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ladyelizabethraven · 9 months ago

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Aesop and the Cursed Date (Sharpuary 2024 Valentine prompt)

Happy Valentine's! Since it's a special day, I'm posting the whole story here. But if you want to read it on AO3, it's right >>>here<<<

Contains: very mild sexual themes

It was the first time, for a long time, that Aesop had picked up anything that would make him presentable.

He stood in front of his dresser mirror only clad with a towel. Droplets of water still dripped from his soggy, brown hair. His skin glowed after he scrubbed himself thoroughly. In the past, he settled for Scouring Charm to clean himself.

But not this time.

He made certain that not a single speck of dirt stuck to his skin or hair. It was a special day, and damn him if he would ruin it because of improper hygiene practices.

The silver razor glimmered against the lamplight. The temptation arose for him to use it to even out his beard scruff. But his leg protested whenever he stood too long. Perhaps Kathrina would not mind? She had seen him a lot of times, so it would not matter, would it? He sighed and opened a cylindrical container. The salve inside was advertised to be some sort of men’s cosmetic product. From what Aesop understood, he should have slicked his hair back as though he were some sort of modern teenage dream character.

However, in truth, it made him look like an old pervert with a bad comb-over.

Growling, he removed the sticky substance from his hair and opened another small canister. The clear, viscous gel was supposed to make one’s skin smooth and clear. In fact, Black had also boasted that the product was his secret for his ‘devilishly handsome’ looks. Despite his doubt, Aesop applied a small amount of the potion to his face. At least this did not make him feel as if he had dried leaves clinging to his cheeks.

Still, it felt like he had just slapped a sheet of leech mucus onto his face.

Next, he scanned his wardrobe for the best suit to wear. Rows of identical white shirts, brown vests, gray jackets, and a deep green coat greeted him. He sighed and looked for another set of clothing in his suitcases.

A zany shirt adorned with zig-zag colorful patterns caught his eye. However, this would most certainly make him stand out for the wrong reasons. Then, he discovered a maroon coat with a leather belt around the waist. The trousers would definitely make him stand out. Upon further digging, he also found a dark blue shirt printed with constellations and comets. How Abraham thought these clothes were fashionable... he did not know. All it screamed was, ��Look at me! I’m an idiot!”

He let out a heavy sigh. Perhaps his usual attire would not look that bad?

Having dressed up, he went to his desk and spread parchment. The smooth, flowing ink adorned with flourishing made his hardened heart flutter. In front of him was Kathrina’s reply to his invitation for a Valentine’s date.

Dear Aesop,

I am honored to receive your request. Truthfully, I've been waiting for you to ask me for some time now. It warms my heart that you will spend this special occasion with me.

Your romantic gestures and kind words are very much appreciated. The rose you left on my table was the most thoughtful thing anyone has given to me in a long time. Please do not apologize for being too forward; rather, I am flattered by your genuine display of affection.

I look forward to spending the whole day with you on Valentine’s Day.

Sincerely,

Kathrina

The brief note still brought a smile to his lips.

Ever since the first letter he wrote for her became widely circulated in Hogwarts, his feelings for her have become the center of attention. His attempts at hiding his attraction towards her were rendered futile after Black blurted it out to the whole faculty staff. The nosy son-of-a-bitch guy couldn't stop meddling in others' affairs. As a result, rumors were bound to spread and people would embellish them beyond recognition. But he had no intention of quashing them as they were quite close to the truth. He thought about the Alchemy Professor more often than necessary.

Still, he wished to vanquish Peeves for spreading out his love letters. How humiliating it was for that blasted poltergeist to fly about, cackling like a deranged bastard and yelling, “Who wants some cornbread and red wine from Mr. Lovesick?”

He shook the memories away. There was no reason for him to be angry about what happened. Instead, he took out another set of parchment and scribbled the schedule he planned.

1. Pick Kathrina up in her classroom.

2. Have a lovely picnic breakfast by the Black Lake.

3. Walk along the countryside road leading to the Valentine’s Carnival.

4. Spend the afternoon strolling around the carnival grounds.

5. Have a candlelight dinner with her and watch the fireworks on top of the Astronomy Tower.

6. Wait for the meteor shower.

7. Take her back to her chambers. (Maybe give her a goodnight kiss?)

It was a simple and straightforward itinerary. Yet, the mere idea of stepping outside his comfort zone was enough to make Aesop tremble with excitement. Years had passed since the accident, and he feared he had lost his appeal to any sane woman. After all, how would a damaged man ever gain the affections of a beautiful, spirited woman?

But she proved him wrong.

In their frequent exchanges, she never mentioned his scar once. Treating him like any other wizard, she earned his immense gratitude. Finally, the walls he had built to protect himself started crumbling down. Slowly but surely, she chipped his armor off and revealed the vulnerable man underneath.

Yes. There was still hope for a man like him.

Grinning, he picked up the bouquet of yellow daffodils resting on a potting tray. He casted Aguamenti before giving them a light shower of water. After drying them off with a quick charm, he stared at the blooming flowers. Aesop remembered Kathrina mentioned that these particular flowers grew in abundance where she lived. She would love the fact that he recalled a passing detail. He could imagine the smile in her face as she sniffed the fresh floral scent. Perhaps it would bring a glimmer of nostalgia in her eyes.

Though he was confident in his choice of gifts, Aesop still checked his appearance on the mirror. Hair? Check. Beard? Check. Breath? Check. Suit? Check. After a final brush-up on his outfit, he pocketed his wand, grabbed the flower, and headed out.

As Aesop left, Black approached him with a scowl. His eyes squinted, and his bushy mustache bristled. With a voice gruff and accusatory, he demanded, “Sharp, have you forgotten the regular batch of cures?”

“No. I didn’t, sir,” Aesop replied. “Your... medicine will last until Friday next week. I am sure it can—”

“I need a new batch now.”

“Pardon?”

“Are you deaf? I said, I need a new batch now.”

His expression faltered. “Sir, with all due respect, that isn’t possible. If you recall, today’s Valentine’s Day and we’ve already had plans.”

The headmaster tilted his chin up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think your love life is more important than my health, professor?”

“We are not talking about a life or death situation here, Professor Black. You can manage without your medication for three days. It’s not like the first time you tried that.”

“Don’t act as if you understand my medical condition!”

The younger man merely narrowed his eyes, sighing at his headmaster’s overbearing attitude. “Fine. I’ll brew a new batch on Thursday morning and deliver it to your office after breakfast. That would have to do for the meantime.”

Aesop attempted to walk past the obstinate older man, but he seized his arm with surprising strength. “Peeves just spilled my medication and I can’t sit in the Great Hall surrounded by all those rowdy students. Imagine what they would say when they see their Headmaster haggard and miserable? Are you going to subject your hardworking, brilliant superior to such humiliation, Professor Sharp?”

He rolled his eyes. Black was fantastic at making his problems sound so damn urgent. This was nothing but a poor attempt to guilt-trip him into doing whatever he wanted. With a sigh, he tried to make a compromise. “I can make three vials, but the rest have to be brewed tomorrow morning.”

There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, “Three vials wouldn’t last until the morning.”

“Then perhaps you should cut the portion size a little bit. You don’t need to drink the entire bottle of Cure for Boil—”

“May I remind you that my condition is strictly confidential, Professor Sharp?”

Aesop rubbed his temples as he felt an impending headache forming. “Very well. I’ll get your infernal potion ready at the earliest opportunity, Professor Black.”

“Good!”

The headmaster let go of the Potions Professor and left.

He groaned. The stubborn fool changed his mind, precisely when he desired solitude with Kathrina. How irritating it was for Professor Black to command him like he was his lackey! Shaking his head, he limped down to his office as fast as he could to brew three bottles of Cures for Boils. He glanced at the clock. It was almost six in the morning and his date would begin in 30 minutes. Damn. There was no chance for him to pick up Kathrina now. She would just have to wait.

Inside the empty Potion’s room, Aesop eyed the large, stone cauldron placed in the middle. Quickly, he placed the bouquet of yellow daffodils on top of his supplies shelf, fired up the cauldron, and began brewing three batches of the requested concoction. With practiced efficiency, he bottled up the vials and send it to a house-elf for delivery. Black always wanted him to deliver the potions personally, but Aesop was not in the mood for his ridiculous requests. Besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Grabbing the yellow flowers on the desk, he rushed out of his classroom. According to his pocket watch, he was already ten minutes late. Fucking hell. Kathrina must be very disappointed in him. Would she be understanding about his circumstances? Or would she berate him for wasting her time? He grimaced, trying his best not to be distracted by negative thoughts.

The stairs leading to the Alchemy Classroom was long and arduous. It was on the other end of the dungeons, and he cursed the Hogwarts architects for failing to account for disability access. His limp slowed him down, making every step agonizingly painful. He leaned onto the wall, gasping for air, feeling his leg protest with the overexertion. Popping Wiggenweld into his mouth, the liquid soothed the pain in seconds.

Resuming his trek, Aesop passed by a couple of sixth and seventh years holding hands and giggling incessantly. He could not help but smile. Valentine's day weekend was a perfect time for lovers to spend together. Not that he minded. In fact, the romantic atmosphere may facilitate developing his relationship with Kathrina.

A loud bang sounded, and thick purple smoke emerged from an open doorway. And within the cloud, Peeves rushed in with a bucket in his hand. “Bombs away!” he cackled, flinging a handful of bright, shining glitters.

Aesop tried to protect himself, but it was too late. The flying sparkles coated his shirt, trousers, coat, hair, and beard with sticky glitter dust. It looked like he just went to a wild, drinking party. In desperation, he shook his body vigorously to remove the offending material, but they only stuck closer to his clothing.

“Now you look stunning, Professor Sharp!” the poltergeist called out.

Glaring, he chased after the rude entity. “Get back here, Peeves, and fix this mess!”

“If you want to catch me, you gotta move faster, old man!” it called out and phased through the wall, escaping Aesop’s grasp.

“By Merlin’s saggy left testicle! What in Morgana’s name did I do to deserve this torture?!” he yelled in frustration. Despite wanting to change, why did the Fates conspire against him? Was the cosmos so bent on making his life miserable? He sighed. No. He would not accept such mockery. No reason for him to stop moving forward despite the misadventures.

Steeling his resolve, he hurried towards the Alchemy Room, ignoring the confused stares of the other teachers and students. By the time he saw the door to the classroom, he saw Kathrina coming out with her bags and equipment. She carried a picnic basket covered with a checkered red and white cloth. She wore a white and blue blouse with a white long skirt and brown boots. Her auburn hair cascaded in curls over her shoulders. When she met his gaze, her honey gold eyes lit up with glee.

He stood up straight, combed his messy hair with his fingers, and tried his best to look presentable. Aesop gave a small bow, greeting the Alchemy Professor. “Professor Holmes...” he began.

“I think Kathrina will be fine,” she giggled.

Heat crept up to his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “Ah yes, Kathrina. Thank you for waiting for me.”

Her gaze softened as her eyes traveled to his feet. “Is your leg not giving you any trouble? You look like you ran a marathon for the past hour.”

“Ah, I have to run. You see Black has a special request that involves...uh... a cure for boils.” He coughed. “Anyway, the potions are finished and sent to his office.”

“Why, Professor Sharp. You’re so kind.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“You are kind to accommodate Professor Black in his illness. That is very selfless of you. Even if he has a tendency to boss you around, you still attempt to look after his wellbeing.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. “Well, I would not go that far,” he said while scratching the back of his head. Then he noticed the glitter still sticking to his clothing and boots. Sighing, he pulled out his wand and cast Scourgify. “I apologize. I just met Peeves on my way here. And he gave me a...makeover.”

She giggled. “It seems like you had quite an adventure. Still, you look very dashing, Aesop.”

His face heated and his pulse sped up upon hearing her say his name. When was the last time a woman paid so much attention to his appearance? Clearing his throat, he handed her the bouquet of yellow daffodils. “For you,” he said nervously.

“Really? These are my favorites. How did you know?” she squeed. But the moment she touched the flowers, it sprang up to life.

HONK!

Aesop could not believe what he had heard.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

He tried to remember what had just happened. He went to his classroom, placed the yellow daffodils beside his supply cabinet, brewed the potion, left the room... Where did he go wrong?

Then the realization dawned on him. There were honking daffodils in the supply cabinet. Those flowers were potent in the experimental potion he was working on. And in his panic, he grabbed the honking ones instead of the regular daffodils. Why, oh, why, did it have to be that plant?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

He clutched his head, trying his best to calm down and suppress the embarrassment he was feeling. First, he was late, then he got showered with glitter, and now he gave his date an annoying batch of living flowers. Perhaps he should not have bothered fixing himself up? After all, he was nothing but a scruffy, clumsy, pathetic excuse for a man. He had ruined his chances with her.

But Kathrina let out a laugh. It was not the derisive kind. Rather, her voice soothed his fears and assured him he had not screwed up. “They look pretty!” she exclaimed, grinning as she caressed the petals of the noisy plants.

He sighed in relief. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again, “I wanted to give you a perfect first gift, but it seems I even messed up that one.”

“I think this is perfect!”

“Huh?”

Kathrina grinned broadly. “Everyone I see in this school is giving chocolates, flowers, stuffed toys, jewelry... The gifts seem impersonal. But this?” she motioned at the lively, honking flowers. “This is absolutely perfect!”

“Are you sure?”

She laughed. “Of course, silly!” she said while slapping his arm, “No one in their right mind will give his date a bouquet of honking daffodils!”

Aesop did not know whether to laugh or cry. But he would do neither. Instead, he smiled back, relieved that the misunderstanding did not ruin the start of their first date. “Shall we get going? The picnic at the lake awaits.”

She nodded. “Wait, let me put these lovely daffodils in a pot so we can keep them alive.”

“Of course!” he chuckled.

He watched her as she gently dug a hole on the soil, transplanted the roots of the lively flowers, and filled the cavity with soil. After that, she placed the potted plant in her classroom and summoned a watering can. She poured water over the clay pot before turning back to him. Aesop offered her his hand. Without hesitation, she intertwined her fingers with his own. Together, they walked across the castle grounds and made their way towards the Black Lake.

♥♥♥

Aesop held out his arm so Kathrina could latch onto him. “You might slip on the grass,” he explained, which made her giggle. The pair continued walking to the edge of the Black Lake. As they made their way there, Aesop realized that this was the first time that he went on a picnic since his injury. In the past, women would constantly flock to him, always begging for favors, money, and gifts. In exchange for his company, he could receive free meals and entertainment. Sex and company never lacked in his bachelor’s life.

But ever since his accident, oh how those people vanished when they saw him sprawled helplessly in St. Mungo’s. The ones who had called him, ‘My hero,’ became complete strangers once the limelight was gone. Not one of his former flings asked how he was doing. They were quick to replace him and find better partners. His closest friends, if he could call them that, also turned their backs on him.

Since then, only a bottle of firewhisky became his constant companion in his chambers. At least it would not judge him nor betray his trust.

Still, he did not want to dwell on past mistakes. Today, he was spending time with the person whom he genuinely cared about. Sure, his past experiences involved dates on fancy restaurants and elegant dinner parties, but a picnic was quite refreshing.

He held the picnic basket while Kathrina kept the parasol steady. The early morning sun shined brightly above them, illuminating the grounds and warming the winter cold. A light breeze blew past them, bringing with it the scent of the nearby Forbidden Forest. All around them, students laid on the lawn, conversing with each other while basking under the warmth of the sun. He observed lovers on a blanket, kissing without worry. Students played with giant, animated chess pieces on the lawn. Others were laughing with their friends, obviously enjoying the festivities.

