#in an apartment? get a window flower pot and plant some in there. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inairbinad · 10 months

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sweet enough on the vine

🌸 affectionately known as Steve the Botanist 🌸 Steddie | Rated T | 6k | cw: language, making out, and some grinding Read on AO3

Eddie was running late.

That was nothing new, strictly speaking, but after last year’s traffic debacle he swore he’d never be late to his standing dinner date for Chrissy’s birthday again.

And yet there he was, scrambling to find somewhere to buy her a present on the way from his apartment to their favorite restaurant. Eddie was already cutting it close, but if he managed to actually land on something to get her in the next three minutes he was pretty sure he’d be fine.

He’d dodge that same smug and mildly amused Chrissy face this year. There would be no groveling. Eddie was gonna make it.

Stopped at a red light, Eddie’s eyes started drifting. They landed on a vibrant little florist’s shop that sat right up against the edge of the park—the same one that Eddie always looked at fondly from the gay bar across the street without ever actually going inside.

Weathertop Nursery and Florist, the sign out front read, and Eddie wondered if that was meant to be a Tolkien reference.

“Motherfucking duh,” Eddie laughed at himself before pulling over to park.

Was a bouquet of flowers the most original thing he could get Chrissy for her birthday? Not exactly, but there was no denying that Chrissy loved flowers. At the very least Eddie could bide his time with them and buy her dinner, then surprise her with something more thoughtful later.

It wasn’t like Chrissy didn’t know Eddie was forgetful, but she also knew he cared a whole lot, regardless of if his gift-giving skills were lacking. And this time he wasn’t going to be late, so he took a little bit of pride in surpassing expectations as he made his way inside the shop.

It was even more charming than he always expected it to be.

The walls were painted an earthy green color that instantly managed to soothe some of Eddie’s manic energy. Plants and flowers populated every shelf and surface, their happy and well-cared for petals and leaves seeming to greet him as he walked in. There were enough windows and natural light that Eddie almost felt like he was still outside, except for the fact that it was wonderfully cool inside.

There was a big greenhouse connected through a door on the left hand side of the shop and a garden out back, which the sloped windows behind the counter overlooked like a dream. A few people were milling around in both, enjoying the extended daylight now that the first day of summer was so near.

Eddie wished he weren’t in such a rush to get in and out. He thought he might’ve liked to linger in this place for a while and let its cheer sink into his bones. Even more so he wished he was at all good with plants so he’d have an actual reason to be there. Eddie wondered if maybe he could learn as he made his way towards the counter for help.

The guy working had his back turned, the broad slope of his shoulders hunched over what looked like a potting bench. Based on the steady sound of clipping, the man must have been pruning the stems of the pile of pink roses he had sitting beside his right elbow.

Eddie impatiently drummed his fingers against the countertop beside the register, hoping to make this a quick one and done stop. Even in a hurry, he couldn’t help but notice that he liked watching the way the man’s muscles moved beneath his t-shirt even more than he liked the whole vibe of this place.

“Excuse me,” Eddie piped up, probably a little too impatiently. He heard one final snip, and the man finally turned around.

Whatever nerves Eddie had to get out of the shop as quickly as possible died on the spot.

The man that stood before him was an absolute dream—tall, tan, with a full head of chestnut hair that Eddie immediately wanted to run his hands through.

He was pretty sure his jaw dropped, especially when he noticed the guy was wearing a black graphic tee with several plants printed across the chest, each of their pots a different color to make up the rainbow. Almost like it was for Pride.

The way the shirt was probably a size too small didn’t hurt matters, either.

So this guy was dorky, hot, and potentially queer? Eddie wondered if he fell down in his haste to get inside and smacked his head on the pavement. He had to be hallucinating, or at the very least getting ahead of himself. It was June, after all. The dude could just be trying to be supportive.

“Can I help you?” he asked, a friendly smile playing at his lips—which looked perfectly kissable, just to add to Eddie’s distress.

Eddie snapped his jaw shut, trying not to overheat when the other man looked him up and down.

Act normal, dipshit, Eddie told himself as he sucked in a deep breath that smelled like some kind of floral paradise. You’ve talked to pretty people without dying before.

Maybe none so pretty as this guy, admittedly, but Eddie thought he could try. For Chrissy’s sake. Remembering the reason he came in here at all snapped him back to reality a bit.

“I need a birthday gift for a girl who will roast the shit out of me if I show up to take her out to dinner empty handed,” Eddie said, feeling a tad frantic about having waited this long to get Chrissy something.

“I think we can manage to avoid getting you roasted,” the absolutely fucking delectable man who worked there said with a low laugh. He leaned on his elbows on the counter and looked up at Eddie through his lashes, and Eddie nearly swooned. “Are we talking a gift for a girlfriend, sister, friend, or…?”

“Just friend,” Eddie said, then realized how ridiculous it sounded to call Chrissy just anything, and course-corrected. “Best friend, actually. Why? Do you have certain flowers that mean certain things?”

Really, Eddie hoped this guy was just fishing for information about if he might be single.

“I mean, sure,” the man shrugged. Eddie wished he was wearing a name tag. He wanted to feel this beautiful creature’s name rolling around on his tongue. “I’m a firm believer in buying people flowers based on what they like, or what you do, but I can ramble on about symbolism if you want.”

“I’d probably listen to you talk about just about anything,” Eddie admitted freely as he leaned his hip against the countertop. Stopping to flirt would make him late, but Chrissy would get it. He hoped she would get it, anyway, because the smile he got in return made Eddie weak in the knees. “But I know next to nothing about flowers.”

“Seems like a perfect match, then,” the man said with an easy smile. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

And oh, Eddie was definitely done for. He’d be lucky if someone came along to scoop him up off the floor from the puddle he was surely turning into in time to make it to dinner.

“Eddie,” he replied, somehow managing to sound the slightest bit normal. His face had the muscle memory to remember how to flirt, it seemed, because it flashed Steve a dimply grin of its own accord.

“Well, Eddie,” Steve said, still smiling as he made his way around the counter. “How about I show you some cut flowers to start?”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Eddie said, instantly fascinated by the way Steve ducked his head in reaction to the pet name. Eddie didn’t bother to hide the way he tilted his head to admire how nicely Steve’s jeans hugged his ass as he walked them down an aisle overflowing with colorful plants, either.

“Do you know what your friend likes?” Steve asked as he pulled up and idled near a refrigerator full of already cut flowers.

“In movies? Or women? Yes. In flowers? Not so much,” Eddie shrugged easily. Steve barked out a happy little laugh

“I can relate.” Steve barked out a happy little laugh, then turned to point at a container full of flowers Eddie couldn’t identify if he tried. “What’s her favorite color, then?”

“Pink and green,” Eddie said, almost rote in his recitation. Chrissy’s favorite colors hadn’t changed since they were fifteen.

“Perfect,” Steve muttered under his breath. He turned towards the left hand side of the fridge and plucked out a pretty, soft pink flower with a bright, verdant stem and leaves. To Eddie’s untrained eye, at least, he thought it kind of looked like a rose. “Peonies—my best friend’s favorites. And she has great taste in plants and women. Usually.”

Steve offered out the peony, and Eddie stepped closer to examine it. He felt Steve’s eyes on his face as he delicately reached out to brush his fingertips against the velvety edge of a petal. Each petal curled along the edge, folding in on each other in what looked like an endless cascade of feathery clouds towards the center.

They reminded Eddie of Chrissy instantly. They were pretty, sure, but they also had a little bit of extra personality to them.

“They’re perfect,” Eddie murmured, turning to Steve. He was standing a whole lot closer than Eddie realized, and Eddie wondered if there wasn’t a little bit of magic living in this place. “How did you—”

The next in a series of reminders Eddie had set on his phone sounded in his pocket and interrupted him. He groaned, and pulled it out to read his note to himself.

Your ass better be outside that restaurant if not already in it, Munson, it read.

“Shit,” he grumbled. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Maybe get two dozen, then,” Steve said with a teasing grin. “Make it up to her, Munson.”

Eddie felt himself flush as he realized Steve must’ve been reading over his shoulder. It only made him want to shove Steve up against a refrigerator door and kiss him more, somehow. Eddie realized too late that he’d probably buy the moon if Steve suggested it.

“You’re an excellent salesman, you know?”

“Only when I have such handsome customers,” Steve volleyed back without delay. And god, if that smirk wasn’t going to be what finally did Eddie in at the tender age of thirty-one, he wasn’t sure what would.

“Okay, okay, I’m buying the flowers, no need to keep laying it on so thick,” Eddie lamented, nodding towards the container of peonies Steve was already pulling from for him.

“Who said it was about getting you to buy flowers?” Steve asked with a wink. “Come on, I’ll check you out.”

“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing this whole time,” Eddie said, thrilled at how it drew another laugh out of Steve.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded before leading them back to the register. If Eddie noticed a little bit more swagger in Steve’s gait as he walked, he kept as much to himself. Instead he just watched, utterly entranced by another human after only knowing them for a matter of minutes. Eddie wasn’t sure how or why, but it felt like getting hit by a meteor.

Desperate to do something with his hands or his mouth other than ogle Steve as he dried and then delicately wrapped the flowers in paper, Eddie glanced around the front counter a little. It didn’t take long for his eyes to land on a little display of what looked like handmade jewelry.

“Did you make these?” Eddie asked, zeroing in on a bracelet in particular that he thought Chrissy might like. He did spend enough time listening to Chrissy talk about crystals and rocks to know that the delicate little gem wrapped in silver was moonstone.

“Nope, can’t take credit for those,” Steve said, sounding a little proud when he realized what Eddie was looking at.

“The best friend?” Eddie guessed, and Steve nodded. So he made a decision on the fly and plucked the silver bracelet from where it hung on the rack. “Then I’ll take this, too.”

“Gift wrapped?” Steve asked.

“Definitely,” Eddie said, glancing at the time again. He was already late, so sloppily tossing an unwrapped gift at Chrissy would probably only look worse.

“I’ll be quick,” Steve promised, and Eddie honestly wished he wouldn’t. Instead of admitting it aloud, though, Eddie opted to dig out the cash he owed while Steve boxed up Chrissy’s gift.

“How the hell do you keep all of this alive?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask, still looking around in wonder. There weren’t just flowers on display, but plants of all sorts, and that was just from peeking into the greenhouse without getting started on all the stuff also growing outside.

Steve took the question in stride with a low laugh. “Not a plant guy, I take it?”

“Unless by ‘plant guy,’ you mean an incredible capacity to kill everything I touch?” Eddie asked, shooting for innocently hopeful. He was rewarded for it with another crooked smile out of Steve, which was rapidly approaching the top of Eddie’s list of favorite things to see.

Steve just shook his head and handed Eddie his change. The time to actually leave was suddenly staring Eddie in the face, and he desperately didn’t want to. Eddie decided to admit as much aloud. “Which is a shame, because I really could use an excuse to keep coming back here.”

“Like what you see?” Steve nodded towards the shop in general, but Eddie wasn’t gonna let the implication slide.

“You have no idea, gorgeous,” Eddie practically crooned, feeling sparks light in his chest when Steve flushed just in just the slightest. It was adorable, because surely people had to flirt with this man all the time. But every compliment or pet name Eddie threw in his direction only seemed to affect him more.

“Well why don’t you come back tomorrow?” Steve suggested with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll show you some plants that even you can’t kill.”

Eddie took the promise of seeing Steve again and ran with it, practically floating as he made his way out the door.

“Happy birthday, favorite person of mine!” Eddie said cheerfully the minute he finally laid eyes on Chrissy. He spread his arms for a hug, making sure to hold her flowers and bracelet out prominently. Chrissy accepted the hug and well-wishes with a smile, but Eddie knew there was more coming just from the way she tilted her head.

“You’re late,” Chrissy drawled with her arms crossed, visibly unimpressed from her perch at the table she’d kept waiting for them.

“Chris, you’re gonna forgive me—” Eddie tried as he scrambled to sit down, passing her gifts to her right away.

“That’s a bold assumption,” she interrupted, but brought the peonies up close to her nose with a small smile. “Pretty flowers aren’t enough to forgive you for being late to my birthday dinner.”

“Well sure, but that’s not the only gift I got you!” Eddie pointed out the small jewelry box next with his most charming of smiles. It wormed a slight twitch of the lips out of her, but she narrowed her eyes at him without opening it.

“Being late just so you could buy me stuff seems a little backwards, don’t you think?”

“Well that’s not…” Eddie bit his lip and paused, wondering if Chrissy would forgive him for this after all, “…entirely why I’m late.”

“Aha,” Chrissy hummed with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

“There was this guy—”

“Aha,” Chrissy was all but gloating now. “I assume he was pretty? Dark haired? Athletic?”

Eddie pursed his lips, not exactly loving how he was being called out with such little effort on her part. Eddie figured fifteen years of being best friends would do that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely necessary. He’d never been happier to see a waiter in his life, who gave him some time to collect himself while they took drink orders.

“Did you get his number, at least?” Chrissy asked before Eddie got a chance to defend himself.

“No, but I’m seeing him again tomorrow,” Eddie preened, and Chrissy finally cracked a smile.

“That sounds promising. Tell me about him,” Chrissy said, settling back in her seat with an expectant look on her face.

“Well he picked your flowers, for one,” Eddie said.

“No shit, you know nothing about flowers,” Chrissy laughed and finally reached for the box with her bracelet. She carefully untied the ribbon with an amount of grace that Eddie wouldn’t have afforded it, then popped off the lid with an expectant smile. That smile only grew when she saw what was inside. “Aw, Eddie! I love it!”

“I picked that. Because I know that moonstone is one of your birthstones,” Eddie bragged, before reaching across to offer to put it on her wrist. She took him up on it happily, so Eddie added, “And I know enough about flowers to know those are peonies.”

“Oh wow,” Chrissy breathed, sounding surprised. “You really must be smitten.”

Eddie opted to look at his menu rather than trying to deny it.

“He was so pretty, Chris,” Eddie whined, two drinks and an appetizer platter later. “I wanted to cry.”

“You should let me come with you tomorrow so I can see him.” Chrissy’s smile was a wicked thing, and Eddie only whined again. Until he remembered something.

“Ohhhh but that won’t be necessary, my dear friend,” Eddie crowed as he dragged his phone out of his pocket. He went straight to the camera roll and stopped at the last photo he took. It was a clandestine, somewhat blurry photo taken in haste so no one would notice him pressing up against the glass of the flower shop like a complete weirdo. There was a glare on the glass that reflected Eddie’s already yearning face rather unflatteringly, but Eddie didn’t really care.

The important part of the photo was the easy way Eddie had captured Steve’s smile as he talked to another customer, and the long line of his tanned forearm as he handed a small potted plant across the counter.

Eddie thrust the phone across the table for Chrissy to see how utterly pathetic he already was, and exactly why.

Chrissy picked up the phone, careful not to touch the screen and disrupt the photo Eddie had queued up for her. The amusement on her face when she finally took it in was palpable, and Eddie had half a mind to hide behind his hair.

“Do you ever get tired of me being right all the time?” Chrissy beamed.

“I admire your consistency, if anything,” Eddie said drily. He was mildly afraid of the way Chrissy’s expression shifted into something curious and appraising next. “What?”

“Just…” Chrissy bit her lip, like maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring it up at all. Then she shrugged and continued. “Please don’t tell me you were late because you went back to work and tattooed his face on your ass already?”

She said it like getting faces tattooed on his ass was some kind of regular occurrence.

“Jesus Christ, that was one time, Chris,” Eddie grumbled. It could hardly be considered his fault that he and the boys got drunk after work one night, and Jeff convinced Eddie to get Gareth’s cute little mug inked into his left butt cheek. And it certainly hadn’t been anything romantic.

Eddie hadn’t gotten a stupidly impulsive tattoo since (though he was pretty sure he’d given people a few).

“You can’t blame me for asking!” Chrissy argued with a little too much glee in her voice.

“I did not get Steve’s face tattooed on my ass,” Eddie deadpanned for the record. “I haven’t even tried to find his Instagram yet.”

“Oooh!” Chrissy lit up even further with excitement and scooted her chair closer to his. “Let’s do that now.”

By the time Eddie got to the shop the next afternoon, he’d thoroughly convinced himself the beautiful man he’d met the day before had been a mirage. Surely no one was that pretty, just up and walking around this town looking like that while subtly signaling that they’re queer. And they certainly didn’t so blatantly flirt with Eddie while also helping him pick out flowers.

Especially considering his and Chrissy’s resolve to find Steve’s social media had ended up being a big flop. Without more than a first name to go by, all Eddie could find was the flower shop’s official Instagram—which obviously didn’t have much more than plants on it.

It was a great page to promote the business, with very professional looking and tasteful photos. But Eddie couldn’t help but think they neglected to highlight the biggest draw for the place: Steve. There wasn’t a picture of him to be found, and after a cursory glance of the shop’s followers he couldn’t find any usernames or photos that seemed to match the man he’d met either.

If it weren’t for the photo Eddie had taken himself, he would’ve been completely convinced that Steve was a heat-induced hallucination on his part. But that photo did exist, which meant so did the man inside. So Eddie squared his shoulders and made his way into the little store at the front of the greenhouse once more, this time wearing his Iron Maiden crop top for good measure.

“He’s around back,” a woman with a strawberry blonde undercut told Eddie the minute she laid eyes on him. Eddie wondered if she was the best friend Steve had mentioned. She pointed towards a door at the back of the store from her perch behind the register.

Eddie didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the fact that she’d clocked that he was looking for Steve immediately made him hope that maybe Steve had mentioned him. Just like Eddie had spent the night before gushing to Chrissy.

“Uh, thanks?” Eddie said, already making his way towards the door. “I’m—”

“Eddie, yeah,” she laughed lightly as her bored expression receded. “He told me. I’m Robin.”

“Right,” Eddie felt his heartbeat kick up into a higher gear. “Thanks, Robin.”

She went back to reading a book with a small smirk on her face.

Eddie found Steve out back without much difficulty, trudging around in the dirt in a patch of purple flowers with vibrant green leaves. Today Steve was in cutoff denim shorts, crouched on the ground with his back to Eddie, and giving a perfect view of how the curve of Steve’s ass rested back on his heels.

And yet somehow, that wasn’t the most interesting thing about the scene.

What had Eddie most captivated was the way Steve was looking up into the branches of one of the trees bordering the garden and squawking. Eddie followed the line of Steve’s gaze upward, but he heard it before he saw it. A raven was perched on one of the lower hanging branches, apparently talking back at Steve.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said after making a series of croaking noises at the bird looming in the tree line above. “You don’t need me to help feed you, my guy.”

“Are you talking to a bird of death?” Eddie finally asked, and Steve startled. He turned around slowly, with a dirt-covered hand clutched to his chest. He didn’t bother to stand up right away, apparently relaxing when he saw it was only Eddie.

God, he looks pretty on his knees, Eddie couldn’t help but notice.

“Is that a problem?” Steve asked with that same adorable, crooked smile Eddie had been daydreaming about since the day before. Then his eye’s landed on Eddie’s exposed abdomen and lingered there in the most exquisite of pauses.

So it had all been real, then. What a fucking trip.

“No,” Eddie shrugged before deciding to let his mouth run away with him. “It’s really fuckin’ attractive, actually.”

The raven croaked again (in agreement, if Eddie had to guess), and Steve ducked his head as he laughed. Then he pushed himself up off the ground and made his way over towards another little potting bench and outdoor sink beside the door Eddie had just come out of.

Eddie watched Steve wash the soil from his strong hands and swallowed thickly. “Don’t you like wearing gardening gloves?”

“More fun when you can get a little dirty, I think,” Steve smirked over his shoulder before grabbing a towel off the bench.

Eddie’s breath caught, and for a split second he thought he might’ve completely forgotten how to flirt. But somewhere along the way, his innate must-chat-up-the-pretty-person hindbrain kicked in and took over for him.

“Don’t have to be a gardener to agree with that, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, delighted at the way Steve’s shoulders hitched once the remark hit him.

Steve kept his expression smooth, but his perfect lips still quirked up into a self-satisfied little smile. Eddie wanted to skip the pretense and kiss it off his face.

“I’m glad you came back,” Steve said as turned to face Eddie fully again. Eddie matched his stance, stepping just a little bit closer as he did.

“Well, you promised to work miracles, if I recall,” Eddie teased. “Or you just really underestimated how bad I am at keeping plants alive.”

“Let’s go with miracle worker for now,” Steve said, confident yet hopeful in the way he appraised Eddie’s face. Once again, Eddie felt entirely tongue-tied, which was mildly frustrating for someone who usually considered himself a smooth-talker. “Should we find out?”

“Lead the way, big boy,” Eddie said as if he was at all interested in plants.

Steve looked like he might have a retort for the nickname, but instead he bit it back and smiled. Then he inclined his head in a way that screamed maybe I am, and Eddie felt himself start to sweat a little.

The feeling only heightened when Steve led them into the greenhouse, which was practically blistering inside. On instinct, Eddie reached for the hair tie on his wrist as Steve led them over to what looked like a whole section of cacti populating a raised bed along the far wall. Eddie pulled his hair up into a loose bun just to get it off his neck as he looked around. There were all kinds of plants in here, including a whole lot of vegetables, and something that with almost shiny leaves seemed to reach out and tickle him when he walked by.

It startled Eddie into looking back at Steve, whom he caught staring in just the nick of time. Eddie wanted to punch the air in triumph as he watched Steve shake himself and drag his eyes away from the curve of Eddie’s jaw.

“You okay?” Steve asked, voice remarkably calm. Eddie was impressed.

“Yeah, it’s just warmer in here than I expected,” Eddie said, tamping down a smirk. Based on the way Steve wouldn’t quite meet his eye, he didn’t tamp it down all that well.

“Yeah, well,” Steve scratched the back of his neck and nodded at a cactus. “The succulents like it hot.”

