#harry with a sweater vest and short hair

[curly94]

He looks like a thir(s)ty year old superstar

Unbothered and a mean look BUT relaxed with the dimples for the right people

C'mon!!!!!

#harry styles #one direction #harry with a sweater vest and short hair #bruce springer #football

[atlafan]

Layna's never been so ravenous for her boyfriend. Which is shocking because there have been many times where she's felt more than desperate to have his body on hers, but this is something different entirely.

Normally, she doesn't like winter by the time February hits. The holidays are long since over, and the snow is less magical. There's black ice everywhere, and the air hurts her face. All that being said, she just found a new reason to like winter.

Sweater vests.

She had no idea Harry even owned them until she saw him wearing one at the latest showing at her gallery. He looked so handsome. All dressed up in a pair of slacks, loafers, sweater vest, and a long jacket. He hasn't exactly been dressing appropriately for winter, so when she sees him walk into the gallery, she feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. Layna is a professional, but she only has so much willpower when it comes to Harry. She's let him fuck her in the backseat of her car in the gym parking lot for fuck's sake.

They lock eyes from across the room. Layna takes out her phone and sends him a text. He raises an eyebrow when he sees her name lit up on his phone.

You're mean

how am I mean?

You look too good

not sry

Bet you're wearing that nice cologne I like so much too

u bet ur🍑

need you

ur werking

come to my office, no one will notice if I slip away for a few minutes

bet

Harry shoves his phone into his jacket pocket and makes his way to Layna's office. It's in such a private area, she's not worried about being caught. Besides, the gallery sold out. Her work is essentially done for the night.

So, that's how Layna ended up clutching at Harry's chest with her leg up over his hip, pressed up against the door of her office on a work night. His lips are on her neck, sucking on her like a leech as her fucks her with his fingers. Her fingers twirl in the material of the vest and she's doing her best not to make too much noise. Her lips are going to be incredibly swollen by the time they're done. She's panting and near convulsing in his arms. Her fingers move up to his hair to rug on. It's finally grown out to a length where she can actually tug on it again. He moans into her neck and pushes her harder up against the door. One of his hands presses flat against it by her head, and she can't help but whimper as she looks at his pulsing veins and rings.

"Shit, I'm gonna make a mess." She gasps when she feels Harry's fingers fucking shallowly into her while his thumb rubs her clit. "I don't want to ruin your pants."

Harry pulls away and looks at her before sinking to his knees and wrapping his lips around her clit as he continues to fuck her with his fingers. Her hands fly right back to his hair. She nearly loses her balance, but Harry keeps her stead, placing one of her legs over his shoulder. He looks up at her and smirks, and that's when she loses it. She lets out a loud cry of his name as he laps away at her juices. He drags her panties back up when he's done and stands up slowly as he runs his hands up her body. He cups her jaw and licks into her mouth. She melts into him.

"I knew you'd like this outfit." He smirks. "Daddy cleans up real good when he wants to, hm?"

"You mean you did this to me on purpose?" She pouts.

"Payback for all your relentless teasing the last few weeks."

"You can't tell me that wearing shorts in the freezing cold doesn't look funny." She scoffs. "Besides, thought we made up from all of that."

"We did." He nods, squeezing her hips. "But I couldn't resist making you sweat."

"Well, you succeeded, and then some. Let me-"

"Nope." He steps back from her. "You can wait until we get home. I'm gonna shove my dick so far down your throat you'll be gagging all over it, and it'll ruin your pretty makeup. You're working, Layna. Compose yourself and be professional." He moves her, she's too stunned to speak. He wacks her ass before leaving the office.

A shiver runs up her spine. How much longer does she have to stay at work for?

NO COMPLAINTS BLURB

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles x oc #no complaints

[onlyangellucifer]

Morning, Baby - Part 1

Summary: Y/N wakes up in a bed next to her dad's bestfriend, Harry one morning. Confused at where things lie, she wrestles with if the relationship is worth the risk.

Warnings: smut, angst, age gap (Harry is 30, reader is 23), alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you do it!)

Authors Note: This part is 1268 words long, so sorta short. No smut involved this time yall, i'm so sorry. I'm a bit rusty at writing but any feedback is welcomed and encouraged! (please be kind). You can read the sneak peak here. There is a time jump, however, it's noted with a line!

dad's bestfriend!Harry

══════•°•♡•°•══════

The birds chirping while the sunlight made it’s appearance through her sheer curtains was what y/n woke up to every morning. She used to love the way it woke her up, but lately she’s grown irritated with it. Then again she wasn’t out until all hours of the night in the past like she is now. She wasn’t much of a partier, in fact she loathed being there. She hated how the room always reeked of weed, sweaty bodies, and booze. However, since she was in college now and had adult friends, she went. She was a shy person, never really talked to anyone and kept to herself. Her friends dubbed her the “mom friend” and it was fitting. She would nurse the same drink all night, if she even drank, or she’d fill a red solo cup with water and tell people it was vodka. She made sure everyone got home safe and had everything they needed for the hangover that was sure to follow. However, with it being summer time and college was on a break, that meant her friends wanted to go out more and she would be dragged with. Too nice to say no or tell them she wanted to have an early night.

That’s probably why she groaned, flopping a pillow over her head before looking over at the clock, 8am. She normally would sleep till noon, seeing as she got home at 4am. Her parents were trusting, never gave her a curfew due to the fact that she never really broke their trust or gave them a reason to. Today was her birthday, turning 23. Her parents insisted on throwing her party, she was an only child so her birthdays were always extravagant. Her dad was a CEO at a major law firm and her mom owned a flower shop in town, so they were pretty set on money and anything y/n wanted was what y/n got. Well, not anything per say. There was one thing or one person that she wanted but never had the balls to actually make a move on, Harry.

Harry was always around, for as long as she could remember. He was one of the most successful lawyers at her dad’s firm and thus her dad took a liking to him very early on. Despite being 10 years younger than her own father. Her dad was always inviting him out. Whether it be golfing, out on the lake on their family boat, or to family dinners, Harry was there. She wasn’t sure when she started to gain an attraction to Harry, she just knew she wasn’t crazy for feeling that way. All of her friends always gawked over him. His tan skin was complimented with the dark ink of his tattoos, the cross necklace dangled on his chest and his abs were toned perfectly. It was like he was a walking Greek statue and the god’s made him a sin walking. She does remember the first time she masturbated to the thought of him though, or the image of him more or less.

She was 17 at the time, she wasn’t a very sexually active teenager, which her parents were thankful for, but she still had needs like anyone else. It was Summertime, the sun was beating down on their backyard as people were gathered in groups or in the pool. Her dad had thrown a pool party to celebrate the first day of summer and the big win of the company, which of course was achieved by Harry. Harry showed up wearing patterned button down shirt, overtop laid a sweater vest, while his toned legs were hidden by plaid trousers, which hugged him in all the right places. His hair was styled perfectly, but also messily which lead her mind to think about how it would feel between her fingers as she tugged on it, his name rolling off her cherry red lips. The real torture came when he was eating watermelon and the juice dribbled down his chin, his ring clad hand wiped it away. She was trying not to gawk but all she could think of was her juices dripping down his chin. Her thighs rubbed together, trying her best not to drip on the chair, clad only in a red bikini.

Needless to say, she touched herself that night thinking of how his hands or more so his mouth would feel like on her.

He never flirted with her though, he always kept things innocent and polite, well at least while she was underage.

She sighed loudly into her empty room, deciding it’s time to get up before her mom came to drag her out of bed. While it was her 23rd birthday, she still had to help setup and these were the times she wished she had siblings to do that instead. She heard voices downstairs, footsteps rushing around and then she heard him. His accent echoed through the halls and a smile spread on her face.

══════•°•♡•°•══════

The night was filled with drinks, laughter, birthday gifts and a cake with her face on it. She tried to keep her eyes to herself, but how could she when Harry was dressed in only olive green swim shorts, the July air was still humid and the theme was pool party. She wore her olive green bikini, not meaning to match him but happy regardless. He had shown up wearing a white tanktop, backwards cap and navy blue shorts. So, there was no way to tell that they’d be matching. Y/N couldnt keep her eyes off Harry, and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

He’s had an attraction building since she turned 19 and lately it’s been harder to keep his eyes and hands to himself. He was unsure if she’d have any feelings back, but the vodka redbull her father handed him was clouding his mind. Y/N laid in that olive green bikini next to her two other friends, Mary and Char. She felt eyes on her and was pleased when her eyes caught Harry’s before he looked away. Her own alcoholic beverage was clouding her mind.

That’s probably how they ended up here. In her room, her back pressed against the door as his lips found her neck and her hands found his hair. The chocolate curls felt smooth and soft in her fingers as she tugged him back to her mouth. His lips tasted like orange chapstick and his breath smelled like mint and vodka, which was instantly her favorite smell. She cursed softly as he pulled away, both of them painting before he let out the first words since they entered the room;

“I hate to interrupt this, baby but.. I think we should get back to the party before they come looking for us and find us in a compromising position.. Continue this at my place?”

She wanted to whine, wanting this to continue but she knew he was right. They were only supposed to be gone to get extra towels and had been gone for a good 10 minutes. She nodded her head reluctantly before responding with a simple kiss to his lips before they pulled away from each other, straightening out their clothes and unlocking the door.

They grabbed the towels from the hall closet outside her room, both of them eagerly awaiting the end of the party to continue what just happened. Both of them were still unsure if it was the alcohol that was making this happen or that they both shared mutual feelings, but that was half the fun.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles filth #harry styles smut #dads bestfriend!harry #harry smut #harry styles x reader #dbf!harry

[adore-laur]

FOXTAIL

— two lovers being blissfully domestic while living in the countryside of france 🪴

——

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.

As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly grew himself, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.

He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.

"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.

In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"

He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.

"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."

She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.

Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.

"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"

"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."

Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars all neat in a row.

"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.

Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."

"Why?"

"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"

Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.

When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature, simply their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats filling the space.

"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.

Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."

What she doesn't know is that yesterday while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.

Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"

"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."

She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"

"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."

"Of course, mon chéri."

Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"

——

"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door completely nude.

Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.

Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."

"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let float on the surface, and also brought out some bars of natural soaps Nadine handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.

Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed, and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.

"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.

Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or for me?"

She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."

"Translation, please."

"Scruffy," she whispers like it's confidential.

A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "Thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.

"Too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.

"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.

"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.

He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"

Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."

Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"

"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."

"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."

She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."

"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"

"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.

Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."

Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream on his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.

After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.

"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."

Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.

"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.

Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high… yet."

"You are. Know how I can tell?"

Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."

"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.

She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him weak putty in her hands.

Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."

——

The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.

The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.

"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.

"You were going on about" — she pauses for a moment to regain her breath — "about your dream that you had last night."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I… what part did I leave off at?"

"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."

"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."

Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"

"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"

She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."

He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he speaks them.

"Snap peas, like… bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.

Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."

"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.

He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."

"When what?"

"When you're ready for bébés."

He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three caught breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. He'd like it a lot.

"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."

"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.

"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."

"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"

"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks, her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."

He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."

He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.

"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.

Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."

She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.

"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.

"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"

"Okay. Oui."

Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."

"Oui oui oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.

"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.

Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence she graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.

Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.

His goddess of love will soon be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #foxtail

[daaydreamy]

we’ve got a thing goin’ on

summary: harry and y/n can’t seem to get enough of each other.

warnings: coarse language

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

4 days later. (Saturday)

“Jesus, what’s got you so happy?” Niall said grumpily, ruffling his sleep-mussed hair. As soon as he walked into the kitchen, Harry was sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, smiling and giggling quietly as he spooned cereal and milk into his mouth. His eyes were glued to his phone and his thumbs kept moving. He had been texting ever since his eyes opened that day, actually, and couldn’t seem to stop now that it had started. 

Niall tried to catch a peak over Harry’s shoulder to see who he was texting and who had him so giddy, only for Harry to turn his phone screen away from him, furrowing his brows as he turned his head to look at Niall. 

“What? I’m curious. Who’s that, huh, H? Got a little crush?” Niall teased and Harry rolled his eyes, using his elbow to nudge at Niall’s stomach. “You’ve got a little crush.” Niall was not going to stop now that he caught Harry, wiggling his eyebrows at him as he poured cereal into a bowl for himself. Despite Niall’s teasing, Harry was still texting Y/N. He had told her one of the few jokes Niall said would never, ever make anyone laugh, except she did laugh, so… piss off, Niall, it was funny. 

“Did ya meet her at the bakery?” Niall asked him and sat down on the stool opposite of Harry, shoving a full spoon of cereal into his mouth. 

But Harry couldn’t even reply, too engrossed in his and Y/N’s conversation. Niall only shook his head and took his bowl of cereal, heading over to the couch instead of trying to put himself into a fruitless conversation. 

From Y/N, 9:37 AM

do you wanna come over later?

Harry glanced over at where Niall was busy watching something on the TV, before smiling to himself. 

•••

“He’s coming overrrrr, Mochi!” Y/N said in a sing-songy voice as she swaddled her cat in her arms, who was now starting to squirm, so she put her down. Mochi instead went through her legs, purring and rubbing up against her. Y/N chuckled softly and crouched down, rubbing the underside of her chin. She smiled gently when she rubbed her face into her hand even more. 

“You’ll be meeting someone new, yeah? Be nice.” She murmured softly. 

•••

“She asked you to come over?”

“Yep.” Harry grinned at Niall as he sorted through his closet, trying to look for something to wear. He wanted to wear something casual, he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard. Maybe just a T-shirt and some nice jeans. Or a sweater. Sweater vest? Long-sleeved shirt? Shorts? No… surely not. Shorts seem like a strange thing to wear on a date. Was it even a date?

“Alright, mate!” Niall said proudly, hitting Harry on the back a little too hard and causing him to wince. “Finally getting some, eh?” Niall was wiggling his eyebrows annoyingly again and Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. Harry was hanging up all the clothes he liked up on the handle of his closet and Niall furrowed his brows as he browsed through the shirts Harry had picked out. 

“Harry, mate… seriously?” Niall had a small frown on his face, holding up a bright yellow shirt that had pineapples all over it. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry mumbled, taking the shirt from Niall’s hands and putting it back in his closet. 

“Hey, it’s alright, man. You can do this.” Niall said quietly, patting Harry on his back. 

“It’s just,” Harry sighed, “What if she thinks I’m some loser?”

“Harry, you’re 24, not 42. You’re fine. She asked for your number and wanted you over for a reason. If you wear some of these really, really ugly shirts, then I’m afraid she might think you’re a loser, though, so maybe rethink your clothing choices.” Niall said comfortingly… kind of. “I’m gonna play FIFA.” He gave Harry one last firm pat on his back with a smile on his face and left his room soon after. 

“I…” Harry said once Niall shut the door, “Fuck.” He groaned loudly, burying his face in a bright pink shirt that had flamingos all over it. 

•••

Shot. 

Y/N needed a shot. 

She took a deep breath and shook her head, no, she could do this sober. She folded her lips into a line, unsure of where to start. Should she get ready first, or cook dinner? What if Harry had already eaten before he came over? What if he comes early and she’s barely even ready? He can’t possibly see her wearing those really old shorts along with a really old shirt that said “I Heart Pandas” with a random picture of a panda on it that was also, coincidently, very old. 

She called Zayn first. 

“I asked him to come over.” Was the first thing she immediately said. 

“What?” Zayn said groggily, voice deep and raspy. 

“Did you just wake up? It’s almost 3 PM.”

“Leave me alone.” Zayn sighed and Y/N knew his thumb was moving towards the end call button. 

“Wait! Zayn, help me, please.” She said desperately, “Pretty please?”

“What could you possibly need help with? He’s just coming over, I don’t know, cook him dinner. Watch a movie with him. Give him a blowjob for all I care.”

Y/N was toying with her lower lip, “Right.” She nodded. “Thanks, Z.”

“Jesus, did you really need to call me fo-”

Y/N ended the call.

•••

Harry’s hands were sweating immensely. God, it was disgusting. He wiped his hands against his pants and took a deep breath. Was he still sweating? This was going horrible already, he thought, and tried to think about what Niall said. He thought most of it was helpful and comforting, except for the feeling of his heavy hand slapping his back multiple times. He checked his watch and looked back up at the door in front of him, finally raising his hand to… wait.

Should he knock or ring the doorbell?

He gulped dryly and chose to ring the doorbell, trying to soothe his beating heart that was moving a little too fast for his liking. 

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hey.” Harry smiled and Y/N noticed how his cheeks were pink again, but she didn’t want to point it out. “Er, these are for you.” He said softly, handing her the bouquet of pink easter lillies he had bought, flushing a little more at the sight of her smiling as she took them from his hands. She pressed the flowers to her nose, inhaling their sweet scent with a small smile on her face. 

“Come in, come in.” She chuckled softly. 

“I, uh, made dinner. I hope you haven’t eaten yet?” She asked him hopefully after closing the door behind him and he shook his head with a kind smile. He shrugged his coat off and hung it up beside the front door. 

“Okay, good.” She smiled brightly, “I’m not the greatest cook, unfortunately, so feel free to tell me if the food is shit. Criticism is appreciated.” She laughed and so did he. 

“It looks amazing, I’m sure it’s great.”

“Oh please, give me fabric and a sewing machine and you’ll see something actually good.” She joked, motioning for Harry to sit. 

•••

“I really enjoyed tonight.” Harry said softly as he fixed his coat, standing outside of Y/N’s front door. She was smiling gently, leaning against the door a little, slightly wine-drunk. 

“Me too.” She chuckled, “Definitely the best date I’ve had in a while.”

“I can say the same.”

There was a moment of silence that was shared between them. Harry was starting to get flustered again but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from hers, and she couldn’t tear her own from his either. He darted his tongue out to wet his slightly chapped lips and Y/N’s eyes flickered down to look at them. So wet, so kissable. 

“I-”

He was cut off by the press of her lips against his.

a/n: part three!

