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1d1195 · 1 year

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Tulips

This is the story I dubbed as therapeutic for myself. I've been struggling a lot lately (I apologize for the delay in posting). I actually wanted this to be more but I wanted to post very badly. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy a lot of fluff and bit of angst.

Harry was convinced that even if they did end their relationship (and he was certain that would never happen) he would thank her for the heartbreak.

Harry was at the grocery store, passing the florist department when he realized his mistake. He had been dating her for nearly two months when he came to the realization that he hadn’t gotten her a bouquet of flowers yet. He felt horrible immediately and wanted to remedy the situation as quickly as he possibly could.

But he wanted her to like the flowers he got, and he wanted it to be a surprise. Neither of which he was sure he could pull off when he hadn’t asked her once what her favorite flower.

Like an absolute creep, he messaged her youngest sister on Instagram; he had at least met her in passing on one of their dates when they stopped for a coffee while she was working. Harry hadn’t met the other two just yet so messaging them would have seemed insane.

Hiiii. Uh...sorry to message you like this...any chance you know your sister’s favorite flowers?

Oh, my goodness, that’s too sweet! Umm...now that I think about it, I’m not sure. Let me ask.

Er...I was hoping it could be a surprise.

Aww...Don’t worry I have just the idea, wait one minute.

Harry waited patiently for her response thinking about how smitten he was with the beautiful girl. Just the mere thought of her brought a smile to his face, making him nearly giggle with how much he liked her. Flowers didn’t seem like enough. She deserved a whole garden.

Here’s what I got. She’s so sad sometimes *eyeroll*

Harry frowned and clicked on the screenshot titled Will Recipients. He chuckled at the name. He knew it was between the four girls and Harry was looking for his lovely lady’s response in the many messages they managed to send. He was slightly amazed they had time to send all of them in a matter of five minutes that he texted her sister.

Her sister started: I’m doing a project for school. What’s your favorite flower?

Harry didn’t know which middle sister was which, but he thought their responses were funny, nonetheless. What kind of project asks about your favorite flower?

I like daisies.

That’s the most boring answer I’ve ever heard. Harry knew the youngest was brutal sometimes and he thought of messaging with Gemma, and it was nothing in comparison to four girls ranging from their late teens to their mid-twenties. It’s for my stats class.

I took that class, we never did a flower thing.

Can you just tell me?

Finally, the oldest answered and Harry examined her little gray message for entirely too long. Like the one I actually like? or the one I tell everyone I like? That was her response.

What kind of lunatic lies about their favorite flower?

The kind that gets told their favorite is old-ladyish all the time. Or laughed at because it’s a stupid flower. Forget it, I like sunflowers.

Harry frowned and responded to her sister once more. Any chance you could find out the real one?

Sure!

Within moments Harry had another screenshot.

Hey drama queen, I won’t tell the others, what’s your real favorite flower. I’ll even keep my comments to myself.

Tulips.

Nothing else. That was the only thing she wrote. Harry didn’t really know what to expect but it wasn’t tulips.

Thank you, love. I appreciate it.

Any time Harry! Let me know how she likes them!!!

Harry was planning when he’d see her next and looked into all types of tulips and how to care for them as well. He wanted her to like them and didn’t want her to feel bad about liking them. Making her happy was his goal. He didn’t really feel any particular way about tulips at all. He didn’t really think they were old-ladyish so he wondered where that came from. He felt bad the poor thing had to hide her real feelings. He never wanted her to feel that way around him.

Harry thought it would seem too obvious if he brought flowers right away. So he had to wait for just right the time which gave him plenty of time to research the perfect color and care needed for the pretty girl that deserved pretty flowers.

Harry knocked on her door holding the bouquet in his hand. They were going to dinner and a movie that evening and Harry came prepared—especially since it was now approaching nearly three months since they began dating. After a quick greeting she seemed to finally notice all at once the flowers in his hand. “Kitten?” He asked gently as she stared at the flowers. Her eyes sort of glazed over.

“Are you the reason my sister was asking us our favorite flower?” She wondered.

Harry frowned a little. First, she was too smart. He was sad she knew so quickly the motives of her sister asking the question were tied to him. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she still lied to her sister, and these weren’t her favorite flowers. Harry bit his lip and sighed. “Er...yeah,” he sounded so shy. “M’sorry, kitten...I thought I got the right—” She shook her head and stayed silent as Harry stopped speaking. It was so silent. Nearly uncomfortable with how silent it was. Why would her sister lie to him?

God, he really liked her, and he thought he ruined everything just by getting her flowers. His frown deepened and he sighed as he went to the kitchen to find a vase. She stayed by the door almost in a trance, and Harry felt a little awkward trying to figure out what her reaction meant.

“Harry?” She said softly and suddenly hurried to the kitchen. He was filling the vase with water, and he looked at her entering the kitchen a tad nervously.

“Yeah, angel?” He asked.

“Thank you,” the thankfulness, the kindness, the overwhelming amount of gratitude in her voice almost shattered Harry. She was so grateful for the flowers.

He sighed with relief and smiled at her as he put the stems into the vase. Setting it on the counter he came to her side and slid his hands up her neck and gently rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “’Course, beautiful,” he hummed and pressed his lips against hers. Kissing was still kind of new—and he loved the way she nearly sighed each time their mouths connected. He smiled as he pulled away. “Sorry it took me s’long t’get y’some.”

She bit her lip. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“Should have gotten y’flowers every time I saw you,” he smiled and rubbed his thumb on her lips. He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose before he turned his attention back to the vase and settled it in the middle of her coffee table. “Y’ready t’go?” He asked.

Since she seemed speechless, she nodded. Harry gave her a reassuring smile, took her hand, and left happy the bouquet seemed to be a hit.

They were flowers. Flowers. Just flowers. She wasn’t going to lose her mind over a bouquet.

But she kind of was.

Fortunately, Harry was giving her a hilarious recap of the movie that she was hardly able to stay focused on while it played. His summary allowed her to make believe she had watched the whole movie. While instead, for the better part of the last two hours, she really thought only about the tulips that Harry had placed so effortlessly in the middle of her apartment. As if the flowers didn’t mean everything in the world. Like it wasn’t earthshattering that he got her flowers.

“Are you okay, love?” He hummed and gave her hand a squeeze as they made it to the restaurant. He put his hand on her lower back as he held the door open for her and ushered her inside. His eyebrows pinched together. “Did y’like the movie?” He wondered nervously as she walked inside. Maybe his recap was overdone. But Harry enjoyed the movie and the way she seemed so engrossed and how captive she was through his summary he assumed she did. Maybe he was wrong this time about her—like he thought she didn’t like the flowers. She grabbed the next door and held it open for him but he placed his hand above her to hold it open so she could walk through first once more.

She would have enjoyed the movie if she paid any attention to it. But she didn’t. So, she fibbed a little. “I did, yeah. M’just a little tired... movies make me tired,” she explained with a breath of exhaled laughter. That wasn’t a lie. They were lucky they were in a theater because if they were at one of their apartments—and she wasn’t having a meltdown over a bouquet—then she would have fallen asleep for sure.

He frowned. “Oh, m’sorry, kitten. D’you want me t’take you home instead?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, I’ll perk up. I’ll get a coffee,” she said and reached for his hand as they stepped to the hostess stand. She squeezed it reassuringly. “I...I like our date nights,” she smiled sweetly.

Harry seemed to sigh with relief. He liked her so much. Lately, more and more, he didn’t want their date nights to end either. Of course, he would have taken her home if that was what she wanted. He would do anything for her. But he was so glad he didn’t have to. He wanted to spend forever with her. “Okay,” he said with a happy grin. Turning his attention to the host, “I have a reservation for two under Styles?” The host nodded and brought them to their table. “I know it’s not your job, but could you get us a cup of coffee, please? Cream and sugar,” he asked as he held her chair out for her. The amount of chivalry and manners in Harry made her melt every moment they were together. No one ever held a door open for. Certainly, never pulled a chair out for her. He always asked so politely for anything she wanted. It made her fall so effortlessly and heavily in love with him at every moment.

Harry sat down and placed his napkin in his lap. She kind of wished she told him she would like to go home. She would much rather enjoy the bouquet and sit with Harry on her couch until she did fall asleep. The restaurant seemed too public, even though no one was paying any mind to them. They were just a young couple on a date and there wasn’t anything to really witness.

But she was in love.

And Harry was perfect.

