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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

3K notes · View notes

boowanie · 3 years ago

Text

Pairing: Ceo!Wonwoo x Secretary!reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff-ish

Warning: Suggestive

W/C: 2k+

Summary: Falling in love with your boss was never on your agenda, or so you thought.

Eri’s note: I’ve been dying to write a ceo!wonwoo scenario and here she is!! aaah, i hope you beans enjoy this! I think this is my favourite of mine so far 💘

The cold rain seeped into your clothes as you padded your way back to your empty apartment. You were absolutely exhausted. Words were not enough to explain how tired you were of your boss but being broke left you with no choice but to stick around as Wonwoo’s secretary.

When you first met him, you couldn’t deny that he made your heart skip a beat with how beautiful he was. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, the image you momentarily created in your mind was shattered. He was always working you harder than your other co-workers even when the tasks weren’t even your responsibility.

You finally caught sight of your apartment building and a small sigh of relief left your lips. You were definitely drenched when you reached your apartment door, shivering as you opened your door. On a normal day, you would have slipped your shoes off at the front door but tonight was different. You went straight to the bathroom, leaving wet footsteps and drops of water along the way. The warmth of the water coming out of your shower fogged up your small bathroom as you finally discarded the wet clothes you were in.

Once you stepped into the shower, your thoughts led you back to the events that happened before you walked home.

—

Wonwoo was yelling at one of his employees yet again. You could hear him demanding for the work that he tasked her to do. You flinched as your co-worker finally snapped, yelling at him with the same tone.

“You know what, I fucking quit Jeon Wonwoo. Fuck you and fuck your stupid company! I’d rather be jobless than stay here for another day. I don’t know how y/n has managed to stay by your side for the past 5 years.”

You and the other employees turned towards the door as soon as she stepped out, visible tears tumbling down her cheeks. Some of your co-workers stood up to comfort her while some avoided her incase Wonwoo saw. You, on the other hand, were called into his office. You sighed, picking up the files he wanted you to sort out during lunch.

“Close the door,” he murmured as soon as you stepped into his office. You did as you were told and walked slowly to his table where he was leaning back against his chair with his eyes tightly shut. You carefully placed the files on his desk, not wanting to disturb your boss’ silence.

“Can you stay for awhile?” he whispered, eyes opening to stare at you. You blinked back, your eyes softening at the sight of him and the dark circles that were visible under his eyes. You nodded as you took the spare seat and pulling it over to Wonwoo’s side.

“What do you need help with, Mr. Jeon?”

“Just need you here to calm me down.” He stated, catching his lower lip between his teeth.

—

When you turned the shower off, you came to a conclusion that Jeon Wonwoo liked to confuse you. He confused you with his actions. Despite the fact that he gave you more work than anybody else in the company, he also cared about you. Wonwoo didn’t mind when you handed files to him late nor did he care whenever he saw you nodding off at your desk. Your co-workers noticed how more lenient he was on you but they never made a comment because they saw how much work Wonwoo gave you on a daily basis.

You finally sat down on your sofa, ordering some food to eat to reward yourself after Wonwoo made you stay behind again to help him with some documents he was reviewing. You remember trying to stiffle numerous yawns as you worked through some documents and you could feel the frustration building up within him.

“You know what, just go home y/n. It’s clear to me that you’d rather be sleeping,” he said, plopping the loose papers on his desk before turning towards you. Your eyes widened at the sharp gaze he threw at you and you felt your heart momentarily clench.

“Won-, Mr. Jeon, it’s past midnight. I think we both need to rest,” you stared back, watching as he ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned back against his chair, watching you with blank eyes.

“Just go.” He turned his body away from you, leaving you staring at his back that was now hunched over his wooden desk.

“Fine.”

—

Once your food delivery arrived, you took your spot on your sofa again, watching reruns of your favourite show. You sighed as your mind began wandering back to Wonwoo.

“Fuck this,” you grabbed your phone, dialing the man that was occupying your mind.

On the third ring, he finally picked up. You could hear some shuffling in the background as you asked if he had gone home. You waited for his answer as silence consumed you both.

“Can I come over?” he whispered, hearing sniffles coming from his end. Your heart clenched at the sadness evident in his voice.

“I-i’ll leave the door unlocked,” you whispered back.

—

Again, Jeon Wonwoo confused you as he began to nip at the soft skin of your neck. Your hands ran through his hair, tugging his locks softly as he continued to pepper your neck with wet kisses, sighing as he left a subtle bruise on your collarbone.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” he groaned against your neck. You moaned when he slid the straps of your bra down your shoulders, loving his gentle touches that burned agaisnt your skin. However, as he continued to leave kisses on your skin, your mind wandered back to everything that happened that day. You pulled away just before he could undo the clasp of your bra.

“W-what are we doing Wonwoo,” you breathed out, pushing his body away from you. He sighed, leaning back on your headboard. You avoided his gaze and stared at your legs that were situated on either side of his thighs.

“Don’t you like what we have y/n?” he asked, pulling your chin up with his hand.

“What exactly do you call this Wonwoo? I’m your secretary for crying out loud,” you replied with frustration.

“We can’t keep doing this. I-i can’t keep pretending like i’m not inlove with you while we’re at work,” you cried, tears sliding down your cheeks as you lightly thumped your hands against his bare chest.

“Baby,” he mumbled, taking your shivering figure into his embrace. You cried against the skin of his shoulder while he rubbed his hand on your back.

“I-i think I should quit Wonwoo,” you sniffled.

“If I stay in your company any longer, I’ll just end up breaking my own heart,” you decided, removing your self from his embrace. You wiped your tears with the back of your hands while getting off his lap.

“I think you should leave now Wonwoo, I’ll hand in my resignation letter later on.”

—

You arrived at the company early in the morning, your hands carrying folded boxes to put your things in. You heard soft mutters when you began to clear your belongings that were neatly organised on your desk.

Once you finished, you made your way towards Wonwoo’s office, gently knocking on his door to bid him your final goodbye.

“Come in.”

He looked up, pushing his metal glasses up when he saw you standing by the door. You took a deep breath before walking towards his desk, your resignation letter in hand. You placed it beside his arm before looking up at Wonwoo again.

“Thank you for the past 5 years, Mr. Jeon,” you bowed. He didn’t say anything and began working on the files that he was holding not too long ago.

“Bye Wonwoo,” you whispered, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall.

—

Four months passed by before you finally got a job at a photography studio. Before becoming Wonwoo’s secretary, you were an aspiring photographer that only studied business to please your parents. You were beyond happy when Mingyu, your boss, called you to offer you the job you applied for.

The first month and a half was hectic, shooting for different companies and artists was something you never imagined to be doing in your life time.

“Y/n, I need you to come with me to a really important photoshoot,” Mingyu chucked a popcorn at your direction. You swatted another incoming popcorn as you tried to place your camera down.

“Sure, who are we shooting for tomorrow?”

“My bestfriend and his family,” he smiled.

“Time?”

“10 in the morning,” he replied, munching on another popcorn.

“I’ll see you then,” you waved goodbye at your boss turned close friend.

—

You couldn’t believe your eyes when you entered the venue. Mingyu texted you that he would be arriving in less than 10 minutes. Your eyes landed on Wonwoo who was staring at you, shock evident on his face. You were shooting for The Jeons. Well shit, you thought. Wonwoo’s mother greeted you, leading you to a small section of the room where she told you you could place your belongings.

You thanked her, grabbing your phone to dial Kim Mingyu.

“Where the heck are you?” you panicked, looking around the room.

“Right behind you, you dumbass,” Mingyu chuckled, bumping your head with his camera bag. You glared at him as he continued to chuckle at you.

—

Throughout the whole photoshoot, your eyes tried to avoid meeting Wonwoo’s. Mingyu noticed the subtle glances that two of his friends were giving. He couldn’t help but shake his head when he finally took the last shot.

“We can call it a day, Mr and Mrs Jeon,” he politely said to Wonwoo’s parents. They both thanked you and Mingyu for your hard work while Wonwoo’s brother waved at you both with a smile before leaving with his parents. Wonwoo, on the other hand, decided to stay. You couldn’t deny how fast your heart was beating throughout the entire photoshoot.

“Thank you Mingyu and y/n,” he patted Mingyu’s back and gave you a small smile. You sligtly bowed at his direction before busying yourself with packing up. Mingyu and Wonwoo began to talk about something you didn’t understand while you tried to place your camera back into your bag.

“Hey y/n, do you need a ride back to your apartment?” Mingyu asked as you finally gathered all your belongings. You shook your head “no”, leaving both of them in the room.

“See you tomorrow, boss.”

—

It was around midnight when you heard a knock on your door. You were clad in nothing but a loose t-shirt that you were certain was Wonwoo’s and cotton shorts. You padded your way towards your door, looking through the peephole to find Wonwoo standing behind the door wearing grey sweatpants and a loose hoodie.

You opened the door, confused as to why Wonwoo showed up at your door after months of him not being here. He spoke gently, asking if he could come in to talk to you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, sitting back down on your sofa. He followed suite, keeping a small distance between you two. He shrugged, looking at his hands. Silence consumed you both while you stared at your midnight snack that was abandoned on the coffee table.

“Again Wonwoo, what are you doing here?” you asked firmly.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you so much, sweetheart,” he sobbed into his palms. Your heart clenched at his words, reaching out to pull him into your chest.

“I’m so sorry baby. When you said that you were going to leave, I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want to break your heart any further but I realised how stupid I was. How much of a coward I was being when I continued to lead you on for years,” he breathed against your neck.

“I’m so inlove you y/n y/l/n, and I was wonderinrg if you could still forgive me and ask for another chance?” he peered up at you through his tears. You wiped them gently while he wiped your own tears that were falling down your cheeks.

“Why’d you only come back for me now?” you whispered.

“I wanted to give you the space you deserved. I-i knew you were working for Mingyu two months ago when he mentioned your name during a conversation,” he stated. He pulled away from your hug, grabbing your waist to pull you on top of his lap. You straddled him, leaning the side of your head against his chest.

“Are you willing to take me back y/n?”

“Just make sure to ask me to be yours this time around, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He grinned at your words, “I love you so much.”

#wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt angst

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likeastarstar · 3 years ago

Text

The Pianist

(A/N: Thanks to @xjoonchildx and the anon who recommended me to her for this prompt! The pieces mentioned in this fic are what I listened to while writing it, they're beautiful and I recommend them. Feedback is appreciated!)

masterlist.

You didn’t sleep very well most nights.

You didn’t really understand how people just laid down and fell asleep instantly, it just didn’t happen for you. You had tried everything but ASMR creeped you out, Melatonin didn’t work, chamomile tea just made you have to get up to pee a million times. Nothing worked for years- until the apartment above yours got a new tenant.

You weren’t sure when exactly they moved in but you were certain of the day they got a piano.

January 12, 2021: The day you were given the gift of sleep.

At this point, it was apart of your routine. Every night, after showering and brushing your teeth, you’d lay down and listen to soft melodies you couldn’t quite place pouring through your walls.

Now, you found yourself rushing back home in the evening just in case they decided to start playing early.

“Hold the elevator, please!” You called, rushing over to the closing doors.

A hand stuck out to block them from shutting at the last minute and you gave a sigh of relief- you’d be on time now. You rushed into the elevator with a pleased smile on your face, your eyes falling on a man who you could only describe as the most interesting person you had ever seen. Dressed in all black with thick rings around the hand that had stopped the elevator, he should’ve been intimidating. If it wasn’t for the soft slope of his nose and pink doll-like lips, you would’ve turned the other way in fear.

“Oh-“ You said awkwardly, staring at him with wide eyes for some reason. He looked at you awkwardly and smile slightly, pulling his lips into a thine line. His dark eyes blinked slowly, molten mocha peering down at you with mild interest. “Thank you- for the elevator.”

“No problem, you seem like you’re in a hurry.” He said politely, his quiet, deep voice rumbling in your ear comfortably. You found yourself leaning towards him and snapped yourself out of it, pressing your floor’s button quickly.

As beautiful as he was, you got distracted from the man quickly, refocusing on trying to guess what the pianist would choose to play tonight. You left the window cracked just to hear more of the classical sonatas, timing your breathing just right to the pacing of the tunes. As time passed, you grew accustomed to the presence of the music, reading the pianist’s mood by their choice of song.

Reverie, for calm evenings in the summer when your apartment was bathed in golden light, warming your skin. A jazzy rendition of Manhattan when you assumed the pianist had an absolutely wonderful day, sending you off to dream of fluffy clouds and creamy skies. Nocturne No. 1, when they were troubled and you physically had to stop yourself from crying upon hearing the emptiness in the notes that flooded into your ears.

As luck would have it, you stumbled across the man in the elevator again too, crossing paths in the mail room, where he held the door open as you lugged out copious amounts of packages from online shopping. You would’ve tried to strike up a conversation, only it was already dusk and the pianist would start practicing soon.

“You’re always rushing, aren’t you?” He quipped, an endearing smile on his face. You admired the way his cheeks fluffed up a little when he smiled.

“I have plans with a friend,” You excused, naming the pianist as a fond companion. You didn’t want to reveal what you were really rushing for. The pianist felt like your own little secret, a world you could immerse yourself in when real life got too overwhelming.

If only you had known you’d soon lose the one consistent relief of tension in your life. You assumed things in his life had gone south, because after a week of music that tore your soul apart- the music stopped. Gone were your nights of angelic tunes, gone were your nights of sleep.

You waited for him, laid in bed with an antsy heart waiting to hear something, an aggravated smash of keys, a simple chord, even a single note would set you at ease. It had been a week since you had a good night of sleep, your companion suddenly stripped away.

You trudged into the elevator one morning sleepily, barely registering a familiar man standing beside you. Your hands met as both of you rushed to press the ‘close door’ button, the button shocking both of you at once. You jumped in surprise, flickering your eyes towards him sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” He mumbled. It wasn’t until then that you took in his appearance, slightly disheveled with his hair fluffy and messy. It was bleached now, faded with the roots grown out too far.

The pair of you rode the elevator down in a comfortable silence, filtering out together without a passing glance. You walked in different directions, both consumed in your own thoughts. You figured the pianist would be back by now. When nothing came, you decided to do take action, composing your own masterpiece. You tacked the letter you painstakingly rewrote a million times, setting for a simple note of flattery that you hoped would entice whoever it was playing the piano to return the gift you had cherished back to you. You expected nothing, maybe music returning back. Instead, you were greeted two days later with a simple knock at your door.

