” Makoto offered quietly.

 Haruka nodded curtly, reaching his arms out towards the gentle giant above him. As soon as Makoto’s hand circled around his wrist, Haruka felt that electrified feeling as if he’d been shot with a taser. A pained noise came from the back of his throat, alarming Makoto enough for him to let go of Haru’s wrist immediately.

 “S-sorry, I just…I’ll do it myself,” Haruka said through a wince, using whatever strength he could muster to pull himself to a sit against the arm of the sofa. When he pulled the cloth away from his face, he blinked his eyes open to see Makoto staring at him with those sunny green eyes. He was slowly flexing the fingers of his hand, forming a fist and relaxing over and over. “Are      you    alright?” Haruka asked, nodding to Makoto’s hand.

 “Hm? Oh, yeah,” Makoto assured him with a sweet smile. “My hand just got all tingly for a minute…like it feels when it falls asleep?”

 It took a second or two for the words to register, but once they did, Haruka could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at Makoto.

 So…he…Haruka wasn’t the only one who…

 “Oh, here’s your water, Haru,” Makoto said belatedly, holding the bottle out to Haruka.

 “Thanks…” Haruka said, reaching for the bottle. Their fingers brushed for only a moment, but it was enough to make Haruka’s entire arm go numb. Makoto seemed to have a similar reaction if the squint of his eye and quiet hiss through his teeth were anything to go by.

 “We’re done!” Nagisa’s voice could be heard before the man himself was seen. He came barreling into the break room with Sousuke leisurely strolling in behind him. "Oh, you're sitting up! Are you feeling any better, Haru-chan?"

 "A little," Haruka said, fumbling with numbed fingers to open the cap of the water bottle. He started out with small, slow sips.

 "Are you sure you're okay to stay at work?" Sousuke asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

 Haruka nodded, which was a bad move because it just made him feel dizzy again. "I'm fine, just…don't mention this to Rin. He'll be all over me about it if he finds out."

 Sousuke barked out a laugh. "You're not wrong about that." He then flicked his arm out to right the face of his wristwatch to check the time. "Well, if you're sure you're okay, Makoto and I have to make it to our next stop. We'll leave you in Nagisa's expert care."

 Nagisa stuck his tongue out at Sousuke. "You're so mean, Sou-chan."

 Haruka almost smiled at his friends' antics. Almost. He looked at Makoto, who'd remained quiet since the intrusion and actually did smile softly at the man. "Thanks for keeping an eye on me."

 Makoto flushed and offered Haruka a shy smile, scratching his cheek with his forefinger. "Ah, you're welcome. I didn't really do anything, though?"

 "You made sure Haru-chan didn't fall off the couch and die," Nagisa amended, throwing his arm around Makoto's shoulder, which was a sight in itself considering their height difference. "That's more than enough, don't you think?"

 "I-I guess…" Makoto said sheepishly.

 "Nagisa, unhand my coworker before I throw you over my shoulder and toss you into the trailer with the rest of the packages," Sousuke said. Although his tone was deadpan, his threat was clear.

 "What if we wanna keep Mako-chan here?" Nagisa asked, hanging off Makoto in some weird semblance of a hug. The taller man laughed, letting himself be jerked around by Nagisa with no complaints whatsoever. "Haru-chan likes him, right, Haru-chan?"

 Haruka blinked, looking between Nagisa and Makoto a few times before settling his gaze on Makoto. He hummed in affirmation, taking another sip of water in hopes of hiding his blush behind the bottle.

 Before anything else could be said, Sousuke manhandled Nagisa off of Makoto and began ushering his employee out the door before the little blond mayhem maker could get his hands on him again. "See you dorks tomorrow morning!" he said overly loudly, making his point.

 "See you tomorrow Nagisa, Haru!" Makoto said with a laugh, raising his arm to wave. The rolled up sleeve of his uniform shirt fell down to his elbow, revealing a cluster of black outlined flowers with slight pastel pink coloring at the tips of the petals on his forearm.

 Flowers that looked strangely like…

 But by the time Haruka thought to say anything, Sousuke and Makoto were long gone.

.

 Haruka sighed as he sank into the warm water, hunkering down until the water came up to right below his nose. The steam rising off the surface clouded around him, almost creating a bubble for him to exist in that separated him from the outside world. His bathtub wasn’t quite long enough for him to stretch out his legs completely, but even with them bent at the knee and his kneecaps poking out of the water, he could already feel his muscles relax.

 He definitely needed to relax after the last day and a half.

 Much of that time was spent in utter confusion, trying to figure out how in the world his soul mark could have bloomed without him realizing that he’d made contact with his soulmate. Not only that, but he’d apparently spent enough time with his soulmate over the past day for his mark to start coloring already.

 Then, when he’d gotten a glimpse of Makoto’s arm…well, that threw everything into extremely unfamiliar waters. And Haruka wasn’t used to being unfamiliar in any kind of water.

 Haruka sank beneath the hot water, his eyes closed. He felt the small pushes and pulls of the water, every little movement he made created tides and ripples in the small, confined area of his element. It calmed him, helped him clear his thoughts.

 When Haruka resurfaced, a decision had been made.

 He needed to ask Makoto to show him his soul mark.

.

 The next morning, when Haruka arrived at his shop at the very break of dawn, he was pleasantly surprised to see that some of his budded plants had bloomed.

 Perhaps the most pleasant and surprising ones were the garden phlox flowers, their colors soft and muted but no less beautiful for it, and when the creeping rays of the sun refracted through the glass of the windows and onto the petals, the gentle pinks and pastel purples really came to life.

 Haruka hoped that it was a good sign.

 He went about his normal morning routine of watering all the plants, enjoying the peace and calmness of the dawn. The gentle sound of the streams of water flowing from the nozzle of his mackerel watering can brought him a sense of clarity. When he moved on to the hose for the larger plants, the gentle hum of the spray nozzle lulled him into a familiar calmness. He felt ready to face the moment that could possibly change the rest of his life. He was still nervous, butterflies fluttering around in his stomach and that familiar tingling feeling in his fingers, but he had to do this. He had to.

 When he heard the gentle knock on the glass door, Haruka turned to see Makoto and felt immediately at ease.

 He turned off the hose and set it atop the tank, walking over to the door and unlocking it to let Makoto in.

 “Good morning, Haru,” Makoto said with his usual gentle smile, his head tilted slightly. “How are you feeling?”

 “Much better,” Haruka said, offering Makoto a small smile of his own.

 “I’m so glad,” Makoto sighed happily. “You really had us worried yesterday.”

 “Sorry about that…” Haruka said, averting his gaze. He felt a hand on his shoulder, then, giving it a gentle squeeze. And while the tingling and weird kind of numbing was still present, Haruka felt…warm. The kind of comforting warmth that came with cuddling in a blanket in the wintertime, or sinking into a hot bath at the end of a long day.

 “Makoto…”

 “Hm?”

 “Can…” Haruka swallowed, looking up at Makoto’s face. Blue eyes met green and Haruka gained his courage. “Can I see your soul mark?”

 A mixture of surprise and confusion crossed Makoto’s face. “My soul mark? Why?”

 Haruka sucked in a breath. He removed the top of his apron and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. He shrugged the collared top off his right shoulder, enough to where his own soul mark was visible, and turned just enough for Makoto to see it.

 “Because I need to see if it matches mine.”

 He heard Makoto gasp, but what that sharp intake of breath meant, Haruka wasn’t sure.

 Until Makoto held his arm out for Haruka to see, and Haruka blew out a breath that had been stuck in his lungs for what felt like an eternity.

 Staring up at him from a tanned forearm was a fully bloomed bunch of phlox flowers, with soft pastels fading in from the centers of the blooms.