She wanted him all to herself. “Have y’ever eaten here?” Harry asked.

“Umm,” she looked at the name on the menu as she did wonder if she had been there before when he broached the date idea earlier in the week. As she scanned the titles of the dishes, she responded to him. “I think so—but it was a while ago.”

Smiling, he nodded. “M’a huge fan of the cauliflower.”

“We should get it then,” she answered. “If you’re willing to share,” she winked at him.

He chuckled. “Only with you, kitten.”

When they headed back to her apartment, he rubbed his thumb on the outside of her hand. He loved touching her—even just holding her hand made him feel like he was floating. “D’you have any plans for tomorrow, love?” He asked.

“Probably just clean and read some. Maybe go for a walk or something,” she shrugged.

“That sounds nice.”

“How about you?”

Just think about you all day. He thought to himself. “Hmm...nothing comes t’mind. Probably just lounge around.”

She nodded. “Well...you should come lounge around with me then,” she said sweetly. He turned to look at her with a grin.

“Yeah?”

A beat of silence, her lips pursed together, and she glanced up to meet his gaze briefly as she spoke finally. Harry thought she was nervous again. He didn’t like that she was nervous—he wanted her to feel utterly comfortable around him. “I really like spending time with you, Harry.”

Harry leaned against the wall beside her door and smiled at her. He couldn’t see his own face of course, but he hoped his expression was as loving as he felt. “I love spending time with you, angel,” his voice was filled with infatuation, she felt her face warm under his gaze. Gently, he reached for her and brought his hand to cup her face so he could kiss her once more. He let his lips linger against hers for a few moments and peppered a few extra kisses along her jawline. “Goodnight, kitten. Send me a text when y’want me over,” he nearly hummed as he left her standing in front of her door.

He heard her sigh near dreamily and he smirked to himself as he headed off to his car. As he turned his car over, her message popped up on his screen. Thank you again for the flowers, Harry. It was so so sweet <3

Of course, kitten. Glad you like them :) See you tomorrow, sleep well. Xx Alone with his thoughts Harry left feeling excited that she liked the tulips so much but was suddenly overcome with disappointment—but not disappointment of her. Merely because her reaction made him a bit sad.

He messaged her sister before pulling away from his parking spot. She LOVED the flowers. Thank you for the help, love! Xx

Woooo! Yay! I’m so glad I could help!

Harry was sincere in his thankfulness—she did love them. But she loved them so much for so much more than they were... and Harry felt...devastated by that fact. He wanted to know why. Wanted to know why she was so quiet when he entered the apartment. She was rendered speechless. So much so that it seemed she didn’t pay any mind to the movie. He didn’t harp on it of course, but now alone he couldn’t help but think about it. He supposed he would see her the before he knew it the very next day maybe he could figure a way to ask then.

It was early afternoon when she finally messaged him. Harry was waiting anxiously by his phone with nervous energy worried that she wouldn’t ask him over. Hiii I’d love to have you over if you’re not busy.

Harry thought that maybe he should have waited longer than thirty seconds to respond. It seemed desperate. I’ll be there soon, love :)

He arrived nearly fifteen minutes later, knocking on her door and smiling at her as she answered. He leaned against the wall beside the door frame just as he did the night before. Pushing off he smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly. Kissing the top of her head, he sighed. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Hey, angel.”

“Hi Harry,” she murmured into his chest.

They were quiet for a moment before he released all but her hand and gently nudged her inside. “Didn’t know there was anything t’clean in here,” he smirked as he inspected how spotless it was (as it always was). He enjoyed the scent of the candle she lit that seemed to mix so effortlessly and perfectly with the smell of the dryer running from another room.

She giggled cutely. “It’s not...bad, y’know...I just am a bit particular. And I like to make things look nice.”

“It’s lovely, kitten,” he chuckled. “Do y’want to watch a movie? Or read...?”

“Are you...sure?” She asked.

“Well yeah. Y’said we were lounging. I’ll do whatever y’want, love,” he made himself at home on the couch and he set the book he had in his bag on the coffee table beside her bouquet of tulips that still (thankfully on Harry’s part) looked beautiful. He patted the seat beside him. After a second of uncertain hesitation, she situated herself beside him. “Jus’ glad t’be spending time with you,” he said and dropped another kiss to her temple. Turning to face her she smiled at him. Harry thought he would melt just from the warmth of her pretty lips curving up in his direction. He cupped her face delicately between his hands. He brushed his lips over hers causing that beautiful, wonderful sigh to escape her lips. Harry rested his forehead against hers. “M’in love with you,” he told her.

She all but gasped as her lips parted ever so slightly as she looked at him mere millimeters away from her face. “Really?” She whispered.

That crushed him. “Very much, beautiful,” he murmured even though he was heartbroken by how...confused she looked. Of course, Harry loved her. She was perfect. “Been loving y’more every day.” She blushed between his hands, and he kissed her nose. “Y’don’t have t’say it back,” he said softly. His heart broke a bit at the idea. “I know m’probably a bit early, but...I jus’ wanted you t’know tha—”

“I love you,” she said simply, not quickly like she was rushing to say it. It was definitive. She didn’t have to follow up with her next words, but he was so lucky and grateful she did. “So much.” Harry felt breathless and he leaned forward and kissed her so deeply he thought he might never breathe again.

Harry was helping her with the dishes after they had eaten at his place. He was tired of having her overnight bag sitting on his bed and just a drawer of her things being the only part of her around when she wasn’t. But that wasn’t true. She was constantly in his thoughts. Even in the brief seconds he wasn’t thinking about her, the notes she left behind for him to find made his attention turn right back to her. “You okay?” She asked kindly. “You seem a little quiet and out of sorts.”

He shrugged. “Mmm,” he sighed. “Jus’...thinking.”

“Sounds scary,” she smirked after a moment.

He rolled his eyes. “Baby, I would handcuff you t’myself.” She giggled and turned her attention to making sure the dishes didn’t shatter as she put them back. “D’you ever wish we lived together?” He asked.

She paused. Harry thought that maybe as good as things were going after a year, it was still too soon. Sure, they spend nearly every weekend together. They talked every day and saw each other every other day. But maybe that was enough for her. Maybe it was easier to just have a Harry-weekend and live her life during the week. Harry pursed his lips about to take back his offer—or make some excuse that it it didn’t need to be a right now thing. “You want to live with me?” She wondered.

He turned to lean against the counter, and he watched as she put the dishes away as if she did in fact live there. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I’d see you a lot more,” he reminded her. “Wouldn’t be sick missing you s’much,” he brought his hand to his mouth, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers and pulled nervously at her response. “If y’don’t—”

“No, I...I really want to live with you,” she nodded. “If you want to live with me,” she reaffirmed quietly.

Harry dropped his hand from his mouth and grabbed her hand. “Yeah?” The smile on his lips grew by the second. “Of course, I do, angel. You’re the best part of m’day—I want it every day.” She looked down slightly and smiled. Harry didn’t miss the blush that painted her cheeks and he squeezed her hand. “I love you,” he reminded her.

“God, I love you, too.”

It was Saturday. The first one they were living together. Harry moved into her place, and she was so utterly accommodating. There was so much room for all his stuff. She made it effortless. They went through everything logistically—her bed was bigger, but Harry had a better couch. Harry wanted to hire a mover, but she was insistent that she and their friends could do it. And they did.

It was embarrassing how long Harry lay in bed. He scrolled through social media, answered a few work emails, and read some of the books he started before he went to bed last night. He would have gotten up sooner if he noticed the sound of her wandering about the apartment. It wasn’t until he heard a few dishes clink together that he realized she was home. He assumed she may have been running a few errands—she mentioned them before—things she wanted to move in for herself.

After the dish clinking, he paid closer attention to her movements and that was when he heard the distinct sound of a cleaning spray bottle and the sound of the washing machine going. Shit. He thought to himself, threw the covers back, and marched out to the kitchen.

He realized he should have started with a good morning, but it was too late. “What are y’doing?” He asked.

“Oh! Hi Harry,” she jumped at his question. She must have only half heard him through the music playing in her ears. She turned to him with a hand over her heart. She wasn’t used to Harry being around so casually. She was used to him shirtless and only in boxers, but it was the first time seeing it in their own place. He didn’t seem amused as he waited for her to answer his question. Which she nearly managed to forget while she waited for her heart to simmer down. “Uh...cleaning?”