He closed his eyes and smiled. Life seemed beautiful until it reared its ugly head.

“Shall we sit over there?” Kathrina pointed to a spot that was partially hidden behind the bushes. The ground was soft and wet, indicating that it rained earlier that morning. The place was near the lake’s edge. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could introduce her to the Giant Friendly Squid that resided inside the waters.

“Yes. There is good as any,” he said.

He spread out the picnic cloth, and they settled themselves on it. Aesop was about to offer Kathrina a plate of sliced bread and a glass of tea. But to his surprise, a tentacle erupted from the lake, stole his serving, and retreated into the water.

He blinked and shook his head vigorously. Did he just imagine things? Or was a gigantic monster eating their food?

“Something wrong?” Kathrina asked.

“Oh... It’s nothing. Here have some scones and fruit salad.” Aesop picked up another forkful of fruit salad, but once again, a giant, slimy tentacle snatched it out of his grasp. What the-?!

“Um...” she covered her mouth. But the tremors on her shoulders revealed she was trying to suppress a laugh.

He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the ripples forming at the surface of the water. When the movement subsided, he sighed and eased himself down on the picnic mat. Getting rattled by a friendly squid was not the impression he wished to give the woman next to him.

He opened basket and took out the sandwiches and sweet rolls. “These are the delicacies in Mrs. Steepley’s Tea Shop. Would you care for a bite?” he asked.

“Wow!” Kathrina marveled as she brought the sandwich up to her nose. She sniffed. “It smells wonderful.”

She took a bite and chewed it gently. Aesop noticed how delicate her lips were, how beautiful she was with the sunlight hitting her golden eyes. He imagined how her pretty cherry lips would look when she wrapped them around his co-

No! This was not the time to have such fantasies. He mustered all his willpower and pushed the inappropriate thoughts in the back of his mind.

He popped a cucumber sandwich into his mouth and focuses on other thoughts. Getting all horny in the first date was uncouth behavior. A gentleman must reserve his sexual desires for later when both parties mutually agree on such acts. Until then, he must only think with his brain, not his nether regions.

Right now, he would just try and get to know her better. “So... How do you find Hogwarts so far?” he cleared his throat, “I assume it’s much more different than Durmstrang?”

She nodded. “Yes. It’s bigger and much more modern. Durmstrang Institute is more like an old, castle. It has this dark, medieval atmosphere. Everything is dark wood and stone. Hogwarts is so light and open.” she took another bite, “It looks more like a prison fortress than a school, though. It’s too high and the walls are too thick.”

He raised an eyebrow. Her words sounded like there was more to that statement. But Aesop decided not to pry. So he chose his words carefully. “And the curriculum? Does it differ greatly from ours?”

She bit her lower lip. “Not that much. Though the study of the Dark Arts are treated there like your Charms. But otherwise, the classes are mostly the same. Herbology, Astronomy, Potions, History of Magic, Defense against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Runes, Beastology, Care of Magical Creatures...” she stared at the still waters of the Black Lake. A hint of misty tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“Kathrina?”

“Hmmm?” she asked as if being roused from a dream.

Aesop glimpsed a sad look on her face, but it disappeared when she met his gaze. A smile replaced her frown, but he sensed that something was not right. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just reminiscing.”

He nodded. While he was curious, it would be too insensitive for him to question her further. Aesop did not wish for their first date to end with her crying.

Perhaps he could try and lighten up the mood? He eased closed to her and took a sweet roll. But when he was about to feed it to her, he discovered a squid tentacle wrapping around the treat.

“Oh no you don’t!” Aesop growled and grabbed the offending tentacle. Despite his efforts, the limb refused to release its grip on the bread. So he tightened his grip and wrestled the creature for it.

After a few tugs, the Giant Squid released the roll and withdrew.

After checking for ink and mucus, Aesop handed out the slightly slimy sweet roll to Kathrina. “Sorry it’s sticky, but it’s edible,” he said as he wiped it over his sleeves.

His colleague giggled and took the sugary snack from his hands. With a small lick, contentment filled her expression.

Seeing her enjoy the sweet dessert made Aesop’s heart skip a beat. Why was he acting like a lovesick schoolboy? Was he becoming weak and vulnerable because of his feelings? His attraction for her grew by leaps and bounds, and he was uncertain if that was a good thing or not.

On one hand, he felt hopeful and happier. On the other, he feared he was going way too fast. If his feelings left uncontrolled, he might crash and burn. The tragedy of his previous relationships still shook him to the core. But if he wanted to move on with his life, he had to take the chance.

He gulped and tried to compose himself. “Kathrina, I know that this is too early for me to ask but...”

SLAP! The squid’s tentacle groped around the picnic area. While it was searching for food, it accidentally slapped Aesop’s face with its long appendage.

“Gah! Get off you, impertinent brute!” he shouted as he slapped the appendage away.

At first, Kathrina looked horrified by the scene before her. But then she giggled.

He cleared his throat and stared at her eyes. “As I was saying...”

SLAP! SLAP!

His eye twitched with rage as he glared at the half-submerged creature. “For Salazar’s sake, leave us alone, you nosy pervert!”

But the monster would not listen. It continued to grope around for any food items while splashing about.

“Umm, Aesop, I think your friend is lonely.” Kathrina offered the rest of the sweet roll to the aquatic animal, “Here you go!”

The tentacle caught the treat mid air. With a friendly wave, it slipped back into the waters of the Black Lake.

He watched Kathrina clap with delight at the cute antics of the creature. Aesop could not help but admire how she interacted with the Giant Squid. At least the mood had lightened up.

Glancing at his pocket watch, he noticed that the carnival that settled by the outskirts of Hogsmeade would open in thirty minutes. “It’s time to go,” he stated as he cleaned the plates and cups they used for their meal. “I hope that nosy squid had its fill. Because it just ate almost all of our breakfast.”

“I’m sure we can find something to eat while at the carnival. Do you think there will be cotton candy?”

His heart skipped a beat when she flashed her cute smile. He couldn’t help but notice her joyful expression. The melancholy look from earlier had disappeared. With a nod he offered his arm to her and said, “Let’s see what the carnival has in store.”

The two professors packed up the picnic supplies and made their way toward Hogsmeade. The entire village had been decorated with lights and streamers for the occasion. Couples of all ages strolled, admiring trinkets and clothing available at shops. Of course, everything was Valentine’s themed. Most of the merchandise were red, pink, and white, with images of hearts everywhere. It made Aesop gag a little; however, he wouldn’t let anything ruin his day with Kathrina.

♥♥♥

As they walked through the stalls, he talked about his childhood and how he started learning Potions. He also told her about his family and where he grew up. And for the first time in a long time, Aesop was enjoying himself and getting to know someone he really liked. There was no pressure to be larger than life. Pretentiousness was absent in their conversation. Everything just flowed naturally between them. It was as if he found a connection that was missing in his life.

When they reached a game stall, Kathrina dragged him over. It was a simple game of shoot the moving pictures. Cardboard cutouts of fwoopwers, dandelion puffs, snidgets, and bludgers whirled around the table.

“It’s all about precision,” Kathrina mused.

She pulled out her wand and aimed at the targets. The targets whirred and moved erratically. Kathrina squinted, pursing her lips. She shot a spell, but it missed the target completely. She groaned and sighed in frustration.

Aesop patted her back. “There, there, Kathrina. Let me handle this,” he said with a wink. His old cocky self resurfaced for a moment.

He took a deep breath, steadying his wand and lining up his shot. He focused on a dandelion puff. Its wings fluttered and changed directions repeatedly. He had to account for the distance and speed in his calculations. Time stopped as he mentally computed the variables.

Aesop considered everything, then released the spell and hit the target. With precision, he targeted and struck each of the moving cutouts. He was in his element. The spells flew out of his wand as if they were extensions of his body. There was a rhythm to the way he executed the charms. Each move was precise, powerful, and clean. He made it all look so easy.

But then he saw a different shaped target. A racoon-faced pixie floated in the middle of the target, wiggling and swaying in circles.

“This must be a special target!” he smirked. In a single flick of his wand, he hit the tiny pixie head.

POOF!

Sprays of paint showered on Aesop’s face. It coated his beard and eyebrows with neon colors. Reds, greens, blues, yellows, and whites stained his hair, neck, clothes, and shoes. It looked like he had just gotten caught in a rainbow explosion.

PLOP!

And to add insult to injury, a puffskein landed on his head.

Aesop glanced at Kathrina, whose efforts to hold back a laugh failed. She exploded in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Tears spilled from her eyes as she struggled to breathe.

“Ouch, tough luck! You just hit the jester target,” the stall owner shook his head, “I’m sorry, but you lost the game.”

Meanwhile, the puffskein squealed in fright, leapt off his head, and bounced away.

The Potion Master’s eyes bulged. “Wha- why is there something like that among the targets?!”

“Uh, have you read the rules, sir?”

Aesop glanced at the wooden board. And it was written there in bold letters: “In case you hit the racoon pixie jester, you automatically lose the game.”

“What sort of incompetent, idiotic, bullshit-“

“Hey, hey, hey, Mr. Wizard, calm down,” the stall owner raised his hands, “It’s not my fault you can’t follow simple instructions.”

“I demand a refund!”

The stall owner sighed. “Now you sound like that little girl over there who threw a tantrum because she lost.”

“Why you—”

Kathrina held his arm. “Now, calm down, Aesop,” she said soothingly. “It’s just a game.”

The Potion Master groaned. There was no need to get worked up over a mere children’s carnival game. His pride and ego could survive such a slight humiliation. Even so, looking like a fool in front of the woman he admired... That was embarrassing!

Kathrina was still smiling when he turned to face her. But Aesop saw something else in those eyes: compassion and understanding. Despite her laughter, he understood her intentions were not malicious. With a heavy sigh, he followed Kathrina, who led him towards another attraction.

After cleaning up using his wand, they went on a walk past the other booths.

A spooky-looking house caught his attention. The house's roof had a pointy cone shape that caught his attention. Red and gold banners draped on the windows. Cheap-looking skeletons swayed by the front porch. Two glowing red lanterns hung by the entrance. The large signs in front of the house that read "House of Horrors" were particularly eye-catching.

Aesop snorted. Such a cliche name was ridiculous.

“Oooh, is that a horror house?” Kathrina exclaimed excitedly, tugging on his coat sleeve. “Please, please, let’s try that one!”

“Kathrina, look at those garish decorations,” he waved at the entrance, “No one believe haunted houses looked like that! Any wizards with half a brain would know that this was fake and not even worth anyone’s time!”

But his companion didn’t seem to pay him any heed. “C’mon! I want to see what’s inside!”

He was about to roll his eyes when he stopped himself. Perhaps this would regain what little pride he had lost after that last stunt. “Very well, Kathrina. If you insist, let us enter.”

There was no queue, so they were ushered right in.

Aesop looked around. The design of the blue-green lights clearly resembled moonlight. Cheesy moans and screams echoed at the corners, obscured by thin black cloth. And an obvious enchantment depicting the howling wind felt more like a pathetic whistle. He almost felt ashamed for stepping foot in such a tacky location. They should bring back whoever performed the special effect charms on this house to Hogwarts and make them retake Charms. Abraham’s students could pull off better effects than this.

After passing through the haunted door, he noticed that the temperature had dropped several degrees. The interior had black paint on the walls, ceiling, and floor. Faint traces of dusty cobwebs hung around the hallway. Aesop wondered if those who made the webs had seen spider webs because of their yarn-like texture. A shadow of a spider crawled along the crevices of the room. But the large screws attached to the spider legs made him cringe a little.

In the distance, a female figure wearing a white veil appeared, blocking the path forward. She was a lanky woman in a ragged, wedding dress. She moaned as if she was in pain.

Kathrina shuddered and hugged Aesop. While it felt good to feel the heat of her body pressed to his own, he kept his eyes fixed on the white figure. With a loud whisper, he said, ��This is an illusion. Those are basic charms for making the shadows and figures look eerie.” He explained, “I once apprehended troublemakers who used such cheap tactics to scare innocent people.”

“Huh? Are you sure? The house looks quite frightening...” she said.

“There is nothing to be afraid of. Here, I’ll show you how it works,” he grinned.

Aesop strode confidently towards the apparition, pointing his wand at the woman. “Finite!”

Suddenly, the woman vanished in to thin air.

“OI, YA CUNT! DON’T EXPOSE OUR SECRET TECHNIQUE!” a man yelled out of the blue, “If you ruin the fun of people who are trying to be scared, YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!”

“If you want to be respected as an illusionist, then work on your charms!” he snapped back.

“Oh, you think you’re tough, big guy? Let’s see if you don’t cry like a little bitch in the next chamber!”

Aesop shrugged as they walked through the doorway and entered the next room. A cloud of thick smoke drifted from the top of the hall and spread along the floor. Behind the thick fog, a cluster of orbs dashed across them and vanished.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s the best thing you can do?”

“Shut the hell up, smartass!” the disembodied voice yelled, “You haven’t seen nothing yet!”

They continued to explore the rooms of the haunted house. After walking across the dark corridor, they reached a room with a staircase. The wooden stairs seemed to descend endlessly as they spiraled down into the basement. Each step they took made the floorboard creak with age. Hanging from the sides of the railings were torn-up black sheets with silver chains.

Another sound bellowed from the depths. But this time, it sounded like the scream came from the lower part of the stairs. Silvery, scratching sounds groaned throughout the hollow space. Flying creatures of the night approached them like bats, but their faces resembled human skulls.

Aesop snorted and flicked his wrist, sending the illusionary demons flying backward with the motion of his hand. “Seriously? Skeleton Bats? Have you never heard of the Hungarian Horntails or Manticores? You fools don’t even know what an actual threat is! This is more pathetic than a mediocre fairy tale!” he said and scoffed loudly, “In fact, if you really want to know what’s terrifying, I’d invite you to tour the Hogwarts dungeon. Let’s see if you can last an hour without pissing yourself.”

A series of curses rang out through the walls. But he knew it was a bluff. Those amateurs behind the scenes were only threatening him with their empty bravado. He smiled triumphantly. If the owner wants to defend his craft, he must face the challenge.

Kathrina tugged on his sleeve. “Aesop, what’s that?” she whispered while pointing at the floating figure.

The Potions Professor raised an eyebrow.

A heavy mist filled the slaughterhouse-like basement. Each rotten beam and pillar shook relentlessly. Once again, the mysterious cluster of orbs hovered within the shadows. Slowly, the orbs moved, as if it was being pulled in a magnetic force. Loud banging noises emerged from the darkness of the basement.

Kathrina gripped his arm tighter and shivered.

CRAAAAAAACK!!!

While still obscured from the fog, the orbs cracked open, revealing a long, sausage-like figures floating mid-air. It spun in the air briefly before landing on the floor.

Aesop rolled his eyes. “What is this shit?” he asked as he pointed at the fallen object with his wand. “Those are just pig intestines, you uncreative bastards! Don’t even bother with this juvenile crap!” he roared and gestured angrily, “You call that a true haunted house?!”

“Oh no, those aren’t pig intestines...” the voice replied.

“What’s that, then?”

Limbs sprung out of the mass and began crawling and twitching as they scuttled forth. Their pale, bulbous bodies twisted and warped as it crawled towards them. The dim light finally revealed what those things were: a horde of four-legged haggis! The strange meal made of lamb innards jumped to life and charged at them!