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @niallhoranshotgf, @sad1esgf, @taylorsreputationsversion, @violetsandfluff, @purplefishingline, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @harrysgoth, @theroosterswife24, @cinnamonlola, @youcan-nolonger-run

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles oneshot #crybaby!harry #writing #Spotify

[lizzisimss]

Isaac and Erick CC list:

Erick

Body: nesurii_lightitup-highlight, Simbience_HauteSkinblend, Pralinesims - FancyEyebrowKit, PYXIS - ToTheBone_Nosemasks, PS - Eyes_N157, MSBEARY_vitiligoV3

Accessories: Pralinesims - UltimateEarringCollection

Everyday: [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Short Sleeve Cardigan, [Dyoreos] - Legacy Jeans, [Jius]LowTopSneaker02-Male

Formal: okruee - Hermes Hair, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Tie Waist Shirt, serenity_BackToThe60S_MERGED (trousers), [Jius]ChukkaBoots01-Male

Sports: [greenllamas] SOLSTICE_Celestial_Crop_V2, [RONA] Summer Activewear Shorts Ver1, Madlen Kylie Sneakers

Sleep: simstrouble_MaleHair_Federico, AdrienPastel x Jan2022_PeteSweatpants, Madlen Tsuki Slippers (Adult)

Party: okruee-sebastian-hair, serenity_am_JorgeTop, AdrienPastel x Jan2022_ArchieJeansVer2, [Jius]ChelseaBoots01-Male

Swimwear: [greenllamas] Chandler Hair, [AxA]-MattTrucks_Patterns, [Jius]LeatherFlipFlop01-Male, Pralinesims - UltimateGlassesCollection

Warm Weather: Rope_ymTop_EscaleShirt, [AxA]-IsaiahShorts_WithBelt, [Jius]CheckerboardSneakers01-Male

Cold Weather: AdrienPastel x HarveySweater, AdrienPastel x Jan2022_BillyJeans, [Jius]LaceUpAnkleBoots01-Male, Kiro_ailack beret

 Isaac

Body: miiko-eye-presets-no1, nesurii_lightitup-highlight, Simbience_HauteSkinblend, Pralinesims - UltimateEyebrowCollection_MaxisMatch, PYXIS - ToTheBone_Nosemasks, PS - Eyes_N157

Everyday: [RIMINGS] Short Sleeved T-shirt & Sweater Vest, AdrienPastel x DmitryJeans, [amelylina] - Tenya shoes

Formal: simstrouble_MaleHair_Jacob, NucrestsymTopButterCroppedBlazerPATTERNSV1, NucrestsymBottomButterCroppedPantsPATTERNSV3, [Jius]LeatherLoafers02-Male

Sports: AdrienPastel x MickeyT-Shirt, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Oversized Jogger Pants, NucrestsyuHatSeamlessCapRegular

Sleep: CLUMSYALIEN [EVERETT HAIR YF], [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Oversized Tank Top, RUSTY-210804_Mellow Pants I M (Longer), Madlen Su Socks

Party: CLUMSYALIEN [JULIAN HAIR AM], [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Short Sleeve Oversized Shirt, CLUMSYALIEN [ALLEN PANTS], Darte77 Converse All Star Sneakers

Swimwear: [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Layered Swim Shorts, marigold_mShoes_sandal, Pralinesims - UltimateGlassesCollection

Warm Weather: simstrouble_UnisexHair_Pedro, serenity_am_FlannelShirt, CLUMSYALIEN [DESMOND PANTS], serenity_BucketHatm, serenity_FlannelShirt_Gloves, [Jius]LowTopSneaker04-Male

Cold Weather: okruee-hugh-hair, [RIMINGS] Stripe Knitwaer, DaisyPixels - Harry Pants, serenity_am_StreetBoots, CLUMSYALIEN [RAE SCARF]

#lizzisimss #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 cc #sims cc #cc #sims 4 custom content #sims custom content #custom content #sims 4 cc list #sims cc list #cc list #sims 4 cc finds #sims cc finds #cc finds #sims 4 cc links #sims cc links #cc links #sims 4 couple

[oliveroctavius]

It's the Harry Osborn fashion post nobody asked for!

I'm no expert in menswear (all info + photo examples come from VintageDancer) so take this as speculation and feel free to correct any terminology. Still, I wanted to ramble about his interesting progression of clothes choices through the classic comics.

Ditko era (1965)

An outdated look even for the time: the bowtie, brown/grey color scheme, and wide high-waisted pants with a skinny belt are all kind of 1940s/50s things. Not to mention the hair.

It seems Ditko's only vision for Harry was Norman Junior. You know those eerie photos of politicians' families where the kids are dressed identically to their parents? Yeah.

Of course, once characterization catches up, there's a lot to be said about Harry's relationship with imagined "good old days" and his father's self-image.

Characterization catches up (1966)

John Romita is here and we get a flashback to baby Harry, who in contrast to his dad looks like an easter egg.

On a practical level, bright colors (1) draw attention to Harry as a new main character and (2) convey time passing. But it also fits with the reveal that he's a mostly sweet kid trying too hard to conform to an aggressively traditionalist role model.

I like that the bow tie sticks around. It has old-fashioned, dweeby connotations (as probably originally intended) but it also has appropriate oddball performer connotations.

Roomates era (1966-69)

Big checkered patterns, vests, and expanded colors; a showy take on the Ivy League 50s/60s style, unless I miss my guess. A bit more modern, but still in the realm of uptight dweeb. I love how Romita made him friendly without making him less weird.

It's a rather slow makeover from monochrome to bright and patterned. On a Watsonian level, it's fun to imagine that living away from his dad lets him gradually rediscover a colorful fashion sense.

The less formal at-home version of this look is a sweater or sweatervest with a collared shirt, a la baby Osborn.

The New Osborn Image (1969. nice)

Eventually both Harry and the editors get self conscious about keeping up with the times, and...

This is so charmingly "repressed young adult finally has their awkward rebellious self-discovery phase halfway through college" to me. Artists love to call back to this look because lol, retro facial hair, but I think its status as a bona fide short-lived Embarrassing Phase makes it sacred.

The New(er) Osborn Image (1970-72)

Exploratory phase over, his new look is something between Mod and Peacock Revolution: long coats, double-breasted tailored jackets, colorful turtlenecks, neckerchiefs instead of ties.

In my totally unbiased opinion this is the pinnacle of Harry costuming. He's found a public-facing sense of style that's fun. It's formal, but not just in a Norman-impressing way—he got here via personal experimentation and peer inspiration. It's the most joyful sartorial self-expression he ever seems to get.

Sure hope he's not about to experience personal-identity-shattering amounts of stress and tragedy!

spice up your mental breakdown by raiding your father's closet (1973)

At least, I think that's Ross Andru's angle. Harry moves back into his dad's townhouse and his clothes are uncharacteristically oversized and formless.

Drop the metaphor, fill your father's shoes for real. The fur-lined coat + leather gloves in particular strike me as unnaturally Normanesque. Earlier periods illustrated his Garbage Mental Health Hygiene with untucked shirts and unfastened collars, though his hairdo is still perfectly in place because everyone knows it just grows in like that.

I think the shirt he's committed in is the first short-sleeved shirt we ever see him wear. Probably too early in history for him to be given a pair of those grippy socks.

back to basics/dadclothes (1975-on)

Harry comes back in ASM 151 with two outfits: a grey suit and tie and a plaid short sleeved shirt with jeans. This split between utilitarian business clothes/simple comfort clothes sticks around into Buscema and JMD's 90s run.

This was probably meant to signal that he's more "grown up" and stable, but after everything else it just feels like a very lonely return to form and a widening fracture between public presentation and personal identity—this time self-enforced.

JMD uses the goblin costume to talk about Harry's struggles with self-image and emotional compartmentalization, but I think it works because that theme was already there in a less dramatic way. Particularly once the colors went back in the closet.

The thing about toxic performative masculinity is that it hates to admit that it's just a performance. Showy fashion can be attractive to people who've been told they flunk out of gender for physical or mental reasons because it's entirely performance (hence the art of drag) (and hence transmascs who joke they dress like silver age Harry). Also, I think it's just a fun personality trait for him to enjoy bright and meticulous dress, dangit.

#romita fashion plate #harry osborn #long post #this has been in my drafts for so long and I finally got around to compiling the image examples #clothes make the man one might say

[savebylou]

Article below. Read it if you can.

The discourse surrounding Harry Styles is many things, but one thing it literally ALWAYS is is exhausting. Harry Styles has reached the calibre of celebrity and fandom that whatever move he makes, how he chooses to do his hair, what he chooses to wear all spark conversation and debate. It feels like for years now the odiously boring conversation on whether Harry Styles has been “queerbaiting” or not is a never ending pollution across social media and the more yawn inducing side of Reddit – but now, it’s pivoted in a new direction thanks to how Harry Styles looked when he went to watch a footie game the other day, with people saying he’s now “straight again”. O-kay.

Just a very bizarre opinion to be fronted with, in my opinion. And even more bizarre to see it’s currently sitting on 138,000 likes – which either means that many people genuinely believe such trite nonsense or they think it’s funny. It’s got to a boring area of the discourse where it doesn’t matter if Harry Styles rocks up in the pretty bog standard, neutral outfit he did or wears a feather boa as per his Love On Tour era – he’d be spoken about with the word queerbaiting not fair behind.

I think where this gets really problematic is that it’s sort of all centred on the nonsensical. If Harry Styles is bi, gay, queer – any of those things being entirely his business to keep to himself or share when he wants – then why would he suddenly not be if he wears a muted colour, goes the footie or cuts his hair shorter? I feel like the fact I’m even having to voice this makes me feel like I’ve fell down a time slip to 2010 or something. And what I find even more baffling is that the outfit in question is a shirt and sweater vest, big 70s vibes – isn’t that how Harry’s been dressing for … years? So we’re saying all this Harry Styles ‘is straight again’ because he’s cropped his hair short? Do me a favour.

Was particularly riled at this one, which suggests the reason that Harry Styles isn’t walking into a footie match with a feather boa on and some pink palazzo trousers is because Love On Tour has ended and so has the album cycle – therefore he has not interest in… Your guess is as good as mine. No interest in being gay, of which he more than likely isn’t anyway? No interest in appealing to gays? Why are we pretending that over half of every stadium on Love On Tour wasn’t filled with heterosexual women?

It’s all just very weird, to be honest with you. I am writing this as a gay man, and whether Harry Styles is presenting himself in whatever way he’s seen fit I have never once felt “queerbaited”. I have not spent the last few years of my life thinking Harry Styles was LGBTQ+ – just that he was a massive ally and someone who wasn’t afraid to be a bit flamboyant from time to time. Even if he was gay or bi or whatever it would make a grand total of zero difference to my life or to my enjoyment of his music.

If your first thought when you see a pop star with shorter hair at a footie game is “oh, Harry Styles is straight again” – you need an urgent life.

Link to article.

#i wish everyone that like those tweets read this article #harry in the press #harry's hair #harry's fashion #harry's image #harry's sexuality #queerbaiting #the tab #harrison brocklehurst #harry styles

[floral-poisons]

as it was

pairing: riddle rosehearts x gn! reader word count: 4.8k words warnings: mentions of parental abuse (riddle) notes: this is based on harry styles’s new song, “as it was” because i can’t get it out of my head. so yeah. have fun with this angsty fic. riddle is also older in this fic. i’d imagine him to be in his mid 20s so it’s been years since you’ve last saw him. also the word count was rounded up. ao3 link: 🌹🌹🌹

His fingers couldn’t stop fiddling with the black watch on his wrist. He kept readjusting it as he grew more nervous inside the empty room. There was nothing to be worried about. When was the last time he went out for an interview and got to dress himself? His mother always made sure to check his outfit beforehand. This would be the first interview he would conduct after leaving her and denouncing her from his book. It was a memoir and a hit. People were fascinated with the cruel details of his life it seemed. Though it sort of made sense to him. His mother was famous after all, worshiped even. And then her son pulled back the curtain to reveal mommy dearest. His fashion was a lot more casual than before. A white button down with short sleeves, beige pants cuffed at his ankle, casual white sneakers, and a white sweater vest with a red heart and checker pattern. The only thing that didn’t match was his wrist watch, which was black with a leather strap. His foot couldn’t stop tapping on the floor and his leg shaking. And then the door opened. Immediately, he sat up and straightened out his posture. “Roi des Roses! How nice to see you!” the voice chimed.

“Rook?” Riddle’s gray eyes widened. “You’re…You’re doing my interview?”

“Of course! I just ended up doing these interviews after my internship. Makes a pretty great living.” Rook’s hair had grown out since the last time Riddle had seen him. It was tied in a low ponytail, draped over his shoulder. He also had thin, square glasses on with metal frames and a matching chain. “Of course I’m still around Roi du Poison.”

“That makes sense.” Riddle purses his lips as Rook sits down across from him and pulls out a tablet from his bag. “You wear glasses now?”

“They’re just to prevent my vision from deteriorating. My vision is still sharp as ever, Roi des Roses.” Rook pushes his glasses up his nose with a finger. “Shall we get started with the interview?”

“Of course, of course.” Riddle clears his throat, messing with his watch again.

“You still have that? After all these years?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Oh, um…” Riddle looks down as he readjusts the strap again. “Yeah…”

“Here I thought you and the Trickster would last after school.” Rook opens the tablet. Riddle could feel his thoughts trail off as he thought back to his memories of Night Raven College. He had blocked them out for the past few years because all he could remember was the pain. The pain overshadowed all the good he had experienced.

···

“Watch where you’re going!” He exclaims, crossing his arms. “How rude. A new student who doesn’t even know basic conduct for the opening ceremony. If you are to be part of Night Raven College, you must collect yourself accordingly.”

“I’m so sorry.” You mutter, hiding your eyes underneath the hood of your ceremonial robes. The inside was made of a silk material though so it wouldn’t fuck with your hair.

“Honestly. Is this year’s batch of first years going to be so rowdy and undisciplined? If so, I have my hands full.” He scoffs, blowing a strand of his red hair out of his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Well, (Y/N) (L/N). You better get sorted into your dormitory soon. I’ll let it slide this time.”

···

“Roi des Roses? Riddle?”

Riddle snapped back into reality, looking back at Rook. “Sorry, sorry. What were you…talking about?”

“We’re going to talk about your new book: Dance of Coals. It’s a romance novel and certainly is straying from your groundbreaking memoir.” Rook leans back. “You’re tackling fiction and your readers are interested as to why this shift.”

“Well I just…found the inspiration I guess.” Riddle fiddled with his wristwatch again. “There’s nothing much to it. But I understand why people have their doubts. Men writing romance hasn’t exactly been…great.” He was mentally gagging at some of the paragraphs he��s read from romance excerpts.

“I think it’s interesting how the premise behind this love story seems very similar to what you mentioned in your memoir: how your mother handled the idea of you dating.”

“Oh yes. Well, we all know she wasn’t a fan. She wasn’t even a fan of me having friends that she didn’t approve of. I would’ve probably ended up in an arranged marriage where I would be unhappy if I didn’t cut her out of my life.”

“I guess you could say that Night Raven College gave you the freedom you lacked when you were at home and thus gave you the inspiration for this novel?” Rook raises his eyebrows.

“Yes…yes it did.”

···

His breath was heavy and his skin was hot to the touch. His whole face was flushed red and he couldn’t even get out of bed. Was this what happened after an overblot? Getting sick with a fever? Feeling intense fatigue? He couldn’t get any work done in this condition (hence why he had Trey). “Great Seven…” He mutters, pulling the covers up.

“Hey.” Looking up, Riddle raised an eyebrow.

“Good afternoon (Y/N).” He looked down at what was in your hands. Books and…a stuffed animal? Was that a horse? “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you and see how you’re doing. You did collapse in the middle of Potionology after all.” You smile.

“Yes…that happened…” No wonder why there was a spot on his head still throbbing with pain. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me after I…” He couldn’t say it. What would his mother say?

You moved closer, setting his books next to him along with the horse plushie. “I got you this. Sam had it in his shop. Looks like Vaporal.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He mutters.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Your smile falters slightly. “I get it, you know.”

“Get what?”

“How overbearing parents are. My dad’s the exact same way. Think him and your mom would be best friends or something.”

“Oh…” Riddle’s eyes look at the horse plushie before looking back at you. “That’s nice to know.” His heart softened upon seeing your eyes. They were filled with kindness and compassion and sympathy. You understood his pain. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.”

You laugh. “No, no. I get it. I understood what you were going for.” You pause. “Ace was—”

“Harsh?”

“Insensitive.” You scoff. “Listen, I like him. He’s a great friend you know and he was right to call you out and to call Trey out. But he doesn’t understand.” You frown. “He didn’t understand why I was hesitant to call you out after I learned about your mom.”

“I think he just lacks emotional awareness.”

“That’s true. He’s also the baby in the family so it makes sense.” You roll your eyes, thinking about your own siblings. Babies in the family and you, the eldest, forced to deal with unbearable expectations.

“I kind of miss the collar on him. He was a lot less annoying then.”

“Me too honestly. He keeps dragging me into his shenanigans.”

“Well then I’ll make sure to reprimand him next time I see him.” Riddle sits up. “Anyways, um…thanks for visiting me.”

“Of course.” You smile and you turn around, about to leave until you feel Riddle’s hand grip your wrist.

“Wait…” He muttered. You turn your head. “Please come back?”

“Of course! You’re cool Riddle. I wouldn’t want to hang around anyone else.”

···

Rook took a sip of water from the glass bottle. “This is so fancy.”

“I’m sure we’re both used to it.” Riddle also takes a sip to cleanse his throat. “You were in Pomefiore after all.”

“Okay, you got me there.” Rook looks at the questions. “Now people are wondering how you’re going about this romance novel. You’re well aware that romance novels in general tend to come with some very common and upsetting tropes.” The redhead nods along. “So your fans, and I myself, am curious as to how you aim to change romance or at least challenge it.”

“Well I plan on portraying it realistically. Beyond the movies you could say. Like that one rom com Vil starred in.”

“Oh Roi du Poison. He was amazing in that one!” Rook swooned.

“He was great obviously but there were lots of typical tropes in them. I also would not expect him to be in rom coms.”

“Roi du Poison does surprise us. You’re a fan of rom coms, yes?”

“I mean…I’m very well acquainted with them. So I know how to improve upon the formula. Like for example, intimacy and romance don’t just develop after the grand romantic gesture. You need time alone. And that’s how intimacy and romance develops between two people.”