“The succulents and I have that in common,” Eddie winked, doing his damnedest not to make a dirty play on the word succulents.

Steve’s lack of response other than a faint flush let Eddie’s hearing work in earnest for the first time. Before, his brain had been too busy chanting Steve, Steve, Steve! to really hear anything else from his surroundings, but now the sound of Hungry Like the Wolf finally filtered in through Eddie’s ears. Instinctively, he scrunched his nose. “Do the plants like Duran Duran, too?”

“Well, I like Duran Duran,” Steve corrected, “and I like to think they like what I do.”

“And just when I thought you were perfect,” Eddie sighed, both dreamy and with feigned disappointment.

“Don’t you like 80’s music?” Steve asked with a playful roll of his eyes. Eddie was relieved he took the jab in stride instead of being insulted.

“I like good 80’s music,” he said, leaning forward to give Steve’s shoulder a nudge. The muscles he felt as a result were solid and delicious beneath his fingertips.

“Excuse me,” Steve laughed, then eyed Eddie’s shirt again. “I’m sure you only listen to very cool rock bands, then?”

“Cool is subjective, Stevie,” Eddie said with a lazy smile. “Some people think plants are cool.”

“That they do,” Steve hummed, and Eddie wanted to sink down into the cadence of his voice like a hot bath. He’d meant what he’d said the day before; he’d listen to Steve talk about just about anything. Even Duran Duran. Thankfully, Steve took the cue to start rambling on about his plants instead of music, though. He patiently explained how he thought Eddie could surely handle something called a snake plant because they were “almost indestructible,” and Eddie sort of drifted off into the lull of Steve’s expertise.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring like a buffoon at Steve’s lips as they moved, but at some point Steve apparently stopped talking. And Eddie had no idea how long ago. All he knew was that Steve had a cute little confused tilt to his head and he was—for some reason—staring at Eddie’s neck. Again.

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asked, trying to blink the love struck veneer from his eyes. He thought maybe he could use the heat in the greenhouse as an excuse for being completely out of his wits. Really he was just rapidly falling for someone he barely knew, and yet was desperate to know more about.

“Sap,” Steve said, and Eddie’s heart clenched. Was he being so obvious that Steve was calling him a sap already?

“I’d hardly say I’m a sap,” Eddie tried to sound casual about it.

“No,” Steve chuckled. It was such a warm sound that Eddie thought he started sweating harder. “You’ve got sap on your neck. Looks like from the rubber tree.”

“Oh, I—” Eddie stuttered and started pawing at his neck to try and get it off. Steve just laughed again, and stepped a little closer.

“Here, let me,” he offered. Before Eddie could exhale a sputtering breath, Steve’s tongue darted out to lick the pad of his thumb. Then he delicately dragged the same rough, damp skin against the side of Eddie’s neck and wiped the sap away. The cool wake of Steve’s spit left a trail of shivers racing down Eddie’s back, and yet he felt like he was on fire. Steve pretty deliberately traced the slope of Eddie’s lips with his eyes before meeting his gaze. “There.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get himself in so deep in less than twenty-four hours, but there was no denying it now. Then something slotted into place in his mind, a little too late and a lot too dirty.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie scoffed. “Did you just say there’s something called a rubber tree?”

Steve snorted and Eddie knew he’d gotten the joke, at least. Robin poked her head into the greenhouse just as Steve poised himself to reply, though.

“Hey, I’m outta here, dingus,” she said with a mock salute towards Steve. She spared a smile for Eddie that felt like she saw right through how smitten he was. Eddie wondered how much of that little display she’d been watching through the windows.

“Okay.” Steve didn’t really look at Robin as he spoke, Eddie noticed. Instead his eyes stayed stuck on Eddie. “Can you—”

“I’ll lock up on my way out, like I always do,” Robin finished for him. Her tone was annoyed, but her smile was fond as she ducked back out in a flash.

It took Eddie a moment to catch up to what Robin had actually just said, but he got there eventually. He realized the absolute dearth of other people that were around since he’d walked in. “Wait, you’re closing?”

“Always close earlier on weekends,” Steve said with a shrug.

“So why am I here?” Eddie asked, wondering if maybe he’d gotten his wires crossed or showed up later than Steve had wanted.

“Because you want to be, I hope,” Steve said simply, with more earnest want in his eyes than Eddie had ever had directed towards him before. Despite the fact that Eddie was nearly certain they were about to kiss, and despite all the flirting that led up to it, he still felt floored by it. “Thought it’d be easier to talk without customers around.”

“Aw, if you’d told me this was a date I would’ve dressed up, Stevie,” Eddie trilled, unable to help himself. Steve didn’t shy away though, rewarding Eddie with a roguish smile for saying exactly what he thought again.

“You look pretty good to me,” he murmured, inching ever-closer and brushing the faintest of touches against Eddie’s bare stomach.

Eddie was never happier to have decided to wear a crop top in his life.

He also wasn’t willing to wonder what kissing Steve was like any longer—he needed to know. He reached out and hooked his fingers through the belt loops of Steve’s little shorts and pulled him in until their hips were flush, then Eddie tilted his head just so.

Steve dove in the rest of the way, his lips hot and searching against Eddie’s own in an instant. Eddie hummed into his mouth happily, and Steve moved to cup his face with those strong, capable hands of his.

Eager to get handsy as well, Eddie squeezed the curve of Steve’s hip with one hand, then trailed the other right up the front of Steve’s solid chest and around the back of his neck. The faint sheen of sweat Eddie felt beneath his fingertips only served to rile him up further, and he pressed in impossibly closer, until he could feel the steady beat of Steve’s heart reverberating through his own chest.

Steve shifted just enough to slot his thigh between Eddie’s, and Eddie hissed out a needy little noise that would have been embarrassing if Steve hadn’t swallowed it down with a greedy gasp of his own.

It wasn’t enough somehow, even though it was probably too much too soon by most people’s standards. But Eddie wanted to be entirely overwhelmed by Steve, caught in a tidal wave of taste and sound and smell and want. Eddie prodded at Steve’s bottom lip with his tongue, delighted with the soft, wet swell of it. Steve opened up for him shamelessly, swirling his tongue against Eddie’s in a delicious twist that left Eddie grinding down on Steve’s bare thigh.

“Shit,” Eddie panted, grateful to come up for some air when Steve moved to trailing kisses against his jaw. “Any chance that rubber tree could help us out?”

Steve laughed, his hot breath fanning out across Eddie’s neck like a dream. “Not that kind of rubber, sadly.”

Eddie thought it was sad, too, especially when he could feel the bulge in Steve’s shorts pressed against him, and even more so when Steve maneuvered Eddie until his ass rested against the edge of the raised planter with enough force to send soil toppling over onto the floor.

Eddie slotted his fingers into Steve’s soft, perfect hair while Steve went back to sucking what promised to be a delectable hickey into the column of his throat. Eddie moaned aloud, not caring how desperate a sound it was, and rutted into Steve again.

“That mouth of yours is showing a whole lot of promise,” Eddie hummed.

“Just my mouth?” Steve asked just as he rolled his hips against Eddie’s again. He didn’t move his lips from Eddie’s throat, and when Eddie moaned again, he felt Steve’s smile against his skin.

Eddie tugged Steve back from his neck by the hair, his dick twitching when Steve let out a pleased whimper at the pressure Eddie used.

“How about you let me take you out to dinner before I have to go home and change my pants?” Eddie asked, unabashed by how turned on he already was.

“I don’t know,” Steve smirked. “You needing fresh pants sounds pretty fun.”

“Stevie,” Eddie whined, completely disbelieving of how this was already going. At best he’d hoped for some more flirting and an exchange of phone numbers, and here he was ready to drag Steve back to his apartment just because that was where the condoms lived.

Eddie was a little mad at himself for failing to be properly prepared in the first place, if he was being honest. He diverted the subject in an attempt to hold onto a little bit of sanity before he started giving out handjobs to someone he’d just met.

“You don’t even know what I do,” Eddie pointed out with a pout.

“You’re a tattoo artist at the shop a few blocks over,” Steve shrugged, then very deliberately ran his tongue along the tattoo that peeked up above Eddie’s collar and curled around his neck. Steve must have heard the surprise in Eddie’s groan, because he huffed out a little laugh. “Don’t pretend you weren’t also stalking my socials last night.”

It took a long pause for Eddie to remember that Steve already knew his last name, but to be fair he didn’t have much blood flow to his brain at the moment.

“Just the shop’s Instagram,” Eddie grumbled, annoyed that Steve undoubtedly had a whole lot more info on him than the other way around, now. “I couldn’t find yours, but I did try.”

Steve laughed at Eddie’s obvious frustration, low and dark, then went back to teasing his knuckles against the zipper of Eddie’s jeans. “Where did you wanna get dinner?”

“Somewhere we can curl up in a corner booth,” Eddie said, dropping his hand to dance his fingers along Steve’s collarbone. “Where you can sit there, half-hard and thinking about finishing this while I run my hand up your thigh.”

“Eddie,” Steve groaned, a delightful sound that Eddie wanted to hear every day going forward. “Now who’s being a tease?”

“Definitely me,” Eddie smirked as Steve finally pulled away, giving Eddie’s hip a little squeeze as he did.

“C’mon then, I know a place,” Steve said with a wry smile. “If you behave maybe you’ll even get to find out if you were right about the whole ‘big boy’ nickname.”

“Uh, I could already tell, sweetheart,” Eddie said around a laugh, adjusting himself in his jeans as he did. Steve bit his lip and watched, still putting that mouth to good use even when it wasn’t on Eddie. “God, you’re trouble, aren’t you Stevie?”

“You have no idea,” Steve said, eyes full of promise and mischief. Then he held out his hand in offering, and Eddie didn’t hesitate to take it. “Place we’re going has good food and fast service.”

The little wink Steve gave him was nearly enough to make his heart stutter to a stop.

“Excellent,” Eddie cooed, albeit weakly, before allowing Steve to lead him out into the dwindling summer sunlight of the back garden. As they rounded the side of the greenhouse towards the street, though, Eddie heard another familiar croak. He thought he might’ve been hallucinating, but it was a throaty syllable that distinctly sounded like the word sluts.

“Did your raven just slut shame us?” Eddie asked, whipping his head towards the sound, aghast.

“Robin may have taught him a few words…” Steve admitted with a sheepish grin. Then he squeezed Eddie’s hand and kissed his cheek, before leading them off down the street.

Eddie realized he didn’t much care for the commentary of birds—or the fact that he hadn’t actually bought any plants—when he was already having the time of his life.

taglist: @stobinesque @starryeyedjanai @patchworkgargoyle @steves-strapcollection @scoops-stevie @spicysix @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @bifuriouswaterbender (Just everyone who's previously expressed interest! There will probably be more bits of this AU in the future, so just holler if you want to be added or taken off!)

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfiction #dani's drafts

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honeyhobies · 9 months

Text

checking out miles42's room and oh, his lil hanging plant near the window.....

imagining the wealth of funeral flowers the morales family gets after his dad's death. miles can't stand them, he hates that they're the only pastels in the apartment and their scent churns his stomach.

worst though are the house plants they're gifted. intended to be low maintenance, great distractions, some bit of pretty life among all the grief. rio tries to take care of them at first; she likes the look of their painted pots and setting a watering schedule is easy enough. routines are good, and the greenery does make her smile when she leaves her bedroom alone in the mornings. but then she needs to take on more hours at work, and eventually they blend into the background of the apartment, forgotten.

miles refuses to do anything with them.

when their leaves turn yellow he plucks them off so he doesn't have to clean them off the floor later. when nothing is left but withered brown twigs he takes the pot out onto the fire escape just so he can hear the terracotta shatter when he drops it into the dumpster below. the plants start disappearing one by one, and the apartment slowly returns to what it was before—or at least, a poor imitation of it, where there were no greens of various plant life scattered about but a home still filled to the brim with his dad's life. miles starts climbing the fire escape higher, pretends that the shatters from this height are louder than the grief in his own heart.

it takes him four months of mami overworking herself to realize that there's a pot of ivy that still has green leaves.

it was shoved into the corner of the kitchen window that would've been a hazardous spot if his mom was actually using the kitchenware in the cupboard next to it. but she's barely been able to cook lately and miles definitely doesn't have the kind of skills to use what's in there, so the plant was left alone, miraculously thriving on the sunshine streaming through the window. miles only notices it because his abuela is visiting and he accidentally steps on a few leaves on a vine that's grown long enough to brush the ground when he's ushered out of her way during dinner prep.

his appetite vanishes. the phantom scent of sweet decaying lilies and carnations and all the other ugly pastel flowers chokes his throat. he thought he had finally be rid of all of them, and seeing this one still left standing rears something ugly in his chest.

it's his abuela who coaxes him away from grinding his foot into the leaves, smashing them into the tile, she who says that starving something of love will always be a terrible thing to know. all four burners on their stove are going, the oven has just finished preheating, but she takes the time to fill a cup with water, gives it to him, and compliments him on keeping this small thing alive, when funeral flowers are notorious for not surviving.

it's miles who quietly moves the plant into his room that night, and he learns the rights and wrongs about repotting, sunlight, and watering.

(and, at one point, pests. but he also learns how to overcome that, even if it was an insanely annoying experience turned inside joke with ganke)

the ivy had fared well enough on its own, but it's miles who makes it happy. his hands that make it grow thicker and longer and livelier, until he needs to start tacking its vines up along the window sills to spread its greenery around. this one tiny thing no longer tiny that depends on him, that has learned he will be good to it. he did that.

miles did that.

—

later, when designing his first prowler suit, the purple accents are for his mom, a subtle nod to her favorite color. because he's trying to bring good back into his community, stepping up to do whatever he can to forcibly relinquish some of the sinister six's control over his city, but he's also fighting for her.

and the green details—there's not as many, or as prominent as all the neon purple, but he feels they're just as important to add.

#i have. Emotions over the kid we saw for like two minutes max in this movie fldknlgknx #miles morales #miles 42 #prowler miles #<- what tags do we use for him jfc lol #clawcode #<- listen it's only implied but hear me out: clawcode in everything #and i personally think it'd be v funny for miles to have what he considers a catastrophic experience of Bugs In His Room #that ganke would treat as a “was the grink there” type of situation lmaoo #fringeposts #spiderverse #atsv

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himebushou · 1 year

Text

Comparing Two Homes

I'll start by focusing on a few details from the home Kazuki shared with Yuzuko:

The number of plants in the room: there's a basket of flowers on the window sill, a sizeable potted plant nestled beside the sofa and a couple of succulents next to the TV

The matching mugs on the table; they're pink and blue and each decorated with a heart

There are two pandas on the windowsill

There's also a big knitting basket. Given that the yarn in the basket is blue and pink, I think that Yuzuko was planning to make their newborn a blanket, or something like that. (Interestingly, Kazuki wears a fair bit of knitwear throughout the show.)

Now, let's have a look at some of the items in Rei's apartment:

In these three shots, we can see:

The home has several plants; there are large ones here and there as well as plants on the balcony; we can also see succulents on the windowsill

A lot of people have already commented on Rei's mug — there are little hearts on the feet of the R.

While having plants and using heart motifs is hardly groundbreaking, it's worth bearing in mind that Kazuki's the one who furnished Rei's house. It's also likely that he bought the mug for Rei. Therefore, we get a small insight into the sorts of things Kazuki associates with a happy home.

(If we see pandas in Rei's apartment at any point, I might just cry.)

We also see some of Kazuki's other likes — he's very fond of bold colours, particularly where furniture is concerned. His home with Yuzuko maintained a far more muted pallet: the sofa was cream and the chairs were brown. It's likely that Kazuki and Yuzuko had to compromise on colour schemes when selecting furniture.

However, when it came to Rei's place, Kazuki gave himself free reign: he selected a bright red sofa and eyecatching yellow chairs.

It's possible that Kazuki felt Rei needed more colours around so that he livened up a little.

#buddy daddies #kurusu kazuki #kurusu yuzuko #suwa rei #what's life without a little conjecture?

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powpowpunchout · 7 months

Text

Just Checking!

Joe leaned against his sleek, maple-wood kitchen counter, fingers tapping along the edges as he scrolled through his phone. The coffee machine behind him sputtered every few seconds, while the wonderful, rich aroma of his dark chocolate coffee roast filled the air. The perfect drink to start his day.

He was quite certain he had already made a cup for himself earlier, but he had no idea where he put it, so he was making another.

As he waited in the kitchen, he tried to lean back and get comfortable. His black socks slid across the beige tiled floor, but they stopped when they hit one of the wheels of his butcher block.

He frowned.

That blasted butcher block.

If it didn’t pair so nicely with the rest of his kitchen—having a top the same color as his counters, and a lower half the same shade of ginger brown like his cabinets—he would’ve moved it elsewhere by now.

His kitchen was already cramped enough, and having this bulky block in the middle wasn’t helping in the slightest, but he liked it. It had some small shelves below that were able to hold a couple of his pots, pans, and even some of his smaller house plants.

Honestly, even if he did decide to remove the butcher block, his kitchen still wouldn’t have enough space for him to stretch his legs out.

Joe swears he’s seen apartments with bigger kitchens than his.

It didn’t even feel like a proper kitchen, more like a small portion of a hallway that had been boxed in with counters and cabinets.

On his left was his sink with a little window above it for him to place a few more plants by, and below that was his dishwasher. Pressed against his dishwasher was a lovely wooden spice rack that went up to his hips. There was a silver oven that was pushed against his back, white wall, along with a fridge about his height.

To his right was his pantry. Whoever designed this house didn’t give him a built in pantry, no, that would’ve given him extra space and storage, and that would have been too convenient, so he had to buy his own.

His pantry was taller than him by a good foot, and it was the same color as the rest of his cabinets in the kitchen. It’s doors were covered in thin, white netting that allowed him to take a peek at all the cooking supplies he had.

Parts of it’s exterior was chipped, and the carvings of leaves and flowers that aligned it’s bottom were faded, but they looked elegant nonetheless.

“It looks old.” Sandman’s voice rang through his head. That’s what he told Joe when he had first seen his pantry.

“It’s antique!” Joe had exclaimed

“That’s fancy people talk for ‘old’.” Sandman snickered, “It looks nice, though. Yeah.”

Speaking of Sandman…

Joe quickly scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Sandman’s name.

“Good morning! I will be going to a cafe today, do you want me to pick up anything for you?” Joe had texted his friend earlier this morning. He thought Sandman wouldn’t respond for a while, especially since he tends to oversleep, but to Joe’s surprise, he actually got a reply not even an hour later.

“maybe a cool leaf”

Joe chuckled as he reread the message.

“I’ll keep an eye out. Anything else?”

Sandman never responded back.

Joe could only assume he had dozed off. He did text Sandman quite late, didn’t he?

Joe quickly checked what time he had messaged--

His eyes snapped open.

‘5 in the morning?!’

Oh dear, he hopes he didn’t wake Sandman up with his first message.

Joe let out a yawn as he thought to himself.

5 AM…

That must’ve been the time he woke up.

And he didn’t fall asleep last night until… Gosh, Joe couldn’t even remember.

What he did remember was the fact he had spent most of his evening texting Disco Kid, and his body absolutely loathed him for it.

It didn’t matter how tired he was, though. He couldn’t risk going back to bed to try and squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep. He had breakfast with the rest of the Minor Circuit this morning, and he’d hate to miss it.

The exhaustion was well worth it, however. The things Disco told him, all those juicy snippets of what he went through last night, the anticipation alone was enough of a payoff for Joe.

He clicked out of his texts from Sandman, and went to the texts he got from Disco Kid. He scrolled to the very top and started to reread them.

“joe”

“jo”

“je im in the barwiht aran right??????”

“Yes?” Joe had sent back. He had been laying in bed reading a book when he received these.

“guess wh o shwoed up”

Joe didn’t even have the chance to respond before Disco sent his next text.

“octave!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Joe remembered how he shot out of his bed, accidentally sending his book flying across the room, and stared at his phone with wide eyes.

“What?” Was all Joe could text back.

“i know rihght??? I didnt k now he was comignaran said he wasnt”

Joe was completely glued to his screen. He was as captivated as he was frustrated.

“Keep me updated, please.” He had told Disco.

“was already plannign on it”

“Don’t take any of Aran or Octave’s mistreatment. Leave whenever you need to.” Joe pressed his lips together when he reread that message. That sounded like such a ‘parent’ thing to say, didn’t it? But Joe was genuinely worried.

It’s bad enough to be stuck in a bar with Aran, but for Octave to suddenly come in unannounced? Joe couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of nightmare Disco went through.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.

What was with Overload and attending events he wasn’t invited to? What—was ruining the Major Circuit’s dinner not enough? He had to go for a second round? He had to bother Disco again, as if he doesn’t do that enough? Was it in his blood to make everyone in this stadium miserable? Or could he not stand the fact that everyone else could have fun with their friends except him?

Joe brought his coffee cup to his lips, ready to take a sip--

He stopped.

He looked at the white cup in his hands.

How long has he had this cup?

Has he been holding it this entire time?

He blinked.

Well, looks like he’ll be having two cups of coffee this morning. He probably needs it.

Joe took a sip and scrolled through his phone some more.

“he and aran are arugign now” Disco texted.

“Are they saying anything to you? They aren’t bothering you too much?”

“im good its just real akwwarrd”

Joe’s eyes flickered over to the top of his phone and checked the time. It was almost 9:30 AM, he has to meet his friends around 10:15. The cafe wasn’t too far from here, but still, he didn’t want to be late.

Joe glanced over to his coffee machine before he pushed himself off the counter, placed his cup down, and made his way out of the kitchen.

He kept his eyes on his phone as he entered a narrow hallway. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, he’ll probably end up running into a wall or hitting his hip, but he found himself too engaged with last night’s events to care.

