#she lives in a glass house whether she knows it or not so teach her not to throw stones

[hellhoundmaggie]

"Oh no you married the wrong imaginary computer man, he is going to ruin your imaginary computer life"

Gimmie a break

My cousin who plays Stardew came over yesterday, and I showed her my farm. I had to go inside my house to get the milk pail for my cow Deadpool, and Shane was in the kitchen, and she told me, " Is that SHANE?!! of course, you married SHANE. " And then as I continued with the game, she told me, " This is a toxic relationship. You're married to an alcoholic, I don't think that's healthy for you "

HELP????? ALSO WHAT DID SHE MEAN BY " Of course you married Shane," I DONT LIKE TOXIC MEN I SWEAR 😭😭😭 I JUST LIKE SINGLE HOT DADS 😭😭😭

[ellieslittlewh0re]

HELP PALESTINE dono links, educate yourself, how to help

𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝒇𝒊𝒏.

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝖮𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖱𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖶𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖠𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

₊˚ପ⊹ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉 (𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝟥𝟢'𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝟣𝟫-𝟤𝟤 𝗂𝗌𝗁) 𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒, 𝗌𝗎𝖻 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾 (𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀) 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄/𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄, 𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖻𝖼 𝗂𝖽𝖼 𝗅𝗈𝗅

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟣 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟤 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟥

Another couple of weeks came and went.

Abby still kept her distance, and you did what you were hired to do.

The first weekend after the kiss was painfully, and irrevocably delicate. With her son being away at his dad’s, and Abby not being able to hide away at work, there was no distractions, which only made it worse.

You two would dance around each other, trying your best to look the other way when passing each other in the halls or in the kitchen, but her eyes would linger when you weren’t looking.

It felt like you were tormenting her with your short skirts and your sheer, tight-fitting tops.

How could she NOT look?

She started to feel like she deserved it for leaving you on the bed that day, all breathless, and heavy eyelids, weighed down by lust.

Abby thought she was doing it for the right reasons, you know… not mixing work with play, but over the past few days, she realized it wasn’t that at all.

She wanted to be prepared.

So while you were taking care of her son, feeding him, bathing him, and teaching him how to spell his own fucking name, she was out buying a strap to fuck you with.

Whether she was going to go through with it or not, she wasn’t sure.

But her time to decide was running out. It was the weekend again, the house quiet and clean, which means you weren’t busy, and neither was she.

It was one of those evenings where you could hear the crickets chirping from the tree line that surrounded the house, fireplace lit and dim.

You were sitting on the bed of your room, which became your more preferred hanging out spot since the kiss, not wanting to face the possibility of a more straightforward rejection from Abby.

And Abby was in the kitchen, two empty glasses in front of her, and her palms face down in the counter.

This is so stupid, she kept telling herself, her eyes glancing between the glasses and the bottle of liquor.

She poured some into one, and brought the rim to her lips, swallowing all of it with the tilt of her head.

Has it really come down to needing liquid courage to face you? Yes. Yes it has, but not because she was scared or nervous. She had a good thing going with you here, and didn’t want to scare you off or taint the image of her you had in your head.

She wanted to live up to your expectations.

For Abby, even if things didn’t go in that direction tonight, and instead became more of a peace offering to be in your good graces again, the anxiety felt worth it.

So, she poured more into her glass, and put it back, but not before getting out a more palatable alcohol from the cabinet, and rummaging through her fridge for a juice to mix it with.

She eyeballed as she poured a couple of shots into the empty glass and filled the rest with more pleasurable-tasting liquid, taking a deep breath as she grabbed the glasses from the counter and made her way to your room.

She tapped on the slightly opened door with the back of her knuckle, and waited for your response before pushing the door the rest of the way open.

“Hey,” She smiled, meeting your eyes, to which you happily greeted her back, closing the book you were previously reading and setting it down.

Her eyes widened, then furrowed, scanning her eyes down your body at the tank top, and shorts you were wearing.

“Shit, were you about to go to bed? I’m sorry.” Abby, once again, felt dumb. Of fucking course you were. It’s late, and she suddenly felt like she was intruding your space, momentarily forgetting that it was her fucking house, and you’re no different than a tenant.

But she never thought about it that way, at least, not since she first saw you.

“Wha-?” You looked down, and crossed your arms over your chest to hide whatever modesty you had left, “No, no…. It’s okay. I wasn’t.”

Good.

You scooted to the end of the bed, dropping your arm because hell, you wanted her to see.

You watched her eyes for a falter, a hint, anything, but they maintained contact with yours. You didn’t make it easy for her though, wearing clothes that left little to the imagination but covered just enough to have her feening, imagination running wild at the idea of undeniable access.

Abby cleared her throat, and extended her arm, “Made you something.”

You take the glass from her hand, giving her a confused smirk, and take a sip.

She sat down beside you a safe distance, but close enough that you could smell the pine aroma of her body soap.

“Better?” She asked, keeping the conversation light, and steering away of anything that might drive you away.

But you weren’t dumb, you knew she was only here to “clear the air”, but a part of you still held onto the hope she changed her mind.

“Much better.”

You continued to sip to fill the empty spaces between each nervous glance and chuckle, letting the alcohol warm you from the inside out, and Abby did the same.

Abby’s thumb twirled around the rim of her glass, looking down at the rippling surface before looking back up, “I’m sorry about the other day.” She spoke softly, and genuinely, her bottom lip pouting more prominently than it usually did.

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, it’s just-“ She paused, looking forward, and exhaled a deep breath, “You’re young. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

This caught you off guard, but it made perfect sense. Abby has always been respectful and cautious about the topic, but you also felt relief that it wasn’t as one-sided as you originally thought.

You weren’t being delusional after all.

The confirmation of her attraction towards you gave you a new sense of confidence. “How do you know I’m not the one taking advantage of you?” You asked in a hushed voice, sweet, crystallized sugar on your tongue as you leaned in, and shit-

Abby liked to think she had more of a backbone- a moral compass to help resist her temptations, but that flew out the window as soon as you did this.

Abbys eyes darkened, flickering between your parted lips before meeting your gaze, perhaps to get the go ahead signal from you but your lips were already on hers, which was good enough for her.

You’re pushed back slightly and let Abby’s tongue take control, her hand on your thigh and thumb vanishing under the hem of your shorts, squeezing the fat dangerously close to your cunt.

Her hand moved to your face, cradling the space between your cheekbone and neck, pulling you into her before breaking away, “Let’s move this to my room, yeah?” She breathed, her voice excreting an excitement that she tried hard to withhold, but it still found a way to remain firm like it wasn’t a question at all.

And all you could do was nod, head already fuzzy, and a feeling of sticky discomfort between your thighs.

Abby led you to her room, her hand in yours and your smaller strides following closely behind her larger ones.

You’re sat on the edge of the bed, and she kneels before you, never breaking eye contact. And honestly, you couldn’t look away even if the embarrassment and nauseating flutter in your stomach wanted to, being so captivated and eager to comply to her every demand.

Her hand followed the curve of your calf down before coming back up, and she rubbed her palms over the soft plush of your thighs, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

Her lips grazed the inside of your knee, placing a gentle kiss, “Can I taste you?” She asked, so sweet that it could’ve been mistaken as asking to borrow a cup of sugar, but the reaction it had on your body (and your pussy) said otherwise.

An uncontrollable squeak emitted from your throat,

“Y-yes…”

Her hands squeezed the tops of your thighs, molding your flesh between calloused fingers before focusing on your waistband.

You lifted your ass as she tugged, pulling the pants down the length of your legs and past your ankles and dropping them to the floor.

“Oh my god-“ She groaned, marveling at the sight of your pretty pink panties, now made see-through with your own arousal, “All this from a few kisses? You’re dirtier than I thought.” She sneered, moving closer. And how hypocritical of her to say that when she’s not much better off at this point.

“Abby… please.” You whined, lifting your hips from the mattress in an attempt to find some relief.

Abby was also impatient, and as much as she wanted to take her time, treat you right, she also just simply wanted to please you.

She looped her finger behind the crotch of your panties and pulled it away from your cunt. You sucked in a sharp breath, sinking your weight back on your elbows, and squeezed the sheets between your fingers as she did this. The cold air hitting the new skin sends a chill across your limbs.

Something happened inside of Abby’s body. It’s one thing to see it, but to feel it?? Feeling the effect she had on your body- how wet you were, and how she could practically feel you try to suck her in even though she barely made it past the first knuckle… It was primal. A inextinguishable fire that kept burning brighter with each passing breath.

Your body is yanked down, ass pulled to the edge of the bed, and your thighs are thrown over her shoulders, her arms locking in around them.

You yelped at the sudden difference, looking down at her with a worried expression, but your head immediately falls back as her mouth encapsulates your clothed pussy.

You moaned, eyes disappearing into the back of your head.

She sucked, hallowing her cheeks around your bundle of nerves, and used her tongue to soak you through your panties with her spit.

Once again, she pulled the fabric down, tightening it flush with your cunt, and licked you through the ribbed cotton, letting your flavor seep into her mouth through the barrier.

But her patience was thinning. She needed to taste you properly, and she needed her hands free so she could hold your wriggling legs in place.

“I’m sorry” Was all she said, and you didn’t even have time to process it before you felt a harsh yank against your hips and the sound of fibers tearing apart.

-

Inhale, exhale.

Your wines hoarse, mouth dry. Crescent-shaped indents carved into Abby’s forearms and hands from your nails that were desperately grabbing at her- overstimulated and clit throbbing after the third orgasm of the night.

And she hasn’t even fingered you yet.

Her mouth detaches, and you sigh a breath of relief, but even with her absence, an uncomfortable buzzing still lingered.

She came up, placing both hands on the beside your face, and kissed you, slipping her tongue inside to give you a taste of yourself still on her tongue.

She started kissing you down your neck and chest, one of her hands sliding underneath your shirt, “Can you handle more?” She asked, lips grazing the surface of skin above your collarbone.

Inhale, exhale.

“Y-yes.” You nodded, tightening your legs around her hips, pulling her in because even though you were ran dry, you still craved the pressure of her inside.

She connected her lips with yours, and her hand placed itself around your jaw, cradling it. It was slow, patient, but also overpowering, made you feel even smaller somehow.

She pulled away, her lips still ghosting over yours, “Good girl.”

She gets up and turns away, disappearing behind the bathroom door, and leaves it open a few inches before re-entering a short time later, except nothing could have prepared you for this.

Inhale, exhale.

Shiny leather straps hugged her hips, dipping around the backside of the boxers and accentuating her ass, accompanied by the black silicone standing between her legs, big enough that it suited her size, almost seeming natural on her.

Your cunt clenches, and your thighs rub together as she approached.

Inhale, exhale.

She climbed on top, and your legs immediately open for her, welcoming her between them, and wrapping around her backside.

She was already inside, sinking herself in a couple of centimeters at a time and pausing in between to give you time to adjust to the girth.

Inhale, exhale.

You whined, nails etching across her back, and she was quick to soothe you with another kiss, “We shouldn’t do this.” She breathed between pecks but made zero attempts to stop it- in fact, she snapped her hips forward, filling you up with the last of her until the base was flush with your cunt.

-

Skin slapping against skin, beads of sweat tracing the edges of Abby’s forehead, and both of your legs hogtied together by her arm, holding them against her body, your feet dangling in the air.

Your ass wasn’t even on the bed at this point since she was quite literally holding you up, instead using her strength and size to her advantage to get the perfect angle inside of you, using you like you were her own little fuck doll.

It was rough, tender, but rough.

She’d check in on you, chanting little praises like how you were doing such a good job, but she’d also spew out a symphony of possessive remarks.

“Whose pussy does this belong to, hm?” And you’d muster the very little strength you had, mumbling exactly what she wanted to hear, your eyes rolling to the back of your fucking brain.

“That’s right… s’mine.” She’d grunt, picking up her pace, and slamming her hips into the back of your thighs, her strap bulging against the surface of your tummy.

“A-Abby��” You whimpered, but it hardly sounded like anything at all. You reached her hand that was squeezing you-holding you by the thigh, using it like a fucking handle to drill her cock into you.

“Abby..” you said again, trying to warn her of your impending orgasm, but she didn’t hear you, or she was just ignoring you because she doesn’t slow down, not even for a second.

Your eyes roll back before squeezing shut, limbs stiffening, “fuck, fuck, fu- ohmygod“ The plush of your bottom lip stung, edges of your teeth sinking into it before your jaw slacks. Your body trembles, hips bucking, but Abby still just holds you there and only pauses inside of you when your orgasm visualizes itself- a overflow of milky, viscous elixir seeping down the length of her strap.

She pulls out, dropping your legs to the mattress, and she’s panting heavily, the highs of her cheeks glistening against the warm glow of the lamp.

She’s hovering over you, kissing your cheek, and along your jaw.

She was being so, SO sweet, particularly because she felt bad for essentially bringing you to tears, but also because she was trying to make up for what she’s about to do next.

Her hands slip between the bed and your back, pulling you from it and lifting you up. Your legs are wrapped around her waist when your back hits a solid surface- the wall.

“Abby…” Abby you say, confused and still delirious, “what are you-?”

“Just one more… please. I know you can do it.” She was also delirious, words rushed and slightly slurred- trance-like, and dead set on being inside of you just to see how fucking dumb you get all over again.

It was like a drug to her, terrified of the consequences, the what-ifs, but once she tried it, she knew from then on she’d always crave more.

Now, she didn’t fucking care about the consequences.

This time, you initiated the kiss, and moan as her hands squeeze the fat of your ass, fingerprints breaking the blood vessels across your skin.

She pulls away, a loose strand of straight, golden hair blowing with her jagged breaths, “Tell me if it hurts, yeah?”

You nod, bitting down on your bottom lip as she lifted you higher, and angled herself below your cunt.

You cling to her neck as you’re lowered onto her cock, tears brewing at the corners of your eyes, and using her shoulder to mute yourself from crying out.

“Hey, hey… I got you“ She cooed, tilting her head so her lips were aligned with your ear, “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Just relax.”

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

She lowers you some more, hands gripping the underside of your thighs, and veins straining in her hands from the sheer amount of effort she was using to keep you steady.

You lock eyes with her, a pull between the center of your brows, and lips glossy with spit. You stretch around her, walls expanding to her size mixed with the new angle that proved to hit even deeper than before, which says a lot.

“That’s it… good girl.” The corner of her lips tug into an almost smirk, faint enough to miss it if you weren’t 5 inches from her face.

She started slow, scared to hurt you, and letting you grind your hips with her deep inside, but then she started to manually move you herself, lifting you and then guiding your hips as they came back down.

The pain was blinding, and casted white in the peripheral of your eyes. Your cheek slid across Abby’s shoulder, dampened by your tears, and that’s when she sped up.

You let out a cry, and your head goes back, slamming against the wall, but within seconds the pain lessens, instead being replaced by indescribable pleasure.

Abbys breathing heavily, her head resting in the crook of your neck, and yours hands interlocking behind her head.

It was so intimate, so vulnerable, and unlike anything either you have ever experienced in past relationships.

“Abby… I’m gonna- mmhm… gonna cum.” Your voice trembled, a rasp forming in your throat from the events that have transpired over the past three hours.

Sweat trickled between your tits, and strands of Abby’s hair stuck to her forehead in what seemed like a purposeful manner- swirled, and wave-like in design.

“I got you, I got you…” She said, her voice trailing off, becoming too focused on the stakes at hand.

See, Abby was scared of this night ending. Maybe it started as a forbidden crush in the beginning, but now?? With your eyes puffy, lashes wet and clumping together, and your pretty lips hugging her cock, she was no doubt in love.

You sing her name, pleading for her lips, and she immediately complied, kissing you as she both thrusted her hips into you, and moved your body up and down on her strap, surely bruising you for days to come.

As you come down from your orgasm, you loosen your grip on her, limbs feeling like jell-o, and she carefully lays you back down in the bed, leaving you for a moment to fetch a damp rag.