···

Heart racing, cheeks dusted with a pink blush, palms sweaty. Great Seven he was never this nervous. Why was he so nervous? Well it could be that he had practiced over and over and over in his head and in the mirror how he was going to ask you out. You were his crush. You were his friend, a close friend. You understood how he felt. You understood where he came from with everything. You helped him during the Culinary Crucible (by wiping away the tears caused by those onions). You just were…amazing in every way. Physically attractive. Intelligent. Kind. Compassionate. Passionate. And your smile. Your smile was the best part of you. “(Y/N), can I, uh, talk to you in private?” He mutters.

“Of course.” You smile before looking back at your friends. “I’ll be back.”

Riddle’s quick to take your hand and remove the both of you from the cafeteria into the hallway, hopefully out of earshot from your friends. You frown a bit, seeing his face. “Is something wrong? Is it your mother again?” Your voice grew sour at the mention of her.

“No! No! It’s not my mother I promise.” His cheeks grow hotter and redder. “I, uh. I just wanted to ask if…” You raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

A bright smile breaks out on your face, your heart beating faster with anticipation. “Yes! Yes I would love to!” You were practically jumping up and down. “Oh! Speaking of which, do you like rom coms?”

“Ummm…I think they’re okay? My mother never let me watch them.”

“Well then that’s great! There’s a new rom com premiering this weekend. We can go into town and see it then get something to eat during the weekend festival!”

“Yeah. That sounds amazing.” His smile was also bright and his eyes filled with hope. And love.

“Awesome! Super excited!” You hug him tightly. “I’m glad you asked me out. I’ve been, uh, meaning to ask you out sometime this week.” Your cheeks became hot and your eyes sheepish.

“Well I would love to take you on a date featuring a romantic movie and some amazing fried food.” Riddle thought nothing could ruin the moment. Until he noticed Ace, Deuce, Floyd, Ruggie, and Grim behind the cafeteria doorway. “Are you kidding me?”

“What? It’s public property technically.” Ace huffs.

“Technically it’s private. This is a private school. And this moment was actually supposed to be private.”

“Again, I’m free to be where I want to be!”

Riddle pulled out his magical pen and saw Ace’s face fall. “Okay, okay. We’re leaving.”

···

“You’re very sweet, Roi des Roses.” Rook smiles. “And you always have been.”

“Well, I have a lot of memories to help me with my writing. Write what you know is the basic rule.”

“Yes it is. Now this question might be personal but your readers are so curious.”

“I mean, I wrote a whole memoir about my life.” Riddle purses his lips. “Fire away.”

“Who is this mystery significant other mentioned in the memoir?” Rook raised an eyebrow. He already knew of course. He was there. But he would pretend he didn’t know to keep your identity a secret.

“I did not think people would be invested in my romantic life.” Riddle laughs nervously.

“Well, you are pretty quiet about your private life. There’s a lot of speculation as to who this student you were affiliated with could be, especially since there are three chapters dedicated to how your mother reacted when she found out the two of you were dating.”

“Oh. So my readers find the appeal in that it’s a pseudo forbidden love story?” Riddle readjusted his watch again.

“They’ve done more.” Rook looks down at Riddle’s watch. “Somehow they went digging and found photos of you back in your NRC days.”

“That’s not surprising. Cater and Vil were quite popular while we were at school so I probably ended up in the background of some photos.”

“They noticed you always wear that watch.”

“It goes with all of my outfits.” Plus his mother wasn’t aware that it was gifted by the one person she despised: you.

“True. It brings everything together. Speaking of which, your outfit Roi des Roses. It looks stunning~”

“Oh thank you. Red is certainly my color.” Riddle brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. “But it has sentimental value. That’s all. It reminds me of my time at NRC which I am greatly appreciative for.”

···

“Oh hey! I bought you something!” You chimed, holding a small bag. Riddle was at his desk, books surrounding him and Vaporal Jr. (the horse plushie) sitting on top of a stack of books. His duties as a prefect were currently drowning him alongside normal schoolwork.

“You…You did?” Riddle’s face went red. Crap! Did he forget an important date? A birthday? A holiday? An anniversary? Oh Great Seven, an anniversary! Your six month anniversary!

“Yes! Happy 6 months!” You present him with the bag. “Open it! I wanna see your reaction!”

Riddle put his pen down as he took the bag and reached in. His hand felt something firm, like cardboard. Pulling it out, he was met with a black box. His hands were gentle as he opened it, eyes widening. It was a black watch with a gold case and the strap was made of leather. It looked amazing and expensive. “(Y/N)! You didn’t have to! This must’ve been expensive!” He looked back at you frantically.

“It actually wasn’t. I had Jade pull some strings.” You whisper.

The calmer Leech twin? A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about the possible connections those twins could have. “This…This is amazing! I’ll be sure to wear it always!” He exclaimed, putting the box down. “I’ve been swarmed with work though. So I forgot—”

“That’s okay.” You smile. “You’ve been busy. So we’ll go on a date to celebrate after you’re done with your work, okay?”

“That sounds great.” He yawned. “But what about a present?”

“Oh. I already know what I want.” You lean in and whisper into his ear.

“Oh…Oh! I can most certainly do that.” His cheeks go red but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “You’re amazing, you know that? I could just leave my work and…kiss you. May I?” You nod in response. Riddle leans in, his lips meeting yours. The kiss is gentle and cautious, much like Riddle. It lacks a certain rhythm. But he makes up for it with his gentle touch on your face as he holds it and the sense of love and passion behind his movements. He cares about you, a lot. And he wanted nothing to break you two apart. You guys would most certainly last outside of NRC.

···

“Your readers have said they were devastated by the ending. The twists, the turns. Oh the passion between your characters! They were not expecting what you wrote.” Rook leans forward a bit. “Do you care to elaborate what you could’ve possibly meant by the ending?”

“Well…” Riddle could feel his heart suddenly begin beating faster as if he was nervous. To be fair, he was. The answer to that question was quite…complicated. “It’s realistic.”

“Realistic?” Rook raises an eyebrow. “Roi des Roses, what could you possibly mean by that?”

“It’s a romance that happens in school. Once they leave school, it would be hard to maintain the relationship. Nay, impossible even.” Riddle again starts messing with the watch. “There are so many factors that prevent the relationship from being successful. And…the world is always out to destroy whatever pure romance is left.”

“Crushing. Nihilistic. But also beautiful in its ephemerality. Love is short, love is passionate, love is hot. Love is like…dancing on coals, I would say.”

···

It’s been over a year since the two of you got together. And Riddle was most certainly not going to leave you alone at NRC for holiday break. Except he didn’t realize that this would cause the collapse with your relationship. Riddle’s mother was exactly how you envisioned. Just like your father. She looked an awful lot like Riddle too. Same eye color and same fiery red hair like a lycoris lily. She kept her mouth shut throughout the entire holiday break. But Riddle could sense his disprovement from her stares and he could sense that something was about to go off. And it went off when you left one day to explore the town and buy some fresh groceries to make a strawberry tart for Riddle.

The berating, degradation, the yelling. It was far too much. He was happy you weren’t here to witness her fit. His mother’s main complaint was about how you couldn’t even do magic. You weren’t magical. So why were you dating her son? You were lower than the dirt on the ground. You weren’t worthy of dating her son. Her perfect, powerful, precious son. But the worst part? Riddle fought back. He wanted to protect the relationship between the two of you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. He wouldn’t give you up. But you made him defiant. And his mother had enough.

“I’m back!” You chime with a basket full of the ingredients. “Riddle?” You searched for him only to find him in front of the fireplace, shoulders slumped. “Riddle?” You rushed over, getting down on his level and setting the basket beside you. “Riddle, what's wrong?” Dried tear stains on his cheeks, hands clenched into fists. The room had a lingering atmosphere that only remained after a screaming match. Something happened. Your eyes looked down and saw bruises on his wrists too. “Where’s your mother?”

“She went out.” His voice croaked. It was hoarse. Like he had been screaming and crying for hours. “She won’t be back until after we’ve gone back to NRC.”

“Well that’s good right?” You smile nervously. “Hey, there’s nothing to be worried about.” You bring him into a hug. He doesn’t hug you back. Rather, his eyes begin to tear up and his vision becomes blurry.

“She’s so cruel. I don’t understand how she can be so cruel.” He chokes out. His eyes couldn’t leave the fireplace, couldn’t leave the sight of the horse plush he loved so dearly burned to a crisp. “She…She—”

“She’s a cruel woman, Riddle. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. What if she hurts you?” It came out before he could stop it.

“She won’t hurt me—”

“But you don’t know that!” He exclaims, removing himself from your grasp. His breathing is ragged and heavy. “I’m sorry.” Immediately, his hands wipe away the tears and he takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. “She…She believes you’re a bad influence. And you’re not. But she won’t listen!” He wanted to throw something, break something. Maybe he would break that precious vase his mother prized so much. “(Y/N), you love me right?”

“Of course I do. Very much.”

Riddle looks at you straight in the eyes, tears threatening to leave his own once again. “My mother, if she offers you financial compensation for you to leave me, I want you to take it.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. There was a pain in your body when you heard that. You knew that pain: the pain of a heart shattering. “Riddle—I…”

“(Y/N), you have to do it! My mother is cruel. And I don’t want you suffering for my sake!” The tears fall and he embraces you tightly. “I love you so much. All I want to do is protect you. So please, when she offers you to leave me, take it.”

“Riddle…” Your heart was being torn. But you understood why.

It happened so quickly. When you got back to NRC, you received a letter from Riddle’s mother. Leave him and earn financial compensation. It was a lot of money. But no amount of money would live up to the love you felt for Riddle. It was for the best. He asked you to do it and you obliged. The break up was brutal on you and on Riddle. You barely left Ramshackle when you didn’t need to leave. You didn’t even bother spending the money you got. No one could get you out of the deep depression you were in. Riddle had to continue his life as normal. It was a different story behind closed doors. Trey walked in once to find Riddle’s whole room in complete disarray. Everything wasn’t where it was supposed to be and lots of items were broken. And in the middle of the mess was Riddle himself, crying while holding a picture of the two of you from your first date. The photo booth was your idea much to his reluctance. It was painful to look at. Seeing you caused him so much pain and going home was even worse. The two of you had been so close, happy, in a healthy relationship. It was paradise.

Alas, young love never lasts does it?

···

The interview was wrapped up and the camera turned off. “It’ll be uploaded within a few days after we’ve edited everything.” The manager said.

“Great.” Riddle stood, stretching his legs.

“You know, Roi des Roses,” Rook stood up and placed the tablet back into his bag. “Actually…no.”

“What is it Rook? You can speak it.” Riddle adjusts his watch again.

“You should’ve seen (Y/N) after the whole thing. I thought you two would go the distance.” He removes his glasses from his face. “Family is hard. They’re difficult. But it’s not too late for a reunion.”

“(Y/N) probably resents me.” His eyes fall and his heart sinks to his feet. “I wouldn’t pin the blame either. I would resent (Y/N) if what happened happened to me.”

“But (Y/N) is not you Roi des Roses.” Rook picks up his bag and the water bottle. “Fate is quite fascinating. It goes against the principles of your book technically. But it has its ways. And I have a feeling Fate has something in store for Riddle and (Y/N), the couple that could’ve been.”

“You have not changed one bit have you?”

“I guess not. Is that a bad thing?”

“I also guess not.”

···

His body was sore. He didn’t understand why it was so sore. He didn’t do much aside from do a ton of interviews, go on a book tour for the past four months, and approved his romance novel to be turned into a movie. Which was…shocking and weird to think about. Tonight was supposed to be a self care night for him. “Vil’s stuff really does work, huh?” He washed his hands from the cream that he had applied to his face. A face mask to help moisturize, brighten, and remove dark spots. Coincidentally it was the same color as his hair.

His bare feet hit the smooth wooden floor of his flat as he carried the silver tray with the tea set to the coffee table. He poured himself a cup of tea and picked up the remote. “Let’s see…Is there anything to watch?” Riddle found that there wasn’t much. “Great Seven, I’ve already watched most of this curation.” His interest peaked upon seeing a familiar movie. “It’s been years since I’ve watched Seven Lilies for Seven Cranes.” Mostly because the last time he watched it, he had cried his eyes out. It hurt too much to watch it because that was the movie he saw with you. That was your first date. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

Halfway through the movie, he had to pause to remove the face mask he had put on. His skin looked so good afterwards. Vil truly knew what he was doing. Riddle was mindlessly watching, not really paying attention. But that moment when the character Tara ran through the airport to catch the love of her life Lucina before embracing her tightly and professing her love caused a sudden pain to rip through Riddle’s body. Great Seven, it hurt. It hurt a lot. His hand clutched the fabric of his pajamas above his heart. And he could feel his eyes begin to tear up as a sudden surge of emotions began to drown him. Riddle didn’t expect himself to be sobbing into a ton of tissues but here he was, sobbing. “Great Seven. I miss them.” He sniffles before squinting. “Is that Vil’s dad? How come I never noticed!” Of course it was an uncredited cameo.

···

“You look worried.” Vil raises an eyebrow.

“I’m just nervous.” Riddle adjusted his wrist watch again. He could see his own reflection from the window. A garnet red suit, three pieces, and accessorized with his favorite watch. “Thanks for, um, coming by the way.”

“Why of course. After all, our collection based on your book, and its film adaptation, is selling well. I needed an excuse to release those new shades of red anyways.” Vil looked at himself through the compact mirror before closing it. “Oh looks like we’re here!”

Riddle watched as the door opened and was met with the sudden flashing of cameras and yells of his name. Riddle this. Riddle that. He had to blink for a bit so his vision could adjust. How quick were movies? It’s only been a year since his book came out and a movie has already been made. The premiere was a sensation all over Magicam in particular. He waved to a few cameras and posed before continuing to walk along the carpet. “Hey everyone! We’re here on the red carpet for Dance of Coals!” a voice exclaimed. His head turned to the direction and saw a familiar head of long, orange hair.

“Cater?” Riddle questions. But what he heard next made his heart feel like it would burst out of his chest.

“Joining me is my friend, (Y/N)! Say hi!” Cater posed and he moved slightly revealing you. You dressed up with makeup on your face that accentuated your eyes and your lips. You smiled at Cater's camera, waving, before saying hi. Riddle could read your lips. You were happy to be here and you were excited. It was an honor to be here.

“There’s no way…” he muttered, his heart beginning to beat faster and faster. Would you notice him? From across the red carpet? No, you probably wouldn’t. And if you did, you would ignore him. After all, the both of you left on rocky terms.

You could sense someone looking at you and turned your head. Your eyes met Riddle’s gray ones. He was a little bit taller than when you last saw him. He had a growth spurt. Time seemed to slow. The voices, the cameras, the flashes faded into the background. Riddle could feel the world fall away as he took in your appearance. Ephemeral, amazing. You were like a deity. He would worship you. He would be your one worshiper.

His feet moved before he could stop it. He walked quickly, over to you. “Oh Riddle! It’s nice to see you!” Cater chimes. “We were schoolmates back at NRC.”

“(Y/N).” Riddle mutters. “Sorry Cater. I’ll catch up with you later.” He turns to you. “Do you want to go somewhere private?”

You smile brightly. “I’d love that.”

His hand takes yours, bringing you along with him to somewhere away from the cameras, somewhere away for the people. A smile broke out on his face as he thought back to his school years. The feeling that filled his body was the same anticipation he felt when he first wanted to ask you out. Except it wasn’t dread or anxiety. It was relief.

Relief for a second chance.

Relief to go back to the way things were.

Or maybe it was a chance to make things better, better than it was before this.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #gender neutral reader #angst

[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

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #y/n x harry styles #harry styles x reader #reader x harry styles #self insert harry styles #fine line #hs1 #harry styles soft #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles smut fanfic #harry styles smut oneshot #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles soft blurb #harry styles smut blurb #florist!h #florist!harry

[hops-hunny]

You Can Be the Boss

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Request: N/A but it’s based off of this rambling here

Summary: Women are beautiful, but they sure don’t make ‘em like her.

Warnings: Weed, Alcohol, Mentions of sex.

A/N: I wrote this to cope with the copious amounts of work I had due but I finished it all so now we celebrate!

Hogwarts had many things but one thing it lacked severely was normality. Not that it was a problem, nobody who attended Hogwarts was normal but it didn’t stop a portion of muggle born students from feeling a bit homesick to things their muggle friends did at their own schools. That’s how the talent shows started. At first, the students tried to get it officiated by the school. Dumbledore thought it was a wonderful idea!....if it was professor supervised and when it turned out that Snape was the only professor with enough freetime on his hands, the idea of having it being school ran quickly flew out the window. But looking back on it now, many were happy they went with the idea of going behind the professors backs. It wasn’t like they weren’t aware, they just had no proof of it all happening. The atmosphere of the talent shows were different from ordinary talent shows, however.

For starters, anything went. Any talent you had you were encouraged to bring it no matter how big or small it was or if it was “school appropriate”. But the pro to this was also booze and bud, meaning that everyone had a good time no matter what. Although, as it would turn out there were many talented people at Hogwarts. So, for the past few months every Friday everyone would gather in the room of requirement, watching the many ups and downs of performances. Neville started frequenting there as often as he could. It was a win-win, his friends got free entertainment and he had a chance to make some money from selling to chumps with too much cash on their hands. What better way was there to spend the night? 

His hazel eyes snapped up at the feeling of his blunt being ripped out of his hand. He went to swear, glaring at whoever was stupid enough to do that but quickly stopped as he saw who it was. He watched with wide eyes as the tip of it went between her pretty (l/c) lips, exhaling smoke. (Y/n) (L/n). She was one of those girls you either knew or you didn’t but more than likely, you knew her. Before 5th year, no one so much as spared her a glance but after a very fortunate late puberty in their current year (7th) she was slowly becoming all anyone could talk about. It was truly amazing what a haircut and a bit of weight in your hips could do for your social life. He eyed her curiously as she looked down at him.

“You comin’ tonight?” she asked, exhaling another puff of smoke into his face. (Y/n) put the joint back in his hand, moving the heavy guitar case into her now free hand.

“Yeah. ‘Spose I am.” He mumbled, eyes trailing down the expanse of her plush thighs. They were on full display due to the skirt she wore that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes locked with her (e/c) ones as she hummed, nodding as she took the blunt back from him walking off. She flashed him a smile once more, winking as she turned the corner going merlin knows where.

“Oi! What does she think she’s doing? You really gonna let her take the blunt from you like that just because she’s fit?” Ron complained, glaring at the boy who was set with the rest of their group. Neville shrugged, turning his eyes back to his book as he turned the page.

