now that I have graduated from high school I have advice for incoming freshmen and my advice is:
yes there will be a creepy senior idk how it happens but it does and you probably won't realize they were actually being really fucking weird until your junior year so just if a senior is being a little weird to you they're not being a little weird they're being majorly weird and you should run
barbie dolls: Draco Malfoy x Gn!Non-Pureblood!Fashion Designer!reader
word: 8k
summary : you're not a pureblood and try as he might he can't shake the guilt his parents bred him to feel will he be able to confess to you despite his fears? guess ho
warnings: blood relations and dracos guilt, the war, you're a little batty but it's whimsical, theres lwk a class divide mention between the two of you, inside draco's crazy stupid brain, suicidal thought extremely brief draco is dramatic, draco is a momma's boy, harry potter mention, i hope you can tell i like Fleabag, inner dating ruins friendships put that shit on my gravestone, draco is in denial, tongue kissin, badum
pt1
Draco loved his three days a week. He was so appreciative of you being able to pull his head out from under the dark cloud of war and death. He only burned his hand twice in the process of making his outfit.
Things were shifting between the two of you. He was certainly not jumping up and down with joy, but he wasn’t fighting it. You snorted at his jokes too much. You smiled at him when he made a mistake. You patted his upper arms, your fingers drifting to his shoulders. You chuckled to yourself as you settled down into your chair. You would pull on his arms to force him into dance moves. You would spin him around, fumbling to swing his arm over his head.
He relished the feeling of every moment, but he understood what was looming. Falling for each other would only make things more complicated. He was already fighting himself just to spend his time in your shop. He wasn’t sure how many more arguments with his inner voice he could have. So he let you giggle and pull on him. He let you drag your fingers over his shoulders. He let you stand too close. Because he was too convoluted to take those steps, but the feeling of you so close was completely worth it. He could grin at you and not think about his parents pulling him into the study for a scolding. He could let you cross friendly boundaries if it meant he could pretend he was someone else for a few more minutes.
He had stopped bothering to wait by the door months ago. Draco let himself right into your workroom. You were standing by the back wall, your back facing him. Draco stepped closer to you, joining you at your side. A piece of paper torn from your sketchbook was pinned to the orange wall. Three figures were sketched on it, each of which was dressed in vague clothes. He couldn’t ever make sense of your drawings. There were too many stray lines and scrawny notes poking out the sides. Draco nodded and turned to look at you. You didn’t meet his eyes, staring daggers into the paper.
“I hate it.” You stated. You pressed your pen to your lips, biting the cap. Draco dropped his eyes to it. At the corner of your mouth, right where your teeth were apart, your tongue was poking out. Draco felt his lungs knock out of his body, slamming into the front door.
“Yeah.” He gasped out, focusing on the color of it. Your head snapped to face him, breaking his stare.
“It’s awful?” You asked, your voice heavy with vulnerability. Draco pulled his eyes from your mouth. He met yours. He felt his chest panic at the look you were giving him. Your shoulders were dropped, your brows tugged together. Your mouth was turned down, and all the sadness he could imagine was pooling in your eyes.
“No! No! Not at all.” Draco spat out, looking back to the sketch. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t tell who was who. Whatever those lines meant, he knew that you were good at what you do. What he also knew was that you were looking at him with those sad eyes.
“I love- um- this.” Draco shot forward, pointing his finger at the line shooting out from the chest. What was that? Was it a wire? Maybe a flower? Or was it the neckline? He looked back to you, giving you a very gentle smile. This was a ticking bomb, and if he didn’t defuse it now, you might be in tears. And he’s awful when other people cried. Your brows pushed up, your frown twisting into something softer.
“Really? I thought it was a little...” You sighed, searching your brain for the right word. Draco waited patiently as your mind whirled behind your skull.
“Clog-making fairies.” You finished, pressing your pen to your lips again. Draco shook his head. He turned his attention back to the paper pinned to the wall. How could that little line have anything to do with clogs? It wasn’t anywhere near the bottom of the paper, so it couldn’t be shoes. Much less, you didn’t make shoes; you just told them to handle the shoes. Draco would probably understand more once it was actually in front of him.
“No, I think it’s more...” Draco waited for the words to find his mouth. He didn't even know what it was, much less what kind of fairy it was.
“Fairy living in a pumpkin.” He tried. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Draco turned his head to yours slowly, terrified he’d find your tears rushing over your cheeks.
“Yeah. That makes sense.” You replied. Draco nodded. Thank god. You surged at him, wrapping your arms around him. Draco paused, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
“You get me.” You mumbled into his shirt. Draco hummed in response, carefully sinking into your hug.
“Completely,” Draco whispered back. He had no fucking clue. Whatever the drawing was, you were happy, and that was all he cared about.
He didn’t purposefully hide his measurement chart. That would be crazy. He just saw it on your desk and wanted to make sure he put it away properly. Draco wanted to keep it safe. So he quickly folded it up and shoved it in his pocket before he could regret it. He wasn’t touchstarved. His friends made sure of that. They would pile on top of each other until someone screamed for air. It was ridiculous.
But maybe Draco just missed the first day he entered your shop. Maybe he wanted to feel your hands gently jumping over his body again. That was normal. It had nothing to do with the way you would drag your hands over his mannequin and pat the damn thing’s ass. It had nothing to do with that. He didn’t care if you dug your fingers into the cracks between the mannequin's plates. He didn’t have any kind of arousal towards it at all. Draco absolutely did not feel your hands on him when you traced the mannequin's outline. He did not have any green jealousy swirling in his stomach. Those were all rumors spread by his foggy memory. Things got scrambled sometimes with the war. It wasn’t his fault he forgot to give you back the size chart.
He even helped you look for it. He turned over every paper and fabric bolt. He was certain it was somewhere around the room. It certainly couldn’t have grown legs and walked away. That wasn’t possible. You groaned in annoyance as you pulled out your measuring tape. Draco smothered a smile when he caught sight of it. He was exceptional at his job.
You swirled your wand at your desk, a notepad and quill chasing after you. You pointed to the shop, stepping towards the black curtain. Draco pulled at his suit jacket, tossing it onto your desk. He dug his fingers into the white fabric of his button-down. He parted the black curtain with his shoulder as he rolled the sleeve up to his elbows. He glanced up at you as he followed you to the dressing room. The curtain scraped against the rod, revealing the mirror. Draco pulled his second sleeve up by the time he finally reached the opening. He avoided the black mark on his arm in the mirror as he stepped up onto the small podium.
He was getting more acquainted with it. He scrubbed at it less. He was exhausted of it being embedded in his skin, but it became less of a terror. He could go to bed without staring holes into it now. He would let the tail ends poke out from the bottom of his sleeve in public. With you, with his friends and family, he didn’t mind the whole thing out. He preferred it hidden, but he didn’t feel his stomach churn when he did now.
He turned on the platform, straightening his arms out. You ducked under them, hiding behind his back. Draco closed his eyes, waiting in the darkness for your hands to find him. You didn’t start where you did last time. The heat of your arm wrapped around his waist, replaced with the taut pull of your measuring tape. Draco sighed at your fingers pressing to his hip. You mumbled to the pad, the sound of scribbling following after. You pressed your thumb into his hip. Your hand slid across your tape with a soft slither. The skin of your knuckle brushed against his ankle, the bottom of his pants leg jumping. Draco felt his stomach swirl. He really wasn’t exactly completely new to your touch. Yet your skin against his still made him feel aflame. Something inside of him would burn even at the softest touch. Your hand left his leg. Your hair brushed against his arm as you ducked behind him again.
You pressed a finger into his shoulder as you dragged the other hand down the length of his arm. Draco held his breath as your hand neared the end of his sleeve. Your hand didn’t slow in the slightest as it ran down the edge of his arm. You stopped at his wrist, pressing the tape to the skin there. You mumbled to your notepad. A huff of your breath fanned over his arm, making him press his brows together. A warmth traveled out from his chest, covering every inch of his skin. Your hands left him.
There was more to be measured, certainly. There had to be more. You had to find more. Please? Measure the length of his fingers. Measure the width of his head. Measure anything he didn’t care; he just wanted you touching him again.
Your fingers very gently pressed into his arm, twisting it to the side. The warmth of your finger slowly trailed around it in swirling twists. Draco peeled his eyes open, tilting his head to stare down at you. You had moved out from behind him while his eyes were closed. You traced over the lines of his tattoo, covering his skin in your warmth.