She’d be so gentle cleaning you up and leaving kisses across your chest and shoulders like her touch could reverse the deepening of the crimson splotches she left all over your body.

She’d also dress you, putting you in one of her t-shirts as soon as the opportunity comes because it’s something she has been thinking about for weeks at this point, not only the size difference between you two exciting her but also the fact that you’re wearing her clothes, which only makes her fantasy of you being her little wife feel that much more real.

When she’d determine you were sufficiently taken care of, she’d get in bed with you, pulling you into her arms with your back against your chest.

You hummed, a weak smile on your face and closed eyelids, falling into one of the best sleeps of your life.

Abby, however, didn’t.

Yes, she was exhausted, but all night as she held you, she couldn’t stop thinking about how the morning would materialize and how you’d react when she told you that she loved you.

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ೃ⁀➷ @aouiaa @macaroni676 @sheluvslilith @sapphicsuperstar444 @lmaoo-spiderman @williamsangel @falloutboy-lover @atyourmerci @mskbitch @r3starttt

[amandav09]

Nikto x Princess Reader

MasterList of COD x Princess Reader

Sommary : A monster in the forest

Warning : Light Angst

Word count : 7k

Everyone was running away from him, he was considered the monster of the village, so as such, he isolated himself. Hiding in a small house in the woods, he spent his time hunting or farming. He had managed to find some semblance of harmony. No one bothered him and it was for the best

So when he saw a hooded sillouette hardly walking between the trees, he was astonished

'An intruder, a danger' said a voice.

“This person must be lost, let’s help her,” said another.

Another advised him to simply ignore it to avoid trouble

But curiosity took over Nikto, especially when he saw the person collapse on the grassy ground of the forest in spring

He did not think any more and ran in his direction. Once arriving he knelt down with the inconceivable body and turned it in his arms. He took a deep breath as he looked at the young woman’s face. Despite her dry lips and slightly pale tint, she was…

'Magnificent' Spoke several voices to the union

He lifted it in his arms, his strength allows him to carry it easily to his house

‘She is desidrater’

He quickly took a glass of water after carefully placing it in his bed. He put the glass on the small nightstand next door and took a wet cloth to clean his face

Many questions turned in his head, and the voices did not help. It was just necessary to wait and check each time the state of the unknown

It was only two hours later that he saw him move, he was standing in the background, wanting to avoid frightening him.

The woman coughed, her eyes flickering before settling on the ceiling. Nikto stood on the step of the door that was in front of the bed, he remained motionless while watching her turn her head to the side.

She noticed the glass of water and quickly straightened up to take it and drink.

«Do not drink all at once» His voice resounds, cutting off the peaceful silence. The woman quickly stopped drinking and turned her head towards him, her eyes were slightly wide open, worry gnawing her soul

"If you drink all of a sudden, you may feel bad. Your body was in desidratation” The experience speaking, and he did not want to see the suffering on the face of the unknown

She rested the glass gently

«OK, thank you» His voice was breaking because of his dry throat.

‘Her skin looks soft’ Says a voice

He refrains from being tempted by the idea «What were you doing in the forest?» His voice was as soft as possible

She looked down, he could see that she was thinking whether to lie to him or not, but the answer she gave him was quite different

"You... don’t know me?"

Nikto frowned behind her mask. Know her?

“No. I’ve lived in the forest most of my life”

Her body seemed to relax slightly

"I am a princess... She did not know why she was telling him the truth, but she felt that she could trust him, despite his physique which would have made all women or men flee the palace

Nikto leaned his head slightly to the side. He was not unknown to rank and statues, but he wondered what a princess was doing so far from home

"You’re running. Right?" His dirty clothes and the pocket on his dress are empty. She had to take the bare necessities in a hurry and then left

“Yes”

"Do you have at least one place to go?"

«No» she shakes the blanket in her hands «I just had to leave»

The voices in his head come out

«You can stay here»

The eyes of the princess widen «I do not want to disturb you!»

“You don’t. You need to hide, and I have room. I would teach you to hunt and cultivate, as well as other things necessary to survive. Whatever you run from, it won’t find you here, you won’t be a princess, you’ll just be the girl who lives with the wood monster. Is that okay?”

She nods, smiling «It suits me»

He approached the bed and sat right next to the girl’s legs

"What’s your name?" She asked

"Nikto... what about you?"

“(Y/N)”

«Nikto!» The man quickly raised his head, he lowered the axe while he was cutting wood for the winter

He spotted quickly (Y/N) arriving holding a dead rabbit

“I finally got one!” She smiled with victory, her bow and arrows hanging from her back

'She learns quickly' he heard

'She is good.'

‘We are good teachers.’

He dropped the axe and approached her

«We are proud of you»

Nikto had avoided talking in ‘us’ with her at first, wanting to avoid scaring her. But when he let him escape during a conversation, they had a discussion. And to Nikto’s astonishment, she understood quickly and if fit. In a sense they felt closer, and Nikto felt... Whole

«We can eat it tonight»

He laid his forehead against his own and took a slight breath

“Yes, we will”

It had been almost a year since the princess was lost in the woods, now it had become her home, and Nikto the person who mattered most to her

“I risk going to the village, we lack flour if we want to make an apple pie”

(Y/N) Sometimes go to the nearby village, that when things were missing, she always covered herself with a cape and took one of Nikto’s masks. People quickly realized that the monster in the forest was no longer alone, and they always made sure to serve the young woman quickly so as not to attract the anger of Nikto, even if you knew that he would not do anything about it. But people didn’t want to see it differently

«We will wait for you» He took the rabbit from his hand «Do not delay»

She kissed her forehead and entered their house to prepare, when she came out, Nikto let out a small grunt when seeing her with her mask

He always liked to see her with his stuff

«I return quickly my loves» She says while taking the path towards the village

'She is at nous'

‘We love him so much’

‘What if he misses his old life?’

He clenches his fists to the last sentence

“She is safe with us. If she misses her life, then we will follow her to the end of the world.”

The idea had already been in his head for a while, this man always had them doubts on different subjects.

But when she came home in the evening with the flour, he feels something wrong.

"Luv?" Nikto frowned at the woman who had her head in the clouds.

She blinked several times before concentrating her gaze on him

"Yes?"

“There’s something bothering you.”

She sighed and sat on one of the chairs in the dining room

“I heard discussions in the village...those who had taken my father’s kingdom from his dead...Being an only daughter, the throne belongs to me.”

Nikto froze, a white noise resounds in his head.

«You would be a good queen» He tried to hide the bitterness in his voice

«I don’t know» She bit her nails «If I am really the heiress, I could be looked for everywhere»

Nikto went ahead and knelt down

"What do you want?"

She took a slight breath and rose looking down at the man

``I have two solutions. First, I will ascend the throne, or I will stay here''

«You miss the palate, we see it in your eyes» It rises.

“You’ve lived here all your life, I understand you want to stay here. I would stay with all of you. I would never force you to leave your comfort.”

«You are our comfort» He rises «But people may look at you badly... I’m not a king, people don’t even consider me human.”

«They will not have their words to say» The woman’s eyes leave Nikto to look out the window. The forest outside was quiet, at night plunging her into a silent sleep

(Y/N) took an inspiration

«They’ll find someone else» Nikto frowned

"What do you mean?"

The young woman’s gaze will recognize him’ full of determination

“Let the throne go to hell, let the villagers go too. I fell in love with this place, and I’m in love with you” She gently takes her hand in hers “It’s true that I miss the palate, but I loved every moment here. If I left, I might feel bad forever.”

«(Y/N)» Nikto put his forehead against his and closed his eyes

«You are stuck with me in this forest until our end» She smiled, he opened his eyes

“We won’t want it any other way.”

[ababanerb]

soldier on [3]

masterlist

AO3

Safiya manages to hide away in her farmhouse for another three days, dodging Magnus’ attempts to force her into socializing against her will with the most powerful warding spells she knows. Her house and the majority of the property covered in layer upon layer of invisible shields, designed to steer people away without even a thought about where they’d been going in the first place.

Three days of paranoia ridden solitude.

Three days of nearly burning the house down when the foundation settles, every shadowy corner has her jumping with magic crackling in her palms. She can’t make toast, not after she’d accidentally shot a hole through it when her toast had popped up the other day. Three days of falling asleep sitting up, her back pressed to the door drifting asleep and startling awake at every noise. Three days of begrudgingly eating the leftovers in her fridge, belly bloating with fullness for the first time since she was fourteen. Three days of searching through the attic, an actual flashlight in her hand, because she can’t trust herself to not set the dusty space on fire when something shifts in the corner of the dark room. Three days of avoiding her reflection in the bathroom mirror because she sees someone else in the glass.

It’s miserable, and she feels worse than she did when she was a frontline soldier. 

The only upside is having an actual bathroom. With a shower that she doesn’t have to share with twenty other women at a time. Not to mention taking an actual bath. 

The bath that she’d fallen asleep in. And then woken up with her teeth chattering when she’d turned the water to slush in her sleep, when she’d dreamed of a Gotorran mage who’d tried to melt the flesh clean from her bones. There’s still a bright red scar down her left forearm from where he’d managed to get his fire to pierce through her ice, pulsing and glowing erratically. 

Three days of holing herself away, Magnus tapping incessantly on her shields, before the old wizard in his not as old tower gets his way and Safiya has to make the short trek into town so she doesn’t starve to death.

“Can’t fucking stand you,” She curses in the direction of the tower, middle finger raised spitefully as she zips her mom’s old coat all the way up to beneath her chin. The stiff collar brushing awkwardly against her jaw as she pulls her long dark hair out from the jacket, the loose waves falling limply in the cold.

The farm is still covered in a thick blanket of snow, and whether Magnus actually followed through on maintaining the farm since her grandfather’s passing has yet to be seen. Not that it really matters, she knows she’ll have work to do either way. The coop and barn are still standing off in the distance, also covered in snow, and there’s a pang of sadness as she envisions the animals her grandpa used to keep when she was a girl. 

Can still remember the two black and white Holstein cows he’d gone through the painstaking process of teaching her how to milk, can still remember processing jug upon jug of milk with her mom. Can remember the two meat cows he’d had - and then never again when she’d cried into a bowl of beef stew - beautiful Herefords. Named Bread and Butter, because her grandpa thought it was funny. 

It had been so lively here, when she was a girl. Atwood Farm was never short of life, always chock full of it. Even in Winter, it had never been quiet. She’d had snowball fights with her mom on days like this, the two of them slinging snow back and forth without any magic until he grandpa came barreling towards them, magic brimming in his hands to make the game all that more fun.

It’s silent now, though. Only Safiya’s quiet sigh and the crunching of her boots through the snow and the creaking of the metal gate at the end of her driveway as she leaves, dropping the shields around her property as she does. Swearing that she can hear the ghost of laughter behind her.

Pelican Town remains relatively unchanged in the nearly ten years it’s been since she’d last seen it. There’s a new doctor in the same old clinic, Pierre’s is right where it had always been, and the Saloon still wafts the smell of something mouthwateringly good through the square, even when Gus hasn’t opened for the day.

It’s different all the same, though. Safiya trying not to flinch when Pierre’s door rattles loudly shut behind her as she waves the snow off her boots with a flick of her hand. The clumps of white dissipating into thin air as she grabs a wire shopping basket and swallows hard.

When’s the last time I was in a grocery store?

The thought fills her head, a little too abruptly for her comfort, as she picks an aisle - packed full things in colorful packaging. Nine years of MREs in beige and white packaging, and food so bland she’d forgotten all about this . 

Forgotten all about fresh fruit, laid out in neatly done displays in the produce aisle. And chips, in flavors that didn’t even exist before she’d been drafted.

And-

“Naomi?” A voice chimes politely from behind her, a hand tapping against her shoulder. 

Safiya startles, body suddenly cold and heart somewhere in her throat as she leaps halfway across the aisle, hands blooming with color and basket forgotten on the floor. She suddenly regrets wearing her moms old coat, even though she hates the military issued coat she’d arrived here in. Because at least in her coat, she has full range of motion. Unhindered ability to kill.

Enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Her mind screams at her in the voice of the drill instructor who’d hated her and she’d hated right back. Kill or be killed. Kill them first. 

And in her own voice, I don’t wanna die. 

“Oh!” The voice says again, and Safiya’s eyes clear, mind calming as she focuses on the woman who stands on the other end of the aisle. She’s got the most vibrant green hair Safiya’s ever seen, and a face stretched tight with fear as Safiya remains on guard.

“Caroline?” Another voice calls, male, footsteps rushing towards the commotion. 

It takes Safiya another few seconds to extinguish her glowing hands, the absolute terror on the face of the woman across from her is the same as the Gottoran girl she’d killed one muggy summer. A girl who’d been even younger than her, but trying to kill Safiya with all she’d had. Safiya was seventeen, then, and her hands had tingled with lightning still sparking over her fingertips, the girl seizing on the muddy battlefield below her. 

She’d also had green hair, though not as vibrant. Probably due to the same reason most people dulled in active combat. Safiya could still hear her choking on her own blood, wide, pale eyes staring desperately up at Safiya, mouthing words in a language she didn’t understand. 

“Naomi?” The male voice cuts through, and Safiya blinks, and she’s back in the aisle of a grocery store, shopping basket on the ground with her things scattered around it. And the green haired woman from before peering at her from behind a brown haired man in glasses.

“Naomi?” The man asks again, like he can’t believe his eyes, head tilting as she stares back at them. Shame curling like a hot iron in her gut.

“That was my mom,” Safiya says, quietly, afraid that if she speaks any louder her magic will make even her voice a deadly weapon, “I’m Safiya.”

Safiya creeps forward, hands kept splayed low as she approaches her abandoned basket, like she’s approaching a wild animal. Her hands shake as she puts her few things back into the wire basket, and her hands still feel tingly as she fumbles a jar of dill pickles back into the basket.

“I’m sorry,” Safiya says, addressing the green haired woman from where she remains crouched in the middle of the aisle, “You startled me. I hadn’t meant to scare you.”

Safiya pulls her face into what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” The green haired woman says, stepping out from behind her husband - or, Safiya thinks he’s her husband - waving a gentle hand through the air as she approaches Safiya, “You just got here a week or so ago, right? I’d be jumpy in a new place, too.”

Safiya gives the woman a tight-lipped smile, standing up with her basket gripped tightly in her hands, “Yes. I’m taking over Atwood Farm.”

“That’s perfect!” The man interjects, striding forward and jutting his hand towards her, “I’m Pierre. If you're looking for seeds, my shop is the place to go. I'll also buy produce from you for a good price! A little agriculture could really inject new life into the local economy! ”

And resell them for double the price. Safiya thinks, watching as Pierre’s eyes gleam with desire that is uncannily similar to bloodlust. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Safiya says, nudging his hand back towards him the back of her hand, “It’d be smarter if we don’t shake hands,” She tells him, a little apologetically, but he ignores her, grabbing her hand in both of his and shaking vigorously.

“Don’t be silly,” He chuckles, and Safiya can feel her magic roaring beneath her skin. Can taste in the back of her throat and smell it in the air around her. Her instincts screaming at her.

Safiya’s lip curls as she snatches her hand back from him, the man yelping when she discharges a short burst of fire from her fingertips. “Do not touch me,” She snarls in the same voice she’d used as a colonel, her voice a blade of its own. “Understand?”

Pierre nods, cursing beneath his breath as he cradles his singed hand to his chest. He turns sharply on his heel, pushing past the green haired woman who’s staring with wide eyes at Safiya.

“I’m Caroline,” The woman says after a long moment, Safiya turning towards one of the shelves with her eyes screwed shut as she mentally berates herself. “Our town doctor, Harvey, next door, he served seven or so years ago.”