Aesop could swear that the high-pitched screams came not from him. But the fact was that his mouth was wide open and his vocal chords were producing the worst sound he had ever uttered in his life. The last thing he remembered before his vision darkened was Kathrina asking him if he was alright. Then the world went blank.

♥♥♥

“Aesop? Aesop? Are you alright?”

Aesop forced his groggy eyes open and saw Kathrina hovering above him. The evening breeze brushed past his face and ruffled the skirt of her white dress. Her hair caressed his skin with every movement.

“Are you okay?” she touched his forehead and his left cheek, “You suddenly fainted earlier.”

He blinked, trying to process what happened. They were in an unfamiliar room. The light was much brighter here. He realized he was lying on a soft, warm surface. Blankets and pillows surrounded him. Soft scent of antiseptic permeated the air.

With his mind now clearer, he could discern where they were. Apparently, Kathrina had taken him to the Infirmary.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. Embarrassment crept upon him as he recalled that he screamed like a helpless child and collapsed like a wet rag after seeing the horrible sight of the four-legged haggis.

Shaking his head, he glanced at Kathrina. He noted how she was so concerned with his well-being. No signs of derision or mockery crossed her face. Instead, he found patience and kindness in those lovely eyes. Somehow, it brought comfort to him. His supposed lovers had left him when he needed them the most. But here, Kathrina stayed with him.

“How long was I unconscious?” he asked.

“For more than an hour now,” she said and took his hand, “I’m sorry I made you go there. You told me not to, but I insisted anyway.”

He grunted and sat up. “It was my fault. I got a bit carried away.”

She frowned. “I never saw someone faint like that after screaming bloody murder. Is there a reason for it? Was the haunted house so terrible for you?”

“Nothing about the haunted house was more frightening than the contents of my Potions storage closet.”

She tilted her head. “Then why did you scream when you saw those four-legged haggis?”

Aesop’s cheeks turned red in embarrassment. He grumbled and coughed to hide his shame. But then he realized Kathrina had the right to know the truth. So he began his tale, “The truth is... haggis... in its raw, living state... is absolutely terrifying. My mum loved it and made her own version of the meal. But the truth is, she was a horrible cook. I could smell the rotten meat from across the manor!”

“Oh...”

He sighed. “I hated haggis and everything that resembled the abomination that is that damn meal. Every time she placed that food on the table, I could not stop vomiting!” he covered his face with his palm and continued, “I don’t know why my father said that she’s a splendid cook. Maybe because he loves her? I don’t know. But it just encouraged her to keep cooking more of that awful food.”

“I understand what you mean... I remember going to Durmstrang. And... and... they serve dragon tongue for lunch. They think that’s a delicacy. It was the worst day of my life.”

Aesop looked up at her, stunned. He had never revealed the truth behind his distaste for haggis to anyone. When his exes suggested the meal, he threw out an excuse that he was allergic to lamb. In the past, he worried his vulnerability would repel women. But now, he confessed his secret to Kathrina with no fear or regret.

And she returned the gesture by revealing her own uncomfortable story.

Hope blossomed further in his chest. Did he finally find that one person he could trust with all of his heart?

He held her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Kathrina. "I never expected to meet someone who shares my feelings," he smiled.

Her lips curled up as well, and the two of them exchanged gazes for a while. As they stared at each other, Aesop felt an invisible string pulling her towards him. Perhaps it was his feelings urging him to kiss her. He saw her moist, supple lips moving closer. And her honey gold eyes narrowed as she waited. Her sweet breath touched his lips and her fingers ran through his hair.

And their lips inched closer... and closer... until...

“Oi you lovebirds, get a room, will ya?” the man lying on the cot beside them shouted.

The spell was broken.

Kathrina pushed herself away. Her cheeks reddened as she tucked the stray auburn lock of hair behind her ear. She stood up and smiled weakly at him. “Um, I will ask the matron for the bill,” she said and then hurried away.

Aesop watched her as she left his side. Her wavy hair danced around her waist and her dress swished back and forth. She was truly beautiful inside and out. And he wanted her so bad.

“Oi you horndog, your junk’s poking outta your pants,” the other man hollered.

Aesop flushed. His member had gotten hard while he was lost in Kathrina’s beauty. And the fucking idiot beside him had announced that to the world. “Why are you looking in another man’s pants anyway?” he spat back.

“Ey, if you wanna shag, go to a brothel. Don’t do it here. Not everyone’s got a valentine, you know!” the patient complained.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s not my problem,” he said. He pushed himself up and put on his jacket and coat. The warmth of the infirmary blanket was nice. But he would not stay there while an insufferable man complained about him. After fixing his clothes and hair, he went where Kathrina had paid the bill for the infirmary services.

Peeking out of the window, he saw that the sky had darkened. His pocket watch told him it was already half past six in the evening. He gritted his teeth. So far, his date with Kathrina was a disaster. He was late for their breakfast. Peeves showered him with glitter. The Giant Squid interrupted their picnic. Aesop ruined a chance to impress her by getting a faceful of colorful paint. Then he just screamed in front of her when he saw those accursed haggises.

To make matters worse, he almost ruined their first kiss! Aesop sighed. At this rate, Kathrina might not want to go out with him again.

‘No, Aesop, don’t think that way. You still have one last ace up your sleeve!’ he said to himself while he reviewed his itinerary. Professor Shah revealed the occurrence of a meteor shower that evening. And lucky for him, its full glory would be in full view at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He and Kathrina would have dinner at the top of the tower while staring up at the stars. After hearing about it, Abraham offered to magically set up the place for a romantic dinner with Kathrina. He did not know if it was a good idea to entrust the task to the Charms Professor, but he had no choice. Now, he hoped nothing went wrong with the setup.

When they met again, her cheeks were less flushed. But her shy and reserved mannerisms remained. “I hope you don’t mind that I paid for your bill,” she said, “I regret bringing you to such a scary place. And this is the least I can do to make amends.

He shook his head. “No. It’s perfectly alright. I should’ve been more vigilant. But we shouldn’t dwell on that,” he held her hand and offered, “Shall we get going?”

“Okay, shall we grab something to eat? I know a good place.”

Summoning all the courage to let out another confident smirk, he said, “Actually, I have somewhere planned for us to have our supper.”

“Really?” she asked. A glimmer of curiosity sparkling in her golden eyes.

“Yes. Let me show you the way.”

♥♥♥

The hallways of Hogwarts was quiet. All around, the students had retired back to their dormitories to prepare for ’s Ball. The torches illuminated the hall with bright light. Cool yet gentle winds caressed the leaves of the potted plants stationed around the perimeter. As if Merlin also wanted to view the upcoming meteor shower, the night sky was clear. No cloud dared to spoil the starry night's celestial beauty.

Aesop was nervous. He always made it a point to look confident and self-assured in front of others. However, in the presence of Kathrina, he was stripped of that persona. Back in his Auror days, his interactions with other women were flamboyant, extroverted, and proud. He would sweep them off their feet and charm them with his confidence. No one could resist his charm.

But things were different with Kathrina. For the first time in a long while, he was feeling vulnerable. He feared that one wrong move would put his chances of gaining her affections at risk. The incident at Scarborough had shaken him deeply. It made him doubt himself. And it was his ego that caused him to spiral downhill.

But now that he was slowly picking up the pieces, determination filled his heart to be more careful with Kathrina. His affection for her grew exponentially by the minute. Despite his desire for intimacy, he knew patience was key in establishing a firm foundation for their relationship.

And it would start in this lovely dinner beneath the starry sky.

He took her by the hand as he led her up the steep steps of the Astronomy Tower. His leg injury complained about the prolonged climb, but he would have to endure the discomfort just for tonight. The Pain Relief Potion that he drank earlier had helped ease the tension from his muscles. Hopefully, it would work long enough for their evening.

As he carefully climbed up the stairs, he saw hints of pink, gold, and red drapes and ribbons decorating the corners and wall railings. Various heart-shaped balloons floated upwards. Scented candles and flowers adorned the area. Red and pink rose petals scattered around the floor underneath the table and chairs. He even spied an enchanted string quartet playing a very pleasant tune near the balcony. But someone had arranged all those decorations in a very bizarre and tacky display.

He covered his face with his free hand and groaned internally. ‘Why does everything have to be in this garish design?’ he said to himself.

Kathrina, meanwhile, covered her mouth and tried to stifle her giggles. “It looks... cheerful.”

“Oh, dear Merlin... Why Abraham... just why?”

“Did Professor Ronen help you with the decoration?”

Aesop sighed heavily. “He volunteered to the task. I was too careless in my planning, and he discovered my plans. He said he was an expert towards romantic matters. I did not want him to interfere, but he insisted.”

He stared at the feast spread across the table. There was an assortment of roast beef, potato, soup, bread, and dessert. Fresh and sweet scents wafted from the delectable dishes, beckoning them to take a bite. A bottle of red wine, two wine glasses, and a bucket of ice for cooling drinks rested in the center of the table. Everything looked perfect.

However, the color scheme of the setting did not match the mood Aesop was trying to build. He envisioned something elegant and seductive, like deep reds and blacks. But Abraham was all about loud, ostentatious displays of romance.

“It looks amazing. He outdid himself!” she said, “Shall we sit down?”

He pulled the chair for her, and she took a seat. After that, Aesop went and settled at the opposite end of the table.

“Can we ask the quartet to play something... slower?” he said, “The piece they played is too bouncy. It doesn’t suit the mood.”

She blinked. “What mood are you thinking about?” she asked innocently.

The lump in his throat swelled and his palms felt sweaty. But he managed to answer with a nonchalant smile, “I... wish for a more sedate ambience... it’s much more conducive to conversations...”

She nodded in understanding. With a wave of her wand, the quartet switched to a slow and soft melody. The music was no longer lighthearted. It was now low, romantic, and seductive.

“Much better. At least it doesn’t sound like we’re in a tavern. Thank you.”

They started on the food. And it was heavenly. The roasted meat melted like butter in his mouth, and the gravy was smooth and flavorful. Aesop marveled at the house-elves' ability to create a quick, splendid meal. Perhaps he should show his gratitude to their skills tomorrow.

As he ate, he notices his date observing at him with half-lidded eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered as she gazed upon his face. And he swallowed a mouthful of food nervously.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked as he wiped his lips with his napkin.

She giggled and rested her chin on her knuckles. “It’s been a while since I shared a meal like this. With someone...” she stared at her plate of food and said, “Someone special.”

“Kathrina...”

“This is so weird. I dine with friends and acquaintances. But never with someone I’m really interested in.”

Aesop’s lips parted slightly. Then he allowed them to curl up to form a genuine smile. “Me too... It’s been a long time... Never did I think I would find someone I enjoy sharing meals with again.”

His gaze locked with hers, and the invisible string once again drew him closer. Heat bloomed in his chest and spread through his body. He reached her hand across the table. The delicate features of her fingers traced the back of his palm. Their breaths mingled together, and he could see a blush on her cheeks.

Their faces were just inches apart...

“LOOK! IT’S ALREADY HAPPENING!”

A dozen of students rushed onto the balcony, making their way to the stone railings. The entire tower shook with their sudden movements, making Kathrina and Aesop yelp in surprise. Professors hid in tower corner, as the students gawked at skies.

Aesop muttered a curse as the tension once again popped like a balloon. He was so close, too! Just when he thought he could finally steal a kiss from her. The timing was perfect! Everything was going so well, until the Astronomy Club arrived to interrupt them!

“Why are you even here...?” he grumbled, “Aren’t you supposed to be in the Great Hall?”

“We wanted to get a better view of the meteor shower,” Amit replied while staring at the marvelous celestial event, “Sorry to intrude on your date. We’ll try to be quiet.”

The club members opened their star maps and telescopes, making notes of the event. Their quills scratched on the paper as they scribbled down the dates, times, and trajectories of the falling stars.

Meanwhile, Kathrina went back to her seat and started eating her supper. Her cheeks were still red with embarrassment, and Aesop’s blood boiled with rage. His plan was a total failure! Why could he not have a romantic evening with the woman he liked without some kind of interruption?!

Just as he was inwardly fuming, Kathrina once again held her hand and stroked the digits lovingly. She whispered, “There’s a spot in the balcony where we can watch the meteor shower. Want to come with me?”

He gulped and nodded his head. The gesture flicked the flames of desire within him. She pulled him towards a secluded area of the balcony, away from prying eyes. Flaming balls dropped from the dark, like fireflies in the night sky. As they watched in silence, Kathrina leaned into his broad frame. Aesop felt her silky tresses brush against his jaw, and her lavender perfume mingling with his earthy musk. With each passing second, she closed the gap between them.

Unconsciously, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his body. Though he was taller than her, he made sure Kathrina felt comfortable in his embrace. She hugged him back and placed her head against his shoulder.

The ooohs and aaaahs of the students grew so far away. All he could hear was the beating of his heart and her shallow breathing. The rest of the world vanished and became a blur. All he could see was her. There was nothing else in the universe except her. Not even the celestial display above them could rival the brilliant twinkle of her honey gold-colored eyes.

His hand snaked its way up to her neck as his thumb gently stroked her chin. The desire lingering behind those eyes mirrored his. But he kept his moves slow and steady. He did not want to scare her away with his passion. Giving her time to react, he lowered his head and whisked his lips over hers.

And she reached out and pressed her soft lips against his.

And on that very moment, time ceased to exist.

Aesop closed his eyes and savoured the moment. He was afraid that any movement or noise could ruin this special moment. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest. The roaring tempest of emotions within him made him feel like a child who received the greatest gift for Christmas. He tightened his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Merlin knows he wanted more than just a kiss. But would he be greedy in taking it? He didn’t know. And he would be happy to be contented with just this moment.

As they broke apart, he noticed the pink dusting her cheeks. The lustrous sheen in her eyes was so bright that it rivaled the sun itself.

“Wow that’s... amazing,” she said breathlessly as she smoothed the fabric of her dress, “So that’s what kissing you feels like.”

Aesop chuckled at how she attempted to play off the excitement and glee after the kiss they just shared. It was gratifying for him to know that someone he admired and liked felt the same. “First time?” he joked.

A ungodly snort came out of her. “Well, I don’t want to hurt your pride, but let’s say... yes and no,” she tapped her chin, pretending to think about it.

Aesop frowned. “Elaborate, please.”

She smirked and gave him a playful wink. “I don’t kiss and tell, Professor Sharp,” she giggled and resumed watching the meteor shower, “Don’t you have any decency not to pry into a lady’s secrets?”

“I’m still a trained Auror. Secrets are my specialty.”

She caressed his cheek. There was a hint of fondness in her expression, and a gentle smile tugged her lips. “Oh, Aesop. You wouldn’t be able to coax a single word out of me. So why try?” she booped his nose and smiled at him. “But to soothe your burning curiosity, allow me to say that you’re my first REAL kiss. Not my first kiss, but I would count our kiss as my real first.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But it satisfied him nonetheless. “That’s... better,” he said, returning the smile.

They continued watching the display with renewed interest. Aesop stole glances at the Alchemy Professor. There was a joyful twinkle in her eyes as she stared up at the stars. The light of the celestial objects painted a streak of light across her cheeks, giving her an ethereal glow.

He sighed and smiled. This was the best date he ever had in a long time. And it was all thanks to this woman.