He placed one hand on the white wall beside him and lightly dragged it across its cold surface. He felt the occasional small bump or two as his fingers carefully maneuvered around the framed photos and pressed plants he had hung on the walls, all while his other hand kept scrolling through his phone.

“think im gonna try and talk to octave” Disco’s next message read.

A small wince escaped Joe’s lips.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t think you should.”

“i know but”

Joe remembered waiting in anticipation for Disco to finish that sentence, to elaborate—even just a little—but he never did.

Joe’s fingers hovered over his keypad--

He hit a corner.

Joe quickly grabbed his hip and hissed to himself. He’s definitely going to get a bruise there, and he had no one but himself to blame.

Joe entered the room to his left, his bedroom.

He turned to his ivory-colored desk by the door. Also an antique piece of furniture he owned, with drawers that had novelty knobs attached to them, and once sharp edges that were now worn corners. Some of its paint had chipped off as well, but Joe thought that gave it all the more charm. Though he will admit, he’s been meaning to clean off the top for some time.

It was mostly covered in bills, fancy notepads that he’s only filled a couple pages of, fan letters, and in the very back corner of the table, small mason jars with water in them for his plant clippings.

He’ll clean it another time, though.

When he’s less tired.

He set his phone in the middle of the table, right next to his black glasses case, and then walked over to the tall, slender mirror that was propped against the corner of his room.

He struck a pose, straightening his posture and combing his fingers through his hair before putting a hand on his hip. He raised his chin ever so slightly and felt a wave of confidence push through his exhaustion.

His attire this morning was a bit different compared to what he’s been wearing these last couple of days. He’s noticed he’s been wearing much more black, white, and grays than he usually does, and while those certainly weren’t bad colors, it never hurts to change things up. So today, he decided to wear a much needed varied palette.

His shirt was covered in thin, white and pine-green stripes, and he had its ends tucked into his pants, which were a deep cadmium green. They almost looked black at a glance, but they weren’t. Joe thought such shades complimented his hair, but he wouldn’t be wearing just this, oh no.

He spun around and faced his neatly made bed. Right in front of it was a swivel oak chair for his desk, which had his coat draped atop of it.

He plucked the coat off and slipped it on.

It stopped just above his knees, it’s sleeves were a little too large for him, it was a bit on the thinner side—not that Joe minded, it was supposed to be a bit warmer today anyways—and it was a gentle hue of pink that reminded him of blush. Its color paired wonderfully with his top.

He fiddled with the coat’s collar, smoothed out any wrinkles he could see, and struck another pose.

He put both hands on his hips, bent a leg ever so slightly, and flashed a smile. It was stilted, crooked, and it was perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better smile.

Now his eyes, on the other hand…

He definitely needed to do something about them. He had some very heavy bags.

Joe reached over to his desk and popped open the glasses case. He slid his small, round-framed sunglasses on, looked in the mirror again, and let out a satisfied sigh.

There. Now he’s set for the day.

Joe grabbed his phone and stared at the screen for a moment.

Slowly, he found himself starting to scroll through Disco’s texts again.

Texts he got when he was a blink away from sleep.

“well that went great”

“Is everything alright?” Joe had asked.

“got insulted”

“shouldve seen that coming. feel like an idiot”

Joe lowered his brows, a twinge of guilt shot through him. He wished he could’ve done more for Disco. He wished he could’ve been there to help. Who knows what Overload and Aran had said to himt.

“Don’t say that about yourself.” Joe texted him. Disco didn’t respond again for another several minutes.

The loud beeps of the coffee machine snapped Joe out of his thoughts.

He nearly forgot about that!

Joe hurried out of his room and back into the kitchen.

He swung open one of his cabinets and dug through his cups until he managed to get his hands on one of his travel mugs.

He quickly poured the coffee into the mug, hissing to himself whenever some splattered onto his hand, and put a lid on.

He rushed to the door, slipped his dark brown shoes on, and just before he put his phone in his pocket, he looked at the very last messages he and Disco exchanged.

“finally going home. tonight kinda sucked”

“I’m sorry. Please be careful.” Joe told him.

Disco never replied.

Joe could only hope he had gotten home safely.

He also hoped last night’s events didn’t drag Disco’s spirits down too much.

Joe closed his phone, slipped it away, and finally left his house.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger slept soundly in one of the many hammocks that hung from his ceiling.

The hammock rocked ever so slightly, making his slumber all the more relaxing, as did the rays of sunshine that filled his living room.

Tiger shifted around, trying to get comfortable. The fabric creaked as he moved, he felt his long hair get wrapped around one of his legs, and he nearly kicked his thin, orange blanket out of the hammock, but once he brought his knees to his bare chest, feeling the soft fabric of his dark gray, silk pants press against his skin, he let out a content sigh.

He then grabbed the purple pillow he was resting on and buried his face into it, not caring for how messy his mustache and beard would get. No, all he cared for was this moment of pure, blissful peace.

He let an arm hang outside the hammock. There was a subtle smell of cinnamon that filled the air, most likely coming from the spice rack in his kitchen. And the quietness of his house? It was splendid. How he wished this heavenly sleep could last forever--

A loud ‘THUD’ suddenly made Tiger shoot up.

He clutched at his chest and whipped his head over to his apricot-orange door.

He narrowed his eyes at the tall, thin, stained glass window right next to it and watched a silhouette rush by.

‘Who dared?’ Tiger thought to himself

Who dared to disturb him?

Who dared to ruin his slumber?

Was it a fan? Or one of those fancily dressed men who always loved to waste his time trying to sell him something? Or perhaps it was the mailman?

Tiger tipped his purple hammock over and leaned forward, the front half of his body spilling off the side and into another hammock below. This one a bit smaller, and a rich, royal blue with yellow swirls stitched across it.

As he landed into the hammock, the frustration within him started to boil.

It better not have been that blasted mailman.

How many times has he told them to stop leaving letters at his door? He has a mailbox for a reason.

Tiger leaned forward again, dropping from the blue hammock into a larger, looser, magenta one.

Had he slept in his bedroom, he simply would’ve gotten out of bed, walked over to the door, and see what was outside, but his bedroom was nowhere near as comfortable as the hammocks, nor did it look as fascinating.

Tiger has gotten plenty of comments about his living room before. Both friends and strangers who happened to get a glimpse inside his house always made a comment about how ‘strange’ it looked, and while he won’t deny it was certainly a bizarre sight for newcomers, he also couldn’t deny that he loved its layout so much.

Besides having typical ‘living room’ furniture—couches, a coffee table, a TV stand—all arranged in a typical living room fashion, the room also had an unusually high ceiling.

He had no idea what was going through the builders’ minds when they were working on this house. Perhaps it was supposed to be a chimney, or maybe it was some botched attempt at a second floor, or perhaps it was supposed to be some sort of tower… Tiger will never know. They made the width of the ceiling the same as the living room’s, while it’s length seemed to stretch on for a good several feet, making it the perfect place for Tiger to decorate and fly through.

It was also the main reason Tiger got this house at such a low price.

He believed he did quite an excellent job at covering those tall, barren, honeyed-orange walls with all sorts of things he loved. From colorful, patterned sheets that stretched from corner to corner, to ropes that criss-crossed over each other and had bells, beads, and ripped cloths tied to them, giving them that extra bit of ‘flare’, to the black-cherry wooden shelves that were tethered to the ceiling and carried some of his favorite items. Some of those items being his magic books, photographs of him and his friends, little trinkets that reminded him of his home country, and now, one of the paper rats he had made with Overload.

It was the best room in his entire house, and it was his favorite place to nap at.

Before he got the hammocks, he used to fall asleep while hovering in the air, and he had a tendency to… Drift around. Sometimes he’d bump into a wall, sometimes he’d wake up in a completely different room, and there were the very rare instances when he’d wake up and find himself outside.

The hammocks were a much nicer alternative, plus, whenever he’d wake up in them, he’d be greeted with the wonderful scenery of his living room.

A wonderful scenery he could’ve been enjoying right now had it not been for some heathen knocking at his door.

Tiger tipped over the magenta hammock and carefully extended a leg out. Once he felt his foot touch the silk carpet below—which was a much duller shade of magenta with a pinkish hue, and had intricate flower patterns embroidered into it—he hopped out and trudged over to the door.

He swung it open and looked around.

No one.

He then looked down and saw a rolled up newspaper. He sneered.

The mailman.

Of course.

Who else would have the gall to ruin his slumber?

Tiger grabbed that horrid paper and slammed the door.

He then tossed it onto his earthy-orange, camelback couch that was pressed against the back wall of the living room, which had a couple of pink and purple pillows sitting on it.

Tiger arched his back and stretched his arms high into the air, feeling the frustration drain away as rays of sun graced his skin.

He let out a yawn, satisfied, and relaxed his body.

He walked over to the couch, stepping over his brown slip-on shoes, some rolled up socks, a book that must’ve fallen from one of his hanging shelves, and his shirt from last night that he tossed out from his hammock.

He sat down and sunk into the cushions. His eyes slowly drifted to the right where his small, burnt umber end table was. To the left of the table, sitting diagonally from Tiger, was another camel-back couch, which had a pastel-blue blanket carelessly thrown on it. Atop the end table was a half drunken cup of black tea that sat on a little plate, and next to that was his light purple, metallic flip phone.

It was certainly a bit of a mess in here. He usually liked to clean up before he went to sleep, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up to a mess, but he must’ve been too tired to do so last night.

Tiger rested his head against the cushion. He wasn’t fretting too much, he’ll simply poof all of this away as soon as his magic wakes up.

He looked back to the end table.

He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, eyebrows raising slightly when he saw he had a voicemail from Bear… And no messages from Hondo.

He lowered his brows.

He had texted Hondo yesterday, and the fact he hasn’t heard back from him yet did send a twinge of anger through Tiger.

It wasn’t like he texted Hondo at an absurdly late hour. No, he did it in the afternoon while he was making dinner.

And it wasn’t like Tiger’s message was rude, or threatening, or anything of the sort. It was formal and straight to the point.

‘Hondo, whenever you’re available, I’d like to talk with you.’

What—was Hondo still too upset with him over what happened at their dinner night to respond? Or was he too busy training to answer him? Tiger knew training was the closest thing Hondo had to a hobby, but would it kill him to send a single word back? Or did he think he was too good for that?

Tiger’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, tempted to send Hondo another message, but he closed the phone.

He’ll text Hondo again later. He was in no mood to ruin his day this early.

Tiger stared at the cover of his phone before his eyes lazily drifted to the nearby newspaper. He skimmed its title--

His eyes widened.

‘BALD BULL THREATENS FANS.’

Tiger shot out of his seat and shoved the paper into his face. He frantically read the article, picking up whatever bits of the story he could.

Someone tried to break into Bull’s house.

‘I just wanted a chance to interview him.’ The person claimed, ‘He wouldn’t come out, and we’ve been waiting for so long.’ Oh, Tiger could practically hear their whiny voice through the page.

Of course that’s what those deranged people love to tell journalists, of course they love to paint themselves as innocent, curious fans who just want to hear one word from their favorite boxer as if they were owed it.

And the words used to describe Bull? It made Tiger’s blood boil.

‘Cruel’, ‘Careless,’ ‘Irrational’, those were only a small handful of what Tiger could spot, and he was certain if he found anymore, he’d tear the paper into shreds.

Tiger threw the paper down and dialed Bull’s number.

Why didn’t Bull tell him about this?

Was he planning to?

When did this even happen?

Was Bull hurt?

As his phone rang, Tiger flicked his wrist in an attempt to summon whatever clean clothes he could.

He didn’t care how ‘tired’ his magic was, he needed to check on Bull now.

The phone rang again. Tiger’s worries worsened.

He let go of the phone and used a little bit of his magic to keep it in the air as he started putting on his shoes.

The phone kept ringing. Tiger flicked his wrist again, patience wearing thin.

He suddenly felt a shirt land on his shoulder, followed by his unraveled turban.

He hurriedly put the dark purple shirt on before putting his hair into a messy bun.

The phone kept ringing.

Tiger used his magic to wrap his turban around his head.

The phone finally clicked.

Tiger grabbed it and opened his mouth—but his face dropped when he heard Bull’s voicemail play instead.

“Bull—Bull, I’m sorry, but I have to come over. I saw what happened and—and I’ll be there in a minute!” Tiger snapped his phone shut, and it disappeared to who knows where.

His magic finished tying his turban.

It was sloppy, crooked, and he had several strands of hair poking out, but it was done.

Tiger’s gem flashed, and he teleported away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Joe took a sip of his coffee as he strolled through the neighborhood.

It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining, there was a pleasant breeze that carried the smell of dew-ridden grass and pollen, and there were plenty of people out and about.

Some were watering their gardens that were filled to the brim with bright, colorful, flowers, while some were setting up sprinklers for their lawn and for children to run through, while others were sitting on their porch and talking with their neighbors.

A smile spread on Joe’s face.

He found himself enjoying every little thing around him.

From the squirrels that ran along the tree branches, to the little nuts and berries sprinkled across the sidewalk, to the distant chatter of friends, there were plenty of small joys that made this morning all the better.

Joe went to take another sip of coffee--

When a sudden car horn made him jump.

He fumbled with his cup, catching it at the last second and holding onto it with his dear life.

Oh, he’s going to give that driver a piece of his mind--

“Joe! Is that you?!”

Joe whipped his head around, face immediately lighting up when he saw Disco Kid sitting in his fancy-looking yellow car with its roof down. He beamed and waved at Joe.

Joe hurried over, hand over the lid of his mug so it wouldn’t spill, “Good morning! Fancy running into you so soon, how are you?”

Disco rested his arm against the side of his car, the sleeves of his loose, white satin shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, “Not too shabby, you?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” Joe hummed, then he leaned closer to Disco, “Now I love you to bits, but you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Disco shrunk back, “Awh, shoot, sorry Joe. Just got excited. Hey--!” He perked back up, “Wanna ride?”

“Absolutely.” Joe went over to the passenger seat.

Disco fiddled with the radio while Joe got comfortable. He then watched Joe slip his coffee into the cup holder. He smirked.

“Dang Joe, we aren’t even at th’cafe yet and you already got yourself a cup of joe?” He slapped his knee and wheezed, as if that was the funniest thing he’s ever said.

Disco kept laughing, but when he glanced over and saw Joe’s tired, deadpanned expression, he immediately stopped.

He fixed his composure and cleared his throat.

“Anyways, so, uh…” Disco tapped his fingers along the wheel, trying to ignore the disappointed look Joe was giving him. He put his car into drive, “Cafe time!”

He hit the gas and off they went.

Cheesy 70’s music filled the awkward silence between them. Disco stayed quiet, lips pressed together and eyes staring straight ahead, clearly still embarrassed over that little joke of his. Joe on the other hand, despite how much that joke drove him crazy, couldn’t stay mad at him. In all honesty, hearing that joke actually brightened his mood.

Not because it was funny, but because that meant Disco was feeling happy enough to actually tell a joke despite what happened last night.

Joe looked at himself in the side view mirror and brushed his fingers through his hair. His eyes flickered over to Disco.

“Did you sleep well last night?” He asked.

Disco shrugged, “I guess. Got home kinda late, wasn’t feeling all that tired. Probably got like a couple hours at best, but it’s whatever.”

“You could always get some coffee at the cafe.” Joe suggested.

Disco gave a nod and tilted his head towards his friend, “Maybe, but I’m thinkin’ of trying something different. Don’t they make teas over there? Might try one of ‘em.” He slowly pressed on the brakes and they lingered at a stop sign for a moment. He drummed his fingers against his dark violet shorts and bobbed his head, enjoying whatever outdated tune was playing.

He started to drive again, “How bout you?”

“Oh, I hardly got any sleep.” Joe chuckled, “I am looking forward to seeing Kaiser and Hippo, though.”

Disco nodded, eyes glued to the road.

Joe’s happy expression started to falter.

His head drifted to the side, and he watched the neighborhood pass by. The road ahead wasn’t all that interesting, just a straight line with tall trees and streetlights on both sides, but the houses around it? The residents? The little stores and restaurants? Now those were quite pleasant to look at.

Joe took it all in. The people walking their dogs, groups of friends sitting outside small shops and chatting about their plans for the day, and the wonderful decor that surrounded the buildings. Colorful banners, strips of ribbon tied to the outside of windows, flags, pinwheels, and of course, Joe’s favorite, the plants.

From large, terracotta pots filled with vibrant flowers, to the hanging plants that were strung to awnings, even the ‘unintentional’ decor had a sort of beauty to him. The vines that crawled up walls, the dandelions that sprouted from pavement cracks, even the small bits of moss that clung onto the corners of buildings had a sort of charm to them.

Joe couldn’t fully enjoy this moment, however. Not when his mind was plagued with one thing.

“Speaking of friends…”

Joe noticed the corner of Disco’s mouth twitch.

“How did your night with Aran and Overload go?”

“Right, my ‘friends’. My besties.” Disco sung that last word on a cynical note.

“Alright, ‘friends’ is certainly a bit of a stretch. I just wanted to know how—I mean, I know last night went badly, but I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright and--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re good, Joe.” Disco cut him off, “Appreciate it, but uh--” His mouth lingered open as he kept his eyes on the road, “Yeah, no, it sucked.”

“Well, I can imagine!” Joe exclaimed, “You were stuck in a bar with Aran! Heavens knows that man hardly showers. I can only imagine what breathing in his fumes can do to you.” Joe slid his sunglasses down, trying to see if he had managed to lighten Disco’s mood up a little, but all Disco did was let out a dry chuckle.

“Yup, that’s Aran for you.”

Joe took off his glasses and held them close, “And Overload—I’m guessing he was the one insulting you?”

Disco gave a shrug, “Yeah, I mean, not like I wasn’t expectin’ it or something. I tried to talk to him and it went… Okay-ish, but ya know what? He wasn’t half as bad as Aran was.” His grip on the wheel tightened, “Like, oh my gosh, I could go on forever about Aran, but it’s like—I give th’guy a ride, I went with him to the bar—and I don’t even like bars—but I still went cause I didn’t want him to be alone, cause he told me he hated that--”

“You’re too kind to him, do you know that?” Joe cut in.

“Yeah, well, we’re fr—we talk a lot. Sometimes I like to hang around him, right?” Disco said, “And I don’t mind helping th’guy out. Like, if somebody I knew from the stadium needed a hand, I’ll give it to ‘em! But he didn’t even thank me! I know that’s a stupid reason to get mad, but c’mon.”

“No, no, I’d be mad too!” Joe piped up, “What, you go out of your way to drive him to some random bar—free of charge—and stick around, and he can’t even cough up a ‘Thanks’?” Joe folded his glasses, slid them into his jacket’s pocket before he muttered to himself, “It’s common courtesy.”

Disco started to slow the car down as he eyed an open spot by a curb.

Joe eyed it as well.

His face scrunched.

Parallel parking.

A true nightmare.

He then looked back to Disco, “Did Aran do anything to show you a bit of appreciation? Or did Mr. World-Circuit feel too high and mighty for that?”

“He paid for whatever food I got.” Disco said as he carefully pulled into the spot, “Wasn’t good food, but at least I didn’t have to pay for it.”

“Didn’t even text a ‘Thank you’?” Joe asked.

Disco laughed. It was bitter. “Nah, just threats cause I didn't want to drive him home.”

Joe didn’t bother to hide his repulsion, “What did he say?”

“Typical Aran stuff.” Disco said with a click of his tongue as he parked the car, “Told me he was gonna beat me, tear my head off, went off on this whole thing bout how he was soooo much stronger than me ‘n that he’d ruin my life, which--” Disco laughed, “He’s already ruinin’ my life just by being around me.”

His laughter died down, and his smile fell, “That’s Aran for you.”

Disco took the keys out of the ignition and shoved them into the pocket of his shorts. He swung open the door and looked at the path ahead.

“Cafe’s a small walk from here, that work for ya?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” Joe responded as he got out of the car, “Thank you for the ride.”

Disco nodded as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He patted himself down, exhaled, and put a smile back on his face. It looked forced, but Joe decided not to comment.

“Sorry.” Disco said as Joe joined his side.

“What for?”

“Well I was—was kinda soundin’ like a jerk back there, wasn’t I?”

“Oh, stop.” Joe put his hand up, “You were upset, anyone would be after the night you’ve had. If anything, I think you were being too nice.”

That didn’t seem to ease Disco’s worries. Joe put a hand on his shoulder.

“I promise you, you were just fine. If you ever need to let these sort of things off your chest, I’m more than happy to listen.”

Disco relaxed some, “Thanks Joe.” He looked over to the end of the path, “If it’s all good with you, I can tell ya more at the cafe? Don’t wanna leave Kaiser ‘n Hippo outta this.”

“Oh, of course!” Joe clasped his hands together, “Besides, I have my own little stories I want to share with all of you. You won’t believe what I’ve seen these last several days.”

“Oh yeah?” Disco raised his brows as he leaned closer to Joe, hoping to hear a little more.

Joe was about to tell him to be patient, but then his phone rang.

He dug it out of his pocket, hoping it was Sandman finally responding, but confusion flashed across his face when he saw Hondo’s number.

He answered the call and pressed the phone against his ear, “Hello?”

“Good morning.” Hondo greeted, his voice stiff, “I apologize if this is sudden--”

“No, no, don’t be! I always enjoy hearing from you. Is--” Joe’s voice trailed off as he kept walking, “Is everything alright?”

It was silent for a moment.

Despite Disco’s head being turned the other way, Joe could see him trying to watch out of the corner of his eye.

“I…” Hondo finally began, “I had the strangest dream a few nights ago, but now I’m—I’m not so certain it was a dream.”

Joe lowered his brows, “What do mean?”

“Over the weekend, I was training. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to rest yet, so I made myself some tea...” Hondo said, “...And while I was waiting for it to cool, Tiger appeared in front of me. He shouted at me, and I—I don’t even recall what he said. It happened so suddenly, and then he disappeared.”