“If you’re so bothered by it why don’t you go take it back yourself?” Neville sassed. They all looked at Ron waiting for a response, laughing as he had nothing to say but a small ‘piss off’ under his breath.

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

Neville wasn’t one to put too much into his appearance. He’d usually just throw on a sweater vest over one of his uniform shirts and call it a day. However after the conversation he had had with (Y/n) earlier, he couldn’t help but wanna look nice. Was she flirting with him? He sighed as he glanced at his appearance in the mirror for a bit. ‘I doubt it.’ he thought. He shook the negative thoughts out of his head, packing his satchel with a few different strains. Just because some pretty girl was batting her pretty little eyes at him didn’t mean he was going to forget the reason he went to these things in the first place. The only other time Neville made this much money was Gryffindor common room parties and even then, it was only by a little.

But even as he was checking his appearance once again, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift. “Why am I wigging out? It’s not like we haven’t talked before.” He said out loud to himself. (Y/n) was a frequent buyer from him and even though he didn’t know her personally, she was one of the few people whose faces he remembered. At first, he was extremely annoyed by her. Who did she think she was showing up at his dorm at 3AM just to buy a bit of fucking jane? Every wednesday at the same time, she’d show up at his door (in a negligee that was far too short might he add) with that dopey look on her face asking to buy. And every single time without a doubt, he’d sell it to her. He had to admit, after a while he even started to enjoy the girl’s appearance. It gave him something to look forward to during his mundane school week.

“Ready to go, Nev? If we leave now, we can use a secret passage my brothers’ showed me.” Ron said, opening the door to Neville’s door. The lanky boy cleared his throat, giving the boy a nod as he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Without another word, they both began their way ready for the night to unfold.

As usual, the talent show didn’t disappoint...for all the wrong reasons. Even though the cringe worthy performances were top notch entertainment and he had already made quite a bit of money, he still couldn’t stop from searching the crowd for a certain head of (h/c) hair. Where was she? After the stunt she had pulled earlier, he was sure she would be here. She had some nerve doing that and then not showing up. However, as he turned his gaze back to the stage, he saw the woman of the hour herself. She was in an oversized crochet sweater dress and a pair of combat boots. His eyes looked up in wonder as she took the stage, sitting on a wooden stool that was placed from the last sad excuse of a performance.

“It’s a bloody shame that she’s so fucking hot. Poor thing is going to embarrass herself singing up there.” Ron said, taking a sip from the beer he had in his hand. Neville nodded in agreement, taking a hit from his blunt but not really paying mind to his friend. It was hard to do so when the girl of his dreams was on the stage a mere foot away from him. He was absolutely intoxicated by her (and the few shots he had taken a bit ago) but he had to agree it would suck when she-”

“You taste like the fourth of July

Malt liquor on your breath, my, my”

She sang into the microphone softly. Neville’s jaw dropped in awe at the sound of her voice which was nothing short of angelic. He wasn’t the only one who was stunned considering the whole crowd went silent, a stark contrast from the loud chatter and laughter from before. He watched as she strummed at the guitar in her hands, looking up from the ground into the crowd. Mesmerized wasn’t even the right word to describe the state he was in. 

“I love you but I don’t know why…”

His eyes were focused on her lips, taking in every word she said. Harry nudged him, mouthing the words ‘look up’ to him as a small pause had come into the song. Neville looked at him confused before trailing his eyes up, gasping when he saw that hers were locked on his own. She smiled and flashed him a wink before continuing her song, leaning in forward. His own body began to subconsciously drift forward to but at the last second she pulled away and continued to sing.

"Did you see that? She definitely wants me." Seamus boasted confidently. The others looked at him dumbfounded at the fact he could get even more idiotic than ever before.

"Don't be fucking dumb mate! She was clearly looking at me." Ron chimed in, causing another round of even more exasperated looks to be thrown the ginger's way. They truly were dumb and dumber.

"I-I think both of you are wrong. (Y/n) was looking at.." Harry trailed off as the girl stood up, dancing around the stage with her guitar as she continued to sing. Not a single pair of eyes weren't on her at the moment. Could you blame anyone? When a beautiful girl with the voice of a siren is on stage, you'd be a fool not to. However, dumb and dumbers’ argument ceased as she made very clear eye contact with their awkward friend.

“You can be the boss, daddy

You can be the boss”

“That’s all me boys.” Neville said, a triumphant smirk taking over his place as Dean leaned over to give him a fist bump. As much as (Y/n) had him wrapped around her finger, it appeared she was wrapped around his too. All the angry glares being sent his direction were only fuel to the pride he felt growing in his chest. Such a pretty girl, the same pretty girl who plagued all his wet dreams and shower thoughts, was not only on stage singing in front of him, but directly to him as well. She reached a hand forward, tips of her fingers lightly brushing against his flushed cheeks.

“I like you a lot, I like you a lot

Don’t let it stop”

“This is totally unfair. One of the hottest chicks in our year and she’s pining over Longbottom.” Seamus grumbled, grimacing as the liquor went down his throat hard. Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“Jealous much?” he asked no one in particular, as that could be said about most of the guys they were sitting with.

“Bad to the bone, sick as a dog

You know that I like, like you a lot

Don’t let it stop”

Neville felt his own lips curl up into a smile at the sight of the one that belonged to the angel in front of him. However the cute moment didn’t last long cause once again, Ron chimed in with something else.

“Neville? Bad? He still sleeps in pajama sets!” he exclaimed quietly, earning a ‘shh!’ from Harry. The boy in question leaned forward, looking at his ginger friend.

“Is this really coming from the boy who needs Mummy’s howler to fall asleep at night?” that shut him right up. Harry snorted, high fiving him for bringing up the embarrassing piece of information. 

The girl continued to sing, eyes never leaving Neville’s for a second. Ron and Seamus’s petty comments had ceased as well. Even though they weren’t the one receiving attention, they could still admit the girl had pipes on her. When the song was over she stood up, bowing as the silence of the crowd quickly erupted in cheers and claps from the breathtaking performance. There were a few more people left but no one paid much mind to them. He found himself feeling bad for them. Even if they were good, none of them could top the performance of the night. 

As the night began to come to a close, (Y/n) found herself over to Neville again parking herself in his lap which he gladly accepted. She looked up at him, smiling shyly. It was almost comedic due to the words she had so sinfully sung to him only 45 minutes ago. Neville ignored the way his friends gawked at him. He’d deal with that another time.

“Come back to my room and split a spliff?” she asked, looking down as she picked at her fingers. He grabbed her hands, leaning in close to her.

“Only if I can eat your pussy afterwards.” he said confidently. He said it quiet enough to not draw attention but just loud enough that his friends would hear. (Y/n) felt her face grow warm as she nodded, hopping up from his lap as she dragged him off to her room.

Neville 1, blokes 0.

Extra:

“Seriously?! Is it really that easy? What does he have that I don’t?” Seamus said, mind running over the times he’d attempted saying things like that. The only place it had gotten him was on the ground after he had his balls kicked!

“It’s gotta be the weed. After all, who wouldn’t wanna sleep with the weed man? Free pot!” Ron exclaimed, trying to rationalize what had just happened.

“Aren’t you the residential booze man of Hogwarts? If that was the case, you’d have an easier time with women too.” Dean said, causing Harry to nod in agreement. Ron simply grumbled, slamming his empty bottle down as he walked off from the cackling group of blokes.

#harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter #Neville Longbottom #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #neville x you #neville longbottom x you #neville x y/n #neville longbottom x y/n

[littlemisslipbalm]

“Okay, lover boy”

For @bfharry boyfriendathon!!! A trip to Paris with your loving boyfriend Harry!

this gif bc sweetie! but also bc this is the coat he’s wearing :)

We’ve got fluff, (a little) angst, and smut for y’all and music always. I love Paris, was actually there this time last year so I was feeling nostalgic! Also Harry in Europe is always A+++ Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is ALWAYS appreciateddd

Word Count: 5.2k | Warnings: some self-doubt, oral!male receiving, mentions of sex, language? 

-

Summer in Paris. The most romantic place in the world with the loveliest weather. Except, the weather wasn’t exactly lovely. But it was quite romantic and that’s what you decided to focus on. Harry and you had flown off to get away from the world by living in the South of France for the Summer. First, you had begged Harry to spend a good three days in Paris before heading to the countryside. He had obviously agreed. Today was your second day.

“Love, wake up,” Harry cooed softly in your ear.

You stirred in the plush bed and slowly sat up in the mess of sheets. You rubbed at your eyes and when you blinked them open you saw Harry standing before you. He was already dressed in striped trousers and a striped shirt under a sweater vest and seemed to have run out to bring you coffee in bed. He crossed to perch on the bed and leaned forward to kiss your cheek. Your body leaned in to receive the sweet peck of his soft lips.

“Good morning, love, y’look ravishing” he sighed sweetly as he pulled back from your face. You rolled your eyes and scratched at your disheveled hair.

Moving your head in a circle around your neck, you laughed breathily at all of his sweet words, “I look a mess, but thanks, H.”

“You don’t,” he protested, sliding his hands around your shoulders and moving to lay on top of you on the bed.

You giggled and wriggled in the sheets as he began to pepper kisses along your face, neck and collarbones. “You’re absolutely stunning. Like always.”

The pair of you rolled around in the bed, exchanging kisses and caressing each other tenderly. Then you heard the rain and sat up.

“Har...is it still raining?”

He sighed and sat up with you, pushing his mused curls out of his face with one hand while his other was wrapped around your waist. “Sadly, yes. But we can still go out and explore. I know how excited you were to finally be back in Paris...”

Your head turned to rest in the crook of his neck, sighing softly, “It’s alright. I love the rain, can’t get me down.”

“Yeah, we can just take umbrellas and have fun with it.”

“No, no umbrellas. Want to run from awning to awning. Get stuck in the rain and be drenched. With you.”

Your lips had curved up into a smile as you spoke. Resting your head on Harry’s warm body, you imagined the day that the two of you were about to set off on. It wouldn’t be perfect and that would be okay. It was going to be what the two of you make of it therefore you wanted to make it magical. You sat up to meet Harry’s eyes as he cradled you in his arms. His face held a soft expression, one filled with love as he looked down at the woman he had grown to love more than anything. It wasn’t fleeting, it was constant. He loved you.

“Alright, let’s get goin’ then,” he laughed and shifted along the bed, sitting you up more. The hint of teasing in his voice was exciting and made you want to listen to him.

You pushed out of his arms and bounced up, your shirt sliding to cover the top bits of your thighs. “Alright!”

-

“Okay, maybe one umbrella would have been a good idea!” Laughing in disbelief, you duck beneath the awning of the cafe across the street from your hotel.

“It’s really coming down...but you said,” Harry grins down at you and swipes at a strand of your hair that was already drenched from the rain. You swat at his chest, his yellow knit sweater vest dry as he removes his large blue coat. “Hush.”

The cafe plays a love song in French and you hum along softly as you seat yourselves. Harry’s hand instinctively envelopes yours as your other free hands begin to leaf through the menu. His hand is warm and soft as it entangles itself with your own, which squeezes his in response to the brushing of his thumb over your skin. After placing your order, you watch the rain hitting the pavement and the light city traffic before you. Harry only has eyes for you, his gaze never leaving your figure. He takes you in, the way you’ve done your hair, the necklace you picked out - the one you always wear, the way you decided to wear no makeup since you planned on getting wet in the rain.

Bringing him out of his adoration, the waitress brings your drinks and he watches you say something sweet in french before he also says a ‘merci’. You sigh in contentment and shift in your seat after taking a sip of your espresso. Your eyes meet with Harry’s over the top of your small cup and you giggle at how extremely small the same cup looks in his hand. His dimples appear as he mirrors your expression. Then at the opening chords of the new song beginning to play, you perk up, immediately recognizing “Aline”, a clichely French song, but a favorite of yours nonetheless. You place your cup down and begin to sing along. Harry watches on, sipping his espresso and allowing you to swing your intertwined hands back and forth to the rhythm. You tip your head back and mock scream out the words, your french accent changing how your voice normally sounds.

“Is that a love song?” Harry asks at the finish of the song. He never bothered to learn French, despite having a couple of girlfriends who had been able to speak it.

You wet your lips, dried from singing, and shake your head slightly. “No, not really. It’s about heartbreak... Aline - the girl - is gone, I guess, and he’s drawn an image of her in the sand. But rain washes that away as well and now he’s twice as sad”

“That could still be considered a love song. He still loves her, right?”

“I guess.”

“Why do you like it so much?”

You hum, pondering the question, never thinking about what made her like the song so much to consider it a favorite. Harry stares intently, he loved talking to you about music. It was two of his favorite things put together.

“You won’t take ‘I just like shouting Aline’ will you?” Harry shakes his head, and you continue, “I guess I like it because it’s so tragic...and a little pathetic. Like, that sounds harsh, but this guy, he’s so in love with someone who’s already gone that he cries over her image washing away. He says he’s aching he’s so distraught and it’s just, it’s so relatable.” Harry stares at you, eyes soft, knowing you have more to say. Sitting so that your back is straight, you work to put your thoughts into words. “He’s calling out her name ‘Aline’ in hopes she will return to him and it’s just like you never want to feel that way in your entire life. But there are times that you do and you’re the pathetic guy crying over sand and watching it wash away into the ocean.”

“I will never make you feel like that, love,” Harry shifts your hands and brings them onto the table, leaning closer, a somewhat pleading look in his eyes.

“You never would on purpose, I know that. But that feeling it’s human insecurity, that’s the little fears I keep tucked away in the back of my mind, it’s how I’d feel if I ever lost you.”

“You’re never going to lose me,” he leans fully forward to bring his lips to yours. His lips easily brushed over yours, connecting perfectly as they always did. Your hand rescinds from his grasp and you place it on his chest, pushing him back slightly, “I know. Now enough with the mushy. Sights to be seen, clothes to be soaked!”

Laughing together, Harry settles the bill as you gather your things. You help Harry put his heavy coat back on after he finishes with the money, your lips pecking his as you fix the lapel. His lips curve into a smile against yours and his eyelashes flutter in excitement, never getting tired of the feeling of you.

-

You had finally arrived at the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower, where you had been meandering through the city to all day. Before you had arrived Harry and you had stopped in a chocolatier, a perfumerie, and another cafe - pair of you appreciated good coffee. Harry had begged to stop at a boulangerie to pick up bread, but you had insisted that you could stop at one on the way back to the hotel later, otherwise the bread would get all soggy. Eventually, Harry had agreed even though his argument was that he would eat it before it got soggy.

Running around with a canvas tote on your shoulder filled with the goodies you two had picked up was exciting and you spun around on the grass, your head tilted to the rain and your arms and bag flying out around you. Harry grabbed your waist and then slipped a hand up to cradle your wet hair. His hand carded through the tendrils and you tilted your face to look at him. His own wet chestnut hair flopped onto his forehead as he smiled down at you. You threw your arms up to hang on his shoulders. It was only you two out in the rain and you laughed as you watched a single droplet run the length of Harry’s nose. Craning your neck, you kissed the tip of his nose before it could fall.

“I love you,” Harry says only for you, completely unprompted.

“I love you, Harry,” you respond, lovingly.

“No, Y/N, I love you,” He repeats. Your wrists drop as your arms retract and your hands rest on his strong shoulders. You lean back slightly, confused. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” He starts to shout and picks you up by the waist, spinning you around in circles, slightly off the ground now.

“Harry!” You squeal, incredulous at his behavior. You loved it, but he wasn’t usually like this in public. Hand holding and short hugs, usually. Small pecks, at most. Shouting declarations of love, never - until now.

“Ok! I get it, lover boy,” You roll your eyes as he sets you down, placing kisses all over your rain soaked face. You tuck your head into your chest, feeling heat rise to your cheeks from his words and actions despite the cooling effect of the rain.

He smiles and leads the pair of you towards the Eiffel Tower. Halfway there he stops and snaps a few photos of you grinning, drenched in front of the site. Then you make him pose as well. He smiles for a few and then pretends to lean against it, which makes you roll your eyes again while you move to the perfect spot to make it look realistic.

You begin to move to head towards the tower again, but his hand snakes around your wrist, stopping you from moving. The rain was at a soft patter now, but you still were getting tired of being in it. Your brows raised expectantly at your boyfriend who was smiling adorably at you.

“Selfie.” He said simply.

“Harry...”

“C’mon. It’s romantic. Not like there’s anyone around to take it for us.”

You shrug and fold into his chest as he slips out his phone. His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you even closer. Your head rests on the upper part of his chest as one of your hands slips underneath his coat and the other goes to rest on his sternum. Your entire body is pressed against him, as he adjusts his phone trying to get both your faces in it along with a good portion of the Eiffel Tower. You both smile at your reflections that are beginning to smudge with raindrops and you ruffle your hair trying to look slightly disheveled after a few snaps. Then, Harry groans sadly, “These aren’t working.”

“I actually have an idea,” you say excitedly as the rain slows to a complete stop, “You okay with your phone possibly getting some water damage?” Harry nods, unsure, as you pluck the phone from his hands. You stroll a few feet away from Harry and pluck two of the boxes of chocolate out of your bag. Mumbling to yourself, you set up the boxes like a makeshift stand, “Please don’t get ruined, mes bonbons.” Then you swipe to the video choice in the phone’s camera and turn it on. You place it gently against the two boxes, so that the image contains Harry and the Eiffel Tower behind him. Then you race back to Harry, your sneakers splashing the puddles as you move.

“You’re brilliant!” He wraps his arms around your shoulders and sways you back and forth. “Smile at the camera, lover,” you pull from his strong grasp and wrap a single arm beneath his coat again, fingers pulling at the warm fabric of the sweater vest beneath it. He smiles down at you before turning his focus to the phone a little ways off. He tightens his arm around your shoulder and pulls you off your feet slightly, causing one of your legs to kick out slightly. This video is going to be so weird, you think to yourself and laugh as you straighten back up. You turn your face to Harry and scrunch it up at him. He smirks back at you and then leans down to kiss your cheek.

After you mess around a bit in front of the camera, forgetting for a minute that you're recording and having a small makeout session, you run back to your set up and gather your things. Harry comes with you this time and hugs your waist from behind you. He smiles at the camera one last time before you press the red button to end the video; the last clip being his face smiling brightly while you’re laughing breathlessly at him, both sets of eyes filled with love and joy.