♥♥♥

After the festivities had died down, Aesop walked his date back to her quarters. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as his mind wandered to the possibilities of their next date. Or if she wanted to become his lover. But the question lingered. What if he rushed things? Would he look like a desperate fool?

As they reached the door of her chambers, Aesop cleared his throat, trying to look more of a gentleman and less of a lustful beast in front of the woman he desired. He placed his hands behind his back and stood straight.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” he started, “I never thought that I could have a pleasant day after all those events that happened.”

“You jest, right? That is the best Valentine’s Day Date I’ve ever been in,” she laughed. “I didn’t expect you to have a romantic, and lighter, side to you.”

“I have a lot of layers to unveil.”

“I think we’re both pretty complex,” she replied.

“Perhaps we’re made for each other, then?”

A blush crept up to her cheeks. Kathrina’s gaze darted away from his face. “I-I agree with you...” she said. “I’m not sure if I’m ready, but...” She lifted her head up and stared at him with eyes that only confirmed her hesitancy.

He could feel his ego deflating faster than a punctured bludger. “I can wait, Kathrina. I’m a patient man,” he said, trying to not look crestfallen.

She sighed softly, and her shoulders relaxed. “No. It’s not like that. It’s just... We barely know each other for a couple of months and I feel like it’s happening too fast...”

He shook his head. “I understand that. It’s quite overwhelming for me, too. I don’t want to rush things. As I’ve said, I can wait,” he said in a comforting tone. “Let’s just go slow. One day at a time.”

Kathrina reached out and held his hand. “Yes, that’s exactly what I feel. Thank you so much for understanding,” she said.

As silence lingered between them, Aesop kept his gaze fixed on her lovely face. Her round, pale face seemed to glow under the lamplight. The smooth curve of her cheeks, the delicate shape of her nose and chin, and her soft, cherry lips. They were all the traits he found most beautiful about her.

He took a step forward. And she did not try to back away. Their faces were inches apart. Her breaths tickled his skin, and he could smell the wine on her lips. He cupped her cheeks with his hands and brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.

At the corner of his eye, he saw Peeves rushing towards them. His wicked grin spread from ear to ear as he clutched a couple of water balloons in his hands.

But this time, he was ready.

He pulled his coat off, tossing it over Kathrina’s head to shield her.

“NOT THIS TIME, YOU BLASTED CLOWN!”

SPLAT!

The water balloons hit his torso dead-on, spilling the cold liquid all over his dress shirt and waistcoat. Icy chills grasped his aching leg, but he ignored it. With a flick of his wand, he aimed at the poltergeist and yelled, “Rictusempra!”

BZZT!

The yellow bolt hit Peeves directly in the middle of his face, sending him spiraling backwards. Water balloon fragments splashed on the floor and the walls of the corridor. His maniacal laughter echoed through the passageway as he rolled away from them, laughing.

“Aesop, are you alright?” Kathrina asked after removing the coat from her head. Her honey-gold eyes searched his face in concern.

“Yes. I’m fine,” he said, smoothing his waistcoat and shirt with his hand, “Nothing a little drying charm can’t fix.” He reached out for the hem of his shirt and pulled the soaked fabric up from his skin. “How about you? Are you wet?” he asked.

She averted her gaze away from his bare abdomen. Her race turned bright red and her lips parted. “N-no... I’m okay...,” she squeaked.

He blinked. Why did she sound nervous? Then he realized his mistake and pulled his shirt down. “Oh... I apologize... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable... It was inappropriate of me to undress in front of a lady... Especially in the corridor where anyone could see us...”

With a quick deep breath, she looked at him in the eye. Her stiff posture told him that of the herculean effort not to stare anything below his neck. “Perhaps you can come inside my chambers and dry off there?” she offered, “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Aesop felt heat rising up his neck and ears. He never expected such a suggestion from her. “Are you sure? I can always clean myself up in my quarters,” he said, trying to control his thumping heart.

She bit her bottom lip nervously. “I insist. Consider it as my gratitude for shielding me from the prank attack.”

“Well I...” he stammered. All the bravado he showed earlier vanished as his imagination took him to places that he shouldn’t be. But he mentally slapped himself. He needed to remain calm and not let his raging hormones get the better of him. He had promised Kathrina that they would go slow. And he was staunchly determined to keep that promise.

She cleared her throat. “And... I’ve heard that you’re a connoisseur for fine spirits,” she kept her eyes fixed on the doorknob, “Maybe you’re interested in tasting the 150 year old Ogden’s Old Firewhisky I’ve got in my private stock? I’ve been waiting for a perfect chance to taste it. Maybe you would enjoy it more if you share it with a friend?”

His heart skipped a beat. This day could not get any better. “How could I refuse such an offer?” he grinned.

A shy smile and a bat of her eyelashes greeted him. “Wonderful,” she said before unlocking the door. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

He could not help but grin ear to ear as he followed her inside. Perhaps the day had not gone as bad as he thought.

--FIN--

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #aesop sharp x oc #professor sharp x oc #sharpuary 2024 #sharpuary #professor sharp #ao3 #ao3 fic #original character

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nevershootamockingbird · 6 months ago

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[ id taken from alt text: 5 panels that show 5 different people. The panels are in a sequence demonstrating American Sign Language and Saudi Sign Language for "Inshallah". The first panel shows a journalist in a press vest holding both hands, palms open, in front of her body. She is colored in red and behind her are jagged white shapes meant to mimic rubble. The second panel shows a woman in a black hijab in front of a green background of Islamic geometric patterns and the silhouette of a mosque. She is touching her middle fingers to her thumbs, with the index, ring, and pinky fingers raised straight. The third panel shows a doctor in scrubs and white gloves, doing the same pose as the journalist in the first panel; palms up and open towards the viewer. He is colored in green, in front of a solid red cross, a red crescent, heartbeat monitor lines, and a NICU unit. The fourth panel shows an Al-Qassam fighter dressed in a black hood, a long-sleeved shirt, and a vest with pockets along the belly. He is in front of a green backdrop of olive leaves overlaid with the leaf pattern from kuffiyah scarves. He is doing the same hand position as the hijabi woman; hands facing forward, fingers pointed straight up except the middle finger and thumb which are pinched together. The fifth and final panel shows a little girl, toddler age, grasping onto an adult's hand to the side of the panel. Her hands are relaxed but reminiscent of the palms open and out position of both the journalist and the doctor. Both she and the adult hand are colored red, in front of a backdrop of grey-white abstract shapes resembling water and overlaid with the fishnet pattern from keffiyeh scarves. / end id ]

In ASL and SSL, this is the gesture for "Inshallah," which means means "God willing"; it's used to express hope that a specific future event will come to pass.

🇵🇸 Things you can do below 🇵🇸

🍉 SHARE posts from Palestinians, especially journalists on the ground (copy link on IG works just as well as sharing?). They're literally dying for that footage 🙃 let's make sure it counts

🍉 DONATE an E-sim @connectinghumanity_ on IG

🍉 DONATE to @CareForGaza (Twitter; donation links should be on their profile too). A lot of donation drives are just... making a grab at clout but this one is legit; a number of Gazans confirm that the food/produce is getting to them. The organizer seems to be Palestinian and living there as well

🍉 BOYCOTT brands listed by @bdsnationalcommittee on IG

Official boycott targets: AXA, Puma, Carrefour, Siemens, Ahava, HP, Sodastream, any products from Israel

Organic boycott targets: Domino's, McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Wix

🍉 PRESSURE your governments & officials to call for a ceasefire and #InvokeGenocideConvention at the ICJ (rootsaction.org)

🍉 PROTEST. If there are mobilizations in your area, show up to be part of the count. No heroics—do what you feel safe doing and listen to the organizers.

it was also important to me to include an Al-Qassam fighter in this, because they're often scapegoated by Western media, and also by well-meaning allies who say "but civilians are not Hamas"; there's this attempt to separate militant resistance from the process of liberation as a whole

Yeah, most civilians are not Hamas, but they don't denounce them either. Palestinians call them freedom fighters, protectors.

because the resistance is not a bunch of evil, violent outliers; they are as much victims of the occupation as the women, children, and non-combatants are. Most if not all of them were born under the occupation; a good percentage of them are also orphans.

I will never condemn boys who live along the coast but have never seen the sea.

And end to the violence can't mean a return to business as usual, where the occupation and apartheid continue and Palestinians are still getting displaced on their own land. it will still take decades to rebuild homes. priceless historical and cultural items & structures have been callously destroyed and can never be recovered. nearly all the children in gaza have been made disabled and traumatized and murdered—what kind of future will they inherit?

israel must be abolished. They, the US, Canada, and the EU, must pay

Inshallah, we will not stop at a ceasefire

Inshallah, we will see complete liberation for Palestine

#support palestine #emergency fundraising #palestine #free palestine #q

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heimeldat · 4 months ago

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ID: a roughly colored sketch of six interesting people I saw today. A young black woman with long poofy hair wears a pink witch hat covered with pink and green foliage, a green tanktop, a green and pink corset, and a fluffy pink and green full skirt. A caucasian person of indeterminate gender has pink and green hair, a brown button-down printed with an optical illusion pattern, a rainbow bow tie, a crow skul necklace, neon green pants, and sparkly black boots. A bald black man wears gold hoop earrings and necklaces, a short open blue vest, jeans, and orange striped chaps. A person of indeterminate gender wears a brown sweatshirt, jeans, and the mask, tail, and claws of an animal skeleton overgrown with leaves and vines. A pale woman wears a very short tight black dress, lots of spiky jewelry, fishnet sleeves, spiky boots with very high heels, and jewelry chains dangling from her arm. An older caucasian man with long grey hair and a long beard wears a plain black t-shirt, dirty sneakers, and a flowy ankle-length skirt with tiers of pink and purple covered with geometric designs in orange and green. end ID

#doodles #fun outfits #people are so interesting

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shirtsbargain · 4 months ago

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Your Ultimate Fall Fashion Cheat Sheet: What You Need To Stock This Season

Hi, the retail rockstar! 👋 Are you ready to turn your store into a go-to fall fashion destination? Grab your pumpkin spice latte and get into what’s hot this fall. Why Fall Fashion is Great

Picture this: crisp air, crispier leaves, and shoppers swooning in style. Fall is like fashion Christmas, and you are Santa! People want cozy, warm, and Instagram-worthy clothes that handle Mother Nature’s mood swings. Let’s make sure you have got the goods!

Your Must-Have Fall Inventory Checklist

1. 🧶 Blank Sweaters & Cardigans

Think chunky knits that scream "Netflix and chill"

Sleek cardigans for that "I have got my life together" office look

Colors? Imagine dipping your closet in a Starbucks fall menu

2. 🧥 Bulk Jackets & Coats

Cool denim jackets for those "Is it fall yet?" days

Trendy trench coats for rainy café-hopping

Puffer jackets that say "I am ready for all that winter throws at me"

3. 👕 Blank Hoodies & Sweatshirts Wholesale

Blank canvases for the DIY crowd

Eye-catching designs for the "I woke up like this" vibe

4. 👚 Bulk Long-Sleeve Tees & Henleys

The Swiss Army knives of fall fashion

Perfect for layering or rocking solo

5. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Blank/Custom Flannel Shirts in Bulk

The pumpkin spice latte of clothes - a must-have classic

Stock patterns from lumberjack chic to hipster-approved

6. 🧣 Scarves, Hats & Gloves in Bulk

The cherry on top of any fall outfit

Mix fun and functional to keep 'em stylish and warm

What's Trending: Your Fashion Crystal Ball

1. 🌿 Eco-Friendly Fabrics

Because saving the planet is always in style

Look for organic cotton, recycled materials, and bamboo

2. 🐆 Bold Patterns & Textures

Think "go big or go home"

Stock plaids that pop and animal prints that roar

3. 🧅 Layering Pieces

Vests and light jackets are the cool kids this season

Perfect for those "I don't know what to wear" days

Wrapping It Up

There you have it, fashion guru! You're now armed with the secret sauce for fall inventory success. Remember, variety is the spice of life (and retail). Mix those timeless pieces with trendy items, and you'll have something for every fashionista who struts through your door.

Keep your eyes peeled, and your ears open, and don't be afraid to shake things up as the leaves fall. With this guide in your back pocket, you're all set to sleigh (slay?) this autumn season.

Now go forth and spread the cozy fall vibes! Your customers' wardrobes are counting on you. 🍂👚🛍️

#bulk jackets #blank sweatshirt #bulk hoodie #blank sweatsshirts

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angelisverba · 4 years ago

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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viviennevermillion · 3 years ago

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What casual clothes the Twisted Wonderland cast would wear

@ferny-bread made a post asking what kind of modern clothes the Twisted Wonderland boys would wear. So here's my 2 cents on the topic

Ace Trappola: Ace buys a bunch of affordable clothes in good quality that falsely make him look like a rich person. A lot of shirts but without a tie, he always leaves a few buttons open. Suit pants. Casual blazers. Polo shirts with the logos of famous brands but they're fake. The only expensive thing he buys are fancy watches.

Deuce Spade: Deuce buys very basic, single-colored t-shirts, sweatshirts and hoodies and usually wears a leather jacket on top of it. Always wears jeans and some type of sports shoe. But since we know of the pink leopard print outfit there's def some weird stuff in his wardrobe.

Trey Clover: Trey's outfit of the day is either "normal" or "Vil would teleport me to the 9th circle of hell if he saw me like this". There's a 50/50 chance he'll show up in regular pants and simple t-shirts and outdoor jackets but there's also the possibility you'll see him walking around in a cardigan his grandma, who can't knit, knitted for him and it has the largest threads and patterns mankind has ever seen and you close it by tying a knot into it. Or he'd wear those v-neck shirts for men that have this terrible white piece of cloth in the v-neck for no particular reason and it has stripes in colors that don't fit together at all. His shoes are cool 9/10 of times though

Cater Diamond: Lots and lots of college jackets and bomber jackets. Lots and lots of simple white t-shirts under said jackets. A ton of trendy, colored sunglasses with cool gradient colors. And a shit ton of cool baseball caps. Something like this:

Riddle Rosehearts: Riddle's mum is a Karen and a control freak and his clothes radiate exactly that, after all she buys them for him. Sweater vests. Polo shirts. Neat shirts with a perfectly done tie. If he's feeling dangerous today he dresses like Nick Wilde.

Leona Kingscholar: As a Leona simp I'd like to fulfill all of our dreams and say he dresses like a biker because it'd look absolutely gorgeous on him (I mean he already slays in the Savanaclaw dorm uniform) but we all know Leona has a terrible fashion sense so I gotta say he'd dress in a bunch of colors that hurt to look at, don't fit together and have patterns that people haven't worn in years. Basically his outdoor wear. He also always wears accessories. The rest of his outfit may suck but his necklaces, bracelets and rings sure don't. He manages to look like he buys all his clothes in a thrift shop but they're all expensive from famous brands. Also Leona might never be king of the Afterglow Savannah but he'd sure as hell be king of ugly sandals. I'm not even talking about his school uniform shoes, literally imagine the ugliest sandals you can think of; Leona would wear them unless they're colorful and tacky. Half the time he runs around in these tho:

Ruggie Bucchi: Three words - Vargas Camp Ruggie. If you ever went to a public school when you were like 12 or 13, chances are there was this one kid who dressed like Vargas Camp Ruggie. And if Ruggie wears casual clothes that is exactly what he looks like. He wears this type of scarf all the way from autumn to early spring and he has a bunch of hiking boots and owns jackets and bags that scream "ugly but practical". He'd wear everything the Jack Wolfskin online store has to offer except that he's too poor to afford brands like this so they're all fakes from beyond the border of the Afterglow Savannah that he found (or stole) on tourist street markets.