Joe let out a barely audibly ‘What?’

“It was so bizarre that I—truthfully, I thought I was losing my mind. I thought I had gotten so tired that I was finally starting to see things, so I went to bed.”

“So what makes you think it wasn’t a dream?” Joe asked. He could feel Disco’s eyes on him, but he paid him no mind.

“I received a text from Tiger yesterday. I can't help but feel that and his sudden outburst are connected.” Hondo muttered, “He wants to talk with me. I’m not sure about what, but if he’s going to act so irrational, I don’t know if I want to talk to him.”

“Well, you’re going to have to eventually. You go to the same stadium.”

“I know.”

It felt like Hondo wanted to say more, but after another stretch of silence, Hondo sighed.

“I apologize for this again. I know it was sudden, it’s just—“

“No, please, don’t worry about it. If that happened to me, I know I’d want to tell somebody.” Joe tried to reassure him.

“Thank you. I suppose I didn’t—I--” Hondo fumbled with his words, “I couldn’t bring this up to Bear. As much as I appreciate him, he’d try to get Tiger and I to ‘make up’ over what happened at the dinner. He even tried to convince me of that very thing last night.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, “He told me his hand was feeling better, that he’d like to try and spar again, and then he suggested we bring everyone else along. Tiger, Don, even Overload. He said it would be great to ‘have everyone back together’, but I just—I can’t. Not now.”

Joe finally looked over and caught Disco staring. Disco jumped and whipped his head the other way. Joe put his attention back on the phone as they walked on.

“That definitely sounds like something Bear would say.” Joe chuckled, “He means well, but like you said, you’re not all that thrilled at having another get-together, are you?”

“Not for a long time.” Hondo said.

Joe looked up ahead. He could see the cafe waiting for him and Disco. It’s aged, seashell-white bricks were decorated with splashes of light, dusty red hues that faded into a gentle pink the closer they got to the ground, and they helped make the snow-white frame around the rectangular window pop out.

The left side of the small, one story building had been covered with tons of tiny, twisted vines, and resting in the alleyway next to that wall were tens of pots that varied in shapes and sizes, and filled with what looked like hundreds of different flowers, bushes, and even a few little fruit plants. They all mingled together, making an otherwise dull alley into something quite beautiful. They also did an excellent job at blocking off the side door to the cafe.

The mahogany-red front door had been propped open with a rock, letting the heavenly aroma of coffee and fresh pastries out into the world… A heavenly aroma that made Joe and Disco pick up the pace.

“Just let Bear know how you feel, hm? I’m sure he’d understand.” Joe said.

“I will. In due time. I just needed someone else to talk.”

Joe nodded as he stared at the round, gray patio tables that sat outside the cafe. Each of them had a black umbrella in the center, while their aluminum seats had light green, checkered cushions on top of them. Most of the tables had already been taken, and when Joe glanced at the window and saw how crowded it was inside, he started to worry that they might not be able to find a seat--

But as soon as his eyes landed on Kaiser sitting at one of the outdoor tables, with a large tree towering over it, creating the perfect shade for them, he felt a wave of relief hit him.

“Alright,” Joe exhaled, “I hope you’re feeling a little better now.”

“I am. Thank you, once again. Could I…” Hondo hesitated, “Would it be alright if we kept in touch about this? I don’t want to bring Bear’s spirits down, or cause any trouble with--”

“Please, you’re fine!” Joe swatted at the air, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Thank you.” Hondo said, “Have a good day.”

Finally, Joe hung up.

A mix of satisfaction and concern filled him. Not the most comforting feeling to have—and not the most soothing conversation he’s had—but at least he could help Hondo in someway.

Joe felt Disco staring at him again.

Before he could turn around and apologize for the long call, Disco started talking.

“Soooo, what was that bout? Everything all good with Hondo ‘n Bear?”

“Yes, yes, they’re just fine. I’ll tell you in a few, but for now--” Joe slipped his phone into his coat’s pocket and waved his hand, “Hello Kaiser!”

Disco looked straight ahead and spotted Kaiser, who was giving a smaller, slower wave back.

Joe pulled out one of the chairs and flashed his friend a smile.

Kaiser had enough energy to force a grin on his face before he brought his attention back to a stack of papers in front of him. He kept a strong grip on a worn down pen and scribbled away as if his life depended on it. Joe was admittedly impressed to see that despite how fast he was going, Kaiser’s handwriting looked so neat.

“Paperwork? At a cafe?” Disco asked as he rested against a chair.

“Well, it’s the perfect place to get work done, isn’t it? It’s nice, quiet, and there’s some good food.” Joe said with the raise of his head.

“Yeah, but like—we’re supposed to be having a chill morning. Shouldn’t have to be doin’ homework on a day like this.” Disco said.

Joe opened his mouth—but Kaiser spoke instead.

“I will put it away soon.” He said, still writing, “I came here early. Wanted to see how many forums I could complete before you two came. I do not want to ruin our morning.” He sounded exhausted.

He looked exhausted.

Joe held his tongue, refraining from sharing any comments about Kaiser’s attire.

He wore a plain beige shirt with three buttons at the top, but only one of the three was actually buttoned up. Over that, he wore a trench coat about the same length as Joe’s, and it’s color was a rather gross, swampy green—not that Kaiser’s coat was gross, goodness no, it’s what the color reminded him of that was gross.

Joe also couldn’t help but notice how… Worn down the coat seemed. Torn ends, wrinkles, small stains and holes, he wondered how long Kaiser has held onto it.

Kaiser’s khakis had their bottoms half-heartedly tucked into his dark brown, leather combat boots, which it seemed he didn’t even have the time to tie the laces of.

Joe watched Kaiser set the pen down and grabbed a cup of black coffee that had been sitting by his papers.

“The forums are for my students.” Kaiser added unprompted.

Joe and Disco looked at him.

“Safety forums, parental permission, some for removing students because the boxing classes were ‘too violent’.” Kaiser scoffed at that last part, “I understand that it is a harsh sport, but violent? I always make sure my students are safe as they learn. I would never push them to such extremes.”

“The kids are complaining bout that?” Disco asked.

“The parents.” Kaiser answered, “Children love the class, they love giving hits. Parents, however, think it is too much.”

“Jeez.” Disco rolled his eyes before he leaned even closer to Kaiser, “Why don’t ya take a break from those lousy forums and eat some breakfast, huh?”

Joe was about to tell Disco that Kaiser’s work wasn’t ‘lousy’, but Kaiser nodded and slipped his papers into a dark green, beaten-up messenger bag he had hung around the back of his chair.

“Breakfast sounds nice. I will save the seats, and you two will grab the meals?” Kaiser asked.

“Yes, that sounds good. What would you like?” Joe asked as he took off his coat and placed it over his chair.

“The porridge, please.”

“Right,” Disco nodded before he looked around, “and uh, where’s Hippo?”

“He could not make it.” Kaiser said.

Disco jumped, “What?!”

“Visiting his island. 'Royal duties' is what he told me.”

Disco put his hands on his hips, “Awh man, that sucks. We can’t just leave a guy hangin’ like that! We could pick somethin’ up for him while we’re here? Maybe like uh, a cookie or somethin’?”

“I’m sure they have something inside fit for a king.” Joe said with a chuckle, proud of himself for such a quip, “But yes, I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat.”

Disco started to bounce, “Yeah, and then you’re gonna tell us bout Bear Hugger, right?”

Kaiser raised a brow, “Something happened to Bear?”

Joe flicked his wrist, “Oh, just you wait. You two won’t believe the things I’ve seen.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger teleported above Bull’s house.

He didn’t want to be here.

He needed to be inside.

He shook his head.

He wasn’t going to try and teleport again. He might end up somewhere even farther.

He started to fly towards Bull’s backyard.

Wind rushed past his face, and he swore his turban was just seconds away from unraveling--

His body suddenly jerked to the left.

He cursed.

He tried to put his focus back on his flying, only for a sharp, stabbing pain to shoot inside him, cause him to jerk to the side again.

He stopped and immediately hit his gem with the palm of his hand. A pathetic attempt to get his magic to wake up faster.

Tiger looked at the red, clay tile roof of Bull’s house. He slowly brought himself closer to it.

With each agonizing second that passed, his panic only grew worse.

Each second wasted out here was a second he could’ve used to help Bull.

And the group of people he saw outside of Bull’s gates while he was high in the air?

The large crowd gathered out there—some with their cars parked in the middle of the road, and some with own tents? It made Tiger furious.

The sun shone on Tiger and burned his skin.

Don’t those people have lives? Families? Friends? Anything else they could spend their time on rather than constantly harassing his friend?

If only Tiger’s magic was working properly, oh how he’d love to create a horrifying illusion to scare them off.

When Tiger was finally close enough to the roof, he stopped flying and landed on it with a loud thud.

He turned around and eyed the balcony to Bull’s room.

He started walking towards it, the clay tiles rattling under his weight.

He held his breath.

The rattles grew louder.

He swore he heard one make a snapping sound--

Or was that the sound of a camera?

He couldn’t risk bringing more attention towards Bull.

He whipped his head around.

He didn’t see anyone.

And with how tall Bull’s cement fence was, he was certain the paparazzis couldn’t see him.

Still, he couldn’t stay out here for a second longer.

Tiger reached the edge of the roof and jumped onto the balcony.

He turned towards the purple curtains that covered the door way to the room and poked his head through.

“Bull?!” He hollered, his voice echoing through the large, empty bedroom. He took a step in, “Bull, I’m here to check on you! It’s just me—Tiger!”

No response.

Bull must still be in that spare room downstairs.

At least, Tiger hoped so.

Tiger hurried past the curtains and towards the burnt umber, round framed door that led to the rest of the house. He quickly scanned the room as he ran through it.

A pile of pillows sat on Bull's bed. It looked like they hadn’t been touched in days, nor did the neatly folded blankets beside them.

The rest of the room was perfectly still, and marvelously decorated as always, and the way the sun poured through the large, arched windows and shone onto the colorful fabrics on Bull’s ceiling? It was gorgeous, to the point it almost felt like a mockery to what his friend was going through.

Tiger slipped out of the bedroom and stepped out onto the interior bridge that connected to the staircase. He grabbed onto the wooden railings and leaned over, facing towards the front door. He sharply inhaled.

The two tall, narrow windows that sat on both sides of Bull’s door had been shattered.

What looked like millions of glass shards were scattered across the light, mahogany wooden floor.

Tiger quickly looked to the left where Bull’s living room stood.

There were probably even more shards hidden under the furniture and in between the threads of his rug, and he noticed the window there had several large cracks on it as well.

He hurried down the stairs.

As soon as he hit the last step, he leapt into the air and flew over the glass.

He stared at the mess, wincing at how many jagged pieces there were.

He also noticed multiple large rocks scattered amongst them.

He looked back to the broken windows and noticed ripped pieces of cloth stuck on some of the edges. Someone must’ve been trying to reach for the doorknob.

He peered through the windows and noticed the mosaic lamps Bull had hung outside and been knocked down and shattered.

Sun filled the house and bounced off the shards, decorating Bull’s walls with hundreds of fractured light. Some were tainted in gentle hues of greens from nearby plants, some were vibrant purples and blues due to the pieces of the mosaic lamps they hit, while many others had been tinted a soft orange.

Their warped, sharp shapes reminded Tiger of scattered puzzle pieces, or broken parts of a painting that needed to be mended.

In a horrible way, it was beautiful, but Tiger had to get rid of it.

‘Perhaps…’ He thought to himself, ‘It’d be better to wait a few moments?’

His magic has already been so difficult to work with. He didn’t want to risk trying to teleport the broken glass elsewhere only for something bad to happen. They could end up in a place they shouldn’t be, or land on some innocent bystander, or--

Frantic footsteps shook the house.

Tiger looked ahead to the small hallway that lead to the guestroom.

The steps grew faster and faster, as did the heavy breathing accompanying them.

Tiger’s gem flashed rapidly, “Bull--?!”

A large hand suddenly shot past the tan wall and gripped onto the corner.

A frightened, defensive Bull followed after.

“You will not--!” Bull shouted, but his wild expression dropped when he saw Tiger.

Tiger darted higher into the air and hugged his knees to his chest—which he quickly let go of.

“Bull, I am so sorry for scaring you.” Tiger said as he gradually lowered himself.

“No, I’m–I didn’t know you were…” Bull’s voice dwindled, “...Why are you here?”

“I had to check on you!” Tiger exclaimed, “I saw what happened to you—I saw the paper, and I had to make sure you were doing alright and—oh!” Tiger hissed to himself, “Those blasted paparazzi. What a pathetic excuse of a job.” He glared down at the glass shards below him, catching glimpses of his fractured reflections.

Bull peered past the corner and took a quick glance through a broken window. Despite seeing no one outside, he stayed hidden behind the wall.

Bull tugged at his sideburns, face occasionally scrunching whenever his fingers touched one of his bruises.

Tiger swore he didn’t have nearly as many the last time he saw him.

But he kept quiet.

He also kept quiet about any concerns he had towards Bull’s appearance, as he was quite certain Bull was well aware of how dreadful he looked.

The tear streaks on his face, his messy sideburns, the uncomfortable shifting of his feet… And it looked like Bull has worn that taupe-colored shorts and that drab, beige t-shirt for days. They were horrifically wrinkled, and the shirt had a few stains.

“I wish you had--” Bull began, but his brittle voice dwindled again. He folded his arms and gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt. His uneasiness grew. “I know you mean well. I appreciate you, but I--”

“If this is about my sudden arrival, again, I sincerely apologize.” Tiger cut in, “I left you a voicemail, but I know you’ve probably had your phone off since you—since the fight, but I wanted to let you know in advance because--”

“I wish you had not come.” Bull said.

Tiger stopped.

He waited for a moment. He waited for Bull to take that back, or to apologize, but the longer the silence went on, the worse he felt.

“What?” He finally whispered.

Bull couldn’t look him in the eyes, “I know you mean well, but you should not have come. I didn’t want you to get stuck in the middle of this.”

“In the middle of what?” Tiger asked, “In the middle of some frantic—chaotic mess that you’re stuck in? Do you really think I’d go out of my way to call you—visit you—if I didn’t want to get into this? Why do you think I’ve told you to call me if you needed anything?” He flew closer to his friend, “You’re dealing with your horrible fans--for heavens sake, they tried to break in just to talk to you! You think I wouldn’t--”

“That is one of the reasons why I have not called you for help.” Bull said, his voice stiff.

Tiger was taken aback.

Bull still couldn’t look at him.

“But you--” Tiger mumbled, “I thought you weren’t able to call to me because of how many fans were bothering you?” He felt beads of sweat starting to form where the sun was hitting him.

“That is true. I would not lie to you about that. It has been a lot.” Bull dug his nails deeper into his skin, “But I did not want to call you because this--” He gestured at the broken glass before pointing towards one of the windows, “—Because they are dangerous, and you have dealt with me enough already.”

“Dealt?” Tiger repeated in a hush.

Bull finally looked at him, only for his eyes to quickly flicker away again.

“Dealt? What, like us being friends is just some little hassle I have to go through? An errand? Or do you see me helping you as some sort of babysitting duty?” Tiger shot himself higher into the air, now towering above Bull.

“Tiger, that is not what I said--”

“No, but it certainly felt like it!” Tiger snapped. He took a deep breath and lowered himself a few inches, “Are you referring to the night of your fight? Is that when I ‘dealt’ with you?”

“Yes.” Bull kept his mouth open to say more, but Tiger talked over him.

“Please, you were going through a hard time! You lost a fight, you were hurt, I wanted to help you! That’s not some sort of chore for me, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He got closer to Bull’s face. Bull inched away.

“Is it so wrong for me to want to do the same now?” Tiger asked, “I don’t want to find out what’s happening to you through the paper. I want to be there as soon as I can, just like the night of your--”

“That night was different.” Bull said. He stepped forward, “There were only the two of us. Nobody else. I am still thankful for your help, but when my fans are around, it--”

“I’ve dealt with fans before!” Tiger exclaimed, “You don’t think I’ve had my fair share of deranged fans?!”

Bull lowered his brows, “You have not dealt with mine.”

“Yes I have!”

“No, you have not.” Bull raised a foot, ready to take another step, but when he saw the glass shards below, he stopped, “You have helped teleport me away from them, yes—and I am grateful for that—but those were all from a distance. You have not dealt with fans surrounding your house, or trying to break in to get close to you. That is very different.”

Tiger grit his teeth.

“So?” He asked, “So they’re a different kind of deranged, what of it? What makes you think I can’t help you with this?” His voice was filled with desperation and frustration. He leaned even closer to Bull, the front half of his body now in the hall, while the lower half still hovered above the shards.

Bull finally brought his eyes back to Tiger’s, “I do not doubt you can help me, but I do not want you to get hurt trying. I would never forgive myself.”

“Oh, hurt. Hurt!” Tiger scoffed as he threw himself away from Bull. He started to pace around in the air, anger growing inside of him, “What a fantastic point. I could get hurt. A Major Circuit boxer—who’s been punched a million of times—might get scratched up by some people with a camera!”

“It is not only about the physical injuries.” Bull said, but before he could add on, Tiger gave him a furious look.

His gem flashed brightly and a clone appeared between them. Half of it’s face had been fused with it’s turban, their colors bleeding and swirling together, while the other half looked as though it was melting, and slowly merging with his neck.

“What else--?” The clone asked, it’s voice distorted and painful to listen to, making Bull recoil.

Tiger swatted it away and took it’s place, “What else is there? If you tell me, I promise you, I could help you with it!”

“They will follow you!” Bull snapped back, finally raising his voice, “No matter where you go, they will follow you! You will not get a second to yourself. Every moment of your life will be on the paper or on the screen.” Bull got as close as he could to his friend without stepping on the glass, “You will be stuck hiding in your house, and even then, you will not be safe! They will always try to find you, or rip off a piece of you to keep to themselves. Tiger it would be far too much for you too handle. I have been dealing with it for years--”

“And you’re still not used to it!” A clone that appeared between the two men snapped. Tiger sliced it’s head off with one swift motion, making it disappear into a cloud of smoke.

“Then why can’t I use my magic to block out your windows? Or scare them away? I could even let you stay at my place!” Tiger clutched at his chest as his gem flashed rapidly.

Bull turned away and muttered, “I am already the ‘scariest’ boxer, yet they keep coming back. I do not want you wasting your energy on me—on these sort of people, and I will not risk putting you in the middle of this. I can handle it.”

Tiger’s hands curled to tight fists. He pressed his lips together and scowled.

There were a million things he wanted to say.

A million things that could possibly change Bull’s mind, or could do more harm than good.

He felt those words try to pry his mouth open--

Another clone flickered in the middle of the glass shards.

Tiger and Bull watched as the clone crouched down and stared at the pieces. It’s body was jagged, it’s arms jutted out in odd, sharp angles, as did it’s torso, and it’s legs looked a little too long to be normal.

It then turned it’s head over to Bull, showing off how most of it’s face appeared stretched, as if someone had grabbed it’s skin and pulled it away, leaving only a set of teeth visible, “As if you’re handling this well.” It whispered.

Tiger quickly whipped his head back over to Bull and hurt flash across his face.

Before he had the chance to waft the clone away, it disappeared.

It was Tiger’s turn to avoid looking at his friend.

He just stayed floating in the air, head down, looking at his reflections in the broken glass.

He could feel Bull staring at him, and that only made the sour pit in his stomach grow.

Bull finally sighed.

“Tiger,” He said, his voice low, “I appreciate you visiting, but I need you to leave.”

Tiger’s brows lowered.

He raised a hand in the air and curled it into a fist.

The shards of glass started to slowly hover off the ground. Speckles of lights danced around the house.

“I am doing this because—because I care about you. Because I love you.” Bull said.

Tiger then opened his fist, and the shards disappeared, “It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

Even with the glass gone, he still kept his eyes on the floor.

Tiger opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again, “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m offering to help you because I also care about you?”

The sunlight felt as though it was burning Tiger’s skin off.

“I know I’ve been getting… Upset, but it’s because I also want you to be alright.” He drifted a few inches closer to his friend, his voice weaved with worry, “This is me telling you that I can help you.”

Bull stared back at him, a broken expression on his battered face… And then he took a step back.

“And this is me telling you I do not need it.”

Tiger stayed there, watching as Bull backed further away, until he eventually turned away and disappeared into the hallway.

He listened as his friend’s footsteps grew quieter.

Tiger’s hands trembled.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, “If you ever--!”

The footsteps stopped.

Tiger took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “If you ever change your mind, know that I will still give you my help.”

The silence lingered.

Then he heard the footsteps start again, followed by a door clicking shut.

Tiger waited for a few more moments, hoping Bull would rush out and tell him he does need his help, or to pull him into a hug and apologize, and then they could figure out how to work through this together, but that never happened.

Bull stayed in the guestroom, and Tiger stayed in the entryway.

With nothing more to do, and with no one needing him, his gem flashed, and he teleported away.

~ ~ ~ ~

“What?!” Disco blurted out, “And was there blood? Lotsa blood?”

“Thankfully not too much, but one of his nails nearly came off, and it looked awful.” Joe said as he gestured with his fork. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning back far enough that the chair looked like it was about to tip over, yet he somehow remained balanced.

Disco squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, not too fond of the imagery that popped up, and even though Kaiser looked stoic—his arms folded and posture rigid—Joe noticed the subtle scrunch of disgust on his face.

“What happened after that?! Was Bear alright? Nothing got infected, did it?” Disco asked as he jabbed his fork into one of his waffles and shoved it into his mouth. There was so much whipped cream and fruit piled on top that they were practically hidden.

“The poor man was in agony.” Joe threw his head back, “Thank the stars this happened in the locker room though, because I was able to grab some paper towels and help clean him up.” Joe set his fork down by his salad bowl, “And thankfully Tiger heard the commotion as well and offered to get a first aid kit, but he was also…” Joe rolled his eyes.