Harry looked...annoyed? That couldn’t be right. She didn’t do anything to cause him to feel annoyed. She was quiet and cleaning all morning. It couldn’t have been an issue. Harry was just hanging out in their room and—

“You’ve been cleaning all morning, yeah?” He said already knowing the answer. She felt like she was suddenly in trouble. She nodded solemnly.

“Uh...yes,” she said quietly.

Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Pursing his lips he glanced around at the near spotless place—their place. Their. Place. “Can y’go sit down for me, then?” He asked gently.

“I’m sorry?”

“Jus’...don’t want y’doing t’much. I wish I was paying attention more—I thought y’were...well I don’t know what I thought y’were doing. M’sorry. I’d like t’take it from here and do the rest of the cleaning so y’can lounge around.”

She swallowed and the uneasiness in her stomach transformed a bit into something less of feeling like she was about to get into trouble and more into a worry of not...being enough. “Oh, Harry. I don’t mind,” she whispered looking at her feet. “I...I’m really used to cleaning...I kind of like it and...I don’t know. I didn’t mean to bother you. I thought I was being pretty quiet, so I’m sorry if I woke you,” she spoke to his feet the whole time and she couldn’t shake the idea that he was mad. It made her so nervous that she had already ruined their first couple of weeks of living together.

He didn’t respond but he kept his eyes glued to her face—or where her face would be if she was looking up. “Kitten,” he said so quietly, almost sadly. “Can y’look at me please?” He asked. Tears were in her eyes, and it felt more like she was in trouble once more. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. Harry looked as sad as he sounded. He reached out and grabbed her hand. “M’not mad at you, m’love,” he whispered.

Harry was crushed by the relief that exhaled from her body. “No?” She whispered.

He squeezed her hand. “Angel, why would I be mad?”

“Um...” she swallowed again and smirked but there was no humor. It was just sadness. “Uh...I don’t know,” again, no humor, but a laugh escaped her lips.

“Kitten,” he hummed gently. Tears started to overwhelm her vision and she swallowed nervously against the emotion. When she sniffled, Harry finally lost the stand he was taking. The one where he was going to make her say it, because he wanted her to, and he didn’t think it was right. He pulled her forward and pressed her against his chest, her head beneath his chin and he sighed softly. “Tell me, baby,” he said rubbing his hand up and down her back. He kissed the top of her head and hated the way her shoulders shook from the tears that fell from her eyes.

She hated that he was so handsome—especially almost entirely naked because there wasn’t even the layer of a thin t-shirt to hide the tears that she was shedding. “He was,” she sniffled like it hurt to say.

“I know,” he sighed. “But m’not him,” he reminded her. “I don’t want you t’do it all, kitten. I don’t expect you to,” he slid his hands to her face, and he crouched just a little as he peered down into her eyes. “I love you,” he promised. “You’ve done so much for so long... for so many people.” Biting her lip, she turned her head from him. He wasted not even a second tilting her chin back, so her eyes were back to him. “Y’don’t have t’do anything for me,” his voice was so gentle it hurt. It made her feel sick and undeserving.

“If I don’t...then...” she sighed and closed her eyes.

“Kitten, please look at me,” he begged so quietly, she hardly heard him, but she didn’t open her eyes.

“Then...you’ll...not...want...me,” the pauses between each word hurt more than all of them said together. It meant she was thinking about every single syllable. Each word that was going to break her heart...and Harry’s.

It wasn’t the time to do it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Harry thought of the tulips. He thought of the times she thanked him for putting the laundry—the laundry that she washed and folded—away. The way she said “Really?” when he told her he loved her for the first time. There were all the times she never asked for anything from Harry but he could sense she wanted to but was...scared to do so. It made sense now. She was scared. For no reason. But still scared. Harry felt so angry toward every person that ever broke her heart and made her feel less than perfect. He hated when she hurt. “M’beautiful angel,” he sighed softly stroking his thumb over her face.

She sniveled and brought a hand to her face. “Harry,” she whimpered.

“I know, love,” he cooed softly and brought her back to his body. He let her cry for a few moments. He listened to the way she sounded like she was in pain as she let the tears fall freely and it made him so sad and upset, he could have cried himself. “Baby,” he hummed to the top of her head. “Y’don’t have t’do anything for me, m’love.” She nodded against him and he sighed. “Y’don’t, kitten. Y’really don’t need t’do anything,” he promised. He hoped if he repeated it enough she would believe him.

“But—”

“No,” he shook his head. He didn’t say anything else. It wasn’t final or demanding the way he spoke. It was just a simple no. There wasn’t anything else to be said. Harry let her tears subside before he settled her on the couch and finished her cleaning. For the first time since she moved in, she relaxed on a Saturday while someone else cleaned for her.

The love she felt for Harry was overwhelming.

They were lounging on the couch. The TV was on, but she was turned away from it, facing Harry’s chest. With one arm looped behind his head he could see the show and with his other hand he rubbed it up and down her back. It was so peaceful and gentle. It was everything he ever wanted in a relationship. It was everything he wanted with her. “Y’okay, love?” He hummed dropping a kiss to the top of her head. She nodded wordlessly and he smiled and continued watching his show.

“Wanna stay here forever,” she mumbled. He smirked, placing another kiss on the top of her head. He sensed there was more, but he hated pressuring her into saying more than she may have wanted to—after that first weekend she cried to him, he let her feel exactly what she wanted and how she wanted. Harry knew most of her thoughts. He of course wanted to know all of them, but he knew that she always told him anything she wanted to tell him.

“Is there more, kitten?” He asked quietly. She nodded. “Y’can tell me if y’want,” he reminded her gently.

“It’s stupid.”

He shook his head and glanced down at her perfect face and her fingers fidgeting with the cross and chain around his neck. “You’re anything but stupid, angel,” he felt her feet wiggle uncomfortably. He wanted to beg and pull the words from her lips, but he waited patiently.

“How do you know when I want to say more?” She asked instead.

“Because I adore you,” he responded instantly. She snorted a short laugh but didn’t seem to have an answer to that. “Jus’ know you so well, love. Been trying t’read your mind for the two and a half years...think m’getting pretty good at it. Now jus’ have t’make sense of what y’don’t say,” he smirked and kissed the top of her head.

“Are you frustrated that I don’t tell you things?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No, course not.”

She was silent. “I think about marrying you every day,” she whispered so quietly Harry almost missed her words.

“Oh?”

“I never thought about a wedding with anyone I’ve ever dated in the past. It seemed like so much work because I would do all the planning and the everything...” she explained. “Now...God...I just...I want to show you off to everyone I know and show how wonderful you are because I know you would make the wedding of my dreams come true...because you make all my dreams come true.”

Harry was so quiet thinking about how that may not have seemed like much but to her it was—it was letting herself be vulnerable about wanting to spend her life with Harry. Without knowing how he felt—which was silly since he wanted to spend every second with her in his arms, reading her mind, or listening to her every thought. He wanted to cheer her every win and console her every loss. She was all his and he adored her so completely. He tipped her chin back. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he promised. He saw the way her face seemed to sink with relief which broke his heart, but he couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked even when she did—it left him breathless, wordless, soundless. Harry was convinced that even if they did end their relationship (and he was certain that would never happen) he would thank her for the heartbreak. As he always did when she left him speechless, he kissed her so deeply he thought he might never breathe again.

But it would have been the best way to go.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles sad #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #tulips

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alicethenobody · 7 months

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#infinity train #tulip olsen #lake infinity train #jesse cosay #grace monroe #simon laurent #ryan akagi #min gi park #rymin #infinity train book 1 #infinity train book 2 #infinity train book 3 #infinity train book 4 #jesse is questioning #i once read a rymin fic where ryan was about to tell min he’s gay but min said it first i feel like that’d happen

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sturnsky · 2 months

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Tulips

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader

a/n: this is my first time writing a one shot so!! english is not my first language so if there’s grammar mistakes u know why :) in my country we celebrate women’s day by men giving women flowers, the most popular to give is tulips so i wrote one shot about it!! happy women’s day to all of us ladies <3

warnings: very short! kissing & fluffy fluff!

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Since you’re not originally from usa, matt was always interested in your culture, the holidays and days you celebrate. He knew you took all the special days by heart and he loved to celebrate every holiday with you.

So when matt found out that march 8th is national women’s day he was already hyped for it. He did his research: what kind of flowers are the most popular on this holiday and turns out it’s tulips. The man went all around to find the nicest, prettiest ones.