Jack Howl: Jack's fashion sense radiates "I'm young, athletic and in the military". Owns a lot of clothes with camo print. Lots of Cargo pants. And tank tops. He always runs around in tank tops except for when it's really hot which is the days where he won't wear a shirt at all. He also wears those metal necklaces you always see soldiers wear in movies idk if they have a specific name. Apart from that he wears typical sport clothes.

Azul Ashengrotto: It's Azul. Like, what do you expect, of course he dresses exclusively in suits. He also owns so many different fedoras it's insane.

Jade Leech: Nothing special, lots of basic black pants and single-colored cashmere sweaters. A bunch of turtlenecks too. But the fabric of his shirts always ends up being soft as hell.

Floyd Leech: See, Floyd is a wild card. You cannot possibly pinpoint a style for him because you'll never know what he shows up in today. It could be something perfectly fine like his outdoor wear but he could also greet you in platform crocs and a fur coat.

Kalim Al-Asim: Kalim is the type of guy who combines traditional with modern clothes. You'll always see him wear something traditional from the Land of Hot Sands, be it a shirt or an accessory etc. but he usually combines it with typical modern clothes. Kalim has a fairly good fashion sense so it always fits together well.

Jamil Viper: Same as in canon. Several variations of school uniform Jamil and PE Jamil. Ton of accessories. Sometimes single-colored shirts and bomber jackets. A lot of outfits that radiate "crying in the skatepark at 3am"

Vil Schoenheit: Another one you can't pinpoint but in a good way. Not only is Vil always up to date with the newest fashion trends, but he's a trendsetter himself. He casually wears so many different styles and he loves fashion in general so he doesn't settle for one specific style. Fact is he always slays. He usually wears heels though.

Rook Hunt: Hats. Rook wears pretty basic outfits which just draw more attention to his large variety of extraordinary hats (he does this on purpose). He owns anything from cowboy hats to Bavarian hats to baseball caps. And of course berets.

Epel Felmier: Ever since Chapter 5, Epel's wardrobe only has two types of clothing - "cute and frilly" and "dangerous person with knife who'd sell you drugs in a shady alleyway". He either dresses like the most adorable person you will ever meet or like a total delinquent.

Idia Shroud: Gamer and weeb merch. Large hoodies. Shirts with uncomfortable close-up shots of the faces of anime characters. Otherwise pretty much what he wears in canon.

Silver: Lots of denim stuff. Simple white t-shirts with colorful symbols and print on it. Nothing special but he's pretty fashionable.

Sebek Zigvolt: Idk why but lots of suit pants. Also Sebek owns so many comfortable hoodies istg. He loves sitting down in one of these and read a book. He also has a lot of turtleneck shirts. In winter he wears long trenchcoats and scarves out of wool. He also owns fake glasses for fashion purposes (and to look smart)

Lilia Vanrouge: Lilias fashion sense is about as good as his cooking skill. He will legit just go to a thrift shop and throw a bunch of things he likes together, no matter if they fit or not. You know how the people in the music video to Thrift Shop dress? This is what Lilia wears.

Malleus Draconia: You'd expect a guy who has no idea about trends or modern human society and who spent most of his long life locked up in a castle to be an absolute disaster when it comes to fashion but the thing is, Malleus is a strategic buyer. He knows he already struggles to blend in with humans and he's perfectly aware he has no idea what modern fashion trends are so he buys stuff he's already seen people wear at school. Simple t-shirts. Hoodies. Blazers. Suit pants. Shirts & ties. Sneakers. Cardigans. But as he's used to from Valley of Thorns traditions he buys all of this in all black so he definitely looks like an emo while being unaware of what an emo is. He does look fashionable though. He also loves long af big scarves (wrap them around him he'd be so happy)

I also made a tier-list of my judgements of their fashion

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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 9

“Dinner at my house at 7. Be there,” Rossi announced to everyone in the bullpen.

Everyone nodded, accepting the invitation.

“Sorry, I can’t. I have Jo tonight,” Spencer declined.

“Bring her with you. The more, the merrier! Her mom is welcome too, I would use her name but I’m still in the dark about that one,” Rossi said.

“Well, I, for one, would love to meet the lady that Pretty Boy is throwing punches for,” Morgan smirked.

“Henry will be there, Spence,” JJ informed Spencer, trying to convince him to bring Jo.

“Alright, Jo and I will be there. I will ask Y/N and yes, that’s her name if she decides to come,” Spencer gave in.

“I don’t know, Spencer...can’t just you and Jo go?” you asked.

“Yes, we could. I don’t want to pressure you but I think it would be fun if you went too. Plus, Rossi’s pasta is phenomenal,” Spencer stated.

“I don’t want to intrude...and I’m horrible at small talk,” you added.

“Rossi specifically invited you so you’re not intruding. Will and JJ will be there, who you already know, and I promise I won’t leave your side until you’re comfortable,” he assured you.

“Fine, I need to take a shower and get ready then. How formal is this thing?” you asked.

“Most people either stay in their clothes from work or go home and change into casual clothes,” Spencer shrugged.

You nodded and headed up the stairs.

A half hour later, you came down in a cream colored midi sundress with a floral pattern and a slit down the side.

Spencer’s breath hitched in his throat.

“How’s this?” you asked, giving him a little spin.

“Y-Yes that’s f-fine,” Spencer choked out.

“You don’t like it?” you frowned, “They’re gonna hate it...and me.”

You started walking back up the stairs to change when you felt someone grab your wrist gently.

“I was having trouble speaking because you look absolutely radiant,” Spencer spoke softly.

“Not too bad yourself, Doctor,” you smiled.

Spencer had lost his sweater vest and tie from the work day, leaving him in just his pale blue dress shirt with a few of the top buttons undone.

“Jo, come on! I’ve got to do your hair before we go,” you called out, pulling out one of the kitchen table chairs.

Jo came running down the stairs in a light pink sweater and overalls.

“What do you want?” you asked, using a spray bottle to wet her hair slightly and then brushing it out.

“Two braids please, Mommy.”

You parted her hair and began working on the first braid, feeling Spencer’s eyes watching curiously from beside you.

Once you finished the first one, you turned to looked at him.

“Do you want to do the other side?” you asked.

“I was observing your movements but I’m not sure if I can replicate them with the same speed and accuracy,” Spencer stated as you pushed him forward.

“I’ll be your instructor then. You’re going to need to learn how to do this. Jo doesn’t like to have her hair in her face so she likes to have it styled back somehow,” you said.

Spencer brushed the hair on Jo’s left side once more and then sectioned out three even pieces from the front.

“So basically you just keep crossing the side strands over into the middle and adding more hair to the side strands each time,” you explained as Spencer slowly started to braid Jo’s hair.

By the time he got to the end, it was a little bumpy and a small chunk of hair had been left out of the braid and was hanging astray.

“Okay okay, not bad for a first attempt,” you encouraged him.

“I think I’ve got it this time,” Spencer released the braid from its elastic and combed Jo’s hair out again.

Spencer’s confidence definitely increased this time through, he was going much faster, almost as fast as you. His tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. You had to admit that he looked absolutely adorable.

“Much better,” you smiled as he tied off the braid with the elastic.

“If you can do a braid, pigtails and ponytails will be a piece of cake,” you informed him.

“I think my fingers are cramping,” he chuckled, admiring his handiwork.

“Spencer, what if they hate me?” you nervously asked as you walked up Rossi’s driveway.

“They are not going to hate you,” Spencer assured you as he carried Jo on his hip, “See, JJ and Will’s car is already here so there’s two people who already know and like you.”

Spencer rang the doorbell. You heard laughing and lots of conversation inside. You were nervously playing with your hands until Spencer reached over and grabbed one, squeezing it a little before letting go again. The simple gesture soothed you tremendously.

The front opened, revealing an older man with black hair and a goatee.

“You must be Y/N,” he smiled.

“Yes, that’s me,” you shakily returned the smile.

“I’m Dave or Rossi whichever you prefer. Come inside! Dinner will be ready shortly!” he waved to Jo in Spencer’s arms.

You entered the kitchen to see a bunch of grinning faces, staring at you.

“Guys, this is Y/N and you all remember Jo,” he introduced you to the group.

You gave a small wave, “Hi! It’s nice to meet you all.”

A blonde woman was the first to get up off her seat at the kitchen counter and wrap you in a warm hug. You squeaked a little at first, not expecting it.

“Hi, I’m Penelope! Sorry, I’m an avid hugger,” she chirped.

“No worries,” you smiled back.

Another woman with long dark hair approached you next, “I’m Emily! I love your dress!”

“Thank you! I actually got it at a thrift store downtown,” you replied.

Next in line was a man still in his suit, smiling only slightly but you could tell he was trying his hardest.

“I’m Aaron but everyone calls me Hotch,” Hotch said as he shook your hand.

And finally, “Derek Morgan, at your service,” Derek grinned as kissed your hand.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at Derek.

“Ignore him,” he said to you.

“Jo, I’m loving the braids,” JJ said as Spencer set her down on the floor.

“Daddy did the left one,” she beamed.

“Did he now?” JJ looked up at you and Spencer incredulously.

“Yes, he did,” you confirmed.

“He is going to have to start braiding my hair,” Penelope chimed in.

Henry and Jack came running into the kitchen.

“Jo!” Henry exclaimed, “Me and Jack are playing tag. Wanna play?”

Jo nodded enthusiastically and Henry touched her quickly and began running away.

“You’re it!” he called out.

“Oh, that was a cheap shot, Henry,” Will chuckled as the kids all left the kitchen once again.

“Jack is Hotch’s kid,” Spencer explained to you.

“Y/N, do you want some wine?” Emily offered.

You looked up at Spencer and he nodded, mouthing “I’ll drive home”.

“Sure! Thank you,” you accepted the glass.

You were talking to JJ, Will, and Hotch when you heard a familiar crying coming from outside. You set your wine glass down and ran to the backyard.

Jo was on the ground, clutching her knee, and the boys were hunched over her.

“Oh no, Baby J, what happened?” you asked, kneeling down.

“I fell while running and my knee got a boo-boo,” she cried.

You picked her up in your arms, rubbing light circles on her back, as Spencer came running outside carrying a mini first aid kit.

He gently rolled up Jo’s pant leg to above her knee as she clung to your neck.

“Alright, Jo, I have to put on some ointment and a band-aid so the boo-boo doesn’t get infected,” he spoke softly, applying ointment to the little scratch.

After he smoothed the band-aid over it, he kissed her knee three times.

“All better?” he asked.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she sniffled, letting go of you.

“You’re welcome, Princess. How about we have some dinner now?” he asked, using his sleeve to wipe her tears and snot.

Jo nodded and you all got up from the ground, heading back inside.

The rest of the team scrambled away from the window to pretend they weren’t just watching a truly heartwarming co-parenting moment.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #cm fanfic #reid x reader

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voiceless-terror · 3 years ago

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Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair.

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves. It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.”

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels.

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine.

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious.

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat.

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence.

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk.

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then.

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

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selfindulgentpolygon · 3 years ago

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Reprogram Your Future

[SFW] Polyamorous Reader x Spamton / Swatch / Addisons / Swatchlings Fic

(Author's note: Thanks for being patient y'all :.))

(Y/N = Your name)

----

Chapter 2: A Cold Welcome to the City

You looked at the hundreds of cat displays and neon advertisements ahead and walked by dozens of balloons, your head churning for ideas of what to do next.

The best plan would be to avoid people in this world, but that's easier said than done. You needed to find help.

In the distance, buildings separated further from each other, and the increased space brought in more amusement park equipment and even more fair participants.

The midnight blue brick walls held glowing doors to places unknown, as exhibited by various citizens walking to and fro through the frames. Alternating crunches of blue asphalt and gravel under your heels provided a sense of comfort, it being the only constant factor between this world and your own. Intoxicated by the smell of computerized hotdogs, lemonade, and burgers, you dizzily gazed at the advertisements plastered around the concession stands.

You had to find a safe way to leave the crowded area, but how would you sneak past this many people? At least a hundred or so fair-goers were there, not counting those operating the rides and stands.

People were starting to head your way, so you ducked into the shadows between two buildings. In the process of hiding, you heard quiet clinks and rattles below your waist. "Huh? What do I have on?"

Surprisingly, you weren't wearing your library uniform anymore. There was a blue, long-sleeved shirt instead of your green one and a gold-shouldered red vest over it. Your khaki pants were turned into thicker, darker material with lightweight chainmail over your hips, and golden-toed dress shoes replaced your worn tennis shoes.

Everything is as uncomfortable as my old clothes; I guess that's why I wasn't aware of the difference.

You ran your fingers over the chainmail, then took off your scarf to trace the intricate patterns on your shoulder armor, the swirling imprints forming wings on each pad.

This whole outfit probably costs more than ten times my salary. There were also minor tears on your fabrics though that couldn't be helped. You sighed as you spread your hands over the ruined areas. At least you're well-protected.

"Anyway--" you moved a hand to your chin and leaned your other arm against one of the brick walls-- "Everyone around here has relatively normal clothes. I think I'm the only one with flashy clothing." A few pink-flushed creatures hovered by wearing vibrant blue apparel, and many syringe-headed beasts chased the former in aggressive medical uniforms.

Nevermind.

In contrast to the obnoxious medics and floating creatures, the stand keepers wore black, long-sleeved shirts and green pants. Along with the simple attire, these polygonal, colorful people carried beaming smiles and infectious laughter, making you slightly relaxed even with your problems. Moreover, they didn't seem hostile in any capacity; their lively conversations fluttered in the electrified air with an amusing mixture of idle gossip and business negotiations.

In the hope that one of them could provide assistance, you walked out of the hidden spot and into the open area.

The pink Addison spun more sugar into beautiful, fluffy clouds to take to his friends after work. He gathered an extra stick to dip into the stainless steel spinner but then reconsidered at the last second. It's understandable: it's near the end of his workday, and he hasn't had any customers in the past ten minutes.

Disappointed, he mumbled to himself, "There's no point in making a new cone. Nobody's interested right now."

He was at the top of his game in the good old days. Every moment, every single second, it seemed that he and his friends would always sell a product, the successful pitches and sales gimmicks pleasingly echoing in his mind. A smirk briefly appeared at the reminders of the constant marketing success and his old camaraderie.

However, buried in the pile of recollections, not all of his colleagues were so fortunate. Such reminiscing always brought back memories of... him.

The former oh-so-big shot of Cyber City, the one companion he never expected to change drastically in the face of luxury. That era of success and wealth was the greatest period of anybody's life, but at the same time, it carried the most painful realities that the Addison and his friends would ever know. Be that as it may, he can't deny that his old friend was a devoted and sincere person--when he wasn't gloating about his new business ventures or future fame anyhow.

*You just watch!

*Someday,

*I'm gonna be a big shot!

*(He jumped off the table, pointing at the ceiling upon landing. Everyone drunkenly giggled in response.)

*I'm shooting for the heavens, and you all know it!

*Those Lightners just haven't seen my potential yet!!!

There's no point in remembering a lost cause, he assured himself, and besides, that bourgeois asshole's gone downhill; Queen even replaced that has-been with her own ads years ago, as unappealing as they are.

Ugh. He closed his eyes and sighed at the growing discontent in his chest. It's not a good habit to work with terrible thoughts.