“You took my chart.” You whispered, your breath hitting his arm again. Draco furrowed his brows, staring at you with fear. He scoffed.
“No, I didn’t.” Draco snipped. You hummed soothingly. You pressed your palm to his arm, running it down the ink. You twisted his arm, sandwiching his hand in between yours.
“Okay. If that’s what you want.” You replied, meeting his eyes. Draco swallowed. Your hand drifted from his hand, traveling over the top of his arm. You turned your face to him, watching his face carefully. Draco dropped his eyes to it as it moved closer and closer to his face. Draco parted his lips, breathing against the restraint of his ribs. Your hand reached his shoulder. Draco lifted his head, meeting your eyes again. You leaned closer, your breath warming against his face. Draco slowly closed his eyes, giving you full control of the situation.
You could pull him off the stand or twist his arm around. You could lift and press your lips to his. You could lunge forward and bite his cheek for all he cared. Just as long as you didn’t remove your hands from him. Just as he swore he could feel your lips a hair from his, your hand reached his neck. Your fingers pressed into the collar of his shirt, just barely moving the chain of his necklace.
You were dangerous. If He knew about this, you’d both be dead. His mother and father would be next. Their blood would be on his hands. He would probably make Draco watch as He tore at his parents' skin. He'd have to watch his parents' lives drift away from their eyes before the torture was turned to him.
Draco gasped, startling you away. You stared at him with wild eyes. Draco shook his head, pulling his arms closer to his chest.
“I need to go. This can’t be happening. I have to go.” Draco rambled, stepping off the podium. You furrowed your brows, taking a step closer to him. Draco raised both his hands in surrender, jumping a step back. You froze at the reaction, staring at him in shock. Draco didn’t move as you stood there completely lost. You hummed, stepping out of the changing room and standing three paces away from him. You folded your hands in front of you, watching him with a look he couldn’t recognize.
“I apologize, Mr. Malfoy. I acted unprofessionally.” You muttered, dropping your eyes down to the floor. You reminded him too much of the waiters and waitresses that were hired for their balls. They never spoke unless spoken to. They didn’t dare breathe in a way that upset the guests. They used too many polite words to dance around the subject matter. They were rather irritating to him. He preferred to pick his own food from a table rather than someone bring it to him. He hated polite talk. He hated that it was coming from you now.
“I didn’t mean-”
“Your order should be ready for you in two weeks.” You cut off, clenching your jaw. Draco’s chest squeezed. You wanted him gone. He misstepped so badly that he couldn’t possibly come back from it. He dropped his hands, turning for the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle and turned back to face you. He opened his mouth to try a different explanation. You shook your head, turning on your heel and slipping between the black curtains of your workroom. Draco understood.
The brisk October air made his skin rise. The air from his lungs couldn’t catch a proper hold. It left him too early but came back just as quickly. His mouth was running dry from the gasping he was doing. His chest felt empty like all the blood in his body had pooled out of the bottom of his feet. His eyes were cloudy and shifty. They bounced from spot to spot, expecting you to appear in front of him and smile.
He didn’t bother pulling his sleeve down on his walk down the street. He didn’t really care that people’s eyes would catch on his arm before stepping out of his way. He didn’t think about the looks they were giving him or the conversations that quieted briefly.
All he could think about was the way you had looked at him. It felt like pure hatred burning into his face. You looked at him with no humor. No sadness. No affection at all. Just the blank stare of hurt. And it made his head feel light and his knees weak. He was a pathetic excuse of a man. He should’ve fought harder. He should’ve argued with himself for longer and told him those ideas were just the old version of him. The thoughts his parents fed him. He should’ve told you what you needed to hear. He should’ve told you what he couldn’t whisper to himself. He should’ve kissed you. He should’ve taken a step forward and pressed his lips to yours before your hand reached his neck.
Draco’s breath rushed out from between his lips. His feet failed under him, knocking him into the wall. The rough brick scraped against his palms as he held onto it for dear life. A hand fell to his shoulder, pulling his attention from the bricks in front of him. Draco kept his hand pressed to the wall as the stranger tried to speak to him. He couldn’t hear their voice over the fog covering his head. He didn’t catch sight of them as his eyes rolled back and his balance was lost against gravity.
He snarled at the sun poking at his closed eyes. Draco turned his head, pressing his face to his silk pillow. He smiled at the feeling of luxury. He was home. He hummed in appreciation.
“Oh, there you are. Hey, open up your eyes, big fella.” A voice called. It wasn’t his mother or his father. Draco peeled his eyes open, blinking at the sun glaring behind the person’s head. He brought a clumsy hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes. He pulled his hand away, looking at the face again. No recognition pulled at his senses.
It was an older man, with patchy gray hair. He smiled when Draco looked at him, showing off the gap where a tooth used to be. Draco turned his head away from the face, finding a crowd of shoes surrounding him. He slowly sat up, supporting himself with his hand. His palm screamed at him for the offensive brick path. Pain clawed at his brain, making him groan. Draco pressed his other hand to his forehead.
“You didn’t hit the ground, so that’s good.” The old man said. Draco squinted at the ground. He wanted you to kiss his forehead and rub the pain away from his shoulders. Or for you to ramble about your favorite fabrics. That way you could pull his attention from the ache in his head. He can snort at something you said and not feel his brain throbbing.
The image of your back turning to him as you slipped behind your black curtain flashed through his mind. Draco sighed deeply, feeling his lungs crawl out of him through his throat.
“I want my mum,” he whispered, glancing up at the faces staring at him. Not one of them he knew, but they all ogled him in intrigue.
“I need to go.” He added. Draco stumbled as he stood up, catching himself on the missing-tooth man’s shoulder. He wobbled as he finally stood on his feet, glancing around at the crowd. He held his arms out, waiting for his body to fall back again. He stood still.
Draco nodded and stepped forward. The crowd parted, allowing him to step through. Draco closed his eyes, digging his hand into his pocket. He stood alone from the crowd, the worried eyes staring at his back. He heard a small startled gasp from them before his body slipped into the vague rushing feeling of apparition.
The gravel of his driveway crunched under his shoes once he landed. Draco felt like his brain was disconnected from his body as he let habit pull him through the home. He heard his mother’s voice coming from the library. She was quiet, letting out a small laugh. Draco turned in his path, pushing his way into the library. Narcissa sat in front of the door with her back turned to it. His father sat across from Narcissa, a cup of tea resting in his hands. He looked up at Draco as he entered the room. Narcissa turned in her seat, facing him.
“There you are, Darling. You’ve gone almost all day.” Narcissa greeted, grinning at Draco. Her face fell at his look and his missing jacket. Draco stepped around the couch, flinging himself into her lap. Narcissa scoffed in shock. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his head to get more comfortable in her lap. Her teacup clattered against the table as she set it down. She gently pulled her fingertips through his hair. Draco wished he was the size of a toddler again and could hide in her arms. He was too big to hide from all his problems in her hold again. He’d always have a foot or two sticking out for the boogeyman to catch.
“Oh, are you alright?” Lucisus asked, setting his own cup down. Draco flung an arm over his eyes.
“I fainted,” Draco muttered, feeling his face burn already. Narcissa’s fingers paused.
“You fainted?” She repeated. Draco nodded his head under the crook of his elbow.
“When?” Lucius asked. Draco shrugged. He could’ve been out for hours for all he knew. He had deduced it couldn’t have been very long because crowds get bored after a while.
“Probably twenty minutes ago.” Narcissa huffed in irritation.
“Where did this happen?” Draco felt his throat dry. He really hoped he was far enough from your shop for you to not see it. He’d probably move to the beach house just so he’d never see you again. That would be an embarrassment he wouldn’t come back from. He wouldn’t even try. He’d drown himself probably. Mattheo would finally have the dead cousin he wanted.
“Diagon Alley.” Narcissa gasped, her hand flying away from Draco’s hair.
“Are you hurt?” Lucius questioned. Draco shook his head. He felt his throat close at the thought of your eyes digging into him. He wanted to be in your shop again. He wanted you to try to kiss him again. He wanted your hands on him again. He wanted you. Draco frowned as a tear slipped past his cheek. He hoped his mother didn’t feel it through her pant leg.