˚ · • . ° .

You suddenly hear a knock on your front door, you go to open it thinking nothing much of it.

“Hey!” Matt says hiding something behind his back and has the biggest, sweetest smile on his face.

“Hi..whachu got there?” you ask trying to see what he’s hiding.

He slowly pulls out a pretty bouquet of tulips and hands them to you.

“Happy women’s day baby” his smile is still big as ever when he comes in for a kiss and a big hug.

“oh thank youuu, you remembered?” you say with spark in your eyes and a bright smile on your face while you hold the tulips in one of your arms.

“how could i forget my favourite woman on her day?” he asks in a teasing tone before leaning down to you and giving you a kiss while putting his hands on your waist.

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#matt sturniolo #fluff #matt sturniolo fics #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #womens day #tulips #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo

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aliengirl99 · 3 months

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Fic of the week

I'll be recommending one of my favorite fanfics once or twice a week. This week's is;

Super specific audience? Yes. Do I care? No, yall get what you get. Anygay, this fic is sadly unfinished, but it's at a good stopping point. A bit of a slow burn, and a process for the to physically get together. Like location wise. Super cute, bit of angst but lots of fluff to make up for it.

Remember to read the tags yourself. Enjoy!

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic recommendation #fanfic of the week #fic of the week #infinity train #lake #mirror tulip #jesse cosay #jesslake #tulip olsen

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betweendisorders · 8 months

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Sunny has an eyepatch.

A real, proper eyepatch. The straps are mostly obscured by his hair; it had grown longer, over the last few months. But there are two on his right -- Basil's left -- to go over and under his ear, and one that wraps around the other side of his head. It's white; almost medical. Not like Basil had imagined. When he'd imagined it.

Which wasn't often.

Basil wasn't courageous.

He might call himself cowardly, in fact, if you caught him in the wrong mood. But being around Sunny had always made his rougher edges dull.

Or maybe sharpened his spines.

Polished him, either way. Refined him, maybe.

He was losing his thread. Shit.

Basil wasn't particularly courageous. But with Sunny, he was... something closer to it, maybe. Not exactly comfortable. Just, different. There was a side that you never showed other people, and there was a version of you that you put on for strangers -- and then there was that third you, somewhere in between. Made for your best friend, or your spouse, or maybe just your pets.

Sunny was taller than him.

Not by a whole lot. Sunny was fairly average, in terms of height -- maybe a bit on the shorter side. 5'6, 5'5. How spindly he was made him look taller. So did his sweater vests, subtly tight around his thin, fragile chest.

(Basil knew how fragile that chest was, from experience. Spending time throwing someone against walls, pinning them to your bedroom floor, trying to impale them with garden shears would do that.)

Though he wasn't really trying to impale Sunny, of course.

Regardless. Sunny was taller than him. Basil couldn't help but notice as much, sitting next to him.

Sunny was watching the sky with one eye. And Basil couldn't stop noticing that he had an eyepatch.

Because he was missing an eye.

They were standing on the sidewalk. Sunny was going home in the morning.

Back to the city. Back away from Basil.

And he was missing an eye, under his eyepatch.

(An eye that Basil had torn from his skull with dull garden shears.)

Ah. Scratch that. Sunny wasn't watching the sky.

He'd started looking at Basil, now.

"Um," Basil looked away. "Sorry," he said, automatically.

Sunny shook his head no, a little. There was a softness to his gaze -- a quietude, a tiredness. He was relaxed.

He hadn't been, for this whole visit. But he was now.

(Sunny was missing an eye, and Basil wouldn't stop noticing.)

The something behind him -- it hadn't been distinct.

It hadn't been real, more importantly. Basil knew that, now, of course. But it hadn't been distinct, at the time.

He couldn't tell you what it felt like. He couldn't tell you if it had any proper, physical form. That wasn't how he'd conceptualized it.

It was an eye. An eye, first and foremost. Seeing everything they'd done. Painting their sins across the canvas of its pupil.

(And he'd torn it out. Ended it.)

Sunny was wearing an eyepatch, and the sky was inky black behind him. Stars glittered, distinct against his hair.

The cosmos wrapped them both in a perfect bow, and Sunny was wearing an eyepatch.

Basil leaned a little closer, without thinking about it.

(It wasn't that he was courageous. Not really.)

(Maybe Sunny just made him impulsive.)

Sunny shifted, a little. His posture automatically leaning away, for a moment--

And then, he corrected himself. Stood straight again. Let Basil lean closer. Peered down at him. His gaze was curious -- a little concerned.

His gaze, which was defined by a set of slight furrowed eyebrows, and only one eye to go with them.

Basil was reaching forward, before he really realized what he was doing.

Sunny startled, this time. Leaned away. His mouth opened, a little -- showed a soft, pink mouth, beyond chapped lips.

"Sorry," Basil murmured, quietly, without really thinking about it. Almost subconsciously. "Can I...?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His fingers -- curious, clumsy, thoughtless fingers -- rested gently against the sharp lines of Sunny's cheekbones. Crawled up his skin.

Toyed, curiously, with the edge of his eyepatch.

Sunny's entire frame froze. Tensed up. His shoulders raised, his face pulled away a little -- and Basil had to lean further, to keep his fingers against Sunny's skin, and lift his eyepatch, just a little. Until his sweater brushed against Sunny's perfectly buttoned dress shirt.

Curious, impertinent fingers lifted Sunny's eyepatch. Peered underneath -- raised it just enough to not let any proper starlight underneath.

(The skin was scraped red. Fleshy, wounded, still half scabbed over. Knotted scar tissue.)

Sunny had a glass eye.

It was polished. All blank, opaque. Just to fill the socket, Basil assumed -- because it would cave in, or fill up from the tissue trying to repair itself, he thought. From what little research he'd done.

(Not that he'd been thinking about it.)

Sunny was barely an inch away. Close enough that their noses could brush, and Basil could see the flush start to cover his face. See his eye widen, and the scraped-raw flesh of his other socket shift with the motion.

(He must've still had some control of the muscles; and Basil could've watched those scraped-down, raw, still half scabbed over muscles shift for longer than he'd ever admit.)

Sunny was close enough that Basil could smell his perfume. Could feel the warmth on the underside of his eyepatch, under the pads of his curious, thoughtless fingers.

Sunny had a glass eye. To fill the socket.

Sunny had a glass eye, and--

And Basil was disappointed.

(this ficlet was based off a wonderful piece of art by @white-tulips, which you can see here)

(now cross-posted to ao3)

#sunnflower #sunflower #omori sunflower #omori #do i have to specify spoilers #omori spoilers #omori basil #omori sunny #ficlet #tumblr fic #white tulips tag

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elvensorceress · 1 year

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Color Him Father, Color Him Love

buck/eddie | rated: G | 3K | 6x18 spec? | ao3

“I actually just came from the hospital,” Buck says, and something of worry or concern must show on Eddie’s face, because he immediately follows that with, “Not— not for me. I was visiting Connor and Kameron. And— well, he— he doesn’t have a name yet. They’re still debating. But he’s pretty cute.”

Ah. Well. Of course Buck would make a cute kid. Eddie slouches and sinks back into the couch cushions, and wants to pass out and sleep even more now. “I don’t doubt it.”

“I got to hold him,” Buck says quietly, staring at his own hands propped palms-up on his lap. “They let me hold him.”

And it was everything you’ve ever wanted but you knew it wasn’t yours and you had to hand him back to whoever he might belong to and it shattered your heart in a thousand pieces?

Or is that just Eddie thinking of— things he shouldn’t be thinking of. But it’s hard not to think when Buck is right here and he’s made of love and sunshine and looks soft and beautiful in the light of late morning. And Eddie wants so badly to keep him. He also doesn’t want to bring up a potentially painful subject. But Buck had to have come over for a reason. Eddie asks, gently, carefully, but he does ask, “You regretting it now?”

It takes a few seconds for Buck to exhale and then smile. But he smiles. And it feels real. “No. See. That’s the thing. I was worried I might, you know, feel—not regret necessarily, but sadness? Or something like it? Happy for them but sad for me? I was worried I might look at him or I might even hold him, and think about missing out because he’s not mine. But I didn’t.”

Eddie nods slowly, breathes slowly, and at least that’s good. That Buck is content. Not sure why he felt the need to rush over here when both of them should be sleeping off their shift. For at least a few hours. But as long as he’s all right. “Good. That’s good.”