Disco and Kaiser exchanged confused glances.

“Did… Tiger help Aran and Overload with the mousetraps?” Kaiser asked, his brows lowering.

Joe jolted, “No! Absolutely not. He was just frustrating to deal with that day.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Kaiser, “Frustrating how?”

Joe’s cheeks turned a light pink, “I suppose ‘frustrating’ wasn’t the best word to go with, but—actually I need to explain a little more.” He grabbed his cup of mocha and held it close, “So after Tiger left, Bear wanted me to text Hondo about what was going on, so I did. Then before I knew it, Hondo suddenly appeared! I don’t know how he gets around so fast, but anyways--” He took a sip, “He checked up on Bear, asked who had set up those traps, then Tiger reappeared, and that’s when things got frustrating.”

Kaiser and Disco continued eating their breakfast as Joe explained what happened on that dreaded day.

He rambled about how everyone in the locker room realized Aran had been the one to place those traps inside the locker, how Octave most likely helped, how defensive Tiger got at the ‘accusation’, even though it was so obviously true.

Disco listened intensely, wrapped up in every detail of the story, never taking his eyes off of Joe, not even to make sure his fork was actually hitting his waffles.

Kaiser, despite listening attentively to everything Joe was saying, found his eyes occasionally drifting away. He’d glance at families that’d walk by with kids happily holding onto the parents’ hands, or at the occasional leaf or crumpled newspaper that flew with the wind. He ate a spoonful of porridge and put his focus back on Joe.

“Tiger and Overload…” Kaiser mumbled as he pat his mouth with a napkin, “I have never pictured the two of them becoming friends.”

“I’ve heard a bit bout ‘em through Aran.” Disco added as he took a sip of the strawberry-mango tea he ordered. It smelled so sweet to the point Joe was almost certain the baristas had given him a glass of fruit punch instead.

“They must be getting along well if Tiger is willing to defend him.” Joe said with another roll of his eyes.

“Pah, if I was friends with a man who was constantly cruel, I would not hesitate to call out their behavior.” Kaiser frowned as he straightened his posture even more.

“Exactly!” Joe said, “I don’t care how close I am with someone, if they’re being a pain, I won’t tolerate it. I don’t know why Tiger thought we were ‘antagonizing’ him, even though he knows Overload constantly acts this way.” He sunk down further into his seat, “A part of me just worries that he’ll get get wrapped up in Aran and Overload’s messes.”

“Nah, maybe not.” Disco said.

Joe and Kaiser stared at him.

“I think Tiger’s probably only gonna hang round Octave cause like--” Disco took another bite of his waffles and kept talking, “Tiger hates Aran, ‘n Aran? Guy can’t stand him either. He’s told me bout it before, and don’t tell the other guys at the stadium this, but…” His eyes flickered between the men before he leaned in, “I think Octave ‘n Aran hadda big fight.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up, “Really now?”

Even Kaiser seemed surprised.

“Yeah! I texted Aran last night, right? Wanted to make sure he made it home—mostly cause his sister needs him—but when I asked, he started goin’ off about how fed up he was with Octave. Tried to get more outta him, but he stopped responding.” Disco then propped his head up with his hands and batted his eyelashes, “Maybe they were fightin’ over li’l ol’ me.”

That managed to get a chuckle out of Kaiser.

“Well…” Joe brought his coffee to his lips again, “It’s not like they haven’t fought before.”

“Yeah but like—I dunno. Aran gets into fights all the time, but he never complains bout it. Usually he just jokes and brags bout it or whatever, but like, this felt different, you know?” Disco said.

“And what about Tiger?” Kaiser asked.

Joe took a sip, “What about him?”

Kaiser’s expression grew serious, “He is with Overload. If Overload is not afraid to hurt Aran, who is to say he won’t hurt Tiger as well?”

Disco and Joe’s eyes went to anywhere but Kaiser as they pondered that question.

Joe’s mind was already filling with hundreds of horrible things Overload could do to Tiger—or to anyone for that matter. Heaven knows he’s probably furious over his little relationship drama with Aran, and it’s only a matter of time before he lashes out and gets someone severely hurt—

Joe quickly took another sip of coffee to try and drown out his thoughts.

He then cleared his throat, “I’m sure Tiger would be able to deal with it one way or another. He’s got his magic, he has friends to help him--”

“Like us!” Disco added.

“Right. Though he’s not too happy with me at the moment.” Joe muttered, “Either way, he can always ask for help when the time comes.” He then set his cup down and leaned his head against his hand, “Or he could do us all a favor and teleport Overload far away from here.”

Joe heard Disco laugh, and he could practically feel the eyebrow raise he got from Kaiser, but Joe picked up his fork and put his focus back on his salad.

Joe then heard Kaiser mumble to himself. He looked up ever so slightly

“Overload and Aran…” Kaiser grumbled as he stared into his black coffee, “I swear I have taught children with better manners than them.”

Joe hummed, a small grin on his face.

“Please, I don’t think that’s a very high bar for—oh!” Something on the ground caught his attention.

Joe carefully tipped his chair back further and reached towards the sidewalk.

“Dropped something?” Kaiser tilted his head.

“No, no, I found a leaf.” Joe plucked the leaf off the ground and sat right back up, “Sandman wanted me to find a nice one for him. I think this should do, hm?”

He twirled it’s red stem between his fingers, showing off a brilliant green leaf that had been adorned with bright yellow speckles that faded to orange at the bottom.

Kaiser paused, “I suppose, though I am not a leaf expert.”

“I like it!” Disco said with a mouth full of food, “Oh, speakin’ of Sandman, you see that little column bout him in the paper this morning?”

Joe perked up, “No, I haven’t. I think I saw a little bit about something going on with Bull--”

Disco cut him off, excited, “Yeah! It was on the page right after that. He might be havin’ another fight soon! I gotta keep my eyes open for it, I wanna buy my parents tickets to it—they love his fights and I wanna surprise ‘em.”

“Really?” Joe was about to ask ‘With who?’ But he closed his mouth when he remembered that miserable other champion that’s been trash talking his friend for the last couple of weeks. He let a twinge of annoyance show through as he thought about that boxer for a moment.

Did that champion really have nothing better to do than waste journalists’ time with his constant trash talk?

Doesn’t he have training to do?

People to punch?

Joe huffed. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that champion in the near future, but if it meant seeing Sandman eventually knock his lights out, then he’ll put up with it.

Joe exhaled before he put a smile back on his face, “Well, I’m sure whenever that fight arrives, it’ll be fantastic.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger was back in one his hammocks, arms folded, a leg dangling off the side, and a scowl on his face.

He wished he had never gotten up this morning.

He wished he had ignored that blasted newspaper when it hit his door.

He could’ve slept in and woken up refreshed, but no.

He had to be a good friend and check on Bull.

And look where that’s gotten him.

Tiger’s flip phone orbited his hammock.

Tiger gave a halfhearted snap of his fingers, his gem flashed, and his phone let out a beep.

“Heya Tiger…” Bear’s voicemail played, “I was tryna call ya, but ya must’ve been asleep, hope I didn’t wake ya up on accident or somethin’.”

Tiger sunk deeper into his hammock as he listened on.

“Hope yer doin’ well for starters! My hand’s feelin’ loads better, still gotta be careful of course, but I was wonderin’ if yer gonna be free in a couple’o days? I was thinkin’ of goin’ back to th’stadium to work out, ‘n it’d be great to have ya around! We can practice in that li’l ring together, or ya can just sit ‘n watch, I don’t mind either way...”

Tiger sneered as the recording kept going.

Look at that, a friend that’s actually asking for his help, and he didn’t need to drag himself out of bed and teleport out of his house just to hear it.

It’s nice to know someone likes to have him around.

“...Ya good if Hondo tags along as well? Don might be comin’ too…” That last part was barely audible, but Tiger heard just enough to make his scowl grow.

Hondo still hasn’t responded to his message.

If Hondo refused to acknowledge Tiger’s attempts to reach out, then so be it, Tiger will gladly confront him in the stadium. Hondo couldn’t hide forever.

”...But he said he might be busy with uh—with stuff. He didn’t tell me with what, but hey! Maybe ya can ask Octave to tag along as well!” Even through the recording, Tiger could hear Bear’s smile.

Tiger doubted Overload would want to come after what’s happened, and he could only imagine the fit Hondo would throw if he saw him again.

“...I know that uh… That things have been kinda weird since, ya know, but…” Bear’s voice dwindled.

Tiger took a deep breath.

“...I guess I just want my buds to stay buds, ya know?”

It was quiet for a moment.

Tiger’s eyes lingered at the end of his hammock. For a second, he thought the voicemail had ended, but Bear spoke again.

“Anyways! Just, uh, just lemme know if ya’d like to come! Hope to see ya--”

Tiger’s phone started to ring.

He sat up and quickly flicked his wrist, teleporting the phone into his hand. Perhaps it was Bear checking to see if he’s able to train, or perhaps Hondo finally decided to respond—but Tiger stopped when he saw it was Overload calling instead.

Tiger answered, “Yes--? Hello, good morning!”

“Hey, Tiger.” Octave said, his voice muffled.

“Is everything alright? I’m so used to our little chats in the evening that this feels a little odd.” Tiger chuckled as he brought the phone closer.

“Yeah, yeah, I was uh…” Octave trailed off, “Hey, we’re uh—we’re friends, right?”

Worry and confusion started to fill Tiger's chest as he pressed the phone against his ear, “Why of course.” He let out another chuckle, nervous, “What brought this on? Is everything alright?”

“Nah, yeah, everythin’s fine.” Octave said, “Just checkin’.”

#punch out #punch out!!#punch out wii #punch out glass joe #punch out disco kid #punch out von kaiser #punch out great tiger #punch out bald bull #fic #art #CHAPTER 21 LETS GOOOOO AUUGUHG #ENJOY!

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wheresarizona · 10 months

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Learning to Live Locations

Masterlist

I use a lot of visuals when writing, and have made layouts for the main places so I know where things are. I thought I’d share. 🥰🥰🥰 The stuff inside them is obviously not to scale, just a rough estimate.

I hope you enjoy!

View them under the cut:

Cielito’s Apartment

Every single room has seen action. The area where the record player is and the sliding back door, there are a bunch of plants, since the wall there is almost all window that gets a ton of light. There are small potted ones on the table with the record player, others hanging on the walls and down from the ceiling. The bird of paradise is your pride and joy, and Javi calls it Reggie because he had no fucking clue how to pronounce Strelitzia reginae when he was reading up on it (he’s gotten some books on plant care—it makes you 🥹🥹🥹 but also horny).

Chucho’s House

This is a place I found that I modeled his house after, and almost exactly how I describe the outside as looking like. Chucho has a bigger front porch with two white rocking chairs and his wife’s flower garden lining the path. (I made the layout a while ago, so Javi’s Colombia boxes have been consolidated down to one and stuffed in his walk-in closet)

Cielito’s Work

The wing isn’t huge. There’s ten patient rooms (never all full), the nurse’s station, a single person restroom, and a couple of storage rooms. When Javi shows up in chapter 10, he’s strutting down that middle hallway, and yes, he did look at one of the hospital maps to make sure he made a good entrance.

Javier’s Office

His office isn’t too big. His desk is made from cherry wood, and the plants are real—Cielito helped him pick them out, and she doesn’t know this, but they stress him out a little because he’s worried he’s gonna kill them; he has a sticky note attached to his desk phone to remind him to water them every Friday.

Eventually, you will have a house, and when that happens, I’ll add that layout as well.

Thanks for reading!

tagging: @thevoiceinyourheadx @kirsteng42 @modiddys-blog @fleetsonfire

Masterlist

#wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

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summerinthecloudsx · 2 years

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Had this posted on my quotev for a while so I figured I’d start moving some of my monster characters x reader inserts over here.💖

The Gray; Aziel (half Naga) x Female reader

Trigger Warning: Angst/Comfort/Smut. This chapter contains brief mentions of insomnia and insecurity. Proceed with caution if this could be triggering to you. It is still comfort though!

Contains smut! 18+. Minors do not interact. All characters in this are over 21. Lots of praise, kinda hard Dom at times?, spitting kink, multiple orgasms, oral (female receiving)

Time moves slowly for you. Three hours of sleep feels like ten, and you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes again despite the charcoal sky staring at you from just outside your window. Sighing, you glide your palm across the creamy cotton sheets of your shared bed and frown at the empty space next to you. You’ve grown so accustomed to Aziel’s new work schedule — which allows him to be at home at night and early mornings now — that you can’t seem to relax without him.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, you roll to your side to check the time on the phone. 2:37 A.M. You’ve only been asleep for three hours, and Aziel won’t be home for another two hours at least seeing as he’s covering a shift for one of his sick workers. You can’t bring yourself to bother him, knowing he gets concerned when you don’t sleep enough. He even supported you in transitioning to a job that allows you to work from home, hoping it would give you more time to have a routine sleep schedule. Not that it worked, of course. At best, it just allows you to take breaks when you become too tired to stare at your computer screen. You’re thankful you don’t have to work today, at least.

The apartment is silent as you stroll lazily from the bedroom to the kitchen. Vines hang from the potted plants at the entrance to your destination, an addition of Aziel’s suggestion that took a while to get used to. It isn’t that you dislike the cottagecore vibe of your boyfriend’s place. Various herbs hang in containers from the ceiling, flowers are situated at every corner, and vines greet you at each doorway. It’s beautiful, really, but it’s so foreign to you. Amidst all of the effortless, natural beauty, you feel out of place somehow.

Sighing, you drag your fingertips across the freshly cleaned marble counters. They slide easily across the surface until they tap against a ceramic mug. Aziel must have known you wouldn’t be able to sleep, seeing as how he left out materials to make your favorite tea. You smile at the subtle display of affection, taking advantage of the convenience and brewing a small cup. You just barely get yourself settled into the couch, tapping at the remote to select one of your comfort shows, before the door of your apartment clicks open.

Those golden rimmed glasses are just a touch out of place, hanging a bit too far down his nose. His hair, usually slicked back, is disheveled as if he’s been raking his fingers through it all night. His white dress shirt situated beneath his jacket has a small coffee tinted stain on it, and yet, he’s the picture of ethereal. He’s regal without trying just like everything else in his life aside from you, though you feel a tinge of bitterness at your one sided belief.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Aziel asks with a sad, knowing smile as he drapes his jacket across the arm of the couch. Your downturned expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and his own snake-like eyes narrow worryingly. You’re not even looking at him anymore, gaze focused on your own legs tucked beneath your body. “Love?”

“Sorry,” you reply suddenly, snapping your head up to meet his stare. “I just…” Your voice trails off as the words fail to appear. You’re not sure what to say or what you should say. Why are you with me? Am I really good enough for you? You’ve asked him those questions enough. He’s probably grown tired of your insecurities, of trying to reassure you when your mind runs away with the thought of everything you lack compared to him, or at least what you perceive to lack.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks softly. The couch dips when he lowers himself next to you. The scent of the coffee shop has latched onto him, and while he claims he hates it sometimes, you can’t seem to stop inhaling the sweet aroma. “Do you wanna try to sleep some more?” He asks when he realizes you’re not going to answer his first question.

You shake your head, allowing yourself to fall against his side. He’s warm. He’s always been warm despite his reptilian side. Part of you feels guilty when you think about your own insecurities compared to his. You recall the way he insisted he would eat in the back room of his own coffee shop the first time you met. You remember the nervous, fearful gleam of his vertically slanted eyes when his sister introduced the two of you. And when he opened up to you about how much he had been bullied in his youth and even adulthood, you remember the way his strong voice faltered just slightly. So really, who were you to feel depressed compared to him?

“Hey.” Aziel brushes his fingertips over your cheek, flattening his palm against the flesh and maneuvering your face so he can see you. “Where is your mind wandering off to, love? Did I do something to upset you?”

It’s the final breaking point; his sympathy and determination to help you takes over. The way he believes it’s his responsibility to carry your burdens only increases your guilt, though you know he only does it because you do the same for him. An equally supportive relationship should be something to treasure, but you’re too wrapped up in the idea that you’re not pulling your own weight.

“You’re crying,” he whispers with a frown, thumb rubbing beneath your eye to wipe away the liquid. “Please talk to me.”

“I’m tired,” you finally manage to speak hoarsely. “I just don’t understand why you’re putting up with me, I guess. Aren't you tired of me, too?”

Aziel’s eyes widen briefly before his brows lower in a sympathetic gaze. “Put up with you?” He softly whispers your statement, the hurt evident in his tone. “Tired of you? I adore you. Whatever your mind is telling you right now is not true.”

You know he’s right. Deep down, you know your mind is making false scenarios, accusing the gentle man of having negative emotions he would never even dream of possessing. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to snap yourself out of this slump, especially when you’re functioning with barely any sleep.

“I know,” you sigh, pressing your face deeper into his palm. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m just being insecure and silly. I just…”

“It’s not silly,” Aziel defends without being prompted. “Everyone needs a little extra assurance sometimes, and I’m more than happy to give that to you.” The pads of his fingertips are feather-light against your skin as he gazes down at you, palm sliding across your cheek until it rests on your jawline. Every few seconds, his thumb brushes at the corner of your lip as if he’s asking for permission to kiss you. As if he needs to do something so respectful. He treats you like a secret treasure he’s just discovered, hesitant to take it because of his own morality.

You know that’s how he thinks. You understand he doesn’t want to take advantage of the situation, and his touch has only pure intentions. He’s never forced himself on you, never approached you in a sexual manner unless he had some type of hint from you first. But something about the way his thumb pauses at your lip, discreetly tugging at the flesh, sends electricity through your body.

You can tell he’s trying to decipher your body language, contemplate if it’s truly okay to lean in and steal a kiss. You’re just as conflicted, feeling guilty for wanting him to prove how much he cares for you. He already does it so much, through the little things he does for you like bringing you tea or special sweets just because he knows you like them. You’re appreciative of it, truly, but you want something different, something you’re afraid to ask for. It’s carnal, lustful. It makes your skin burn just thinking about how special you feel when he touches you. No matter how it sounds, his love and affection — a special brand of sensual comfort only he can provide — is what you need the most right now, but you’re so nervous to request it.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, swallowing thickly. “And I don’t just mean some superficial beauty. Inside and out, you’re just…breathtaking.” He’s nervous too, the softness and wavering of his voice a subtle sign he gives when he’s unsure of himself. It’s not that he doubts his statement. By all accounts, you can tell he honestly believes you’re the most ‘gorgeous’ person he’s interacted with. There’s something else, though. There’s something strangely sensual about the way his unique eyes keep switching from your lips to your neck, and then settle again on your eyes. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, though he ultimately presses his lips together in silence.

“What?” You urge breathlessly. It’s funny, the way you’re already gasping when nothing has even happened yet. Maybe it’s the anticipation of his next move. Maybe it’s your imagination running wild with thoughts of his hands roaming across your body. You just want to be utterly, undeniably drunk on him, on his touch, on his voice. You need him, and the feeling crashes into you so suddenly it’s dizzying.

His lips spread into a shy smile before they part in an airy laugh. He dips his head forward to hide his nervous laugh, and when he lifts it up again, he tilts his head slightly to the back and side. His teeth tug at his lip just enough for you to see the snakelike fangs propped against plump flesh. “I just really want to kiss you right now,” he breathes out softly.

It’s your weakness. That soft, airy laugh and his sharp jawline on full display are the final breaking points. He knows it, knows how much you love seeing his teeth for the simple reminder of the way they feel when they pierce your skin. And you can’t bring yourself to say no even in a teasing manner. “Then do it.”

And oh he does. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling your face closer to his until you can smell the floral tea and honey on his breath. You know he means to test your patience, but you ran out of such a feeling so long ago that you close the rest of the distance. It’s embarrassing how eagerly you kiss him, swinging your leg over his in a straddling position and instantly clenching the fabric of his button up shirt in your fists. You need him all at once, and you truly think you might fall apart if you don’t get him soon.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he whispers with another airy laugh, tickling your lips as he breaks away only an inch. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just let me take care of you for now.”

Right. Because he works slowly, urging you to treasure every touch. And despite how much you need him already, you submit to his request.

Aziel smiles at the way you relax in his hold, sliding his fingertips across your forearms and pulling them around his neck. He gives no warning before he stands with you cradled safely in his arms. Your destination is no mystery as he takes slow, steady steps away from the living room, and when you enter the bedroom, he places you on the bed with the same amount of tenderness as before.

“Is this okay?” He asks, hovering over your body and nudging your nose lightly with his. A few strands of his hair have fallen forward, escaped from their usual slicked back form. The soft, black pieces tickle your forehead enough to elicit a tiny giggle, the sound bouncing happily in the confines of Aziel’s mind. And oh, what he wouldn’t give to listen to it forever. The things he would do or say to keep that smile in place because you deserve to be so happy, so incredibly cared for. “What is it?” He whispers, a sudden spark of anxiousness invading his body when you stare at him with a peculiar expression.

“It’s just…when you look at me like that, — like you’re simultaneously ready to ravish me and pamper me all at once — my brain shuts off.” You giggle again, shocked at your own cliche words. It’s true, though. The duality of his expression is dizzying, because you can see the fiery, carnal need to claim every part of you. You can’t miss the hungry gleam of his slanted pupils as they dart across your figure in an attempt to find the perfect teasing point, the breaking point that will leave you squirming and writhing beneath him. And yet, there’s also such a softness to him. You feel it in his hesitancy to begin until you offer clear consent. You see it in the way his wandering eyes always end up back on your face to read your comfort level. You taste in the way his kisses begin tender, slow and sensual until you actively beg him for something stronger.