“It’s alright, darling,” Narcissa whispered, her hands dragging through his hair again. Draco nodded under his arm. He hoped his parents couldn’t recognize the look he made when he cried from under his elbow.
“I heard you fainted.” Lorenzo snorted from across the table. Draco narrowed his eyes at him.
“You’re not funny, Berkshire. I’m paying for your steak; the least you can do is respect me.” Draco snapped. Pansy cooed next to him.
“Someone is touchy.” She sang, glancing around the table at her friends.
Draco should’ve picked someone with slightly less class. His friends were too childish and loud for such a nice dinner. Much less one held in a very quiet restaurant. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t want to run into you. He didn’t want to say it, but he knew your check from your unmopped floors and peeling paint shop wouldn’t be supporting you in these walls. He’d tell you later and let you slap him for it. If there ever was a later. He was glad they had a table for six. He should’ve reserved it, but he just didn’t feel like putting in the work. He was grateful they had a circular table though; he hated when his friends would slip into conversations he couldn’t hear or join. It always set him on edge.
“You know everyone faints eventually.” Theo tried to soothe Lorenzo from Lorenzo's side. Blaise lifted his glass to his lips.
“Yeah, it even happened to Potter.” Blaise chuckled into his drink, quickly taking a sip to avoid Draco lunging across the table and slapping him. Draco glared at him, considering if getting permanently banned was worth it.
“Don’t bring him up during my dinner,” Draco demanded, holding a finger at Blaise. Blaise settled his drink onto the white tablecloth, grinning at Pansy next to him. She snorted.
“Well, what happened?” Mattheo asked, invading Theo’s plate with his fork. Theo leaned back, giving him access to his alfredo pasta. Mattheo gave him a half grin in appreciation. Draco pulled his eyes from his friends surrounding him. He stared down at his food. He hated thinking about that day. He should’ve done so much differently. He didn’t even get the chance to have your full attention before you cut him off. He didn’t even get a shot to tell you what was stirring inside of him. Draco sucked in a breath, picking up his glass to deflect once he finished confessing.
“I believe the designer broke up with me. I fainted in the street outside their shop.” He muttered, taking a sip of water. He focused on the feeling of the ice bumping his lip instead of the gasps sparking around the table.
“I didn’t realize you and the designer were together in the first place,” Pansy mumbled. Draco shook his head as he settled his glass down.
“We weren’t.” Blaise narrowed his eyes. Lorenzo tilted his head to the side, spearing a piece of steak with his fork.
“So then it wasn’t a breakup, was it?” Theo asked. Draco scoffed.
“Fine. If you must be technical, it was more of a rejection and end of friendship than it was a breakup, but for the sake of brevity I said break up. Does that please you, Nott?” Draco ranted. His words came out in rough breaths, hushing his tone. Theo nodded, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
“Oh yes. I creamed my pants at the word brevity.” Theo snarked, his face flat. Mattheo laughed loudly, turning heads. Mattheo sighed as his laughter died down, patting his hand on Theo’s shoulder.
“So what happened specifically?” Lorenzo asked, pulling the meat off his fork. Draco rolled his eyes.
“Must you all know the intimate details of my personal life?” Draco asked, glaring at Lorenzo across the table. Pansy nodded. Blaise shook his head back and forth.
“Please, Malfoy. You’re so sexy I need to know what happened.” Theo whined. He clutched his napkin to his chest. Mattheo didn’t laugh as hard. He just snorted and pulled another one of Theo’s noodles into his mouth.
“Not as funny. Still good though.” Mattheo mumbled around his chewing. Theo rolled his eyes in response.
“Cool. You hate me. That’s fine.” Theo scoffed, laying his napkin over his lap again. Blaise chuckled, shaking his head at his fork.
“I thought it was funny, Theo. I still love you.” Pansy said, holding her hand to her chest. Theo gave her a small smile. He made a heart over his chest.
“The designer?” Lorenzo asked, moving the conversation back on track. Draco sighed dramatically.
“They tried to kiss me-” Pansy cheered next to him.
“Oh, finally.” She cut off Draco. Draco shot her a glare before continuing.
“-and I freaked out. And they told me to leave. And I fucked it up, as per usual.” Draco finished. His table settled into silence, staring at him in concern.
“Does that appease you gossip hogs?” Draco snapped, narrowing his eyes at them.
“Not really,” Pansy muttered.
“Yeah, I still have questions,” Lorenzo added.
“Can you take us through it step by step?” Mattheo asked. Draco sighed, rolling his eyes so far back his head felt uneven.
“Oh please?” Blaise tried, widening his eyes.
“I stole their measuring chart for me. They started measuring me. At the end they grabbed my arm and started moving their hands up. I didn’t move. They leaned in to kiss me, and just as I was about to let it happen, they touched my necklace. It freaked me out. I started thinking about the shit back from school. I said I can’t. They moved across the shop and started calling me ‘Mr. Malfoy.’ I left. I fainted in the street. I went home and hid in my mother’s arms.” Draco explained.
“I’m completely pathetic.” He finished, dropping his fork onto the tablecloth. He lost his appetite once he pictured the way your words sounded so biting in the shop. Pansy sighed.
“Yeah.” She agreed.
“Thanks.” Draco snapped.
“But it’s hot.” She countered. Blaise scooted his chair further from her side. Mattheo looked up from his plate, grimacing.
“Gross, Pansy.” Lorenzo scoffed. Theo nodded.
“Bro code,” Mattheo muttered.
“Yeah, bro code: no inner bro circle dating,” Blaise added, glaring at her through the side of his eye.
“Inner dating ruins every friend group,” Lorenzo grumbled, picking up another bite of his food. Pansy lowly flipped him off, hiding it behind his glass of water.
“I’m saying it as a friend. Never in a million years. Draco is gross. Listen, it’s fine. You’re in love-” Draco cut Pansy off the second he heard the word.
“I am not in love. I just find their company less irritating than others. We’re friends.” Draco clarified. He looked away from Pansy, glancing around the table. Theo shook his head. Mattheo shot his eyebrows up and avoided Draco’s eyes. Blaise narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Lorenzo shared a look with Theo. Draco brought his eyes back to Pansy.
“Love makes you pathetic and stupid. It makes you overthink everything. It makes you anxious and scared and hopeful and giddy. It’s disgusting, but it’s so good that we suffer through it.” Pansy explained.
“You’re totally pathetic. You look like a fool. You look so stupid right now, especially in that tie.” Pansy pointed her finger at his chest, her mouth snarling into disgust. Draco glanced down at his tie, smoothing down the fabric subconsciously.
“It is a bad tie,” Mattheo muttered, his eyes glued to it. Draco scoffed.
“Enough on the tie.”
“But you’re in love. You like this designer so much that them rejecting you made you faint. That’s beautiful. Love is terrible. You hurt. You cry, scream, whimper. It makes you giggle and blush. It makes you a much smaller version of yourself. You lose your confidence and your humor. You laugh just to make them blush. You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You get scared. It makes you pathetic and antsy. It’s hard, but it’s lovely. You said it yourself!” Pansy startled. She set her glass down, leaning closer to him. She widened her eyes as she shook her head around in ferocity.
“You said this designer made your mind quiet. You didn’t think about it. The war was gone when you were around them. You have complained about doing work with your hands for years. You have told me you never want callouses on your hands. You told me you wanted to spend the rest of your days floating in a well-cleaned pool.’
‘And you started working. There are permanent burns on your hands because you didn’t want to have a moment without this designer. You have spent days and weeks doing labor you never even thought of just because you wanted to be around them. You stole their papers just so they’d be near you. Draco, You’re crazy in love. And it’s making you pathetically crazy.” Pansy stared at him with wild eyes. She was searching inside of his pupils for something. A whisper that said he understood.
“And that is a good thing,” she whispered, reaching out to grip his hand on the table. Draco nodded, flexing his jaw. He moved his eyes away from her, tightening his hold on her hand. Pansy was intelligent, but he wished she was wrong about this. Draco wanted her to be so far off the mark he could laugh in her face. He wanted to think that this was the first time he thought that. He knew he had spent weeks hearing that word float in his head. He refused it. Because if he listened to it, he’d have to think about his future and his past. Both of which he hated. He glanced up at the table, holding onto Pansy’s hand so he didn’t keel over.
“The designer-” Draco started.