 “I had a feeling…” Makoto said through a small laugh, though his laugh sounded a little watery around the edges. “When I got back in the truck, that first day…I noticed my mark had bloomed…and every time I saw you, I just felt…I don’t know…warm? Tingly? I can’t really describe it…”

 Haruka turned back around to face Makoto, his shirt still hanging off his shoulder. There were a couple tears gathered in the corners of Makoto’s gorgeous green eyes, and Haruka was surprised to discover that he had a very similar affliction currently. He blinked his own tears away and hesitantly reached his hand up to cup Makoto’s cheek, his thumb just barely caressing the skin beneath Makoto’s eye.

 “I felt the same…” Haruka admitted, then let out a breath of a laugh. “Though, I guess it definitely took more of a physical toll on me than it did on you.”

 “It sure did,” Makoto laughed quietly, bringing his own hand up to hold Haruka’s hand against his face.

 And there it was again…the tingling feeling. Though instead of coming in as a shock to the system, instead of making him feel sick and numb, it made Haruka’s blood sing, made his spirit flutter, made his heart slow down to a tempo that was nothing but comfort and peace.

 Why hadn’t he cared before about meeting his soulmate? If he knew it’d feel like this…

 Well. That didn’t really matter now, did it?

 Makoto leaned forward, touching his forehead to Haruka’s. Against his will, Haruka’s eyes slid shut.

 "So...now what?" Haruka whispered.

 Makoto sighed a laugh, and Haruka felt his warm breath against his face. It smelled minty, like he had brushed his teeth recently. "I'm...not really sure…" Makoto said hesitantly. "But...I suppose we'll figure it out, right?"

 Haruka smiled, leaning his head on Makoto's shoulder. "Yeah...I suppose we will."

.

 Haruka had never learned much about hanakotoba, aside from what his grandmother had taught him before she passed away. As a florist, he didn't have much use for it. All that mattered to him was how certain flowers and fillers looked together in arrangements, not so much the meanings behind them.

 But since he'd met Makoto, his curiosity had been piqued. He hadn't thought about it before, but...what if soul marks had some kind of meaning? And that meaning was relevant to the two soulmates who shared their mark?

 When he discovered what phlox meant—harmony, united souls—he knew there was no way it was just coincidence.

 So Haruka started looking into other flowers and their meanings, learning more about this hidden language embedded in nature. Once he was versed enough in certain plants and blooms, he began creating a subset of products based around hanakotoba. Just little mason jar arrangements, boutonnieres, corsages, other smaller things of such nature that had just that little extra meaning to them for customers who were looking for that sort of thing.

 He'd also taken a liking to making flower crowns, which was what he was currently working on. He had blooms of both light pastels and deep, vibrant purples on the worktable in front of him. Various tools were scattered about, as well as wiring and floral tape to hold things together. He also had some filler flowers to go along with the main flower of the crown—things like baby's breath that would nicely accent the petunias he was working with for this particular crown. It was for Makoto.

 "Haru?" a voice said, following the jingles of the bells above the front door of the shop.

 Haruka looked up from his worktable, a small smile automatically in place on his lips as soon as he saw Makoto standing at the shop front. "You're early…" he commented, tilting his head slightly. "You're never early."

 Makoto laughed at that as he made his way toward his soulmate, dropping onto the stool next to Haruka. "What are you working on?"

 Haruka's gaze turned back to the mess of flowers and leaves and stems on the table, where a full circlet of petunias sat amongst the wreckage. "Flower crown," he said, picking up his craft and tweaking some of the blooms so they sat correctly.

 "It's beautiful," Makoto said, nudging Haruka's shoulder with his own. The shoulder with his soul mark, now in full color beneath his shirt.

 "It's for you," Haruka said, reaching up with both hands and gently settling the crown atop Makoto's olive brown hair. He was right, the purple did look good on him.

 A smile that was more precious than any other lit up Makoto's face and his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Haruka had a hard time keeping his heart from thundering in his chest at the gorgeous sight. "Thank you, Haru, I love it." Makoto reached up and gently ran his forefinger over one of the vivid violet petals. "What kind of flowers are these?"

 "Petunias," Haruka answered, fixing the crown so that it sat just slightly angled on Makoto's head, making him look even more adorable than before. "They mean gentleness, or 'your presence soothes me.'"

 Makoto ducked his head and hid his bashful expression behind his large, gentle hands. Haruka wanted nothing more to pull Makoto's hands away from his face and nuzzle their noses together.

 "You'd better make one for yourself, then, to match," Makoto said, allowing Haruka to take his hands. "Because that's exactly how you make me feel."

 Haruka fought down his own blush and swallowed the lump in his throat. "...Maybe tomorrow," he acquiesced, touching his nose to Makoto's.

 Makoto nuzzled his nose against Haruka's. "You ready to close up shop?"

 "Yeah, it's just about time, isn't it?" Haruka said, reluctantly pulling away from Makoto and getting up from his stool. He still had quite the mess leftover from his little project, and normally he made sure everything was spic and span before he left the shop for the night. But he and Makoto had planned a date of sorts and he didn't want to hold that up.

 He and Nagisa would just have to do extra cleaning in the morning.

 Haruka took off his apron and hung it on the hook by his arrangement counter, then moved to wash his hands of all the dirt and pollen. In the meantime, he heard Makoto pulling the metal gates across the front windows closed.

 As soon as the lock on the front door was clicked shut, Haruka pocketed his keys and immediately slid his hand into Makoto's and intertwined their fingers. They walked down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, nudging each other's shoulders now and then, squeezing each other's hands in reassurance of the other's presence.

 Makoto's crown of petunias stayed on his head for the rest of the night.

[tarithenurse]

Agent of Hope - 19

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Hmmm...weapons, fluff, dealing with trauma, mention of rape, masturbation, violent reaction, difficult choices, more fluff, and kissing. A/N: Thanks to all of you who like and especially reblog <3 On a second note: been looking for houses (need to move out of my parents’ place with my husband bc omfc).  Also that GIF just is epic.

19 - An offer you can’t refuse

…   Romanoff   …

The tinny jingle from the Goldfish commercials doesn’t cause hesitation to the hands moving rapidly to find and connect the right parts needed in the task of assembling three different guns. Only when the last weapon is locked (and loaded) does Natasha spin the cell phone on the table with a frown. Unknown caller, but the small dots in the corner indicate that Jarvis is tracking down the number already and will have an answer in three…two…one…ugh! Langley.

“Afternoon.” The tone is flat enough to show the lack of enthusiasm without being downright rude. “What more does Langley want post-hearings?”

She can almost hear the crooked smile. “Hrph…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, miss Romanova.” The twist to the last name sends shivers down the former Russian’s spine but the familiar voice continues. “I’m agent Ross…we met during the hearings…?”

The silence is allowed to reign in an attempt to get the man to talk, maybe say too much. Meanwhile, Natasha brings the Glock 26 behind the back and starts to dismantle it, counting the seconds it takes before every piece of metal is spread out on the couch cushion behind her, careful not to lose the pins or the little spring for the trigger.

“Miss uhm…miss Romanova? You there?”

Nervous. Not enough. “…yeah.”

“Good! Good. Yes…” Some paper rustles through the line. “Right…I know the hearings’ve been long and prob’ly bothersome,” agent Ross hesitates to allow for some comment but gets none, “s’I can completely understand and respect if y’aren’t interested, however…I believe that you may ‘ave information that could be of benefit to u- to the Agency, I mean, in terms of filling some gaps. Erm I think…what I’m trying to say’s would it be possible for you to – off record – have a look at our older intel?”

Wait…waaiit…one more second. An intake of breath is Natasha’s cue. “You want me to shed light on old cases that’ve gone sideways?”

“Well –“

“You think either SHIELD, Hydra, or maybe my former handlers could’ve botched it for you guys?” By now the short agent’s sputtering in embarrassment, maybe hoping for the weak protests to soothe any slights the insinuation could have caused. “Send me a top ten and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?!”