Aziel doesn’t respond immediately, at least not verbally. He smiles down at you, the same soft expression you’ve grown to love during times like this. It’s only when he dips his head lower to your shoulder that you begin to tremble, anticipating his next move. His fingers brush against your heated skin as they lower the sleeve of your nightshirt, exposing you enough to press warm kisses over the area. His hair tickles your jawline as his lips travel upwards, leaving burning wet patches in their wake. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the area directly below your ear, which he kisses sloppily so you can feel his forked tongue teasing at your skin. “Why can’t I do both?” His hot breath whispers against your ear, making your thighs press together in search of friction. “Why can’t I make my girl cry because of how good she feels? You know I love it when that happens.”

A switch has flipped within him, and it urges you to arch your back submissively. You mumble his name pleadingly, praying it’s enough to give him the consent he needs. It isn’t. His palm lightly touches the side of your neck, thumb exerting light pressure that has you leaning your head back to expose yourself to him. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges airily, still whispering in your ear. “Use your words.”

“God Aziel, just touch me already,” you whine pitifully. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt, wishing you could just rip it apart. As it is, your hands are shaking too much to take apart more than a few buttons, though Aziel’s large hand gently pushes yours away, and in a matter of seconds, he’s stripped both of you down to your underwear.

His lips trail across your jawline, whispering incoherent praises before his tongue slides out to torture your neck. It’s a torturous process, sharp fangs pricking at your neck followed by his hot tongue soothing the marks you’re sure he’s made. You arch your body up once more, trying so desperately to find friction for the growing problem between your legs. Aziel merely slaps the side of your thigh, a small sting serving as a warning to remain still until he’s finished. You can only let out a defeated whimper when he turns his attention to your breasts. He pinches one hardened nipple between his thumb and index finger, rolling and twisting it agonizingly slowly. The other is suddenly assaulted by his mouth, quick bites and lashes of his tongue a stark contrast to the slow ministrations of his fingers. You can feel the wetness soaking through your panties as you fight the urge to rub your thighs together. Something, anything to soothe the throbbing ache.

Aziel pulls away from your breast with a soft pop, smirking at the abused flesh. Slanted eyes dart to your own in wordless reassurance before he pulls his body away from yours, exiting the bed and leaving you shivering. You can’t decide if it’s a curse or a blessing, now freely rubbing your thighs together to alleviate your throbbing clit but scowling at the distance he’s created. You wonder briefly if he means to toy with you, leave you needy and alone while he laughs, but you quickly remind yourself that he would never be that cruel even in the bedroom. And when he kneels at the foot of the bed as if it’s an altar, you bite your lip and gaze at him with a hungry, lustful expression.

He doesn’t give you another chance to search for friction as he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. The moment his eyes land on your soaked panties, Aziel smirks proudly. “Baby made a mess, huh?” He purrs, lips pressed against the soft flesh of your thigh. “Are you a little needy today? Want me to take care of you?”

You’re too far gone to be embarrassed, nodding your head and whining. Aziel lets out a pleased chuckle as his thumb rubs over your clothed slit, just barely enough to tease you. When you let out a desperate moan of his name, he takes pity on you and slides the ruined clothing down your legs. His mouth is on you before you even have the chance to beg, long forked tongue sliding from your pussy to your clit in a hungry attempt to collect all of your juices. The low moan he lets out vibrates against your throbbing bundle of nerves, but his torture doesn’t end there. Without warning, he sucks your clit into his mouth and prods at your entrance with one of his fingers. Slowly, he slides a finger inside, moaning again at the feeling of how wet and eager you are for him. One more finger quickly joins the first as they slide in and out of you, slowly, torturously until he feels your hand tangling in his hair.

“Aziel,” you whimper, trying and failing to control the way your hips buck against his face. It’s so good, he’s too good. His fingers pump in and out of you harder now, curling until they hit that spot that has you begging for more. One final flick of his tongue against your clit, and he pulls his face away from you to replace his tongue with his thumb.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” He whispers, thumb rubbing hard fast circles against you.

“I’m gonna…” You don’t have the chance to finish your sentence before he adds a third finger to the mix. With one more curl of his fingers, your orgasm crashes over you. Your hips buck dangerously hard against Aziel’s hand as he helps you ride the wave of pleasure, praising your sweet moans and finger fucking you until you’re pushing his hand away from the overstimulation.

“You’re always such a good girl, so needy and desperate for me,” Aziel groans in an animalistic tone as he shoves his boxers down. His cock, long and thick, slaps against his abdomen, leaving a wet smear thanks to the precum leaking out. “God you’re so fucking hot when you cum.” he mumbles, kneeling on the bed so that he hovers over you once more. “Wanna see it again.”

There’s no teasing or hesitation this time. He shoves his cock into your aching pussy so quickly, forcefully, it pushes you up the bed. With a dominant growl, he grabs your hips and yanks you back to him. His strong, hard thrusts rip moans from your lips, and he can’t stop the smirk that spreads across his face when you expose your neck to him.

Your eyes flutter back when Aziel’s large hand trails up your torso to wrap around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make black spots swarm in your vision, leaning forward so that your bodies press impossibly close to each other. With every thrust, his grip on your neck tightens briefly as he brushes against your clit, threatening to send you over the edge once more.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses when you unintentionally clench around him. “You feel so good, sweetheart. Your pussy is always so wet and tight for me. Feels so good.” His hand releases its hold on your neck, fingers gripping your chin as his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Open your mouth, baby.”

You don’t even think before you stick your tongue out for him, too lost in the pleasure of his dick hitting that spot every single time he thrusts. When his saliva falls onto your tongue, you leave it there for a while before you let it slide into your mouth. You want all of him, all at once, and when his hand slides down to rub your abused clit, you clench around him once more.

“Gonna cum again?” He asks with a moan. “You gonna cum on my cock? I’m all yours baby. Cum with me, fuck! Please!” He’s getting close too if his rapid thrusts are any indication. He’s massaging your clit so quickly, wet, sinful noises swimming in the air and mingling with both of your moans. You can hear the way his hips snap into yours, the way your pussy squelches with every thrust. It’s so much, too much all of the sudden, and your second orgasm falls on you without warning. You see black and white dots dancing around you, your body suddenly too hot to be comfortable. It hurts, but god it hurts so good.

“Fuck!” Aziel groans as your walls tighten around him, thrusting two more times before he’s spilling every ounce of his seed into you. “Fuck,” he whispers again, body trembling as he tries to come down from the high of his climax. He gently lowers himself to your side, pulling you against his chest and rubbing your sweat soaked hair away from your face. The kisses he peppers against your forehead are tender, loving. They’re a reminder of his gentle side that precedes and follows his dominant one. “I love you,” he whispers sweetly. “Always, unconditionally. You understand that?”

“Yeah,” you whisper breathlessly, a hazy smile spreading across your face. “I love you too.” And though all of your insecurities haven’t vanished, you truly believe him, because only Aziel can travel into the gray and bring you back to the world of color.

#oc x you #monster boy #reader insert #halfnaga #Smut #angst to comfort #fluff and smut #original character x reader #Naga x reader #male naga #monster lover #monster fucker

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lemony-snickers · 1 year

Note

35. kissing to get their attention , whatever comes to your mind. I am an anon who you definitely dont know. wooo. ghost.. bye

When Kakashi slid through the window of Tenzo's apartment, he did not expect the jungle that awaited him inside. Plants of all kinds and shapes and sizes were strewn throughout the living area in various colored pots.

With his curiosity piqued, he stepped gingerly over the containers, moving toward the faint sound of perturbed muttering which told him Tenzo was indeed somewhere to be found amongst all the foliage.

Tenzo sat at his chabudai, posture stooped and brow scrunched together beneath his mop of brown hair. He'd forgone the overshirt of his uniform, wearing only the first compression layer with the attached chin protector.

Kakashi admired the way his arm muscles flexed as he trimmed the wild-looking fern in front of him, snipping back fronds and gently inspecting leaves. Next to him, Kakashi saw a spray bottle and a stack of rags normally reserved for cleaning.

"Trouble in the garden today?" Kakashi asked, but Tenzo did not look up from his work.

Kakashi smiled and shook his head, deciding to take a few more careful steps toward the improvised workspace Tenzo could hear him better.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Tenzo jumped, yelping when the trimmers in his hand grazed his opposite thumb. He inspected the pad of his finger, only looking at Kakashi once he discerned he hadn't drawn blood. "Ah, hi, Senpai," he said, "Sorry, I'm a little busy today, as you can see."

He gestured toward the forest's worth of flora around him. "There's something bothering my plants," he said, turning back to his work and muttering some continuation of the thought under his breath.

"Is it an insect or fungus?" Kakashi asked, turning over the leaves of a nearby begonia, but finding no scales or other markings underneath. "Tenzo?" he prompted again.

Nothing.

Kakashi sighed, releasing the waxy leaf. If Tenzo wasn't even bothering to correct Kakashi's use of his name, then he must really be worried about whatever was damaging his garden.

Kakashi sighed, a little put out by being ignored, and traipsed his way carefully into the kitchen so he could collect water for tea. He frowned at the sage plant he found in the basin of the sink.

"Is it okay if I move this?" he called.

When he didn't receive an answer, Kakashi peeked over his shoulder to discover Tenzo had moved onto a new patient--a healthy-looking pothos which challenged Tenzo's assertion that something was irritating his plants at all.

Kakashi shook his head and moved the sage to the counter so he could fill the kettle, setting it on the stove as he prepared two cups and a teapot. While he waited for the water to boil, he leaned against the counter to watch Tenzo work, arms folded over his chest.

He couldn't deny he liked it when Tenzo concentrated. The set of his jaw and his dark, piercing gaze lent an air of strength and purpose to his appearance that Kakashi enjoyed very much.

Kakashi turned the stove off before the kettle could screech and filled the teapot, setting it on a wooden tray with the two cups and carrying it over to where Tenzo was working, now inspecting the leaves and flowers of a small lavender bush one by one.

Kakashi knew he'd somehow be roped into helping Tenzo move his container garden back to the rooftop once this was all over, so he'd need to devise some kind of incentive Tenzo could offer him in return.

He smirked beneath his mask, already thinking over several ideas, all of which would no doubt stain Tenzo's face, neck, and ears the same shade as the begonia Kakashi had inspected earlier.

"I made tea," he said, setting the tray down and not expecting an answer.

Instead, Kakashi reached up to pinch the fabric over the bridge of his nose and leaned down without any warning to plant a soft kiss on Tenzo's mouth even as he continued muttering to himself.

The shocked sputter Kakashi received in response deterred him not at all, and he simply used the opportunity to sweep his tongue into Tenzo's mouth for a moment before pulling away again.

"I said, I made tea," he repeated, sitting himself down on the cushion beside Tenzo and pushing the lavender plant back to make room for a cup.

Tenzo didn't say a word while Kakashi poured for them both, his ears bright pink and face so hot Kakashi could almost feel the steam radiating from his cheeks.

"So," Kakashi said, taking a first slow sip of his tea, "insect or fungus?" he tried again.

"F-fungus," Tenzo responded after a moment, lifting his own cup to his mouth.

"Mm," Kakashi hummed, setting his cup down and pulling snake plant from the array of pots nearby, "tell me what to look for."

Tenzo's offered a relieved smile, pointing to the base of the leaves as he began to explain.

Kakashi knew they'd be there long into the evening, but as long as they could stay side-by-side--and Tenzo didn't mind too much making it up to him later--he didn't mind playing gardener for the day.

#kakayama #kakayama fanfiction #lovely “anon” (nisi)#lemony scribbles #friday flash fic fest #pls ignore that it is indeed actually monday as i post this a;sldkfjasdf #sorry this one took so long my dear; that's what you get for forcing me to think of a pairing on my own tho ahaha

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lillywillow · 2 years

Text

Childhood Friends

Summary: When you moved to San Fransisco for a new job, you bumped into the last person you ever thought you would see again; your long-lost childhood companion Eddie Brock

Word Count: 1118

Pairings: Eddie Brock x Chubby!Female Reader

Warnings: Some body issues, fluff, mild swear words

A/N: Requested by a wonderful Nonnie

When you were a child, your best friend was a boy named Eddie Brock. You did everything together. When you were a teenager, your family moved away, leaving you heartbroken but on your very last day in town, you and Eddie went to a carnival where he won you a stuffed panda. Sadly, over the years, you lost touch with your friend but that little teddy bear was your most prized possession.

…

It was a brisk San Fransisco morning and you were getting a coffee to energise yourself before a busy day of carting boxes into your new apartment. You were so lost in your own thoughts that you failed to see the person standing behind you and you collided with them.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see where I was going and I…”

“Y/N? Is that you?”

It took you a few minutes to figure out who this mystery man was.

“Eddie? Eddie Brock?”

He grinned and nodded. You couldn’t hold back the squeal of delight as you threw your arms around him.

“I can’t believe it’s really you. What are you doing here?” Eddie asked.

“I live here now. I was just getting coffee…”

You felt heat flood your face as you looked at the mess you had made on Eddie’s shirt.

“I’ll pay for that to be washed…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. “So, do you need any help moving or are you still getting settled in?”

“As I was saying, I was just on my way up to move boxes,” you went on to explain.

“I’m not doing anything right now. I could give you a hand,” he offered.

“No, no, I couldn’t, especially after I spilled coffee all over you,” you protested.

“Please, it’s the least I could do for an old friend. We could get to know each other again and catch up,” he smiled.

…

It took you a while but with Eddie’s help, you soon had all of your boxes of belongings inside your new apartment and you were sure without his help it would have taken you longer. As you worked, you caught up Eddie’s life since you left and you told him about yours. When he left, you couldn’t help feeling a spark between the two of you. Before you left, you thought that Eddie would be your first boyfriend but that never happened. It didn’t help that he had grown into such an attractive adult. You had dated here and there but you could never find someone quite like Eddie. Another thing that affected your dating life was your insecurities about your looks. Between the stresses of daily life and a medical condition, you had put on a bit of weight. It wasn’t the weight itself that bothered you so much as it was the jerks who teased you about it. You just wished you could find someone who didn’t care about the superficial stuff. Maybe even someone like Eddie.

…

It had taken some time to get your apartment just the way you wanted it but once the furniture was in place (with a little help from Eddie) and all your homey touches had been arranged, you invited Eddie over for a celebratory dinner. It was just over six when Eddie arrived carrying a small potted flower.

“I got you a house warming present,” he smiled.

“Aw, thank you. That’s so thoughtful,” you smiled back. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

As you went to put the plant near your kitchen window, Eddie looked around your home.

“You’ve really done the place up,” he stated, walking around and admiring your photos and trinkets.

“Just a few little touches here and there, nothing too big,” you replied, preparing to set out dinner.

As Eddie wandered into your bedroom, the first thing he saw was the panda he won for you all those years ago sitting proudly on your bed. He tenderly picked up the teddy and brought it out to you.

“I can’t believe you still have this…”

You looked up from what you were doing to see your friend holding your treasured companion.

“Of course… Eduardo has been with me everywhere,” you softly stated, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Eduardo?” he mused with a grin.

“Yeah… um… I kind of… named him after you…”

Eddie looked at the little panda in his hands and saw that it had been clearly loved throughout all these years.

“I missed you a lot when we moved away, Eddie. Whenever I was feeling sad or down about something, I’d just hold Eduardo close and I’d remember all the good times we had together… He helped me get through some difficult times,” you confessed.

Eddie gently placed Eduardo on a nearby bench and hugged you close. You hugged back, breathing in his familiar scent.

“You’re still just as beautiful as I remember you…”

His words caught you off guard.

“You… you think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course. I wanted to ask you out when we were kids but I got scared you’d say no… but I’m older now, so… will you go out with me?” he asked hopefully.

Tears began to blur your vision.

“Eddie, look at me. I… I’m not… I’m not the same girl I was when we were kids. I… I’ve changed,” you muttered, trying to push him away.

“You’re still the same to me. Same great smile, same eyes that light up when you get excited, same amazing laugh,” he said, taking your face in his hands.

“But… what about the weight I put on?” you asked, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Who cares about crap like that? I sure don’t. Nobody’s perfect, Y/N and we’ve all got our own insecurities…”

Without thinking, you crashed your lips to his, holding his face in your hands as tears began to flow. Eddie was a little surprised at first but slowly kissed back, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to his body.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise,” he breathed as he pulled away for air. “So, will you be my girlfriend?”

All you could do was nod, your head still spinning from the incredibleness of it all; Eddie had gone from your childhood friend to man of your dreams and boyfriend just like that. You couldn’t help but think if Eduardo somehow had something to do with it.

#Marvel #Request #Marvel fic #eddie brock #Eddie Brock x Reader #chubby reader #Teddy Bear #fluff #Childhood Friends

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starlocked01 · 10 months

Text

Dukexiety Week Day 6- Music

Summary: Remus decides to snoop around his boyfriend's apartment and finds some inspiration. WC: 1200

Warnings: Swearing, animal mention, homelessness

@dukexietyweek

Moving is always stressful, yet somehow despite having changed addresses an average of four times a year for the past two years, Remus Albrecht felt more alive than ever slinging cardboard boxes in the door of his newest address. Maybe it was the nicer neighborhood, or maybe it was that Remus just felt ridiculously confident about his latest partner and that they’d stick together long enough for him to not end up homeless again.

Either way, Remus was happy to be settling in.

Virgil, the absolute cutest guy Remus had ever had the pleasure of kissing, had let Remus move in the second he found out that his boyfriend was getting kicked out of his brother’s apartment. Roman just didn’t understand the need to practice and keep his talents sharp, even when the only time to practice was 2 am. Virgil had even made sure Remus had a key right away so he could move in while Virgil worked the morning cafe shift.

Luckily, he only had three boxes. Beat up and half shredded to pieces by Roman’s horrible cat, Mr. Mistoffelees, each box contained a loose collection of the few items Remus hadn’t managed to break or lose yet. He didn’t want to have to replace the boxes.

Stacking all three together, Remus trudged up the apartment stairs, undaunted by Virgil’s eighth floor address. One trip shouldn’t be too hard, and he made sure his instruments were safe in the bottom box. Once outside the apartment door, he gently dropped the stack and let himself in.

Virgil’s apartment always smelled like flowers and herbs, emanating from the flower pots and window box bursting with a large variety of pungent plants. Remus’ personal favorite was Timinthy, a spearmint plant they would pull leaves from to add to drinks, or even just to rub in each other’s faces. Remus beamed and walked over to grab the plant mister and give Timinthy a little welcome spritz.

In the five months they had been dating, Virgil had made it exceptionally clear that he didn’t trust just anyone in his space. Remus knew that moving in was going to be the best mistake of Virgil’s life. Virgil preferred to keep everything in its place so he could find it easier and Roman always called Remus a Human Tornado. But love would be stronger, right?

After checking most of the kitchen plants for any thirsty bitches, Remus remembered the open door and rushed back to bring his boxes inside. He locked the door and set the boxes in the living room. The move had been a pretty hasty plan, so Virgil hadn’t exactly told him where to put his stuff.

Remus checked the clock. Three hours until Virgil would get home. He needed a game plan to make this the most fucking romantic evening he could, to thank his boyfriend for saving his ass.

So Remus started snooping.

He scanned through Virgil’s emo punk CD collection, picking out Danger Days to play on the stereo far too loud. He sang along and kept looking through carefully organized trinkets.

It wasn’t long before Remus found himself searching the bedroom. He’d never been in this room without Virgil– not that he minded the accompaniment in the slightest– and he was just burning with curiosity about what secrets comprised his partner’s home life.

Not much caught his eye until he found a notebook taped to the bottom of the bed. He removed the book and his eyes lit up with unadulterated joy at the words scratched into the cover with blue ink.

Keep Out!

Jackpot.

Remus sat on the bed and flipped through the obvious diary, delighted to see entries going back years. But he flipped past those, not wanting to uncover any secrets Virgil didn’t want to tell him. He scanned the dates in the corners until he found the day they met.

More than half the entry was gushing about him, the stranger at the bar who had devised a whole ruse just to introduce himself to Virgil. And though Virgil had played it very cool and collected, Remus was absolutely pleased to read about how smitten Virgil had been by the gesture. Smiling broadly, Remus kept reading forward.

The poetry took him completely off guard.

Apparently, Virgil had taken to writing sonnets about Remus shortly after they met. Sappy, syrupy sweet, embarrassing love notes all about him.

Remus knew just what to do.

— — —

“Hey, Re? I’m home,” Virgil walked in shortly after 3 o’clock, stretching and yawning from having to deal with cranky, under caffeinated adults choosing to act more like children all morning. He glanced at the living room, a little anxious about the cardboard boxes spilling their contents out over the floor, but also excited to see actual proof that he and Remus were taking the next step.

“In here-” Remus called from the bedroom. Virgil smiled and walked back to the door, delighted by the soft pings of Remus tuning his ukelele. He stood in the doorway, smiling at Remus.

“You certainly seem to be spreading into my space already,” Virgil teased, grinning as Remus giggled and looked up to meet his eyes.

“Hey- so… please don’t be mad, but I wrote you a song,” Remus grinned, patting the bed next to him to gesture to Virgil to come sit down. Virgil sauntered over and sat next to him, excited to hear the creation until he spotted the notebook.

“Wait- what the hell? You already went snooping through my stuff? It’s been less than five hours!”

Remus grimaced, “Yeah, okay, but in my defense, I was fucking bored without you.”

Virgil growled, “Not an excuse, babe.”

“Will you at least hear the song first before throwing me out?” Remus asked, the jovial joke not hiding the dull certain fear of rejection in those eyes.

Virgil sighed and leaned into Remus, “Fine, but I’m not happy about this.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be. I was just curious if you were actually okay with me invading your space,” Remus offered, nuzzling Virgil’s hair as the man leaned on his shoulder.

“I- Rem- it’s not an invasion. I want you here. I want you to be safe and secure because you didn’t deserve to get thrown out. And most importantly, I love you.”