You answered quickly, shuffling your feet towards the entrance of your apartment. You opened the door to a familiar face, the man from the elevator. This time, his hair was freshly dyed, denim blue with one side sleeked back. His eyes were bright, alert as he looked at you with a surprised expression. You skimmed the length of his body, noting the tailored pants and soft looking sweater, stopping suddenly on a familiar piece of paper between long fingers adorned with rings.

Your note.

“You’re the pianist,” You realized, staring at the note. The paper of the note was faded, fraying at the ends and softened at the creases. It had clearly been folded and unfolded a million times, pulling at your heart.

“You fall asleep to me playing?” He asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I have trouble sleeping- you, your music helps.” You said lamely. “I’ve missed it….I thought, I mean, I noticed that you were playing more sad pieces than normal and then you stopped playing altogether. I figured something was wrong- Are you okay?”

He tapped his foot on the ground and shifted his weight, looking down at the ground awkwardly, “I was going to stop playing. I just…I didn’t see the value anymore.”

You felt panic sweep over your body and widened your eyes, leaning towards him instinctively, “Your music feels like a friend. It’s so beautiful and calming, it’s the only thing I have to look forward to some days. It- It has value. A lot of value, to me.”

He looked up at you and smiled, eyes crinkling slightly, “That makes me feel better- I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

You smiled back at him, tilting your head slightly.

The music came back after that, new songs playing every evening. You spent the mornings tracking down all of the songs he played the night before, listening to them while you went about your day, melting away time until you could listen to Yoongi practice again. You saw Yoongi a couple times in the elevator, exchanging shy smiles and excited suggestions of what you think he should learn next.

It wasn’t until you awoke one morning to the soft musings of a piano that you realized- you loved Min Yoongi. You recognized the song playing instantly- Dawn from Pride and Prejudice. You had suggested it awhile ago and how romantic you thought the piece was. It had been a slip of the tongue you thought he had forgot about it by now, since he hadn't played it. You remembered the small smile he gave you, nodding slightly when you blushed furiously at even the mention of romance. But now, listening to the music you knew he played for you, you were glad you had said it. It was fitting for the hour, the sunrise pouring cool colored light through your windows, a soft breeze filling your room because you had never gotten out of the habit of cracking your window to hear Yoongi play.

You smiled, laying in bed for a moment and soaking in the light keys. Eventually, you got up and walked to make yourself a cup of tea, stopping when you saw a piece of paper that had been slipped through the bottom of your door.

You picked it up quickly, opening it at once.

Would you like to have dinner with me? - Your Pianist.

#bts timestamps #bts drabble #yoongi one shot #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi drabble #yoongi imagine #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts reader insert #bts one shot #bts imagines #bts fic

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xoxo-teddybear · 4 years ago

Text

He’s Lost - Bakugou Katsuki - Part 2

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: angst, slightest fluff, cursing, physical harm mentions, lowkey little yandere obsessive hints, smut, 18+, daddy kink, sad boi Bakugou :(

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Summary: Bakugou’s been going through hell ever since the breakup. He’s been so lost without you. But he’s willing to do whatever it takes to win back his Teddy bear. Everything and anything for the love of his life.

*Everyone is of age for legal consent (which is 16 in Japan, if you are uncomfortable with it please move along, thx<3)*

A/N: Bakugou is a little OOC but the main thing in the beginning starts with fixing up Katsuki a little bit. So sorry if you don’t really enjoy it all that much<3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Melancholy music bounces off the walls of the dark room. The river of tears that flow down his once perfect porcelain skin is everlasting. As he lays in the soft bed, staring at the ceiling, he thinks about all he could’ve done better for you. In his hand, the same framed picture of you both that he’s held onto every night ever since the horrible incident. Y/N L/N. Like a song that’s stuck on loop. It’s the only thing that runs through his mind.

The door swiftly opens, and much to his disliking, a massive amount of light now enters the former den of manliness pit of depression.

To show his displeasure, Bakugou rolled himself in the blankets, covering his entire body in them and being the picture inside with him as well. With different circumstances, Y/N would’ve thought it was cute or adorable, but it wasn’t Y/N that opened the door.

“Really Bakubro?” The blonde’s best friend spoke.

Eijirou Kirishima. The best friend of our dearest sad boy. He’s been letting his Bakubro crash in his dorm room because Katsuki refuses to clean his own. It looks exactly the same as it did on Valentine’s Day. Just a little different.

Rose petals were dead and dried up on his floors, candles were nearly melted to the bottom as they lay everywhere in the room, the curry was thankfully thrown out by Kirishima claiming that he could smell the spoiled aroma all the way from his room. But the presents, letter, and new gear stayed in the exact same spots. Bakugou didn’t feel worthy enough to be blessed with all the stuff but he was oh so desperate to be worthy. Worthy of your time, your love, and you in general.

Bakugou let out a grumbled whine of displeasure. He could feel the disappointment and concern radiating off his friend. As Katsuki poked just his face out of the covers, he was met with the expression that represented those two things.

“You can’t keep living like this bro,” Kirishima began, “You can’t keep hallowing in sadness in my room. I wanna help you, but you gotta help yourself too. Ever since you and Y/N split-“ Bakugou quickly interrupted.

“We didn’t split, she left me!” The blonde cried.

“...Right, okay. Well ever since Y/N left you, you’re not the same. You stay in here, playing the same damn sad tunes, covering yourself in my blankets, crying all day, and holding onto that picture! You haven’t even been to class or training! Shit man, you don’t even come out of my room to eat food! I gotta bring your plate here just to make sure that you’re properly fed. You’re a mess Bakugou. And not even the hot kind!” His best friend was right. He was a mess. And not even the hot kind.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do shitty hair?” Bakugou said while dragging the covers over his face once more. Inside the blanket he held onto the picture as if it were actually you.

The fake red head snatched the covers off of his friend’s body and forced him up.

The said friend didn’t take too kindly to that and growled in displeasure.

“What the fuck Kirishima,” Bakugou said, a little to calm and chilling.

“Dont give me that bull Katsuki. You gotta get her back. I would say move on, but it’s clear you can’t.” Kirishima said while rolling his eyes.

Bakugou mirrored the action and said “yea no shit genius. I can’t and won’t move on.”

“So then go get her man!” Kirishima yelled

“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that? Huh?!” Bakugou was so confused. In what way was it going to be possible to win you back?

“Figure it out! Look Bakugou, I’ll be here to help you along the way, but you gotta figure this shit out on your own. This is your relationship here, if you want it as bad as you claim you do then prove it. You want Y/N back? Then fight for her, idiot!” The blonde’s eyes seemed to go wide.

Two words stuck out to Katsuki during his friend’s little speech. Prove it. Fuck yeah he will! He’ll prove to the whole damn universe how much he wants you back. More importantly, he’ll prove it to you and win you back.

The iconic Bakugou smirk reappeared on Katsuki’s face. Kirishima took it as a good sign. “Alright shitty hair, you want me to prove how badly I want Y/N back. FINE!” The two friends pulled the iconic bro hug to seal the deal.

(You know? That shit that guys do where they high five and pull each other in with that one hand for the quickest hug and pat each other on the back? You know what I’m talking about.)

“Welcome back Katsuki.” Kirishima gladly stated. “Now get the fuck out of my room man, I’m sick of sleeping on the common room couches and you reek. Take a shower. And get your own clothes from your own room.”

As Kirishima pushed him out into the hallway and shut the door, it hit Bakugou like a bus. This would be Katsuki’s first challenge. Going back into the room filled with the torn love.

As Katsuki opened the door holding onto the picture, he felt his heart sink. He saw the damage. Melted candles, dried petals, the gifts and letter. Even the nasty smell of the spoiled curry still remained. As Katsuki gathered the courage to walk in and place the picture on the messy nightstand, it’s like the room was holding onto some sad emotions. Heartache and regret filled Katsuki’s chest. He couldn’t believe how fast it happened. He thought he would at least have a minute or two before he felt the pain again. Man, did it hurt like hell.

Katsuki dashed to his closet grabbing the first things he saw. He grabbed his shower container that held all his soaps and cleaning utensils and ran out the room, shutting the door. Once out, he let out a breath of relief.

“...after I clean myself up, the room’s next.” Katsuki said with determination as he walked towards the boy’s community showers and bath house.

When the hot water hit his skin, he felt a sense of calm. It wasn’t the same as the warmth of Kirishima’s blankets. It was better. The water and hot steam completely engulfed him in relaxation. The water washed away not only the dirt and grime, but also some of the tense feelings. For a moment, he felt at ease.

As Katsuki walked out the bathing area now fully clothed and dried, he made his way back to his room. He stood there, staring at the knob until he felt he was ready. Once he opened the door, the emotions hit him once again. Like a wave of sadness washed over his entire body. Finally, he stepped in.

First things first. Open up these windows. Let out that disgusting air filled with spoiled curry and sad emotions. When Katsuki took a breath a fresh air, he felt so alive. Much better than he has in days.

Now, we gotta move stuff. Katsuki picked up his dirty laundry and put it in his closet to wash later. He moved all his presents up off the floor and onto the bed. He swepted all the dead petals and toss them in his trash can. He threw out all the ruined candles and sprayed the room with air fresheners. He fixed up his bed and placed the picture frame back on his now cleaned nightstand. Next to it, a lit candle that smelled of caramel.

Katsuki took a seat at his desk. He was back to thinking about Y/N and all that he could do to win her back. As he checked his clock, he realized just how late it was. Kirishima came back to him at the end of class and training which was around 6. He spent an hour talking to Katsuki, and then Katsuki spent 4 hours cleaning himself and his room. It was 11:00 now. Way past his usual bed time. He’ll figure things out in the morning.

Katsuki smiled to himself as he layed in his own bed. He was finally on the right track again and one step closer to getting his teddy bear back. He turned to the picture frame, and grabbed onto it, hugging it while he slept. Katsuki was getting better but he wasn’t whole again. He needed Y/N to help him sleep alright, so holding the picture at night will have to do. He couldn’t wait till he woke up in the morning. Tomorrow he had school, he’ll get to see Y/N’s beautiful face for the first time in awhile, but before that, you bet your ass he’s waking up extra early to come up with a plan.

——————————————————————————

The next morning

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *click!*

The blonde smacked his alarm button before he rose up and stretched his body. Today was the day. He’s gets to see Y/N again. Bakugou just sits in place staring at nothing. Just taking 2 minutes to regain full consciousness. Once he’s set, he’s up and getting ready. It’s 4 in the morning now, so he begins to strategize.

Katsuki is pulling out easels and white boards. Pulling out notebooks and writing down facts. What Y/N is interested in, her favorite hobbies and foods, where she likes to spend her time, what she could need help with that Bakugou could assist her with. He’s also writing down the highlights of their relationship and what she seemed to enjoy best about him. He’ll be keeping that as a reference for when he needs to reassess on how he should treat her better. He will do better this time. That’s a promise to himself and you.

After half an hour of slightly struggling, he reaches out for help. Now at 4:30 a.m, here was the blonde knocking at his best friend’s door.

Rock music is blasting, sweat is flying everywhere and punches are being thrown at a hero. Not just any hero, Crimson Riot! As Kirishima continues to spar with his idol, he’s interrupted by a banging sound.

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

“The hell?” The younger red head says. Soon his idol began to fade away.

“Crimson Riot! Hey are you okay sir?!” But it was too late, the man was gone. Now the whole room was waving around. Did Kirishima accidentally mistake his giant jug of water for vodka or something? Soon he was left in nothing but a black abyss. And then....he fell!

“Shitty hair.....Ei....KIRISHIMA!”

“AH!” The red head screamed as he shot up from the bed, head-butting his best friend right then and there. Great, a perfect dream. Ruined.

“Ah, shit!” Bakugou said in pain as he held his now throbbing forehead. “What the fuck?”

“That’s my line Bakugou,” the red head sighed, “Did you break into my room? Jeez man, what the fuck? What are you doing here at.....4:38 a.m?!?!? DUDE!”

“I know, my bad okay? But..I could use some help.” Bakugou whispered the last part so Kirishima had no idea what this man just said.

“What bro?” Kirishima asked.

“I said....I could use some help.” The blonde repeated.

“C’mon man, you’re gonna have to speak u-“

“I need your help, alright?!” Bakugou finally said. Kirishima sighed. His bro really couldn’t wait until later?

“Bakugou, you know I’m always down to help you out but this is too early man. Can we just-“ the blonde quickly added on to what he was previously saying.

“Please.”

Kirishima’s eyes shot open after he closed them to drift off back to sleep. Did the Katsuki Bakugou just ask for help by saying please? This must be extremely important.

“......alright. You got me, I’m up. But if I’m gonna be up at 4 in the morning, others are gonna be helping us too.” Kirishima bargained.

“But-“ Kirishima cut him off

“But nothing. Besides, I’m drowsy in the morning so I wouldn’t really focus all that well. And we’re just going to the people we can trust.” The red head explained.

“Fine.” The blonde gave in. So there they went, gathering the other members of the Bakusquad (minus Y/N) to help Bakugou win back his girl.

As the 4 sleepy heads sat down on Bakugou’s floor infront of the whiteboard he wrote on, The blonde began to explain some of his plans.

“So I was thinking of treating her real nice all day until she takes me back and we become friends again, eventually leading to our relationship, but then I realized she’d be into a fake me and we all know I can’t pull the nice guy act forever. Then I thought I’d spoil her with all of the things she desires, but money can’t buy you love. So I thought I could-“ Katsuki quickly noticed the long period of silence other than his voice.

There, were his 4 friends sleeping in a dog pile in the middle of his dorm room floor, completely ignoring everything he’s been saying.

Bakugou sighed and grabbed a small “heroes weekly” issue sitting on his desk, rolled it up, and wacked his friends in their heads.

“You idiots...WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Ahh, welcome back Gremlin Bakugou.

As his friends came back from the dead, they all complained.

“Aww c’mon Bakugou. We’ve been at this for an hour already, it’s 5:40.” Sero said while yawning.

“I don’t care. You idiots offered to help so here you are.” Bakugou said while turning to face the board again.

“We didn’t offer shit!” The bakusquad simultaneously replied.

Mina let out a groan while rubbing her eyes open, “Look Bakugou. We really want you and Y/N to be happy together, we really do, but maybe it’s for the best if you guys don-“ Mina was cut off by Denki slapping his hand over her mouth.

As she looked at her electric friend, she saw a nervous expression on his face. She followed his gaze and saw the back of an angry and almost insane looking and shaking Bakugou.

Hearing Mina say that he should let Y/N go triggered something in his brain. But hearing her say they wanted the couple back together enlightened him too. His mind got the two mixed up.