“Connor was worried, too. That he wouldn’t feel like it’s really his kid. But then I held the baby. And… he’s cute and I love kids, I’ve always loved kids, and maybe he might look kind of like me one day? He has a big, pointy nose like mine, which I’m sure they could have done without. But…” Buck trails off and turns his hands so they’re palm down and resting on his legs. And then he looks over at Eddie. “It didn’t feel like anything. He didn’t feel different from any other baby I’ve held. And I put him back in Connor’s arms, and I could see the way his face changed. The way he lit up and teared up and might have cried because that is his son.”

The moment he mentions it, tears clearly pool in Buck’s eyes as well. So vivid in the sea of soft blue, but lit with the bright sunshine of the smile on his face. “I could tell that he felt it. I could see it. When he looked at that little boy and knew he would do anything to make him happy and he’d do anything to protect him and give him the life that he should have.”

Buck makes gestures with both hands like he’s trying to clutch something to his chest, like he feels so much and can’t contain it. “And all I could think. Even if I shouldn’t. Was that I know that feeling.” He laughs but it comes with tears. And more words. “I know what it feels like to hold a kid and care about them and want to protect them. But it’s so different when it feels like they’re yours. It’s so much more. Even if you didn’t— Even if it’s not biological and you’re not. You’re not really the father. Because I hold Chris. I hold him and I feel like he is part of me.”

~~~ Buck has a revelation about what he is to Chris. And to Eddie.

(read on AO3)

#buddie #buddie fic #jenwyn fic #911 #911fic #fic: color him father color him love #idk Tulip and Kym my beloveds had some thoughts and I had some similar thoughts #and then this happened #shrug emoji #the Buck and Chris of it all though #I have to lie down now

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tulipfromtheinternet · 7 months

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I joined @911podficfest this year! And I had so much fun learning and trying to be creative with a new medium!

The amazing art you have here above is by the amazing, talented, and super creative @like-the-rest-of-la (I hope everyone seeing this takes a moment to tell her what a wonderful job she did 🤌💋)

So many hugs and thank yous to @rewritetheending for whom this podfic would not have been possible❤️

[Podfic] this is it, all the flames

Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationship: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz (Buddie)

Length: 25 minutes 34 seconds

Format: streaming and mp3

Text: this is it, all the flames by withoutthetiger

AO3 Link For Podfic: Here

Summary:

Set sometime in the middle of s6, just a quiet surprise in the middle of Buck's kitchen.

———————————————————————-

And you can check out the rest of the podfics for the 911 Podfic Fest 2023 too!

#911 podfic #911 fic rec #911 podfic fest 2023 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 #911 art #like-the-rest-of-la #rewritetheending #this is it all the flames #tulip makes stuff

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a-single-tulip · 1 year

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Tulip's Fanfiction Masterlist

A list of all of the fics I've written and posted on here, mostly just for The Bad Batch and The Clone Wars. All fics labeled with "🔥" are mature content, so minors DNI. This masterlist is subject to be edited/changed/revised, so expect future additions to be seen as I write more.

Last Updated: November 10th, 2023

Star Wars OC List

My Art

Dr. Cais Varru Sketches

Dr. Waylon Vrand Shirtless Sketch

The Bad Batch

Crosshair:

After Dark - Sub!Crosshair x Femdom!Reader 🔥

Hard Candy - Crosshair x gn!Reader

Tech:

Why Do You Call Me That? - Tech x gn!Reader (some slight Sub!Tech, but then towards the end the tables turn) 🔥

Echo:

Calma - Echo x gn!Reader

Hunter:

Do You Want Me to Brush Your Hair? - Hunter x gn!Reader

Pretty Boy - Sub!Hunter x gn!Reader 🔥

Wrecker:

Like a Teddy Bear - Wrecker x gn!Reader

OC Fics:

I'll Never Be Sick of You - Crosshair x Dr. Waylon Vrand (OC) 🔥

Losing All Control - Crosshair x Dr. Waylon Vrand (OC) 🔥 (sequel to the fic above)

Tell Me a Story - Dr. Waylon Vrand (OC) Origin Story

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Coruscant Guard:

The Perfect Girl - Commander Fox x Fem!Punk!Reader 🔥

Tranquility - Commander Fox x GN!Reader Ficlet [slightly suggestive themes]

Wolfpack:

Just the Right Way - Commander Wolffe x GN!Reader Ficlet [Implied NSFW, suggestive themes] 🔥

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densewentz · 4 months

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Can Tulip speak? I love her (and Kian and his dads!) Love the AU and your art!

Tulip can't speak vocally (her noises are mostly croaking/squeaking/screaming etc. Your normal assorted amphibian noises) but she and Kian (and subsequently Hob) are learning how to sign! It's both very endearing and mildly alarming and made only marginally more difficult by the fact that Tulip doesn't have an actual chin. 💕

Thank you for the ask!

#dreamling dads!au #dreamling #kian gadling #tulip #my art #kid fic #catch me trying to learn bsl so i dont make a total ass of myself #let me know if i am tho #i love them your honor #ask #ask reply #anonymous

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theserpens · 5 months

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Darry Fic Rec: Part Sixteen

If Memory Serves by @dictacontrion 30,402 words, E

Maybe Draco wants to forget. Maybe it’s wrong to make him remember.

It'll Come Back by @vukovich 15,949 words, E

Draco Malfoy wakes up in the Thickey ward not remembering anything except that the Auror in front of him is his husband. But he's not. A tale of owning up to who you used to be.

Lusimeles by orphan_account 23,289 words, E

“You’re not special, Potter,” Kingsley informs him, not looking up from his work. “But I’ve already done Occlumency training!” Harry splutters, indignant. “And it’s Malfoy.”

The Four Doors by @fluxweeed 48,845 words, E

It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy.

Memory Loss, complete amnesia or forgetting people - sounds like the recipe for a love story, right? This Set includes some angst, some healing and a lot of missing information.

'If Memory Serves' has a very dysfunctional but also captivating enemies with benefits scenario, as well as memory loss done deliciously well. 'It'll Come Back' is dark, sad and gritty - but a great read, if you want to feel like you have been kicked in the teeth! 'Lusimeles' includes angsty intimacy, a competent Draco and a Harry that doesn't handle his emotions (or memories) well. 'The Four Doors' presents a intriguing, fun, sexy and generally charged dynamic between Draco and Harry - even though Harry really only understands half of it ...

All of these wonderful stories are written super well, execute their premise with care and include fervent explicit scenes and angsty relationships. So, enjoy!

#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fic rec #drarry #fic rec #fic reccomendations #drarry fic #angst #memory loss #amnesia #art by #gerhard richter #tulips

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123pixieaod · 8 months

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Inspired by this godly post which unlocked a part of my brain I didn't know existed, and solidly gave me complete and utterly brainrot until I wrote something

A thousand thanks to Lily for her wonderful help :))

"Does Kelly not mind you spending all your time with me?" Daniel asks, because she's Daniel and once she's thought something she can't keep her fucking mouth shut, even if she knows it's trouble.

Max looks up, pausing his set of weights, and blinks at her. Daniel feels her cheeks warm. One day, that mouth of yours will run you straight into trouble, young lady, her mum used to tell her, voice firm. Good girls know when to keep quiet. Daniel used to just laugh at the warning. Her laugh is loud and the opposite of quiet, but she used to know that everyone always loved her laugh.

"No," Max says after a beat and then continues lifting. Daniel hates the way her gaze tracks over him, lingering on the movement of his muscles, the ease with which he lifts the weight. Tawny hair brushed out of his eyes, cheeks dusted warm from the exertion. "Of course not."

"Why of course not?" Daniel asks. She wants to sew her mouth shut. This time, Max didn't look over as he answers.

"Kelly's very secure, she's not like other girls. And besides, she knows you."

It's strange. When Daniel was seven and Michelle eleven, they'd gone rock pool fishing. Michelle had been crouched over a shallow pool of water, her finger delicately brushing the tentacles of the anemone. Daniel had been scaling the rocks, wanting steeper, taller, more.

She'd found the shark first, nestled high at between the rocks, and for a beat she hadn't known what she was looking at. Just details, but nothing collective. Rotting smell. Shrivelled holes where eyes should be. Scales of silver lightning. Rubbery fish picked clean. The flash of bone, pearl white.

Then she realised what she was staring at, and screamed. Her father held her while her mother scolded her. I told you not to go climbing! It's too dangerous, Daniel. Why can't you just be good like your sister and stay by the shallow pools?

And then, later, ice cream. Her dad, beside her, explaining the horror away.

It's just nature, Dani. The waves wash them up, and they get stuck there. They can't get back to the sea, and then the sun dries them out.

They drown on air, Michelle helpfully pointed out, her feet kicking happily as she licked her 99. Daniel just just nodded, ice cream untouched. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the sunken holes, the rotting flesh.

She hasn't thought about that moment for years, but suddenly it washes back over her. She feels simultaneously both. The child, staring at the carcass, frozen in shock. The shark, burning up in the sun, chocking on air.

"What does that mean?" She asks, and somehow her voice is normal, is fine. She's fine. She's not a girl or a shark. She's stupid and a fool and a gawky, ugly idiot, but she's fine.