“Thanks.” Safiya responds, breathless, as she rests her forehead against one of the cool metal shelves, “How did you know my mom?” She asks, grasping for anything to fill the awkward silence and pull her mind away from the barely-there smell of burnt skin.

“You don’t remember?” Caroline asks, and Safiya’s dares to glance at her, “Your mom and I were good friends before the two of you moved away to Zuzu.”

“Well, it’s been a long nine years for me,” Safiya supplies, only a little bitter as she skirts her way around Caroline and towards the singular check-out counter, “There’s a lot I don’t remember anymore.”

Caroline says nothing else, just purses her lips and gets Safiya checked out. And Safiya stares at the counter, refusing to look Caroline in the eye, afraid of what either of them might see in the other’s face. 

Caroline slides her two bags of groceries over the counter, and Safiya swipes her card through the card reader that’s probably been there since she was a girl.

“It’s okay,” Caroline utters softly. Safiya’s fingers curl gingerly around the plastic handles of her bags, unsure if she can trust herself. “Pierre’s ego is probably more hurt than his hand, Nao- Safiya,” Safiya cringes at the stumble, and her regret for wearing her mom’s old jacket only grows, “Pelican Town’s glad to have you. And… I just want to say, thank you for your service.”

Safiya wants to set herself on fire as she nods politely at Caroline, shoves her card into the back pocket of her ill-fitting jeans - also her moms - as she thanks Caroline as quickly as she can and ducks back out into the cold. Grocery bags clutched tight in her fingers.

She vows to not go back into Pierre’s until it's Spring, and she doesn’t have to wade through the snow if she needs to make a terribly executed escape again.

—

It’s Tuesday, Sebastian notes absently as he types through yet another line of code, dying for a cigarette - or a blunt, either’s fine at this point. Or, he thinks it’s Tuesday. He can’t be sure, time and sleep lost on him as he pounds out his larger fourth project in two weeks.

But, it must be Tuesday. Because he can hear Abigail upstairs, blabbering some benign thing to his mom about something her mom told her to pass along before she’d left her house. So, it’s Tuesday, he reasons, because Abigail always comes over on Tuesday at one o’clock, like clockwork, to pester him. 

But- No, it is, He assures himself, tapping his phone awake just to check the date. A little annoyed that his life is so routine that he knows the date and time solely on when one of his friends comes over to cure her own boredom. 

“I fucking hate that I’m right, sometimes,” He curses under his breath, flicking his tongue against his teeth just to hear the piercing there clack. Forcing his attention back to his code for the few precious moments he has before Abi comes clomping down the stairs in her platform boots that are shit for any weather other than pleasantly warm and sunny. He downs another gulp of cold coffee, shuddering as it goes down and fingers flying across his keyboard, desperately trying to get a few more lines done when he hears the telltale noise of Abi’s boots hitting the top of the basement steps. 

He gets two more lines of code before Abi comes crashing through his door, reminding him of why he’d become such a stickler for locking his door when he wanted some alone time. She doesn’t knock, never has, probably never will, and if she cares that he’s working, it doesn’t show. 

He just barely manages to save his work by the time Abigail’s got both hands on the back of his gaming chair, pulling him away from his desk and spinning him towards her. “Seb!” She exclaims, her face inches away from his, “You’ll never believe this,” She laughs, squealing with glee as she lets him go to dance around his room. Her boots thumping loudly on the wooden floor of his basement room.

Sebastian sighs, pushing himself back towards his desk to fish a cigarette from his desk drawer, “What won’t I believe?” He asks begrudgingly, spinning the spark wheel of his lighter with practiced ease, holding his cigarette between his lips as he shuts his computer down.

“The new farmer burned the shit outta my dad this morning!” Abigail squeals, jumping wildly with glee until her foot wobbles on the landing, “Oh my Yoba, Seb! It’s incredible. Dad was bein’ a real dick this morning, too.” Abigail continues, surging forward as his eyebrows raise, “Oh,” She laughs, nearly cackling, “Karma is real, Seb. This is the greatest day of my life!”

There was a time, back when the two of them were in high school, and Sebastian was shamelessly horny, and Abigail wanted nothing more than to piss off her parents, that he would actually give a shit about whatever Abi has to say. Partly because he had enjoyed her company more, then, but mostly for sex.

He also hadn’t had a job, then. 

But Sebastian indulges her anyway, one of his closest friends, because she is Abigail and he is Sebastian, and he will indulge her the same way she indulges him and Sam, “What d’you mean, the farmer burned your dad? Must’ve been spitting fucking fire if it got to good ol’ Pierre.” He drawls, sounding just interested enough to keep her from complaining as he takes another deep drag of his cigarette. Relishing in the way it burns on the way down.

“No, Seb,” She says, on her feet again, hands pressed to the arms of his chair as she leans over him. Grinning so hard it’s a wonder her face hasn’t split in two, “The farmer literally burned my dad! Like-” She squeals, reeling back and gesturing wildly at her right hand, “ Burned , burned. Flames- Came from the farmer’s hands!”

“Get out,” Sebastian says pointedly, actually pointing at his bedroom door as his lips pull into an annoyed frown, “Don’t waste my fucking time on this kinda shit, Abi. You know I have shit I need to get done.”

“No, you fucking do not ,” She snorts, pulling away from him in a huff as he blows a puff of smoke in her face, and falling back onto his bed, “And I’m serious , Sebby!”

He glares sharply at the nickname, something reserved only for his mom to call him.

“ Sebastian ,” She quickly corrects, holding her hands up in faux surrender, “And I’m serious.”

He raises a skeptical brow at her, ashing his cigarette in the broken bottom half of what was his favorite coffee cup turned ashtray, “The other week you said you saw a shadow person.” He reminds.

“And I did ,” She protests.

“Abi,” Sebastian sighs, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together over his stomach, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and flicking his tongue piercing over the backs of his teeth. “Not that I don’t believe you. But everyone knows that anyone who can channel magic is off fighting against Gotoro. It’s just not even fucking possible, Abs. And even if there were some random new mage , of all fucking things, in town. You’d think more people would know by now. Because that would mean soldiers are coming home. 

“And you and I both know they’re not, because Sam hasn’t said jack shit about it. And don’t go mentioning this to him, either.” He says harshly, jabbing in her direction with the index and pointer fingers of his right hand, “Don’t go getting his hopes up when nothing’s been made official.”

“Fucking-” Abi sighs, exasperated as she meets his hard gaze, “Fine. Whatever.”

He nods once, turning his chair around and booting his computer back up, a silent demand for her to leave.

“... Wanna have sex?” She offers after a moment, trying to peer over his shoulder as he opens up his coding program.

He points to the door without looking away from his screen, “No. Now get out so I can work.”

[noodyl-blasstal]

Cool, Calm, and Collegiate - Chapter 6

It's @blupjeansweek day 6, today's prompt is: Loss

You can read on Ao3 or below. Missed yesterday? Catch up here.

-

Barry tries not to hear Lup and Taako’s conversation, he’s glad the internet is finally up and running at the house, but he doesn’t want to invade her privacy by listening in. The only problem is that Taako’s talking loudly, and Lup’s talking loudly to be heard over him, and Barry’s walls are thin. He studiously tries to ignore it, but can’t help but be a little heartened when he hears that he was her competent knight in shining armour. He flees to the bathroom when Taako asks if they ‘boned down proper style.’ Nothing in him wants to hear Lup’s disgust at the prospect.

His mind’s too busy to dwell on that though, because Barry is suspicious. Deeply suspicious. The twins' teaching reviews haven’t been good, either from students or peer reviewers. He knows for a fact they’ve been dragged (after multiple ‘missed’ appointments) into Lucretia’s office on a few occasions to discuss complaints, student requests to move, and unmet session goals. He doesn’t like that they were the ones looking after Lup’s bag when it disappeared, nor that the only things missing were ‘just’ lesson plans and her room keys - which would be no use to anyone who didn’t know where she lived. Surely they’d take her wallet if it was just random and opportunistic? The theft of her research was, understandably, a touchy topic (he was already formulating ways to punish her old mentor, mostly via very specific questions asked at a conference in front of a large audience) so he didn’t want to bring it up with her yet. There was no need to add anything else to her plate. That said, going with her should help him figure out what had happened. If only he’d actually taken that Cleric class he might even have a deity to pepper with questions about it… nevermind though, he just needs to see whether anyone has visited the apartment. If they have, well, it will only serve to bolster his hypothesis.

Lup’s lounging on the sofa when he heads to the living room. She’s wearing a pair of his jeans with the legs rolled, the hair scarf she was using last night keeping them tight around her hips, and one of his old, faded college shirts tucked artfully into the waistline. She looks gorgeous, how could she not? But there’s a special thrill seeing her here, so comfortable in his house wearing his things, at ease, and happy. He wants that for her always, not an ill fitting wardrobe, but comfort and safety. It’s what he wants for all of his friends of course.

“Hey.” She says, smiling at him. “Sorry about ‘Ko, he was just worried. I hope we weren’t too loud.”

Barry nods sympathetically. “I don’t have siblings, but I can imagine it was scary to hear you got robbed. I would have been worried too, I mean, I was, but you know…” He tails off.

“He was glad to hear my knight in shining armour was around to look after me.” Lup winks at him and Barry can feel himself flushing red. “Thanks for looking after me, Bear.”

“Hey, it’s… uh, anyone would have.”

“They didn’t, though, did they?” Lup says, rolling artfully off the sofa and onto her feet. “You did.”

“Er. Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

“So, shall we go see if they managed to get in?” She smiles, but it’s tight, forced.

Barry nods, tries not to ruin the happy front she’s putting on by fussing. He’d hate for someone to break in here and go through his stuff, it must be awful not to know if that’s what she’s going to walk into. “After you.”

–

“You really should be more careful with your things.” The woman behind the accommodation desk slides her glasses down her nose so she can glare at Lup harder.

Lup’s mouth twitches.

“She got robbed.” Barry says quickly.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mr…”

“Dr, Halwinter.” Barry says. He hates using titles, but if she’s going to be awful then so can he. Plus, as much as he hates to admit it, sometimes it gets you further.

“Oh… well, er…” She sits up slightly.

“Dr Tacco here was robbed last night and is obviously very distressed about the occurrence, so if there is any way that you could speed up the process of getting her back into her room so she can survey it and see if anything else has been taken…”

“Fine.” The woman slowly levers herself out of her seat, glaring at Barry now instead. Good. He’d rather have that than her making Lup feel any worse.

“I’m sorry.” He says as soon as she’s gone. “I didn’t mean to jump in, I know you’re capable, but I also thought you’d probably be concentrating on trying not to…”

“... fireball her ass.” Lup finishes. “You do listen to me, I’m touched.”

Barry chuckles, then quickly rearranges his face back to stern disappointment when the woman rounds the corner again. “Here.” She slides a master key across the desk, far too fast to be done with anything but the hope they drop it.

Lup snatches it up. “Thank you for being so kind and helpful during such a difficult time.” She says sweetly.

Barry can’t help but snort out a laugh as the woman looks ready to combust.

The world’s slowest lift only seems slower as they inch up. “We should have taken the stairs.” Lup says, pacing, agitated.

“Potatoes are the best vegetable.” Barry says in reply.

Lup stops pacing. “What?”

“They’re nutritious, full of vitamins, they make chips. You don’t need anything else.” Barry shrugs as if it’s obvious.

“I know what you’re doing.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“Okay, well if you agree.” Barry smiles as innocently as he can manage. (Not very, Lup sees straight through him.)

“But there’s so little flavour! What’s going to make all your soups and stews taste nice if you’re just out there housing potatoes?”

His dedication to the humble potato carries them through to Lup’s floor.

“Thank you.” She says as she slides the spare key into the lock. “Even if you do like potatoes more than anyone should.”

“They’re perfect and I stand by it.”

You’re perfect.” He thinks she mutters as she opens the door and steps inside. He can’t be sure though. Maybe he’s mistaken.

He follows her inside and waits patiently while Lup inspects.

“Someone’s been here.” She says, simply.

“I’m sorry Lup.”

“My marking is in a different order and my student reports have moved.”

“Ah.”

“I’m going to have to report this to Lucretia. Whoever it was might have gotten personal information. It was just the worksheets, but sometimes they put stuff on there, you know.” Her voice shakes very slightly.

Barry nods stiffly. “Do you want me to wait here while you go in case they come back?”

“I guess they’ve taken everything they wanted to. At least my laptop’s still here.” She nudges a pile of clothes beside the bed and a laptop slides out from underneath.

“Smart.” Barry admires the ingenuity.

“Er… yeah, sure. Planned… But no, I don’t want to take up any more of your time, Barry. You go, I’ll let you know what’s going on later.” She tries to smile reassuringly and fails.

Barry waivers. He wants to scoop her up and fix everything, but knows that isn’t the answer. “Sure. Message any time, I’ll be on standby with coffee or, you know, rum. Whatever works best.”

“Maybe both.” Lup grins.

“Aye aye, Cap’n!” Barry salutes her and moves towards the door. “Seriously though Lup, if you need me, I’m here.”

“I know, Bear, you’ve shown me that.” Lup says quietly.

Barry lingers a second longer, then lets himself out. She’ll be fine. But who won’t be fine, is the fucking twins. He can’t go straight to Lucretia, Lup will be there soon, so he detours to his office to check the course admin folder for any new requests.

There’s four.

All of them from, surprise surprise, Lydia and Edward.

They want resources for their courses, for ‘new ideas.’ New ideas they had overnight.

Barry asks them in for a meeting.

–

“Could you tell me a bit more about why you’d like the golf balls?”

“To teach the children.” Lydia says and rolls her eyes as if Barry’s being ridiculous.

It’d be charming if Lup did it. There’d be no malice behind it if Lup did it.

“Of course, but which lesson is this for?”

“Tomorrow’s.” Edward says. “That’s why it’s an urgent request.”

“Okay, and tomorrow you’re teaching…?” Barry prompts.

“The lesson we need the golf balls for.” Lydia replies quickly.

“Sure. Okay. Well, fill out the form and pass that on to The Director. You’ll need a health and safety officer, depending on the planned usage.” Barry relaxes very slightly, he clearly doesn’t need to do anything but wait for them to fuck themselves over here… and hope they don’t injure any children in the process… he’ll warn lucretia.

“Do you make Lup do this every time?” Lydia adds.

“Come on now, sister dear, it’s obvious she’s getting some…” Edward raises his eyebrows suggestively. “...very special treatment. We don’t need to press the issue.” Edward laughs and begins to stand.

“Are you making an accusation of preferential treatment? I can give you the complaint form for that as well if you’d like.” Barry refuses to rise to the bait. It wouldn’t do to give them the satisfaction. “In fact, I’ll add it to the stack.” He sets the printer going, takes it calmly and adds it to their pile of forms, smiling as sweetly as he can manage the entire time. “Have a wonderful day now.”

They leave quickly, scooping the forms on the way.

Barry pulls up the academic misconduct form and begins typing.

–

“Madame Director…” Barry knocks on her door.

“Come in Barry, I thought I’d probably be seeing you today.” Lucretia says.

He stands nervously in the threshold. There’s no need for him to feel like he’s going to be in trouble, but the anxiety is in his bones.

“Take a seat.” Lucretia gestures to the spare chair. “And tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“What do you…?” Barry tails off.

“Cut the shit, Barry. I may be the director, but I see things, I know things. Lup comes in to tell me that someone stole her stuff and rifled through her room but only took lesson plans and student details and now suddenly there’s a barrage of forms from Lydia and Edward? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Barry sits back, at least it’s not going to be as much of an uphill battle as anticipated. “I think they stole her notes and then her keys and went through her room.”

“That seems most likely.” Lucretia nods.

“So what do we…” Barry asks.

“We do nothing.” Lucretia says. “You, go and check in on Dr Tacco, I believe she’s rewriting at least 10 lessons worth of notes while also worrying that I’m going to fire her for data protection breaches. Obviously I’ve reassured her and printed off the information we had on the system for her so she’s not completely starting from scratch.”