‘Everyone wants us back together. Not just me. So...then we are back together. Yeah. Y/N is still mine’ the now insane blonde thought to himself.

“....Ok well, time to go, get some sleep, see you idiots in the morning!” Bakugou said while pushing the group out of his room. Once they made it over the threshold, he slammed the door.

With an insane plan in mind, Bakugou checked the time and saw he could take at least a good hour long nap before he had to get ready to leave for school. And that’s exactly what he did. So he jumped into the covers, grabbing onto the picture and drifted off into sleep.

——————————————————————————

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *click!*

Bakugou’s alarm rang once more, and again, he slammed it shut. He stretched, got up outta bed and changed into his uniform. That power nap really well rested him, but it also must’ve fucked up his brain even more.

‘And now it’s time to go see my beautiful girlfriend,’ he thought to himself.

After Mina’s comments last night, it hit Bakugou with a great realization. Everyone wanted him and Y/N back together. Not just him. So why not give everybody what they want? Sure maybe Y/N might not completely want it but she’ll learn how to love Bakugou again. Everyone’s happy. And so, Bakugou was convinced that him and Y/N were back together.

At breakfast, Bakugou ran down to already see the Squad up and eating.

“Why the hell do you losers look like death?” He asked while grabbing a cup for his orange juice.

“Well we were all trying to sleep, but after what happened this morning, we couldn’t.” Mina explained.

“What happened this morning? There was nothing big except you guys helping me out.” Kirishima really couldn’t believe it. Had his dear friend not even notice his weird ass trigger moment earlier?

“Alright whatever. Anyway, wheres Y/N?” Bakugou asked after he finished his cup.

“Oh, she just left. She had an early breakfast and went for a quick walk.” Mina said.

“You planning on talking to her today Kacchan?” Denki questioned him.

“You damn Spark Plug, of course I’m gonna talk to my girlfriend today. Fucking idiot.” He said as he grabbed his bag and walked out the kitchen.

“.........Huh?” The entire squad was left in confusion.

‘Had they gotten back together this morning? Did she really accept him back that fast? What the fuck is going on?’ They all thought.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?” Kaminari cried out as he pulled at and scruffled his hair in confusion.

Ah Denki. Always saying what everyone is thinking but the only one ballsy enough to idiotically say it aloud.

——————————————————————————

As she walked to class, Y/N hummed a little song to herself. She enjoyed her walk as it helped clear her mind from all the recent events. Her breakup with Bakugou really took a toll on her. They were together for almost 2 years (EVER SINCE JUNIOR HIGH) so of course the split hit her hard. He accused her of cheating and burned her. So much for trust, right? Not only that, but the burn left a tiny scar. Usually, due to you having a regeneration ability as part of your quirk, Phoenix, the scar should’ve healed up. Maybe the emotional damage caused it to permanently mark itself in you. Oh well, whats done is done. And now it’s time for class.

When you walked though the door, you were expecting a normal day. Ever since the split, you usually got their a lot earlier before anyone else so you could sit, do a little reading, sketch out a little drawing, or just rest your eyes until the bell rang. Except this time, when you opened the door, someone jumped on you for a hug.

“Babe! There you are you little dumbass. Jeez, I was looking for you everywhere.” Bakugou said as he let go of the hug. “I’ve missed you, haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Uhm, you said babe??” You spoke with a confused and shocked voice.

“Yeah, I called you babe? So what? We always call each other that. You are my girlfriend after all.” He said so casually as he walked to his seat.

THISMANSAIDWHAATTT

“Uh, Bakugou-“

“Katsuki.” He deadpanned.

“Bakugou, we broke up.” You stated while walking up to him.

“Mm...no we didn’t.” He once again so casually said.

“Wha- I- we- you-....HUH?!” You stuttered out.

“Y/N-“

“L/N!” You corrected.

“Y/N. We didn’t break up you dummy, we only had a little set back and that’s fine. All couples do. But thankfully you forgave me and we’ve moved past it,” he began as he pulled you into his lap, “besides, everyone wants us back together including us so why not make it easier for everyone.”

You began stuttering out none sense right there on his lap. You were in such shock and utter disbelief that he said all that bullshit. Well maybe he was right about one thing. Everyone did want you guys back together, including you both, but that’s besides the point! Y’all broke up! He needs to accept it.

“Baku- no- I- we-“ and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

And for some reason, you didn’t push him away. Granted you didn’t accept it either, but you slowly melted into it. The kiss was passionate and slow. It wasn’t sloppy, it was very controlled, but it was just a lotta lip and tongue. The whole thing sent butterflies to your heart and stomach. Oh how you missed moments like these with Katsuki.

He readjusted you on his lap so that you were now straddling him. His hands travelled down to your ass as he gave it a nice squeeze, one that made you moan into the kiss. Your arms went straight to his neck to pull him in for more and he took it as an invitation to start. The kiss began to get a little rougher. More tongue and teeth, both of you extremely desperate for the touch from one another. With your cunt pressed onto his crotch, he slowly thrusted up into you as you grinded down slowly on him. You both started breathing heavier and letting out little whimpers of ecstasy. He could probably feel your now soaked panties. One hand left your ass and came around to the front. He pressed on your soaked pussy through your damp underwear and it caused shutters to go through your entire body.

You began pressing down into his hand, desperate for more friction and Bakugou noticed. He moved your panties to the side and slipped in one finger. This was rewarded with a louder moan that caused Katsuki to smile into the kiss. He knew you and your body so well. He was determined to treat you right and get you to fall for him one more time. As his finger felt around your velvet walls, he slipped in another one, receiving an even louder cry of pleasure. You broke off from the kiss to throw your head back. Katsuki saw this as an opportunity to attack your neck. To mark you up and let everyone know you still belonged to him.

“K-Katsuki. Don’t...don’t stop,” you panted.

“I won’t princess, I’ll take care of you.” He smiled.

Without warning, he shoved in 2 more fingers. You were so loud and Bakugou was so proud. You were gonna let everyone know what’s happening and he was excited.

He lifted his head to whisper into your ear as you continued to moan and sigh.

“Well aren’t you just a little slut. You want everyone to know how well daddy takes care of you? You want them to hear you scream in pleasure?” His words went straight to your cunt that was now welcoming in his 5th and final finger. Completely fisting you now, you let out loud cries.

“S-uki, .....ah, AH YES! Mm, s’too much!” You cried out. You couldn’t help it, you loved him. You knew you did. Even though what he did was wrong, your body took over and your mind turned off. You fully succumbed to his wishes.

You let your feet hit the ground to stand yourself up a little bit and fall down onto his fist, meeting the thrust of his hand moving in and out of you. Watching the show, Katsuki couldn’t help but stare in delight. His hard on growing bigger and bigger each second as he bit his lip to hold back his sounds. Watching you bounce on just his fist did something to him and brought out a feral beast. He snapped.

He pulled his fist out of your aching pussy and sat you down on his desk. He stood up infront of you and tore your delicate panties off.

“Katsuki-“ you were silenced with a smack to your ass

“That’s not my name, teddy bear. C’mon now, you know exactly what I wanna hear.” He said while caressing your thighs.

“..Yes daddy.” You bashfully said.

With a kiss to your cheek he praised you.

“Good girl.” As he began to unbuckle his belt, you looked around the classroom.

“D-daddy. Someone’s gonna see!” You cautiously stated.

Katsuki reassured you with a kiss to your lips, “We’ll be fine princess, I promise,” he said while placing his tip at your entrance. You whimpered at the thought of him inside you again, it’s been so long. You were almost nervous. That is until Katsuki place a finger under your chin so you could face him in his eyes.

“I’m gonna take care of you, so don’t worry.” And with that you slowly nodded. And he finally began to press into you.

With just his tip in, you let out a breathy moan. He was bigger than you remembered. He kept pressing and pressing until he was fully inside your warm and tight hole. You both let out a moan at the feeling of each other.

“Daddy, please move.” And he did as he was told. With a steady pace set, he thrusted himself in and out of you. Both of you moaning louder every second. While you were enveloped in the euphoric feeling, Katsuki was struggling to hold back the beast inside of him. That is until you came up to his ear.

“Fuck me like you mean it, daddy. I won’t break, I promise.” You said in his ear and Katsuki swore he could hear your smirk. Gripping your ass and continuing his pace he spoke.

“Don’t be mad when you can’t walk for the next week,” he smirked. With that, he slammed himself deeper, harder, and faster inside of you. His tip hitting your cervix. You let our screams of pure pleasure and he did the same.

“Oh yesss...shit daddy..so big..”

“F-fuck! Oh you like that? Yeah princess? ...oh shit baby your pussy takes me so well. Y-Yeah, your tight little cunt takes this big cock so fucking well,” he moved faster inside, exploring you completely. His hands went straight to your shirt and and ripped it open. You had a few buttons fly everywhere, but you didn’t care. He pushed your bra up and let one of your mounds fall into his hand. He squeezed it tight to release a generous moan from you. He then dove into the valley of breast to mark your chest. You held onto the back of his head and tugged at his hair and he growled at he feeling, enjoying every second of it.

“Oh yess princess just like that. S-shit. Oh fuck yes...oh you’re mine,” he went deeper inside as he spoke.

“Fuck! Daddy yes! Right t-there! Oh my god..yess,” you cried out.

“Can you feel that. Oh fuck, can you feel my dick in your gut?” He moaned out. Katsuki went to grip the edge of his desk as you kept your hold around his neck, causing him to somehow move faster. He went up to taste your lips once more

“I love you....so much princess...you hear me...Mm, your mine,” he said between kisses and ended with a smack to your now red ass.

His words had you squeezing his cock. He knew what was coming.

“Aww, is princess gonna cum? You gonna cum on daddy’s dick?” He teased.

“Mm...p-please daddy. Please let me cum,” you said while throwing your head back. Katsuki only smirked at this.

“Not yet~” he pulled out of you, leaving you a whiny mess.

“N-no! Daddy please! Please let me finish,” you said while holding onto his shoulders, inches away from his face, pressing your chest to his. Your words caused his “little” friend to grow even harder and Katsuki only smirked and looked down at you.

“Dont worry teddy bear, Daddy’s not done with you yet.” He yanked you off the desk and pressed you down onto it, with your chest to the desk. Then he slammed back into you, returning to the fast pace again.

“Fuck yeah..oh god look at this ass. Nice and round, all red for me,” he said while pounding into you.

He gave your ass a good few smacks, countered with a thrust each harder than the last before going to lay his chest on top of you to whisper in your ear.

“You wanna be a good girl for daddy? Huh, teddy bear?” He asked.

“Mmm, yes! Yes I’ll be good, just please!” You cried out. He reached his hand over to rub on your clit. Your body began to shake with pleasure.

“Then cum with me.....NOW,” he said, and that was all it took for you to release the white liquid. As you came you could feel his hot release filling you up to the brim. He cried out in pure pleasure while you did the same.

You both stayed in that position for a bit, and you could feel the mixture of both your release dripping down your inner thighs. Soon, you felt Katsuki lower himself to kiss your neck.

“You did so good princess.” He calmly said to you. It was relieving, and you loved the sound of his voice, but you couldn’t help but feel a little off at this whole ordeal.

Katsuki pulled out of you and watched how his cum covered and filled your entire pussy. He smiled at the sight and went to grabbed some tissue on Aizawa’s desk to clean you and himself up.

He tucked himself back into his pants and you rebuttoned your shirt the best you could and flipped your skirt back down. Since Katsuki tore your panties you’d have to go commando at least until you got back to your room. You watched as Katsuki went to throw away the tissues and your torn underwear into the trash can. When he made his way back to you, he held you in his arms and attempted to kiss you. But you turned away.

“Hey teddy be-“

“No, Katsuki. Please don’t call me that.” You said while looking down. Katsuki felt his heart hurt a little. You’re always gonna be his teddy bear, why would he ever stop calling you that?

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He asked you.

“Us. This. Katsuki, what happened today should not have happened.” You said

“What?” He was so confused and a little hurt.

As tears start to fill your eyes, you did everything you could to not let them fall. “Suki, we broke up. You accused me of cheating, you burned me! So for us to come in here and just have sex like nothing happened is wrong.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry for what happened. Seriously, after what I did it destroyed me. But please listen, I lov-“ you cut him off again.

“I know!.....I know you do Katsuki.....and I love you too Suki. So much,” this brought a smile to his face. A true, genuine smile that you loved so dearly.

“But I’m scared.” You added on. This made Katsuki’s smile drop, worry and concern fill his eyes.

“Of what exactly?” He asked you while gently holding onto your hand.

“.....You.” This shocked him. His own teddy bear feared him. Heartbreaking.

“I’m scared of the lack of trust that you have for me. And not only that, but your quirk too. Katsuki I know you’re one of the best students here at UA, but I know you’re emotions can get out of hand too. It’s clear that when you’re not in control of your feelings, your quirk can lash out. The evidence is right here,” you turned you arm that he was holding to show him the scar he left on you.

Now this really hurt Katsuki. He loved marking you with his love, not with his anger. The fact that he did that to you sent his mind into a frenzy. Until he felt your touch on his cheek.

Holding onto his cheek with your soft hands, you spoke reassuring words. “Katsuki, you were right about two things. I do want us to be together again and I do forgive you,” and with that, Katsuki leaned into your touch. Holding onto your hand that held his face, he released a single tear he didn’t know he was holding and closed his eyes in relief and satisfaction.

“But I can’t be with you again.” Your words caused him to open his eyes and stare at you in shock and fear. “At least...not yet.”

Whew, his heart rate went back down. Oh the rollar coaster of emotions this poor boy was currently on.

“Yet?” He asked hopefully.

“Suki, I’m still trying to fix myself, and it’s clear that you need to fix yourself too. I really want to be with you, but we both need time to grow for each other. I can’t leave you. I know for sure that in my heart, you’re always gonna be the one I run back to, but I don’t want to run back to someone who could possibly hurt me again. I want to come back to you knowing that when we are together again, our relationship is secured.” You explained.

A silence filled the air. You both stared at each other for what felt like forever. Nobody else in the world. Just you and him. He then pulled you in for a tight hug. As he held onto you, you could feel hot tears hitting your shoulder, and quiet sobs left his voice along with a hitched breath every now and then. Katsuki was crying.

“....I promise you. I’m gonna get better for you. I’m gonna be worthy of you and your love and it’ll stay that way for the rest of our lives. You and me. Together. Im gonna do whatever it takes to get you back and I won’t stop at anything until you’re mine again. I swear I’ll treat you better than I ever did before. As long as I know that you’re coming back to me and me only, I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes teddy bear.” He said into your neck with his arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

“I know you will Suki. And I promise I won’t make you wait too long.” You said while hugging him back.