Max manages to shrug, even with the 50kg weights. "You know. Just that Kelly knows you. She knows what you're like. And she knows me too, of course."

Daniel swallows. She nods. She hates everything about herself.

"That's sexist," she forces herself to say lightly because if the silence stretches anymore, Max might notice and set his weights down and look at her, and Daniel can't bear that. She doesn't want his eyes on her, taking in every blemish and imperfection. The boyish, ratty clothes she works out in and her curls gone frizzy with sweat and her inked skin, so different to Max and Kelly's pale, perfect complexions.

"What's sexist?"

"Saying she's not like other girls," Daniel tells him, setting down the weights she been doing. Instead, she goes to grab the skipping rope, just for something to do.

Max laughs. Daniel's glad she's turned away. Her cheeks are burning again.

"It's the truth. You, of course, Daniel, are not like other girls either." He says it lightly and ends with a chuckle, as if it's all just a joke. Daniel drags a sweaty hand over her cheeks. Burning, burning, burning.

Apparently, in Max's mind, she and Kelly are the same; both not like other girls. Kelly, with her faultless makeup and wonderful daughter and classy dresses and perfect feminity. One end of the scale. Daniel, the other. Barely even considered "a girl." Always one of the boys, only woman in f1 for a reason.

"Thanks," Daniel says. She wants to make it sound humorous, like she's in on the joke too. Instead, it's too cold; muttered as if she actually gave two shits about the conversation anyway. She has an F1 season to prepare for, she's too busy to care about stupid shit like this.

There's a beat of silence as Daniel stretches out the rope, feeling the plastic flex and give. Then, Max exhaling, the gentle bump of his weights against the floor, the workout bench shifting as his centre of gravity changes. Daniel keeps her back to him, ignoring it all.

"I did not mean it as insult," Max finally says, stubborn. Daniel forces a laugh, turning to give him a smile, all teeth.

"Of course not Maxy. I get that." Voice light and blithe. One of the boys.

She thinks he'll drop it, but instead, his frown only grows. Pinched brows, thin lips, cheeks growing blotchy. Blue eyes regard her, intense and unyielding. She burns from the inside out.

"I've upset you," he says, in that blunt, genuine way only he can do. Daniel barks out another laugh.

"Don't be stupid. You're not important enough to ever be able to get under my skin." She gives him another smile with only teeth. She feels insane. Her mother tells her good girls stay quiet.

"I'm sorry," he tries again, growing frustrated now, "I did not mean -"

"I told you, you didn't upset me," she drops the skipping rope without actually using it. "Anyway, I'm bored. Wanna get lunch now? Or are you still trying to pump those muscle with more testosterone?"

Max gives her one last, searching look before standing. They're almost the same height. She wants to shrink to nothing.

"That is not how testosterone works, Daniel," he says with the air of an overworked teacher. He looks at her with a smile, uncertain but genuine. She laughs, allowing him to move the conversation on.

She walks out of the gym first but holds the door for him. He grins, relieved. His fingers skim hers as he takes it and she lets go. A chill runs through her. Cold like scales, cold like ice cream untouched.

Follow up here!

#whole lot of internalised misogyny to unpack here #in my head Daniel is looking like Tash Sultana in the music video for “Jungle”#Max just meaning :))) Kelly knows you and she knows me :))) and she knows we are both two good people who would not cheat :)))#while Daniel just going into an existential crisis of #:((( Kelly knows Max and I :((( and I am zero threat to her because I must be utterly undesirable :((( and not Max's type at all :(((#maxiel #girl!Daniel #for the first time ever lol #my fic #ending involves the tension between them growing and growing #and Kelly watches them share a podium and sees the way Max wraps his arm around Daniel's shoulder and hugs her tightly #and the way Daniel laughs so happily and loudly everyone can hear her #and suddenly Kelly realises she had been wrong and Daniel was a threat #and basically gives Max an ultimate to choose one of them and stop all contact with the other #somehow Daniel finds out and just locks herself away from the world during summer break because it's not even a question who max will pick #and their story ends with Max knocking on her door with looking annoyed with a bunch of drooping flowers #and before Daniel can even say anything he's stepping into her apartment and getting a vase from her cupboard #while complaining about how he ordered the flowers that morning but the florist fucked up his order and of course the flourists in the #Netherlands are much better and soon he will take Daniel there and pick proper flowers like tulips for her #she stares at him in pure disbelief and then starts to laugh. and Max looks over and laughs too and they're still smiling when they kiss #:)))))#apologies but I'm a sucker for a soppy cliched ending lol

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1d1195 · 2 months

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Tulips Extra I

You can read Tulips here. I wouldn't read this if you're having a good day, lol. The original was therapeutic for myself so it's a little on the sad side for sure. It was good timing since I've not been feeling very positive lately.

Anyway, it's probably very angsty with a bit of fluff.

Thank you for reading my diary 😉

~4.7k words

Highly recommend listening to: Lung (Vines version) by Vines & Adrianne Munden-Dixon while reading.

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

If she looked in the mirror, she would see a lot of growth. It had been six months since Harry moved in and she was more open, more communicative, and delegated more. Harry was perfect. Probably too perfect. It was almost unfair and if she thought about it too long, she worried a little too much about the ramifications of her own inadequacy.

Harry never let her feel that way. When she made dinner, he nearly threw a parade. If she was at Target and saw something she thought Harry would like and bought it, he thanked her for hours. It was a little overwhelming sometimes to be praised so highly. In previous relationships, she thought about the fanfare she would get from doing those kinds of things but after years of never getting it, she assumed it wasn’t in the cards for her.

But she hadn’t met Harry. He never let her feel that way. Everything she did was thanked with the utmost gratitude. It was unnerving sometimes that he adored her exactly how she imagined love was supposed to be. There were days, weeks, years, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of the love she dreamed about. Harry came along as if all that time feeling sad never existed. He praised her for things that didn’t need it, but it made her smile.

“M'a lucky guy, kitten,” he kissed her on the forehead while they watched TV. She had brought over a cup of hot water. Harry always had a cup in the middle of the afternoon. It was good for his throat, which was prone to colds and good for his vocal cords when he spent so much of his job talking to other people.

There were still hard days for her. Days when her mind ran wild and told her that she wasn’t good enough for Harry. That if she didn’t do everything perfectly or if she forgot something at the grocery story, she didn’t deserve to have Harry in her life any longer. Those years of not being good enough, or rather not feeling good enough, were hard to stamp out of her mind. Harry did a wonderful job getting most of it to disappear. But a bad day was a bad day; and it was hard to predict that. Hard to know when her mind would play a trick on her.

Work was okay except everyone was on edge close to the holiday. The end of the year was always a tricky time. Things needed to be wrapped up financially and socially. Honestly, she was probably the calmest one at work, but she was kind. Helping others with their workload because hers didn’t entail the same types of problems that everyone else was facing. But it did require a lot of her mental load. The satisfaction she felt from helping others was really good for her emotional well-being, but it came at a pretty significant cost: she had a really hard time saying no—especially when she needed to say no.

This led her to carrying several grocery bags into her apartment with Harry. She didn’t want to take two trips. Except she was struggling. Two trips would have been better. Or calling Harry when she got to the parking lot would have helped. He wouldn’t have minded either. He probably didn’t know she was grocery shopping after work, or he would have offered to go with her.

But unfortunately, they had gotten into a bit of a... disagreement the night before. Which only added to her stress emotionally. It was a well-based disagreement. Harry worried she was doing too much for her coworkers and thought (in the kindest way possible) that she should set some boundaries where she felt comfortable helping but still able to get her own stuff done.

In her head she did something wrong. Harry was so kind. Extremely understanding of all the boundaries that she failed to set in her work life and with her family. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. But it was hard for him to watch the person he loved struggle to feel okay with anxiety and stress plaguing most of her thoughts over things she didn’t necessarily need to worry about.

She was almost at the door. Her arm was sore from holding the bags up for so long. The circulation in her hand was disappearing from the bags that had slid down. Why she didn’t just set the bags down at the end of the hall will always make her wonder. But instead, of course, the bag ripped open. The one stupid paper bag she had to get from the store to fit everything. Of course, it had eggs in it. While trying catch it, she dropped the gallon of milk she had in her other hand that naturally exploded onto the floor with the eggs. She gasped and looked at the mess she created in the hall. Fortunately, her neighbors weren’t affected. She was so close to her own door the only one impacted would be herself or Harry.