Barry’s relieved to hear that Lucretia has reassured Lup.

Lucretia continues. “That said, we all know what happened, but right now we can’t prove anything. However, despite the fact those two seem to thrive on nothing more than other people’s misery, there’s not much they’ll be able to do in their necromancy class with notes on Lup’s magic science. They’re too lazy to consider that.” She smiles, a thin, firm smile, then asks. “Have you started the academic misconduct form?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It does well to be prepared. We don’t take kindly to theft.”

–

Barry knocks on Lup’s door, not sure if his presence is going to be a help or a hindrance.

“Who is it?”

“Barry, I just came to see if I could help.”

“Come in, it’s open.”

Lup’s on the floor surrounded by paper, she doesn’t look up.

“How’s it going?” Barry asks, slowly lowering himself to the floor as well. His knees crack on the way down, but she’s worth it.

“Uh…” Lup looks up for the first time since he walked in. “Not great, but it’ll be fine.”

“Can I help?”

“Maybe… Uh…” Lup mixes the papers round. Then scatters them again. “I keep trying to find things and it’s…” She gestures at the papers and rubs her eyes with her fists.

“Okay, would it be useful for me to do some organising? You know I love figuring out a system…” Barry smiles at her, hopes it’s reassuring.

“Yeah… yes. That would actually be… thanks Barry.”

“While I do that, I think you should grab something to eat and drink. Go to the Davy Lamp, the walk will do you good - clear your head.”

“I should…” Lup protests weakly.

“Hey, hey Lup.” Barry holds her shoulders. “You don’t need to do all of this today, just tomorrow’s. You already put your orders in for stuff, you already have the rough outline, and all of this came from here.” He taps her lightly on top of her head. “You’ve got this. But you need to look after yourself. I’m here to help, let me.”

“But…” Lup tries again.

“What would you say if it was me?” Barry asks quickly.

“What?” Lup scrunkles her brow in confusion.

“What would you say if I was in your shoes and you were in mine?”

“That’s not…”

“What would you say?”

“I’m not you.”

“But you deserve care and looking after and I bet there’s not a chance that you’d let me do this on my own, is there?”

“No.” Lup sounds defeated, but not upset about it.

“So you look after yourself and I’ll look after these papers, and between us, we’ll get this sorted.”

Lup unfolds her legs and stands easily. Barry vows to move off the floor before she gets back so she doesn’t see the creaking, wobbling, and joint popping that goes into getting him upright. Friends don’t need to know everything about each other.

“Thanks Bear.” She says quietly before she walks towards the door.

“Oh, Lup.”

She turns back.

“Is there any chance one of your sessions involved golf balls?” Barry asks nonchalantly.

“Oh gods… yeah, I’d forgotten about that. One of the ‘pie in the sky, wait, fuck, that’s terrifying, back to the drawing board’ ideas… they can’t all be winners! I thought we could do something using the golf balls to make powder by just spinning them round really really fast with other stuff using a control elements tornado or something, but yeah… even for me it was a bit out there.” She laughs to herself.

“Of course, of course.” Barry makes another mental note to email Lucretia, maybe she should attend that particular class with back up…

By the time Lup returns with two coffees and four pastries (‘necessary fuel’), Barry’s fairly proud of the organisation system he’s bodged together. He also made it off the floor without Lup having to see.

“Woah. It looks better!” Lup grins. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we’ll see how it works in practice, consider me your librarian for the day. I don’t have any meetings so I’m yours.”

“My personal sexy librarian? I’ve peaked!”

Barry laughs so hard he coughs. Yeah, Sexy Sildar the Librarian. That’s him. Ridiculous.

“Do you have the approved draft for tomorrow’s class, please?” Lup asks.

“Here you go.” Barry hands it over.

“You included the notes too?” Lup’s voice wobbles slightly.

“I just paired up the things that seemed to correspond.”

“Barry, I love you.” Lup looks up at him with watery eyes, but she’s smiling wider than he’s seen since they were singing.

He didn’t anticipate being told he was loved by someone (who wasn’t his Mum) because of his excellent organisational skills, but hearing it from Lup, even if she was emotional and tired and frustrated, hearing it from Lup was magic.

“I love you too, Lup.” He says it with all of the sincerity in his breath and bones.

There’s a moment, a brief moment, where he thinks about what would happen if he tried to kiss her no. Just leaned down and took her hand instead of handing her more notes, pulled her towards him, cupped her face in his hand, and leaned in… But now’s not the time. He doesn’t want to be the guy that misreads a situation. Even still, something bubbles between them, there’s a current of something, something electric and fizzing and he could reach out for it he thinks, but Lup doesn’t need that right now. There’ll be time later, time to tell her how he feels, ask if she feels it too. Right now, though, right now? There’s a lesson plan to write.

–

“Are you absolutely sure about the bees, sister dear?”

“It’s in the notes!” Lydia says, brandishing them at Edward. “Do you want to keep being mediocre, or do you want to excel?”

–

Dear ‘Ko,

Okay, so I know you saw it on the news, and I know you rang, and I know we talked about it and then talked about it again. But what a fucking day! Turns out they were too engrossed in cheating and being complete dickheads to actually consider what the fuck they were doing. They just took all my notes and picked at random - apparently they included the ones I discounted because they were unhinged.

Anyway, updates you didn’t have when we last spoke today: the bees are dispersed now, I think we got all the golf balls, and none of the kids are hurt. The clerics said it’ll take a while for Edward’s swelling to go down, and honestly, good. It’s what he deserves. Lucretia zone of truth-d Lydia after it all kicked off. It was brilliant.

Miss you, love you, see you soon,

Lup xxxxxxx

P.S. I think I might be in love with Barry???? Okay bye!

--

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Find the final chapter here.

[skye-huntress]

I’m in Love with the Villainess Reaction

Episode 7

How could I have forgotten about Lene’s teachings on “the Way of the Maid”. This should be good.

I see the other Knights showed up this time. I’m sure at least some of them are regretting not sitting on the last meeting when Rod pushed his proposal.

I will say this about Rod, he doesn’t half-ass things. If he’s going to do something, he’s going to put the effort in, hence why he is one of the top students.

Okay, with the glasses, she reminds me of the François Head Maid. I suppose it makes sense she is to blame for this.

Even as a child, Lene had mastered the art of manipulating Claire.

Hmm, I think Misha wears it best.

Also, putting lipstick on Lorek is just adding insult to injury.

Oh, no, Claire as a butler is more dangerous than I thought. I saw that shot in the preview but hearing her speak is doing something to me. And now I know why so many girls ended up falling for Claire later on in the series.

If Rae didn’t take this opportunity, I’d have been disappointed in her.

Claire, don’t threaten her with a good time, you know how she is by now.

It’s that guy, whose name is not really worth remembering. If it weren’t for the momentary focus on him, he’d blend in with all the background characters.

Hello? That person is here, lurking ominously in the shadows.

Now isn’t that interesting. During an “event” where one of the three love interests shows up, it is actually Claire to the rescue. I mean, if we are talking about the LI with the highest affection level, who else would it be?

I think that covers the Lene-focused flashbacks from Claire’s childhood. We did the ones focused on her mother last episode. I wonder when they plan to show us the rest.

You doing okay, Thane? Sounds like you’re losing the will to live.

This is the closest to courtship that Rae has actually done since she met Claire. To put it another way, Rae finally (kind-of) asked Claire out on a date.

Claire, you really set yourself up for that.

This Haunted House gets an A for atmosphere, and an F for costume design.

Does that boy have a permanent blush, or is he that into Yu and Rae?

Rae may understand and agree with the Commoner Movement, but making sure Claire gets her “happy ending” is her priority. If, hypothetically, the Movement ever became a threat to Claire, Rae would not hesitate to show them what a dualcaster can do.

Seriously, Rae, how do you not get it yet? The first time you properly ask Claire out on a date, which she willingly agreed to, and you close it out by wishing her luck getting with someone else. No wonder the poor girl is so confused and not sure whether to believe in your love or not.

I do get to a certain extent what Rae means when she says Claire saved her. I had a similar life-altering experience playing a certain game. It had such an impact on me, that when I changed my name, I took that character’s name as part of my new one.

Rae doesn’t realise the opportunity she let slip by. Still, Claire did hold on to the necklace.

I see Claire’s ED song has changed, just like Rae’s, which I still haven’t found a translation for, yet.

Guess we’re skipping the shopping encounter with Dole, Claire’s father. I suppose that’s fine. Unless we get a second season, there’s not much point teasing the audience too much if there’s no guarantee of a payoff.

I figured if we had the extra time this episode, we’d have that as a cliffhanger.

[satoru-is-the-way]

“Long Long Time”

 A/N: Based off the 3rd episode of the last of us and so far my favorite. I am in love with this episode! Cried so much! Next week on Feb 5th or sooner I will release my first chapter of Little Lion Man a Joel x Reader series based on the HBO Max show with hints of the game. 

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be on the tag list

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR TLOU EPISODE 3, Cussing, Blood, Death, Depression, PARTIAL SMUT, MDI!

*(S/n)- Sibling name*

Flashback - Italicised

You knew Joel Miller long before the outbreak. You met Joel when your younger brother introduced you. (S/n) ((L/n) and Tommy Miller are childhood friends. They grew up together meaning you had little to do with the group of boys. But you fancied the older brother just a few years older than you. At first, it had been nothing but a childish crush. As the years passed, that turned into more. Regardless, he never saw you in such a way. You both took separate paths resulting in families, spouses, and children. Whether or not you realized it, those feelings towards Joel Miller never left. 

One thing led to another 20 years after the outbreak flew by. You lived with Joel in the QZ for years. Tommy went missing and now there is a young girl who claims to be the cure. Now here you stand at your old 'friends' house, Bill and Frank. Bill reminded you more of Joel while Frank is the total opposite. You meet the couple a few years after the outbreak. 

Flashback 

Joel and Bill sat across the table from each other exchanging glares. Frank cleared his throat. "More wine?" He questioned picking the bottle up. You nod holding your glass out. Frank poured you a generous amount. A few slips later you felt the tense atmosphere drain. It had been a long time since you tasted such a delicious alcoholic beverage. Bill picked up his gun and Joel reached for his side holster. 

"Billy stop"

"Joel don't." 

With a grumble, Bill dropped the gun allowing Joel to relax. "Would you like to see the house?" Frank asked. 

"I would love to!" You replied. 

"No, don't!" Replied both the men at the dinner table watching as their other disappeared into the house. 

"Oh, this is beautiful. I dare say my dream house!" You laughed (e/c) orbs taking in every detail fingertips dancing over the piano keys. 

"How long have you and Joel been a couple?" Frank's question caused you to choke on your semi-dry wine. With a sigh, you sat down on the piano bench. 

"We are not a couple. Never have been. His brother and I were childhood friends. So I grew up around them both. Mainly Tommy…But Joel and I never amounted to anything. One-sided romance story." You confessed quicker than expected. Perhaps the wine made your tongue lose. 

"Really? I did not get that feeling. The way he looks at you. The side glanced. His posture walking next to you…Bill looks at me the same way. Have you talked about it with him or made any sort of move?" 

"No, and I don't plan to. I never need such a stubborn man before. More than I am! And that is saying a lot." 

Frank chuckled, "Hm. Well just know I am here if you ever need to talk. What are friends for?" This caused you to smile and raise your glass. "So (Y/n) do you play?" 

"I knew the basics but that is when I was a child." You replied Frank sitting next to you. 

"Well then let me teach you a little song I know. Bill's favorite."

It had been a year since you last met with Frank and Bill. Their home is overgrown and dead plants are everywhere. No sign of forced entry so you both assumed nature has taken her course. Entering the home felt different. Empty glasses and half-eaten food molded. You frown sitting down at the table. Ellie rushed past you picking up a whole letter. Joel left the two females going deeper into the house calling for your old friends. 

"For whoever but probably Joel," Ellie whispered, opening the letter. She began to read the last message that you would receive from Bill or Frank. Your heart sank. It was a good and happy emotion. One that is hard to explain. You at least could say you had made one friend since the outbreak. Had dinner with them on different occasions even if things were for business. It felt nice to see there are still good people. You closed your eyes as Ellie read the letter but paused. 

"What is it, Ellie?" She looked up at you with a smirk forming. "Nothing. Just telling Joel to keep people he loves safe." 

"The letter is from Bill?" Joel asked entering the room. 

Flashback. 

"No, don't!" They replied. Joel watched (Y/n) disappear with Frank. He groaned and looked down. 

"Never listen." Joel earned a partial chuckle from Bill. "I'm sorry I had no idea what my- my friend had in store saying she was talking to some man on the radio." He comments poking at his home-cooked meal. When you too him about meeting up with some man a jealous and protective rage engulfed his body. 

"I don't trust you." 

"Same here. But you are going to need our help. That fence has a year tops…Listen you want to keep your partner safe then trade with him. " 

"I don't need your help or your girlfriends."

"What? She isn't - nothing more than a friend." 

"Look, Joel. I spent all of my life hiding my feelings. You need to be honest with yourself… The fence? Fine. We can work something out. I want to protect the person I love." 

"Yes…They are gone. Asked not to open the bedroom door." Ellie whispered. You turned around walking over to the piano. A gentle smile crossed your face. You imagined the lesson Frank taught all those years ago. 

"Are you ok?" Joel asked, touching your lower back. 

"Y-Yeah. Just …I don't know. Sad."

"Well, I am going to take a shower. They have hot water here!" Ellie left the heading upstairs. 

You sat down fingers brushing over the keys before 

D E F#M D E A 

Taking a deep breath you continued.

" Love will abide, take things in stride.

That sounds like good advice but there's no one at my side

And time washes clean love's wounds unseen

That's what someone told me but I don't know what it means" 

You felt the song move through your body. It is related to your relationship with Joel. The male stood lips parted listening to your angel voice. 

" 'Cause I've done everything I know to try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you for a long long time." 

Your voice trembles as the lyrics only pulled those feelings for Joel closer and closer to the surface. 

" Caught in my fears

Blinking back the tears

I can't say you hurt me when you never let me near

And I never drew one response from you

All the while you fell all over girls you never knew

'Cause I've done everything I know to try and make you mine

And I think it's gonna hurt me for a long long time"

You stopped, unable to finish the song heading towards the door. Joel followed you calling your name each step. 

"(Y/n)! Please talk to me!" He sighed, combining through his salt and pepper locks. He thought about letting you walk away. But he couldn't. "No! Stop." He gripped your arm pulling you back. 

"Joel enough! I don't want to talk about it!" You yelled tears falling from your cheeks. 

"I love you! Damnit!" He yelled, breathing heavy. 

"What?..." 

"I love you. I always have. I figured you needed someone better than me…You still do but I can't stop how I feel. Ever since we met…And even now I can only think of you. Dream of you. Crave your touch." 

You moved close and he leaned in kissing your lips. A soft whimper escaped the adrenaline and ran over your entire body. Joel couldn't keep your hands off you. Feeling your hips, thighs, running up your body to squeeze your round breasts. "J-Joel" You moaned. Joel growled, pressing you against the nearby the boutique. He wraps your legs around his waist grinding hard cock on you. 

"Fuck I need you." He whispered not feeling his cock so hard for a while. Joel pants roughly getting the friction he desperately needed. Your pussy clenched around nothing his cock rubbing against your clothed clit. 

"Right now?! We are out in the open." You pant.

"Yes, while no one is watching." He chuckled brown eyes gazing up at you with a hungry lust... 

-end!

[frankfortkentucky]

“Are You A Feminist?”