“Your designer,” Mattheo muttered. Draco felt his bottom lip wobble. He was not going to cry. He was not going to say that you were his either. Because you never have been.
“The designer is not a pureblood.” He whispered. Draco felt ashamed for even bringing it up. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. In a perfect world, he was born in the next generation alongside you, and you both grew up together. You both would’ve grown up without Voldemort or his ideas. You wouldn’t have been afraid ever in your life. Neither would he. In a perfect world, you and he were tied to each other with no complications or anger.
“Oh, who cares?” Theo barked from across the table. Draco lifted his eyes, staring at him.
“I don’t care. Do you?” Theo asked. Draco paused, glancing down at the table to think through it.
“My parents-”
“They don’t matter.” Mattheo cut off.
“I love my parents.” Draco countered. Mattheo nodded.
“And if they love you, like I know they do, they will be happy you are in love. No matter who it is.” Mattheo added. Draco shook his head.
“Your mother already knows,” Blaise muttered. Draco’s head snapped towards him.
“Narcissa is the second most intelligent person I know.” Blaise started.
“Behind me?” Pansy asked. Blaise nodded.
“She made every part of you. The parts of your thoughts and personality that grew out of the womb she memorized. Your mother knows you so well that I think she has tapped into your brain with a spell. She knows. And if she doesn’t, which I doubt, I will actually be astonished.” Blaise finished.
“It doesn’t matter. It only ever mattered because of hate. And in my opinion, love is much stronger than hate. Don’t let it stop you from being happy.” Theo said. Draco sighed through his nose.
“I know.” He mumbled.
“Good,” Lorenzo added.
Draco floated next to the snack table for hours. He was pretty sure there had been strawberries when he arrived, but now there seemed to be none. He really hoped that there wasn’t anyone else at the Masquerade party that rivaled his love for strawberries.
A part of him wished he had gone with his mother to pick up their costumes, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He knew he should run through the streets and scream to every stranger how much he wanted you. He should ditch this party and go straight to you. He couldn’t step into your shop again and not see that day replaying. You had added a hanger with his suit jacket into his garment bag. And it made his chest hurt when he first saw it.
His mother and father had matching costumes of the King and Queen of Hearts. Swirling card suits spun around their tunics. They would burst and come rolling back. They both were grinning the whole night. And Draco wished that he had kissed you. It was all that he thought about every time his mother would grin at his father. He doubted that his father would’ve run from his mother. But he missed his chance, and now he would never allow himself to step into your shop again. He wouldn’t dare think about making you hate him more. He couldn’t imagine standing on your beautiful, yet unclean, wooden floors and you glaring at him.
You made him a star. Literally, you made his costume a star. He looked like a Tudor prince. Over his right eye was a dark yellow star. His pants were loose and bubbled. He raised his brow when he saw his mother dragging home a big pair of boots. You never did shoes. But he suspects you already broke a lot of rules you had for your customers over him. He tucked his pants into boots that came up to his knees. He had a coat that stopped at his waist and buttoned up to the top. The sleeves puffed out before bending back into a normal straight long sleeve. He finally understood the blues and the swirls. You had created the curls of the night sky on his chest. He recognized it from the Muggle-born’s notebook. He felt beautiful in it. He hated it because you should’ve seen it on him. You should’ve run your hand over the stitching while it was pulled against his chest. He knows the closest you got to it was seeing it on his mannequin, and he didn’t like that either. When he unzipped his garment bag, he found a small piece of paper pinned to the front.
I made you a vest because I noticed you haven’t hadn’t been hiding your scar as much. I also gave you a button-up in case you weren’t feeling it.
I’m sorry.
Silly. You shouldn’t be sorry. You should be mad. And he was really only pulling his sleeves up around you. Because you would rarely glance down at it. He liked that you called it a scar. It felt like it was.
“No strawberries. Lame.” A murmur next to him made him jump. Draco paused in his chewing, hoping they couldn’t smell the strawberry on his breath. He lifted his eyes, finding the speaker. He froze when he saw you.
He would definitely recognize you even with the mask hiding half your face. But your outfit solidified his suspicions. Your outfit was entirely black with black stitching. When he looked closer, he could see the stitches moving in swirls. You looked like a dream. He wanted to cry.
“I’ll just go. I’m making you uncomfortable.” You mumbled. You pointed over your shoulder, taking a step away from him. Draco shot forward, taking hold of your wrist.
“No!” Your mouth parted at his intensity, staring completely startled.
“No.” He whispered again. You glanced down at his hand holding you, surprised at the softness.
“Okay.” You muttered back. Draco nodded in approval, glancing over his shoulder.
“Come with me.” He mumbled, taking a step backwards. You stepped with him. He spun around, never letting go of your hand. He pulled you away from the ballroom, taking cuts and corners that muffled the music and chatter more and more. You let him, following every step. Draco hoped that if he was quick, you wouldn’t pull away.
Draco yanked open a heavy wooden door, pushing your hand towards the inside. You stepped in, turning to look at the room. Books covered two of the walls. The wall to the right was a large window with a nook built into it. The furniture was more expensive than your entire shop. The fabrics were perfect upholstery with lovely patterns. The door shut behind you, making you turn around. Draco tore at his hair, ruining the work he put in. He pulled at his mask, shaking his head to get comfortable with the new feeling. He fiddled with it as he stared at you. You rocked on the balls of your feet as you waited.
“I’m in love with you,” Draco muttered.
“What!”
“And I think I have been for a very long time. And I shouldn’t say I think because I know. I know I have been for a very long time.”
“Do what now?”
“I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve told you the moment I felt it. But I’m a coward.”
“You’re not-”
“I am. I’m scared. I’ve been scared. I hope you can forgive my cowardice, because I really...” Draco sighed out, a chuckle lifting the end of it.
“I really love you.” You turned away from him, pressing your hands to your hips. You stared out at the inky night. You shook your head.
“That doesn’t make sense.” You muttered. Draco shook his head. He dug his hands under the collar of his costume, yanking at the chain. He ducked his head, pulling it off and piling it into the center of his palm.
“It does to me.” He whispered, staring down at the metal. You turned around, making his eyes snap up. He stepped forward, pulling your hand from your hip. He turned it up, dropping the necklace into your palm. You looked down at it as you twisted the pendant in your fingers.
“If it’s your par-”
“Hold it when I kiss you.” He whispered. You furrowed your brows, bouncing your eyes between him and the necklace. Draco lifted his hands, cradling your head. He found the ribbon holding your mask to your face. He pulled apart the bow, gently pulling the black fabric from your face. He felt his shoulders relax at the sight of your bare face. Masks be damned, he needed to look at you. He held your cheeks, staring into your eyes to understand what you wanted.
“Please?” He begged. Your hand shot up from your side, catching behind his neck. You tugged him closer, pressing your lips to his. Draco moaned at the contact. He should’ve done this months ago. His chest felt like it was bursting apart under his sternum. His head felt just as lightheaded as it did in the street. Draco dug his hands into your sides, pressing you against him. You parted your lips with a gasp. Draco took the opportunity, slipping his tongue into your mouth.
You pulled at the buttons of his costume. Draco leaned his hips back, keeping contact with your mouth. He rushed the top layer of his costume off, fumbling with the bottom of the sleeves. He shook it off, letting it drop to the floor. He rocked closer to you, finally letting the cold air hit his shoulders and arms. You lifted a hand, pressing it to his bare shoulder. He pulled back at the metal being pressed to his arm. He glanced down at your hand. His necklace was woven through your fingers, the pendant hanging in the curve of your palm.
You raised your hand, poking his cheek to make him look at you again. Draco nodded, meeting your lips again. He walked you back to the window nook. The back of your legs hit the edge of it, making you pull away with a gasp. You raised a brow at him, snorting at him.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Draco muttered. You gently wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Your mother told me to come. She said you needed to tell me something.” You whispered. Draco sighed through his nose. Of course she knew. Nothing about Draco got past Narcissa. She probably knew before he even met you. She was probably even behind the number of strawberries.
“‘Course.” He mumbled.
“I want you, Draco.” You whispered. You raised your hand, turning your palm to your face. You pressed your lips to the pendant. You turned your hand around, cupping his cheek with the same hand. Already you were making the pattern pressing into his skin less sickening. He didn’t feel his stomach churning; he felt his heart stuttering.
“All of you.” You added. Draco nodded against your hand.