-

There’s a restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. It’s really beautiful and classy, perfectly French. Harry decides it’s the perfect place to have dinner, despite its upscale interior and your complete dishevelment from the rain and lack of preparedness in your outfit choices. As well as, the fact that it’s really early and the French don’t eat until much later in the evening so you’re the only ones there. Harry knocks on the door still and the pair of you are seated after he tells them who he is.

You comb lightly through your wet hair and you shuffle your vans together, uncomfortably. Harry, while dressed down still manages to look effortlessly chic, his trousers and yellow sweater vest with a striped dress shirt underneath is still passable as nice, especially if you ignore his own vans. In your haste you had dressed cute, but not necessarily upscale enough to where you felt like you fit in in that moment. Your wet hair wasn’t helping to calm your nerves as the well dressed waiters moved around you, placing things at your table. Your nervous hands smoothed over the plaid skirt and frumpy brown sweater you had beneath your navy trench coat that almost mirrored Harry’s only missing the colorful bobbles.

“Hey,” Harry notices your fidgeting and reaches out across the table, motioning you to place your hand in his outstretched one. You oblige reluctantly, shifting in your seat. Money has never been a problem for Harry since the pair of you began to date which wasn’t a bad thing. You had a job that allowed you to live a comfortable lifestyle, as well, just not quite to the extreme that Harry was able to. Normally, it didn’t bother you, but right now you felt very out of place, feeling unwelcome in Harry’s life. Harry can read exactly what you’re thinking as all these negative thoughts race through your mind. The odd sense of fear that the pair of you had talked about creeping in, the thought of losing him because you couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle. Like you had told him earlier, as well, you hope to never feel that way, but sometimes it’s there. And right now was one of those sometimes.

His finger traces the familiar pattern over the back of your hand as he holds it tight. “You deserve to be here just as much as the next person. You look lovely.” He smiles at you, trying to convey just how sincere he is being. You release a breath and try to relax at his words, knowing ultimately that he was right. He always knew exactly what to say and you smiled at him and whispered a small ‘thank you.’

-

“If I Fell” begins to play in the restaurant and John and Paul begin to serenade the empty room. The host had placed you in the furthest back room by the windows, allowing you and Harry to stare out at the city as you enjoyed the food and leaving you completely alone except for when the waiter would come and check in. The two of you had just finished the third course and were watching the clouds shift along the skyline.

Harry sighed contentedly and leaned back against his chair, straining his neck to the side, the tendon on his neck straining, causing your eyes to flicker up and watch the way he clenched and unclenched his strong jaw. You were in awe. “How did I get so lucky?” You say suddenly, your voice wistful, eyes a moment away from misty. Harry hums, jade eyes flitting back to your face, lips curving into a curious smile. “To be loved by someone like you, by you. How’d I get so lucky?”

Harry blushes at your words, the smile growing larger, overtaking his features. “Love, if I could list all the reasons I love you...God, we’d never leave this restaurant. Let’s just say I’m the one who’s lucky.” You pouted at his words, feeling cliche but also, totally and completely in love, so much so that you didn’t care about what you looked like as you stood up and leaned over the table, crashing your lips to Harry’s. He leaned up quickly to meet your lips over the small table. One of his hands flew to your soft cheek and held you close as your lips locked, tasting sweet from the champagne the two of you had been enjoying.

-

“Today was perfect, H.”

You glanced up to look at Harry’s face as he held you in his arms, walking slowly down the street. He walked slightly behind you as he braced himself around you, he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t touch enough, feel enough, breathe enough, where he would feel satisfied.

His eyes flitted down to meet yours, the jade of them sparkling under the cloudy sky save for the moon that had pushed its light through finally. “Yeah it was.”

Reaching the hotel, the two of you scampered up to your room and threw everything down the minute you got inside. The rain had mostly dried from your clothes, but you still couldn’t wait to take them off and get into something clean and warm.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry calls to you as he unpacks your bag, separating all of the items the pair of you had bought today - including the baguette he had finally gotten on your way home. Your head appeared from beneath your sweater as you pulled it from your body, leaving you standing in your bra and skirt.

“Together?” Your voice was calm since Harry and you occasionally showered together and were capable of keeping it tame, but there was a hint of excitement too after spending the whole day constantly within each other’s grasp.

“Sure, why not? Then we can get in bed and try the chocolates we bought today sooner,” he shrugs, making his way towards you, tossing a box of chocolates on the bed for later. He licks his lips and smirks down at you. “I like the way you think...but no funny business, lover boy,” you tease and run a finger down the center of his chest, only his dress shirt covering the toned body beneath. Your eyes have a glint of mischief in them as your words come out rather jokingly. “No promises,” he breathes before placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

In the bathroom now, Harry closes the door despite the lack of need for privacy. For some reason your heart is beating extremely fast, nerves springing forward at the urgent prospect of intimacy. Your heart always beats a little faster whenever Harry and you are together like this, but right now it’s going especially fast. The love you have for him, the passion, it’s never faded. Everytime is like the first time, maybe even better than the first time if you really think about it because now he knows you and you know him. It’s not about the novelty or the exploration, it’s about the adoration and the feeling each other’s touch ignites within you. So, right now, as the pair of you undress each other before you shower together, your heart is beating so fast because this isn’t lust or fleeting passion it’s eternal intimacy and deep devotion.

His fingers softly and nimbly release the clasp of your bra and then reach around to slip the straps down. It slides down your arms and falls to the ground and Harry watches you as you now move to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. You’re pressing close to him, feeling cold and slightly vulnerable despite being safe in Harry’s presence. The movements are tender, only the sound of your breathing and the rain that started up again bringing any noise to your interaction. Your hands flit down to the buttons on his trousers, your fingers shaking only slightly from the chill. Harry’s toned arms rise up to rub your upper arms, noticing your shivering as you undo the buttons and zipper. After his zipper is undone, you move your hands down to your side, where your own zipper is located, but Harry pushes your hands away, silently telling you he could do it. Sighing, you turn from him and turn the shower on, hoping that it will warm up quickly. Harry follows and presses up against you, his large arms encircling your frame, warming you instantly. He kisses the tip of your left shoulder tenderly and then rests his chin in the dip between your shoulder and neck. He breathes you in, taking in the moment, committing it to memory. Your hands rest over his gently and you feel yourself tilting your head back and basking in his embrace.

“We should probably get in,” Harry whispers after you had been standing there for far too long, simply holding each other. “Yeah,” you respond wistfully. Stepping in, you instantly place a kiss on Harry’s neck once he’s in. He looks at you questioningly, “I thought you said-” “I couldn’t help myself, you look like an angel.” He tucks his head at your words and then looks at you with love filled eyes, “Giving me a toothache with how sweet you are to me.”

He takes the bottle of shampoo the pair of you had brought and begins to massage it into your wet hair. You close your eyes in contentment at his actions, you loved how gentle Harry was and how he always insisted on washing your hair when you showered together. As he works on the hair you take the bar of soap and begin to rub it across his prominent pectorals, the suds show up and glisten across his tan skin. You smile to yourself as you pass over the two swallows and then travel down the center of his chest and bring the soap over the butterfly. Harry lets out a breathy laugh and you mutter, “Always so ticklish…” But you don’t mind. You rub some of the soap on your hands and then rub back over the same places on his body, spreading out the suds, while Harry moves to wash his own hair. This time your hands travel further down his body, your soapy fingers massaging Harry’s bare hips, rubbing soothing circles over the tense muscles from walking all day. Harry releases a heavy sigh, your movements releasing a pressure he hadn’t realized was there.

Your hands travel inwards and dance over his two fern tattoos causing Harry to shudder again. This time you say nothing, focussed on tracing the patterns and being so close to your lover. Finally, you remove your hands from his body and rinse them of the soap, grabbing a washcloth, you finish cleaning his arms, neck, and torso. Moving slowly, you drop the washcloth and Harry’s breath hitches, knowing what you’re intending to do. Harry starts, “You don’t-” but now his voice is completely caught in his throat when you put your hands on his length.

He’s already semi-hard, and it stiffens immediately in your embrace. He has to actively think about not getting hard whenever you’re naked around him, especially when you bathe together. He thinks you’re sexy, of course, but the intimate touches you share under the water is what really does it for him. However, he knows it’s not a sexual moment usually and doesn’t want to press himself upon you. Today, though, you want to take care of him. “Hush, I want to,” you say as you pump your hand languidly, blood rushing to his tip instantly. He groans as you stare deeply into his jade eyes. You were beautiful and wonderful to him. He didn’t know how he had found you, but he was happy that he had.

Then you slip down to your knees, legs folding perfectly as you continue to stare up at Harry. His eyes widen, realizing only now that you intended to use your mouth. One hand flies to your freshly cleaned hair and the other trails down the side of your face, taking in your beautiful face that is now in front of his hard member. Slowly, you bring your tongue to lick over the now angry red tip of his dick. Harry hisses as you open your mouth fully and begin to bring him completely inside. Your eyes never leave his as you descend until he hits the back of your throat. He’s big, really big, but after all this time you know how much you can take and you sit there for a moment. You let his weight rest in your mouth, he’s warm and you enjoy holding him this close.

Harry groans, “Please,” and you begin to move, seeing the strained look on his face.

Bobbing your head, you take him in and out of your mouth with ease, sometimes taking extra care over his head sucking specifically there. Your movements make Harry moan out and grasp at your hair, keeping it from your face as you work him over. His hips buck into your mouth the faster you take him in your mouth, but he tries to remain still, wanting you to be in control. One of your hands grasps his thigh, over his tiger tattoo, while the other runs over the parts of his dick you can’t take into your mouth. Harry is always vocal, but right now he’s at a loss for words. He feels so loved and cared for in that moment, it’s quick to his release. Your hand on his thigh feels him beginning to shake a bit more and his hips are stuttering more erratically.

He whines out, “I’m close,” and you pull back until your lips are only over his head.

Your tongue flattens over the slit of it and then swirls around it. You suction your lips around his head and suck hard, your hand pumping quickly, your eyes still never leaving Harry’s face. He had closed his eyes a while ago, but opens them up slightly right at his moment of release. He bucks his hips one last time as you moan around him at the feeling of him inside your mouth. His orgasm wracks through him and you continue to suck, trying to take up every last bit.

“Oh fuck,” Harry whimpers, chest heaving and head hanging low as he stares down at you.

The water is still running in the shower over your erotic image. You swallow and pull off of him, placing a gentle kiss to his head before standing up, whispering something inaudible to just Harry’s dick. Harry takes your hands in his and kisses you hungrily as you stand up. The taste of himself still on your lips. His arms are wrapped around your waist and one of his hands cups your ass cheek needily.

Against your lips, he growls, his voice deep and accent thick, “Let me take care of you now.”

You giggle and place your hands on his wet chest. “You don’t need to. I just really wanted to make you feel good.”

“But making you feel good will make me feel good, too,” He whines, pressing you into him more.

“Oh, I know,” you laugh, “But we’re really wasting water now and I want to try the chocolates we bought. You can make me feel good in our bed, this porcelain really isn’t the most comfortable.” You’re completely enjoying Harry’s eagerness to give to you after he had just received, but you were starting to prune from the water and wanted to lie in bed with fluffy robes with him.

He huffs but nods. He kisses your lips a final time and begins to climb out of the shower. “Fine, but I know none of those chocolates can possibly taste as good as what I really want for dessert.”

“You can have your dessert soon enough...Okay, lover boy?”

-

Wrapped up in Harry’s warm embrace, you fall asleep under the Parisian sky. His lips ghost over your collarbones as his head is tucked into you. You sigh in contentment as his hands draw a familiar pattern over your skin on top of your hip. Your mind flits over the moments of today and settles on this one right now. Harry wrapped around you, your legs entangled, warmth surrounding you. It’s peaceful. You’re blissed out from the chocolates and love Harry made to you.

Your eyes flutter open for a moment to look at Harry. His curls and the side of his face are all you can make out in the dim lit room, the moon’s light peaking through the sheer curtains. The slope of his nose is prominent, as well as the stubble beginning to grow on his jaw and cheek. His little moles decorating his otherwise smooth skin. He nuzzles further into you and you feel his stubble rubbing slightly against you, scratching lovingly onto your skin. It feels nice as your eyes close once again beginning to drift off to sleep. But you know no dream could possibly be better than the feeling you have right now, with Harry.

-

💛 love y’all (also I really didn’t proofread so like I maybe contradict some shit I say bc I wrote this over weeks lmao)

#boyfriendathon #boyfriend!harry #bf!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles is domestic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #i finally posted something #yay #i hope yall enjoy #i got heart eyes while writing this #like i wanna do this

[harrysweasleys]

save me a dance // n.l.

summary: Hi!! Could I please request a Neville x Slytherin! Reader? She has a kind soul and became friends with Hermione (who’s the only person that knows about her crush on Neville), but she kept her distance because she knew about what happened to his parents. She goes to the Yule ball with another Slytherin that eventually ditched her, so she sneaks into the kitchens and hangs out with house elves until Neville comes by (knowing that she always hung out with them when she felt sad) and he confesses ^^

warnings: very brief mention of unwanted sexual advances if you squint, mentions of food

word count: 5k

a/n: my first neville fic!!! i’m so excited for you all to read it, i had so much fun writing it :)

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform]

For what felt like the hundredth time, you woke up to the same view; your Yule Ball dress hanging loosely over the four poster bed, the sunlight streaming through the fabric and onto your chunky bed sheets.

The dress was quite stunning, but Godric, did you dread wearing it. You didn’t exactly feel like dancing the night away alongside some Slytherin bloke while you looked around at all the happy couples, wishing ever so desperately that that could have been you. That you could be the one dancing the night away with the person who had captured your heart effortlessly.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t exactly fallen into place. Hermione had done her best to help you out in getting him to ask you, but you ended up being put on the spot when a Slytherin boy named Jasper had asked you during Transfigurations. So, you had said yes, but deep down, that regret was starting to multiply by the second.

You let out a groan, tossed your head back against the pillow, and lifted the warm comforter off of your body. The fireplace in the centre of the room was still crackling away, but within the stone walls of the castle, the cold seemed to never fully fade.

So you threw on your house sweater, your scarf, robe, and a pair of trousers, before heading down to start the day. The snow was accumulating rather quickly outside as Christmas drew nearer, rendering you quite glad that you brought your scarf.

“At least you’re prepared,” Hermione mumbled as the two of you made your way to Divinations, “It’s always freezing in Professor Trewlaney’s room! Oh, how I wish I could have brought mine. Rather silly of me.”

You chuckled, keeping your eyes on the long winding staircase as you responded to her, “Not to worry, I’m sure Ron has a sweater you can borrow.”

Though you weren’t facing her, you could practically feel her eye roll as she scoffed, “Very funny. Such a clever idea. You really are filled with those.”

“I’m just saying,” you turned back to face her quickly before pulling down the ladder to the Divination classroom, “I’m sure he’d think you look amazing in it. Isn’t that what guys like? When their girlfriends wear their clothing?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” she shushed you as you climbed up, “Be quiet!”

You apologized with a laugh as you climbed into the classroom and made your way to your usual seat at the front by the window, Hermione coming over to join you. Harry and Ron were seated not too far away, but that didn’t really matter to you. From across the class, you spotted Neville.

He was accompanied by Seamus — who seemed quite interested in the tablecloth at the moment — but you so wished that you could be the one sitting across from him.

His vest hung loosely against his body and his dark hair was littering his forehead, eyes scrunched shut as he let out a yawn. As he opened them, you noticed they darted in your direction before snapping away.

You felt a frown form on your lips. Why did he look away so fast? Instinctively, you raised a hand to the top of your head to check if there was anything in your hair.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked as she dug through her bag, placing the heavy Divinations book on top of the circular table. The book, with its golden lettering, seemed to twinkle under the pink hues of the morning sky.

You shrugged, “Nothing.”

Her eyes followed to where you had previously been looking, and she let out a sigh, “Relax. You look wonderful. There’s nothing to fix.”

You sulked back into your chair, “Hermione, he asked Ginny to the ball. Don’t try to continue your matchmaking.”

She leaned forward on the table, pushing her thick hair behind her shoulder, “Doesn’t mean you don’t stand a chance. Look, I like Ginny, but maybe they’re going as friends. Like you and Jasper.”

“I think Jasper has more than friendship on his mind,” you muttered under your breath, thinking back to the way his hands lingered on your lower back a little too long after you agreed to be his date.

She gave you a sympathetic glance, opening her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by Trewlaney announcing her presence. The class began shortly after, and you spent the time reading Hermione’s palm and deciphering what your own dreams meant.

According to the textbook, you were going to stumble upon a lot of money as well as possibly fall down a sewer within the next week. Nothing new, really. It was better than Harry’s, who once again, was told he was doomed for death in the coming months.

As the class ended, you stuffed the books and parchment into your backpack and thanked Trelawney for the lesson, following Hermione out of the room. As you made your way to the ladder, you spotted a little red ball on the ground.

You crouched to pick it up, immediately recognizing it as Neville’s remembrall. How oddly convenient that it land right at your feet.

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered as you turned to hand it to him, fingers brushing against his as you placed it in his palm, “This thing likes to try and escape.”

You grinned at him, “You should keep it safe in your dorm.” You tried your best to keep your voice steady as you spoke to him, which was odd, really. Why did you always become so nervous around Neville, who was one of the shyest, kindest people you’d ever met? Crushes were quite strange.

He gave you a small smile and a shrug, “I like to carry it on me. It’s from my nan. I don’t want to leave it behind.”

Your chest felt like it was going to swell at his words, “That’s really sweet. I’m sure she appreciates that you care for it so much.”

As you turned back to face the ladder, Hermione gave you a quick wink and a thumbs up before darting away with Harry and Ron, clearly insinuating that you should walk with Neville. You mentally scolded her before making your way to it, Neville not far behind.

“She does,” he said, fondness clear in his voice, “It’s not like I get anything from my parents, so I cherish anything I get from my family in general.”

Your heart sunk in your chest. Neville had always been very closed off when talking about his family — especially his parents — so the way he mentioned them so casually had you doubting what to say next. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by continuing the topic, nor did you want to brush it off like it was nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, facing him once the two of you began going down the spiral staircase, “I can imagine it’s difficult. But your nan clearly cares a lot, and she’s lucky to have you.”