At 4 years old, I was taught that when a boy bullies a girl, that means he liked her. I thought “Oh, so that means I should bully [my little pre-school crush], because if boys bully girls to tell them they like them, it goes both ways!” So I raced around the playground with him at recess, I poked him in class to tell him jokes, and laughed when he tripped while helping him up and he did all the same to me. In my mind, this was bullying, but as you can probably tell, it was no where near it. But still, whenever he whined about losing the race, I got in trouble because “I wasn’t playing fair;” whenever he laughed to loud, I got in trouble because “I was distracting him;” whenever I took a second to long to help him up, I got in trouble because “I had pushed him.” But whenever I whined, or laughed to loud, or was on the cold linoleum floor for to long, he was never in trouble, it was still always my fault for not being fast enough, “it’s okay, you’re just a girl.” For not ignoring [crush], “he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” For being unlady-like and absentminded, “you have to pay more attention.” My teacher was a woman.

At age 6, right before starting kindergarten, I was told my dad was not my “real dad” and how all my brothers, but one, came from different fathers. My mother had several conversations with me throughout that year explaining in detail how three separate times, 3 guys lied and manipulated her into a relationships with them. Throughout this she told my about the abuse and sexual assault towards herself and us kids in every house. Once my full-brother had gotten to 6 I asked, “Will you tell him to? I can help if you want” but she surprised me by responding, “Of course not, he’s much to young go know all that!” “But that’s how old I was when you told me?” and her response to that is something I wish I could rip out of every throat that’s ever said it to me since. The fact that the first time I heard it was from my mother will always haunt me. “But it’s different because you’re a girl” To this day she hasn’t told my 3 younger brothers anything and they are all well over 6 years old. My 2 older brothers only know because their dad has split custody, but they know nothing except that their dad provided the sperm for them. I will have to live with this knowledge for the rest of my life, and have had to since I was learning to tie my own shoe laces, but my grown brothers will be “protected” from that information and will likely never know about the abuse my mother had to go through.

Growing up with five brothers wasn’t easy. I don’t like any stereotypical “boyish” things and neither do half my brothers, but while they were asked interesting, thoughtful questions about what they did like, whether or not it was just “boyish” things (it was always just football or video games), I was always dismissed as just liking makeup and fashion and barbies. I didn’t like any of those things growing up. I liked looking at what ancient sculptures used to look like, and how land animals evolved from sea creatures, and how other languages came together into the one I speak, but of course no one wanted to hear me talk about those things. My brothers flourished in school and everywhere else; I was labeled as dumb and a loner. Soon I was forced to “like” stereotypical “girly” things so I could have normal childhood friendships, but my brothers, even though also not conforming to gender norms at all, were not forced to being anything bug themselves. They were celebrated for being different, I was berated for not being “normal.”

From 7 to 8 years old, my mother refused to buy me glasses, and wouldn’t tell me why, even though she knew I really needed them. Around that time she also started refusing to let me wear my hair up in a ponytail or pigtails. She made me start wearing long sleeves in summer. She refused to buy me new shorts after I grew out of my old ones. She started teaching me how to make a grown man “go to sleep” with kicks to the groin, thumbs and pepper spray to the eyes, and sharp objects to the throat.

Throughout my life I have experienced many, MANY horrible things. I decided to tell some passive sexist things I’ve had to go through that has fucked me up emotionally and mentally and will continue to, just like my physical assaults have and will as well. All men benefit from the patriarchy, even if just to be celebrated for being decent human beings because the bar is set so low, or to not get the blame as a child, or to be “protected” from knowing women's struggles, or to be loved and appreciated as a child, or to not have to be trained how to not get raped at 7. Even if it’s “not all men,” all men still reap the benefits whether they know it or not. EVERY woman is a victim to the patriarchy and sexism, even if she hasn’t been physically SA’d.

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (49/51)

***Contains violence and soft fatal unwilling vore***

Chapter 49: Brutality

Hunter allowed his nose to guide him. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care much either. He was giving up on trying to live a normal life. He was running out of empathy, descending into the worst depths of hatred and madness, striking blindly with the intent to harm others to soothe his own wounds. He picked up the scent of another human, a male, and began to follow it. He came across a residence that was presently empty, but he could tell was inhabited by a human and a giantess. Just like with Milton’s house, he broke in through a window and made himself comfortable. 

He’d been prowling the streets for most of the early hours of the morning, so he was tired. He laid down in bed to rest, not caring if the bed wasn’t his own. He debated briefly whether to let the humans out of his belly, but decided against it, since they felt so nice inside. He wanted to sleep on a full stomach, without his usual gnawing hunger. He passed out in the bed, his hands clasped over his midsection with a small contented smile. 

Eren, Millie, and Pedro heard his breathing deepen, and his heartbeat slow, and realized he was asleep. Millie was inconsolable with her grief and could barely keep herself together. Eren and Pedro did their best to comfort her. They were all terrified, uncertain of the fate that awaited them. They didn’t know how they were still alive without anti-digestion pills, or how long they could survive within the giant’s squishy, churning innards. With nothing else to do but wait, Eren and Pedro speculated while Millie squeezed her eyes shut, covered her head with her arms, and tried to block out her rumbly surroundings. 

“Do you know why he ate you?” Eren asked Pedro as she held Millie. “Did he know you?” 

“I’m a counselor at his high school. He mentioned something about ‘teaching a lesson’ to my giant boyfriend, who’s a cop.” Pedro grimaced. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, this guy’s a teenager?! But he’s massive!” Eren balked. “He’s the biggest giant I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something!” 

“Yup, believe it or not,” Pedro confirmed, shaking his head. 

“And your boyfriend is a cop? My fiancé is a cop. They arrested this giant yesterday for trying to eat me. Your boyfriend wouldn’t happen to be... Ray, would he?” 

Pedro confirmed with a nod, then remembered that Eren couldn’t see him in the putrid, grumbling darkness and replied out loud, “That’s right.” 

“And this high school. Is Mr. Henderson the principal there?” 

“Correct.” 

Eren was finally putting together the pieces. “Millie here is his girlfriend. This giant must be on some depraved revenge quest.” Millie whimpered, and Eren hugged her tighter. “We can only hope that he won’t hurt us, since we’re apparently his hostages.” With those ominous words, they lapsed into silence. They had no choice but to wait and see what would happen. 

Hunter woke up later in the afternoon in a good mood. He rummaged around in the house until he came across a large jar to put the humans in. He squished his stomach around the humans and vomited them up, one by one, dunking them in soap and water in the kitchen sink to clean them off. He didn’t want them dying, after all. He wanted to keep them for his own pleasure. He washed and dried them before sticking them inside the jar.  

He brought the jar up to his gigantic face and snickered as he watched Eren leaping up the side in a futile attempt to scale the glass or grip the lip at the top that was far too high for her to reach. Millie tucked herself as far away as she could get from Hunter, hiding her face. Pedro glared at Hunter and crossed his arms.   

��Hunter, just what the hell are you doing?” Pedro questioned sharply. “Let’s talk about this. What you’re doing is not okay. Just look at this poor woman.” He gestured to Millie. “She hasn’t done anything to wrong you. None of us have. Let us go.” 

Hunter flashed him an ugly grin and thumped the glass with his finger where Eren was, making her fall back. Millie yelped at the sound and huddled up even more. “I don’t need to justify myself to any of you. You’re all just dumb humans!” he sneered derisively, his hot breath fogging the surface. He flopped down on the couch in the living room, put his feet up on the coffee table, and set the jar in his lap. “Your lovely giant friends will probably never be able to find you. And if they do, I’ll make them pay dearly. They can watch you all get eaten alive before I kill them myself!” He giggled, tapping his nails on the side of the jar and making the humans inside flinch at the loud sound. He loved this feeling of power. Finally, he was in control. 

“You’re unhinged,” Eren remarked. 

“Watch your tongue, little lady. You DO NOT want to make me angry,” Hunter retorted with a sinister frown. Before he could say anything more, a key jiggled in the lock in the front door. Hunter set the jar aside, his expression serious. He hid himself in the shadowy entryway to the kitchen, where he couldn’t be seen by the homeowners as they came in. In an impulsive move, he grabbed a big butcher knife from the kitchen. 

Hunter didn’t need to worry about finding a weapon, because at his current height of 270 feet he could easily overpower the busty blonde giantess that stood at a modest 210 feet as she strolled in with her human husband. He observed the pair for a moment with interest. They had no idea there was an intruder in their house and were chatting happily with each other, something about doctors. They were both wearing white uniforms like hospital workers. As the giantess strolled into Hunter’s range of vision, he couldn’t help but ogle her. She was smoking hot, with curves in all the right places. To imagine someone like her with a human lover made Hunter irrationally angry. He gripped the knife handle tighter in his fist and gritted his teeth. Both the knife blade and Hunter’s eyes gleamed when they caught the light, but this detail went unnoticed by his oblivious prey. 

Eren covered her mouth in horror as she recognized the distinctive couple from her stay at the hospital several years ago. She started banging on the glass walls of the jar and shouting to warn them. “Nurse Rajak! Dr. Rajak! Watch out!” Pedro and Millie joined in, making additional noise. The nurse heard their squeaky exclamations, puzzled, and hurried over to see what the ruckus was. 

“What the heck is this?” she asked when she saw the little people frantically gesticulating in the jar. The doctor looked just as baffled. Hunter realized that now was the time to make his grand appearance and crept out of the shadows, approaching the couple from behind. He stuck the knife in his belt, since he figured he wouldn’t need it. Millie shrieked with fright at the sight of the ominous silhouette with glowing eyes towering over the giantess. 

“Behind you!” Eren screamed and pointed. Her warning, however, came too late. Hunter smashed his fist into the side of the nurse’s head, knocking her onto the floor. The doctor went flying out of her hands, landing on the couch. Hunter snatched up the doctor before he could run and straddled the giantess with his legs, pinning her to the carpet with her arms under his knees. He grabbed a fistful of her golden hair and pulled on it to force her head down. She squealed in pain and flailed her legs, but she didn’t have the strength or mass to resist the huge giant on top of her. 

“Get off of her!” Dr. Rajak shouted vehemently, clawing and biting at Hunter’s fingers. Hunter sniggered as he brought the little man up to his face to get a closer look at him. 

“Look at you, being such a big man,” Hunter sneered, making sure to show off his large teeth. He licked his lips in an exaggerated show of hunger.  

Dr. Rajak was a bold man and remained undeterred. As a human doctor working with giants, he’d been inside enough stomachs to not fear being eaten. “Let go of her, or else,” he threatened. 

“Or else what?” Hunter inquired, amused. “What’s a shrimp like you going to do?” To emphasize his point, he pulled on the nurse’s hair, hard enough to rip out a chunk and make her scalp bleed. She shrieked in pure agony, her eyes watering. 

“Stop it! What do you want? Money? Take it and get out!” the doctor exclaimed, waving his arms. Hunter smirked and shook his head. 

“No, I don’t desire something so trivial. I can always take what I want,” Hunter explained. “What I really want... Hmmm...”He leered down at the nurse, admiring her figure. “I want her.” 

“No!” the doctor objected hotly. “Absolutely not! Over my dead body!” 

“I might take you up on that offer,” Hunter snickered. He released the nurse’s hair and pinched the doctor’s white coat, lifting him out of his fist. The doctor wormed his way out of his coat in an attempt to escape his grasp, but only managed to drop back down into Hunter’s waiting hand. He closed his fingers around the man as he shook out the coat. The doctor’s cell phone fell out of the pocket and smashed on the floor below. 

“Tell you what. I’ll let you stay alive for a while and you can watch the show,” Hunter taunted, dropping the doctor into the jar with the others. 

He grunted as he hit the hard glass bottom, but leapt to his feet and planted his palms on the glass. “No!” Out of pure frustration, he pounded his fists against the transparent surface. “Stop!” 

Hunter ignored his protests and directed his attention back to the nurse. She writhed and twisted underneath him, but he was too strong and heavy for her to have any effective resistance. There were tears in her eyes. “Please… I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt my husband… or those other little humans…” she whimpered. 

As Hunter looked down at her, his guts boiled with fresh rage and jealousy. She was no different from the others, living a blissful life that he couldn’t have. He hated all of them, every last one. He had no room left in his heart for kindness. The bleeding, ravenous hole inside him needed to be filled, and the only way Hunter knew how to fill it anymore, the only thing that brought him any satisfaction, was violence. It gave him a rush to have power and control. He placed his hands on her delicate, feminine shoulders and pressed his weight down on her, causing her to whine and grimace. He leaned his head down so his lips were close to her ear. 

“You know, I’ve eaten plenty of human women, but I’ve never consumed a giantess before,” he murmured in her ear. Her eyes widened and she jerked away, despite having no way out. “I wonder what you taste like…hmmmmm…” Hunter mused as he activated his shrinking spell. The humans in the jar watched in shock and horror while Nurse Rajak shrank before their eyes. Hunter smacked his chops. Keeping humans alive in his stomach was fine, but he wanted an actual meal to digest this time. 

At first, she didn’t understand what was happening, as the world ballooned in scope around her. She contorted her limbs inward with alarm as the hostile giant loomed above her like a great cliffside, waxing larger and larger to impossible heights. His muscular arms turned into monuments, his hands like hills rising out of the forest of increasingly coarse carpet fibers, his fingers as wide around as fallen logs. The giantess stared up at the colossus, stunned. 

She realized all at once that she was unrestrained and scrambled to get away, tripping over the oversized carpet fibers like tangles of weeds. Hunter smirked as he blocked her path with an enormous hand. The nurse stopped in her tracks with a squeak but still bumped into the living wall. Hunter knocked her down with his other hand and held her in place with a single finger. He grasped her in his fingers and raised her up to his immense face.  

“Look at her now! Isn’t she such a cute little thing?” Hunter taunted, jamming her miniaturized body up against the outside of the jar. The husband and wife looked at each other desperately, getting as close as they could as they pushed their palms into the glass, before Hunter pulled her away. 

Dr. Rajak could do nothing but scream into the void and stare with dread at the ghastly scene playing out in front of him. Hunter sat on the couch and played with the doctor’s wife in his big beastly hands, tossing her up high in the air and catching her like a toy. He laughed at her as she cried and begged for respite. Once his appetite for cruelty was sufficiently whetted, he shoved her through his lips with his fingers, glancing over to see Dr. Rajak’s frenzied response. He smirked and showed off an exaggerated swallow, stroking his neck as a thick lump passed down through his throat and his Adam’s apple bobbed with the effort. 

Hunter sighed and leaned back into the couch, rubbing his belly. The doctor screamed. He snapped under the duress, cursing at the top of his lungs. With how upset he was, he lapsed into his native tongue, hurling fierce insults at Hunter that he didn’t understand. The giant glanced over at the obnoxious human with lidded eyes. 

“Shut up. You’re annoying,” he remarked, patting his stomach. The doctor only yelled louder, his voice cracking under the strain. Hunter closed his eyes and tried to block out his ranting, but he refused to relent. “Ugh. Fine! If you’re not going to be quiet, you can join her!” He stormed over and snatched the tiny man out of the jar, scraping him with his fingernails hard enough to cut the poor man’s skin. The other humans scurried away from his huge hand, terrified. Hunter didn’t give him a chance to plead for his life or even make a sound as he stuffed him in his mouth and swallowed him down, tracing the lump sliding through his neck with his fingers. 

“Anyone else what to join him?” Hunter barked aggressively. The others stood petrified in dead silence. “I thought so.” Hunter sat back down on the couch and caressed his belly again, enjoying the wriggling inside. He knew the feeling wouldn’t last, but for a brief moment, his troubles dissolved away. He found solace. 

Chapter 50

Chapter 1

[thegamingmonk]

Encanto Headcanons #6

Yeah we're back baby! (Kinda). Now we got Disney confirming Encanto as a franchise?? Where's my show PLEASE!!!

Camilo has never been more disappointed than finding out he was about the same height as Bruno.

Pepa laughed her ass off when she found out Camilo thought Bruno was 7 foot.

Bruno thought it was sweet but also could never even imagine himself hitting 5'6".