“You better not.” The blonde said.

“Don’t forget though, I’m always yours. And just yours.” You reassured him.

“......Can we at least make this a little easier for me and say we didn’t split. We’re just on a break. A small break?” He said, now looking directly in your eyes while still holding onto you.

You put his worries at ease with your gentle smile. “The smallest break, Suki.” You softly laughed as you both went back in for another hug.

“........I like it better when you call me daddy,” the damn devil said while smiling.

“Shut up you horny idiot.” You chuckled.

‘I can’t wait to be yours again,’ you both thought

You both stayed there in each other’s embraces until the world faded away. It was just you and him. Together. You were both no longer lost. You weren’t at your destination yet, but you were on the right tracks. One step closer to each other. One step closer to love.

A/N: There’s still a little more I wanna add to the story, so there will be a part 3 to close this little short story. Sorry if there were any spelling mistakes. Thank you guys so much for the love and support. As a new writer I never expected to grow so quickly so I truly love each and every one of you bear cubs! Sorry this was so long, I hope you enjoyed! 💗🧸

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jadedxrealityw · 3 years ago

Text

-Found You- Dean Thomas x Reader

☼-♥-☼

Kody: (SHORT STORY) using gender neutral pronouns for the first time with my first ever Dean Thomas reader, tell me what you think. Also made sure to include androgynous type clothes.

Movie/Show: Harry Potter

House/Year: Gryffindor, 7th year

Summary: after being abandoned by your friends in your first year of Hogwarts, you meet a weird lot of boys who fill the void the others had left, some more then others and when you almost kiss one of them, it becomes more then awkward.

Pronouns Used: They/Them

Possible Triggers/Warnings: suggestive flirting, gen z humor, cursing, the fluff, no voldy au, slight golden trio slander with redemption, reader staring off into space.

☼-♥-☼

first year

the day you were placed in house Gryffindor you had become close to a few choice people, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. Your four were as close as close could be in the beginning of your first year, playing pranks, studying in the common room. All of the things friends would do.

towards the end of the year you had caught them hanging out without you on mutiple occasions when they said they were all busy on other occasions. It didn’t bother you at first, thinking a was a one off- multiple one offs. Then it got a bit worse.

study groups turned into you waiting for hours for them to show up, only for you to fall asleep on top of your textbooks waiting. Getting breakfast together now was just you sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table only for George Weasley to tell you they had already ate and left.

you weren’t stupid, you knew when you were being avoided. You also were never one for confrontation, so you made the executive decision to stop making an effort to hang out with any of them, just to see if they would and maybe everything you were thinking was just from your paranoia.

alas it was the end of the school year and you couldn’t do much hanging out with anyone since your mother was strict, only allowing friends to come over to your place, not the other way around. It was embarrassing at times, but you understood all her rules came from a place of love and experience.

not that they had ever come over before, even for the winter holiday. Though you understood that as all of you went home to your families. (Yes, James and Lily are alive), but since you all had two months out of school, you figured there would be enough time to at least meet up once.

you had each of there mailing address’s and they had yours. It was the first ‘gift’ you had given to each other and at the time, you were excited to have them. Now when you looked at the the ripped piece of parchment, it’s mere existence mocked you.

as you predicted, nothing came. No letter from your so called ‘friends’ nothing at all. It was disheartening to say the least, but at the same time you saw it coming. The rest of those two months you spent with your mother, which was actually pretty nice.

☼-♥-☼

second year

as you stepped off the train, the cold air of Hogsmeade Station hit your face, causing the hairs on your neck to stand up. You looked around, watching students as they walked with there friends or hugged them tightly. You’ll admit, it made your expression turn dark.

so you stood, just watching. As people passed, they gave you strange stares and made snide comments about how weird you looked, staring off into nothing. Most students had dispersed when your shoulder gets knocked, bringing you back into the moment.

“Oh sorry!” you recognized the voice. Once your head turned your met with the familiar face of Neville Longbottom. “Oh Neville! Sorry was i in your way?” you quickly apologize, a sheepish smile on your face. Neville copies your smile, shaking his head “No, Seamus just shoved me too hard”

“Did not, your just weak“ Seamus argued, crossing his arms in a huff. You weren’t too familiar with Seamus Finnigan or the taller boy next to him, Dean Thomas. “Both of you, shut it“ Dean shook his head, a playful smile on his face as he pushed past the two boys to stand in front of you.

“You alright? You looked as if someone used body bind curse on you“ he jokes, a light laugh escaping his mouth. Oh jeez, how long have you stood there “Um- i was waiting for my friends, but i think they left me behind“ you confess, feeling more stupid then you already had been feeling.

Dean didn’t skip a beat as he shrugs his shoulders “Forget them, walk with us” he offers. You were a bit taken aback as you didn’t know this fellow Gryffindor well and he already seemed so friendly towards you. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother?”

a laugh came from both Seamus and Dean while Neville chuckled nervously “Impossible, the only bother here is him. Now let’s go before we miss the boats” Dean points to Seamus, who’s expression drops “Your rude” he scoffs.

Dean smiles at him before using his hand to gesture to you to follow him as he led the small group through Hogsmeade.

the entire walk was Dean and Seamus trying to tell embarrassing stories about each other to make the other seem better. Neville would tell you all about what he wanted to learn in Herbology this year.

after awhile they eventually asked you questions about yourself, like- your name and who had ditched you. They were surprised to find out that the golden trio had ditched you. Seamus on the other hand wasn’t, saying how “No one is really golden”

☼-♥-☼

seventh year

fast forward to your final year at Hogwarts and you were still best friends with Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. You all were no golden trio by any means, more like ‘Menaces To Society’ as Mcgonagall called you.

you weren’t a well behaved student to say the least.

speaking of well behaved “Shut up, shut the hell up!” Seamus whisper shouts as points his wand at Neville who is looking into the dark “But this is such a bad idea!” he whines, rubbing his arm to create some warmth as the night was cold.

“It’ll be fine, only if Dean hurries the hell up“ you say, placing a hand on Neville’s shoulder. He looks at you and nods once, shivering slightly. Smiling, you open the greenhouse door and peak your head inside “Dean, i’m getting frostbite out here!“

you watch as Dean’s head pops up from behind the large table, holding a potted mandrake “Oh i’m so sorry, but your not the one doing all the hard work!” he argues. You roll your eyes “You lost rock, paper, scissors. Maybe stop choosing paper dipshit”

Dean opens his mouth to say something back when you here Seamus groan loudly “Both of you can flirt later, hurry up! Filch will be back around in a few minutes” he snaps at both of you. Holding up a finger to Dean, signalling you could finish your argument in a second, you peak your head back out.

“In what universe was that flirting, Finnigan?“

“You were flirting with your eyes“

“....right, anyway-“ you slowly turn your head back into the greenhouse as Dean walks out, holding two pots of mandrakes, young ones to be exact. “Alright let’s go“ he says. You jump up in your place and clap your hands together “Oh this is going to be beautiful“

“I just hope we don’t get in trouble like last time“ Neville shudders, following behind you all as you made your way through the grass. “Will be fine“ you wave your hand, standing beside Dean as he held the potted mandrakes. “Shit, these are heavy“

“divide and conquer“ Seamus suddenly says as he takes both of the mandrakes from Dean, tucking one under his arm and handing the other to Neville, who happily held it tightly between both of his hands. Dean smiles and stretches his arms, until he hears a pop noise in both.

as you walked, a gust of wind hit all of you, making you shiver. Your dumbass shouldn’t have worn your pajamas out, which was only a black t-shirt with thin dark grey plaid pants. You had shoes on of course, you weren’t that stupid. “Told you to bring a jumper” Dean says in a sing song voice.

you turn your head to your side, scoffing “I’m not cold, i’m perfectly fine” you look him in the eye while he gives you a ‘really?’ look, which meant he knew you were lying. You hated that cute, dumb, knowing face. Without another word, you look forward once more.

Dean moves closer to your side and wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling you flush against him as you both walked quietly. You suddenly felt very warm, but most of that warmth came from your own face. “Better?” he whispers, his hand rubbing your arm.

honestly, how did this tall freak not expect anyone to fall for him? For two years you have had a crush on Dean Thomas, but it seemed to always be platonic on his side. He was nice to everyone though, so it was hard to tell if there was any romantic intent behind his actions.

“Much better“

“Hey! Who’s out they’re?! No students out pass curfew! You are in big trouble!“ looking ahead you see the familiar shape of Filch in the distance. The bright lantern covering his face, so you were sure he couldn’t see you all as well. “Scatter!“ you yell and in an instant you all pull away from each other.

this isn’t the first time running into Filch, so you already knew what to do. All of you would run off separately until you couldn’t be seen and just apparate back into the common room. You had been doing it for years and were honest to Godric disappointed he hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Hey you get back here!“

as you pull away, you feel Dean’s hand travel down your arm until his fingers slide off yours. You would have loved to have bathed in that moment longer, but the fear of expulsion was too heavy on your mind at the moment. You spotted a pillar and ran for it.

once safely behind said pillar, you pull your wand out that you had safely in your.....i don’t know and apparate away.

☼-♥-☼

you stumble a bit as your transported into the Gryffindor common room, the calming sound of fire cracking on the wood in the fireplace. You were safe. Looking around the dark room, you don’t see Neville or Seamus, but you do see the back of Dean’s head as he’s sat on the sofa in front of the fire.

your eyes narrow as you walk over to the sofa, placing your hands on his shoulders “Hey Y/n” he says, not even taking a glance as you as he chuckles to himself. “How did you know?- Nevermind, where’s Nev and Seamus?” you ask him.

“There setting up the mandrakes, remember?” he explains before reaching up to grab your hands with both of his, pulling them down so your forced into resting your chin against the top of the sofa. He released only one of your hands and brought the other to his mouth, placing a kiss on your palm.

what the fuck?-

“Also I've had your hands on me before, not hard to forget“ he explains. The way he said that made it sound so suggestive if anyone else had been in the room. You were also stunned by the fact he just kissed your hand. This was one of the moments you couldn’t tell if he was being friendly or not.

you could feel his eyes on you, practically burning holes into the side of your face, but you just didn’t have it in you to look at him. Heart racing and your stomach feeling lighter by the second, you felt utterly and completely swooned by the tall Gryffindor boy once again.

“Can you look at me?” you hear him ask, feeling his free hand gently force your face in his direction so your E/c eyes meet with his. “What?“ you ask, trying to mask the fact that you were putty in hands at the moment. Dean didn’t respond, only smile widely as his eyes flicker from your eyes to lips.

he couldn’t be asking to, ya know..right? Before you could question it further Dean began to lean in and you found yourself doing the same “We did it!- whoa, what’s going on here?” you almost snapped your spine at how hard you threw yourself back, moving a good five feet away.

“Nothing!“ you and Dean shout at the same time. Dean folded his arms over his chest, coughing awkwardly into his hand. You watch as Neville steps out from behind Seamus, who’s grin is wider then ever before. “As much as i want to indulge in whatever this is, we have to get to our dorms- like right now“

“What, why?“ you ask, giving him a questioning look. “Neville dropped his Gryffindor tie back at the greenhouse so Mcgonagall and Dumbledore are coming to inspect in the house to see if anyone’s awake“ Seamus sighs, walking forward.

“Good thing it didn’t have my name on it or anything“ Neville smiles sadly before following Seamus to the hall where the dorms were at. “It’s alright Nev“ you send him a warm smile, trying to reassure him. You decided to follow them as well to the dorms “Y/n!“ you hear Dean call out.

thinking fast and stupid, you stretch your arms, letting out a fake yawn “Damn, i’m super tired. I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you push past both Seamus and Neville and speed walk down the hall. You made a beeline down to your dorm and almost ripped your dorm off of it’s hinges trying to open it

but once you do, you take a large step and shut the door behind you

what the fuck just happened?

that night you had laid in bed for almost an hour, thinking about your almost kiss with Dean Thomas. You felt shame, like you had someone forced this situation upon yourself. You liked Dean Thomas yes, but did you imagine that he was going in for a kiss?

eventually when your brain started to hurt too much, you fell asleep without any interruptions that night.

☼-♥-☼

you awoke to the sounds of awful birds chirping outside and roll onto your side, unfortunately though you were already on the edge of your bed and rolled right of the thing, collided with the hard wood floor that made up the ground of your dorm. You knew you should have gotten a damn carpet at that muggle store.

using your elbows, you prop yourself up and push yourself into the sitting position. What a glorious way to start the day you thought before standing on your two feet. Its saturday, which means you didn’t have to get too dressed up just to eat breakfast.

you yawn, not bothering to cover your mouth as you trudge slowly to your closet, swinging the door open. Taking into account that the weather had bit cold recently you pick out a multicolored jumper consisting of brown, beige’s, purple’s, dark blue’s, and whatnot. with a pair of brown overalls.

removing your clothes, you place them in a woven hamper next to the closet, you had taken a shower the previous night before going to bed, but you just ended up sneaking out. Eh- still counts. Once the clothes are on, you walk over to your dresser where your mirror was on the wall and looked in.

you looked tired and like someone who wanted to go back to bed, perfect. Reaching your hand up, you run your hand through your hair, untangling a few knots with your fingers before shaking your head, your hair now looking like in had been through a gust of wind.

also perfect

after that, you go over to the door slipping your shoes on with your feet before turning the knob and opening it. As soon as that wooden door unhinged you remember all the events from last night and internally cringed. God, today was going to be awkward as hell.

stepping out, you shut the door behind you, not bothering to lock it as you never had a reason to before. Gryffindor house was pretty chill with privacy and whatnot, so you weren’t worried about people coming in and taking your things.

☼-♥-☼

walking down the stairs to the dungeons, you had a gleeful smile on your face. See, the whole reason you stole mandrakes is because you currently were in a prank war with the Slytherin house, or to be more specific Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson.

Draco said he could pull better pranks, you said otherwise and that’s pretty much how it started. It had been going on for a few weeks and the mandrakes were your big finale since you knew that ferret couldn’t do anything better. “Oh shit, Theo!” you heard as you took the final step.

you could hear screeching for a few moments before its quickly shut up. Speeding up, you turn the corner to see a group of Slytherins surrounding four passed out students, one of those students being Theodore Nott. “How did mandrakes get all the way down here?” Pansy crossed her arms.

“I don’t-“ Draco spoke, his head turning to spot you with a shit eating grin on “Nevermind“ he exhales before standing up straight and walking over to you “L/n“ he greets, a deadpan expression on his face while you look like you’ve won the lottery.