...!

Stopped by a familiar warmth, his thoughts hit the back burner. The pink worker felt a tug of force in his person, albeit a weak one; he recognized that strength and determination shared amongst a population of his favorite type of customers.

Although he prepared to leave for his break, he re-tied his ponytail to its original sleekness and fixed his leftover hair fringes to the side of his face. Then, he instinctively poised himself in a teapot pose, one hand on his hip and the other in a lifted manner, his tired expression reverting to its initial animated state: a charming Addison smile.

Soon, he found the owner of such power, a disheveled Lightner.

You glanced at everything around you as you limped forward. Straight ahead, there was a three-lane highway bustling with traffic so you couldn't go far, but you were determined to get aid and info from somebody.

I should've asked Nubert for directions or something...

The blinking lights of the stands around you did nothing to help the pounding in your head. Finally, nearing the end of the path, you noticed unattended stands, and between two of those stands was a single, non-busy worker, their pink, angular body maintaining what you felt was an awkward pose. Although their face said otherwise, you hoped the time of holding that position wasn't exhausting.

When you turned to their station, the stand keeper swiveled their body in your direction and puffed their chest. You reasoned that they saw you approaching their area and, being the only operator at the end of the path, readied themself for interaction.

Impaired by the lack of food and sleep though, you swayed with each footfall and shortly bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction.

*ZZT!

Mechanical sizzles erupted behind you, and as you turned to apologize, you met a lanky creature with neon blue fur, grey clothing, and a sharp drill- Wait. Is that... their face? There was a spill stain on their chest and below their feet, a crushed energy drink, the shimmer of wrinkled aluminum informing you that you made a grave mistake.

*ZZT!

*ZZT!!!

*(You rapidly spit out apology after apology, explaining your exhaustion and hunger in as few words as possible. You step backward as they gradually near you.)

*ZZT!

*(You hold up your hands in an attempt to coax them from further aggression.)

*(It doesn't work. The creature stomps forward; their claws angle

together to create a mini spear.)

*(An orb of light grows from the tip of their spear-like hands, the charge threateningly close to your face.)

"Whoa there, dear patrons!!! Please refrain from destroying the area [And Each Other]!!!"

Directly behind you, the anxious booming voice of the worker struck through the air. Their shout mixed with the sounds of the world, with the echoes of traffic, laughter, and welcoming city music, and replaced the extreme tension with awkward apprehension.

As it settled, you felt a familiarity to their vocals, the sound holding a similar bubbly twinge like that of the voice in the dump. The perpetrator fizzed a few tones of irritation at the worker but eventually backed down from attacking you and walked away, their drill-masked face peering back at you as they headed into a blue doorway.

After overcoming your shock, you turned to acknowledge your savior. "Thank you, I-"

"Don't say another word, Lightner! There's no need for such trivialities--" the stand keeper chirped with a nonchalant hand wave-- "I'm always honoured to be of assistance!!!" They knelt and picked up the crumpled can, swiftly tossing it into a nearby recycling bin.

"And besides, you don't appear to be in the best of shape. What kind of person wouldn't help someone in need?" When the worker finally faced you, you saw a white name tag on the left side of their shirt.

*Hello! My name is

*PINK.

*My pronouns are

*HE/HIM.

You stared at the paper and murmured the printed words, which caused Pink to peer down at his tag. A slight magenta flush made its way across his angular face, and he peeled the sticker off with a soft, uncomfortable chuckle.

"Ah, I... forgot I still had that on. Well! That doesn't matter now! There's... no need to introduce myself, I suppose!!!" Pink crumpled the tag and tucked it in his pocket. Although you were confused at his sudden discomfort, it would probably be too rude to ask him about it, seeing as you were strangers.

"So!!! I'm aware that you need food and bedding, right?"

You nodded, looking away from his pitying gaze. "Honestly, I forgot that you were there in the heat of the moment. Sorry you had to see the dramatics."

"Nonsense!!! If anything, I'm glad I have a way to help you now!!!" He moved behind his station and picked up a high-tech, translucent device. It's just a smartphone, you realized.

Pink dialed a number, then pulled out a smooth-surface, wooden stool from under the stand's counter, motioning for you to rest. You noticed cotton candy equipment when he moved aside: a sugar spinner, some thin cones, and a few plastic-packaged bags with names on them. Nat... Loyal... Seo... I wonder who those are for.

He talked to you while the dial tones rang. "My friends and I hang out at this one bar-and-grill after work, and I gotta tell ya, Lightner: the food's amazing!!!"

Ring, ring.

No answer yet. "Would you like to tag along with us? My treat, of course!"

"I-I... am hungry, so I appreciate your offer. Yes, if your friends are okay with it, I want to go with you." You sat beside him and fiddled with your hands while you waited. Maybe it was hasty to travel with a stranger, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"MY [[Name]]??? WHY, I'M SPA- [ACK]!!!" A line of Maice rolled by, frightening the puppet and causing him to drop his small stock of products and Pipis.

"HEy, HEY- WATCH THE [[So Cheap, You'll Die]] MERCH4NDISE, YOU [ByteSized] RODENTS!!! I'M IN A [[Hurry, hurry, t1me is running 0ut!]]"

He started to gather the items back into his arms but not before apologetically petting the Pipis. In the bundle of useless things lay a few worn bowties, a couple of filled bottles with his face on the covers, and some thorn-adorned rings. Those rings, he knew, would help his plan exponentially, provided that the Knight's idea wasn't a load of-

"[$IX$]!1! WHERE ARE MY [Commemorative Ring](s)??!"

His careless fingers screeched and scratched against the harsh asphalt; the gravel and dirt increased the stains on his pants. Soon, he felt painful pricks on both palms, indicating he found the scattered, dangerous jewelry. The salesman cautiously placed them with the other products on the ground, this time checking that nothing was missing.

"HAHAHAEHAEHAHAHAEHAE!!! THAT WAS

[[Close]]."

Before the Maice startled him, he was practicing his future introduction with the Lightner. He knew that they would go to his new site; they may have muttered it, but he's definitely sure that they said they would "stop by there"!

Right?

Rarely would the reality of his situation show itself so plainly to him. Once the guy who had the Cyber World in his palm, now the forgotten reject living in Cyber City's outskirts, eager for a single interaction that didn't end in him being beaten or cursed at. Try as he might to deny it, this constant facade of confidence drained him. When he's done with the Lightner, he thought, he'll be at the top again, and his pride won't be feigned anymore.

He fiercely smacked his head, remasked his ego, and gathered his things. "I' M THE [[Number 1 Rated Salesman1997]]!!! THAT [[Little Sponge]] KNOWS I AM [100% Geniune And Trustworthy]!!!"

After convincing himself that the Lightner wasn't misleading him, he sneaked into a glowing doorway, confirming that he didn't alert any Ambyu-Lance, and traveled to a different part of the city.

The doors couldn't transport Lightners, only those made of Cyber World's code and similar Darkner biology, which is why he was able to run through them, zipping from one entrance to the next. He ran by hundreds of Darkners and carefully treaded busy roads throughout his route, hopping through the chaotic traffic patterns with ease.

His legs would sometimes give out under the number of items he carried and his speed, but overall, he did his best to keep from being seen by the inner-city dwellers or from getting hit by cars. Every few doors, he would catch a glimpse of familiar faces, the angular grins of past traitors reigniting his resentment. He quickened his pace with each sight of those people.

He knew the way to his proposed location, having taken the path many times before. After a few more minutes of running, his pace slowed once he walked through the last doorway to his destination.

"[[Home, Sweet, Home]]," he halfheartedly mumbled to himself as he stopped walking.

In front of him stood a green dumpster covered in warnings and Do-Not-Occupy decals, the stickers contradicting his intended use for the container. He peered over the edge to ensure a soft landing for his items, and when he was convinced the inside was cushioned properly, he threw his products in.

Following the items, he climbed in with the Pipis in his grip and landed on the trash heap. Then, the exhausted puppet grabbed a pillow hidden behind a garbage bag and took off his black jacket, muttering to himself about lights and batteries and his "brand-new customer."

"I THINK... I [Think]..." His eyes drooped as he hugged the dirty pillow, tracing the clumsily-drawn smile on it. "I think I sh-should take a [[Rest On This Luxury Bedding]]," he muttered wearily, his actions and speech exposing his past self anew, "be-before the Lightner arrives...." Finally, he stretched, placed his jacket over himself, and situated the Pipis around his body before shutting his eyes for much-needed rest.

The fragmented vocals eased into sleepy stutters of the Darkner he used to be. Several years ago, he would've been sobbing into the mold-ridden pillow, pathetically gripping at the seams for faux comfort and affection, but now he would rather sleep than address his declining mental health.

Other Darkners wouldn't understand unless they saw for themselves his reason for escapism and even his waking foolhardiness.

Endlessly, he imagined the bright light, the light that nearly blinded him but also blessed his once-normal skin with light and love and everything a worthless Darkner could never encounter in the Dark Worlds. Of course, he was jealous of those damned Lightners, but at the same time, he recognized that same beauty and glow in their SOULs, the hearts that exist outside of their bodies, the entire culmination of their beings!

Why, why, why couldn't he have that?

A Darkner doesn't possess a SOUL, but what if they did? What if he, the best damned salesman in all of the Dark Worlds, could control a SOUL? He could leave the Cyber World, cross the Light World, and finally experience that constant love and warmth for the rest of his life.

This longing made him wish he had never met any of them. Mike. The Knight. Jevil. Maybe his life still would've gone downhill, but at least he wouldn't be cursed with the knowledge of a joy he could never savor. At least he wouldn't feel the burn of acid and darkness drowning him, torturing him-

"STOP," he stirred himself out of the dreams, "[Stop] the [Brain Train], YOU [Cheap] [[Waste Of Garage Space]]. I DON'T..." He glimpsed at a rotting poster on the midnight blue wall, reminding himself of what happened. "I-I'm not...

[[Ughh.]]" His body shuddered as he nestled into the pillow and Pipis in a miserable attempt to soothe himself from the increasing cold and disturbing thoughts.

"Brrr-!!!" Pink huddled one arm around his torso while waiting for his friend to pick up.

Ring, ring.

"Wow, wish I grabbed my coat before I left today, haha! It's getting kind of chilly!!! Are-are you [[Cold]], Lightner???" His voice shivered and glitched during the question.

You turned to him and tugged at your scarf, "Kind of, but not on the same level as you." An idea popped into your head. Your shirt-and-vest insulated enough body heat that the cold didn't bother you too much, and you were positive that you didn't need the scarf.

I could give him the scarf! Hopefully he doesn't have any aversion to microfiber.

Ring, ring. "Hey, Pink, I was wondering-"

Ring, ri- Click. "Hold that thought, Lightner!"

*(You hear a muffled hello from Pink's phone.)

*Nat-! Uh, I mean, Orange!

*(Pink starts pacing around the stand area.)

*Ahh, no, my shift is over!

*Yes, I do have a Lightner with me at the moment!!!

*While we're on the subject,

*About the grill hangout...

*(He continues walking back and forth, discussing your circumstances to his friend.)

You rested your chin in your palm while you waited for him to finish. Nat... Just like the name on the cotton candy.

Sitting with your elbow placed on your leg and your head in your hands isn't comfortable, yet you fell asleep anyway. Before your slumber, your eyes followed Pink's walking pattern, a metronome-like movement, and it soothed your brain into a drowsy trance. Then, unknown to you, your senses darkened into a dull haze, subtly shut off, and sent you into a disturbing, surreal place...

...To a familiar darkness filled with endless mourning and colourful regret, with a sea of garbage and glass shards littering the ground in a trail to a dead-end.

*(You embraced the grieving yellow figure sympathetically. After a short time, they released you and showed you a piece of shattered glass.)

*(It was part of a broken light bulb. The same brand you got for him... for his shop.)

*(You told the bundle of darkness that he hated LEDs, so you bought him incandescent bulbs. Sad chuckles filled the air.)

*(A blue shadow continued the yellow's dialogue after the weak merriment died down.)

*Night after night, when we all went to the same cyber grill,

*He'd shoot his mouth about making it big someday.

*"You just watch!"

*"Someday,

*I'm gonna be a big shot!"

*...it's nice to hear that, Y/N.

*I thought he would be too proud to accept gifts.

*(You added that he liked the color and warmth of incandescent bulbs.

*He told you that it reminded him of

*"The Big One."

*The Sun in the Light World.)

The pink Addison moved in optimistic strides around the area. Yet, even throughout his conversation, he was caught in a dilemma: tell the Lightner about Addison names now or address it when they meet the other pink Addisons.

Maybe, he hoped, those two would be too tired or too busy to attend! It would be a terrible coincidence if they came today of all days.

*Hmm.

*\\ What's up, Seo?

*Just thinking about Cro and Omni.

*I don't know how I'd explain that, you know?

*The whole sharing-a-singular-work-name thing. Not being the only "Pink."

He pulled out the crumpled tag from his pocket and groaned when he looked at the wrinkled name. Pink.

*\\ Oh [#!%*]- Seo, I forgot to tell you!!!

*\\ Everybody

*\\ Is Coming

*\\ To The Grill!

*\\ Lol Whoops.

Seo crushed the sticker and scowled at the phone.

*[[NAT]]-

*\\ I'm super duper sorry, buddy! I didn't know you were bringing a Lightner!

*\\ But guess what!

*\\ Cro and Omni won't join us until we reach the tea shop,

*\\ So you can tell the Lightner before then!!!

*I just... wish I knew this beforehand.

He stopped pacing to look at them.

*(Innocent Lightners are fast asleep.)

Seo shivered again and sat on the sidewalk near the Lightner, rubbing his arms for warmth. "Anyway, I've got your and Loyal's candy bags, so you two don't have to complain about food while we head to the grill! Like usual."

The wind blew harder. "Ughh- Oh, before I forget, do you have an extra coat from Tee? I di-didn't bring mine."

After a short pause, Nat answered, "Nope, sorry, I don't have an extra! Tee's waiting in the other district with the rest of the guys; fortunately, Serp's here so he can order a jacket if you need it."

Because of the recent decline in shoppers, it bothered Seo to ask for clothing from Tee or Serp, but he knew that those two, like any Addison, would bother him until he took whatever they offered.

However, Serp was the worst of his friend group; he would pester everyone daily about mending the holes in their clothes for free or paying for Gage's laundry services with his own money. That yellow menace would not rest if he found out Seo wouldn't take a gift from him.

On one hand, he needed the coat--at this temperature, he'd be frozen in a few hours. On the other hand, though, he'd be taking away from Tee and Serp's profits if he took the offer.

"Well-"

Someone interrupted in the call's background, "Does the Lightner need one, too???"

Overlooking the Lightner and declining a gift on their behalf would be rude, so he swallowed his pride and accepted the present.

"Get a jacket for both of us, please."

——

(Author's note #2: Thank y'all so, so much for waiting for this chapter!!!! I still can't believe it took four weeks ughhh but it's my fault for the lack of scheduling and planning

If anyone notices misspellings or wrong grammar in Spamton's/any Addison's dialogue, please know that it is intentional! I try to implement a garbled, glitched element in their ad-speak, but I know that it may seem like an unnoticed writing mistake.

Also! I gave the Addisons names to keep from confusing myself and to hold a consistency with the number of Addisons we see in Deltarune. Another thing, I want to inform y’all that the tea Addison (Cro) uses it/its, and the divorce shoe Addison (Omni) uses they/them, so I would appreciate if they aren’t misgendered!