Dolores and Camilo are the type of siblings to wish nothing but hell itself upon each other and then go get food and gossip together.

Dolores is a professional chancla thrower, taught from the best (Félix with the aim, Julieta with the accuracy, Alma with the energy).

Needless to say, Camilo fears One Thing.

It doesn't matter how old they'll get, nothing will stop Pepa and Bruno going out of their way to bother Julieta together when they're bored.

Julieta thought they'd stop when they reached their 20s at least. Years later and poor woman is a fool for thinking so.

Félix still carries all his kids like they're still babies. Antonio loves being carried, Dolores doesn't mind but does get a little embarrassed, and Camilo just goes limp cat on him.

Modern AU Bruno would go into the Olympics simply from that whole chase scene throughout Casita's walls.

The man knows all sorts of parkour. He teaches Camilo and Mirabel his moves. Dolores gets her 10/10 cardio from him (seriously, how the hell did she get from the hill to Casita so fast-).

Dolores and Bruno: the cryptid uncle-niece duo.

Sometimes Antonio will follow Luisa on donkey duty so he can talk with them. Apparently the donkeys are big fans of Luisa.

He tries to convince them to make his prima's life a bit easier and not escape as much. They'll try at least.

Miraboo is Agustín go-to nickname for Mirabel. Nobody else can call her that or she'll personally break their knees.

Sometimes when Dolores has no one else to talk to, she talks to Casita. A house can be a really good listener!

Pepa taught Mirabel how to sew. When Mirabel was younger, the two would just sit on her bed, sewing away.

More than once has Pepa tried to steal Mirabel away from Julieta. Soon she'll achieve.

Julieta knows how to use a rolling pin like a bat and it strikes fear in the heart of her siblings.

Camilo insisted that instead of "puberty", he'd call it "photosynthesis" for Isabela.

Dolores can wiggle her ears. Little ear wiggles.

Due to the family's natural clumsiness (or more Julieta's side of the family), Casita now has natural instincts on catching people from falling into mishap.

Casita gets so giddy when the family starts decorating it for parties. It feels pretty :3

Agustín and Mirabel have swapped glasses before, many times, just to see how it feels. Julieta fusses at them afterwards when they're complaining about headaches and eyes hurting.

Isabela may or may not chuck cacti for a living at people who talks bad about Mirabel.

"The not special special?? Oh hell no-"

Mirabel and Félix are peas in a pod, their positive energy nearly blinding the whole family when they're together.

Alma used to be a menace to society before she met Pedro. Now the triplets know who they get it from.

Pedro was more on the wholesome side but also had his moments when he'd be up to no good.

Chaotic energy came from Alma, sassiness came from Pedro.

Pepa is strong enough to lift up Luisa.

Alma will just sometimes sit in the middle of the grandkids' chaos and sip tea, enjoying the life of being an abuela.

Mariano likes to do origami in his free time. Every week he gives Dolores a new creation.

He even starts to make some for the rest of the Madrigals.

Mirabel "Dolores, I'm stealing your boyfriend for the day" and Dolores "Return him by 6" Madrigal.

Mirabel with Camilo is chaotic neutral while Mirabel with Mariano is chaotic good.

Rock kid Dolores. I'm in love with this headcanon, you have no idea.

Antonio starts to take after Bruno a lot more with his quietness and preference to talking to animals. Pepa doesn't know whether to consider this sweet or concerning.

Neither does Bruno, to be honest.

I have so many thoughts about this family, it's not even funny... But that's all for now folks!

[tati3001]

Keep Movin' On

Summary: Wanda moves into a new house attempting to fix her marriage with Vision. Little did she know that the house came with more than just the walls.

Words: 1,042

Previous

In the following weeks the two of them fell into a routine, and every day after lunch, Y/n would teach Wanda how she slowly fixed the house. "how can it be just you?" Wanda asked confused. "This house is very old. And even tho it has had so many families living here, every time they leave the house stays empty for a long time. And the staff gets tired of waiting. Pretty much everyone that has or is working as services has worked on these grounds. And since no one wants to come back I’m the only staff that works here” she explained.

She finished washing the dishes and Wanda was quick to get to her side and help her dry them off. "You don't need to do that" She quickly said. It wasn't good on any level that her boss was helping her clean the dishes. "But I want to". Wanda finished. "This house is too big for you to do everything on your own".

"Miss Maximoff, I'm used to this" She mentioned with a small smile. It has been so long since someone even offered to help. "I can do it on my own" But she was used to it. "Doesn't mean that you have to do it" Wanda smiled back. They fell into a comfortable silence as Wanda finished drying the dishes and Y/n finished cleaning the kitchen.

"Here's a thought" Wanda mentioned as she put away the last dish. She turned around just to find Y/n cleaning the aisle of the kitchen, and she was slowly standing up. She had to clear her throat a few times before she felt sure her voice would sound clear and strong, and it wouldn't be shaking.

Y/n stood up, leaving her skirt to fall back under her ass. She turned around to look at Wanda. "Let's go to the pool". "Miss Maximoff-". "You know it's Wanda". "Wanda" She started once more. "I'm not allowed to do that". "Says who?". "You're my boss". "Exactly why, I get to decide whether you get to be in the pool or not". But Y/n wasn't sure.

"Y/n come on. What do you have to lose?". "My job" She mentioned, tho neither Wanda nor herself believed in her words. "Get changed" Wanda ordered with a smiled and left the kitchen to get herself changed. Y/n sighed and did what she was told. She went into the staff room and changed her uniform into a swimsuit.

She grabbed a towel and walked to the patio, leaving her stuff on a chair as she waited for Wanda. She sat down near the pool and put her feet inside the water. She stood there for a few minutes just waiting for her boss to arrive.

Wanda on the other side was admiring her view from the patio door. The sun was setting and the weather was warm, allowing them to be outside without any issue. But after minutes of thinking about all the things she had for the last week, things that involved Y/n, she walked next to her and sat down.

"I'm sorry I took so long" She apologized. "It's no problem" She mentioned with a smile. "But why did you want to come to the pool?" She asked. Wanda shrugged and gently kicked her legs on the water. "I just wanted a break from work". "Okay... Why did you want me to come to the pool with you?" She asked again.

"I thought you deserved a break too" She answered. "I wanted you to relax. Is it working?" She asked. "Just a little bit" Y/n chuckled and got inside the pool.

Within the next hour, Wanda had brought a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was sitting on the side of the pool with her legs in the water while Y/n rested her head on her arms.

"You haven't told me about your family" Wanda mentioned taking her glass up to her lips. "My mother died when I was 16, and I never met my father". Wanda wanted to ask if he had left but decided that it wasn't respectful to ask that. Y/n chuckled like she was reading Wanda's thoughts and took a sip of her wine. "He died when I was born. Or a few years after that".

"Did your mom never remarry?". "I don't think she had time for that. She was always busy working or spending her time with me. But she always told me she didn't need a man". "Well, men are useless" Wanda smiled. Y/n chuckled. "Not all of them are bad".

"Do you have a boyfriend?" She hoped not. It would be extremely awkward if she had one and she was yet offering herself to Wanda every time she had to work. "I am so busy working I couldn't have the time for a boyfriend" She smiled. "But I don't need one either. I'm good as I am".

"Can I ask you something?" She looked at Wanda after a few minutes of silence. "Go ahead". "Why did you try to fix your marriage with Mr. Stark? I mean, since the both of you got here, it never appeared that you liked each other very much". "Wanda sighed. "He's all I had... And I think I was afraid to let him go".

"And now?". "I don't think I'm afraid anymore". "You're not?". Wanda shook her head. "I've understood that Vision doesn't make me happy. I thought he did but I realized that I only stood with Vision for so long because I thought he was gonna be all I ever had and after Na-" She stopped herself. "After what happened I thought he was gonna be all I had left. Turns out I was very wrong. I don't even have him anymore".

"I don't think you need him" Wanda looked at her. "I know we don't know each other that much, and you must have your reasons as to why you feel that way, but I think that you have made a lot of accomplishments by yourself. And I think that trying to keep going by yourself is the bravest thing someone can do".

"I'm not that brave Y/n". "I think you are. Only you aren't able to see it yet"

Next

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[angelisverba]

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

[sergeantsporks]

Some more College AU stuff, mostly about Eda

- Eda wrote her dissertation on owls

- Owlbert is a rescue owl that couldn’t be rehabilitated into the wild because his wing didn’t heal right. Eda took him in and he lives in her office

- She calls her eco terrorist alter ego the owl lady. Sometimes she spray paints an owl face (looks like hooty :D) where she strikes.

- All of this makes it PRETTY DARN OBVIOUS WHO THE OWL LADY IS since Eda’s entire office is covered in OWL STUFF WITH A LIVE OWL IN THE CORNER, but. That’s circumstantial, and no one can find any actual evidence leading to Eda.

- Lilith, looking around Eda’s office: Edalyn. Edalyn, please, they are going to figure out it’s you. Why. Why are you like this.

- Lilith has a doctorate in World History, but has CRIPPLING STUDENT DEBT, most of which is owed... directly to Belos. So he holds all of the cards over her, which is how she ended up working campus police despite being WAY overqualified. She helped Eda pay for her college “so that she wouldn’t end up in debt to Belos,” but, unbeknownst to Eda, Lilith took out more loans from Belos to do so, putting them in her name instead of Eda’s. She got Eda the job at the university, buuuuuuut she is also trying to hunt her alter ego of the owl lady down, so relationships are... interesting. Especially since Belos promises to forgive big chunks of her debt if she figures out more about the Owl Lady.

- Eda takes meds for her chronic pain (Gwendolyn treats them the way she does the elixirs, but Luz helps her come around, just like canon). Some days are worse than others. Until Luz showed up, she would get reckless, do missions when she was hurting

- She’s still a bit of an alcoholic, just like she is in canon. At this point, I think Luz is the only character who isn’t.

- She babysits King, as previously mentioned. A lot of the time, he hangs out in her office with Owlbert. Some days when her pain is really bad, she hands him the clicker to her powerpoint presentation and lets him teach her class. The students think it’s adorable, and he’s been in her class often enough throughout the years to actually sort of know what he’s talking about, so they only mildly miss out on instruction.

- Her relationship with Luz is essentially the same as canon, except that she includes Luz in a lot more law-breaking stuff on purpose because, hey, they’re eco terrorists together now! Luz hasn’t picked an alter ego name yet, she’s waiting for the right one (tbd whenever we find out what her palisman is)

- Eda and Hunter have an... interesting relationship. At least, on her end. He thinks Eda’s neat, she has a lot of interesting stories and lets him sit in on her office hours with Luz, and she’s also the only teacher who doesn’t keep their distance from him because of the whole Belos thing. Their technical first meeting was when she was trying to sneak into Belos’ house to spy on him as the owl lady, and he was trying to sneak OUT, and she knocked off and broke his glasses so that he wouldn’t be able to identify her. He’s blind as a bat without them, so he had to go back for spares and nearly got caught by Belos. Needless to say, he isn’t fond of the Owl Lady. He also blames the Owl Lady for a lot of his home problems, since Belos usually starts drinking really hard whenever she strikes. So, on his end, he’ll complain about the owl lady making his life a living hell (he sort of admires what she’s doing, but at the same time hates her for what it does to him) and then be like ‘you’re a pretty neat lady, Eda, thanks for listening :)” while Eda sweats nervously in the corner. 

- It does put a bit of a strain on what she and Luz do, because Luz will start questioning whether the little setback they set on Belos’ plans is worth what Hunter will have to go through. Eda feels guilty about it, of course, but insists that it’s important

- Raine is head of the theatre department. Eda happily pines after them. They pine after her. Mutual pining, neither of them are doing anything about it. Raine, as head of the department, has a little more access to Belos’ stuff, and figures out some of his plans, which they pass on to the Owl Lady (they’re also 99% certain Eda’s the Owl Lady, but aren’t saying anything).

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 125.4: Accidental Bonding (Part Four)

(You can start at Part One, if you’d like.)

"Come on," Harry begged, the following Friday. "Please come to dinner." The bond had only seemed to strengthen in the past eighteen days and Harry found his mind turning to thoughts of Draco almost constantly whether they were together or apart.

And touching the other man was almost second nature at this point. They spent all day every day touching the other without thinking; they sat with their ankles pressed together under their desks, hands brushed against shoulders and backs as they walked past each other, they frequently held hands without even talking about it first, and Harry couldn't remember the last time that he'd woken up without being wrapped around Draco's body or vice versa. Yes, the bond wasn't showing any signs of weakening.

"Your friends hate me, Potter," Draco reminded him as he pulled a wine glass down out of the cupboard.

Harry sighed, "But they wouldn't if they got to know you."

Draco leveled him with a glare, the kind that Harry had learned to recognize as a shield of sorts that the other man used when he was feeling insecure. "They have good reason to hate me," he said as he filled the glass.

"Not anymore," he protested.

The other man rolled his eyes and took a large swallow of his wine.

"Come on," he said again. "If you're there no one will flirt with me."

Draco face twisted in disgust, it was unpleasant for both of them if someone touched one of them with certain intentions.

"If they're rude, you can leave right away," he added.

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked.

He thought for a moment, "A foot rub," he offered, remembering the night that Draco had drunkenly been complaining that his feet hurt and Harry had drunkenly offered a foot rub. There'd been something immensely satisfying about it, he assumed it was something to do with the bond and not with the look of rapturous delight on Draco's face.

(Read more below the cut)

Draco's eyes narrowed, "And I can leave immediately if they're unkind."

"Yes."

"And you'll give me a long foot massage?"

He laughed, "Yes."

"Fine."

Harry grinned at him. "Excellent. Let's go then, they're meeting us at The Night Owl."

"How did you know I'd say yes?" he asked, looking affronted.

"I didn't," Harry lied, even he'd had a strong suspicion he could convince the other man. "They could eat there without us if you didn't want to go."

He didn't seem entirely convinced but he allowed Harry to take his elbow and he apparated them to the apparition point closest to The Night Owl.

Ron and Hermione were already sitting at a booth when they arrived, and Harry slid his fingers through Draco's as he headed over. "Hey," he greeted brightly.

His best friends both looked up, smiling at Harry before doing a double take when they saw Draco standing there beside him.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, eyebrows lifting. "What a surprise!" she said, glancing at Harry.

He could feel Draco's nervousness like it was a tangible thing. "Yeah," Harry said, widening his eyes meaningfully at her, "I told you he might be coming."

"Yeah," Ron said, "But we didn't think he actually would."

"Well," Draco said, detaching his hand from Harry's, "This has been fun but I'm going to-"

"No," Harry said, turning toward him and grabbing his hand again, "It's fine," he said, glaring at his friends, who he had told to be on their best behavior and to just give the other man a chance.

"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Stay, please. We were just surprised."

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment, obviously arguing with himself before nodding once and sliding into the booth.

Harry slid in next to him, the first (and hopefully largest) hurdle out of the way.

------------------

Dinner went surprisingly well. Hermione and Ron obviously struggled a bit but Harry had asked them to give him a chance and they seemed to be trying.

Everyone seemed to relax a bit once they'd had a few drinks and when Draco got up to use the loo, Harry turned to his friends, "So?" he said eagerly, "He's different, right?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other before Hermione said carefully, "I think it's too soon for me to tell."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, "I know you've always had that thing for Malfoy but," he shrugged, "it's hard to know what's real and what's an act."

"You do know that he like cut ties from his parents, right?" Harry asked incredulously, "he believes that all of that pureblood nonsense is garbage."

"Does he though?" Hermione asked, "Or is that just what it behooves him to have you believe?"

"He lives in a tiny flat!" he protested. "He said that he was so compelled by your arguments about house elves that he couldn't bring himself to have one for his flat."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, "Or does he just hide it from you? House elves are wicked good at magic."