His ears turned slightly pink at your words and you had to fight a grin.

The next few minutes were silent until Neville once again turned to face you. There was something about him that always seemed optimistic, despite the fact that he had just spoken a bit about the difficult situation with his parents. Whether it be the smile on his face or the sparkle in his eye, you couldn’t be sure what it was. But Merlin, did you ever adore it.

“She sent me my suit for the Yule Ball, actually,” he said, a bit of a hop in his step as he said the words, “It doesn’t fit perfectly but I’m sure it’ll last the night.”

You let out a small laugh, “That’s awfully sweet of her. I’m sure you’ll look dashing.”

As you said the words, you regretted them instantly. Well, not so much regretted — you meant every syllable — but more so, you wished you could currently fall into the sewer that Trelawney had predicted you’d stumble into.

Throwing out a compliment like that was quite possibly the last thing you wanted to do. Would he react badly? Would he think you were coming onto him? Would this change things?

Were you overthinking?

The corners of his lips curled up into a shy smile and he gave you a nod and cut you short of your internal rambling, “Are you excited?”

Yeah, definitely overthinking.

You let out a sigh, trying to move past your embarrassment and continue your walk to your next class, dodging a few passing students, “Kind of. I’m excited for the music. Not so much the dancing. I’m not very good at that.”

He chuckled, “I wasn’t either. I taught myself, actually. In my room. The lads loved to make fun of that.”

The image of Neville dancing away in the cramped boys’ dorm brought a smile to your face.

“You’ve already got a step up on me, then,” you faced him, “Get ready to watch me humiliate myself on the dance floor.”

You stepped a little closer to him as a group of Ravenclaw pushed past in a rush, and Neville’s hand reached for your arm to help steady you.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling away and avoiding your gaze, “But anyways, I’m sure you’re not as bad as you think. Ginny has never danced either, so you won’t be the only one.”

You tried your best to push past the surge of jealousy that washed over you. You already knew he was going with Ginny — hell, you’d know for a while now — but it did not make it any easier to hear. Especially coming from him.

“I didn’t expect you’d ask her,” you admitted, “but I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful time. She’ll have a good leader to help her maneuver the moves.”

You gave his shoulder a small nudge, trying to act like you weren’t drowning in your own feelings. The thought of Neville holding Ginny close to his body as they swayed to the romantic music nearly made you sick. You liked Ginny a great deal, she was such a sweet girl with a fierce attitude that you admired, but you really wished Neville had asked you instead.

“We’re just going as friends,” he said, “I was going to ask someone else but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I’m pretty sure Ginny was also interested in another person in the first place.”

You tried your best to hold back a sigh of relief. They were going as friends. That didn’t mean it would make it easier to see them together, but maybe you could push past the jealousy you felt about seeing them as a couple.

But then the next thing he said hit you; he wanted to ask someone else. Someone he was interested in romantically? Perhaps he actually did like someone, even if that someone wasn’t Ginny. Who could it be? And why were you so irritated? You didn’t even know them.

“Well,” you said, unsure of how to change the topic, “I’ll be looking out for you two on the dance floor.” You wanted so desperately to no longer speak of the Yule Ball. The thought of the night was now dizzying and had you feeling a little faint, to be completely honest.

It was going to be a long day.

— —

You were honestly quite surprised by the appearance of the Great Hall. Usually filled with long tables, chairs, and candles, it was now glistening like a winter wonderland. There was fake snow falling from the ceiling, but it never touched the ground. The room smelled faintly of pine trees and sweets, and you figured that there had to be at least seven Christmas trees littering the room.

To put it simply, the space was beautiful.

Music played softly from the dance floor ahead, and to your right, there was a small table with a few snacks and drinks. There were also quite a few seats around, already occupied by couples and friends.

“What do you want to do?”

You turned to face Jasper, who was waving over at a group of Slytherins further on the left.

“We can go dance,” you suggested, praying he wasn’t going to drag you over to his housemates. Jasper seemed alright enough, but you weren’t a fan of his obnoxious friends. You could very well go the night without hanging around them, thank you very much.

He shrugged, “Sure.”

He linked his hand in yours and tugged you along behind him, bringing you over to the dance floor. Once you got there, you noticed a few familiar faces.

Hermione and Viktor were not far away, and she gave you an excited grin before pointing at her date, who was obviously making love heart eyes in her direction. You couldn’t blame him, honestly. Further along you spotted Fred and Angelina, dancing away as if they were the only two in the room. It caused you to chuckle.

“So do you want to dance, or…?” Jasper asked, placing one of his hands on your waist.

You shivered under his touch. It wasn’t a good shiver, it was discomfort. You wanted more than anything to be dancing with Neville — who you currently spotted over with Ginny, his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you squeaked, awkwardly stepping closer to him before putting your arms around his neck. Your throat began to sting as you watched the two of them glide across the floor, laughing as they spoke to each other. It felt quite juxtaposed to the uncomfortable, weird situation that you found yourself currently in.

You began to sway to the music, trying your best not to dart your eyes to Neville every couple of seconds. Jasper was clearly not enjoying this, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care what he wanted. He wasn’t going to get what he came here for and you weren’t going to be guilted into it either.

You honestly couldn’t be thankful enough as the slow song ended. You quickly pulled your arms away from him and you crossed them over your chest.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” you said, not waiting for his response before taking off to the table by the entrance. You heard him call your name as you pushed your way through students, holding the skirt of your dress in your hands to avoid being stepped on, but you didn’t look back.

There was a clearing near the table and you took a deep breath, dropping your skirt and letting out a sigh. Your shoulders slouched as you walked over and grabbed a small glass, not even sure if you were thirsty. The excuse was simply to get away from Jasper. You were regretting your decision to come here more than ever.

“I recommend the punch.”

You spun on your heel, nearly coming in contact with Neville. He was standing behind you, taking a step back after realizing how close he really was.

“Oh—,” you nodded, “Thanks.”

The punch bowl sat in front of you, glistening red under the shimmering lights. You grabbed the spoon and poured yourself a little bit, enjoying the scent of the fruity drink.

You turned back around, giving Neville a forced smile, “I’m sure it’s delicious.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he fiddled with his waistcoat, “Are you alright? I don’t mean to prod or anything.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, “Yeah, I guess I’m alright, really. Just not having a great time.”

Neville’s eyes scanned the dance floor where he spotted Jasper’s familiar blond head scanning the crowd, “I’m guessing it has something to do with your date.”

His eyes found yours again and you nodded, placing the glass down on the table behind you, “My situation is kind of like yours, I guess. You wanted to ask someone else. Well, I wanted someone else to ask me.”

You could see his shoulders sag before he frowned, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I’d say anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner, but something about him tells me he’s not enjoying himself the way he should be, being by your side and all.”

You had to fight a grin at his words. How Neville could be so awkward, yet so effortless in his words, you’d never understand. It was one of the reasons you knew you wouldn’t be getting over your crush anytime soon.

“Thanks,” you gave him a smile, looking down to the ground before meeting his eyes again, “You should go back. I don’t want to keep you from dancing.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes as he scanned your face, but he gave a slight nod, “If ever you want to get away from him, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Thanks, Neville,” you smiled genuinely, maintaining eye contact. He stood there for a moment, looking into your eyes, and you could practically feel how reluctant he was to walk away.

As cliché and typical as it sounds, it almost felt like you were alone in the room, completely lost in his gaze. His eyes brought you comfort that nothing else could provide, and you only wished you could look into them more often. Like dancing, for example. How easily you’d find yourself lost in his eyes if you were dancing.

“No worries,” he gave you a small smile, scanned your face once more, and took off into the crowd. As you watched his head of dark hair vanish, you let out a deep breath. If life could go your way, he’d have his hand linked with yours as he led you back to the dance floor.

But life wasn’t fair like that, was it?

You completely disregarded the punch behind you, stomach feeling like it was in knots, and made your way back to where you left Jasper. Only, you couldn’t find the familiar mop of blond hair anywhere. He was rather tall, so it wouldn’t be difficult to spot him. And yet, somehow, he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you looked to the entrance door and saw him hand in hand with a ginger Slytherin girl, both of them stumbling over their feet as they made their way out.

“Well, that was fast,” you mumbled, a frown on your face.

You stood alone on the floor, couples swaying to the music around you. It kind of felt like a movie — the kind of movie where the girl gets her heart crushed by a guy, and then is ditched by another guy, and then is left alone in the end. A crappy movie, you thought, but one that seemed to fit really well right now.

The music was practically taunting you, so instead of staying put or going to finish your drink, you once again gathered your dress in your hands, and made your way out of the room.

The hallway felt a lot fresher compared to the Great Hall, but that was understandable. Hundreds of bodies in one room compared to the corridor with an open doorway to the winter air.

Though, that wasn’t where you were going. You decided you’d go down to your usual escape spot, and now that all the teachers were chaperoning the ball, you would make it there with minimal interruption.

You spotted the familiar painting by the kitchen entrance, the bowl of fruits, and raised your hand to tickle the pear. The painting swung open and you crawled through the little stone passage, making sure your dress wasn’t going to get caught, before landing on both feet on the tile floor.

“Oh! Miss Y/N!”

Dobby, donned in a little scarf and hat, waved at you from a tabletop.

“Hey, Dobby,” you grinned, “Sorry to interrupt your quiet evening in here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

He patted the table next to him, “Why did you leave so early? Dobby heard the ball was lasting all night.”

You gave him a little smile, sitting down on the stool in front of him, “Wasn’t as fun as I expected. I’d rather spend my evening here. Where is everyone else?” The stool was rather small for a human being, considering it was most likely made for an elf, but if you leaned forwards against the table and kept your feet plastered to the ground, you managed to balance just fine.

He gave a little smile and looked at you with those big eyes, “They are all tired! We have been putting the ball together for days now! They all went to bed.”

The corner of your lips curved up, “Well, now you have company, Dobby.”

He clapped his hands together and let out a little laugh, “Let me show you what Dobby found today. It was in the Gryffindor common room!”

You nodded, knowing that it was most likely a knitted hat. Hermione had been leaving those scattered around the room for a little while now. Little did she know Dobby was the one collecting them all.

As you watched his little body disappear through a small doorway on the far wall, you took a look around the kitchen. Despite the fact that you were certain they had been working non-stop in here for days on end, it was nearly spotless. Pots and pans shimmered under the candlelight, tabletops were clear, apart from a few fruit bowls and snacks. The counters were clean, as well as the floors.

If this place had windows, or maybe a little more light, you felt it would be quite nice.

You sat there silently for a little while, already beginning to feel the sadness of the evening creep in. It was quite a bummer, really. You didn’t know if you wanted to go back to your own dorm tonight or stay out wandering the halls, mind running through all the scenarios on how tonight could have gone differently, how it could have been better.

The only sound you could hear was a light creak, which you eventually realized was the painting swinging open to let someone in.

Panic began to settle in and you stood off your chair, moving to the other side of the table. You would still be very much visible if you ducked, so there was no point in doing it, but you did it anyways.

The last thing you wanted was for Snape or Moody to catch you where you shouldn’t be.

Except, the person that crawled through and landed sturdily on their feet wasn’t Snape or Moody.

It was Neville.

You popped your head back up, eyes locking with his. He looked a little disheveled in terms of his hair, and his bow tie was slightly off centre, but the smile on his face showed relief.

“Neville?” you asked, already feeling a little less panicked. You only hoped Neville was alone. The last thing you wanted was for a girl to crawl in behind him. He wasn’t that kind of guy, you knew that, but your mind went there anyways.

Thankfully, he was alone. The painting swung closed behind him and he gave you a small smile.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, walking back around to the front of the table, this time deciding not to sit on the stool.

His cheeks turned a little pink but he brushed it off and shrugged, “I saw you rush out of the room. I wanted to see if you were okay. I remember you once told me you come here when you’re upset, so I gave it a shot.”

Your mouth felt like it fell open so you shut it quickly, blinking rapidly, “I’m surprised you remembered. Only you and Hermione know about my little escape spot.”

He gave a small chuckle, stepping a little closer, “Are you alright, though? I saw you leave and I didn’t see your date anywhere.”

You gave a shrug, averting your eyes, “He left. With another girl. I wasn’t interested in him that way, but it still sucks.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and gave a shake of his head, “You’re better off without him,” he stepped a little closer, catching your attention once more, “But I get why you’re upset. Funny story, the same thing happened to me. But not in the same sense. Ginny managed to get a dance with Harry.”

You were close enough to put a hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Realization caught up to you and you noticed how stupid this gesture probably was, so you snatched your arm back and held it against you. Neville noticed your quick reaction and you could see his gaze fall down to the ground before meeting yours again.

Just like at the punch table, it felt as if time stood still while you looked into his eyes. You could see he looked like he wanted to say something, his stare darting back and forth between your lips and your eyes, but he didn’t say anything for a good moment.

Until one of his hands reached across and held yours. His skin was warm, and you could feel his pulse against his wrist. His heart was beating fast, and if he could feel your own pulse, he’d say the same about you.

“You look—,” he took a deep breath, “You look beautiful tonight. Well, not just tonight. You look beautiful most of the time. I’m just saying, it’s — never mind.”

Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest, goosebumps rising on your skin at his words. They had caught you so off guard that you couldn’t find a way to respond. No words seemed to find their way into your mind. All you could do was smile. A bright, genuine grin that hurt your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you let out a small laugh, linking your fingers with his, “Also, you look pretty dapper yourself. I told you you would, and I was right.”

He stepped closer, his other hand locking with your free one. It wasn’t an overtly intimate gesture — people held hands all the time — but Merlin, did you ever melt into his touch.

“Do you — Can we have a dance?”

You bit your lip to hold back your smile. How you went from standing alone on the dance floor, starring in the most depressing teen flick you’d ever heard of, to standing alone in the kitchen, your hands locked with Neville’s as the candles flickered around the two of you, you’d never know. But you were so, so grateful. And happier than you can ever remember being.

“I’d love that,” you nodded, stepping closer and resting your head against his shoulder. His hands let go of yours and went to your waist, and it felt so right. So right that you completely forgot about how it felt when Jasper was holding you instead.

Your hands went up to his neck, draping them around him and leaning into his touch. There was no music, but it almost didn’t feel necessary. The two of you began to sway slowly back and forth, the only sound being the click of your shoes as you took your steps. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about whether Dobby would walk back in any second now.

He rested his head against yours as he led the way. It wasn’t much of a dance, but it was quite possibly the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. You wished more than anything that you could freeze this moment and live like this forever.

“A hat! Dobby was left a hat — Oh! Hello!”

Neville pulled away instinctively and grinned awkwardly, taking a second to process what had happened before nodding his head in the direction of the house elf, “Hello, Dobby.”

You fought a grin, turning your head back to face Dobby, who was awkwardly looking between the two of you, a large knitted beanie in his hand.

“Dobby can sense he is intruding,” he muttered, giving a little bow before backing up through the door he left through before, “Good night!”

The moment had sort of been interrupted, but you didn’t move away from Neville’s touch, resting your head against his shoulder once more as your laughter died down. Of course, the curious little elf would walk in at the worst moment.

“I knew that would happen,” you laughed, tightening your grip around him a little more. He chuckled, head falling against yours. You could feel his hair tickling the side of your face, the strands unruly and curly as they brushed against your skin.

The night ended up being way better than you expected.

This one you would never forget.

——

taglist

@grierpilots @hxfflxpxffs @mikumana @msmimimerton @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @thoseofgreatambition @theweasleysredhair @haphazardhufflepuff @awritingtree @thisismysketchbook @valwritesx @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @shadowsinger11 @breadqueen95 @hahee154hq @inglourious-imagines @amourtentiaa @spacexcowgirl @lumos-barnes @gcdricreads @bolaurel

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom reader insert #neville longbottom one shot

[nataliedanovelist]

Hey guys! WOW! Gossiping Gossipers has been really successful! I’m so glad people are enjoying it, both being a part of it and listening to it! It means the world to me! More episodes are definitely on the way, but the podcast will be taking a short hiatus so I can focus on my newest AU...

It may not be the most original, I’m sure it’s been done a few times, but i just couldn’t help myself. I am proud to say I FINALLY watched all 11 movies, and while I’m not nearly as obsessed with the franchise as I am Harry Potter, nor as fixated on it as I am Gravity Falls, Star Wars has many enjoyable elements despite it’s flaws and I’m excited to put characters we all know and love into such a unique world. (If you enjoyed How a Star Is Born or Beauty within the Fallen, I think you’ll really enjoy this Au as well!)

AND SO, please enjoy a special sneak peak at my newest AU...

The Galactic Empire has dictated hundreds of planets spread out over dozens of solar systems. All hope seems lost, but the Rebellion still stands against the Empire. A small team, calling themselves Rogue One, infiltrated an important facility and stole plans of the Empire’s newest weapon, the key to stopping mass destruction before it can begin.

The plans are now in the hands of General McGucket, who hopes to bring the plans to the Rebel Base on Yavin 4, but an imperial ship has invaded the rebel ship just outside the solar system of the planet Naboo.

The rebels loaded their guns and prepared to stand their ground. Darkness flooded the hall of the ship as the corridor was in bad shape thanks to the short battle between the Rebels and the Stormtroopers, but the fight was far from over. Everyone of the surviving Rebels felt a chill go down their spines; instincts told them they were not alone. Then a harsh, golden lightsaber was ignited, and the men and women fighting for hope saw their lives flash before their eyes.

The seven foot two leader who was more machine than man held more power in his right arm than most people could ever dream of having in their entire lives, and he proudly demonstrated it. A square-shaped mask resembling a man with dark, dead eyes hid the face well, and provided the sound of mechanical breathing. With gloves six-fingered hands, the second-in-command of the entire Empire used a mysterious force to throw four men to the ceiling by the throats, reflected blasts with his golden saber, and striked the other men down by stabbing them or cutting their heads off with heat more powerful than any sun.

Meanwhile, across the large ship, an old man with special green glasses, a long beard, and several missing teeth, was directing some of his soldiers to escape pods, saving anyone he could. A pig wearing a light-brown vest with a dozen pockets stayed close to his heels. General McGucket picked the pig up and muttered to himself, “Mabel’ll kill me if I lose ya, lil’guy.”

“Sir,” A soldier ran up to McGucket. “Darth Seissylt is on board! We have to leave now!”