Yeah, why would I? Simply put, Natasha hates being out of the loop, and the spy in her is aching for the chance of (legally) getting hold of CIA intel. More than that, though, she’s learned the hard way how precious the currency known as “favours” are. Owe someone something? They’ll have a hook in you forever. Someone owes you? It can be the difference between life and death. An IOU from a CIA agent…that could be handy.

“No promises I can actually tell you more than y’know already.”

Movement behind her makes the Avenger turn her head, a smile already curving her lips at the presence of [Y/N] who eyes the weapons (and parts) cautiously.

“Oh, no! That’s okay, no worries!” An idiot might refuse the tentative offer and Ross is far from that. “I’ll compile the files and get them to…you…uhm…”

“I’ll text you an address.” A slightly oil-greased finger hovers over the phone already. “Bye, agent Everett Ross.”

…   Rumlow   …

The fly circles the room a few times before finally settling on the person in the corner, climbing across brown-stained jeans in short sprints before reaching the lax hand and taking off again. Next time the insect lands it’s by the dried spatter on the wall where the bullet had made a small crater when it exited the skull of…who was that? A glance at the pens and the old-fashioned glasses makes Brock guess at some dusty field of expertise like history or literature. Whatever it had been, the man had decided it was better to risk it all and go looking for Hydra on nothing but a rumour.

“Don’t mind zat,” Strucker dismisses the sight easily, “ze interesting zing is zis.” Careful not to touch, he points at the darkened veins and (with the help of a metal rod) the unnaturally blue eyes. “Ze experiment was quite a success, my friend. We are able to channel ze power of ze weapon into humans.”

“They all end up like this so far?” The eyelid hasn’t lowered again, so the endless glow of space is staring blindly at Brock no matter where he moves. “A bullet in the brain? Why did he get that?”

Chuckling softly, Strucker wipes the little stick in a handkerchief which he folds before depositing both in a pocket. “Zis man gained immense strengz but lacked control.” Oh. “Perhaps zere is a stronger connection between the state of mind and ze results zan we anticipated. We are now looking for actual volunteers.”

…

Fuck. However Loki did it remains a mystery still, but Brock won’t give up the hope that it will be possible to figure out how to control another person with the staff. Damnit, he’d seen the bit of salvaged footage and read the debriefs portraying the events when the Asgardian came to Earth and brainwashed top agents in no time.

The results of Strucker’s and his team’s work is vital both for the promotion of Hydra’s scheme…and to get anything useful from [Y/N] when she will get back again. I’ll be damned if it kills her. Brock’s all too aware that his craving for the ex-girlfriend wouldn’t be condoned if anyone knew – to be fair, he doesn’t quite like it himself because it makes him feel like he isn’t in control of his own damn mind. Every dream is either about missions and kills, sending adrenalin pumping through his veins, or they feature every detail of [Y/N].

The little smile when she was lost in thought. Her spine curving to jut the breasts upwards, skin subtle under Brock’s hands. Remembering the teasing hitches in her breath on a sunny morning, light filtering through the windows to catch in her hair as they made their bed creak together a lifetime ago.

“Godfuckingdamnit!”

Already, an erection is pressing painfully hard against tac-pants and Brock shoves a fist down to reposition the stubborn cock only for a new memory to appear the moment his fingers close around the shaft. Shea-butter mixed with sweat on pebbled nipples…perfect taste. There’s not much room to move the hand, but at least the pants are easily opened allowing for longer strokes.

The speed accelerates with each recollection, fist tightening and twisting while the echoes of [Y/N]’s moans are replaced by cries tearing from her throat when he took her with force. Fuck, it was so good, the man admits to himself, the struggle…oh yeah…the…the control. Breathing laboured, Brock has to lean against the wall, unable to stagger the last few steps over to his cot. She’d begged and pleaded, and he had been the one to grant her peace…or not.

He grunts as he comes. White stickiness spurting between his fingers, adding to the blurry haze from the inability to focus on anything else than the rush thrumming through the veins. It’ll be a short reprieve before the need returns like an endless hunger that nothing can sate. One thing can. But [Y/N] isn’t here, she’s tugged away somewhere with the fucking Avengers and that makes it all a million times worse because to think that Romanoff or maybe even Steve get to be close to her. Get to touch her, smell her.

It stings pleasantly when the hand connects with the drywalling and the structure behind it, thin strings of cum hanging from the torn plaster. At least that clears Brock’s mind a bit.

…   Reader   …

Lying awake all night, it’s almost a relief to sense the grey dimness take over the room and allow the outlines of furniture to stand out – not even Natasha’s steady breathing has been able to calm your mind after the hours of training spent to tire out your body at least. Why this time?! You’ve spent more than enough nights trying to escape nightmarish memories and negative thoughts but this…this issue is different and you’re happy with the decision you’ve made. I should just tell her.

It’s almost possible to make out the contours of Tasha against the white pillow, darker hair spreading like a halo of smoke. You know she sleeps lightly. Brushing your lips featherlight across her cheek, and she already turns to find your mouth with her own. Sweet and lazy kisses, a single tug to your bottom lip. Morning breath is a non-issue when she invites you into a bubble of gentle safety. Home.

“Morning, babe.” Her fingers tease the shortest hairs in your neck. “You’ve managed to sleep at all?”

There’s no reason to answer, just plant a peck on her nose. “I’ve made up my mind,” you offer as consolation, “and I hope you’ll understand why it’s important to me.”

The love never disappears from the touch while she sits up against the headboard. If it was light enough, you think you might see cautious interest mingled with concern in her eyes because Tasha isn’t as good as hiding it as she thinks she is. That’s a secret though.

“Okay…” She drags you onto her lap, straddling her so the strong arms can wrap around your waist. “Is it about the call from Ross?”

The scent of shampoo still clings to her hair as you bury your face in it, happy to talk into the red mess. “Yes, but mainly it’s about wanting to do what I can.”

Of course your reasoning isn’t perfect, but Natasha doesn’t interrupt even once as you explain how you want to do your part to support the hearings and the new request from the CIA by giving a testimony. Gifted or not, at least there’s information about Brock that can be of use and it seems someone else than just the Avengers are trying to clean things up…hopefully that includes tracking down the people that can be identified to Hydra through the data dumped on the net the day SHIELD fell. You promise to keep the ability secret to anyone outside of Natasha and her friends...admitting that you’ll have to be careful although you’ve got the most convincing cover to any strange phrasing “thanks” to what Brock and his people have put you through while in their hands.

The colours have returned to the world by the time you finish explaining. Dusty lavender heightens the rosy cheeks of the woman looking at you with a serious expression that makes your stomach knot. I have to do this. It’ll be hard as fuck, but it feels right. Feels important.

“I’ll let him know,” Tasha whispers, pulling you in for a tight embrace, “and I’ll be with you all the time.”

[luminoustico]

For End of the Year Writing Meme: All the questions sound super interesting so just use this as an opportunity to answer whatever questions interest you most

So funny story I put this in my drafts to complete in the quiet time of New Year’s Day, but then I forgot about it completely. BRACE YOURSELF.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Lies by Marina and the Diamonds, to accompany the latter half of Valse Melancolique. It’s a really good song to show Irene’s POV at that point, especially her reluctance to accept that the webs she’s spun are basically collapsing around her.

“I just want it to be perfect / To believe it’s all been worth the fight,” is the most relevant set of lyrics, IMO.

B. Who’s your favourite side-character from something you wrote?

I really enjoyed writing side characters like Rose and Finn, though Rose just edges it because I’ve been enjoying writing her in Don’t Complicate It. Finn runs a very close second.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

Sure! All comments are good comments, let’s be real. Unless they’re an obvious troll comment or those “update now!!!” kind of comments. Those aren’t so good.

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

The artwork of the late 18th century and Roberto Ferri definitely influenced the tone of Valse Melancolique. Many scenes from certain stories were driven by a single image I had in my head as well.