"He knows how to cook," Harry said, "From scratch. And he knows cleaning spells," he added. "Why would he have to know cleaning spells?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe you're right-"

"Just give him a chance," he said. "You won't-"

"Better talk about something else," Ron interrupted, "He's headed this way."

"Well, I tried to get Lugnok to speak with me about the discrimination that Goblins have been facing for ages in the wizarding community, but he wasn't very forthcoming," Hermione started as Draco slid into the booth once again.

"Oh," Draco said as he pressed his shoulder against Harry's and they both relaxed into the pleasant hum thrumming through the bodies, beginning at their shoulders and radiating outward. "I read the last article that you published in The Daily Dilemma," he said excitedly. "It was fascinating," he added.

"Really?" Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

He nodded, "I always wanted to learn more about Goblin magic but good information is so hard to find. When I was young, I'd hoped that it was something they'd teach at Hogwarts-"

"Yes!" Hermione agreed emphatically. "I have been trying to convince Minerva of that for years."

"We don't know nearly enough about magic that other beings possess and honestly," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "I don't know why any other magical being puts up with us. I can't understand it." He shook his head, "I mean for all intents and purposes, their magic is stronger than ours and they've got better control of it. A house elf, for example," he said, "when they want to apparate somewhere it's just a snap of the fingers. And their blind apparation is loads better than ours," he shook his head, "And that's just one spell."

Hermione nodded, "It's never made sense to me."

Draco swallowed, "I'm sorry about that, by the way," he said, not quite meeting her eye, "for making fun of your organization." Then his mouth twisted, "For a lot of things, really," he continued. "Many that were worse than that."

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment. "I appreciate your apology."

He nodded once. "You probably know this already, but Henri Laurence is a real advocate for changing the way we treat other magical beings. He could probably help your causes."

"Who?" she asked, brows furrowing as she tried to place the name.

"Henri Laurence," he repeated.

She shook her head, "I'm not familiar with that name."

"He works in transportation," Draco replied.

"Why would I talk to someone in transportation?"

He gave her a wry smile, "Henri works closely with a lot of department heads to schedule their trips. He's very amiable and everyone loves him," he added. "More than one political career has risen and fallen by his words. He also works with the Minister quite a bit, the Minister is quite fond of him."

"I never would have thought to start there. Thanks for the tip," she said, giving him a cautious half smile.

"Of course," Draco said automatically. "I'd be glad to give you names if you're ever wondering the best way to get things into people's ears. I'm afraid I can't do introductions, though," he said with a self depreciating laugh.

"Thank you," Hermione said, sounding genuinely grateful. "That would be so helpful."

Draco gave her a little smile and Harry felt hope bubbling merrily in his chest.

----------

As the evening drew to a natural close, Harry couldn't help but think that everything went exceptionally well.

Draco was still talking about Hermione's current project with the Goblins at Gringotts as Harry headed back toward the bedroom, Draco trailing along behind him. "It's invaluable," he said as he started to strip so he could put on his pajamas. "This research could change the way that we think about other beings. We could really have the opportunity to understand them better and then maybe we'd understand our own magic and our own limitations better."

Harry nodded, "You sound just like her. I thought you two might hit it off."

"Did you?" Draco asked curiously as he crawled into bed.

He nodded, sitting at the bottom and pulling Draco's left foot into his lap, pressing his thumbs up the curve of Draco's arch. "You're the only other person I know who likes to talk about Magic Theory."

He let out a low moan as Harry's thumbs rubbed the ball of his foot, "Potter, you are really good at that," he said, thoroughly distracted from the conversation they'd been having.

Harry laughed.

"I'm serious!" the other man protested. "If the whole saving the world, one idiot at a time thing fails, you can go into foot massages."

Chuckling, he shook his head, "Can you imagine?"

"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes and settling further into the mattress, "I'd come see you every day."

"Ah, in that case," Harry teased, "maybe I should think about it."

"You do that," he said, in that distant voice that meant he wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Read something," Harry said.

The other man opened one eye to look down at Harry, "What?"

"Read me something," he said. "Grab a book off your nightstand," he said, nodding to the pile, "And read. But don't pick something boring."

Draco reached over and plucked a slender book off the nigh stand, "I think you'll like this one. He gets everything wrong but it's delightful." He cleared his throat, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

Harry listened as he read, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with warmth.

This was nice, Harry couldn't help but think. Living with someone, sharing meals with someone, having someone in your bed when you went to sleep and when you woke up. It was nice to have the sound of someone else's voice and the feeling of someone else's hand in yours.

He wondered if he'd miss it when the bond ended in twelve days.

More importantly, he wondered if Draco would miss it.

--------------

Part 3 | Part 5

[lostbbygorl]

FATE AND HATE: EREN YEAGER X READER (PART 6):

tags: @tiffanyy-21, @cafesho

SYNOPSIS: The vacation treats Y/N and Elijah greatly and Y/N makes a surprising decision once she’s back. Elijah is torn when Vinnie reveals a possibility of him changing schools. Eren finally starts getting his way.

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write and it’s just as pivotal to the story as the 4th part! Also, spot the cameos!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Armin picked up his ringing phone instead of the black pawn on his chess board. Of course it was Eren.

“ Reiner, can you give me a second?” He said before rushing to his room, not caring for the taller blond’s response. Reiner was sitting opposite Armin, and he shook his head with a sigh.

“ It’s probably about fucking Y/N again” Annie said as she flipped a page of her sports magazine, blue eyes focused on the new boxing match report, uncaring of Eren’s relationship drama. Bertholdt said nothing as he typed away on his phone. It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon, and Annie had invited her two best friends over to her shared home with her beloved husband, Armin. Annie was never one to show emotions, she was always so relaxed about everything. But the constant onslaught of phone calls from Eren distracted her husband, and it was getting irritating.

“ This is all so HBO drama-esque. Like, seriously? He gets a green light from a new school and sees this kid who looks like him and it’s his son he hasn’t seen ever and suddenly he’s in his ex’s life again and there’s banter and heartbreak and whatnot” Reiner chuckled.

“ To be honest, I’m more surprised about the fact that Eren Yeager became a chemistry teacher of all the other professions out there. I mean, seriously? Eren Yeager teaching middle school kids about the properties of osmium or whatever the fuck” Bertholdt said.

“ Well hello again, Min” Annie turned to look at her husband, noticing the familiar expression of annoyance on his rosy features.

“ What now?” Reiner asked, patting the spot beside him on the black rug, silently letting him know the chess game was wrapped up.

“ He got into this huge fight with her and now Y/N’s out of the city so he’s even more cranky. Also something about how Y/N was actually right but how it’s hurting him. Typical shit” Armin said as he sat beside his friend.

“ So. What do you guys think is gonna happen? The ship sails or the ship sinks?” Bertholdt asked.

“ Sinks” Armin and Reiner said in unison.

“ It’ll sail. Mark my words” Annie flipped a page again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s mood was lifted as soon as she saw her cheerful mother open the doors hastily and welcome her inside the two storey building with open arms. It was like an electric shock went through her body as soon as she got a whiff of her familiar orchid and jasmine scented perfume. Mrs. L/N smelled like better days, and that she was.

“ Mom” Y/N didn’t want to break the embrace she was in. She hadn’t felt warmth like this in ages.

“ My baby’s back in town” Mrs. L/N giddily said, rocking her daughter back and forth as if she were a child. Y/N looked exactly how her mother did when she was younger, from her forehead to her nose to her envied hair, everything. And she inherited her spirit too.

“ Elijah, my other baby” Mrs. L/N cooed as she skiddled over to her grandson and hugged him just as tightly.

“ Where’s my dad?” Y/N looked around the great house, every inch of it covered in a different memory.

“ Your dad’s gone to buy you your favorite Victoria sponge. From that bakery you always dragged us to when you were little. That man will never stop spoiling you” Mrs. L/N pinched her cheek.

Y/N’s eyes wandered everywhere. It was so good to be back home. She remembered running up and down those stairs, whether to rush into her room crying or to lead a gang of giggling girls for a slumber party. She remembered studying algebra on the glass coffee table in the living room with her father, testing his patience as he yelled directions from the sofa. She remembered the laughter at the dining table every morning, noon and night. And then she remembered the day she came in walking with the stance of a lost ghost, soaking in icy rain, a hand on her belly. The pregnancy test slipped out of her jacket’s pocket and she collapsed on the floor in front of her anxious parents, answering every question they had with just a faraway look and a shivering, wet finger pointing at the fallen object.

But then everything changed, and it was all perfect when Elijah came along. He spent the first 5 years of his life in this house, doted on by his mother who worked harder than the devil himself, and his two grandparents who couldn’t go two seconds without kissing his cheek.

“ Y/N!” Came a bellow from behind her, bringing her back to earth.

“ DAD!” She ran to hug her father, who put the box of Victoria sponge on the table before taking his daughter in his arms.

“ So you do remember your dad’s alive” He playfully tweaked her nose.

“ Grandpa!”

“ Elijah!” Mr. L/N twirled him in the air a few inches off the ground as Mrs. L/N angrily ordered him to put the boy down. Yes, it was good to be back.

Dinner ended with Elijah helping his grandma clean up in the kitchen and Mr. L/N trying to force another piece of cake down his daughter’s throat to which she laughingly denied again. 

 And then came the moment Y/N wished she prepared more for.

“ Sweetheart, you must be tired, why don’t you go to your room and try dozing off, hmm?” Y/N sweetly asked Elijah with a firm look in her eye. It was a look Elijah deciphered all too well.

“ Yeah, goodnight guys”.

Y/N waited for Elijah’s footsteps to get quieter and eventually vanish before she turned to her parents, her face grim. 

“ Y/N, is everything okay?” Mrs. L/N asked, noticing the shift in energy.

“ Yes. Well, no. I came all the way here not only for a break, but because I need to tell you two something. Something that happened and couldn’t be said properly over the phone. Far too important for that” Y/N played with her fingers as she began her speech nervously.

“ Go on,” Mr. L/N said, watching Y/N with curiosity and concern.

“ Let’s start from the top, okay? Elijah got a new chemistry teacher one day, and he came home sulking. He wouldn’t tell me why he was so upset after school. I asked him if it was his friends or if it was a subject but he just brushed it off. Till one day he came back really happy. And that’s when he told me that his new chemistry teacher was a bully and that he targeted Eli all the time for basically nothing. Nobody’s ever done that to him before. And so I sent the new teacher a mail so that we could have a meeting together. My heart nearly stopped when I saw his email address and when Eli told me his name, and I’m surprised it didn’t actually stop the day I met him” Y/N’s voice began cracking now and she tried composing herself.

“ It’s okay, honey, keep going,” Mrs. L/N said, getting up from her chair to sit beside Y/N.

“ Where is this heading?” Mr. L/N asked, his concern growing.

With a deep breath, she continued.

“ Mom, dad. It was Eren. He’s back in our lives and he’s Elijah’s chemistry teacher now. He attacked Elijah because he also had a hunch I was who my name suggested I was, and he hoped his hunch was right, which it was. He played me again. He knew I wouldn’t sit and counsel my son if Eli ever told me and so he got his way again. Ever since the meeting we had we keep running into each other and he won’t stop pursuing me” Y/N finished, her heart racing. The living room went so quiet one could hear a mouse tiptoe.

Mr. L/N suddenly stood up, his demeanor reminiscent of the calmness that passed before a storm. Mrs. L/N stood up too, knowing that what would follow wouldn’t be pleasant.

“ F/N, whatever it is you’re gonna do, don’t. I don’t want a single thing in this house damaged” She said strictly.

“ CURSE THAT BOY!” Mr. L/N screamed at the top of his lungs, his face blood red and his eyes the size of two trays. He kicked his chair so hard the wooden leg his foot landed on wobbled before the whole thing fell on the ground.

“ DAD, STOP!”

“ F/N, CONTROL YOURSELF!” Mrs. L/N stormed over to her husband’s side. If this conversation happened a few days ago, Y/N might have cried. But now, she accepted it. She accepted that Eren was a part of her life that’d never leave, at least not for long.

Fuming, Mr. L/N sat down on the carpet.

“Things have been so crazy at home lately you can’t even imagine. I really need this break. I don’t wanna talk about Eren right now. I’ll figure out what to do about him once I’m back at home”.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“IT’S BEEN GODDAMN TWO DAYS WHERE THE HELL COULD SHE BE?” Eren scrunched up the paper cup in his hand into a ball, the last drop of Fanta smearing into his knuckles.

“ You know, Ren, I rarely say this but seriously, take a chill pill” Jean crossed his arms.

“ Armin said the same thing yesterday”

“ How does that man deal with you?”

“ Shut up” Eren grumbled, frowning at the ceiling.

Jean sighed before sitting beside Eren on the bed, hugging one of his legs as he thought of what to say.

“ Okay, let’s get this straight. You guys had a big fight and she told you to get out of her house and so you stormed out of it, right?” Jean asked, watching him nod from peripheral vision.

“ Okay. And then you were consumed by guilt for yelling at her and you kept calling her but she didn’t pick up. Most probably because her phone is off. And you’re positive that she didn’t block your number?”

“ Surprisingly, no she didn’t” Eren sat up now.

“ You went back to her house yesterday and she wasn’t there, neither was Elijah? And you went back today in the morning and she wasn’t there either?”

“ Gone”

“ And you asked another one of the teachers at school where Elijah is and she let you know that Elijah and Y/N let his homeroom teacher know that he’ll be back in three weeks because of some family matter?”

“ Yeah”

“ Alright, then you’ll see her in three weeks,” Jean shrugged.

“ What if she’s moving away from this city because I came back?”

“ Then you’ll never see her again,” Jean deadpanned.

“ You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Eren slapped his shoulder.

“ OW!” Jean slapped him back. Soon, the two men began wrestling each other on the bed. Jean’s mattress squeaked like a cornered mouse at every tough hit it took from the two towering, muscular men rough housing on it, not even caring they might break it. There was a mess of ferociously thrashing legs and strong arms in the air as well as a string of curses, and finally, tired laughter, exhausted sighs, and soft panting.

“ God, I think I need a break from this city. Like a few weeks off at some coastal town. Liquor and seafood and sleep” Eren said thoughtfully.

Jean hummed in response, scrolling through the notifications on his phone, his eyes lighting up at a particular username.

“ Whatcha lookin at?” Eren sat up and peered over Jean’s shoulder, his ear brushing against Jean’s caramel brown mullet.

“ It’s Kiara. She wants a third date!” Jean excitedly told Eren.

“Up high! You’re finally getting hoes, Jean” Eren laughed and high fived his friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vinnie ignored his parents calling his name. He wouldn’t unlock his door, and he certainly wouldn’t pretend that he was happy with the news they had just told him. And he certainly wasn’t happy about what he’d have to tell his friends.

Vinnie watched his face contort in sorrow. Lips still red from the dragon fruit from his desert earlier, hair more tousled than usual, and hazel brown eyes struggling to hold back tears. With twitching lips, he picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello?” Elijah's voice.

“ Eli?”

“What’s up?”

" I might have to go back to England”.

BEEP!

Call ended. Vinnie opened his window to stare at the evening sky outside. A dark blue painting of stars and buildings. How ugly the things we find comfort in can be if the heart isn’t in them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N pressed her head to the wooden door of Elijah’s room, a plate of cold lasagna in her hands.

“ Elijah, sweetie, eat first and then we can have a chat about this. Come on, honey, it’s not a confirmed fact, it’s a maybe. Don’t starve yourself” Y/N tried to persuade her son.

“ Go away!” Came Elijah’s strict answer. Y/N sighed.

“ Appetite basically non existent?” Mrs. L/N pouted. Y/N’s silence was the loudest answer they could get.

“ Your mom and I were talking, and we won’t force you to do anything, but we think it’d be a good idea if you try and uhm” Mr. L/N cut himself off and scratched his head.

“ If you-” Again, he cleared his throat.