Remus smiled gently and began to pluck at the ukelele strings, singing softly from the poems written in the diary.

Virgil listened, jaw dropping a bit as his own words became lyrics, flowing and whispering like ocean waves lapping at the sand. He leaned more on Remus, fighting the tears coming to his eyes as Remus stopped singing.

“What did you think, baby?” Remus asked, Virgil hyper aware of the tender vulnerableness Remus was putting himself into.

Virgil nuzzled the man’s shoulder softly, “despite you using my private words, that was beautiful, Rem. Thank you.”

Remus blushed and pet Virgil to keep him close, “thank you for listening, and opening your home to me.”

“I always want to hear you sing,” Virgil murmured back.

”I love you so much, Virgie” Remus grinned and started to play again, another melody for another sonnet. He wouldn’t stop writing melodies until Virgil ran out of secret praises for him.

#dukexiety week 2023 #dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #music #swearing

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a-cat-with-a-knife · 7 months

Text

Hello(^O^)／

and welcome to my blog. Thank you for reading!

Theses are my ocs. Holly, Cachet, Ari, Blake and Scarlet.

Warnings: None?

Word count: 1k+

Outside snow gathered on the edges of city windows. Now being the only score of light as the sun had set hours earlier. Everyone was inside not daring to go out and face the cold. One small apartment was buzzing with warmth.

Holly, a girl with dark skin, long black hair, an oversized white fuzzy sweater, and leggings crashed onto her friend's sofa. The springs groaned to life as she shifted into a comfortable position next to the other girl. She leaned her head on the shorter girl, Cachet.

Cachet was small of frame, barely taking up half of the sofa cushion she occupied. Dirty blonde hair pinned up in curls. She wore a black dress over a long-sleeved collared shirt. She was always the best dress at any event. Even when having pizza at a friend's place there were no exception.

“I’m thinking about ordering some pizza, what kind would you want?” Holly asked, looking down at the opinions open on her phone. “I think I’ll get a cheese pizza with tomatoes on top,”

“Get me a salad, after smelling whatever they’re cooking up in there, I don’t think I stomach anything more than that,”

Holly giggled. “Do you think Ari would want the vegan pizza?”

“Definitely but I don’t understand why we didn’t order pizza in the first place, I mean,” She paused. “After what happened last time the stove should have gotten a restraining order agists Ari,”

“Well, you know that she’s trying to learn to be more independent since her mom died yet she still can’t toast bread unsupervised,”

“Yes, but why does she have to subject us, her so-called closest friends, to her cooking?”

Holly sighed. “Because that's what good friends do,”

Cachet glanced at her. “That fact I’m friends with any of you is madness,”

“Aw, we love you too,” Holly said, putting her arms around the smaller girl. Cachet sighed and lightly patted her back weakly. Holly suddenly sat up, a fire in her eyes.

“Now back to the plan, what do you think the others would want?” Holding out her hand she counted on her fingers. “Me,” One finger went down. "You, Ari, Blake, and Scarlet,”

“Where is Blake, and Scarlet anyway?” Cachet asked looking around the tiny apartment living room. “They were originally here with us but I haven't seen them in a while,”

“That’s because they’re in the kitchen making sure Ari doesn’t have a repeat of the accident,” Holly said.

Like being summoned by the sound of her name, Ari appeared in the entrance of the kitchen and the living room. She looked as if she was in the midst of a war. Short black hair pulled into a baby ponytail. Splattered ingredients covered her once white apron, and her black t-shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders. A wooden spoon she held in her fist like a sword, she gestured it at them threateningly. “I don’t know what you’re you’re planning but stop it,”

“So… if I was hypothetically ordering pizzas would you want the vegan one?” Holly asked tentatively. Ari threw her hands in the air and returned to the kitchen. There was silence before the two of them busted out into laughter.

“That's the closest thing you'll get to a yes,” Cachet said. “You should go ask what kind Scalet wants as I have no idea,”

“Okay, let’s go then,” Holly jumped up and began walking towards the kitchen. “Are you coming?” She paused turning back to look at the blonde.

“I’ll pass, my chance of not getting second-hand food posing is better if I stay way over here,”

Walking into the kitchen she was greeted by the sight of yellow tiles on the walls with a detail of little flowers running across the tiles above the countertops. Long capes that streaked all the way to the ceiling. There was a plentiful amount of potted plants spread along each available serf.

“Welcome to the madness, Holly’” The red-headed, Scarlet, said, spotting her enter. They were of built figure and had shoulders for days. Despite this almost intimidating figure, they were the most laid back. This showed in the weathered denim jeans and white top they chose to wear.

“Ari listens to you, right? Can you tell them that you’re not supposed to stir the tomato sauce that often, she’s not listening to me when I do,” Scarlet said, reaching over to take away the wooden spoon. But Ari swiftly smacked Scarlet’s hand away.

“How about you all let me do what I need to do,”

“Well I think you can understand why we’re hastened about you cooking… given your history with nearly burning the food and the entire apartment building down last time,” Scarlet’s girl Blake added.

Blake was sitting at the dining table on the other side of the kitchen. She wore her long brown hair in pigtails with little pink bows to match her outfit. Pink overalls and a white T-shirt.

“It’ll be different this time,” Ari instead. Holly, Blake, and Scarlet looked at her deadpan.

“You’ve already broken two spoons,”

“Should we have a backup plan just in case dinner goes south…” Holly added.

“No, it’s fine, stop,”

“I was thinking maybe pizza,” she said, waving her phone at the others. “If does go south,”

Ari shot them a glare, “IF,” Scarlets defensively putting their hands up. “If it goes south, get me a mushroom pizza,” and he winked at Holly.

Ari whacked the spoon at Scalet.

As the two had their spat, Blake leaned over to Holly and whispered not so quietly. “Get me a plain cheese, please,”

“See I’m not the only one who doesn’t want your cooking,” Scarlet cried pointing at Blake. Who had tried to be secretive but the whole kitchen had heard regardless. “Hey, you’re not supposed to snitch on your girlfriend,” Blake shot back.

Holly put in the order by the time Ari was turning off the stove and pouring the pasta water out. The whole group was sitting at the table, eyeing it wearely.

“And why are parts of the pasta brown?” Cachet said, now in the kitchen with everything else.

“It might be a little burned on the bottom but it’s still edible,”

“Are you even going to wash it?” Asked Scarlet.

“What,”

“Ari, you know you’re supposed to wash it after afterward,”

“That wasn’t written in the instructions,”

“Well everyone knows that's why it’s not written,” Scarlet said.

“I got this,” The black hair girl, re-pouring the pasta in the pot, grabbing the tomato sauce with the other hand. She slowly wobbled her way towards the dining table.

“Let me help you bring it over,” Blake said, getting up. “It looks a little heavy,”

“No, I’m fine-“

Then a splash of tomato fell onto the floor in front. The next thing everyone knew was that Ari was gripping onto the tomato sauce pan with both hands and the pot had hit the floor with a crash.

No one spoke. The spaghetti was scattered all over the floor. No hope of saving it, that anyone would want to. Ari looked down at it, defeated.

“My pasta…”

Scarlet and Holly got up to clean the mess off the floor. Blake walked over patting Ari on the back. “You tried your best. You’ll get it right next time,”

“It’s alright Blake… in all honesty, I don’t think any of us could have eaten it anyway. I burnt it beyond recovery,”

Cachet was now suddenly much happier as she got up and wrapped her arms around Ari in a hug. “Oh dear, you were made for being a big grumpy baby, not a master chef. Leave the cooking for us next time,”

They all laughed and got to work cleaning the mess. Chatting happily, the memory of the floor pasta long forgotten.

“Oh Holly,” Blake said looking up from scrubbing the counter. “Whatever happened to the pizza?”

Then there was the ring of the front door.

“Looks like it’s here now,”

#original character #original characters #my oc stuff #my ocs #my writing #write #writing #writers on tumblr #beginner writer #hello tumblr

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fizzingwizard · 1 month

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Today in Reasons Why I Spilled Dirt All Over My Floor: I was trying to repot my flower and some dirt got on my glove in a way that made it look like some fat salamander with black beady eyes, and I freaked myself out x'D even though I like salamanders.

I'm really torn up about this flower. It's been dying since the day I got it and I don't know why. It's a blue daisy, which is supposed to not need a lot of water. The florist told me not to water it every day, only when the soil felt dry, but to give it a good amount those times.

But almost immediately the flower just shriveled up. If I give it water, it wlts. If I don't give it water, it wilts. I tried no water for a week, then just a little on the weekend, then another week... it got no better. Then today I gave it water before I went out - came back four hours later and the leaves had turned brown and brittle. They hadn't looked healthy, but they weren't completely dead.

So obviously the flower doesn't want water, but if not what the heck does it want?? I tried not watering it and nothing happened, but watering made it worse. Today the reason I went out, among other things, was to get tools to repot it. I got a bigger pot and some fresh soil and I brushed off as much of the old soil as I could before moving it. I really have no idea if this will work. I also got a spray mister, because one site said that if the problem is the pot was too small, it may be that the roots weren't actually getting any water, and to try misting the leaves themselves. But the leaves look sooooo bad that I'm afraid to try. I'm afraid to do anything with this pant afgkldfhght

The other possibility I thought about it is, I realized my apartment doesn't ever get direct sunlight. No matter where the sun's shining, it's never facing my apartment somehow. So maybe that's why. I put it in the sunniest window, but there's so many buildings around us blocking the light. Maybe there's just no way this sort of plant can live in my apartment. In that case I want to get a different plant, but I'm not sure what kind could survive.

Another possibility, I guess, is that this plant was raised in a greenhouse (I'm certain it was because it was winter when I bought it), and not equipped to actually live in real weather, at least not till April or May. I thought, since it was being sold, it'd be fine if kept indoors, but... maybe not.

I really liked this plant so I'm bummed :/

Also bought a fake flower so I can at least pretend I don't suck at gardening. It's cute. Fake. But cute.

#fizz's life

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cosyefficient · 1 month

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Indoor Plant Guide

All indoor house plants like some morning bright sun on them, warm soil and TO BE LEFT ALONE AND IN PEACE. They need to be watered, fertilized and, repotted of course, but perhaps less than you think. No plant can survive with 0 sunlight. If you have no windows in your indoor space that you wanna add plants to, I suggest getting grow lights or doing fake plants.

Here is a list I'm working on about indoor house plants; Short, Sweet, Straight-forward.

The plants that go on this list are my personal faves and I recommend. If you have any questions about any of these please let me know about it in the comments. I will be adding and changing the order of these as I see fit.

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

#1 Pothos

Super easy to grow. Grows vines, you can spread them onto a wall or have them hanging from somewhere up above. Doesn't need lots of direct sunlight. Easy to propagate. Loves to grow big roots in water, water loving plant in general. Don't worry about drowning it (if the pot has drainage. Can tolerate some draught too. Can tolerate darker and colder places. Best plant to start with if you're new to plants. There's many different looks for pothos, there are variegated types with pretty patterns on the leaves for those of you who are into that. -----------------------------------------------------------

#2 PEACE LILYYYYY <3

I found one some years ago IN THE TRASH at the apartment complex we lived in. There were no leaves only stubs :( The soil and roots were so moldy, poor thing. I cleaned her up and now it's one of my biggest plants and it is so lush! Flowers these white rubber flowers that last a real long time. Loves the sun. Can tolerate not having direct sun (might grow slow tho). Prefers a wide bowl-like pot. Loves chugging water every once in a while. Can't do under 4°C, cell walls burst. Loves when people look at her and brush past. Bouncy big leaves. Nice, cool plant. 10/10.

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#3 String of Hearts

Grows quickly, likes direct sunlight. Cute skinny vines, looks like little wires with heart shaped leaves. Maybe not for beginners but it isn't very difficult to grow. Easy to propagate in water: Cup with water + A sunny windowsill + Some time undisturbed = Roots and new growth. Got mine for valentine's day for my boyfie (it was actually 4 me).

----------------------------------------------------------- #4 Snake Plant

Sometimes I see these in dark natural light conditions and I'm always amazed at how they can still grow. They can sure take a beating too. (I'm thinking of the countless mall snake plant containers I have seen along the years. Broken pieces, under a ceilings with no skylights or nearby windows.) I have one that is really long and I have to stalk it up or else it flops over. Maybe it's just the kind I have.

#5 Banana Tree

Ok, hear me out. - Big leaf - Vibes - Sculptural - Tropical - Birds of paradise dupe

I have a red banana type in a big black bin (tall round trash bin I drilled some holes underneath). Gotta cut down the leaves some times. Stems are full of water. Likes lots of sun so has to be near a sunny window. Can get real big. It's a tree afterall. No bananas.

#plants #indoor plants #interiordesign #interior design #plant styling

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 1 year

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4. let’s run away and don’t ever look back

A/N: Only 5 days since I posted chapter 1 and we’re already at chapter 4!!! That’s a whole new record for me and I’m already starting chapter 5 as well, I have a good feeling about the rest of the story, tbh 😌 There’s a big Trilance fluff moment right in the beginning, but after that, it’s mostly some other character interactions and plot movements!!! Also, you get introduced to quite a few headcanons of mine in this chapter that I very much enjoyed writing out!! I hope you guys enjoy this one!!!!!

Pairing(s): Tristan x Lancelot, slight Meliodas x Elizabeth

Summary: Tristan and Lance part ways the next morning and Tristan takes the time apart to talk with both Isolde and his parents about his new decision while Lance does the same.

Tags: Aged Up Characters (21-24), fluff, lots and lots of fluff, both platonic fluff and romantic fluff, prescription medication, discussion of characters’ mental disorders, coming out, I think that’s it

Song Inspiration: Teenage Dream By Katy Perry

Word Count: 6,946

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Series Masterlist]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

[Read on AO3]

[Author Masterlist]

~*~

[3 Months Earlier]

Tristan wakes up feeling like he's on a cloud. Physically and emotionally. A steady heartbeat is heard right below his ear and he smiles, turning his head to nuzzle against the bare chest he was laying on. He hears a snort and lifts his head to look at its origin, the still sleeping blonde man he's tangled up with. He takes a moment to observe Lance. He was so still and quiet, yet even asleep, his face was full of life. His cheeks were colored a soft pink and his lashes fluttered against his skin delicately. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing slow and quiet. Tristan couldn't help but compare him to an angel. A sleeping beauty. Tristan bit back a giggle. Maybe I'm not the only prince. He thinks to himself.

He shakes his head at himself and rolls over, onto his back and off of Lance. He gives a full body stretch, his back arching as he does so. His entire body feels sore in the most pleasant way and he gives a contented hum as he settles back down on the bed. He blinks up at the ceiling, noticing a plain white ceiling fan resting still above him. He pushes himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. The floor is made up of wooden floorboards that are a natural, light brown color. He looks up to look around the room more, curious to learn more about his mysterious Sir Lancelot.

The first thing he sees is plants. There's a large window in the wall in front of him, a cushioned, white bench along the wall right under it that has cupboard doors along the front of it. The window sill looks to be about 5 or 6 inches wide, making it the perfect place for the many potted plants that are placed on it. Tristan stands up and walks over to them, leaning one knee on the bench to observe them closely. There's six plants in all and there's only two that Tristan can really identify at all. A medium size fern and a gathering of peace lilies. The others are all flowers in various colors, ranging from purple to orange to yellow and white. Tristan smiles softly. He stands up and turns around, only to spot more. Some of the same potted purple flowers are on his left nightstand and there were 4 little succulents lined up along the top of his dresser, something he hadn't noticed last night. Tristan looks to the man still sleeping on the bed in the middle of the room, his head tilted slightly. He definitely never could've guessed Lance for a plant dad, especially with this many. But he wasn't complaining, not at all. He was just even more determined to learn more about the man now.

Tristan hummed to himself softly as he looked around the room again, looking for his clothes. He grimaces at the scattered clothes around the room. In the heat of the moment, he doesn't really care, but seeing it now, he feels the immediate urge to clean up. And so he does. He gathers their clothes from the night before and puts them all in the laundry basket he finds in the corner with the exception of his jeans. As much as he hates having to re-wear anything like this, it's a necessary evil since he'll have to go back out in public before he can get anywhere that has a proper change of clothes for him. He might not have to wear the same shirt, though. He looks between Lance and his dresser, considering. Finally, he decides to just go for it. He walks over to the dresser and rummages through it, snatching a pair of boxers and a red short sleeved shirt. It was definitely going to be too big on him but an oversized shirt was way better than oversized pants. He just hopes that Lance doesn't mind too much and if he does, then Tristan will just buy him a new one of each to make up for it.

He gathers up his clothes and scans the room once more. There's three doors in the room. He knows the one almost directly across from him is the main entrance to the bedroom. That left what he assumes is the closet and a bathroom. All he can do is guess, so he walks over to the door closest to him and swings it open, thankfully finding that it's the assumed bathroom. He steps in, closing the door quietly behind him. He quickly relieves himself and then gets dressed, enjoying just how large Lance's shirt is on his shorter frame. He walks over to the sink, looking at himself in the mirror on the wall behind it. His hair is a mess, as expected, and his neck is covered in hickeys. He blushes, bringing a hand up to press his finger to one of them, shivering as he does so. He pulls the collar of the shirt down slightly, noticing a few more littering the top of his chest. He bites his lip and adjusts the shirt to cover as many as possible without looking weird, but there was no way for him to cover all of them. Seems he'll have to borrow more from Lance then he originally planned to.

He sighs softly and washes and dries his hands before reaching into his back pocket to pull out the comb he knows is there and runs it through his hair as best he can. He isn't able to get all the tangles out, he'll need a full-sized brush for that, but he does manage to get it looking decent enough to be seen in public with. After placing the comb back in his pocket, he turns the facet back on and splashes some water over his face a few times, patting his face dry with a washcloth he finds on a towel shelf afterwards. Lastly, he pulls the tube of strawberry lipgloss out of his right pocket, smiling down at it as he does so. It wasn't his usual brand or flavor, but it was a gift from Isolde and he cherished it greatly. While he may not love her as his parents intended, he cared about her deeply. She was his best friend, the sister he never had, even if he's pretty sure she's in love with him. He just hopes that when he breaks things off today, he doesn't hurt her too badly and that they can still be friends afterwards. He isn't sure if he could handle losing her. His smile turns wobbly and he feels a burn in the back of his throat in reaction to the direction his thoughts have gone and he shakes his head rapidly, blinking his eyes a few times.

He quickly returns to the task at hand, applying the lip gloss to his lips and pocketing it once more afterwards. He blows out a long breath before turning away from the mirror and walking back into the Lance's bedroom, staying quiet in case he was still sleeping. As the door closes with a soft click behind him, he sees that the blonde is indeed still asleep. He smiles at him briefly before heading for the door to the hall. Right as he's about to step out of the room, he freezes and then backtracks a few steps. He stands there for a few moments, his eyes on the two pairs of shoes on the ground, one his own and one Lance's. Don't do it. Just leave them. Just go. He tries to demand, but his own brain was working against him. He growls as his body moves without his say so, grabbing both pairs and walking over to the door, placing Lance's shoes on the left side of the door frame, toes pointed towards the wall, and doing the same with his own shoes on the right side. Ignoring the instant relief the action brings, he quickly leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

He walks down the small hallway and enters the living room, enjoying the amount of natural light in the room. And he's only a little surprised to see more plants. The living room has a similar window and bench setup to the one in the bedroom, but this one was bigger in order to match the bigger room. In the two corners of the wall holding the front door to the apartment is two potted trees, both around the same height as Tristan himself. The window sill had eight pots lining it, each one filled with soil but no plants sprouting from any of them yet. In the right top corner of the window, there was a hanging basket of what Tristan recognized to be flowering jasmine, his fifth favorite flower. And finally, two more taller plants, one on each side of the window bench. These were nearly as tall as the trees, but they were both growing big, bright yellow flowers. It was a color that Tristan absolutely adored and he walked over to one of them, reaching out to touch one of the blossoms gently.

"Try to be careful with those ones." A soft voice calls from behind him. He whips around in surprise, eyes landing on the tall blonde standing in the open space between the hallway and the living room. Lance smiles at Tristan as he continues speaking. "They're real delicate flowers, they can rip easily." He informs him.

"Oh." Tristan says simply. He turns back to the flowers and traces a single finger over one in a featherlight touch just once before pulling his hand back. He then turns around and heads to the open kitchen area attached to the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Lance eyeing him carefully. Tristan suddenly has the feeling that he was just put under some sort of test, though he was confident that he had passed whatever it was. He notices more succulents in the kitchen and gives an amused chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Lance asks curiously as he also steps into the kitchen.

Tristan looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "Plants, huh?"

Lance's expression softens into understanding as he snorts softly and nods. "Uh, yeah. You can blame my mom for that. And my uncle, too, I guess." When Tristan gives him a questioning look, he continues, smiling softly. "Where they grew up was mostly just woods and after moving to the city, they couldn't help but keep as much of the outdoors with them as possible. I grew up surrounded by all kinds of plants and I guess I came to love all of them, too." He admits, his cheeks darkening slightly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"That's actually really cute." Tristan tells him honestly.

"Psh, sure it is." Lance immediately brushes off the compliment and turns away from him, but Tristan sees the red that spreads to the tips of his ears and he smirks at the sight.

Tristan feels the urge to start teasing him, but he decides to resist it for now. "Where are your cups?" He asks instead.

He opens up a cupboard next to the sink that's the same color as the floor of the bedroom and living room. "Right in here." He moves back to allow Tristan to see inside the cupboard. "If you're looking for water, though, I also have bottles of water in the fridge." He informs him.

Tristan smiles. "I'll take one of those, then. Thank you." He takes a step forward to peck Lance on the cheek. As he pulls back, Lance starts to say something before he freezes, his eyes widening slightly.