E.  Who’s your favourite main character you’ve written?

Though I do enjoy delving into Ben/Kylo’s psyche, I enjoy writing Rey more – she’s more enclosed, and I love chipping away at characters to get to their truths.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Towards the end of the year, I began to realise that writing can actually be fun like it used to be. I’ve been so aware of the way the world is currently that I’ve been convincing myself that my writing must have a message, or it’s not ‘worthy’. I need to understand that I started writing not to pass on any morals or messages, but as a release and a way to find enjoyment in the constant buzz.

H.  How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

All of those. I write on my phone, on my computer, on pen and paper. Music and no music, it depends. Most often I’m listening to a playlist/album which then stops and I cease writing an hour or so later realising I’ve been writing in silence.

I.  What’s your favourite work you did this year? Why?

I’m always tempted to answer this kind of question with my most recent story. But I’m going to be really honest and say that star among the stars is a personal favourite. And it’s not just because of the pegging.

J.  What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m completely blanking on this one.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

Qui-Gon Jinn (to match with canon), Molly and Sherlock (hey it was a story based on Dangerous Liaisons, and I was reading classical Russian literature at the time of plotting) and Kylo Ren a bunch of times (metaphorically).  

L.  Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

I wrote more about Rey. As mentioned before, it’s because I like chipping away at a character’s surface but also it’s because I really relate to her, especially in regards to her feelings of loneliness and her tendency to put on ‘a brave face’. Plus I really admire her compassion and her strength. I envy it.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Not particularly -- just headcanons and reasons behind why I write what I write. (I’ve never been very good with meta anyway.) I really like it when other people meta my fic, or pick up on something I didn’t! That is an AMAZING feeling. 

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I do indeed! I love my outlines. For some projects, I’ve got whole folders with docs labelled Initial Ideas, Plot Summary, Chapter Outline, etc. etc. I’ve got my notes app on my phone stuffed up to the gills with mini-outlines. I frequently use my story structure template, which is technically more for screenplays, but the breaking down into acts thing helps my brain figure things out. 

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

When an author relies too much on UST and ruins the pacing. Like, an author drags out the first getting together because they believe that the anticipation is the only thing generating comments. If it’s right to have them bang, have them bang! The awkward morning after is a delicious opportunity for UST -- just a different kind. 9 times out of 10, your readers are there not for the smut because they’re invested in the story and like your writing.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read this year. Can be your writing, or not.

Let’s mix it up.

“ “Why did you do that?” he demanded as they ducked into a side alley. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ is difficult for you to understand?”

“I’m a good haggler,” Rey said through a full mouth. She didn’t have any idea what she was eating, and she didn’t care. It took so much effort to chew each bite instead of gulping it down whole. “He was trying to cheat us.”

“You didn’t haggle. You pushed.”

“I did not. Why would I knock him over in the middle of his stand?”

Kylo just stared. “You need a teacher,” he muttered. He watched her eat for a moment, his expression somewhere between thoughtful and disgusted, before taking a bite from one of his own skewers. Disgust won out. ” -- Symmetry and Black Tar by audreyii_fic. (Grumpy smuggler Kylo Ren, spunky scavenger Rey, canon divergence. Excellent.)

“ "Ben," Rey breathes once Kylo's mere inches away. It's the name Luke introduced him with, the only name she knows him by, and he's never bothered to correct her. Why hasn't he corrected her? The question flees from his mind as she closes her eyes and he leans down into the space between them, kissing her full on the lips. It's not gentle, he doesn't know how to be, but she opens for him the way the flowers she loves so much bloom in the sunlight. ” -- the surface of last scattering by diasterisms. (It’s the apocalypse, it’s exactly the right time to meet the love of your life, right? Read for utter devastation.) 

“ Rey could spend hours in the Falcon’s inner workings. She’d spent so much time in the belly of hollowed-out Star Destroyers, which were horrific remnants of old worlds, cold and grey. The Falcon is alive, speaking a strange language she’s just about half-deciphered. Sometimes, on days where she misses the connection most and dreams of a boy reaching across the stars to find her, it feels like the Falcon doesn’t want to speak to her. It shuts down. Sparks spit at her, and mechanisms develop odd faults.Today, a jet of steam blows directly in her face, not harmful, but almost like a snarl of 'go away'.

Rey climbs out of the hatch, fetching tools. She works with that fault first.

“I’m not thinking about him,” she promises to no-one but the ship she’s looking after. ” -- If I was born as a blackthorn tree, by me!

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

Going to cheat here and head back to 2017. I’d rewrite Two Stars Aligned. What I’d probably do is make it a post-TLJ fic, where Rey and Ben decide to run away after getting involved in a secret relationship, but get shot down by the First Order -- after landing in Giaca, they become embroiled in Game of Thrones style politics and the ruling families, while the Resistance and the First Order conduct searches for them. I’d cut out the weird Force shit and make the redemption arc thing more organic by giving the whole story room to bloody breathe. Two Stars Aligned is actually the reason why I now try to stick to oneshots for exchanges and any anthologies I get involved in.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

Sexiest thing written in 2018... It’ll have to be the pegging in star among the stars.

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

Feminism. Females being allowed to be as fucked-up and broody as the men they love, and perhaps, even broodier. Make women afraid of commitment, 2k19.

U. Any stories that took an abrupt U-turn from where you thought they were going?

If I were a blackthorn tree took a pleasing turn away from the initial outline. The initial idea was lots of secret trysts and stuff like that, but I much prefer the quiet romance with a note of hope at the end that it turned out to be.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

Huh. Hm. Don’t Complicate It is turning out to be kind of fun to write; when I’m not allowing myself to be crippled by the brain goblins that is (they’re strong lately). It’s a combo of writing a trope/kink I’ve been wanting to write for ages -- A/B/O -- and remembering that it’s okay to have fun with it.

W.  Who are your favourite writers?

@kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips - @conchepcion (every time I think I’m out, she pulls me back in *shakes fist*) - @introspectivenavelgazer - @audreyii-fic - @kylorenvevo - ambiguously - @fettuccine-alfreylo and SO MANY MORE (this post is long enough already!!)

X.  What’s your least favourite work of this year?

My least favourite has to be In Cars. It was an ambitious idea, which I didn’t really fulfil, I feel. Curse of being a perfectionist. I want something to be amazing. World-changing! Tear-jerking! I want Vestal virgins to weep golden tears over my words, already delicately transcribed onto ancient parchment by monks. Obviously, that’s an impossible standard, but I can’t help being cross when I don’t reach it.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

During 2018? Mostly for acclaim. It made 2018 a very difficult year for writing, and just a difficult year in general. I’m trying to make sure I have fun during 2019 with this stuff. Striving for perfection is a punishing task that no-one can ever accomplish because perfection doesn’t exist. Contentment does, though. As does happiness. And those should be more important.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

I’d finish Sanctum, my priest Kylo fic. I’m split between continuing or rewriting anyway (the rewrite would include relocating the action to the medieval era, around the time Luther wrote that damned essay and pinned it to the church door). But I do know the exact image I want to finish on, which will remain whether I end up rewriting or not. It involves a name, a scrap of material and a rather fetching colour scheme. 

Ooh. Cryptic.

[therewillalwaysbeapril]

Chapter 4: Sixteen Hours

6:30 AM The alarm rang abruptly in the stillness of the morning, a rude shrill noise, splintering our warm, nocturnal embrace and throwing us both into the coldness of the day. 

“April, we gotta get up”, I said, mumbling as I shook off the last remnants of sleep. She groaned softly, rolling over and pulling the covers away. “Hey, get up. Geee-tta UGH-PUUUU! Get TU DA CHOPPAH!” I did my terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger impression loudly and poorly, adding in a loud grunt for full effect. 

“Argh, I need muh clothes, my boots, my motorcykalll”, she said, in the same bad Austrian accent without opening her eyes. “Come ONN, do it. Do it Nah-OW!”