“ Oh, good heavens, darling, spit it out” Mrs. L/N impatiently nudged his shoulder.

“ If you try and start something again with Elijah’s father” Mr. L/N said through gritted teeth, not making eye contact with the women standing with him in the hallway.

Y/N set the plate of lasagna on the floor and walked up to her parents, searching her mother’s eyes for confirmation.

“ Let’s talk in the living room” Mrs. L/N made her way downstairs, and Y/N and Mr. L/N followed her to the sofa.

“ Mom, you cannot be serious”

“ Oh but I am”

“ You know how much he hurt me”

“ I’m well aware”

“ You cursed him every night you visited me at the Oxford dorms”

“ And every night since”

“ Then what possessed you to suggest that”

“ Because Elijah is a growing boy” Mrs. L/N cried.

Y/N scoffed.

“ Yes, and I’ve had all the hand in him growing and always will. Elijah’s doing just fine, and so am I” Y/N argued.

“ Y/N, I will not excuse his actions, and I will not invalidate your hurt, but for the sake of my grandson and for you, I must encourage you to at least try to get along with him. Maybe co parent, I don’t know, but to keep him in your life. Elijah needs a father, and from what I’ve heard, it seems Eren is finally ready to be a father. In fact, I think he’s finally ready to be a committed enough partner” Mrs. L/N stated gently and carefully, not wishing to agitate her daughter any further.

“ I can’t believe you right now” Y/N began getting haughty.

“ Your mom isn’t wrong. Eren isn’t a stalker. This is all fate. It’s all chance, and it’s a chance that you’d be stupid to let slip” Mr. L/N gravely chimed in.

Y/N sat still, digesting the conversation.

“ I just can’t forgive him. I see him try to win me back and to be good to Elijah and I’d be lying if I said it’s not sweet but is it really enough? After all he’s done and everything in the middle and the blood, sweat and tears I’ve shed for more than ten years in between. Can this sudden change of mind really be what justifies him coming back and playing the active parent?” Y/N lamented.

“ Well, we can’t force you to do anything. But do consider what we’ve said”

“ Come on, there’s gotta be better men out there”

“ I’m sure there are, darling, but how long will you wait till you find one? Till Elijah moves out for college? You can co parent and have a lover, you know. But that’s not what we’re here to discuss”

“ You’re right, mom”.

Mr. L/N got up and paced the living room.

“ I want a meeting with him,” He declared.

“ With Eren?”

“ With Eren”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N carefully closed the door so as to not wake Elijah up.

Hastily, she clicked the unsaved number and put the phone to her ears.

“ Hello? Y/N?” Eren’s confused voice came from the other end.

“ Eren, I think we should give dating a shot again”.

[fruitcoops]

hi <3 i hope you’re well and having a beautiful day so far. i was wondering if you could write a fic about sirius or logan’s brother like relationship to adele - for example, how they would approach her when she’s having a bad day or when she needs advice about something or maybe even after a disagreement with her parents. no worries if you can’t, i just thought it would be a wholesome interaction 💕

Oh, for sure! Katie and Logan get so much attention (for good reason--they're adorable), but I like to think of Sirius and Adele as the blueprint. Hope you enjoy! Combined with asks for Logan and Loops friendship, Papa Dumo (for @ jinxedjaz), Sirius coming back from visiting his parents while living with the Dumais, and Sirius-learning-to-people from this hc list. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

I

A little hand tugged on the hem of Dumo’s sweater. “Papa?”

He glanced up from his crossword and smiled, turning to lift Adele into his lap. “Bonjour, mon papillon. Do you want to help me?”

“Is Sirius okay?”

Dumo paused. His first instinct was to lie—how could he even begin to explain the complexity of the situation to a seven-year-old?—but the brightness in Adele’s big eyes told him she already knew the answer. She was a smart kid. She deserved to know at least some of the truth. “He’s having a tough day,” Dumo said quietly as dishes clinked in the other room. No matter what he and Celeste tried, Sirius insisted on washing up. “He’ll be alright.”

A little furrow appeared between Adele’s eyebrows. “Is it because of us? Because he misses his family now?”

“No, sweetheart, not at all. He just…” The words were impossible to find. “He just doesn’t like holidays very much.”

She worried her lower lip for a moment before wiggling free of his arms. “I’m going to make him feel better.”

“Adele—” Dumo made a grab for her, but she had already scampered out of reach and around the corner to the kitchen. In the three days since Sirius had come back from Thanksgiving, he had already reverted back to his shut-down ghost of a self.

“Excuse me, please,” Adele announced. The sink shut off. “Are you sad?”

That’s certainly one way to do it. Dumo craned his neck to watch their reflections in the glass of the back door without revealing his position. Sirius was always more comfortable around the kids than himself and Celeste. “Quoi?” Sirius asked, turning to face her.

“Are you sad? You’ve been frowny.”

Silence fell for a few seconds. “Ouais, a little,” he said at last. “But I’m not sad because of you.”

“That’s good. Papa said so, too. He says you don’t like holidays, but that’s so silly, because we were just talking about Christmas last week.”

“I like some holidays,” Sirius said haltingly. There was a rustling noise; Dumo saw him pick Adele up and settle her on his hip with a thoughtful tilt to his head. “I’m very excited to spend Christmas with you.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

“Good. I want you to spend all the holidays with us. Will you be frowny on Christmas, too?”

“I don’t think so.” Dumo could practically hear Sirius’ smile. “See? I’m already better.”

“Will you open presents with me? Marc and Louis always open theirs together, and Mama and Papa, but Katie’s too little to do it with me. I like playing Santa, but it means I hafta go last.”

In the glass, Dumo saw Sirius press a raspberry kiss to her cheek until she burst into giggles; his grin lit up the whole kitchen. “Of course I will.”

II

“You have to smile,” Adele groaned. “You’re scaring off all my customers.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

She turned a big, sunshine grin on him, pressing her fingers into her dimples to exaggerate it. “Big smiles! You like being here! These are the best cookies you’ve ever had! Everyone should try them!”

“They should!” Sirius agreed. “I don’t know why you’re upset!”

She heaved a sigh and clonked her forehead on his stomach, knocking some of the air out of his lungs. “You look scary when you don’t smile.”

“I do not.”

“You do! You’re built like a brick wall and when you’re thinking, you get frowny!” She adjusted her Girl Scout vest and straightened up. “You have to be perky and fun and the cutest little kid on the block.”

“…I might have a problem with the last part.”

“Then I’ll be the cutest little kid on the block,” she said, exasperated.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think I’m scary?”

“No,” she snorted. “But other people do.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Mama looks surprised when her face relaxes, but you’re, like, looming.”

“So…you’re upset with how my face looks?” he teased, dodging her attempt to poke his ribs.

“No, I just don’t need a bodyguard to sell cookies!”

“That’s literally what I’m here for,” he laughed, tugging one of her pigtails until she stuck her tongue out at him. “Alright, madame, I’ll try to be ‘perky’ and ‘fun’.”

“The air quotes weren’t necessary,” she informed him with great gravity, though she couldn’t hide the smile on her face as she turned back to the people walking across the street. “Hey, lady, do you want cookies?”

III

“So,” Logan began, then shoved another handful of pretzel sticks into his mouth. “Dating the captain. What’s that like?”

Sirius looked up from his phone and glared. “I am sitting right next to you.”

“Shush. Loops?”

Remus sighed and let his head fall toward Logan’s armchair; he was starting to get lightheaded from laying upside-down for so long, but it was doing wonders for his lower back and sore feet. “Dating the captain? Pretty cool, to be honest.”

Logan made a noise of disagreement. “I don’t believe that for a second. Does he make you run drills in the basement, or is it just a cuddle party all the time? ‘cause there’s no in-between.”

“Tabarnak,” Sirius muttered, flicking Logan’s ear as he headed out of the room. “You two gossip like middle-schoolers.”

“It’s really not bad,” Remus mused as he stretched one leg toward the curtains. “I’m the one who likes running drills, so he’ll usually watch tape while I do that for a bit. Cuddles aren’t as frequent as you might think. We’re boring.”

“Mmm, with some wild nights in there, eh?” Logan wiggled his eyebrows and Remus chucked a pillow at him, though it did not seem to deter him. “I seem to remember hearing a certain conversation about a new bedframe?”

“A headboard,” Remus corrected, pulling a face at him. “And it was already almost ten years old. You’re just jealous.”

“Ugh, for him? Nah. Peanut might have carried a torch—”

“You’re kidding. Did he really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan snorted, as if it was obvious. “But he has better taste now. Honestly, though, I’m glad you two are together. And that you’re happy in your boring domesticity, even if you’re breaking beds left and right.”

“Headboard, and it was one time.”

“Did I ever tell you about—”

The front door slammed open; both of them jumped as something heavy hit the ground with a thud. “Sweetheart?” Celeste asked from the living room, audibly concerned. Remus’ heart dropped and he shared a worried look with Logan, who was already on his feet. “Adele, what’s wrong?”

“Adele?” Logan called, his voice laced with worry. Remus’ heartbeat picked up as Adele appeared in the doorway to the living room with tears streaming down her cheeks, only to throw herself into Logan’s arms with a harsh sob. “Woah, hey, qu’est—”

“Boys are so stupid!” she half-shouted, half-wailed. “And I hate them!”

Remus stood there, useless, as she tore away and sprinted for the backyard, yanking the door shut with a bang before tearing across the grass. “Logan?” he asked after a moment. There was no protocol for this. He had absolutely zero experience with preteen breakdowns, and the Dumais kids always fell into Logan and Sirius’ territory. He could count on one hand the number of actual conversations he had had with Adele.

Logan’s nose twitched; he opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat when Sirius came through the doorway and made a beeline for the yard without a single glance to either of them. “She’ll be okay,” Logan murmured as Sirius walked slowly to the swings, where Adele was sitting on the bench seat with her arms wrapped tight around herself.

“She seems pretty upset.”

Logan shook his head, not taking his eyes off the pair. “I’ve got Katie, he’s got Adele.”

“Yeah?” Remus asked, surprised. Logan and Katie were famous for their bond, two peas in a pod. As far as he knew, Sirius was equally close with all the Dumais kids.

“Apparently, they bonded from day one,” Logan said with the flicker of a smile. Outside, Adele laid her head on Sirius’ shoulder and pulled his arm around her back, burrowing into the softness of his hoodie as he gently rocked the swing with his foot and gave her a light squeeze. “They’re both quieter. Oldest children and all that. You really didn’t know?”

“I…” Remus trailed off and shook his head. “You and Katie are much louder about it, but that makes sense. He talks about all of you all the time., I guess I just assumed it was different since he was so closed off at first.”

Logan hummed. “Ask about it sometime. Dumo always likes talking about them.”

Sirius and Adele walked back after a few more minutes, still attached at the hip as Sirius jostled her lightly and pulled half a smile from her; they entered the house in relative quiet and Adele wrapped her arms around him one more time. “Love you,” she said, voice muffled in his sweater. Sirius rubbed her back in slow circles until she pulled away and padded down the hall to the bathroom

“Children are so mean,” he said as soon as the door closed.

“Then I’m glad she has you.” Remus curled his hand around Sirius’ shoulder and felt him relax beneath his touch. “Is she alright?”

“Some little asshole told her nobody would want to date her because she plays hockey.”

Remus’ heart panged. “How can we help?”

“Teach her how to throw a right hook,” Logan suggested. In a rare turn of events, Remus couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not; from the look on his face, it seemed to be the latter.

“She’ll be okay, baby,” Remus said. Sirius didn’t look away from the closed door. “Kids have always been mean, but the best thing you can do is be there for her, which you just did. It’s hard and it sucks but as long as she knows you love her, that’s enough.”

“Does she?” Sirius asked, almost too quiet for him to hear.

Remus looped an arm around his waist and kissed the top of his shoulder. “She does,” he promised. Without a doubt.

IV

Sirius drummed his hands on the steering wheel with a wide smile. “I’m so excited,” he said for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

“I can tell,” Remus said, still reading through his missed messages. The cell service in customs had been abysmal, and for some godforsaken reason his dad desperately needed to send paragraph updates on his hunt for the perfect holiday lights. Some days, Remus wondered whether he was happiest with his family or in Home Depot.

“I missed them.”

“Yep.”

“And I can’t let Logan get there first.”

“Sure thing, honey. Speed limit.”

“Three weeks is a long time, did you know that?”

“Mhmm. Sirius, speed limit.”

“How do you manage being away from Jules for that long?”

“Very poorly,” Remus said as he typed out a quick response to his dad’s latest text. His mother would end him if he allowed their house to be decorated with anything green—in all honesty, he was starting to think she had a personal rivalry with the Snakes. They turned onto Dumo’s street and he felt the excitement radiating off Sirius kick up several notches. “Deep breaths, love.”

“Ah, fuck me, the cubs are right behind us,” he muttered, pulling over to the curb and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Sirius!” Remus spluttered.

“What?”

“Turn the fucking car off before you get out!”

Sirius heaved a sigh and pulled the key out, then took off toward the house at a jog; Logan went sprinting past the passenger window half a second later, and Remus heard Finn shouting after him from the still-running car to no avail. They reached the front steps at the exact same time, shouldering each other in an attempt to reach the doorbell first.

“—want to push it!” Logan insisted, kicking Sirius lightly on the shin as Remus headed up the walkway.

“You did it last time!” Sirius argued.

“I’m the youngest, so I get to do it!”

“That’s not how it works!”

The door swung open just as Logan tried to bodily shove Sirius out of the way, only to be put in a scrambling headlock. Dumo regarded them with an exhausted look on his face. “Bonjour, Loops.”

“Hey, Dumo,” Remus called from the base of the steps. “Nice night, eh?”

He shrugged, ignoring the two grown men roughhousing on his welcome mat. “Not bad.”

“Are les enfants here?” Logan panted, trying to heave Sirius into the nearest hedge.

Dumo rolled his eyes and opened the door the rest of the way. “Kids, we have visitors!”

Thundering footsteps echoed off the walls; Logan and Sirius tripped over each other in their haste to get inside. “Tremzy!” Katie shrieked, launching herself into his arms with a beaming smile.

Sirius hoisted Adele straight off her feet and shook her back and forth as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “You were gone forever!” she laughed. “We missed you!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Logan teased as he set Katie down and opened his arms for a hug of his own. Marc and Louis slammed into him, nearly toppling him in the entryway.

“No, no, no!” Katie giggled as Sirius blew a raspberry kiss on her stomach, only to mimic it on his cheek a moment later. “You’re all scratchy.”

“Tough for kisses,” Remus agreed. “You should tell him to shave, Katie-bird.”

Katie squished his cheeks in her hands with a solemn frown. “No more porcupines.”

“You got it,” Sirius confirmed. “What do you think, Adele?”

She pulled a face and they all dissolved into laughter, exhausted from the long roadie and unable to contain their happiness. It was a tradition Remus was coming to know as he spent more time with the team—Logan and Sirius just couldn’t resist swinging by the Dumais house after a long trip, no matter how drained and battered they were. It was a combination of a competition and a family reunion, and the kids loved it every time.

“Are you staying the night?” Marc asked, lazily tying Sirius’ shoelaces together.

“Not tonight, no.”

“But it would be fun,” Louis said from his place hoisted under Logan’s arm, legs dangling.

“They’re tired, boys, be nice.” Celeste winked at Sirius as he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek before moving to Logan to do the same. “We watched all your games. You were wonderful.”

“Merci, Celeste.” The corners of Logan’s eyes crinkled, and Remus saw Finn and Leo share a smile behind him.

Sirius craned his neck to look back. “Oh, she wasn’t talking to you.”

Logan stuck his tongue out as the kids laughed, still clinging to them both. Remus happily accepted a quick hug and a hair-ruffle from Celeste before she moved on to Finn and Leo, and settled in for a cozy evening at home.