Before Tristan can ask what caused his reaction, he gets an answer. "I-is-is that-" He chokes out before stopping to clear his throat. "A-are you wearing lip gloss or something?" He asks.

Realization dawns on the silverette. Oh. So he hadn't noticed last night. "Yeah, I am. I usually am." He admits. "Is...that a problem?" He asks uncertainly, trying not to let the sudden jolt of fear that runs through him show on his face.

Tristan can almost see the gears turning in Lance's head as he processes, his face becoming one of understanding and then quickly shifting again as his eyes darken slightly, leaving Tristan very confused, his brows furrowing. Lance then kisses him fiercely, the action filled with desire and leaving Tristan burning all over when he pulls away a few moments later. "Definitely not a problem." Lance assures him quietly.

"So I've noticed." Tristan mumbles back, his cheeks warming over with a light flush.

He then turns around without another word and walks over to the fridge, seeing multiple water bottles lined up along the bottom shelf of the fridge door. He leans down to grab the fifth one in the row, closing the fridge as he opens the bottle. He swallows down about half of it before setting it down on the island in the middle of the kitchen as he hears Lance turn on the kitchen faucet. He reaches into his left pocket and pulls out his little pill capsule, popping it open and dumping the three pills inside into his hand. He pops them into his mouth and swallows them down along with the rest of the water in his water bottle. When he pulls the plastic away from his lips, he freezes, seeing Lance staring at him again. He has a glass of water almost to his lips, hovering there as he looks at Tristan with curiosity. Upon seeing Tristan looking back at him, he nods his head towards the blue pill capsule Tristan still has sitting on the island.

Tristan gives him a smile, but it's more sarcastic than anything else. "Actual meds, not a drug problem, just in case you were questioning that." He jokes half-heartedly, grabbing the pill capsule and closing it before putting it back in his pocket. "Two for Bipolar Disorder and one for OCD." He says quietly. The only way to let someone know you're open to trusting them is by being honest right from the start. That's what Dr. Dreyfus says, anyways.

Lance sets down his water glass and turns to him with a soft, affectionate smile that makes Tristan feel all fluttery inside. The silverette watches as he walks over to the opposite side of the sink and opens up another cupboard, pulling something out and placing it on the counter. It's an orange prescription bottle. "ADHD." Lance tells him.

"Ooh." Tristan says slowly. "Well, that's good to know." Tristan returns his smile.

Lance shrugs. "It's not too big of a deal." He then gestures a hand behind Tristan. "The shoes - back in the bedroom - that you?" He asks.

Tristan gives him a sheepish little grin, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his palms in a nervous habit. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I tried not to." He admits.

"Hey, no, you don't need to apologize for something like that. You lined up some shoes, it's not like you rearranged my entire apartment or something. Just not something I'm used to someone doing after I've spent the night with them, that's the only reason I really even noticed in the first place." He says sincerely before picking up his abandoned water and downing it in a few gulps. Tristan gives him a grateful smile when he's able to catch his eye again.

Tristan spots a trashcan in the corner and tosses his water bottle into it. "Hey, do you, uh, have anything I can use to cover, you know," He gestures to his neck. "All this?" Lance walks over to him as he speaks and he places his hands on the other man's chest, looking up at him. "As much as I'd love to show off your handiwork, the paparazzi are probably already out and prowling the streets and if my parents find out I hooked up with you last night through the internet before I even get the chance to talk to them about my decision, then there's going to be some problems."

Lance wraps his arms around Tristan's waist. "Is that what I am to you? Just a hookup?"

Tristan would've started to worry if not for the teasing glint in the man's red eyes. "Of course not. You're quickly becoming much more important than that." Tristan says shyly, ducking his head and looking at him through his eyelashes.

It's true. He's not stupid. He knows what's going on between them is anything but platonic, and it's way more than just sexual. He wants to know every single thing there is to know about the man in front of him, everything he's willing to tell him. He wants to know more about his childhood and meet more of his strange friends. He wants to know about his favorite places in the city and why he grows peace lilies instead of daffodils. And with how comfortable Lance's arms are around him, he's convinced he wants to be held by them forever.

Lance observes him with soft, tender eyes. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He whispers, and he kisses him again, slow and sweet. It feels like some sort of unspoken promise that neither knows the meaning of yet. Lance pulls away from the kiss only slightly, his lips hovering right above Tristan's. The silver-haired man's eyes stay closed, lingering in the moment just a little longer.

"You can take the black jacket by the door when you head out. It should be big enough on you to keep your neck covered up. I'll toss on a hoodie as well. It's a good thing it's supposed to rain today." Lance says quietly and it takes Tristan a moment to process what he's talking about. When he does, he sighs in relief.

"Thank you so much, seriously."

"You're welcome. Though I'm sure you would've managed just fine without me telling you." He quips, grinning and gesturing to the t-shirt Tristan is currently wearing.

Tristan blushes, remembering exactly where the t-shirt came from. "I can go ahead and give it back if you'd like. Wearing my button up from last night isn't exactly ideal, but I'd do it if you preferred I not take your shirt with me.' He says.

Lance leans forward and nips at his ear, causing a gasp to escape his lips. "Don't you dare. You're not giving that back to me until after I've had the chance to fuck you in it." He whispers. Tristan whimpers softly at the thought. But before the silverette can respond, the place where Lance was is completely empty. "I just gotta get dressed real quick and then I can drive you home. I'll be right back!" He calls from the hallway.

Tristan stands there sputtering for a moment, face completely red, before he recovers enough to yell back at him. "Rude!" All he hears in reply is Lance laughing loudly from his bedroom.

~*~

Four hours later, Tristan is showered, freshly dressed, walking up to Isolde's doorstep. She lives in a quaint, little, brick townhome on the south side of Liones. He walks up to her front steps and slips through the door, closing and locking it behind him. He had asked her if it was okay for him to come over today and she had told him that it was and that she would leave the front door unlocked for him as always. He pushes his hands into the pocket of the large jacket he's borrowing from Lance, fiddling with his car keys.

"In the kitchen!" She calls out to him.

He smiles and walks through the house until he reaches the kitchen. She's bustling around the whole space, the light pink apron she's wearing covered in flour and other powdered baking ingredients. He doesn't see anything wrong with the scene until he notices the smell of the room as well as the batch of already baked cookies out on a cooling rack. A strong scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. A bowl of cinnamon sugar resting off to the side. She's making snickerdoodles. His absolute favorite. His brows furrow and he looks at her, finding her standing completely still and already staring back at him.

"What's wrong?" They both say at the same time.

"Wait, what?" Tristan blinks.

Isolde sighs and grabs a kitchen towel from the counter behind her, using it to wipe off her forehead. "Tristan, you've been acting weird since yesterday. You were so quiet all day, you spent way more time than usual getting ready just to go to The Rogue, of all places, you were so tense the whole time we were there, and then you just ditched with Lance so quickly, I just-" She throws her hands up in a frustrated gesture. She looks his form up and down as if just now actually looking at him. "What's with that big jacket? See, you're acting weird!!" She exclaims exasperatedly.

Oh, Isolde. Always working yourself up. Tristan takes in a long, deep breath, wishing there was a way he could stall this conversation a bit longer, but he knows there's no point in pushing it away. He and Lance agreed that they'd break things off today and he was still planning on talking to his parents after he finished talking with Isolde. "Isolde. I'm ending our arrangement." He breathes out, holding his breath.

"Oh, thank gods." Is the first thing out of Isolde's mouth and the thing he expected to hear the least.

"Excuse me?" He coughs.

Isolde walks over to him, reaching out and grabbing both of his hands in hers. "Tristan, I love you to death, but marrying you would be the equivalent of marrying my brother." She makes a disgusted grimace and he can't help but mimic her expression for a moment.

"Yeah, that's exactly how I feel about you. You're amazing, Isolde, but I really couldn't ever see you that way and I'm really, really glad that you don't see me that way, either." He tells her sincerely.

She smiles softly. "No worries, Trist. You're honestly not even my type anyways."

At Tristan's questioning look, her smile turns shy. "It's not just you. No guy is my type." She admits.

The silverette's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh. Wow. I...never even realized. That's...wow. Of course, I accept you, you know that. Well, at least, I hope you know that, cause if you don't, then that would be a problem that I definitely need to fix because I'm-I'm rambling and I need to shut up." He takes a deep breath.

Isolde giggles, letting go of his hands. "Everything's okay. I know what you mean and I do know that you accept me, I've never thought anything different. I am curious, though." She studies him closely. "After all this time of just going along with it, what's gotten you to finally switch things up?"

Tristan's face blooms into a brilliant fire hydrant red, making Isolde look at him with great interest and curiousity. "Alright, this is gotta be good. Spill it." She demands.

Tristan chews on his bottom lip. "Okay, first of all, I have to apologize. Because I totally lied to you about what I was doing last night." He admits sheepishly.

Her eyes narrow and one of her eyebrows raises, her arms crossing over her chest. "So you didn't go spend the night with Lancelot?" She questions.

"Oh, uh, I, uh, definitely spent the night with Lancelot." He says, clearing his throat as the heat burning across his face spreads to the tips of his ears. Rather than try to explain outloud, he decides it best to rid himself of the jacket. It's getting a little stuffy wearing it since he's inside now, anyways.

He avoids looking at Isolde completely as he unzips it and pulls it off of his shoulders, folding it over his arm. He studies the floor for a long minute or two before finally looking up to see Isolde's reaction. All he's wearing under the jacket is Lance's red t-shirt, which he had slipped back on after his shower, which means that all of the dark bruises on his neck are still on full display. Isolde is looking at him about how he expected her to. Her eyes are wide, staring directly at his neck, her mouth open in surprise. She looks the definition of shock.

"So, you-. But you-. And he-. His apartm-. I-I mean-" Isolde shakes her head rapidly. "J-j-just wait a second, let me get this straight." She stutters out finally. "Lancelot..." She looks at Tristan again now. "And you. You guys-" She cuts herself off, gesturing to the man's neck.

Tristan chuckles nervously. "Y-yeah, we did. Lance and I. We slept together. Last night. At his apartment." He confirms.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that part now." Isolde starts pacing back and forth in front of him. "I mean-" She stops and gives him a skeptical look. "Lancelot?? Really?? Isn't he supposed to be getting engaged to Guinevere??" She questions.

Tristan's eyes harden slightly at the mention of Guinevere. "Yes, he is, but he doesn't have any feelings for her. Like, literally. They're not even friends, based on what he's said." He informs her.

The pinkette in front of him looks at the counter she's standing next to, lost in her head. "Huh. Weird. The way Guin talks about him, you'd think the two were all in."

Tristan scoffs and crosses his arms. "Not even close. It's all one-sided. She just likes to think that she has some claim over him when in reality, he wants nothing to do with her, which is exactly as it should be." He says, irritation seeping into his tone. He couldn't help it. He doesn't like Guinevere at all, never has. There's just always been something about her that makes him feel uneasy, though he's not quite sure what. Not only that, but she was always clinging to Lance whatever chance she got and Lance was clearly uncomfortable each time she did it, yet she either didn't care or wasn't paying enough attention to him to even notice.

"...Tristan, was that a hint of jealousy I heard just now?"

Tristan's eyes shoot open. "What? No! Why would I ever be jealous of Guinevere?" He immediately denies her claims.

Suddenly, Tristan's vision is filled with nothing but Isolde's face, the woman grabbing his shoulders lightly and leaning down so that her face was level with his. "Trist, what aren't you telling me?" She asks him gently.

Tristan immediately deflates and groans as he steps over to one of the kitchen island stools and plops down onto it. "Lance and I have been flirting with each other for the last 8 months, pretty much ever since we first met. For awhile, it was just attraction, but eventually it started to change. Or maybe it had been like that the whole time and I'd just never noticed. But suddenly it wasn't just that I wanted to sleep with Lancelot, I...wanted something more than that, I thought. And that thought solidified more as time passed and then we'd settled on a date for the wedding and I just couldn't take it anymore." He runs his hands over his face. "So, last night, we talked before we went back to his place. I told him how I feel and he feels the same. We made an agreement that I would end my arrangement with you while he ends things with Guinevere, and then him and I are gonna get to know each other, see where this whole thing goes." His voice is quieter as he finishes talking, a small, warm smile spread over his face as he looks down at where his hands are resting on the island counter.

"Tristan Nathan Liones, is that the look of love I see on your face?" Isolde gasps playfully.

Tristan turns to her, sputtering. "What- I- No!" He looks down as he nibbles his bottom lip. "Not yet, anyway..."

Isolde squeals and pulls Tristan into a tight hug that Tristan gladly returns. "Oh, Trist, I'm so happy for you!! This is amazing!!"

Tristan laughs. "Thank you, Isolde, I know it is." They pull back from the hug, Isolde holding him at arms length. "I think he's really great so far." He pauses for a moment. "...this morning, he told me that I'm becoming important to him." He whispers, gaining another squeal from Isolde in reply.

He laughs some more as she coos at how cute that is while walking over to the fridge and pulling some things out, starting to get back to her baking. He sits and watches her mix and knead and bake for a couple more hours, the two of them talking the whole time. Tristan is so glad that things have worked out between them like they have.

~*~

"Hey, Thetis, is my mom busy right now?"

"I wouldn't know, Tristan, she's not here. She's working with your father today." His mother's assistant tells him formally.

"Oh, okay. Well, thank you for letting me know." He thanks her.

"You're welcome." She says before hanging up. He sighs. Same old Thetis.

He switches lanes, then, heading for city hall instead of his parents' house. The difference in drive time isn't much, thankfully. He pulls into the outer parking lot that the public used. It wasn't very crowded at the moment and he's hoping as much as possible that he won't be here for very long. He locks his car behind when he gets out before stopping a moment and making sure his jacket is adjusted correctly. He doesn't even want to imagine what would happen if his parents saw any of those damn hickies.

He enters the building, relieved that it doesn't seem to be too terribly warm inside. He waves at a few people as he walks through the halls. He's a familiar face and he knows all the passcodes to the staff only rooms and elevators, so it's not too much trouble getting to his dad's office. He spots Rose at her desk, as usual. She's his father's secretary. From what Tristan's heard, his dad didn't actually want one at first, but everyone else convinced him to, eventually. Rose has been around for nearly ten years now, ever since he was a preteen, and she's about that much older than him by now.

"Hey, Rose!" He greets warmly.

"Mr. Liones! It's been awhile since you've been around here, how have you been?" She asks just as warmly.

He sighs inwardly. For the longest time, he tried to get her to just call him Tristan, but he gave up on that ages ago. "I've been good. Really good. And you?"

"Oh, I've been wonderful, thank you. Oh, and your parents are right through in the office." She informs him.

Tristan is about to open his mouth to thank her when he suddenly realizes what his mom and dad together in a close space with a lockable door might mean. His face scrunches up into a look of disgust that Rose seems to notice immediately. "Don't worry, Mr. Antin is in there with him. I believe they're discussing this year's Pride parade." She says with a laugh, knowing exactly why he'd pulled that face.

He visibly relaxes. "Okay, good. Thank you so much." He tells her as he walks forward, seeing her nod as he pushes the office door open and walks through.

"...I don't know, I just don't think we should do all that without getting a confirmation back from 'em first." He hears his Uncle Ban say.

"It's really no problem. They'll come through for us, just like they do every year." His mom.

"See? It'll be perfectly fine, Ban." His dad.

As he enters the room, he observes them. Uncle Ban is leaning his back against the right wall of the office with his arms crossed over his chest while his parents are standing in front of his dad's desk. His dad is looking at the papers scattered all over his desk, his hand under his chin and a thoughtful look on his face and his mom is standing right behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

Uncle Ban mutters something along the lines of, "Why do I even bother?" before the door finally closes behind him with a heavy thud, drawing the attention of all three people right to him.

"Oh, Tristan!" His mom comes rushing towards him with open arms and he returns her hug without hesitation.

"Hey, ma." He greets her.

As they pull away, a warm hand is placed on his shoulder. "Hey there, Trist." His father says with a grin.

"Hey, pa." He replies, returning his grin. Then he turns to the other man in the room and greets him as well. "Hey, Uncle Ban!"

"Yo, kid, how ya been? It's been awhile." He points out.

"That's true, actually. The last time you came to my office was nearly a year ago." His dad says, walking back over to his desk.

Tristan walks towards the desk as well. "I've been really good. And I wanted to talk to you guys about something, actually." He tells them, looking pointedly between both of his parents.

Both of them look at him with furrowed brows. "Oh, okay. Would you like Ban to step out for a few minutes?" His mom asks him gently.

"Oh, um, no, he's fine to stay in here. I don't really plan on taking very long, there's just something I want to tell you both in person." He explains, his nerves flaring up now that he's actually at this point. He just can't say anything about Lance. Not like he had been planning to, anyways.

His dad sits down in his chair and his mother leans against the front corner of the desk. Even Uncle Ban comes over and stands next to Tristan's dad, a grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his curious eyes. The eyes of all three adults are now on him and he holds back a nervous squeak. "So, what is it?" His dad prompts.

"Is everything okay?" His mother questions, her eyes worried.

Tristan isn't sure if he's even breathing or not anymore. He quickly forces the words out, afraid that if he takes too long to say it, then he'll end up bolting out of the room before he gets the chance to. "I'mnotmarryingIsolde." He forces out.

"Um, what?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're gonna have to repeat that, sweetie."

Tristan mentally slaps himself and huffs slightly, his cheeks puffing up as he lets out a deep breath. He shakes his head at himself and straightens his shoulders. "I'm n-not marrying Isolde." He wanted the sentence to come out sure and confident, but in reality it came out small and quiet, barely above a whisper. He looked at his mom, not wanting to see the look of disappointment his dad was undoubtedly sending in his direction.

"What?" The silver-haired woman questioned. "Why? Did something happen between you two?" She questions, her concern growing.

"Oh, no, nothing like that at all!" He reassures. "Isolde and I are perfectly fine, great even. Nothing's happened between us." He finally looks to the two older men behind the desk. His dad's face is completely blank and his Uncle's face is skeptical. He looks down for a moment, thinking of Lance. A blush comes to his face and he can't help but smile as he remembers his morning with the man just earlier. The two of them had left Lance's apartment and stopped for a quick breakfast together, Tristan learning that the blonde prefers his coffee with plain creamer but no sugar, and that he favors biscuits over croissants.

He gets lost in his thoughts for a moment and is suddenly brought back to reality when his mother speaks up again. "Oh. I see." Tristan's head shoots his head up as his mother steps closer to him, reaching her hands up to tuck his hair behind his ears before cradling his face gently.

"Ma...?" He asks uncertainly at the same time that his dad says, "Elizabeth...?"

His mom has a warm, knowing smile on her face. "Tristan isn't going to marry Isolde because there's someone else he has feelings for instead."

Tristan's blush deepens slightly upon realizing how quickly she was able to figure him out, but he returns her smile, nodding in confirmation. "Yes. Things aren't very far along, yet, but I think I'm going to fall in love with him, ma." He admits softly.

"I think you already are." She tells him and his stomach flutters. Is that true? He wonders. Have I really started falling so quickly? The knowing in his mom's eyes only grows as she watches the emotions swirling in his eyes and she kisses his forehead before stepping away from him.

He finally looks to his dad, his nerves returning. His father is still looking at him with that same blank look as before, but suddenly, he grins widely and lets out a small chuckle. "Okay, Tristan. As long as this guy is treating you right and makes you happy, then I'm perfectly okay with your decision!" He tells him brightly.

Tristan stands there blinking at him. What? He waits for the blonde man's expression to change, for it to be some sort of joke, but his dad's grin was completely unwavering. Tears spring in Tristan's eyes and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's behind the desk and throwing himself forward, hugging his dad tightly. The man doesn't return the embrace right away, instead staying completely still at first, before slowly wrapping his arms around his son.

"He's treated me wonderfully so far and he makes me feel like I could do anything." He admits quietly.

"Good." His dad says. He reaches up and pats the top of Tristan's head a few times. "Good."

"Man, first Lance and now Tristan. What even is today, huh?" Tristan perks up at hearing Lance's name as he pulls away from his dad.

"What about Lancelot?" His dad asks the other man.

"The kid called Elaine and I up this mornin', says he isn't gonna marry Guinevere. Wouldn't tell us why, though." His Uncle Ban tells them. Tristan bites back a victorious smirk at the news. "But it's whatever. As long as he knows what he's doing. Anyways, do we get to know anything about this guy of yours, Tristan?" He asks with a grin.

Tristan shakes his head, nibbling at his bottom lip. "No, not yet. There's still a lot that him and I need to figure out first." The silverette tells his uncle honestly.

The tall man's shoulders slouch. "Aw. That's no fun."

"Don't worry, Ban, I'm sure Tristan will share more once he's ready to." His mom reassures. Tristan nods and turns to smile at his mom gratefully.

Soon after that, Tristan is leaving his dad's office and heading back out of the city hall. He feels so much better than he did 24 hours ago and he can't wait to see where this new path takes him. Right as he steps through the front entrance and out into the light drizzle that's falling from the clouds overhead, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from Lance. He beams and unlocks his phone, pulling the message up to read through it.

'Just finished talking to Guinevere and already talked to my parents this morning. No other strings to cut. I believe this means I'm all yours, your majesty 😉'

Tristan bites his lip, giggling softly. He walks over to his car slowly as he types out a reply.

'I believe it does, Sir Lancelot. But only if I can be all yours, as well 😘'

Tristan falls into the driver's seat of his car, feeling giddy and warm all over. He has a feeling that this will be one of the best decisions he's ever made.

~*~

A/N: What did you guys think?? Please let me know!!! There’s gonna be lots of more characters in the next chapter, most of them being introduced in this AU for the first time!!! A few more ships as well!!! ALSO!!! In the series masterlist, I’ve added the names of all upcoming chapters, so if you’d like to take a peek at those to try and see what kind of hints you can find, you can now do so!!

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