“Malfoy, i see you got my gift“

“Oh yeah, my friend Theo was just blown away“ he said, rolling his eyes which only makes you feel more victorious. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. It was meant for you” you smile innocently at him. He lets out a bitter chuckle before extending his hand out to you “You win L/n”

you gladly take his hand into yours and shake it “pleasure doing business with you, Malfoy” you say. Draco crack a smile, shaking your hand for a second before then letting go “Surprised to see Thomas isn’t following you, he usually is” he points out.

and there goes a reminder. Your expression visibly dropped “That’s- well, complicated at the moment” your reply spiked Draco’s interest as he leans against the wall “Do tell“ he gestures with his hand to continue. You eye him up and down, your nose cringing.

“Since when did you care about my life?“ you asked, the question sounding a bit harsher then you intended it too. Draco only shrugs “I’m bored, humor me L/n“ you chuckle at his words and shrugged as well. No harm in telling him anything.

☼-♥-☼

“Wow“ Draco breathed, his grey eyes slightly widened as you finished retelling the embarrassing events of last night “And you just ran off? Don’t think that was a good idea” he adds, turning his head to face you as you both leaned on the wall.

you exhale, a solemn look on your face “I know, i’m just not good with confrontation. I curl up into a ball and clam up, like i can’t speak” you explain. Draco nods along, listening to what you had to say “He’s your best friend, been your best friend for years. Talk to him, avoiding it will make it worst”

“Wow, that actually was helpful. You’ve surprised me Malfoy” you give hi a mock astonished look, making him roll his eyes. “Yeah whatever, now go away. I have to help them carry Theo back into the common room“ he pushed off the wall, standing straight.

“Tell Theo i’m sorry when he wakes up“ you turn on your heels and begin to walk down the stone hall, taking in a deep breath. Everything was going to be fine, no worries. Nothing at all.

☼-♥-☼

your first thought was to check the courtyard, it’s where you, Blaise, Neville, and Seamus hung out between classes. It was a good place to start. Stepping outside, you feel the gentle cold breeze nip your face causing a light shiver to run up your spine.

wrapping your arms around yourself you walk along the grass until you spot the familiar tree you all sat under. It instantly brought you back to the first time you had sat under it.

second year

“Found you“

your head snaps to your left where the voice came from. Dean, out of breath and wiping sweat from his forehead. You looked confused as he took a step towards you “You were looking for me?” you asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

Dean looks at you like you had just asked a silly question, chuckling “Of course, you seemed upset a lunch as well so i wanted to check up on you” he said, taking a seat next to you in the grass. You avoided looking at him by pulling out blades of grass and ripping them apart.

after an awkward amount of time of silence, mostly on your part, Dean reach for the grass next to your hands and began to pull it out of the earth as well “What’re you doing?” you ask, still looking at the ground. “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. We can just sit here if that makes you feel better too”

weirdly enough, it did. Just having him sit there made your bad day feel slightly better. You couldn’t explain it, but his presence alone was comforting and made you feel more at ease. “If that’s what you want of course” he adds, his pinky extending out to tap your hand, just light enough not to make you tense.

you couldn’t bring yourself to respond verbally and nodded a few times. You hear Dean hum as he continues to copy what your doing. You both sat in silence and stayed there for an hour or so, just soaking up each others company.

that was the moment you knew Dean Thomas was a true friend

“Y/n!“ you hear a shout, bringing you out of your wholesome memory and back to reality. Seamus and Neville were running up to you with confused looks on there faces “What?“ you say, meeting them halfway. As soon as you were grabbing distance, Seamus places his hands on your shoulders and shakes you

“What are you doing here!?“ he shouts while you feel as if your brain is about to knock off of its stem and kill you “What’re you talking about? and stop shaking me!“ you yank his hands off of you. Seamus rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s about to talk a lot, and talk a lot he did.

“So after your almost kiss with Dean he told us by the way, he wanted to talk to you so we told him you’d most likely be in the dungeons giving Malfoy a tongue lashing“ Seamus explained before gasping for air. Neville puts a hand on his mate’s shoulder “He kind of thinks you don’t like him. Never seen him so upset before“

processing on the information you were just given, you thank the both of them and run back into the building. This school was huge, no wonder you didn’t run into Dean on the way back or even see him once. Nonetheless, you were determined to find him.

(Filled with determination- get it? Undertale reference)

☼-♥-☼

it took you a good ten to fifteen minutes to get back to the dungeons. You walked fast paced against the cobble ground until you reached the Slytherin portrait. There stood the familiar faces of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. They noticed you instantly giving you a confused look.

“Your boyfriend is looking for you“ Pansy snickered, clearly amused by something. You let of a sigh, a hand running through your hair “Yeah i know, do you know where he went?“ you asked, already tired of walking around this shit school.

just kidding, Dumbledore if you could here there thoughts, they’re kidding

“We told him you were going to potions“ Draco said which floored you because why in Godric’s name would he say that. The Slytherin boy seemed to catch your confusion and gave you a ‘are you dumb?’ look. “Yesterday, in class, you offered to help Snape organize the stockroom?”

oh shit

you let out what can only be described as a sound of frustration as you realized you were going to be murdered by Snape before you could ever find Dean. You wished that you could apparate, but it was against school rules to apparate inside the school, aka as soon as you would do it, it would teleport you to Dumbledore’s office instead.

funny enough you could apparate from outside to inside the school with zero repercussions. The rule was ancient and so was Dumbledore, you had a feeling it wouldn’t change in your life time. “Right, thanks. I have to go” you say and give them a lazy wave.

“Go get your man Y/n! Then tell me all about it!“ you heard Pansy shout as you walk away.

☼-♥-☼

twelve minutes to get to potions. As soon as you pushed open the door you let the string of apologies fly “I’m so sorry Professor Snape, i completely forgot about helping out- Today has been super stressful and-” you were cut off by Snape himself.

“Silence, your....friend already told me all about your little issue as much as i didn’t want to hear it. Your free to deal with your teenage drama as long as it’s away from my classroom” he lifts his hand up, gesturing for you to go away like he requested.

he was surprisingly understanding, which was weird

“Oh um- Thank you, professor. May i ask where Dean said he was off to?“ You asked, fully knowing you might be pushing your luck and his sudden kindness. Snape sighs, dramatically you’d like to add “He didn’t say or he did and i didn’t care enough to listen“

“Right uh, thank you anyway. Goodbye Professor“ you laugh nervously. That quick kindness had run out. Snape only grumbles and you take that moment to walk out the classroom, feeling that little bubble of stress you usually got from talking to Snape fade away.

taking a few steps back you look at the potions door, god you’ve hated that class since first year. Potions were never your strong suit, you were more into astronomy or herbology. Snape never made it any better with his attitude,but he had always been like that.

fifth year was probably the worse

fifth year

it was the beginning of your fifth year and one of your earlier classes was potions. What a dreadful way to start the morning. Today you were instructed to brew a draught of peace, which was currently bringing you anything but peace at the moment.

you just couldn’t understand the instructions. Like at all. It was supposed to be a turquoise blue color when finished, but kept turning a dark purple instead. You only had about half an hour to get it right or you were going to fail your first potions lesson for the year.

at one point you got so frustrated, you slammed the ladle on the table but it was already pretty noisy, so no one really turned there head at the noise. “Someone’s cranky” you heard a snicker beside you, which you knew well enough to know it belonged to Dean Thomas.

“Try frustrated, i have to be the dumbest wizard in the entire wizarding world to not get this“ you sigh, crossing your arms as you stare at the dark purple liquid, the mere sight of it mocked your livelihood. Dean shook his head, stifling some laughter as he grabbed the handles of your cauldron.

“You continue to pout while i go dump this”

pout? you weren’t pouting. You rolled your eyes as he comes back, placing the cauldron back down onto your work space “Alright so you added all the ingredients right, but your stirring it to much and the wrong way“ he spoke as he added all the ingredients back in.

once he tilts the mortar and pestle, pouring the crushed unicorn hair into the liquid he smiles warmly “Alright now grab the ladle” he instructs and you, begrudgingly do so. Dean nods and moves to step behind you. As you go to turn around Dean places his hands on your arms, keeping them in place.

you tense almost instantly as his hands travel down your clothed arms until they rest on your own hands. He’s literally pressed against you, not rough or anything like that though. His head moved off to the side a bit “You stir like this” he begins to move your hand with his in the correct motion.

you honestly didn’t know how to feel.

as he slowly stirred the magical liquid he says something else to you “It’s okay to get frustrated, it’s also okay to ask for help. I’m here if you need me Y/n” he spoke and let go for hand, which suddenly felt a whole lot colder then it did a second ago.

Dean returns back to your side and smiles proudly once he looks into the cauldron “See, easy” he says. You pull out the ladle and look in to see that beautiful turquoise color you had waited to see the entire class period. Thank Godric, actually thank Dean. Speaking of that.

“Thanks Dean, i was about ready to pull out my hair“ you joke, placing your hands on the table. Dean chuckles and places on of his hands on top of yours. You tensed again, feeling light and warm as the pad of his thumb rubs the skin of your hand. “Like i said, i’m here for you, in any and every way possible“

his words made you feel even lighter if that was possible as you tried to contain a bright smile

that was the moment you knew you liked Dean Thomas

you sigh, pulling yourself out of your happy memory. How were you going to find Dean?

☼-♥-☼

late evening

after leaving Snape’s class you, funny enough, kept running into Seamus and Neville who kept pointing you into different directions or places. You were quite literally running around the school like a lunatic. Your current location was the library and library you went.

since you were absolutely terrified of Madam Pince, you made sure you cautiously open the door as you walk in as well as closing it. Looking around, you don’t see any familiar faces which had you already feeling doubtful, but you still had to look behind the tall bookshelves.

you decided to take the left side first and begin to walk through the middle isle with haste as you look around. No, nope, nothing, and disappointed. Jumping off the astronomy tower looked appealing at the moment. Alright, other side. You walked with the same fast pace, checking behind each shelf.

after about four rows, you come face to face with a freckled boy, causing you to jump back “Godric” you put your hand over your heart like an old man about to have a heart attack. “Ron, your ugly face is scaring students” you heard a male voice say.

wait, did he just say Ron?

you take a few steps back, yeah that was them. You first friends at Hogwarts. You saw them almost every week, but haven’t talked to them since your first year at Hogwarts. This was gonna be awkward, you could already tell. “Sorry ‘bout him, I’m Harry and these are my friends Hermione and Ron”

Ron steps back to stand next to Hermione. They all looked at you like your a new person they have never met before. You honestly didn’t know how to react. On one hand, it was kind of funny they didn’t recognize you. On the other hand, it felt kinda shitty.

you force out a bitter laugh, shaking your head “I- I’m floored that you don’t remember me and as funny as it is, i’m looking for someone” you say, about to excuse yourself from this mind numbing situation. “Wait! We know you?” Hermione cuts in, raising her hand a bit.

exhaling, you nod “It’s me. Y/n, Y/n L/n” you introduce yourself, like all those years ago. Watching there eyes widen one by one almost made you laugh “Oh my, Y/n. It’s been so long” Hermione smiles nervously. As evil as it was, you were kind of enjoying the awkwardness.

“Yeah it has, lovely to see you lot. Lets get together next decade where you can forget me all over again“ you had to admit, it was kind of mean but you were busy at the moment. “Wait Y/n, can we talk?“ Harry steps towards you, a look of shame on his face. Good.

did you really want to hear some shitty apology? You didn’t want them or blame them either. You were eleven year olds and children loose friends all the time. There wasn’t any deeper meaning, at least to you there wasn’t, but some part of you wanted to know why? Why were you abandoned?

“I have a lot going on right now, so make it quick Potter“

Harry smiles as he gestures for you to sit down at the table they were currently residing in. You follow him and take the seat across from the other three. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all sit down, looking as nervous and anxious as ever while you were tapping your foot against the ground, impatiently.

“We wanted to say we were sorry, for how we treated you in first year“ Harry starts, the other two nodding along. “Can i get a reason? If you didn’t want to be my friend you could of just told me. Instead you left me alone“ you fold your arms over your chest, already wanting this to be over with.

“You changed“ Hermione said. You expression shifted to confusion, scoffing “I changed? How?“ you asked. Godric it was a bad idea to listen to these guys. “You started hanging out with Malfoy, he turned you into some kind of menace. All you two did was pull tricks on each other back and forth“

okay so maybe this wasn’t the first prank war you’ve had with Malfoy

and it wont be the last either

“Seriously, you dropped me because i hung out with Draco? Yeah he’s a bit of an asshole, but he’s just all bark no bite“ you shrug your shoulders, maybe you were bias since you guys had been ‘friends’ for awhile now if you could call each other that.

“He’s a Slytherin“ Ron chimes in, looking as if he’s disgusted to say the word. “Ron” Harry warned, whacking his friends arm. Oh you were so not doing this house variably bullshit. Okay, maybe you had a ‘house prank war’ but that was all in good fun.

“I’m done here, i think i dodged a bullet with avoiding you guys all these years“ pushing off of your chair, you stand up ready to leave. Harry stands up the second you do “Sorry about them and they both can have there own opinions, but i know what we did was wrong and i just wanted to say i’m sorry“

looking at Harry, you could tell he was being genuine. Well at least one of them was. “Thanks Potter, now i have to go find someone” you try to make your escape again when you hear footsteps behind you. Stopping you see Harry at your side “Yes?”

“Who’re you looking for, maybe I've seen them?“ He offers. You assumed he was trying to be helpful as an apology. “Dean Thomas, know him?“ you ask, watching as his eyebrows furrow “Yeah but haven’t seen him- wait, it’s curfew in twenty minutes“

“Yeah, so?“

“He’s a Gryffindor, which means he’s heading back to the common room right this moment“ Harry points out, a light smile on his face. Your eyes widen and you throw your arms around the boy. You feel Harry tense, but still wrap his arms around you “Your a genius Potter“

“It’s common sense?“ he looks confused as you pull away from him. You tell him goodbye and that you two could catch up on a later date.

☼-♥-☼

you push through students on the staircase who were trying to the Gryffindor common room as well. Once you make it to the top, a student in front of you whispers the password “Dilligrout” the portrait opened and a wave of students filed in.

someone shoulder checked you when you made it in yourself, but you were to preoccupied with finding your friend? Crush? Person you had a crush on...yeah that works. All the students who came in had immediately filed down the hall to go to the dorms.

silence took over and once again you were in a empty room, your shoulder dropping a bit “Found you” that familiar voice breathed out. You spin on your feet to see Dean Thomas leaning against the wall, huffing as he reached to wiped sweat that had gathered on his forehead.