Stumbling out of bed, vision still blurry, and nearly tripping over the corner of the blanket now fallen to the floor, I reached over and grabbed from the basket the first item of clothing on the pile of clean laundry that we neglected to fold from the previous night. I pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and felt around for a bra. I threw both toward the bed as I made my way to the bathroom. April put on her top as she stood up. Hair a mess and eyes barely open, April exuded a dreamy, other-worldly quality as she floated from the bed to the sink wearing the dark red floral patterned shirt dress I had bought for her the weekend before. I blow dried my hair into a more presentable state and shaved as she washed her face and finished combing her hair. 

I packed April’s belongings into her backpack for her, the both of us hurrying downstairs to my car. After stopping by a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way, we ate Egg McMuffins sitting in the early traffic heading toward Downtown LA. I looked at her as she opened a ketchup packet.

 “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” she said, laughing as she carefully squirted the ketchup onto her hashbrown.

 Briskly walking up the parking lot escalators and half-skipping across Pershing Square, April got to the bus stop just in time as the vehicle screeched to a halt. “WESTWOOD/SANTA MONICA” said the display. A quick kiss goodbye and she was off to class.

8:00 AM The office was dark as I stepped out of the elevator. Walking toward my desk, I was greeted by lights flickering on as motion sensors began to stir. Fresh cup of coffee in hand, I left the kitchen for the far side of the floor toward my favorite viewing spot. 

The Los Angeles morning was peaceful when viewed from high above. Cars moved slowly down Broadway; I could hear their distant honking noises in the early rush hour. Construction workers below near Third Street walked carrying their equipment, passing by the shops just beginning to open in Grand Central Market. From my hawk’s nest I saw a cyclist zipping down Grand Avenue past the Museum of Contemporary Art, in front of which a food truck was beginning to set up shop. My breath and the steam from my coffee fogged the glass as I stepped closer to look at the crowd of people gathering by the Broad. The early light bathed my city in a warm amber glow, thawing its sleepy commuters as a new workday began. Flecks of gold and saffron twinkled as the dawn bounced from the stirring skyscrapers and automobiles, blinding me. I, too, was beginning to wake as I finished my coffee. 

With my headphones on, back at my desk, I continued sketching out the wireframe concepts from the day before. Wireframes are the foundation of plotting out designs for interactive products such as apps and websites. They are a high level way of designing ways in which someone can use a product and the organization for which types of information and interaction appears on which screen, before a designer has to focus on the finer details such as animations, visual appearances, and the style of smaller items such as buttons. Even though the other designers created wireframes in programs I was also familiar with such as Adobe XD or Sketch, I always took great care in sketching out early ideas neatly on paper. I felt there was a purity in shaping ideas away from a computer, a kind of humility in making things with my hands.

8:30 AM The office is still dim as I make myself a second cup of coffee. This was one of those sluggish days; I felt slow to start, and was glad to still be the only person in the office. There was less pressure this way. I returned to my desk and cleaned up my lines with an eraser, reinforcing others with a Sharpie. Boxes with crisscrosses represented images, various other shapes representing icons and call-to-actions. Simple line patterns signified text, clearly showing the underlying grid to the layout. Adding final touches, I drew an outline of an iPhone over all of the screens before using a green colored pen to create the markings that showed how a user interacted and navigated from screen to screen. I felt pride for the cleanliness of my draft, as I never knew whether the second draft in the computer would be made by myself or a different designer. Finished, and satisfied with my work, I walked over to the simple Kanban board on the far wall and moved the task’s corresponding post-it note from the column labeled “in work” to the column labeled “done”.

Aside from a few coworkers from accounting, the floor was still mostly deserted. Sitting back and listening to the rest of Bach’s Goldberg Variations on my headphones, I fidgeted at my desk for a while. Impatient, I walked back over to the job board and grabbed one of the tasks from the column labeled “backlog” and moved it to “in work”. This should keep me occupied, I thought.

10:00 AM Standup was always kind of fun. Normally I have always preferred to work alone, with headphones on, lost in thought as I built designs and mockups, in an almost-meditative state of flow. However, I liked my coworkers very much, and it was also nice to see everyone at the beginning of the day and update one another on our work progress in the morning as we created the pieces of our product together. I enjoyed this kind of organized interaction that afforded me boundaries and space to create.

 <Walalala..>, texted April. It was her way of greeting. Warm and cheerful, albeit at times a little silly, it was a greeting that I had come to love. It would also be a salutation I would receive less and less over time until I would not see it at all. <What you doing?>, she added.

<Designing more apps. What about you?>

<Nothing bored in class>

<Lol. You should pay attention! I’m pretty tired too. I don’t think I woke up yet>

<I miss you.>

<Haha, I miss you a little too.>

<Only a little bit? Fine! Text me when u miss me a lot!>

<Ok I miss you alot>

<Pfft, you still need me to remind you?>

<Ha, you should pay attention in class. Your mom will kill me if you fail because of me>

<Well you can always quit and go to engineering or med school!>

<YOU can go to med school. I’ll make more apps!>

<Too hard~ And I’m so tired today I don’t want to do anything. Head hurt.>

11:00 AM Sketches spread out on the table before me, I began to create the second round of digital wireframes. As much as I enjoyed sketching, this step was also one of my favorite things to do. The useful aspect having hand sketches was their looseness — from a high level perspective, during this stage there were still so many possibilities. Creating the first digital wireframe versions, despite their inherent roughness, narrowed down those possibilities. To do so felt like taking a camera lens and turning it slowly into focus. At this stage, it was not a crisp focus, but much more recognizable as a coherent direction. The process was therapeutic as it was methodical; moving through it step by step, there was room to make improvements on the fly, perfecting each idea. However, today, my process of refinement would be interrupted by a different task.

There needed to be a version of our project for a new client, said marketing. A simple mockup of our app must be made in the style of our new client, a baseball team. The refinement of the new screen designs would have to wait. Grumbling to myself a little, I closed the program and neatly piled the sketches into my drawer.

<Heyyy, why u ignoring me?>

<Sorry, some other stuff came up at work>

<So sad but it’s okay. I feel so sleepy and tired>

<Maybe have some coffee? I’m on my second cup already>

<I dunno. Stomach hurt a bit too>

<I’m sorry. Would you feel better if you ate something? What are you gonna get for lunch?>

<Expensive grass, haha>. “Expensive grass” was April’s name for salad. They always cost more than they should, she would remark.

<btw…>

<what’s wrong?> Nothing good ever happened when April said “by the way”.

<If I go back to Taiwan after graduation, can we still be friends?>

<We’re not breaking up. We can make this work>

<I mean, if. Can we please stay friends? I can’t imagine a day without you, even if we’re only friends>

<I want you to stay though. We can figure this out>

<I don’t know…>

12:00 PM It is lunchtime. Mood now sour, I didn’t feel like leaving the building. After informing my deskmates that I was taking my lunch break, I grabbed a stale bagel from the kitchen and microwaved it with a slice of cheese. Taking that and a diet soda from the fridge, I returned to my viewing corner.

We had only recently moved into the forty fourth floor of the building from six floors above. The company had now grown bigger and the fiftieth floor was not enough space. However, it was only the design, marketing, and accounting teams on this floor, leaving most of it empty. In fact, we only occupied one corner, leaving the other three quiet and deserted. I enjoyed taking walks around the empty areas, sometimes even bringing my cello to work and practicing in one of the empty rooms during breaks. Today though, I only wanted to look outside and think.

Now midday there was visible smog in the Los Angeles air.  Protestors were forming on Grand Avenue. I looked closer, curious as to the reason for this group. I could not make out the writing on their signs. A car accident was visible further down on the 2nd Street intersection, blocking it off. The authorities closed off one of the lanes, backing up traffic. A bus awkwardly took up both lanes as it attempted to merge into the available space. An adjacent driver made a rude hand gesture out of his window. I sighed, feeling exhausted as I learned against the wall near the window. I sat on the floor as I drank my soda and looked out of the floor to ceiling window, thinking. The conversation I thought of was not with April, but one with someone else, from a different day, in a different language.