“—her location says she should be home—oh,” Harry stuck his head out from the door. He heard a loud thud from inside the apartment. Paired with his missing girlfriend, he worried she had hurt herself or something coming up the stairs. Harry watched her for a moment, a frown settling onto his lips at the sight. Her shoulders shaking, her lip wobbling while tears filled her eyes. “Love, m’gonna have her call y’back. She jus’ got home. Think she had a tough day,” he murmured. “S’okay. I’ll take care of it. She’ll call y’back,” he promised. “Okay, bye,” he slid his phone into his pocket. Her gaze didn’t move from the mess on the floor, but she could sense Harry approaching her. Like an injured animal in the wild.

“Was that my sister?” She whispered.

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. “S’nothing serious,” he promised.

“I think she needed help with her assignment or something. I was supposed to call her when I got home so I could read—”

“Love,” he stepped directly into the mixture of eggs and milk and put his hands on her shoulders. “S’not important right now,” his voice was so gentle. Almost too gentle. “Let’s go inside,” he tugged her gently toward the door. “M’gonna clean this up,” he offered easily.

She looked up at him, her eyes so blurred with tears that his expression was hard to make out. The only good thing her tears did was magnify her perception of Harry’s pretty eyes. They actually looked like emeralds and made her heart flutter despite how sad she was. “You don’t have to,” her voice cracked. “I dropped everything. I should clean it—” the tears fell from her eyes in slow motion. It was like she was watching one of those movies where the girl tries to keep working even though she just found out the love of her life died and she was basically ignoring it. She hated those scenes. They hurt so much. She swiped her hand across her face. “I just need to grab—”

“Kitten,” Harry stilled her movements as she tried to push away from him. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m okay,” she promised, the saddest smile falling across her lips. Harry looked at her with so much worry and he shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re not,” his voice was low and he cupped the side of her neck and held her in place. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” but the words were choked and only half-uttered by the mixture of tears and her throat closing around the sound trying to force its way out of her vocal cords. “I’m fine.” It was like her body was trying to repel the words because she almost folded in half, she crouched and covered her eyes as she let the sobs take over for a second. She would be fine; she just needed a second to get some of the emotion out.

“Angel,” Harry crouched right beside her. “C’mon, kitten. S’not nothing,” he murmured.

She shook her head. No, things with Harry were fine. She wasn’t going to burden him with needless worries and all the anxiety that was coursing through her head. It was all in her head. Truly. It wasn’t something that he needed to—

Harry pulled her toward their door where milk and eggs hadn’t spread to yet. The remaining pile of groceries was mixed in the mess. She crouched by the door again, unable to stop the emotion long enough to make it past the entry way. Gently, Harry pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. He knelt beside her, hand cupping the back of her neck and the other gently rubbing up and down her arm. A neighbor peered into the hallway raised his eyebrows at the mess before turning to see Harry and the girl in their doorway. Harry shook his head so minutely he doubted she noticed. Fortunately, their neighbor saluted ever so slightly and retreated inside.

“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped.

He shook his head feeling so awful she was this distraught. This upset. He wished he had checked her location before her sister called to ask if she was ignoring her. Wish he had gone down to see where she was when he realized she was supposed to be home. “Shh,” he hushed. “S’nothing t’apologize for, kitten,” he promised quietly.

She continued sobbing and Harry wondered how on earth someone so beautiful, so kind, so utterly adoring could be so sad. It pained him to no end. Watching her breakdown like this felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart. He wanted to do whatever he had to do to make it stop. He knew she kept a lot of her emotions to herself. Years of bottling them up so as not to inconvenience others for simply existing.

“Kitten,” he whispered when her sobs subsided to sniffles. “Y’gotta talk t’me,” his voice was gentle but filled with worry. “M’sorry people let y’down. M’not one of them, though.”

“It’s hard,” her voice was so crackly and broken. Harry almost let it go because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of how sad she was.

“I know, baby, I know it is, but I love you so much. I want nothing but t’help you,” he hoped she heard how sincere he was. “I hate seeing y’like this. It hurts me, kitten,” he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes so hopefully she would understand how much he adored her and how much it hurt him. It wasn’t to minimize what she was feeling. It was to hopefully help her reach the conclusion that he was on her side, always. He would do whatever it took to make her smile.

“M’scared,” she whispered. “You’re just going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous—because I am, Harry. I am being ridiculous. I have you. You’re so perfect. You love me so much and you don’t care that I’m a little crazy and you don’t—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “I would never tell y’that you’re being ridiculous. Please tell me y’don’t really believe that,” his heart felt even worse. How could she think that?

“Because,” she croaked. The seconds it took her to speak after felt like years. Harry waited so patiently, his heart pounding. “Because whenever I felt so overwhelmed,” she shook her head and looked down, despite Harry holding her face so she would have to look at him. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Tell me, angel.”

“I have never had someone,” she started again, squeezing her eyes tight. They felt red and swollen. She was certain she looked as terrible as she felt. “It was my own doing,” she whispered. “The reason I get so overwhelmed. When I complained even a little it was turned into something about how I did things wrong. I overwhelmed myself. It was just... in my head,” she whispered.

Harry wasn’t completely sure how he managed to stay upright. He swiped his thumbs below her red rimmed eyes. He thought she was beautiful even when she cried but it hurt him so much to see her like this. “S’not in your head, m’love,” it was hard to say the words without breaking out into cries himself. Seeing her hurt like this made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. “Love doesn't have t’be even, kitten. Being mad doesn't have t’be even. Being upset with something I do doesn't mean I have t’be upset with something you do. Y’can be annoyed with me, and I don't have t’bring up something m’annoyed by—which is nothing,” he assured her quickly because he could spot something he said creating a spiral easily. “But love, y’have t’tell me... talking has t’be done. I can't do this alone, kitten. I can't do this without you,” he explained as gently as he could.

“It’s not important,” she shook her head. Her voice cracked again.

Harry winced. “No, but it is, kitten. I can hear how important it is. I see it. I can feel it. Y’need t’tell me. I need you t’tell me everything y’feel. I can tell it hurts. All of it. I want t’fix it. I don’t want you t’hurt. M’not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But it’s… so bad to talk about... exes,” she whispered the last word like it was a curse—like she would be sent right to jail for it saying out loud.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, maybe if y’still in love with them. Do y’still love him?” It was rhetorical honestly. He knew she didn’t.

Her face paled immediately, her sad eyes filling with more tears. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t say it t’make y’mad, m’love,” His voice was gentle again. “I want you t’process this. I can’t have you all bottled up. I need t’know signs and feelings you’re having when y’don’t want t’share them. He messed with you so good,” he smiled without an ounce of humor behind it. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked… so... disappointed. “M’usually good at figuring out what m’supposed t’do as a boyfriend. But y’stump me sometimes,” he admitted shyly. “It hurts me t’see you flustered and hurt without telling me why. I want t’be there for you. Always. In ways he never was because you—”

“He was always late,” she sobbed again. Harry pulled her to him immediately letting the tears pour out of her and he rocked her so gently. The words spilled out of her as fast as the tears did. “I swear he did it to piss me off and then he would say I was too controlling or neurotic. I was too planned out. He never got me flowers and my mom knew how much that bothered me. She knew he didn’t, even though I lied and said he did. I lied about flowers,” she felt so pathetic saying it out loud. “I lied about so many things he didn’t do because I was disappointed in myself. He didn’t see the point in romantic gestures. He didn’t think about how it kind of made me look like an idiot. I know that’s not the point of a romantic gesture, but I kept doing them for him and I—” the sobs choked her voice for a moment but Harry stayed silent. “I ignored all those red flags. All of them. Every single one of them. Why did I do that?” She cried; her voice sounded so tired. She looked so tired. Harry was quiet for a long time while more tears than he thought were possible fell across her cheeks.

“Because love is also red,” Harry whispered eventually. “Rose colored glasses are red… tulips, my sweet love,” he paused to kiss the top of her head, “are red.” It felt like hours she sobbed against him. The milk spread on the floor probably getting warm and souring the smell in the air and Harry just held her rocking ever so softly. “Thank you,” he said after way longer than anyone would have waited to speak. “For telling me that. I know that was hard. I promise I won’t be late. Ever,” he vowed. “Everything else between us? Might have t’be some compromises and more talking and we might argue. I might get mad, but it doesn’t mean it’s going t’end us, kitten. You have t’know that. M’here for the long haul... But late? On purpose? It won’t be me,” he promised easily. “Whether m’mad because I had a bad day at work or because of traffic, you’ll know the moment I know. M’not going t’miss a single time y’tell me. I will be there early.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and kissed her temple, letting his lips drag along her skin for longer than he needed but it felt so soothing she nearly cried again. “S’nothing t’be sorry for,” he promised. “C’mon,” he stood, his knees aching from crouching for so long. He held his hand out to her and pulled her to stand beside him. He pushed her toward the sofa.