“You were looking for me?” you quipped back, obviously joking. Dean seems to catch on rather quickly and flashes a grin “Of course, you seemed upset after last night” he tells you, your expression dropping at the mention of the night before. He notices.

stepping forward, he takes your hand in his, gently leading you to the sofa. That cursed sofa. Once you both take a seat Dean clears his throat, his hand still intertwined with yours “How’re you feeling?” he asked, a worry glint in his eyes. Of course that’s the first question he asked.

“Nervous, anxious, something like that, but also scared“ you admit, while your free hand scratches the side of your neck. “What would you have to scared off?“ Dean had a sympathetic smile on his face, one that you had seen many times before.

you chuckle, thinking that what you were going to say had been the most obvious thing in the world. “That your going to stop being my friend because we almost kissed?” you said, but it sounded more like a question instead of a statement.

a, what you would call dramatic sigh escapes Dean’s mouth “I’m the one who initiated the kiss Y/n. I wanted it because i hoped you wanted the same thing, you do, right?” his voice wavers a bit, his confidence dropping with every word.

“Yes, i have for a long time” you confess. Dean’s smile was a mile long as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles “I wish we told each other this last night instead on running around to find each other all day” you both laugh at the situation.

“Yeah, now that i think about it. I could of sent you a howler” you say, exhaling loudly. How come you didn’t think of that sooner “Yeah, i guess we both didn’t think much” Dean then scoots closer to you on the sofa, his hand still holding your gently.

not having the courage to speak, you simply sit there as Dean lets go of your hand and cups your face instead. Your breath hitched as you feel his thumbs moving up and down each temple on the side of your head. He still had that dopey smile on his face too.

after what feels like forever, Dean closes the gap between you both, kissing you softly. His head tilts to the left as he continues to kiss you. You swore you could feel everything in you become as light as a feather. Kissing Dean Thomas was something else.

a couple more seconds pass by before he pulls away, a smug grin gracing his face “can we take this to my dorm? We’ve gathered an audience” his eyes glanced to the right of you. Turning your head in his hands, you see Neville and Seamus

“Do you all mind?“

“No, keep going“ Seamus waved with his hand, smiling at you both. Dean rolls his eyes as he stands up from the couch, grabbing your hand to drag you along with him. “We’re so happy it worked out“ Neville had a gleeful look on his face as Dean dragged you past them.

“Try to keep things quiet in there lovebirds!“ Seamus calls out as you and Dean walk down the hall. You scoff, shaking your head. Seamus was something else. Once you both reach Dean’s door, he opens it, allowing you to step inside “No promises!“ he yells before stepping inside himself and shutting it.

covering your mouth, you laugh into the back of your hand until what he said registers in your mind “Wait what?”

☼-♥-☼

Kody- It’s been a hot minute ngl. Um- i’m trying to find a regular schedule update every month, but honestly something called sleep and depression has been kicking my ass. Hope you enjoy this fic..requests are open. Anyways, peace.

☼-♥-☼

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“your turn”

Harry Styles was a romantic. He hated weddings. Rori Williams was practical. She hated weddings, too. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue.

A story of two semi-strangers to lovers with weddings, drunken confessions, and girls with two names.

gif has nothing to do with it but he looks fancy and i like it :) tpwk

Hi! this is for @meetmeinfleetwood to lovers fic challenge! and it’s a little cruel of me to post it today after those wedding pics came out but i have been working on this for awhile and tomorrow’s the deadline so if it’s too soon im sorry and if its just what you need enjoy! I used prompts 12 and 15! It’s my first ofc story which is a little strange for me but i wanted to use a name for this, but besides her hair and eye color and a name she’s pretty generic,,, idk thank you all for always reading and all of that. lmk what you think and reblogs are always really appreciated

Word Count: 9.3k | Warnings: drinking, swearing, implied? smut (couldn’t bring my heart to write any my apologies), harry being a silly drunk, mentions of being afraid of someone taking advantage of someone under the influence but ofc no! actual any misconduct -- a SITCH wedding!!! so cute ::))

Harry Styles was a romantic.

He loved love songs that professed their undying love for their significant other. He loved romance movies, rom coms especially, because they were happy and in love and he got to cry and laugh all in one. He loved writing his own songs about love and he loved spreading the idea of loving and treating others with kindness. He loved first dates and the relationships that sometimes sprouted out of them. He loved reading books about love and how to make it last. He loved poetry that waxed eloquent about love. He loved love.

He hated weddings.

Well, he hadn’t always hated weddings. In the beginning, they were like every other aspect of love, he loved them. But slowly, as he kept receiving announcements of engagement and wedding invitations and he kept not sending out letters of his own, his aversion grew.

Sure, he still loved going. He still wept for the happy couples when they committed themselves to each other. He still clapped profusely and danced to the dj or live band. He still tried to enjoy it. But with weddings he had a nagging sense in the back of his head reminding him that he still hadn’t found it yet. Each of his relationships had fallen short in some way as to not lead him to this destination. So when he sat at his assigned table at these various gatherings, he held a bit of apprehension, a bit of envy, about everything going on. He knew that his smiles were all a little forced and his laugh not quite genuine. His thoughts always managed to be controlled by his green-eyed monster that he always attempted to keep locked away. But at weddings, especially when the alcohol started flowing, he had a harder time controlling it.

Seeing all his friends getting together, getting married, and having children wore on him. Wore him thin more than he ever let on to anyone but his therapist. And his therapist couldn’t seem to give him a better answer than to be patient and not give up hope.

By 2021, Harry had decided that maybe he was just meant to be alone. Love was something he could admire, but it wasn’t meant for him. He could chase it, but it would never let him have it. He was unlucky in love and by Sarah and Mitch’s wedding in the Spring, he had come to terms with it.

He had even been optimistic for it, being Mitch’s Best Man and all had gotten his hopelessly romantic heart all aflutter. He was introduced to Sarah’s Maid of Honor, Renee Williams and she had been lovely. She was 31, a little older than Harry - but age wasn’t something that deterred him, and she had worked with Sarah in Los Angeles before Harry recruited Sarah for the band. They were best of friends and Sarah had known for a long time that Renee would be her Maid of Honor.

When Harry met Renee, he was sure that she was meant to be his person. She was beautiful and hilarious, her beauty mark at the side of her lip was so utterly unique he called her a “right Marilyn”. She insisted she was not a Marilyn Monroe type at all and had laughed. Harry had charmed her with his expert flirting and claimed that just because she was a brunette didn’t mean she was a Marilyn. She had smiled and bantered through the rehearsal dinner with him at her side. He was entranced, it had to be Renee, he had been so sure of it.

When Renee had walked down the aisle just before Sarah, Harry had been sure of it. When Renee had smiled at Harry as Mitch slipped on Sarah’s wedding band, Harry had been sure of it. When he had hooked his arm around hers as they walked down the aisle and into a foyer, Harry had been sure of it. When she laughed at his jokes while they waited for their wedding party photos to be taken, Harry had been sure of it.

When Renee walked up to Harry at the reception with another man wrapped around her, Harry wasn’t so sure of it anymore.

“Harry, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Corey,” Renee smiles giddily between the two men.

Harry’s eyes widen slightly at the word ‘boyfriend’ and he swallows harshly before blinking and putting on a sweet smile. He thrusts his right hand out for Corey to shake.

“Hullo, mate,” Harry says happily.

Corey greets Harry, extending his hand to meet Harry’s with a warm smile and a “how are you”. Harry laughs boisterously and takes a sip of his champagne flute. They shake hands with a firm up and down motion.

“Planning on getting really drunk,” Harry says in response to Corey’s question. “Have a great night, you two,” he finishes and stalks off for a refill.

Renee watches him go with a little bit of a confused look on her face. She sees him tilt his head back and finish his drink before turning to face her boyfriend and peck his cheek. She mumbles to him, “He’s a really nice guy, wouldn’t stop chatting my ear off the past few days. All these people must make him antsy.”

He nods back to her, “They must.”

Harry sidles up to the open bar, discarding his empty flute and exchanging it for a much stronger drink.

“Tequila. Neat...Please.” He sighs and runs a hand through his curls that are slowly becoming less and less coiffed. His fingers slide to the collar of his shirt and tug, attempting to loosen it a little.

“Rough night already?” Someone asks from beside him.

His face turns to them and sees a smiling brunette. Her eyes are big, larger than most eyes he’s come across. They’re brown with tinges of gold and green, likely making them hazel by her standard since most people prefer saying hazel eyes to brown. Her smile is bright and clean and if Harry hadn’t already heard her speak he would assume she was American from that smile. It was perfect, too perfect - the teeth both straight and blindingly white.

He raises his eyebrows at her and thinks about his response. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them parted, but he remains silent when the bartender hands him his tequila. Harry wraps a specifically less ringed hand tonight, he had forgone his ‘H’ and ‘S’ rings as well as the rest of them actually on his left hand. His right hand still had two: the large flashing lavender gemstone encrusted in a gold casing from Stevie Nicks on his middle finger and then a clean gold signet ring with little crosses on the sides on the adjacent ring finger. Every other finger was noticeably empty. So when he picks up the glass there is no familiar clink which draws the attention of himself.

The woman doesn’t pay any attention to his hand, she’s still waiting for him to respond to her question, as well as waiting for her other drink to be made. She was taking advantage of the two drink system and getting two for herself right now, so she didn’t have to come back until much later.

“You have no idea,” is how Harry decides to respond and then turns to leave. He forgets about the woman and sits at his assigned table for his entire drink, talking casually with the people who come to speak with him.

When he's finished, he goes back to the bar to order a second tequila. He thinks about the girl who had stared at him with her big brown eyes. How she had seen him and thought to ask how his night was when it seemed to be going to shit. And how he had blown her off with barely a glance. God, he could be such a prick. After he receives his drink, he forgets yet again and continues to drown his sorrows in the golden liquid that helps him numb the pain that he had once again missed out on his fairytale love story.

The girl Harry had run into sat in the corner of the ballroom for the majority of the night. She settled on just having that first round of drinks for herself and one glass of obligatory champagne during the toasts. Other than that, she had promised herself she wouldn’t get drunk and go off with a random stranger. This was not a wedding for that. This wedding couldn’t be for that. She just needed to keep her head low and try to have a semi-pleasant time.

When she was nursing her champagne through the toasts, the man at the bar caught her eye again. She knew who he was. He was the Best Man after all. Sarah talked about him a lot, even Renee after the past few days, but seeing him at the bar had been the first time she’d ever seen him up that close. It was strange, he was so human. So tangible in that moment. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His fingers tapped as they waited for his drink. His green eyes blinked and darted around as he took in his surroundings and even looked at her. He simply was and it had startled her to see him in a slightly bewildered state at the bar, but again, she wasn’t one to judge.

Get through the wedding. Try to have a semi-pleasant time.

It was time for the Best Man’s speech. Renee had just given the Maid of Honor’s and now Harry was up. He stood up and wavered a little as he tried to stand up straight. The neat tequila likely makes his stance a little harder to maintain. Mitch looks up at Harry at his side and smiles fondly.

Harry raises one hand in an awkward wave while the other is planted firmly on the table.

“Hullo,” he starts, “I’m Harry and I’m the Best Man, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

The entire group of guests laugh wholeheartedly, taken by the talented young man.

“To start,” he stutters, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol he’s had, and his smile slithers into a smirk. “Let’s hear it for the bride and groom, the lovely Sarah and Mitch Jones!”

Queue the laughter again. Harry laughs too when Mitch slaps his arm playfully, he turns to look at him with a mock ‘what did I do wrong’ expression.

“I had a speech written out, took a week to write, made it nice and poetic for these two lovebirds, but it seems I’ve misplaced it,” he pats at his pockets and sighs before rubbing his forefinger at his bottom lip. “I hate weddings.”

Everyone laughs again, thinking he’s joking. Harry grimaces but it passes as a smile even though she can tell it doesn’t meet his eyes.

He rambles on for a few minutes about love and commitment, how this is just the beginning for Sarah and Mitch and everyone laughs at the appropriate times and just when he’s wrapping up, successfully stumbling through his messy mind, everyone begins to clap.

“To the happy couple…” queue applause, but she sees him say something else, it’s drowned out by the crowd cheering and clinking glasses again.

He sits back down, downing his champagne glass that’s been refilled twice already during the speeches. Mitch leans over and whispers something in Harry’s ear as he twists a hand through his hair. Harry shifts away from Mitch and gives him a look, telling Mitch that he’s fine.

The party goes on, a few more speeches, a few more glasses of champagne for Harry, a few more sighs from the girl in the back of the room.

She watches the first dance of Mitch and Sarah but once that part is over she slinks off. She’s got half a drink left and all she wants is to be alone. Tired of the party, tired of the people, tired of having to try to have a good time. The Rowland-Jones Party had rented the entire place out, so she wanders out of the main room and down a hallway until the music is a faint buzz in her ear. The air grows colder as the amount of people dwindles from over a hundred to one.

There’s a door to her right that has an intricate golden handle that she pulls down on. It opens quietly onto a similar ballroom that is slightly smaller than the one the party was going on in. It’s quiet and spacious, her steps echo as she enters on heeled feet. The clicking of her satin stilettos resonate against the linoleum. She walks to the center of the room and turns around herself, lifting her head to the light in the room. An ornate chandelier is still above her, it’s the same gold as the handle that let her in. Her eyes travel to the walls that contain swirls of gold as well, everything was encrusted in gold and splotchy vintage mirrors. It was beautiful and she saw herself in the reflection of one of those splotchy vintage mirrors and actually felt beautiful in that moment.

No one else saw her but herself and she thought she was beautiful, a fleeting thought as she watched her body move. No one to watch as her reflection swayed with her. Her lavender dress swished back and forth, the end of it brushing around her ankles. The tulle fabric climbed her torso, cinching at her waist and draping over her breasts. The sleeves fluttered over her shoulders and ended midway down her upper arm. The somewhat sheer material made her tan skin look all the more carmely in the golden light of the chandelier. Her pendant necklace was silver and glinted in the light as it sat evenly over her exposed clavicle and decolletage.

In the corner opposite of the door there was a single table with three chairs. It seemed whoever was meant to put things away had grown tired and left these out. She wasn’t complaining as she crossed the floor to take a seat. It was the perfect escape. It was quiet and not too cold in the room, which was especially nice since she had left her jacket in the coat room. What wasn’t so nice is that her phone had died and she had nothing to do in the room. It wasn’t horrible though, she had wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She just feared what would happen if she sat alone too long with no escape of the internet to drown those thoughts.