I don't know what it is about minor details that makes writing this so fun, but I'm excited that other people like it, too!!!

Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's read thus far, and hopefully I'll post the next one in two weeks!)

[Here have a doodle bc ur epic]

Anywho, I post on my Twitter regularly with updates on future works, my art, or my incoherent headcanon rambles! I hope I see y'all there and I love y'all!

https://twitter.com/GreedyPolygon

#spamton #spamcember #despamber #spamton x reader #addisons x reader #swatch #swatchlings #deltarune fanfic #uggghgh i wish i posted this earlier but my doodoo fart brain was sad and hated everything i made lol #ibispaintx

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eveningoftheempires · 3 years ago

Note

ROs' fashion senses? And what is the fashion like in the world in general?

Oh anon, you have absolutely HIT the mark with this question. I am a giant fashion nerd and fashion of EotE is something I’ve been working on for SO long, thanks for letting me ramble about it!!

So, I’m gonna preface this post with a little general description of the fashion in the world of Uria. A lot of parts of EotE are inspired by the 19th century, which may seem vague, as that is whole 100 years, but hey - it is fantasy, so I am mostly borrowing elements of the real world here and there while leaving out others. Therefore the fashion itself is rooted in the different styles of 19th century, with a heavier focus on the first part of 1800s. I’ve incorporated elements of fashions from all around of our world, because... it would be just weird to focus exclusively on western world’s aestheticism for a whole fantasy universe, especially as big as this one lol. Besides for historical inspirations, I do like to imagine fashion of Uria with a bit of a modern high couture vibe - think Valentino, Guo Pei, Christian Dior, Elie Saab, Zuhair Murad...

So yeah, that is a bit what the general inspirations behind the fashion of EotE are like! Of course not everyone is out there walking in outfits straight out of fashion plates; lower classes tend to wear more toned-down, practical garments, without as much flair. Styles vary from region to region as well. I may one day write a post elaborating more on that, but then this post would be enormously long nvjkfdnvkjnfdknk

So, with this out of the way, let us get into ROs fashion senses!

Laurent: Without a doubt they are the one most up to with different fashion trends, and the one who is in a position to actually dress stylishly. However, their clothing choices are not the most fabulous. They value high quality materials and fashionable silhouettes, but tend to pick out simpler garments, without as many fancy accessories as other nobles prefer. (They do have a weak spot for fancy shoes, though. Buy them nice shoes and you will own their heart.) They are mosty seen wearing deep, toned colours, like bottle green, navy blue or grape purple, with elements such as silk shirts, fitting embroidered vests, straight simple trousers or skirts, and ankle-height shoes on small heels.

Seraphim: Even though personally they do not hold much interest in fashion, given their job as the Royal Spymaster they have to blend in with the crowds. Therefore, their outfits really range depending on what circumstances they are working with at the moment. So basically, you may see them in any and all kinds of garments. They DO however, more often than not, wear different capes (most with weapons, poisons or documents hidden in small pockets inside) and tend to lean more towards practicality over aesthetics. Therefore, you won’t see them in any delicate, flowy fabrics, moreso something sturdy and, preferably, easily washed. Blood on clothes makes people talk too much.

Vael: Oh, Vael’s fashion sense is personally my favourite. Imagine a gay pirate. That’s it, that’s their vibe <3 A lot of open button-downs, high waisted leather pants along with many leather belts, tight-length boots, huge amount of jewelry and piercings, colorful scarfs worn both on the neck and as a hair adornment... There is a lot going on in their outfits for sure! They may not exactly be considered “fashionable” or “proper” by good society, but Vael could not care less about how people perceive them, honestly - they know what they want to look like and, in my humble opinion, they look flawless in their own right.

Min: Their fashion choices are certainly... something. Min doesn’t have much resources to dress according to newest trends given their social standing, but boy, do they leave an impression with their looks wherever they go! They always choose very colorful, bright garments, often contrasting with each other. A range array of patterns and textures can be noticed in their clothes as well. They enjoy mixing and matching items that shouldn’t go well with each other, but... somehow they make it work?

Noor: Although they do not get many occassions to dress up (they can be mostly seen in armor), they do have a deep running love for finery and like to keep up with the trends as much as possible. Their best friend is a talented craftsman, and whenever Noor buys a new garment, they run straight to him to alter it for their tastes and to make it more fashionable. Even their everyday outfits meant for adventuring do have a bit of a flair to them - some handsewn ornaments on the sleeves and collar of their jacket, some frills here and there, perhaps an embroidery of tiny jewels on boots... They strongly enjoy these small details, even if they are the only ones aware of them.

Orion: They have a particular color palette when it comes to all their outfits: particularily white, black and shades of grey. It is only partially a personal preference; it mostly stems from their days in the Ienowan Assassin’s Guild, which uses these specific hues as a way for the members to recognise each other. Other than that, they appreciate straight, precise cuts and simple shapes in their outfits, as well as soft and flexible materials. Orion does have a bit of a liking towards jewelry, although they keep these ornaments simple as well - nothing beyond iron rings or chained necklaces.

Again, thank you so much for the question, and sorry if I went a bit overboard with it! <3

#evening of the empires #cog wip #interactive fiction #choice of games #eote #eote laurent #eote seraphim #eote vael #eote min #eote noor #eote orion #worldbuilding #nik answers #this was soooo fun to write

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apexqueenie · 4 years ago

Text

The Blood King (Bakugou x Reader, Medieval AU) Ch 3

Synopsis: In fairytales, princesses like you got to marry handsome princes like your best friend Shoto, but you’re not living a fairytale. You find the harsh realities a punch to the face as you and Sho run away outside palace grounds and into the real world. But the harsh brings out the beautiful, and in your case, it took the form of the scarlet covered barbarian king, whose territory you disturbed.

A/N: AAAAAAAHHHHH, I'm so sorry this took so long! It may have a few mistakes cuz I added on to this after I finished homework sooooooooooo I'm usually half asleep by then. This one is sorta long, so yah, enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, blood, violence

[Ch1]->[Ch2]->[Ch3]->[Ch4]->[Ch5]->[Ch6]

“SHO!!!” You scream, snapping your torso up from the bed you lay on.

Wait...A bed..?

Your brain just tripped over itself as the memories came flooding back to you. The forest, the attackers, the beast, and then...that man.

You clutched your forehead in pain. Where the hell were you?

You place a hand on the furry and weighted blanket that covers you. It was nice. Quite a bit warmer than the blankets you had at home-

You shook your head. If this is how distracted you get now, you must’ve hit it at some point. You look around the room you were in. It was nice and dimly lit due to closed curtains, but plain. All that filled the space were you, the bed, and a small wooden dresser to your left with a tall cup of water on top.

Water. Sweet, sweet water. You chugged it down, throat parched from the previous events. The cool refreshing liquid woke up some of your senses. Slowly, your grogginess was replaced with the soreness of your muscles. You started to regret sitting up so suddenly. The side you were kicked on started to throb more and more.

You look down at the side in pain, seeing that your blazer and dress were replaced with a simple white wrap skirt secured with a knot around your chest. You felt almost naked, cold too. Never have your arms, chest, and legs been as exposed as they are now. Even your long nightdress had sleeves.

But that wasn’t important. You were in this strange place, Sho is nowhere to be found, and your things are gone. You needed to know more. Now, you may have been overreacting a bit, but what’s the harm in coming prepared? You break the glass you drank from earlier, grabbing the biggest piece and tearing some of the fabric you were wearing to wrap around the shard for a handle. You didn’t know what to expect, but at least you had something to defend yourself with.

You held it in the front as you slowly pushed the creaky door open. You thought you were ready for anything, but you weren’t expecting to be atop a balcony overseeing a complex combination of treehouses, bridges, and grounded buildings all surrounded by stone walls, complete with archers in loose armor patrolling the top. It wasn’t like any of the armor your guards wore though. It consisted of metal, like the knights in your father’s army, but they also wore feathers, leather straps, and colorful face paint. If you had to guess, you were nowhere near your own kingdom. They kept watch of the forest while the rest of the citizens of this odd town bustle happily below. Adults traded and conversed with one another while the children played with balls or kites below. All of them wear similar outfits to yours, comfortable and with a closer connection to nature. Some women wore clay beads around their heads like crowns paired with bright, multi-layered dresses made of choppy fabric. Most men wore loose shirts, some went bare chested, all wore slightly baggy pants, usually with multiple belts. A stark contrast to the puffy floor length dresses and tight pants of your people.

So where exactly were you?

“Do you like the view?” a voice said behind you.

It made you jump, and instinctively, you turn to hold out the makeshift knife you temporarily forgot about. The man you pointed the sharp edge at yelped and held both hands up as he rounded the corner.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have sneaked up on ya.” he smiles sheepishly.

He was a red-headed man with spiky hair, a short vest, bandana, and baggy pants. Similar to the people below. From what you could see, no weapons. Still, you keep the blade pointed at his exposed torso. You’ve never killed anyone before, and the thought scares you, the overwhelming fear of being here in strange clothes scared you even more.

You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from the newcomer. “Who are you?”.

“Eijiro Kirishima, right hand man of King Bakugou. I’m glad to see you awake and well.” he says, not moving from his spot. “We’ve met before, your highness.”

“Huh?” You say, dumbfounded. You’ve never seen this man in your life. You would’ve known if you did, his face is...very memorable.

He pointed to the decently sized scar on his face. It traveled from his right corner of his lip and up to the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t bright red, but it still looked like it had only recently healed. A cut like that would’ve taken at least a week for it to stop being inflamed; you wondered how he’d gotten it or why he was pointing to it.

You shook your head, not understanding.

Kirishima chuckles nervously, “Well uh, it might be hard to explain, but uh first things first, I came here to check on you. How’s that rib feeling?”

“My rib? It...hurts a lot” you admit, lowering the glass shard. ‘Hurt’ was an understatement though, it felt like it was on fire. Your side throbbing painfully with each breath you took. Adrenaline could only mask it for so long.

He nods and slowly approaches you again, hands out where you could see them. “Let’s get you back in bed” he says, gently scooping the glass out of your hand and placing it in his back pocket.

Hesitantly, you complied, weary of the shard being in his possession. At least, he seemed like he didn’t want to kill you. You leaned back into bed, muscles screaming from the short encounter. It’s only now you truly realize the extent of your injuries. You hissed as Kirishima readjusted your pillow as best he could, shaking the bed a bit.

“Now that you’re awake, I’ll let Deku take a look at you. He’s our medicine man, or doctor if you like.” And with that, he walks out, closing the door behind him.

But you couldn’t stay still. Even though your ribs hurt, you couldn’t sit back and wait. If you’re being nursed here, Shoto must be nearby. And besides, they don’t want to hurt you, right? After all, as you hauled yourself up and headed to the door once more, you found it still unlocked. You weren’t their prisoner.

You took a peek around the corner that you saw Kirishima come around last time. It led to a free hanging wooden bridge to another tree. The other side of your cabin led to some steps that took a wide curve around a wooden pillar of some sort, but taking a look upwards only showed you that it wasn’t a pillar at all: It was an absolute unit of a tree. Incredibly thick, and at least 500 feet tall, the tree had stairs carved from all over its sides and bridges split off to smaller trees holding up houses. An even more intricate pattern of pathways sat above your head than what you saw the first time when you looked on the balcony.

You clutched the railings, making your way up the stairs and onto the first platform branching off into other paths. Your “room” was just a simple block, fitted halfway into the trunk of the big tree. Woven branches and leaves make a simple flat roof; not much different from any other building here. Guess you’re just gonna have to find someone who knows this place. Preferably not Kirishima. You had a feeling he’d just bring you back to your room.

You hauled yourself up more stairs, opting to take the paths closer to the tree. Traversing mazes was never your strong suit, and this place could get you lost in a few seconds.

The further you went along the stairs, the harder it was for you to breathe. Your injury was draining your energy fast, making your body feel like a thousand pounds. Maybe going back to bed wasn’t a bad idea at all.

Just as you were about to give up and sit down, you came across a wider bridge, one that was definitely a lot more extravagantly built than the last. Thicker, and with decorative railings. It was built between the tree itself and a large mountaintop so tall, you couldn’t see the top. The bridge extended in a T shape, the horizontal bit from the tree built to the length of one wall of the kingdom to another with stairs down to where the guards patrolled. At the smaller section of the T sat a huge double doorway, carved from the wood of the tree you’ve been climbing around for the past 10 minutes. It depicted battles, warriors wielding swords and fighting alongside winged beasts of enormous size...Dragons. Then it clicked. Kinda. You swung at that large beast before, at its snout right when it was right behind you. And Kirishima had a scar along his mouth and nose...

Kirishima = Dragon?

You shook your head, unable to fully convince yourself. It must be your pain fogging your mind a bit. You guess it was the same reason you were walking through those double doors. Big doors were the norm for you, being a princess after all. In your state of confusion, it’s better to go with more familiarity. You pulled it open with a bit of difficulty and slipped in as the doors slowly closed behind you without a sound. Just as you suspected, it was a grand hall for royalty that was almost as big as your father’s. The room was curved, thanks to the tree’s natural design. Flowered vines decorated the plain walls. An empty throne of wood and bones sat in front of what you thought must be the opening to the other side of the tree. You could see the sunshine bathe the throne in its gentle light.

You straightened your composure subconsciously, as you’ve been taught to in throne rooms like these, and walked to the throne. Bones and wood, delicately intertwined with one another to form a beautiful crest along the top of the backrest and pair of armrests. You dragged your fingers along the sanded wood gingerly, admiring the craftsmanship. Swords were stabbed in between, like trophies. Some chipped, others completely broken in half. All went through obvious signs of battle. Losing battles, that is. This was a throne for a King that should be feared. Unlike your father and birth giver’s thrones, which symbolized elegance and formality, this one was fierce, powerful, and dangerous. For some reason, your mind was reminded of the man with the Vermillion eyes. How he strode proudly with bold movements, the same way you’ve seen your father or King Enji act when confronted. Was he the one who owned this throne?

A few feet behind it were steps leading up to a large balcony, open to give an extraordinary view of the kingdom you saw before. You walked up the steps slowly, entranced by the calm sight of the sky and trees. A warm breeze lifted the stray hairs from your face, and you felt calm, your injuries temporarily forgotten. You thought you saw everything from the height you were at when you first woke up, well, you were a couple hundred feet higher now and so much more had been revealed. You could see the exact boundary of walls that protected the civilians, previously hidden by other trees. A huge, open gate on the other side of the kingdom guarded by tiny soldiers both on ground and up on the wall. The complex bridges you saw earlier seemed to build around this area so as to not obstruct the view. You dared not to go straight to the railings though, it felt out of place for you to be watching over someone else’s civilians. So just at the top of the stairs you stayed.

Along the sides of the extended walls where the stairs were built, hung swords of all shapes and sizes, snugly staggered amongst each other like decorations. Each one told a story, from the blade type down to the hilt decorations. You wonder who wielded each magnificent weapon. The man you fought had a sword worn down from no doubt years of battle, more so than any of these blades on the wall.

“I wonder where he is.” you spoke out loud.

“Where who is?” a gruff voice responded.

You froze in place.

Speak of the devil. There he was. He appeared around the left side of the throne, nonchalantly leaning an elbow above his head on it. He wore the same attire as before, cutlass hanging at his side- only this time, tribal beads and threaded teeth hung around his neck. The sunlight coming from the open spaces behind you revealed his hair to be golden, as well as uncovered the many battle scars that previously blended with his skin underneath the pale moonlight. He made your shrink a bit in his presence.