•••

<Your girlfriend is really pretty! I saw the pictures you posted to WeChat yesterday>

<Yeah, I took her to the airplane museum the other day.>

<Do you spend everyday with her?>

<Well, she kept asking me to stay over, and then I had to stay with her after she crashed her car. Lately though, she tells me she just doesn’t like it when I’m away. It feels weird, but I’m really happy with her and I love her, so I guess I’m not complaining. She’s been coming to work with me and taking the bus to school too>

<Hey, you should pace yourself. All couples need their space from time to time.>

<Maybe? Sometimes I go to work and five minutes after I leave she texts me that she misses me. I think she’s very sweet.>

<Okay, I’m just looking out for you. What if she turns out to be one of those possessive types?>

<She told me she gets jealous easily. A lot of my female friends came to my birthday party and she told me she felt weird about it. ‘I’m very jealous’, she said.>

<Hey! I knew it!! Is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts last winter in China?>

<Sorry. I guess it’s just weird, what happened between us.>

<Why would you tell her that…>

<She had someone else she was trying to get over and I was trying to comfort her.>

<Well, nothing happened between us!>

<I know! Well, I don’t know. You are one of my best friends, and what happened affected me very deeply. It may have been nothing to you, but it was definitely something to me.

<I’m sorry about that. I really am. I was as confused as you too. I never meant to be cruel. I hurt you, and I ended up hurting myself too.>

<I’m glad we’ve moved past it and we’re still friends>

<How long have we been friends? I was still ten or eleven years old I think? We’ve been best friends for so long even though we are in two different countries. Don’t you think this is a friendship worth keeping?>

<I know! I’m trying to figure this out>

<You promised not to throw this friendship away after you meet some girl remember? You made me a promise.>

<Yes, I remember. And I will keep my word. I just need to figure this out. She’ll come around eventually. I really think the two of you would become great friends.>

<Well, you gotta figure it out eventually, because this is just awkward what you’re doing>

<I just need time…>

••• 

1:00 PM I snapped back to reality as my phone alarm went off. It was time to go back to work.

The caffeine was beginning to wear off. Still debating whether or not I should have a third cup of coffee, I flipped through the Android Material Design Guidelines online, pondering what visual branding treatments were acceptable within Google’s design parameters. Writing down the correct color hex values on a notepad, I began to change colors on app elements in Photoshop, reskinning the interface. The phone beeped again, as another text message arrived from April.

 <I’m sorry. I want to stay with you too. But I’m so worried>

<About what?>, I answered.

 <What if it doesn’t work out between us? In a year? In five?>

<Why are you worried about this now? April, I love you and I’m perfectly happy with you>

<Yeah, but what if we DO break up eventually? You’re not a doctor and I’m supposed to marry a doctor.>

<Come on, I can’t change that>

I stopped working. Taking off my glasses, I sat back in my chair, rubbing my forehead. I was getting very tired.

<I just wish you could accept me for who I am>, I texted back.

<I do! I really want you to make it. I love who you are I just don’t love what you do>

<There’s nothing wrong with what I do. I am a designer and I’m good at it. I make a decent salary and I like my life>

<It’s different>

<Well that’s just your viewpoint. We’re just different, I guess>. I saved my work and walked to an empty conference room.

 <Why do you even love me?>, I texted. My thumbs began to sweat. Typing was becoming difficult.

<I love you because you are kind. I love you because you value family, like me. My friends ask me why I love someone who is not what I want and why I want to change him knowing how much effort I have to put in>

<The only complaints MY friends have about you is these things you say from time to time! It’s so messed up. Maybe your friends are full of shit. At least I love you for YOU>

<I do too! Doctors are all over the place, especially with my family background it’s easy for me to just marry one, but I can’t find a doctor who is YOU>

<I’m getting back to work>

I stomped back to my desk, angrily chucking my empty soda can into a nearby wastepaper basket. A couple of coworkers stared.

3:00 PM For the next two hours, I tried my best to focus on creating more animations. More interactions. I compared the mockups I made against the Android and Apple guidelines. So far, so good. Sending the finished mockups back to marketing, I went back to the kitchen and made myself the third cup of coffee. 

I chugged the hot beverage, nearly searing my throat. I went back to designing the wireframes. There were only three hours left in the workday, and I originally wanted to have had this perfected at the end of the day. 

<Are you done with class yet?>. There was no answer from April.

Frustrated, I placed my phone face down on the table and returned to the designs. These have to get done, I thought. So little time. Fuming, I angrily threw the boxes together on the computer screen, connecting the button hotspots together as violently as someone could inside a digital space. 

 “Hey are you ok?”. It was Julie, who sat across from me behind my monitor. “I can hear you breathing from here”

“I’m fine”, I said. I sat back in my chair and looked at what I’ve made. It was sloppy and nowhere near the level of detail that I have been known for around the office. 

 “Take a break man. I just got an email that we have until the end of the week for these screens now”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. You can just chill”

“I think I’m gonna take a walk then.”

4:00 PM I looked at my watch as I waited in the elevator. Who does she think she is, I thought. So what if I’m not a doctor? Life can’t only be about status. I was so mad. That is such a shallow way of thinking! And it wasn’t me who started all this. I was just minding my own business working. She was the one who had to bring up Taiwan, and her parents’ crazy expectations for who she should be dating. 

 I walked outside briskly in the shade of the tall buildings. It was much louder now that I left the lobby. A street performer was beating a drum across the intersection. A crazy person was yelling about the end of times on the other corner. Good. Noisy enough that no one could see how angry I was.

And I hated the way she texted. How am I supposed to always be at her beck and call? I have a job to do; I can’t be there to simply answer every time she worries about crazy hypotheticals. I was doing fine today, I should’ve simply not answered. And now that she’s finished ruining my day, she’s stopped texting and has gone back to whatever she’s doing leaving me to pick up the pieces. Every single month, we have to have some fight about something completely stupid like this. Every single month — 

Oh. 

April had complained about being tired. April had experienced stomach pains during class. I counted the days since the last time I remembered similar complaints. There were many things I remembered for her. April could be so forgetful.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight….”, I counted in my head. I knew what she was going to need.

I stopped at the Rite Aid on 5th and Broadway. Quickly making my way through the aisles, I picked up a pack of Ibuprofen, a box of what appeared to be feminine pads, and a bottle of water. The cashier handed me the items in a paper bag after I made my purchase. Strolling further south, I began to think about what transpired.

Did she really mean all that she said? Perhaps a deeper question was, WHICH of what she said did she actually mean? You can’t tell someone you love them for who they are but also want to change them, I thought. Girls just say crazy things during their time of month right? I checked my phone.

 Still no answer.

 This is bad, I thought. Perhaps I was too harsh. Her car is in working condition. She chose to take the bus because she genuinely wanted to spend time with me. And now she’s probably on the bus home, in pain. All for me. I’m such a jerk, I thought.

Ducking into Bottega Louie on 7th, I bought a box of half dozen French macarons. They were rather pricey, but came in a beautiful box and were, I had heard, delicious. The small rigid box was not unlike jewelry packaging, with beautiful calligraphy and gold speckles dotted throughout its powder purple surface. It was a small gift that was sure to brighten up anyone who was having a less than perfect day.

6:30 PM The workday was now over as I closed my work laptop and packed away my things. The bus from UCLA arrived as I waited on a bench in Pershing Square.

“Hey what took you so long?”, I asked as I took April’s bag from her. 

“I had the most horrible day!” she said.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I sounded so mean—

“No, not you! My period started and I forgot to bring pads so I had to use tissues. And my phone died, and then the bus had to take a detour. So I needed to get off and wait for another bus, but I couldn’t use Google Maps and I’m so tired and I just want something to eat”

“Well, first things first I guess”

I handed her the box of macarons and discreetly showed her what was in the paper bag. “Let’s find a bathroom,” I said.

She looked into the paper bag. She looked at me. She started giggling, the happiest I’ve seen her all week.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you never bought pads before?”