That contemplation was squashed with an unwitting solution not ten minutes later. She had been sitting at the table, sipping her drink occasionally and staring at the chandelier. Sighing with content that it was finally silent beside the clink of her melting ice cubes. The house mixed drink was strong, but with each passing second it grew more and more diluted. She considered herself completely sober.

She only questioned that when she noticed a second person in the room. She hadn’t heard them open the door, but she heard their loud footsteps shortly after.

He all but stumbled in and was entranced by the chandelier like she had been. He walks to the center in a similar fashion and twists around, only this time his balance isn’t as good as hers. He ends up on his ass, legs splayed in front of him and hands behind him only cushioning his fall a little. He lets out a huff, “Fuck.” He runs a hand over his face before bringing it down to look around the room again. His eyes are foggy with alcohol, everything hazy and slightly blurry. It feels like he’s moving with superspeed but as she watches him with a tilted head she wonders why he’s moving so slowly.

He squints while looking around after a moment, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair. His tongue comes to wet his lips, but this time it's for a touch too long like he’s genuinely tasting the liquor on them. She raises her brows, observing him, her presence seemingly unknown.

“Oi, you!” He slurs the words and points lazily at her reclined in her chair. “Are you real?”

She half smiles and replies with a simple ‘yes’.

“I like your dress,” he says merely like he was stating a fact rather than giving a compliment. His hair falling into his eyes again despite him just pushing it back.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to standing, his process rather ungraceful. He twists onto his hands and knees and begins to push himself up. He slips once before making it to full standing, he sways slightly and looks around again like he’s forgotten why he stood up. His eyes land on her again and he decides to make his way over to the table.

“You should probably sit,” she says, watching him splay his arms around him to keep his balance. She had seen him an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine, but now he seemed absolutely and utterly pissed.

“Thanks, mum,” he says as he thunks into the seat beside her, his hand waving off her suggestion.

Her brows raise at the slightly rude comment, but she leans back in her seat still observing him.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She asks once he’s settled and has his head propped up with one of his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as she watches him scan her face again, trying to see if he recognizes her.

His mind must come up empty, a vague memory of the bar slipping away without a second thought.

“It was a joke,” he shrugs.

“No it wasn’t,” she replies easily.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward a little shakily, “Who are you?”

“Aurora.” She licks at her own lips, a stray bit of liquid lingering on her lips.

“That’s a Disney princess name,” he says, unconvinced, how most drunk people were when you told them the truth.

“And my great-grandmother’s and mine,” she responds, a grin playing on her lips as she watches him think it over. “It’s wild how multiple people can have the same name. Did you know people can share a last name as well?”

He leans back in his chair now, unhappy with her snarky response.

“Isn’t that why we’re here, two people joining together and sharing the same last name now?” He threads his fingers as he speaks, mimicking something coming together.

“Yep,” She perks at the question he poses. “You still didn’t answer my question.” Her brows raise once playfully.

“What?” Harry seemed to have lost the plot, his fuzzy drunken brain choosing to forget the first thing she asked him while in this private ballroom of theirs.

“Why do you hate weddings?” She repeats, louder and with emphasis, the words echoing this time.

“Oh,” he looks up to the ceiling and blows air past his lips harshly, “S’ a long story.”

“We got all night,” she offers, and raises her glass to her lips once again.

“A night wouldn’t even cover half of it,” he ponders seriously, his mind reeling. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Why me?” She laughs like she’s just received the most delightful surprise.

“Because,” He starts and then sits quiet for a moment before leaning forward, elbows on the table as he peers at her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“You only just met me,” she responds. “Not to mention, you’re drunk as fuck, Best Man. Just minutes ago I watched you stumble in here and truly fall on your ass.”

“Then tell me about yourself and I’ll explain my hatred for weddings.”

“You’re awfully good at bargaining for being this inebriated.”

“I never lose my charm, no matter how pissed I may be,” he smirks and gives a sloppy wink, hair falling in his face yet again.

She scoffs, but she is rather amused and intrigued by the man beside her. His tie now completely loosened, hair falling every which way, and his green eyes set on her. The shiny shoes he wore slipped around on the ground as he shuffled his feet below him like a child wanting to go play. She figured it was just his drunk brain trying to amuse himself or something. How could she deny a man who had just drunkenly confessed his love for her at a wedding? Even if it was completely and totally untrue. She at least had to entertain the foolish notion that maybe he actually was interested in getting to know her. If anything, it would help pass the time until she could go home.

“I’ll bite,” she relents.

The smirk doesn’t leave his face, it only widens, “Only if I can, too.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

“Shush, sh-sh-shush. I know that,” he holds a hand up at her, trying to get her to be quiet. He sways again, even in his seat he looks as if he could fall over at any moment. She wondered if he might not remember this tomorrow. “I was bein’...” he licks his lips in a pause, “suggestive.”

She laughs again, knowing his sober brain probably would have chosen a more articulate and suave word since ‘suggestive’ was rather tactless and more straight to the point. If she learned anything from all the conversations she overhead about him, Harry was definitely one for tact.

“You were something, that’s for sure,” she wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, she draws the hand down from its hovering state and lays it against the table again. She withdraws her own hand back to her glass, her drink almost completely gone now.

He smiles, pleased with himself, but unaware that his charms had worn off with his exorbitant amount of alcohol consumed. At least on this girl they weren’t working. She had never been attracted to people who were too drunk to help themselves and she always hoped that’s how others felt too. She was thankful he had stumbled in on her rather than someone who didn’t feel the same way. It made her sick to think of what someone with evil intentions might do if they came across a babbling drunken version of Harry. Pushing those thoughts away since that wasn’t the case, she decided to pat his hand once just in reassurance to herself and him that this was really happening.

“I’m twenty-five.” She states.

Harry nods, a small smile on his lips now rather than a smirk as he watches her again. He liked how smoothly she moved rather than the rest of the world in his drunken eyes, everything else was choppy and fast. She was elegant and fluid, calming even.

“I love love,” Harry says, eyes remaining on hers, no trace of a joke in his tone, “And it hates me.”

“That can’t be true,” she squints at him, a frown gracing her face for a moment at the sadness she sees in his watery eyes. Not crying watery, just watery from his drunken state.

He says nothing, waiting for her to offer more information about herself before he says anything else. This was the deal after all. She quickly realizes why he isn’t responding and sighs, conversation with drunks was tedious already, but Harry seemed determined to make it even harder.

“I’m from California.”

“They always are,” Harry mutters to himself. He ignores her hum of a question, asking what he just said with a simple sound. “All my friends, they’re either getting married or they’re already married and got kids on the way or whatever. They all found love and I’m just here with fuck all.”

She sincerely doubts what the drunken man is telling her right now, but she knows how to play the game now to get more information. “I hate my job,” she states.

“Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed, like I fucked up one too many times and now I’m doomed to never find love.”

Her eyes widen at this, he sounds so damn sad and she wishes she could take his pain away. She knew what a good guy and she couldn’t imagine why he would deserve to feel this way. No one deserved to feel like they weren’t worthy of love. His sad state truly almost brought her to tears. She’s there in a stunned silence and Harry is confused why she hasn’t said anything more about herself. It was her turn.

“What’s something else about you?” He asks, his hand fiddling with itself on the table. She notices once again that there aren’t as many rings on his fingers as what she thought was usual.

She licks her lips and reaches her hand forward. She grasps Harry’s fiddling hand and stops his movement. “I feel sorry that you feel this way, no one deserves the kind of pain you’re inflicting on yourself. I’m very very sorry for you, Harry.”

“That’s not really…” He trails off, losing his focus on her face and instead looking at their hands touching. The feeling is so intense in his buzzing body. Her touch was so calming compared to the electric feeling in his body. It felt nice.

“Can I ask you a different question and then I’ll tell you something no one knows about me?”

He nods eagerly.

“And you can’t dodge the question, you really have to answer it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What did you say at the end of your speech? It got drowned out by applause, but I saw you say something.”

“You noticed?” He asks kind of surprised, then scratches at his eyebrow. He sees her slight glare and knows to get to his answer. “Asked when it’d be my turn…like to fall in love, y’know.”

She sighs, saddened yet again by his words. “Okay, well, here’s my secret... I hate weddings, too.”

Harry’s eyes light up, maybe he really was in love. She purses her lips and pulls back from him.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he breathes out, again making a false confession. His drunken brain wants it to be true. He’s desperate for his search to be over, for her to be his person.

She smiles that same sad smile that she keeps getting when he says these sad things to her.

“I assure you, I am not, Best Man.”

He looks at her confusedly. She was beautiful, she was clarity to him. Her brown hair was straight with a little wave in it, like it was straightened for the occasion but never truly that way otherwise. It flowed around her head and shoulders, but she had it tucked behind both ears. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, she just simply was beautiful. Her sun tanned skin looked soft under the golden glow and Harry was sure she was an angel or something.

“Why not?” He insists, leaning forward.

She stands up from her seat. He follows clumsily behind her, standing as well. He was still taller than her even in her high heels. He smiled like a lovesick child down at her, his eyes as big as the moon. She bites at her lip as she sees him look at her so lovingly, so misguidedly. Then she leans up towards his face, up on her tiptoes and past his lips. Her hands hold him straight with them curled in his suit’s lapels. She presses a sweet and gentle kiss to his cheek, closer to his jaw than anything.

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers against his skin before pulling away.

His eyes flutter open, his looks at her confusedly, slightly unaware that he had closed his eyes at all.

“Good night…” He had already forgotten her name, something with an A...or was it an O? He’d have to ask Sarah and Mitch about the girl who had talked to him in the empty golden ballroom, the girl he had fallen in love with. He was certain. She was the one - if only he could find out her name. If he remembered this at all or if he just thought it was a dream.

She leaves the room before him and as she leaves she wonders if she maybe should have made sure he was alright, but she figured their talk was sobering enough. The night was ending and she had a sneaking suspicion that there were plenty of people here tonight looking out for him.

Harry forgot about the girl in the ballroom. Or at least he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality. He had woken up at Tom’s place where he had said he would stay after the wedding reception so he hadn’t gone home with a girl. He couldn’t remember her name so he couldn’t really ask anyone about her and he didn’t exactly have a lot of people he could ask. He wanted to ask Sarah and Mitch, but they were already off on their honeymoon and he was one of those people who would never bother a couple on their honeymoon. He was too embarrassed to ask Renee and anyone else for that matter.

So, instead, he forgot. Harry forgot about her for three weeks until Sarah and Mitch returned. He had called them for a hike and lunch the moment their plane had landed. He had missed some of his best friends. It was a lull in the year, where he wasn’t touring or in the studio, just living and writing when he felt like it. So maybe he was in need of some inspiration.

“Ah! The Jones’!” He exclaims as he walks up to their parked car at the head of the trail.

Sarah laughs and Mitch rolls his eyes, half-heartedly since he’s just as happy to see Harry as Harry is to see him.

“I missed you,” Mitch says as he brings Harry in for a hug.

“Don’t let the missus hear that,” Harry tuts while he sends a wink over Mitch’s shoulder to Sarah.

“It’s all he could talk about for the past few weeks,” Sarah jokes as she goes in for a hug with Harry. “How do you think Harry is? Hope he’s eating? I miss Harry.” She mimics Mitch’s voice.

Mitch shakes his head shyly, a smile spreading on his face after a moment. “That. Is not true at all,” he assures Harry, “But you do look a little thinner. What have you been eating?”

Harry elbows him with a grin, “I’m fine. Been bored so I’ve just been filling the time with working out.”

They start their ascent up the hill and into the canyon. Mitch nods, his worry for his friend subsiding momentarily before he says something strange.

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but you’ve been gone, about a girl at the wedding.”

“Oh?” Sarah gives Mitch a knowing look.

“Yeah, well the thing is, I’m not sure if she was real or not. I think she was real, but I was so drunk, there’s so many bits missing in my memory.”

Sarah and Mitch both laugh. “You were very drunk, H,” Mitch confirms.

Harry ignores him, “I even asked her if she was real and she said yes, but y’know people can lie in dreams. All I remember is she was amazing and she had a princess name, I think.”

Sarah thinks about the guest list. “No princess names that I can think of. What did she look like?”

Harry squints ahead of them, his sunglasses pushing his curls back on the top of his head. “She had straight brown hair, not long or short. She said she was, uh, twenty-five. She was in lavender, I think.”

“You think a lot,” Mitch interjects which earns him a glare from Harry.

Harry thinks about this part that he remembered vividly, how she had been so confident that he wasn’t. He adds, “...And I told her I was in love with her.”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sarah sighs.

Mitch gives Harry an apologetic smile.

“She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t run off either. We talked for awhile.”

“Maybe it was a dream,” Sarah says.

“Okay, let’s see,” Mitch grows to be the leader of the investigation, wanting everything for his best friend to find the love he knew he deserved. “Twenty-five year old brunettes at our wedding who are single. C’mon there weren't that many people there.”

Sarah thinks about it again. “Renee’s sister is twenty-five. I don’t remember what she was wearing, I hardly saw her all night,” she pauses, “Which is strange since she wasn’t on the job for once.”

“What do you mean ‘on the job’?” Harry asks curiously, remembering his girl saying she hated her job.”

“She’s a wedding planner,” Sarah says, glancing at him because she was almost sure that Renee’s sister was not who Harry was talking about. “But she had referred me to someone else for the wedding, she consulted sometimes and got us a discount, but said she didn’t like working with people she knew personally.”

Harry nodded, how could Renee’s sister be his girl? How could a wedding planner hate weddings? And wouldn’t it be all the more awkward if the girl was Renee’s sister? Renee’s little sister, could it be? He had no clue.

“I don’t think it’s her, though,” Sarah gives a half-smile, “She’s not super...uh, how do I say this?”

As Sarah says “touchy-feely,” Mitch interjects.

“She’s pretty cold-hearted. She’s relatively nice, but what makes her such a good wedding planner is she doesn’t get caught up in the sentimentality of it, she just understands other people’s emotions and knows how to make them feel amazing.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sarah looks at Mitch with a strong glare. After all, he was talking about her best friend’s little sister.

“Well, what’s her name?” Harry insists, semi-off put, but knowing her secret made him think it was possible for Renee’s sister and his ballroom girl to be the very same.

“Rori Williams, think it’s short for something else, but I don’t know, as long as I’ve known her she goes by Rori.” Sarah gives Harry a sad smile and it reminds him of his mystery girl.

“Do you think I could meet her or something? I just want to know if it’s her.” Harry says as they reach the first peak on their hike. He looks out at the view from there, Los Angeles was green for once, but he knew it would quickly fade to brown and tan as the spring plants died off again from the summer heat.