“You get me.” He mumbled. You snorted. You scrunched up your nose, giving him a mocking look.
“Completely.” You parroted.
Draco finally allowed himself to spend as much time with you as he wanted. Which meant he spent every day working in your shop. He refused to take money from you. Which was good because you only offered once out of courtesy. He ironed the seams of his family’s clothes for the Christmas Party. He swept up every thread you tossed over your shoulder while you made them. When the day finally came, he cut it short to have dessert with you on the couch in front of your changing room. Your sewing time was only a little longer because of the kisses Draco demanded.
Come Christmas morning, there was a beautiful coating of snow. It inspired you to create three different designs. Draco slipped in through the front door, pulling your attention from your sketchpad. You waited for him at the register, smiling at him as he made his way to you. He pulled his hands out from behind his back, a very small gift box cradled in them. Your smile fell.
“You said no gifts!” You groaned. Draco shook his head with a fond smile.
“The clothes you made me count.” He countered. You shook your head.
“False.” Draco stood across from you in front of the register. You leaned forward on your elbows, giving him a peck. His smile broke it apart. He slid the box across the counter.
“Open it.” He muttered. You grumbled but pulled at the bow on top. You removed the top, staring down at the inside. A key sat on top of a lining of velvet. You glanced up at him in confusion.
“It’s super cute.” You complimented. It looked like every other key. Draco gave you a knowing look and tilted his head.
“Where’s your coat?”
He dragged you through the snow. He grumbled when you started shivering but still forked over his scarf. He stopped in the middle of the street, making you turn around. You raised a brow, worry washing through you.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, searching for a wound. He jerked his head to the side.
“This is your gift.” You glanced to the side. An empty store stared at you. It had a display window on either side of the door. Its windows were covered in paper on the inside. On the outside was a clear ‘Sold’ sign. You looked back to Draco.
“You’re taking me out to an empty storefront?” You asked. Draco pulled the box from his pocket, digging out the key. He pressed it to the lock, pushing open the door. He stepped inside, jutting his arms out. You followed him inside, slowly turning around in a circle. It was spacious with good floors and bland paint. Two closets in the back and a door to the left. It was nice. It was too nice.
“It’s yours.” He said. You shook your head.
“I can’t afford this.” You muttered.
“That’s why I bought it.” He reached out for your hand, dragging you to the door to the left. He pushed it open, letting you inside. You gasped at the space in the room. There was enough for two sewing machines and two sergers. There were windows. It was so bright and airy in there. And in the back, you could see a door.
“Is that a closet?” You asked, spinning around to Draco. He nodded.
“For your fabrics. You’ll have enough space. I promise.” He said. You nodded. You thought of the cost. It was on the street walk too, so the price would’ve been higher for that. There was enough space for a woman in a shoe.
“This is-”
“Don’t start.” Draco snipped. You paused, pressing your hands to your face.
“Is this real? Are you really doing this?” You asked. Draco scoffed. He stepped closer to you, pressing you against him.
“We’re going to fix this place up a little. A little paint. Some furniture and decorations. And then we’re going to open up your shop, and so many people are going to love your designs. And every customer is going to feel like a little mouse that walked into a tailor shop.” Draco whispered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on your hips. You gave him a soft smile, pulling at the lapels of his winter coat.
“On my card.” He added. You frowned. Draco shook his head. He tipped forward, pressing his lips to yours.
“It’s too much.” You grumbled, pulling at the wool. Draco shook his head.
“No.”
“How can I repay you?” You chuckled, pulling your arms over his shoulder. Draco snorted.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He muttered.
For months, your life revolved around creating your dream shop. Draco actually did find some pleasure in the labor of love. He refused any power tool and preferred to call a professional. He would paint and hammer a few nails to hang decorations. He even called his friends over and had them help. They were all over the moon to meet you and kept referring to you as ‘The Designer,’ which you didn’t hate. Pansy loved your decor and actually gasped when she saw some of your designs.
Draco gave you everything you wanted, even down to the tape measure sign out front and the thread spool vases. However, he did giggle as he set them out. He even gave you the scissor door handles and your buttons hanging from the ceiling.
He still had bad days where everything made him jump, but it was much easier with you by his side and a job to do. He could ignore the screams in his head by painting the swirls you wanted. He could press his nose to your neck and overwhelm the smell of blood in his memories with the smell of your shampoo and sweat. The shop made things easier. There was always a task, and always something he needed to do. At the end of the day, he could step back, pull you to his side, and see the work you both put in.
When you finally opened your doors for business, the orders were rolling in. Your four mannequins in the window had people foaming at the mouth. Moving fashion was the newest hit, and you were at the front of it.
guys im starting my online classes for college in like two weeks :p
barbie dolls: Draco Malfoy x Gn!Non-Pureblood!Fashion Designer!reader
word: 10.9k
summary : he meets you and loses his mind, the problem is: you're not a pureblood and try as he might he can't shake the guilt his parents bred him to feel
warnings: happy trail mention, draco is a lil freak, blood relations mentioned, war mention, the real world not work like this but this is fiction, draco lwk has ptsd, death eaters talked abt, draco has his mark, he is insecure hardcore style, he is also stupid, regulus mention, draco is vaguiely mentioned to have suicidal thoughts very brief, mattheo included and he's draco's cousin, lorenzo included, pansy is a part of their friend group she's not a pick me back off my best friend, kind of goes into draco feeling incredibly confused and guilty bc he raised to feel a certian way and then after the war his parents didn't really seem to gaf, His hate still did harm i hope that's clear but I consider him a child victim ifykwim, just lwk if you think this is like weird...if you're catching what im gently setting down, idk children of war aka Slytherin boys, draco is a momma's boy, draco does not like being less cool than you, you are a big van gogh fan, draco is in therapy, this is my world you're just living in it, extremely brief holocaust mention lorenzo has been reading history books to cope, talks of death, lwk joking abt death on mattheo's part, very brief sexual mentions, thats it for this part
pt 2
Draco had been well aware of Narcissa’s love for planning and outdressing the people around her. A love for well-fitting, expensive clothes seemed genetic. Draco definitely found himself putting hours and thousands into looking well. His father wasn't any different. It seemed every person in the family was trying to upstage the people around them.
Narcissa planned at least 5 events each year. Draco was entirely certain just about everyone in their social circle could draw their home from memory.
Their New Year’s Party was held at their house in Italy that overlooked the ocean. It had a lovely balcony that could fit all the hundreds of people who wanted to watch their magical fireworks.
Their Spring Fling was held in their gardens, and the April weather was always pleasant.
For their Summer Brunch, they went to their beach house in Spain. They always held their party out on the sand so people could walk ankle deep in the water. June was Draco’s favorite because he could slip away into the house and watch people in their fancy clothes trace the line of the beach.
October was when his mother had the most fun. She held a Halloween party and loved that she got to change the theme every year. She had the biggest smile while she decided what her and Lucius’ matching costumes would be.
In December, they held a Christmas party in their ballroom. In Draco’s opinion, it was significantly better than the Yule Ball.
Two years ago, Narcissa had found her favorite designer. Ever. It wasn’t planned at all; she just came home one day gushing about these amazing dresses she found. She had been meandering about for something to wear to Draco’s graduation when she found this dress shop with the most mindblowing designs. The thing was hidden in a corner of Diagon Alley with an ugly door that made it look rather dingy. Even the sign needed repainting. She fell in love, and just about every party dress became one of “Dreamy Designs”. She couldn’t go a single night in them without telling Draco and Lucius who made it. And they were both impressed.
Not only were the cuts stunning and the fabrics always lovely, but the designs moved. Any embroidery and patterns would have some sort of animation. Someone had finally realized they were in a world of magic and fashion. Narcissa even came home one night with a snake necklace that would pull its head up from her collarbone and shine its teeth. It was fascinating how the clothes had become moving art. Narcissa loved every moment of it.
It was not shocking to Draco at all that she finally decided for the new year, they would all be getting custom outfits. He honestly thought she would’ve dragged them down sooner.
She was right about the hidden corner. It seemed like the building was turned to its side and cowering in fear of customers. The door was on the wrong side of the street, and instead of being where all the customers walked, it was on the side of the building. The front doorstep was across the small alleyway of a dumpster. For a greasy restaurant. Draco tugged his suit jacket a little closer to his body in the hopes the smell of burgers didn’t reach out and caress it.