“Well, no, but I figured you needed them. Was I right?”

“Those are panty liners, not pads!”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be alright. Cmon, let’s eat”

•••

8:30 PM After April had a chance to change, I took her to a nearby Hong Kong styled cafe. It would be nice to have some porridge, she said. 

As we sat down and waited for our food, by reflex I folded April’s chopstick wrapper into an origami chopstick stand, as I have always done since our first date. I looked out the window into the dark. 

The San Gabriel traffic outside was a lot calmer compared to the city. It was quiet and I could just make out the sounds of crickets. A high school couple walked out of the boba shop across the street, laughing to themselves, carefree. An elderly man picked out a newspaper from a box near the entrance. I felt a soft caress on my forearm.

April handed me a crudely folded flower made from a chopstick holder. 

 “I’m sorry about today. I keep forgetting how to fold that fancy origami, but I want to thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiled the familiar funny smile.

•••

9:30 PM As we walked in the darkness at a nearby park, digesting our meal, I stayed quiet. How can I make all nights like tonight?, I thought.  Is there really an expiration date to our happiness? 

Perhaps reading my mind, April said, “I don’t know what we’ll do if I really have to leave…”

I looked at her and kissed her forehead.

“Whatever”, she added. “If I have to go back to Taiwan, I guess I’ll just get another boyfriend, and it’ll be a doctor this time! HA HA!”

I did not laugh.

I let go of her hand and walked a few paces ahead, sullen.

 “I’m kidding!” April grabbed my arm. “I really do love you, alright?”

[meet-me-at-kingsmeet]

a/b/o arranged marriage au

I was writing the outline for the wedding sabotage au until i got bored. So I watched one of my fave movies Marie Antionette and had this idea. Wrote this drabble in a couple hours. I’m tired but its cute. idk if u want more lemme kno of course (dnt worry i’ll still work on the other one too). As always, love you guys a lot and enjoy <<<333

It has come to my attention, after discovering a possible invasion and attempt to conquer Delfeur, that I, King Aleron de Vere, implore a disparate annex towards Vere. It would be unwise to take an area of Veretian soil and expect absolute subjection. The Delfeurean people are loyal to the crown of Vere and a war against our country will cause the death of a great many young men and would impact the taxes of both our nations. Raises in taxes will lead both our people to restless behavior and acrimony towards you, King Theomedes. For you will be solely responsible for this war. You must also take into consideration that when compelling my people under your rule, they too will remember that you are solely responsible.

I would like to make an offer that both kingdoms, Vere and Akielos, should find presentable and most suitable for avoidance in war. Prince Damianos, heir to Akielos, is of age to marry and is yet to be. It is in Vere, The Council, and my greatest interest and contentment that my youngest son, Prince Laurent de Vere, has recently come of age. From what I have heard of your most honorable son is that he prefers the physiognomy that my son bears. Prince Laurent is an intelligent young man but knows when to hold his tongue, follow orders, and sustain his duties. In my most unbiased opinion I see it as a very tolerable match and constitutes itself as a preferred one of the people when the knowledge that it keeps from war is greatly acknowledged.

I hope you take this into great consideration. For both my people of Vere and the people of Akielos have their lives in your most dignified hand.

Sincerely,

The Regent finished and looked up towards his brother, King Aleron.

“See, dearest brother, all you need is to sign the document. I’ll have it sent and we wait for King Theomedes’ answer.” The Regent gave a wicked grin and placed and pen and paper on the desk in front of King Aleron, who had his head resting gravely against his hand.

“Laurent goes off to marry some sweaty barbaric-”

“He is much more use there than he is here. Prince Auguste is the only heir we desire and Laurent wastes his time riding and reading books and when not doing that he is distracting Prince Auguste with such nonsense.”

“A royal marriage will not only be beneficial to this Kingdom but to Laurent as well. He will be forced to learn Akielon and practice the social cues of both Veretian and Akielon.”

King Aleron gave a heady sigh. “And the council agrees with this idea?”

“They admire it greatly. They appreciate not sending their sons to war and sending the surly Prince away.” King Aleron gave a boisterous laugh. His younger brother only smiled and picked up the pen to hold it out towards his brother.

“One signature and two things happen: You stop a war and are beloved by both Veretian and Akielon alike, or King Theomedes denies the fruitful request and will be blamed by every mother who lost a son. Either way, you’re golden.”

King Aleron took the pen from his brother’s gloved hand and pondered up at him for a moment, distressing “how did you conclude to this idea?”

“I saw Laurent was...of age and yet so unbecoming of a Prince of Vere. I told him punishment would rain down on him and he refused to believe me.”

“So this is a punishment towards Laurent?”

The Regent puckered his lips in thought. It took him only a second to spew “a punishment is for teaching. This is Laurent’s lesson into his becoming of a noble Prince. And is,” The regent placed his finger just above the area for King Aleron to sign. “The very future of Vere.”

Studying the paper once over, King Aleron signed his salient signaturea and handed the paper back to his brother. When The Regent went to make his leave he was stopped by a sharp grip around his wrist. He turned back and gazed upon his older brother, who flipped his wrist upside down and kissed it once. “You have done a great service to me and this Kingdom, brother.” The Regent offered only a half smile and a nod.

“You know how much I care for you and this Kingdom,” and he permanently made his leave for the night.

*****

“It’s a dirty trick.” Kastor stated, loudly. It was only after several seconds of King Theomedes finishing the letter that Kasor had made the bold and derogatory statement.

“Perhaps, King Aleron is truly offering an olive branch in an attempt to avoid war-”

“Oh Gods, Damianos you cannot actually be serious? Your blind trust in these Veretian snakes is the real reason why Akielos would lose all its land to Vere.”

“Enough, Kastor. How dare you speak to your brother that way.” Kastor had only fumed at his father’s words, but held his jaw taut and avoided saying anything else for the brief moment.

“This proposal is an interesting one,” King Theomedes rubbed at his beard in reflection. “It shows that Vere is vulnerable, and that they cannot afford to fight in the war so they are attempting

“Or they are fully prepared to fight a war and are trying to offer an unknowingly better option.”

Kastor and Damen both began to argue over each other, Kastor pronouncing “bullshit this is an obvious attempt to trick us-

“Trick us? You act as though peace is such a terrible option-

“-into bringing in their veretian whore to spy while barely missing a war they know they couldn’t win-”

“Kastor don’t you dare refer to an innocent 13 year old as a ‘whore’ and ‘spy that’s indecorous-’”

“Oh look, father! Damen is already defending the little slut. Throw the ceremonial chiton on him now there is sure to be a most congenial wedding!”

A hard slam against the mahogany desk brought both the Akielon princes to attention. Damen turned towards his father with his head down while Kastor continued to carry his ill-look of disdain towards his brother. “This is not how my sons and heirs to this throne behave.”

A nod from Damen followed by a “Yes King, I apologize for my behavior. If I were to debate with another King I would be considered uncouth and childish.” Damen continued to keep his head down.

“I appreciate your apology, Damen, and forgive you under the fact that you are 19 and still learning. Kastor?” Kastor crossed his arms and rocked on his feet, displaying that he was not going to apologize for his, what he considered, rightful outburst. “Very well then. Damen you will tell me your opinion on this, Kastor will have no word,” at this Kastor uncrossed his arms and his countenance held a mixture of disbelief and heavy indignance.

“Father this is unwise-”

“You dare tell your King and Father how to-”

“No I am simply trying to make you understand that Damen is naive when it comes to foreign affairs and should not be given to decide on such a paramount decision.”

“I’ve had enough of your insolence, Kastor,” King Theomedes held his body up in a commanding form, yet still held grace and nobility while pointing his eldest son towards the door. Damen gazed upon his father’s stance, attempting to memorize and learn from its power. “Leave now.”

“But Father!”

“I am your King and you will do as I say before I throw you over this desk and beat your ass with a stick while the council watches.”