“What about—”

“Shh,” he promised. “S’fine,” he murmured pushing her to sit. Once seated, he pulled her shoes off, wrapped a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. He placed a book in her lap that she had started earlier in the week and hurried to the kitchen to bring her a bottle of water. “Stay here,” he kissed her forehead again, this time cupping her cheek at the same time and rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“But I—”

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

As low as she got, she felt so much better, much quicker than she usually did. Harry was grateful for the change and was extremely mindful of things that caused her stress. He tried to read her mind as much as possible and was successful more often, which made him feel a lot better.

Talking was so much better. She had never felt so free. Harry knew her every thought. He didn’t belittle her emotions or make her feel like an inconvenience. Right before they fell asleep, she was snuggled close, her eyes watching Harry breathe evenly. The only light coming from a streetlamp outside their window. It wasn’t too bright but illuminated the room enough for her to make out Harry’s shadow beside her. His hand skimmed up and down her arm making her drowsy. “I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too, angel,” he murmured.

When they were out with friends Harry was mindful of her well-being. If she wanted to leave, he could sense it before she wanted to go. In fact, he even said he wanted to leave before she mentioned it. Taking her out of the equation made her anxiety lessen profusely.

If there was a problem Harry had (and rarely did that happen because he truly believed she was an angel) he looked her dead in the eye every time and promised her that he wasn’t mad. “I am not mad,” he held her face in his hands like she was a fragile vase. He waited until she nodded, he could see the emotions scrolling through her eyes like an index searching for one to land on for a moment. Only when she nodded would he continue. “I don’t like when y’leave the remote in the couch. S’hard t’find,” he explained. “Can y’try t’leave it on the coffee table?” He asked. She nodded. “Are y’okay, kitten? M’not mad,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded again. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’okay,” he smiled encouragingly. “Do y’have anything y’want t’share with me that’s bothering you?” She shook her head. “You’re sure? Not even the whole pizza thing?” He eyed her suspiciously. Harry put the whole box of leftover pizza in the fridge, and he could see the distaste in her eyes when he did so.

“It just takes up a lot of room,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled excitedly that she was telling him the truth and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go fix it now; can y’find the remote?” He found giving her a manageable task was a good distraction when she voiced her worry. He could see her eyes fill with tears despite the fact he wasn’t upset, but he knew it was because she was more than likely overwhelmed with how easy that was. She swiped her hand across her cheek and dug between the cushions to find the controller. When he returned, she handed him the remote to put on a movie. He pulled her toward him, her body half resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, so much, angel,” he promised.

“I love you,” Harry could hear how much that really meant to her in every syllable.

She was carrying her work bag, her lunch bag, and her clunky water bottle when her mom called. Most of the time her mom texted her. So, she assumed it was bad. She settled her things onto the counter as she answered.

“Do you know Harry texted me?” She asked.

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat. Harry hadn’t ever texted her mother to his knowledge. She knew he periodically texted her siblings but never her mom.

“He shared a whole album with me. I had to have your sister help me open it because you know me with this contraption,” she laughed but she didn’t want to hear about her technological illiteracy. She wanted to know what the album was. “It’s just a bunch of bouquets of flowers. At least two dozen. Maybe closer to three. He said it’s every bouquet he’s ever bought you and the reason why. Birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Bad day at work. Being brave at the dentist,” she laughed again. She had a hand on her heart as she tried to quell all the emotions rapidly flowing through her in quick succession. “Sweetie,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “He said he was going to add to it every time he got a new bouquet, but he wanted me to know that he got you flowers. Wanted me to have proof. Do you know what it’s about?”

She felt tears thicken her throat. “Yeah. Yeah I know,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she promised.

“I know you lied to me,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing. It was exactly how a mom would react to such a statement. “You never lie about anything so it’s pretty obvious when you do. Especially about something so...little,” she felt horrible. But honestly, she didn’t feel like telling her mom that the flowers weren’t little. They were huge, in fact. It was a huge, glaring, obvious thing that she should have known was wrong. “I’m not too sure what’s going on with you and Harry lately, but I can see how much that man adores you and I know he would do anything to make you smile.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” she responded. “I know why you did it.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Okay, well... I’m glad you have that album,” she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a couple of chores to do, Mom.”

“I know, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you, sweetie,” she could hear her mom’s encouraging smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, she sniffled. Then just as quickly, Harry came through the door and found her wiping her eyes. “Oh, kitten,” he frowned. “S’matter?” She wanted to say ‘nothing.’ But he was holding another bouquet of flowers. Half the tulips were red, and the other half was white. So, she was unable to utter a word and began to cry again. “Angel,” he set the bouquet on the counter beside her stuff and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured into her hair and squeezed her.

“Can we get married?” She asked through her tears.

Harry didn’t even care how ridiculous she sounded. He continued as if this was a normal conversation that he had every day with her. As if she wasn’t sobbing on a Thursday night for no reason. Or if he asked her if she wanted fish for dinner. “Of course we can, baby, but I have t’propose—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t care. Right now. Please. I love you so much. So, so much. I can’t—” she hiccupped.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away and looked at her. “Kitten,” he smiled gently. It was a sad smile, but a cute one. Like he didn’t want to set her off completely. “I love you, too,” he assured her. “I want t’propose the right way and make sure you’re—”

“Then give me the ring now,” she looked at him squarely in the eye. The smile melted off his face and other than her soft sniffle, there wasn’t a sound in the apartment. “Please,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he sucked his cheek in a bit and looked at her nervously. Like this was a break in her tired mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle. “What happened? Please tell me, you’re worrying me.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You told my mom you got me flowers.”

His entire body deflated, and it was like he just knew. “Stay here,” he said simply.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched as Harry walked through their apartment. She wondered if he was walking so slowly on purpose. By now, she was used to Harry’s footsteps, and she listened to the sound of them: light and quiet on their hardwood floors. From the kitchen she could hear his dresser drawers sliding open and closed. It was as if he took ten times as long to come back to the kitchen as he did to leave it.

“How did y’know?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

He smirked and pulled the little box out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the flowers, her bags and her water. “I was going to wait until Christmas, y’gonna have nothing t’open.”

“I don’t need anything,” she promised.

He chuckled. “Kitten,” he sighed. “What am I going t’do with you?”

“I don’t know. But you have a lifetime to figure it out,” she vowed.

He smiled, shook his head. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“Can you let me do it the right way—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Kitten,” he chided with a chuckle.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she wiped her cheeks again and shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. “Angel, will you—”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Please just kiss me,” she begged.

He laughed, shook his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He held her so firmly in his embrace, dipping her backwards in the middle of the kitchen like this was the most romantic place in the world. When he stood her upright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was silent. She no longer looked anxious as she had when he entered the apartment. He grabbed the ring box, pulled the ring out of the safety of its little cushion and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It wouldn’t need to be resized or anything. “Will you marry me?” He managed to ask without her interrupting.

Her response was immediate, though, barely finished the word ‘me’. “Yes."

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