The only hint that there was a shop around the corner was the dirty window that only displayed one dress. There was a small circle sign that hung over the door that read in swirly handwriting “Dreamy Designs.” At least he knew his mother didn’t hallucinate the shop. The door clearly had been painted an ugly color of orange a few decades ago. Now it was peeling and dusty, and extremely revolting if you asked Draco. There was an open sign hanging on the door. Draco grimaced at the sight of the dingy doorhandle. Narcissa reached for the handle, only for Lucius’ hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Darling, use this. I’d hate for you to catch something.” Lucius said, sticking out his initialed handkerchief. Narcissa only smiled at him and gently took it from him. She draped it over the handle before turning it and pushing open the door. A bell rang above the door. Draco wanted to get away from the dumpster faster. Lucius held the door open for Draco with the end of his cane. He refused to touch the orange paint. Draco slipped into the shop behind his father.
“Welcome in! I’ll be out in just a second!” A voice yelled from the other side of the store. Draco stepped to the side, finally seeing anything other than his father’s back. Narcissa smiled and waved a hand out. She was grinning as brightly as a magician who just pulled off a trick for the first time. And Draco felt just as stunned as an audience member.
It was a very small shop, smaller than any other he had seen on Diagon Alley. He doubted it was bigger than his bathroom. Across from the front door was a register and counter. Behind that counter was a black curtain acting as a door. He did wonder what was behind it. The voice had come from it, so he suspected it was an office of some kind. In the back corner was another black curtain. This one he assumed was a changing room because in front of it was a small couch. The rest of the floor space was split into rows of racks. Racks upon racks of clothes. It was truly more than he conceived possible to fit in the store. They looked like they were about to burst with all the hangers squeezed onto them. He, at least to some degree, was expecting a classier store. The type that he was used to his mother dragging him to, but this one seemed like it had been spackled together on a budget of a rat’s tail, four buttons, and the eye of newt.
This place was a mess. The paint on the inside looked newer than the door, but it had definitely been painted over the old orange. The trim still had the specks of orange, and the new paint, although a lovely purple, was uneven. There were clear spots that were one to two layers higher than others. The floor was nice, beautiful hardwood floors with a stunning cherry stain. It needed a good mop, though. The couch seemed nice; it was a purple velvet with a curving body that reminded him of the loveseat in his walk-in closet.
“Welcome!” The voice rang again. The sound of curtain grommets scraping against the rod made him look up. He expected the shopkeeper to be withered with age. He expected a permanent kink in the neck from being hunched over a sewing machine. He expected wrinkly fingers that had shriveled from all the gathering of fabric. What he did not expect was someone his age. Worse, you were hot. Which was unfortunate for him. Your mouth fell open in a gasp when your eyes finally landed on his mother.
“Narcissa! Oh, my favorite customer!” You squealed, quickly racing around the register counter. Narcissa yelled back, squeaking out your name. She pulled you into a tight hug, cradling the back of your head. Much like she did to him. Draco drifted his eyes to Lucius. Lucius returned the look before gulping away his comments.
“Oh, Darling! I brought my husband and my son! I was thinking about matching New Year's outfits!” Narcissa said, peeling away from you. You looked over her shoulder at the two men. Your eyes dropped, tracing over the lines of Lucius’ suit. You hummed and skipped over to Draco. You ignored his face, immediately analyzing his body. Draco felt his throat run dry and his back straighten on its own. You reached his shoes before snapping your eyes up to his face. You widened your eyes.
“Stunning! I was thinking dark blue. Mermaid, deep cut, small straps.” You rapidly spit out. Draco shook his head. He was out of his field. He knew what cut meant. To snip something. Now what deep cut meant he didn’t know. How did you cut something deeper than usual?
You and Narcissa were spitting lines out so fast he couldn’t catch a single breath. You both clearly knew what the other was saying because you were both grinning brightly. You pulled back the black curtain for the changing room.
Inside was a floor-length mirror on all three walls. A small circular podium sat in the center. It looked rather cheap, so he doubted it was attached to the floor. Narcissa sat down on the purple couch and folded her hands over her purse. Lucius was the first on the podium. Narcissa pulled Draco down onto the couch by his sleeve. He was astonished by how quickly you bounced around Lucius with your measuring tape. A quill and pad floated next to your head, scribbling down the numbers you mumbled to it. Lucius looked a tad peeved that he wasn’t involved in the conversation. He kept chuckling louder than he needed to and muttering agreements. He was begging to be included; it was honestly almost pathetic enough to make Draco snicker. Almost.
Then you patted Lucius’ wrist and waved your hand at Draco. He felt like a cow heading for his slaughter. You didn’t seem to notice. You handed Lucius his cane, leaning to the side to stare at the floating pad. Narcissa smacked Draco’s thigh, bringing him back down. Draco shot up from the couch. He carefully stepped up onto the podium, ignoring the fear of it knocking over. If you had to catch him, he’d sob with embarrassment. Your conversation with Narcissa finally settled with a loud laugh from her. You shook your head in amusement and stretched your tape out. Narcissa turned to Lucius, finally taking up conversation with him. Which made his shoulders drop.
Your fingers gently found the underside of Draco’s wrist. He felt his lungs fill at the sensation. He shot his eyes to your hand. You glanced up at him, grinning at him gently. He was pretty sure you meant it to be placating, but it only made his heart burn more. You carefully raised his arm, pointing it out to the side. He jumped when your other hand found his elbow. You raised his other arm, making him stand up in a T.
“Mark: customer is jumpy.” You mumbled. Draco felt his face burn. He glanced down at your head poking out from under his arm.
“What?” He asked. You lifted your eyes. Jesus. God, who did you pay to look like that? You had to have some kind of potion or spell to make you look so- so…
Well, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t come up with a word. Beautiful was the sun on the ocean in the morning, but this was more than that. Gorgeous was May flowers and bunnies prancing through grass; that couldn’t touch this. Hot was childish.
“Joking.” You explained. Draco huffed. This was hell.
“I don’t take notes on customer personality. Unless it’s for designs.” You grumbled. Your arm wrapped around his waist, making his brows shoot up. You slipped your tape around him, pinching the end to the side.
“Mark: 82.” You muttered to the pad. The quill jumped, scratching against the page. Draco glanced down as your tape dropped to his hips.
“Is 82 good?” He asked. You scoffed.
“There is no good or bad, Draco.” You replied. Draco furrowed his brows. His name was not used this entire appointment.
“My mother told you my name?”
“Narcissa has told me all about you.” You answered. Draco hummed. That was a terrifying sentence. Draco told his mother everything. You could know about that rash he had a few months ago. He didn’t really want anyone to know about that.
“Like what?” He squeaked out. Your arms shot to the side, measuring the length of his leg.
“You went to Hogwarts. Slytherin, like the rest of your family. Top of your classes, except for a few. You have a close group of friends. I remember a Theo, and I think there’s another Theo actually. After the war, you got really sick. You’re seeing a professional. He’s an old guy with a funky eyebrow. Your favorite color is green. You like apple pie, but you tell everyone you prefer cherry. You quit smoking cold turkey two months ago. Your friends did it as a pact. Theo is the one with the biggest issue about it. You’re missing a pinky toe. And you still haven’t found a way to remove…” You glanced down at his sleeve. Draco felt his heart squeeze. You brushed your hand over the fabric, picking at a piece of lint. You tossed it to the side. He hated how close you’d been to touching it. You were too casual about it. You acted like it was some botched Muggle tattoo. You acted like he could take showers with the light on.
“Your mother is incredibly proud of you. She loves to talk about you.” You finished, turning back to your measuring tape. Draco nodded. He wasn’t sure he could force his tongue to move. He felt completely frozen in his stance. You pressed your hand to his forearm, making him shiver. You pushed his arm to his side before moving to the next one.
“I assume it means you’re against short sleeves.” You added. Draco stared at the floor. He could picture the twisting snake curling on the floor. Draco kissed his teeth.
“Yep.”
“Any other insecurities I should know to cover?” You asked. You stepped in front of him, swinging your measuring tape over the back of your neck. The quill and pad drifted to your hands. You raised a brow at him as you posed your quill for writing. Draco stared at you blankly.
“Did you ask my father that?” You bopped your head.