There was a standoff between father and son in that moment. Kastor had not left and Damen was experiencing physical anxiety from the idea of disobeying his father the way Kastor was. Eventually Kstor left by stomping his feet and slamming the chamber doors. King Theomedes shook his head but gave his full attention back to Damianos.

“What is it you wish to do, Damianos?”

“I believe accepting the extended olive branch will prove most prosperous between our two kingdoms. I cannot help but feel that if we go straight to war, without seeking a different, more peaceful approach, that we would be deceptive and irresponsible with our people.

King Theomedes nodded gracefully, “Laurent is only 13. You don’t seem to become hot at the idea of a youthful boy.”

“No, I do not and never will. I was thinking to make sure the arrangement stays solidified, Prince Laurent may stay in our Kingdom. Learns our Language and culture norms, then when he comes of age I take him as my bride.”

“The council?”

“I can take my argument of why this is a more acceptable idea than war. And if you are to be on my side they would be much more willing.”

“And Kastor? He will not agree to this at all.”

“This decision is more important than what Kastor agrees with.”

“He is your brother,” King Theomedes reminded.

“Yes but this is Akielos’ and Vere’s future and I am heir to the throne not Kastor and who I pick for my bride, especially if it benefits the people is not his concern.” Damen was starting to sweat under the hot breeze and excitement from his presentation. After his father stared him down for what seemed hours, Damen received a wide smile. King Theomedes walked out from behind the desk and threw his arm around his son, pulling him in close.

“That’s the passion I love, Damianos. The passion of a true king! I will stand by your side in this decision, Damianos. Remember, it is your first major one and foretell your strength as a leader and decision maker. Do not make a mistake, son.”

“I will think thoroughly and carefully and audit any advice or grievances given to me.” Damen placed his hand on his father’s shoulder and stared into his eyes. “I am grateful for this trust you have given me, Father-King. I will not disappoint.”

King Theomedes smiled and hugged his son briefly. Once he released Damen he went towards the chamber doors to tell a guard to fetch the council at once. He halted and glanced back at Damen.

“This Prince Laurent will need to be protected and gain the people’s approval. Even I hate the idea of him being here but I’m allowing this because of you. Don’t mistake an approval of a decision, for the eradication of an on-going prejudice.” 

Damen was completely unaware of what to say as he was left alone in the King’s advisory room. But from his father’s warning, he suspected that perhaps a war might have been easier.

[ecotone99]

[HM] Stick and Poke

Mark Piletski, coming in at six foot two, weighing no more than 150 pounds, and having enough acne to create a topographical map of Colorado, was in the middle of asking me if I could shout out his Twitter account on my site when I saw Mallory Green for the first time. She was being escorted by another girl, one of the new-student ambassadors. The ambassador chick was holding what looked like Mallory’s class schedule, chattering loudly about the glories of West High. At that moment, I stopped hearing the outside world. All sounds—Mark’s Twitter shoutout request, the intercom announcements, every voice in the school hallway—went underwater.

Mallory was wearing a white t-shirt with a blue-and-red bullseye on it, along with the name of a 1960s band. The neckline was stretched with wear and hung off the side of one shoulder, revealing a single, tantalizing purple bra strap. Her black jeans rode up to just below her belly button, ending an inch before the shirt began, showing a midriff and a flash of glitter that must’ve been a belly-button ring. In fact, she seemed to be a fan of body hardware; a length of shiny black studs circled the outline of her ear and a small gold septum ring hung in between her two nostrils. Her arms were decorated with stick-and-poke tattoos, which, in high school, was the universal signal of saying “I’ve seen some shit”.

For the people in the back who don’t know what a stick-and-poke tattoo is, here’s the gist: Kids who hate their parents (and probably the world) bust open ink pens and, using a sewing needle, dip into the ink and poke permanent, regretful words/images on their young bodies. It happens one tiny stab at a time, and I imagine it hurts like hellfire, but there are always those troubled few who partake in such activities. Usually the practice of stick-and-poke would fall into the category of Super Fucking Lame. Kids who did it were always twisted out of their minds on a mixture of pure THC and UV Blue vodka, such so the tattoos always came out horribly.

Pam Keith, a West High junior notorious for destructive behaviors (self or otherwise) had stuck-and-poked Brandon Strogie’s name onto her thigh after the first week they started dating. She showed it off to all her friends the next day, Brandon’s name barely legible. I saw the tattoo and had to stare at it for a little too long before I could pick out the “BRANDON”. I originally thought his name was a cheap copy of the Patagonia mountain range. The night before, she’d taken the three remaining pain pills from her wisdom teeth surgery to accomplish the bulk of the work. The rest had been helped along with a few shots of 140-proof vodka. Sanitation was most certainly not on her mind in her inebriated state. God only knows where she found that needle, probably her mom’s sewing kit that hadn’t been cleaned or updated since it was received as a wedding gift in 1988. The skin around the tattoo was flaming red from infection by the end of the week, you could’ve cooked an egg on her upper thigh with all that heat. But love is blinding. Pam still thought her tattoo was Super Cute.

She wore short jean shorts and skirts every day to show it off. She was, of course, alone in her belief that the tattoo was Super Cute. Consensus at West High was that it was a Really Stupid Fucking Move on her part, but her friends at least had a couple of brain cells left to understand that the tattoo wasn’t going anywhere, so criticism would help no one. Pam was met with a myriad of “Oh . . . that’s cute”s and “Ah, interesting”s on her first day of showing off her body art (I suppose you could call it “art”, in the sense that it was a literal representation of a high school girl’s blind devotion to her stoner boyfriend).

Tragically, on that very same night when Pam was holed up in her bedroom mutilating her flesh with her lover’s name, Brandon himself was out hooking up with not one but two of the girls on the dance team, both of the girls blondes, but all three participants dumbasses. Pam was informed of Brandon’s infidelity by Alec Mackwood outside of the band room, near the exit door she usually went out to smoke cigarettes after school. Her reception of this information was nothing short of a firestorm. I heard the screams from my locker, screams of surprise, rage, and maybe even shame (If Pam Keith was capable of such a thing as shame).

I saw several administrators take off down the hallway to get a handle on the commotion. Luckily for Pam, she was already bowling out the band room doors and booking it down to the parking lot. Brandon was halfway down, strutting along with his buddies in that type of walking reserved for only the worlds class-act douchebags. You know what type of walk I mean. It took Angry Pammy a little less than 1.4 seconds to catch up to him. I can’t recount exactly what happened, I wasn’t there, but the witness accounts shared the following day agreed on several simple facts.

First, Pam screamed in rage and threw her entire body weight, which was probably 110 pounds, at Brandon’s back, causing him to fall face-first into the dirt.

Second, Brandon turned over and just looked at Pam. He didn’t even bother talking. The guy knew exactly why he was being taken to church. He just sat there, staring up at her, waiting for the punishment that would fit his crime. Yes Pammy, I’ve been a bad boy, I deserve this.

Third, and this was the most discussed of all, Pam screamed some close variation of the words: “I hope those dance sluts liked your micro-penis, fucking deformed freak!”

Fourth, Pam rushed the rest of the way down the parking lot in her flats, skinny arms pumping and black skirt flying. When she got there, she went to work on Brandon’s 2012 black Nissan Altima. She pulled out a switchblade, which she carried on her all the time like most of the kids in her crowd and gave each of his tires a hearty stab. High school administration was just leaving the school and heading towards the scene, otherwise I think Pam would’ve stuck around to carve something crazy into Brandon’s car the way she’d carved something crazy into her own flesh.

Red-faced for eighty different reasons, Pam made her escape in her own deep blue Nissan Altima, the same year model as Brandon’s, which I found to be quite poetic. It truly is a fitting story for a girl whose name is Pam Keith, which is literally a combination of the worst female name and worst male name, in my humble opinion. Note: further investigation confirmed that Brandon Strogie did, in fact, have a micro-penis.

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