He cocked his head to one side, lifting an eyebrow at your staring. “Well?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you forced yourself to say something. “Sorry, You, you’re..and then...Uh…” you managed to spit out, ears burning. You couldn’t look at him straight. He only narrowed his eyebrows in response. ‘Great job (y/n), he thinks you’re a moron now.’ you scold yourself.

“Maybe that shitty Deku got it wrong, and you’re the one with the concussion.” he scoffed.

“I have no such thing!” you blurted out. You tried to look him in the eyes again, but the dominance they radiated made you feel like a pup caught disobeying her master. But why? You’re royalty, a future Queen! You shouldn’t let the likes of him intimidate you like this!

So you stood up straight again, taking a deep breath and raising your chin to address the man in front of you properly. Your insides felt like they were being stabbed with a flaming rod, but you refused to succumb to it now. “I lost myself a bit there. I’ve come here for answers.” you say, clasping both hands together. “Where is the leader of this Kingdom?”

Unfazed by your new composure, he stared right back. “You’re lookin at him.”

“And your name?”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because I’d like to know to whom I’m speaking with.” you grit your teeth.

“Oh, and what gives you the right, little thief?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not a thief,” you growl, “I’m princess (y/n) of the Northern Kingdom, first and rightful heir to the throne. As a fellow royal, I deserve the right to know who you are.”

At your words, his body went rigid. “You deserve it, huh?” He moved from his spot at the throne, up the stairs towards you and towering over your figure. You shuffled backwards in alarm. “You, a Northern pansy with your tea parties, lazing around in your kingdom, not giving a damn about the ecosystem around you. You call that royalty?” He spat, raising his voice. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, physical heat, fueled by his anger. “Destroying more of my home to make room for your stupid roads. Killing my people’s food for sport and leaving the skinless carcass to rot so you could have your stupid exotic rugs- I’ve seen how much you people take for granted. If it weren’t for the size of your army, I would’ve conquered you assholes by now. Why did I even listen to that damn Kirishima, I should’ve left you and your boyfriend in the forest. At least you’d be useful for once-”

“Wait, I think you’re overreacting here, and he’s not-” you tried to reason, stumbling over your feet. You completely lost your composure now, your heart practically beating out of its chest.

“Or your brother, I don’t give a damn who he is, my people are running out of food because of yours- but I don’t think you ever knew, huh? Probably worried over some bullshit like what you’re gonna wear, or if some other pretty boy prince out there thought you were cute.” He continued. You back found the edge of the railing and you latched your hands onto it. Taking a quick glance backwards, you found the height a little terrifying now.

“Well, I’m over here hunting day and night to find meals and what do I get? Two more mouths to feed. Useless, pathetic weights on my back. If you wanna talk about being my fellow royal-”

“Bakugou, stop!” you hear Kirishima’s voice echo.

Kirishima. Oh thank god Kirishima is here.

The newly identified “Bakugou” snaps his head to the side at the voice. You look around Bakugou’s figure to see the redhead entering through the doorway, a stranger with green hair trailing behind him.

“You need to eat, Kachaan.” the stranger says. “We’re not starving, Denki found a whole new area with more game- but you can’t hunt it if you’re the one hungry.”

“Stop telling me what to do, I’ll eat when the provisions are restocked.” he turned to the side to face the pair and glared.

Kirishima in the meantime had already ran across the hall, climbing the stairs up to you two. “It’s been three days, brother, you’re getting aggressive.”

Bakugou took another glance at your shocked figure, and for a moment, you could see a pang of guilt hit him. But it was fleeting. His face returned to and scowl and he scoffed, fully turning around and heading down the steps past his comrade. “Aggression is what’s kept this kingdom prosperous.”

“Well, yelling at her highness isn’t very prosperous.” he shot back, tracking the blonde with his eyes.

The stranger made his way next to you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Kirishima acknowledged him and rushed off towards the doors with his leader.

“Well they’re always talking about equality for some goddamn reason, why can’t I yell at them like men?” Bakugou threw his hands up in the air.

“That’s not what they’re talking about…” the other man responded.

Their voices grew distant as they left the hall, leaving you and the kind stranger. With Bakugou gone, you released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding and fell to your knees, groaning.

So, that was Bakugou. You didn’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if Kirishima hadn’t stopped him.

“Woah, hey, uh, we should get you back to your room.” he says, cradling your shoulders. “I’m Izuku Midoriya by the way, but you can call me Deku.”

“(Y/n)” you strained. “Nice to... nice to meet you Deku, but I can’t go back yet. I have to make sure Sho is ok…”

Deku brought you back up to your feet, sliding an arm around your waist and a head under your arm. “Sho? Is that your friend?”

“yeah,” you nodded as the two of you began heading to the door yourselves, “my childhood friend. We were...we got lost...”

“Lost? We could send a messenger out to your kingdom and let them know you’re here-” He says.

“No!” You yelled. Deku looked taken aback and gave you a concerned look. A little embarrassed, you cleared your throat. “No. It’s ok, I uh, I’d prefer we don’t make a huge deal about this.”

Deku chuckled, “Oh, of course my lady, but, are you sure you’re ok to go visit him?”

“Please, I was the one who caught him in all of this mess.”

He smiled as he pushed one of the doors open with his foot, and headed down the steps almost as far as where your own room was, only before the last flight of stairs he took a bridge across to another tree where a small cluster of buildings sat. He gently slid out from besides you to open the front door. Sho laid flat on the bed in front, quietly sleeping. He looked much better now. The lump on his face had almost disappeared, wrapped heavily in clean bandages. He was shirtless as well, only more bandages covering his chest and parts of his arm. He had bruises everywhere, but otherwise, he looked taken care of. In addition to the bedside dresser, there was a small wooden table to his right with tools, bandages, and washcloths. He must’ve needed stitches. You teared up at the sight, feeling guilty again for all the trouble you caused.

Deku gently placed a hand on your shoulder again, leading you to a couch on the side of the room. “He’s got a concussion as well as deep cuts here and there, but he’ll make a full recovery in about three weeks. I’m going to have him stay in bed for a week and a half and then go from there.”

“It’s all my fault,” you whispered, voice cracking. At this point, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

“What? No, it’s those people in the forest. Wild people. They like to mess with anyone caught out at night. Except for kach- erm, The King. They’re terrified of him.”

You sniffed, “Bakugou, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “we grew up together, so I’m used to calling him Kacchan. It was just a name and uh, oh, and, I’m sorry for the way he acted, he’s been out scouting food for a while, not eating at all. He thinks the forest is slowly going dry. He’s a good person, I promise, he just has a mean face. He must’ve scared you.”

“It’s ok,” you shook your head. “He was...he was right. About my people.” You wiped the tears from your eyes, staring at the wall in front of you. “My father, he likes money and power. He likes seeing happy and rich citizens. I used to think it was because he cared about them when really, it’s so he could show off to other kingdoms. I could hear them sometimes, talking about expanding towards the forest, cutting down more trees for a new library or something. He liked the pelts too, making me little stuffed rabbits when I was younger. I always thought it was ok though, I never knew people lived here. Now I feel awful.”

Deku gave you a kind smile. “Hey, but it wasn’t you, right? That was your dad. Don’t beat yourself up over his decisions.”

“Yeah” you sighed, “I guess.”

Deku’s smile grew bigger, and he pushed himself off the couch. You watched him walk over to the dresser and opened up one of the drawers to pull out a small blanket.

“Here” he said, unfolding the blanket and handing it to you. “I’m gonna go grab the medicinal tea I brought to your room, it’ll help with the pain. Uh, I’m not quite sure, but I think you may have slightly fractured a rib, so the best thing we could do is let it heal itself for a week. Who knows, it might just be bruised.”

“Thanks.” you say, laying yourself down on the couch in the meantime. After Deku came back with that tea, you passed out fast.

You had a dream. Your father was right in front of you, raising his sword above his head. He was scared of something, but you couldn’t tell what. The background was fuzzy, but you could see it was destroyed. You were raising your arms, protecting someone. Everything was in slow motion, fading slowly to white.

You spasmed awake, inhaling sharply. The image faded fast out of your mind. Shoto was snoring lightly on the bed, arm lazily resting atop his stomach. Good. Sighing, you set aside the blanket and walked out the door for some fresh air. The tea helped you a lot, even now. You didn’t even feel any pain. The moon shone brightly again as the breeze cooled your skin, giving you deja vu of the whole fiasco from before. Except this time, this was peaceful. You weren’t lost. No one was chasing you. And most importantly, you and Shoto were safe. Everything was good for now.

A large shadow fluttered in the corner of your eye, causing you to jump a bit. A red dragon with magnificent wings landed in the clearing by the kingdom gates, which were now closed shut. Its rider, the buttholeish King, yelled at the guards. They notched their arrows, shooting into the forest with expertise. A roar of some sort of animal retreated, rustling trees in its wake. Bakugou slid down from its neck to untie the fresh animal carcasses secured on the dragon’s back. Other soldiers came from the buildings to help carry them. Then, as Bakugou hopped to the ground, the dragon began to shrink back into itself. Wings folded into his backside, neck shortening, and body losing its color to turn into...Kirishima. It blew your mind. So you really did hit him hard back there. You had to apologize.

You rushed down the steps to find them, not really thinking about the fact that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. Nor did you really think about your stamina. Five sets of stairs and you were already panting.

As you leaned against the tree, trying to be careful with your breaths. It still didn’t hurt, but damn did you get tired quick. Just as you were turning to tackle another flight, a head of blonde hair appeared from below, scowling.

“Again? What is it with you and not sitting still?” he grumbled. You could hear the fatigue in the way his voice cracked.

You sat up from the tree, surprised that he climbed so fast. “I, er, wanted to apologize to Kirishima for the wound is all.” you rubbed your arm nervously as he stopped in front of you.

He eyes you with skepticism, probably wondering if you were telling the truth or not. “He’s gonna be taking care of the fresh meat for a while, and probably sleep till late afternoon knowing the lazy idiot.” he grumbles.

“Oh.” you say, still kind of embarrassed.

“And besides, he’s fine. He heals like it’s nothing.”

“Because he’s a dragon…?”

“Heh, something like that.”

“Oh.”

You two sit in silence for a moment after that. The awkwardness was almost unbearable.

“This reminds me, Shitty Hair wanted me to do something. Can you walk up the stairs?” he finally asks.

You shrug, “I’ll get up there eventually.” you respond.

“Well, I don’t have time to wait for ‘eventually’” he says, and lifts you up off the ground with both arms. He hugs you close to his bare chest and climbs the stairs with no problem, not even a slight change in breathing.

You help a bit, holding on to his neck for support. “Where-“

“I have to give you your shit back.” He grunts. “You lived so I don’t get to keep your sword.”

“What an awful mouth you have for a king.” You frown.

He smirks in response, “you haven’t seen the half of it, princess.”

Princess. The way he says “princess” sends shivers down your spine. You don’t know why, but you found yourself staring at his features again. Hair shining almost white again, gently waving in the wind. Piercing eyes, sharp jawline, defined collarbones…

“Oi, quit starin.” He interrupts your thoughts.

“Huh? Why...uh, why would I stare at you?” you say, your voice an octave higher.

He chuckles lightly while you try to look everywhere but him. He passes Shoto’s room and instead keeps heading upwards. Past the throne room too, taking a staircase to a room above it. He pushes it open to a gorgeous bedroom. The amount of oil lamps lining the walls could barely light up the entirety of the room. Giant bed with plush pillows along one wall, a balcony on the other side of the room, a door leading to what you think is a bathroom, and lots and lots of “trophies” hanging up on the wall. Helmets, swords, capes, horns, claws- must be from what he killed. One horn spread the length across the wall from his bed, being almost 10 feet long. You’d be terrified to know what creature that belonged to...or, had belonged to. Still, they were oddly beautiful. Clearly, they were a struggle to take down, judging by the damaged sword Bakugou wielded and the slight deformities in the trophies themselves. A crack down the middle of a knight’s helmet. Multiple tears in a blue and white feathered cape. It was almost surreal to you, that a man that could win all these vicious battles can gently place you on the soft cushions of one of the few couches that occupied his room.

Walking to his bed, he picked up an object propped up against the bed frame. He trunks to you, holding it flat against both hands. Your sword!

He unsheathed it, examining the blade in the dim lamplights with approval. “This is made of Awherian metal, better not lose it.” he says, sheathing it and handing it back to you. You take it gingerly, propping it by your feet.

“Awherian?” You repeated.

“Awherians used to be a tribe up in the North before going extinct a long time ago. Legends say they used to battle giants, cuz they ate their dragons...or some bullshit my old hag likes to talk about.” he crosses his arms.

He took notice of you lowering your head, and sighed, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“I uh,” he cleared his throat, “I shouldn’t have said all that. Earlier, I mean. Kirishima was right about being hungry, I don’t usually yell at women. Unless they’re trying to kill me, you know.”

“It’s ok,” you lean back into the couch, “you weren’t wrong. I said this to Deku earlier already: I thought my father was doing the right thing because he, well, he’s my father. If I had known there was a whole civilization here...I just...I hope I can help.”

He looked at you for a few seconds, calculating. Were you genuinely being honest? Maybe, he thought. He has his doubts still.

Bakugou was always weary about newcomers, and didn’t take too kindly to them. The only reason these two were brought in was because Kirishima urged him to. The king refused at first, reasoning that this could’ve been a set-up, that the cult that pranced the outskirts of their territory had a plan to send in spies this way. Of course, Kirishima says that there’s no way they would possibly injure their own like this, leaving them one step away from death, but Bakugou has seen their ways. They would eat each other if they wanted to. Eventually, he gave in on the reasoning that they weren’t the smartest of people. You seemed different. He ordered his closest men, including that shitty Deku to keep an eye on you both.

“Maybe you could. Who fuckin knows” He says, “but not when you can’t even climb fucking stairs without wheezing like a granny.” He says, earning a slightly offended whine from you. He smiles lightly, then points to his bed with a thumb. “Go.”

You look at him, perplexed. “In your bed?”

“No shit, it’s the middle of the night.” He narrows his eyes.

“I’m, b-but we’re not married-“ you stuttered.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, “relax princess, you have it to yourself. I just don’t feel like taking you back down to your room, or to that half n half bastard.”

With a grunt, he picks you up off the couch and onto the bed. The plush blankets swallowing you almost immediately.

“Do you like insulting people?” you ask as he throws the blanket over you.

“I dunno, do you like breathing, or is it just something you do?”

“You’re impossible.” You rolled your eyes. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch.” He replies, undoing the buckles on his cape. “Sleep, we’ll have you properly taken care of tomorrow, starting with a bath.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Hey!” you pouted. A bath sounds wonderful though.

“You were supposed to be in bed all day today, but whatever.” he sighs. He folded his cape neatly and placed it on his bedside dresser, then flopped onto a couch on the far side of the room, facing away from you. Eventually, his muscles relaxed and you could hear soft puffs of breaths as he slept.

It was calming in a way. Every night, even as a small child afraid of the dark spaces in your room, you slept alone. You had to overcome that fear alone, your mother definitely didn’t want you bothering her, and your father was far too tired from dealing with the kingdom all day. But knowing someone else was in the room felt, in an odd way, nice. You drifted off again, but this time, without dreams.

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