McGucket nodded. “I know. Loads up the last of the escape pods n’ have ‘em go t’Yavin 4. Lead ‘em there, I’ll catch up with y’all.”

“Wait, where are you going, sir?”

“Gotta return this fella. Sweat Tea’ll be worried sick once she realizes he’s not home.” McGucket answered plainly as he hopped into his pod and shut the door.

The soldier shook his head in disbelief; only General McGucket would delay an important mission for a pig, but no matter how bizarre and weird his plans were, they always worked, so the young man sardined himself into an escape pod, and launched.

The doors did their jobs, and the brave souls who stayed behind distracted an enraged Dark Lord long enough that the pods were long gone by the time the Stormtroopers entered the threshold. Growling in his throat, Darth Seissylt entered the chamber for escape pods and demanded, “Comb through their computers! Find out where they are going!”

“Um…” One Stormtrooper looked nervously at the blasted computers. “That might take some time…”

With a snap of his fingers, Darth Seissylt choked the Stormtrooper to silence. Two more entered the room, bringing someone unexpected with them. “My Lord, we searched the entire ship. It’s been abandoned, but we managed to obtain a captive.”

Darth Seissylt peered down at whom his men had at gunpoint. A small girl in a pink woolly sweater, tan tights, and boots, with her hair in two swirling buns by her ears, looked merely curious, then smiled up at the tall man. “Hi! I’m Mabel!”

Darth Seissylt brushed off the fact that this girl was not afraid. She must not understand the gravity of the situation. “Well, it appears we found a child who’s hand was caught in the cookie jar. I will show you mercy if you tell me where the Rebel Base can be found.”

Mabel’s eyes lit up. “Wow! The Rebel Base! Sorry, Fiddleford never told me, but I bet it’s super cool! If I ever get there I’m gonna make everyone a sweater! What’s your favorite color? I bet your armor gets cold with all that metal.”

There was a moment of silence, apart from Darth Seissylt’s heavy breathing. Then he finally said, “She must know the location! Load her into the Star Destroyer!”

“Sir, what about the plans?” A Stormtrooper asked.

“If we can destroy the Rebellion then the location of the plans is unimportant.” Darth Seissylt answered, his eyes out the large window that showcased a green and blue planet. “Send half the men to Naboo and search the entire planet for General McGucket. I want him alive. If the Rebels aren’t delivering the plans to their base, McGucket will certainly have them in his possession.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

#GF #gravity falls au #gravity falls #gossiping gossipers #galaxy battles AU #fanfiction #Fiddleford McGucket #mabel pines

[toomanyfandoms02]

Date Day // Draco Malfoy x Reader

I give you a realistic Draco. I lowkey don't like writing him like this but I think this is just how Draco would be in relationships, realistically.

SEND IN HARRY POTTER REQUEST!! IF YOU NEED A LITTLE INSPO, FIND MY 100 DIALOGUE PROMPTS!!!

Summary - Its the last day of summer before going back to school and you both plan a date day. (They are going into their 6th year before everything went to complete shit ahhaha) Tiny bit steamy near the end.

Warnings - ^^ Little bit of steamy at the end, nothing big.

Word Count - 1.7k

Draco and I had the whole date planned out. We didn't want to waste the last day we had before we had to go to Hogwarts for our 6th year.

Draco planned the first half, which was just beginning, and I would be planning the last half of the day.

Something that I think many of our friends (and even our family) had misconstrued was that Draco wasn't romantic. His tough exterior and demeanor made him seem calloused and ridged. Thought I will not lie to you, he could run quite thin at times. But his mom had clearly raised him right, he knew how to treat a girl.

So here we were, sitting on a picnic blanket behind the Malfoy manner. Draco had brought all of my favorite things to snack on. Cauldron cakes, Treacle Tarts, and Sherbet Lemons. Along with a little bit of fire whiskey that he snuck from his parents, which were not home at the moment.

We filled our stomachs with sweets and got ourselves tipsy on fire whiskey. (Draco insisted our next activity would be more fun if we weren't completely coherent.)

"One, two, three." And we downed another shot, I chased it with some water and shook my head from the strong alchohol.

"I think if we drink anymore we will be more than tipsy." I laughed, putting the bottle back in the basket. "Onto whatever you have planned next, yeah?" I grabbed Dracos hand and watched a smile creep onto his face, squeezing it to get another reaction out of him. His smile grew wider as he looked into my eyes.

"What are you doing lovely?" He squeezed my hand back with the same grin. It was so nice to see him smile, he seemed much more glum this summer than usual.

"Nothing at all." And with that I stood, bringing him with me. We quietly entered the house, making sure his parents were truly not home still. He set the fire whiskey back in their cabinet with a clink and entered one of his fire places, a fistful of floo powder in one hand and the other outstretched to me. I took it, stuffing myself next to him and holding onto his torso. He shouted a place I had never heard of before and we were suddenly in a shop.

"You know of muggle fairs." It came out more as a statement than a question, so I just nodded. "Well they've started a magical one." He pushed the doors open to the shop, revealing a bustling area filled with happy kids and adults alike. I could feel the fire whiskey hitting me now, and I could tell Draco was right.

This will be more fun when you're tipsy.

We ran around for hours playing clearly rigged games and completely failing at them due to our state. I hadn't seen Draco so giggly since we were kids.

And I loved it.

He was much more lovey and loosened up when he had a little bit of alchohol. He didn't think so hard. He would come behind me and hug my shoulders, kiss my neck softly when we were waiting in line for something. And when I was lucky, he would kiss me hastily on the lips. These were things he would usually do in private, where no one could see how soft he actually was. But when he was careless, PDA was nearly a priority for him.

After playing loads of games and winning only one tiny stuffed bear, we were off to my part of the date.

Any time it was my turn to plan a date, I tried to make it like this. To bring out a part of him only I could see, so we were watching movies at my house.

Now, my house was by no means the size of Dracos, he was born into a far more fortunate household. But we were fortunate enough to have a movie room. A simple room with a big tv and long couch to lay on. Or in our case, cuddle on. Draco had told me in the past how warm I was, and how much he loved that about me because of the contrast of his cold body. I laid a blanket on the leather couch, bringing two pillows and another much larger blanket along with it to drape on top of us. He lay down on the couch, his long legs outstretched. He opened his arms to me with a smile, patting his chest. I started The Breakfast Club and came to lay on his chest and across his body lazily. He stroked his hand through my hair and kissed my head multiple times as I pulled the blanket up to my chin.

"You really are warm you know." He said, his arm snaking mindlessly up my shirt. He traced patterns on my tummy with his cold fingers.

"Yes, I can feel that." I giggled, taking his other hand and kissing the back of it. "Maybe you should wear warmer clothes." I craned my neck back with a smirk to look his in the eye. He rolled his playfully and kept on with his pattern making on my stomach.

"I'm just cold-blooded darling." He stated. We watched through the first movie and I changed it to another, climbing back onto Draco differently this time, considering I was tired. I laid on my stomach, legs tangled with his. Wrapping my arms around his neck softly and setting my head on his shoulder into the crook of his neck. A planted a kiss there just to tease him, knowing he likes it when I do that. I felt his chest raise a little faster after the kiss, so I planted another, innocently.

A small huff could be felt from his nose on my neck. He brought his hand up to scratch my back, knowing it would stop and distract me from whatever I was doing, and it always worked. I would never not love these days. Days where we could sit in comfortable silence and enjoy eachother.

The second movie had ended and I stood with a stretch. I had been sitting for far to long.

"Okay, theres one more thing but it doesn't really count as the date. Do you wanna see me try on some new outfits I got? I had to get a new uniform, my old one was becoming a bit small." Draco nodded eagerly at the statement, letting me drag him upstairs to my room.

I shut the door firmly and picked up the pile of clothes and spread them out a bit, it wasn't much.

Now if this had been us a year ago, I would have told Draco to turn around. But for obvious reasons, this would not be the first time he had seen me with minimal clothes on.

"Now don't get all worked up." I pointed at his accusingly and with a small playful glare. His hands shot up in defense and he sat in the chair in the corner of my room.

I removed my shirt and slipped on the new sweater I had bought. It was dark green with a big white stripe in the middle on the chest area. Inside the line it read Slytherin and it had a collar. It was also clearly too big for me.

"I was hoping you would wear it sometimes so I could wear it after and it would smell like you." I told Draco, taki0ng it off and handing it to him. Slipping on my new white button up and vest, I slipped off my jeans to put the skirt on. Draco averted his eyes, he told me this was out a respect, for I did not ask him to look at me. He had told me that a few months ago. I found it incredibly sexy how respectful he was, what can I say, I find respect amazing.

But immediately as I put it on something felt off. This seemed even *smaller* than the one I had before. Maybe I was wrong?

"Draco, is this skirt suppose to be this short?" His eyes scanned up my legs, eyes widening slightly until he reached my face. I could see a clear blush reach his cheeks. It was quite amusing seeing Draco blush because when he did, it was so obvious on the contrast of his pale skin.

"I-I don't think so." He replied, flustered to all hell.

"I think they gave me the wrong one, damnit." I laughed, trying to make the skirt go as far down as possible but miserably failing when it didnt go any further than right past my butt. I looked back over at Draco with a pouty look, just to see him with his eyes nearly closed and addams apple bobbing in this throat. "You okay there Malfoy?" I teased.

"You're making it awfully hard not to get worked up when you look so beautiful." He said barely above a whisper, not helping that his hands slightly muffled the words.

"Oh you like this?" He looked at me with a look as if to say *No shit Sherlock*. I then made the decision to walk over to him, placing myself on his lap lightly. I ran my hands through his hair slowly, starting at his forehead.

"Must you tease me like this woman?" He complained with a whine, a thing you also don't hear much from Draco, any kind of begging or whining.

So I kissed him, pulling his head closer to mine and deepening it immediately. He kissed back with force, we hadn't done anything like this in a while. His hands wandered my body until they rested next to my butt. He grabbed at it and began moving my hips against his, I caught on and began doing it myself. We had done that for two minutes before I heard the front door slam. I jumped from his lap, yelling hi to my parents.

I looked down at Draco to see a *problem*.

"I'm going to distract them and say you're in the bathroom. Go take care of that." I laughed, my hand covering my mouth so I wouldn't burst into tears giggling.

"Very funny Y/n." He replied sarcastically, walking himself to my bathroom.

This date day went even better than I anticipated.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco one shot #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot

[moonchildstyles]

can you do a one shot of witchrry/citrine Harry getting high or drunk and being clingy and soft with mc?🥺 thank you!

:)its been awhile

wordcount: 5.5k+

—————

"But 'm gonna miss you, sunshine."

Harry's pout only deepened when (Y/N) breathed out a laugh at his words. She had been trying to convince him to go out with her roommate's boyfriend all week, telling Harry he needed to get used to more people than only her. It's not like he didn't like Mitch, it was just hard to leave his Flame when she's the one person he was completely comfortable around. He also wasn't lying when he said he would miss her.

"I'll miss you too, H, but I think you'll have a lot of fun," she reasoned, shuffling closer to Harry as they laid in her bed. He was quick to wrap his arm around her middle and pull her closer to him, tangling his legs with hers and touching their foreheads together. Laying here with the soft glow of her fairy lights all around them, and the gentle fragrance of the potted flower garden he was nurturing on her windowsill perfuming the air, it made it all that much easier for Harry to decide to stay in with her.

"I have the most fun with you," he spoke quietly, trying his best to win her over. His nose nudged hers as he tilted his head and placed a sweet kiss on her bottom lip. She smiled in response, doing her best to pucker her lips and reciprocate his kiss.

"Harry, please? I just want you to be more comfortable with everyone, not just me," she said after pulling back, "Besides, Mitch and everyone really like you. They think you're really funny."

A beat of silence passed, Harry's eyes nervously scanning her face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"...Okay," Harry caved, sighing his response, "What time?"

(Y/N) smiled at his words, surging forward and planting a kiss on his cheek in praise. "Said they could be here at about eight to pick you up."

"'Kay," Harry said, his voice quiet. He didn't want to be clingy or overbearing, but not being with (Y/N) in a public place like a bar or wherever they planned to take him tonight, was something that gave him more anxiety than he cared to admit. "You'll be here afterwards, right?"

"Course, honey," she reassured him, running her fingers through his curls. "Sarah and I were gonna have a little movie night and do face masks and all of that."

Harry silently nodded his head, tipping his chin forward and slotting his lips against her's. He was seeking comfort in the familiarity of her touch, feeling his anxiety lessen with each pass of her fingers in his hair and press of their lips.

Eventually, (Y/N) drew back first, her fingers still gently twirling through his hair. "So, what are you going to wear?"

Oh, the ideas Harry had.

—————

Harry took his time dressing as eight o'clock approached, playing record after record he had brought along with him to (Y/N)'s apartment. He had just finished playing Voices by Hall and Oates, adjusting the needle to replay You Make My Dreams when (Y/N) walked in.

"Oh, you look nice. I like the sweater," she complimented upon seeing his outfit, a genuine smile on her face. Harry felt his cheeks heat at her words, his hands absently smoothing out his red sweater vest. The sleeves of his paisley printed undershirt were loose at the cuffs, something he had conjured up when he agreed to tonight's plans along with the bell bottomed jeans on his legs.

"Y'think so?" he questioned, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth to contain his smile.

"Definitely, H. Makes me wish I was going with you." (Y/N) stepped forward, her socked feet falling short of meeting the tips of Harry's matching red boots before reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck.

His hands settled on her waist as he dropped his head to cuddle into the warmth of her neck, wrapping himself around her form. "Wish y'would," he mumbled, his eyes closing as he finally felt the comfort he'd been craving since committing to these plans blanket over him.

"I know, but I'll be here at home waiting for you when you come back," she started, drawing back from Harry causing him to raise his head and meet her eyes. "You're going to have fun, H, don't worry."

Just as Harry was going to pout about her refusal to join him and try to convince her with kisses (and maybe the promise of a new outfit he could conjure up for her), a knock sounded on the door followed by the sound of (Y/N)'s roommate.

"Mitch is here for Harry, if he's ready," Sarah called. (Y/N) had told her he was nervous about going out, and Sarah understood that Harry had his own quirks to be dealt with and tried her best to be gentle with the him and follow (Y/N)'s lead on how to make him feel better.

"Yeah, we'll be out in a second. Thanks," (Y/N) answered for the both of them before turning back to Harry who now had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and his eyes wide with worry. She raised her hands up to his face and cradled his cheeks in her palms. "It's okay, H, I promise. If you really don't have a good time, have Mitch call me or Sarah and I'll come get you, okay?"

Harry only slightly nodded his head, happy to have an exit strategy if he really couldn't get over his anxiety and needed to be back with her. He knew it was good for him to branch out, it wasn't healthy for him to be with her and only her at all times, but he didn't think it would be this scary. He wishes he could make his calming potion, but he doubts (Y/N) had extra skullcap and knitbone lying around.

Harry followed closely behind (Y/N) as she led them out of her room, one of her hands bundled in his two. He gently ran his thumb along the back of her hand, his bright coral painted nails holding his attention for the time being. In the living room, Sarah's boyfriend Mitch was stood in the kitchen as they talked about what tonight's plans were.

"Tyler and Tom know this band that's playing at The River tonight, so I think we're gonna go—" Mitch was cut short as he saw (Y/N) and Harry make their way into the room.

"Oh you're going to The River tonight?" (Y/N) asked, "Harry's never been, but he loves live music."

Harry silently nodded along with her words, not quite sure what The River is but excited at the idea of going to a concert of some sort for the first time in however long. Mitch cracked a small smile and nodded at (Y/N)'s words before checking the time on his phone.

"The others all wanted to meet up a little before the show, so we should get going," he said before turning to Sarah and saying their goodbyes for the night. Harry's own gaze was trained on his hands wrapped around (Y/N)'s, his dread over the night lessening as he thought of the plans his new friends had in mind.

"I'll be here waiting for you when you get home, H," (Y/N) said, breaking Harry's thoughts. She looked at him with a kind smile on his face, the same one he had fallen in love with before he even knew he was fated to. "I'll miss you," she cooed, her voice soft as she spoke through her smile.

"I'll miss y'more," Harry reciprocated, his voice a whisper as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek and squeezed her hand. He sponged another kiss to the apple of her cheek before moving to her lips, in a small kiss goodbye.

"I know," she breathed a laugh after pulling away, "Now, go have fun."

She gently prompted him with a hand on his shoulder towards the door where Mitch was also stepping towards after his own hugs goodbye to Sarah. Harry smiled over his shoulder at her, grabbing his red, heart sunglasses from the counter and tucking them in the front of his sweater vest.

(Y/N) and Sarah called out a chorus of goodbyes as Harry and Mitch walked out the door, her voice being the last thing he heard as they shut the door behind them.

Mitch placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as they walked down the hall and to the waiting elevators, a friendly smile on his face as Harry looked to him.

"Ready?" he asked.

Harry hoped he was.

—————

"...And, everyone, this is Harry, (Y/N)'s boyfriend. He's never been to The River before."

Mitch finished Harry's introduction with a smile, his arm slung around Harry's shoulder's, after having slid into the booth to sit along with Mitch's friends. Turns out The River was a vintage inspired concert venue with a bar lining one wall and booths all along the remaining ones. The middle of the space made way for a pit right in front of the slightly elevated stage where Harry figured the band they were to see later would be playing. Each of the doorways were draped with fringed drapery and small twinkling lights hung from the ceiling emulating the night sky. Harry thought it could use a few plants and some color (preferably yellow), but overall, the venue reminded him of the seventies and that was enough for the tense feeling in his shoulders to dissipate.

The group in front of him consisted of a few people Mitch was friends with, their names he didn't quite catch but they all seemed nice enough. All of their auras ranged from cool blues and soothing sage greens with pinches of optimistic yellows. They seemed like the people he would have gone out and about with back in the day. It was nice.

"You've never been here before? This seems like your kind of scene," one man laughed, his bleached blonde hair bright under the under the indigo hued lights. Harry thinks he might have been named Tom, but he's not sure; everyone seemed to call him Kid anyway.

"Never," Harry affirmed, shaking his head, "Haven't been to this part of town before, really."

Harry vaguely remembers this street as being one he had walked along back in the summer of '81, but it definitely didn't look like this and there was definitely not a venue as cool as The River there.