“Pretty sure she’s off working on some destination wedding right now. She doesn’t like being bothered when she’s working,” Sarah gives Harry a look for two reasons as she says that. One, because she knows his next question would be to contact her anyway. And two, she’s saying how he is exactly the same, hates being contacted when he’s busy with work. “I can text Renee to see what’s up.”

Harry nods, “Please…” He begins to imagine Rori as his ballroom girl and mutters to himself, “A June Wedding…” getting lost in a silly little daydream.

“Harry Styles is asking after you,” Renee snickers over the cellphone line.

“What is this? The 1800s?” Rori sighs, as she holds the phone to her ear with her shoulder. She tries to brush her hair from her face with a flick of her head, which makes for a rather silly sight as her head and shoulder move awkwardly. “People don’t ‘ask after’ anyone anymore.”

She was in Hawaii, Maui specifically, steaming a sneaky last crinkle out of the latest bride’s wedding veil.

“Well, he still is doing it. You know how he is.”

“I actually don’t,” Rori responds, easily, ignoring the memories of her two encounters with him. “What does he want?”

“Wants to meet you or something,” Renee says easily. “Thinks he met you at Sarah’s wedding, obviously impossible since I know you scampered off half way through the reception and he was falling down drunk at the half way marker as well…” she trails off.

Rori knows her sister well and expects the next thing to come out of Renee’s mouth.

“Oh my god! Did you hook up with him?!”

Expecting this, Rori responds quickly and calmly, “No, we did not hook up, I would never... I did watch him fall on his ass, though.”

“So it was you!”

“What was me?” Rori squints her eyes at her sister over the phone and finally straightens from her steaming task. She feels like she’s only half paying attention to the conversation, especially since she had no intention of meeting up with Harry. He had been so sweet and sad, and she truly wished him the best, but she knew she wasn’t the answer to his problem.

“You!” Renee all but yells into the phone, “Are his dream girl! He’s been wondering if you were even real for weeks.”

“I’m real,” Rori sighs and crosses the room she’s in to sit at the desk she was using as a work space. She flicks through the planner she was using for the Hearst wedding, set to take place tomorrow. “But I’m certainly not his dream girl...I told him that when he said he was in love with me.”

“He what?!” Renee exclaims and hears her sister sigh once again, she knows Rori is growing tired of the conversation and is ready to offer an excuse to hang up any moment now. “Nevermind that, I’m going to tell Sarah to give him your number and the date you get back to Los Angeles. Keep next weekend clear.”

Before Rori can open her strawberry pink lips to reply, Renee is squealing a goodbye and hanging up. She felt her shoulders sag with the empty line, she reclined into the nicely plush swivel chair. This is why she stayed out of love and relationships when they didn’t relate to work, they were exhausting. Too much ‘he said, she said’ going on at all times. Color palettes, seating arrangements and menus were simple, they made sense, they could be arranged and put into place. Relationships were messy, the actual event of a wedding could even be messy, but when she planned them out, for a single moment everything was orderly and simple. She was in control. She knew she couldn’t be Harry’s dream girl because she knew she couldn’t control that situation.

Upon arriving back in the continental United States, at the end of June, Rori ubered immediately to her apartment in Silverlake. Well, it was a converted garage behind a house of a friend of Renee’s. Like most apartments in Los Angeles, it was funky, but it was Rori’s until she decided where she wanted to move. She never wanted to buy in LA and she never wanted to upgrade from the place she had called home for the past four years.

Almost immediately after dropping her pink work tote bag and worn backpack on the floor next to her medium sized navy suitcase, her phone rang through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting with an unknown number. A New York number. Possibly a new client, she picks up quickly and shuts the window-paned door behind her. The days were long, the longest day of the year had almost arrived, yet the sun was still beginning to set in the sky and turn the light blue into a painting of oranges pinks and purples.

“Hello?”

“Is Rori Williams there?” A British voice asks, almost timidly.

“Who’s asking?”

“...Harry.”

“I was told you’d be calling or something along those lines,” she smiles to herself.

Harry sat in his room, chewing at his lip, still unsure if the voice on the other side of the phone call was the woman he had talked to previously.

“Can we go for a drink sometime? How’s tomorrow?”

“Someone is quite enthusiastic.”

“It’s just...I’m trying to figure something out.”

“So I’ve heard,” she chuckles slightly.

“So you won’t tell me whether you’re the girl I talked to at Sarah and Mitch’s wedding will you?”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“So it’s a right Cinderella, if the shoe fits situation,” he mumbles, slightly to himself, but she hears him clearly.

She laughs.

“I don’t really care for Cinderella, I’m not really one for Disney princesses at all, actually.”

His breath catches, a foggy memory of something having to do with princesses tries to break into his mind. He couldn’t remember still and he vowed time and time again that he would never get that drunk again. Too much time lost.

“Alright, Harry. I’ve just gotten home from a work trip so I’m planning on a bath, some wine, and some terribly raunchy TV to get my mind off of my life. How about you pick a time and a place for drinks and hopefully I will show up? Great! Goodnight.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just clicks the red button that hangs up the phone and goes on with her professed plans. Harry sits in stunned silence for a few moments, whatever he had gotten himself into was going to be a ride of a lifetime.

At a quarter past six, Harry sits anxiously at the bar top of a semi casual, semi fancy, totally cool bar he loved. It was private so he wouldn’t be bombarded with people, but it was still lively enough that it wouldn’t be dead silent if conversation lulled between him and Rori. That is, if she showed up.

His foot begins to tap, ever so persistently against the silver footrest at the bottom of the bar. His eyes shift from right to left, not wanting to order a drink before she arrives, but also not wanting to wait much longer and not order a drink. He’d waived off the bartender twice already.

She walks in, right on time, Harry had just arrived early. Her lips part into a happy smile at his anxious stance at the bar, he mirrors her expression at the sight of her.

She’s wearing a billowy white button down, the sleeves cinching perfectly at her petite wrists, cinched beneath a brown corset-like tank top. Her breasts showed their true size today in this outfit. She had the collar pulled out and the corset made it so that her cleavage was perfectly sculpted just beneath the crisp white cloth. Her pants were sleek and black, understated to draw more of a focus to her top as well as the lavender jewel inlaid pendant hanging just above the swells of her breast. Harry’s eyes dipped to that level for a moment, but quickly recovered to focus on her face. The night of the wedding had been blurry, but he was sure Rori’s face was the one of his mystery girl.

He’s shy tonight and a little more reserved than last time. He’s out of his comfortable bubble, what could anyone expect from a man so constantly watched. He fidgets with the top most button of his shirt that was buttoned and thinks about unbuttoning it to reveal a little more of his chest, but he refrains. At a friend’s wedding he feels safe, but in public he’s always watching, always aware of the possible prying eye. But like he had said drunkenly to Rori, he always maintained his charm, no matter the circumstances.

“Lavender was gorgeous on you, but this…” he gives a graceful sweep of his hand to gesture at her outfit tonight, “is extremely enchanting.”

“So you remember me in lavender? I thought you couldn’t remember me at all.” She grins as she stands directly beside him, similar to the first time they had chatted at a bartop.

Harry clears his throat at her tease, “I knew once I laid eyes on you, I would know. So now I know.”

She smirks at his reasoning and orders a vodka cranberry, both not wanting to get off her ass or look any certain way. Vodka cranberries were acceptable mature drinks, but not overly pretentious in any way. Harry tells the bartender to make it two. She looks at him with a discerning eye.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She asks as she slides into the bar seat that seems to be trying to look vintage but was likely made no less than five years ago.

Harry sits too, more easily since his legs are longer than hers. “We met in the ballroom for the first time, did we not?”

“No...we met at the bar in the reception room.” Her hand splays to feel the stone of this counter, cold unlike the wood of the previous one. “We were about this close after you’d rudely stepped ahead of me and ordered before I could...not that you noticed. I asked if you were having a rough night and you pretty much dismissed me.” She bites her lip as she tells him the story, her eyes widen as she watches the distress roll over his features at what she says.

“Oh god,” One of his hands reaches to grab her hand to emphasize his apology, “I’m so sorry, that’s so rude. I was having quite a rough night as you would eventually see.”

He stares at her face, trying to meet her eyes, but she’s glued to the sight of their hands intertwined. He was so smooth and it was making her melt, making the walls she had purposefully put up for this date weak. She had rules, especially for guys like Harry - not that there was anyone that compared to him in her life, but she had them and she knew she couldn’t just be swept off her feet by his sweet voice and gorgeous face that has the most puppy-dog look on it.

She knows she shouldn’t but the extra ice she had added to her personality melts away, her eyes going slightly moony as she watches him visibly relax again. “No worries, I enjoyed your company upon the second meeting, even if you didn’t even remember my name after it.”

“Well,” he finally catches her eye, “That’s where I have a bit of a bone to pick.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me your real name...gave me some fake name I can’t even remember, but it certainly wasn’t…” His eyes shift to her pendant again and he looks back at her brassy eyes in the bar’s lighting. “If your name is Rori Williams, why is your pendant an ‘A’?” He says slowly, another foggy memory trying to break the surface of his knowledge but still failing.

She finally feels in control of the situation, calm and assured of herself, which was maybe unfair since it seemed Harry really had a hard time remembering that night and she could really fuck with him if she wanted to, but she wouldn’t - couldn’t - with those earnest eyes looking at her.

“I told you my real name the first time we talked, Harry. It’s Aurora,” she retracts her hand from beneath his grasp and touches at the necklace, “I go by Rori both socially and professionally, but officially it’s Aurora and this had been my great-grandmother’s. I don’t go anywhere without it.”

“Almost as beautiful as its wearer,” he smirks, his gaze stuck on her face, attempting to convey something specific. She thinks she knows what he’s saying with his look.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she rolls her eyes playfully before specifically choosing to take a sip of her drink through the little straw the bartender had put in it. It draws Harry’s attention to her lips, and after a moment they were wet with a bit of excess vodka cranberry and Harry felt himself grow a little hot at the tips of his ears when her eyes meet with his. She had caught him staring, but he recovers easily.

“I remember telling you I never lose my charm, it’s true is it not?” Harry inquires, head leaning closer to her as he takes a sip of his own drink, making a show to lick his lips after removing them from the edge of the lowball glass.

Her laughter is loud but not overbearing, Harry thinks it’s the best laugh he’s ever heard even if she’s laughing at him. She’s true in that laugh, she’s not trying to make him fall for her with that laugh, it’s just her enjoying herself.

She responds with something sweet and the two begin the back and forth of a successful date. They both drink around three drinks as the night persists, but it’s enough for her to feel the burning pull inside the pit of her belly for Harry. His hands stay relatively to himself besides a few subtle touches at her hair and hands every so often, his feet are the ones to blame. At one point in the night, he hooks his loafer covered foot around her ankle and she is quick to lean into it, reciprocating the footsie with ease. Each brush of his leg against hers is electrifying, every nerve in her body was beginning to go crazy. She was buzzing in a way that she hadn’t when she had first encountered Harry. Tonight he was more suave, but with a tinge of timidness that made him irresistible.

Harry made sure he wouldn’t get drunk tonight, ordering only as much as Rori. He didn’t want to be the fool who couldn’t remember their time together, again. Plus, he didn’t want to forget any of their time together, he wanted to remember it all. Everything about her was amazing, the feeling he had about her, the nagging desire to meet her was for a reason, he was sure of it. If her voice was a melody, then she was the most beautiful love song he had ever heard.

At 11:30, he leans in close to Rori, his nose brushing at the hair tucked at her ear and asks her if she wants to leave. She looks at him confused, the warm feeling in her stomach falls because she thinks he wants to end the night.

“Oh,” she says dejected, she swore it was going well. “Right..That’s it.”

Harry’s brows crinkle at her sad face.

“No, love, I was saying,” he raises his brows, “Y’know.”

“Oh! Right! You just sounded so...I don’t know, serious.” She sinks in her seat, realizing her presumptions had been wrong.

“I was trying to be,” he twists his lips trying to find the word, as blush rises on his cheeks. “Seductive.”

The two of them are quickly realizing they can’t pretend with each other. Rori can’t keep up the harsh facade against love with him, he sees right through it. Harry can’t play his old tricks with her, she sees right through them.

She laughs again, “Well, it just sounded like you were bored. Sometimes your moves fall really flat.” She offers a sweet wink in consolation for his failed attempt at trying to really get her weak in the knees.

They were a lovesick mess together as they clambered off their bar seats and exit the bar that had gotten increasingly loud.

“So what’s next?” She asks on the warm summer night.

He steps closer and takes the liberty of fiddling with the strap of the corset she has on. His head is tilted down as he towers over her. “You know me Rori, I’m a hopeless romantic so I desperately want to take you out for dinner sometime and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but,” his breath fans over her face now as he shifts impossibly closer, “I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me. Just tell me what you’d prefer and it’s all yours.”

Her breathing has become a slight pant as his words wash over her. His nose brushes over the ridge of hers and she takes the moment to put her hands on his shoulders and pull him onto her. They were in the alleyway beside the bar, away from prying eyes except a few people too drunk to recognize Harry's face that is all but hidden in Rori.

“Harry,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering shut as she makes the decision to cross them into the point of no return. She wants this too much. She hadn’t thought this would be how her night would go, thought she would brush him off and never see him again, but god, she needed his warm body everywhere. Needed him to touch every part of her.

“Rori,” he responds.

“I want the second one first,” she whispers, feeling a little too eager, but feeling Harry press excitedly against her reassures her.

His lips press a searing kiss to her and she makes a sound of happiness at the contact. Her hands fist at the fabric of his shirt as she presses her lips feverishly back onto his. Harry’s quick to grip at the back of her neck and the small of her back, keeping her tight to him as he licks into her mouth.

“Can still taste that last vodka cran,” he notes before kissing her again.

Their tongues rub against each other, sloppily but with a tenderness hidden there as well. She snorts at his words which makes him smile and they’re kissing is becoming more silly as they try to contain their laughter. He pulls away, finally giving up trying to maintain the kiss while they both laughed.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Harry asks as he leans his forehead against hers.

Rori’s eyes flicker open and stare into his, the focus only on his eyes and the sprinkle of light freckles and beauty marks below them. She nods her head, making his move with it. They both smile, trying to contain their laughter once more.

She presses her lips against his once more for a small peck and then lowers her head into the crook of his neck. The skin warm and smooth against hers as she whispers happily to him.

“It’s your turn now, Harry,” Rori says blissfully.

She had been the answer to all his questions.

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