“Oh yeah, I ask everyone that. Everyone has a spot they don’t like.” You answered. Draco sighed through his nose. He rolled his eyes, frowning at you. He mumbled his answer. You leaned forward.
“Huh? Didn’t catch that.” You said.
“My legs.” Draco seethed through his gritted teeth. You turned your head to the side, pointing at your ear.
“Sorry, one more time?” You asked. Draco felt his mouth pinch in frustration.
“My-”
“Nah, I’m just joking. I heard you the first time. I’m just yanking your chain.” You chuckled as you turned back to your pad, scribbling on it. Draco felt his face flare in embarrassment. He really didn’t like you. You turned back to Narcissa. Draco stepped off of the podium to stand next to the couch. His hands dug under the collar of his button-up shirt. He pulled at the chain of his necklace, tracing down the line to find the small oval pendant. He ran his fingerpad over the raised lines of the Malfoy family crest as he watched you interact with Narcissa.
Two weeks before New Year’s, he was back in your shop. You had mopped. He appreciated it. Narcissa was the first up. You had to hold the hanger over your head so it wouldn't drag on the ground. He was stunned before it was even on her. The color was a deep, rich blue that looked exactly like the night sky. He could see bright lines moving on the bodice just before you slipped behind the black curtain with Narcissa. Draco was glad she was going first so he could see how this was going down. He was used to personal tailors, of course, but you were clearly a basket case. You slipped out of the curtain just as fast as you had popped in.
Narcissa pulled back the curtain a few minutes later, revealing her dress. The blue clung to her body before draping down into a short train. Fireworks were bursting across her hips and stomach. The sparks would reach up to her chest and fizzle out. It was astonishing because the lines looked embroidered, yet they would disappear and reappear like real fireworks. He could almost hear the popping.
“How do you-” Draco started.
“Magic.” You responded. He glared at you from across the room. Narcissa clapped her hands, twirling around.
“Isn’t it just glorious?” She asked. Lucius nodded from the couch.
“You look beautiful, Darling,” Lucius replied.
Draco was impatient for his outfit. He was worried you were going to put him in a tank top just to spite him. Lucius was next after Narcissa slipped the dress back onto the hanger. His suit had sharp lines that made his shoulders just a little bigger than they really were. His pant legs flared out, and sleeves pointed out into tips. It looked like a regular, although stylish, suit. Then Lucius turned around and revealed the rocking waves and popping fireworks on his back. His pant legs were a little too long so you spent a few minutes sitting on the ground, pinning them up. You assured Narcissa they’d be done before the day. Narcissa waved you off and said it was the whole point of fittings. She made some faux deep comment about a good tailor noticing their mistakes. But you smiled all the same.
It was finally Draco’s turn. You ushered him into the fitting room, closing the curtain behind you. He stood in the center of the tiny room, staring at his reflection. He had seen his mother take off her heels at the bottom of the curtain once she got in. Draco toed off his shoes and stood in the center again. It was somehow achingly quiet. He didn’t really like waiting for you to join him. He untucked his shirt from his pants, popping the buttons. He was certain this was how these appointments worked. Once he saw a girl watching a recording of a video for Muggle Studies, and it was about wedding dresses. The clients would be in robes when the shop assistant came back with the dresses, so certainly this moved the same way. He slid his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it onto the small chair you placed in the corner when you removed the podium.
He heard his mother coo outside the curtain. You slipped through the black fabric, staring down at the shirt and pants in your arms.
“So I know you said your legs-” You lifted your eyes, stalling at the look of him shirtless in the mirror.
“Why are you half naked?” You asked. Draco glanced down at himself, like he just remembered he had taken his shirt off. He turned around, facing you properly.
“I thought this was how it was done.” He replied. Your eyes fell to his chest, hung on the necklace. You slowly drifted them down, raising a brow as you did. You stopped at the waistline of his pants and the tuft of hair under his belly button. Draco pressed his arms over his stomach, hiding his tattoo and his happy trail.
“Enough.” He demanded. You snapped your eyes up to his face. You paused a moment, your mouth just barely parted. Fuck you. You were so- well, whatever. You affected him in a way that he didn’t appreciate. Fuck you for being so attractive. An image of his mouth on your neck while he pressed you to the dingy wall of the changing room flashed through his head. He quickly pressed his eyes shut, forcing the idea out before it led to an uncomfortable situation. You sucked in a breath, gaining his attention again.
“Right, well. I know you said you don’t like your legs, so I made your pants wider; they won't cling to you or anything. And it’s a stiffer fabric so it won’t stick to you because of moisture, such as sweat or ocean breeze.” You said, pulling up the hanger with his pants. They were the same dark blue as Narcissa’s dress. You reached over and hung it on a small metal bar attached to the wall. He traced down the length of them. Tiny ocean waves were crashing around the bottoms. And popping fireworks. They were definitely matching for the party. He didn’t mind terribly. His mother was lovely. His father was protective, but at least he cared. To some degree anyway. Draco always worried he fell just a little too short in everything for his father. You turned to slip out of the curtain. You paused when you reached the fabric. You looked over your shoulder at him.
“It’s a cute necklace. Is that your-”
“Malfoy family crest. Yes.” He cut you off. His fingers found the metal again, rubbing anxiously. You nodded and dipped out into the shop again. Draco kept his eyes trained on the curtain as his brain returned to the flashing image. He shouldn’t. Think of it, that is. Yet his mind couldn’t slip from it. He pressed his thumb into the raised lines harder. The bite of pain snapped him back into the present. With his parents and sewing pins waiting for him outside the curtain.
Draco really wasn’t appreciative of how quickly he began to think about your shop and you. He started to imagine how nice it would be if he funded the paint budget. Or even just the budget in general. He couldn’t imagine you were pulling in a lot of customers with your shop so hidden. He really wasn’t sure why you chose that one out of all the empty shops. It was actually rather common in Diagon Alley. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew of at least three empty shops. One of them used to be full of Muggle paraphernalia. He never stepped foot in there, but he had seen a few kids wandering around Hogwarts with stuffy keychains of people he didn’t recognize.
Things were much more complicated now that the war was over. His parents hardly brought up blood status. He didn’t understand where they stood on it. Just a few years ago, if he was friends with any Half-bloods, he was grounded. Typically, he had to sit through a three-hour-long scolding on how dangerous it was. Now, they had multiple Half-blood guests coming to their parties. Typically they were plus ones. Draco knew if a half-blood plus one tried squeezing through the door maybe 4 years ago, they would’ve personally dragged them out.
They were still incredibly snooty. All their brands were expensive. There was a couch in one of the guest rooms that he didn’t understand how to sit on. It was purchased exclusively because of the hefty price tag. He loved his mother, and he would follow her until the end of the Earth. All her friends were purebloods. Yet some of them would’ve been considered traitors just a short while ago. He was completely lost when it came to blood relations. He knew things were likely less complicated than he was making it out to be. He just couldn’t switch so quickly.
Anytime he spent time with someone who wasn’t a purblood, his stomach would churn, and he’d think of all the scoldings he was given. He couldn’t join his mother at her breakfast with her friends. He just couldn’t eat with so much guilt leading down his stomach. He didn’t want to be like that. He knew what it seemed like. He just couldn’t stop his stomach from swirling. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking and his heart from stuttering a beat. Everyone seemed to be able to just magically switch, but he didn’t understand how.
People were screaming hatred not even three years ago, and now all of a sudden everyone was holding hands and giggling. His father had shaken Arthur Weasley’s hand. He actually touched him. And he didn't wipe it off on his pants. What’s worse is that his father wished him a good day. Draco couldn’t sense a second of sarcasm either. That whole encounter freaked Draco out so bad he couldn’t speak for three days.
When Draco got dressed, he swore he could feel your hands on him. You had to have cursed him. When he buttoned the arms of his suit, he could feel your hand on his wrist. He could feel your arm wrapping around his waist when he pulled up his pants. He could feel your eyes on him when he stood in front of the mirror without his shirt. He wondered about what you saw that made your eyebrow peak. He wondered what made your lips twitch.
He wondered about what you were doing and thinking. He was curious if you looked at all your customers as you looked at him. How did you have a shop so early in your life? You were definitely in his peer group. How did you make the designs move? What spell could that possibly be? Where did you go to school? He was certain he would’ve noticed you if you went to Hogwarts. Though to be fair, he did have a bit on his plate. It was possible he didn’t notice, but he doubted it. You must’ve gone to a different magic school. One where they taught you crazy shit like moving patterns.