"How long have you lived here?" Tom (?) asked, taking a sip of what Harry assumed was beer.

"A few years." Harry could practically picture (Y/N) having to hide a laugh over his white lie. She would have lent over and whispered in his ear a few decades, yeah before quietly laughing and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Stars, he missed her.

The conversation around them continued, Harry piping up whenever it was appropriate but mostly staying quiet in favor of observing how they interacted with one another. He wanted to find his place in this group. He felt silly to have been so worked up over tonight as everyone was more than welcoming.

He already knew Mitch and he knows he was supposed to be taking this opportunity to meet the rest of the group, but more often than not, the two of them would drift off into their own conversations. They went on about music (Mitch knew how to play guitar, which Harry thought was wicked and now he kind of wanted to learn), small pieces of Harry's life he felt comfortable with sharing, and Mitch's life before moving to west coast. They found they had a similar sense of humor, and Harry appreciated that Mitch was gentle with him and didn't dwell on the things he wasn't familiar with (though he did laugh a bit at Harry's surprise over Mitch not having listened to Joni Mitchell before).

Harry was happy to have a friend again.

"You really have a mountain lion as a pet?"

"Yeah, her name's Bonnie, and she's jus' the sweetest thing once y'get passed the cla—"

"Hey, Mitch, the show's about to start, so I think we're going to go out really quick. Did you want to come with?" One of the other guys they had come with spoke up, cutting Harry off. He thinks this one was Tyler.

Mitch quickly glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye, like he was mulling over his answer. "Nah, I'm gonna stay up here with him."

The three other people just nodded their heads and shuffled towards the back of the club, before disappearing down a different hallway leading to a side door. Harry watched as the patterned veil in the doorway settled back, Mitch on his phone next to him.

"Where are they going?" Harry asked, sipping from his lemonade.

"They're going out to smoke before the show starts," Mitch explained, putting his phone away after checking the time.

"Oh, did you want to go? I didn't know you all smoked." Harry brows furrowed as he spoke. Didn't they know smoking was bad for them now?

"Oh, no, I meant weed." Mitch's laugh punctuated his reply.

Harry couldn't help but remember all of the times back in the sixties and seventies when the familiar woodsy, burnt smell of the drug had hotboxed a whole room full of he and his friends. Those were usually the times he slipped up a little with his magic, more inclined to play it up for the room than listen to the voice of his mother in the back of his mind to protect himself and his secret. Those were some of the best nights of his life, and he always had the best sleep afterwards.

"Do you smoke?" Mitch asked, breaking Harry from his reminiscing of a time during the summer of '75 that he could only remember through a smokey film and flashes of paisley print and snippets of good music.

"Yeah," Harry smiled, his fingers twisting his rings around his fingers, "Haven't in a long time, though."

"Oh, did you want to go back with them? We've got another twenty minutes before the show."

Harry thought it over for a minute. (Y/N) did tell him to have fun...

"Yeah, let's go."

—————

"Harry, when did you say the last time you smoked was?"

"Can't even remember, if 'm being honest."

Harry's pretty sure it was in the spring of '81, but he doesn't think that would go over well with the group. Once stepping out the side door behind Mitch only a few minutes ago, Harry quickly took over responsibility of rolling the joints the others had been arguing over. Tom apparently had been rolling it wrong and the others were complaining over it canoeing before it had even been lit, and Harry knew just how to avoid each of their problems. (Why they didn't preroll them, he wasn't sure, as that was always number one before going to a festival back in the day).

"Well, you could've fooled me," Tom's words were lazy as he spoke, evidence of the spliff that had been burnt through just before Harry joined.

Harry only cracked a smile and ran his tongue along the free edge of the rolling paper before twisting the edges closed. He didn't even think before he conjured a spark from his fingertips and lit the end to a warm glowing orange. Mitch seemed to be the only one to catch it before being quickly swept away as Harry passed it along to him first.

The ribbons of smoke brought a nostalgia to Harry, taking him back to his summer at the Woodstock festival, the countless concerts he attended, and the forgotten nights in his friends' basements and cars giggling over things he can't remember ever being funny. He felt a fondness bloom in his chest over the days of the past, knowing that while he wouldn't have those times again, he had something much better now.

It seemed to be a running theme for him, but Harry couldn't help but wish (Y/N) was there. He could only imagine how beautiful she would look behind a plume of lavender colored smoke.

Soon enough, the joint had made its way around the circle countless times before it was offered for Harry to finish off (he only sputtered out one cough, before it seemed his body remembered what he had become so accustomed to back in the day). He finished it off in a few final puffs just as the feeling sunk into his feet, already making him feel restless but relaxed at the same time. Harry smiled at the feeling, all he needed was a Fleetwood Mac record and his Flame and he thinks it would be the perfect night. The auras of those around him morphed into pasteled greens with ribbons of teal, with Mitch's keeping fairly blue as he was the most coherent out of the group.

A small weed growing through the cracks in the pavement beside his feet stole Harry's attention. The white wildflowers dotting the patch gravitated towards him, stretching their stems in hope of catching some of the magic he held. Harry lazily smiled as he gazed at the delicate petals, waving his fingers gently over the plant and allowing them to flourish to twice the size they had been before. The centers graduated to a pastel yellow as the petals drew further out and faded to a pristine cream color. Harry wanted to take them home to (Y/N), knowing she would like the yellow and all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile.

"Ready to go back?" Mitch asked, landing a hand on Harry's shoulder, breaking his focus from his flowers. "Show starts in a couple of minutes."

Harry lazily blinked, unaware of how hard the drug was hitting him until he saw his surroundings blur and Mitch's form become fuzzy around the edges as he tried to focus. Harry thanked himself for declining to roll a second one as he knew now that his tolerance was lower than he ever remembered.

He vaguely reached his fingers up and pinched at his bottom lip, his eyes half-lidded. "Yeah," he drawled, his mouth lazy around the word.

Mitch only laughed a bit, mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like (Y/N)'s name but Harry didn't concentrate hard enough to figure out just what it was. He absently followed the group as they reentered the venue, the lights lowered above his head. He only stumbled once as they stepped through the curtained threshold, his attention too focused on the swaying of the fringe the remember the slight drop onto the venue showroom. The band they were seeing—he was pretty sure they were named after a fruit, but he couldn't think straight or really focus on what the logo on the kickdrum said—was now set up on the elevated stage, their look fitting in with the vibe of the wannabe seventies bar.

They slid back into the booth, Harry now closest to the wall with Mitch next to him and the other three on the opposite side. His attention was stuck on the buzzing he felt in his toes and how the chips in the polish on his thumb kind of resembled a smiley face when he looked at it a certain way. He was only vaguely aware as he heard the band introduce themselves before queuing up the first song of the set.

The lights shifted to a warm blue, with flashes of indigo and deeper purples highlighting the stage and making Harry feel like he could be on the moon if he wasn't so sure of the gravity around him. The lemonade in his hand didn't feel solid as he brought it to his mouth for a drink, aware of the way his body was moving as each frame passed before his eyes. He had forgotten what it felt like to be high.

As the opening song played through the speakers, Harry felt himself fading and his attention to the moment drifting along with him. His memories of the previous decades flashed before him; his setting reminded him of a club in Malibu that he had frequented back in the day, the music surrounding him felt reminiscent of the grainy radio that had played from the back of a friend's van as they lounged about on the beach, the cool toned lights that flared around the stage emulated one of the first real rituals Harry had performed by himself back in '57. The glow from the overhead lights could have fooled Harry into thinking the moon was hung from the ceiling of the venue, taking him back to the night he made love to his Flame for the first time. Each of his daydreams felt a little more real and gained enough traction to slip from his lazy mouth.

"S'like—S'like the summer of '67, righ'? With the Monterey Festival an' all tha'," Harry drawled, nudging Mitch to get his attention. Something about the way the guitarist was bouncing about the stage made him think back to the first time he got to see Jimi Hendrix on stage and now that was all he could think about. He assumed Mitch would understand, right?

"Uh, yeah. I think so," Mitch contributed, nodding his head a bit at Harry's words while his brows furrowed in confusion to contradict it all.

"Y'know wha' I mean, righ'? With Jimi, and when he burnt his guitar? Never seen anythin' like tha' since." Harry knew he was maybe saying a little too much, but he just wanted Mitch to understand what he was talking about. "I 'member goin' to the beach after; got s'fuckin' baked."

"I can imagine," Mitch laughed, patting Harry's knee before pulling his phone out and snapping a picture of the stage.

Harry watched over his shoulder—he promises he's not nosy, but (Y/N) always lets him watch what she did on her phone and now its a habit—as he pulled up his messages and sent the picture to Sarah before typing out a message too quick for Harry to catch. Seeing the grey bubbles pop up only a few moments later, with Sarah's message appearing not too long after, gave Harry his own idea he couldn't properly evaluate before it spilled from his mouth.

"Can I—I wanna message (Y/N), please," Harry pleaded, a pinch in his brow with determination, "I wanna tell her she should come here. She would love it. Can I, please?"

"Sure," Mitch agreed, an amused smile on his lips, "Just make sure she knows its you that's texting her."

Harry hurriedly nodded his head, ready to agree to anything if it meant he could talk to her. Mitch slid his phone to Harry, peeking his head around to make sure Harry went to the right thread and didn't say anything too crazy from his phone.

(Y/N),., you need to get hear right now!!! The band is so good, and i think we should get their record and listen to it later tonight. Als o, this is Harry:).

He pressed the small blue arrow and impatiently awaited her response with his eyes glued to where the trio of bubbles was meant to make their appearance. It was all too long (a total of ninety-eight seconds to be exact, not that Harry was keeping track) before the phone buzzed in his hand and the screen lit up with a notification titled with the name of his Flame. He urged Mitch to unlock his phone, the code entered in record time as Harry watched on.

(Y/N) Not tonight, hun, I'll see you when you get home though!! They probably don't have any records with them, but we can look together before bed and see if they have any to order. I hope you're having a good time, and tell Mitch I said thank you for letting you check in.

"She says thank you f'lettin' me check in," Harry mumbled, his mind too preoccupied with another idea to follow (Y/N)'s request. "Can we send her a photo?"

"Hm?" Mitch hummed, breaking from a conversation with Tom across the table.

"Can I send her a photo, please?"

"Yeah, what did you want a picture of?" Mitch reached towards his phone still in Harry's hand and brought up the camera application (still Harry's favorite).

"Of me," Harry stated simply, his face serious as his friend's broke into a smile. He wasn't trying to be funny, he didn't think. Harry laughed out a followup question, mimicking the teasing smile Mitch had, "What?"

"Nothing," he answered, aiming his phone towards Harry in the back of the booth. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait! I need to put my hearts on." Harry quickly pulled the sunglasses still snug in the neckline of his sweatervest and perched them on his nose, his world now tinted with red. "They're her favorites."

Mitch only mumbled an okay through his amused grin and allowed Harry a moment to pose with his fingers in a peace sign and his dimples out. The shutter noise sounded from the phone before it was turned into Harry's view, his own image illuminating the screen. Through his lagging and fuzzied vision, he decided it was perfect and prompted Mitch to send it for him with the caption be home soon, sunshine!! followed by two red hearts.

—————

"Mitch! You got him high!?"

"He rolled it up himself, doubt this isn't normal for him."

The rest of the concert had gone by in a blur to Harry. He was aware of everything that was happening as it happened, but as soon as the moment had passed, so did his memory of it. He knows he had planned on asking the band if they had any records for sale, but Mitch had lured him away from the stage with the promise of going home to their respective girlfriends (Harry had to stop himself from correcting him, and telling him that (Y/N) was his wife. He's gotten in trouble for that one too many times and he knew she wouldn't be pleased to find out he did it again). Now, Harry was stood in the middle of (Y/N)'s living room, his glazed over eyes taking in her features as if it was the first time he was seeing her all over again.

"Did it f'the first time in '62, 'member, sunshine?" Harry absently added, his arm flopping around her shoulders as soon as she was in range. He ducked his head and dropped his chin to her neck with her hair curtaining him as he pressed kisses to the skin he had missed all night. "Love you, by the way."

He was vaguely aware of (Y/N) brushing off his comment about 1962 as a joke to the other two before she snuck her own arms around his middle. "Love you, too," she laughed, "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

"Okay," Harry complied, his body warm and becoming restless at the thought of getting into bed with his (Y/N). That's all he's wanted all night.

Harry was quick to pull from her hold, and take her hand in both of his and start to gently tug her in the direction of her room. He didn't even care about the other couple stood across from them.

"Goodnight, guys. Thanks for taking him with you, Mitch, it seems like you guys had a lot of fun," she stalled, trying her best to keep her stance and not be rude while Harry tried to lead her away. He could only imagine the small apologetic smile on her face.

"Goodnight," the pair reciprocated, both with knowing smiles on their faces at Harry's antics. He was like this usually, always urging her for alone time after a day spent with the others, his intoxicated state only amplifying it.

"You should come out with us again, Harry," Mitch offered, his arm coming to rest around Sarah's shoulders. "I'll let (Y/N) know when there's another show, if you want to come."  

"Okay, thank you," is all Harry said in response, barely paying attention to what Mitch even said before he succeeded in pulling (Y/N) into her bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Harry was halfway sure she had scolded him on being rude to their friends, but he didn't pay it any mind as he felt there were much more pressing matters to be dealt with.

He wasted no time in surrounding her with him. He pressed his chest against her's, his face tucked into the soft skin where her shoulder met her neck and his arms tight around her waist in a hug. He didn't know if it was because he was high or because he had missed her so much, but Harry swears she felt different in his hold. She felt softer, smelled sweeter, and the pull of their bond was burning like a fire from his heart to her's. He knew each of the contours and curves of her body, but he couldn't even be sure his limbs were real as his attention was placed only on the woman in his arms.  

She definitely would have loved those flowers he found.

"Missed you," he reiterated, his lips brushing against her skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the flower pot of his in her window flourish, the leaves draping themselves over the edge and trailing along with purple and pink blossoms. A golden white shimmer illuminated the plant, matching the soft warm Harry held in his chest

"I know," she breathed a laugh, hugging him back with her arms wrapping around his neck. The hem of the large shirt she wore as pajamas raised at the motion, the edge now hitting where her thighs were the softest and where Harry wanted to plant hundreds of kisses like flowers before diving into his favorite flower.

"Did y'miss me too?" His hands trailed down her body, landing on her hips and sneaking his thumbs under her top.

"Of course. Loved the picture you sent me, too. You looked cute."

Harry felt his chest puff with pride. He loved when she complimented him so casually like that. "I know y'like my hearts, so I made Mitch wait until I had them on."

"I'm happy you did, honey. Now it's my background on my phone."

Harry let out a content hum at her words. Sometimes he wanted a phone just to be able to have pictures of her at his disposal like that. He loved the polaroids he had of her, especially the one of her twirling around in the summer dress he had made for her a month ago that he carried around with him everywhere, but he wanted more. He wanted to see more details and to just pick up his own telephone whenever he wanted to see her smiling face, even though he had no real idea of how to use it.

They stayed silent for a moment, only holding one another with Harry trying his hardest to pull her shirt up farther before being shot down with her own hands catching his. He swayed them to the music that was stuck in his head, a song he couldn't remember the name of from the band he didn't bother to learn the name of. The motion caused a fatigue to settle in his bones, the high anxiety of the night now hitting him in his much more relaxed state and causing him to lay more of his weight on (Y/N) and drape himself around her.

"Tired, H?" she cooed, one of her hands coming to run through his hair and twist the baby curls on the back of his neck. Tingles shot down his spine at the affection, the drug in his system amplifying the pass of her nails over his scalp.

"Mhm."

"C'mon, lets get into some comfortable clothes then we'll lay down and cuddle."

Harry absently agreed to her suggestion, too caught up in the fact they were going to cuddle to take in much else of her words.

She slowly untangled herself from Harry's hold, his whines being shushed with promises of her return before leaving to the bathroom to grab a tie to hold his hair back while he slept. He made quick work of poofing into his pajamas, his magic a bit shaky as he wasn't able to fully concentrate. His set of clothes now consisting of a Hall and Oates tour shirt and a pair of boxers as he settled on (Y/N)'s bed with his previous outfit folded in the drawer that was reserved for him. His heart sunglasses were sat atop his head, the lenses pushing his curls back and out of his face as he waited with his eyes glued to the door as he awaited his Flame's return.

"You didn't have to wait for me, H, you could have laid down," she said as soon as she saw him perched on her bed like an excited puppy waiting for its owner. She gently shut the door behind her, her face freshly washed and a sage green scrunchie tied around her wrist.

"Don't like goin' t'bed without you," he drawled, his tongue lazy with both sleep and the drug still filtering through his system.

"Me neither, baby."

Harry smiled at her words, sitting still on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. His hands landed on the the thick of her thighs, his eyes falling closed as he felt her fingers trail through the waves of his hair before pulling the sunglasses from the top of his head and folding them on her bedside table. She gently grouped his strands together on the top of his head, and tied the scrunchie around the sprout of a ponytail that formed.

"Thank you, sunshine," he mumbled, kissing her wrist as she looked down at him fondly.

She only smiled in response, her hands landing on his shoulders and gently pushed him as a signal to get into bed. Harry did just that as he bundled under the covers with his arm tenting the space next to him for her to slide into. He relaxed as she cuddled into his side, her ritual of cuddling his arm to her chest as she slept was interrupted with Harry's own need to be wrapped around her completely.

He tugged her close to him as he laid on his side, his leg inbetween her's and his arm draped around her middle. He nudged his nose against her's as the twinkle lights around her room cast them in a soft, warm glow. Her one hand laid flat against his chest where his heart was beating only for her while the other was wrapped around the width of his shoulders and her fingers carded through the hair untamed by the tie on the top of his head. Harry traced his eyes along each of her features, his blinks slower than he remembered (as if they hadn't become slow the second he put that joint between his lips) before they landed on the softness of her lips.

"Kiss, please, sunshine?"

(Y/N) offered no response other than tipping her head and pressing her lips against Harry's waiting ones. Even through his sleepened and drug-induced haze, Harry was pretty sure nothing was ever going to get him higher than her.

—————

more citrine yay!!!!! thank u for reading, and to whoever requested!! sorry for any mistakes and if u have a request of ur own please send it here!!

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