What was your favorite color? What was your hobby? Where did you live? Was it in the same condition as your shop? Why hadn’t you painted over the orange door? Why weren’t you making updates? Why weren’t you getting a different one? That place was a dump. Your designs deserved a better home. He was starting to get sick of the amount he was thinking about you. You really shouldn’t be any more active in his mind than the suit tailor he would visit with his father.
So why were you?
He was irritated when you didn’t need to measure him again. In fact, there was absolutely no reason for him to go to the design meeting at all. Which was why when he asked, his mother made that face. With one brow raised and her knowing smile. He hated when she gave him that look. Like she knew everything, like she knew what he was thinking.
“I want to make sure they don’t make me look like a fool,” Draco explained. His mother hummed, using a tone that made his teeth clench. She didn’t believe him for a second.
“I’m serious,” Draco added. Narcissa nodded, turning back to her small cup of tea.
“I know, darling, “ Narcissa responded.
He went, of course. He didn’t do anything but sit there, of course. He didn’t talk to you about his design. He didn’t talk to you at all. Narcissa sat on the couch with you as you explained each design to her. You had sketches ready, and occasionally Narcissa would point something out and have it tweaked. You never seemed to take it personally. Your head would bob, and you’d hum in approval. You never frowned or whined.
Draco felt weird hovering about your shop. He couldn’t fit on the couch; it was only a two-seater. He didn’t want to go wander about Diagon Alley because then he’d lose sight of you. Instead, he just carefully looked through the racks of clothes. He hadn’t found one he didn’t like. Every one was pretty. It was irritating. He’d rather see a flaw in you. You seemed too gathered. A shop so early in your life. Beautiful designs. Only slightly annoying personality. You seemed to understand what was going on outside your door. He couldn’t really know why he felt that way. It was something in your eye when you looked at him. A certain twinge in your brow when you saw his necklace.
He didn’t like it. He wanted to be able to say that he knew more. He felt more. He understood more. He had more talent. He could make his mother laugh more. He had accomplished more. He had more beauty. But on all accounts, you were better than him.
He just watched you from behind the racks. He made it discreet. He’d lift his eyes but never his head. He hoped watching you from across the tiny shop, you’d be able to teach him something. He learned that you would squint and tilt your head a little when his mother confused you. He learned that you had a particular favor for blues and purples in your designs. He also learned that you quite enjoyed sweeping swirls in your designs. Most of the moving lines would curl at the ends and vaguely ring a bell in his head of a Muggle-born’s notebook in his divination class. He never bothered to ask what was on it, but he enjoyed it. As much as he could enjoy something from a Muggle-born. He could see that your neck was bothering you; your hand kept rubbing at it when you looked down. He knew you kept tapping your pen against your sketch pad as you thought.
He missed you. Even though you were right there across the shop. You weren’t looking at him or talking to him. You weren’t chuckling at your own joke. Your hands weren’t very gently and briefly touching him. You patted Narcissa’s forearm as you laughed at her joke. Draco felt something sickly green twist in his stomach at the sight of your fingertips gazing over the dark tattoo. Draco tore his eyes from it, staring at the beaded gown he had turned to. Did you hand-bead these, or was it some special spell? He doubted you had the money for an employee. You hardly had the money for a damn mop. Or you just didn’t want to purchase such things.
Before he had made it through all the hangers on your racks, his mother was standing on the couch. You didn’t turn around to wish him goodbye. You just walked straight for the black curtain behind the register. Draco felt his chest seize at it. You were supposed to turn around and tell him thank you for coming by. You just ignored him entirely. How could you forget he was there? He had been staring at you the whole time.
But just that night, he couldn’t seem to settle down. It was later than he would like. He should’ve been in bed and asleep three hours ago. He was absolutely going to get darker under his eyes. He wouldn’t even be surprised if he started breaking out. It had been a little while since he had stress pimples. He had already chugged two cups of tea in the hopes of finally falling asleep. No matter the amount of honey he added, he still felt a buzz under his skin. Draco hated that he knew what he had to do.
Diagon Alley at night was rather creepy to him. All the stores’ lights were out, and there was an eerie silence that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was jarring compared to the usual bustling activity. Usually there was a small hint of cinnamon and pastry floating from the bakery down the way. A scream of excitement from a child somewhere, a loud laugh, and an elbow poking into his side. But once the sun went down, it felt like he was living in an apocalyptic movie. It reminded him too much of the corridors during the Battle of Hogwarts. His shoulders pressed together tightly like he would turn the corner and find Voldemort staring at him.
He could tell from the display window that your lights were on. The orange door had a sign on it with ‘Closed’ sloppily painted on it. Draco ignored it as he tried the doorknob. It turned without any give, the door cracking open. Draco paused, waiting for you to jump out behind it and push him off the stoop. He caught the whisper of music drifting out the crack. Draco pushed the door open, hoping the bell above it would alarm you before he did.
Draco carefully closed the door behind himself, standing in front of it. The shop looked empty. He was pretty sure the dress he was examining last was still pushed back from the rest on his rack. He was pretty sure the store hadn’t been touched since he last left it. The music coming from the black curtain froze mid-riff, the store falling into stifling silence.
“It’s Draco Malfoy!” He shouted. The silence made him happy he brought his wand. He truly felt completely bare without it. Ever since- it really got to a point where he was even tired of thinking about it. He didn’t want the war to be his whole day-to-day anymore. It was over; he should be done with it now. The black curtain parted, your curious face poking through.
“Malfoy?” You asked, your eyes widening when you caught on to him.
“Yes?”
“Typically, stores that say ‘Closed’ on their door don’t accept customers.” You mocked, raising a brow in amusement. Draco huffed a laugh. He dropped his eyes to the floor and pressed a hand to his back. He wasn’t amused at all, but he wanted you to try again. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to his stomach if you were upset with him.
“Well, maybe you can make an exception.” He offered, lifting his eyes from the floor. You smiled, knowingly. He hated it. You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything about him. Who cares if you know about his house? Or his feelings towards apple pie? Or that you know that thing about his pinkie toe? He really didn’t like anyone knowing about that. Much less you and your arrogant knowing smile.
“As a prestigious customer, of course,” Draco added, squinting at the tweak in your brow. You nodded. You turned around, holding the curtain back.
“Come on.” You called. Draco felt his throat tighten at the idea of slipping into your secret room. He just imagined a portal back there that spat you out in a world of fabric and thread. He couldn’t picture something normal. Because if your tools were normal, you’d be especially magnificent at your job. He just hoped when he stepped back there you had some fairies chained up and doing all the work for you.
Draco slipped under the curtain. Your hand pulled from the black fabric, briefly brushing his shoulder. Draco swallowed hard as your hand left him, returning to your side. He dragged his eyes over the room, disappointed at the sight of boring sewing tools. No fairies chained to the wall at all.
The walls were the same orange from the front door, in hardly any better condition. A large metal shelf with a multitude of mannequins stacked on top of each other sat to his right. The sight of them felt a little morbid. They didn’t look like people, more than the outline. They were made of bright colors and odd dials that he didn’t understand. A second shelf was pressed to that one, large rolls of fabric poking out of it. Two desks sat against the left wall, pressed together. One of them had a sewing machine, and the other had a machine that had tall wires sticking out of the top. Thread followed up the lines of the wire, at least four spools of thread. The back wall was covered in a board with spools of thread sticking out of it and a set of drawers underneath. Fabric was rolled out on the floor, big pieces of paper lying on top of it. Small circles of what he assumed was metal sat on top of the paper every few inches.
This workspace was too small for you. Your fabric was draped over the wheels of your chair. You stepped to the side of him, slipping your shoes off. Draco furrowed his brows. He hardly felt comfortable walking on these floors with his shoes on. Much less without. You didn’t spare him a glance as you carefully tiptoed on the fabric, stepping over the paper. You pulled a shiny pair of scissors out from behind your back, making him jump. Had you had those this whole time? You carefully dropped to your knees at the other edge of the fabric. You leaned forward, slipping your scissors under it. Draco felt like this was too erotic to look at. You were on your hands and knees, cutting around the pieces of paper.
He turned to the shelf next to him, investigating the mannequins. There were little slips of paper pinned to the chests. Numbers. 16-24. 32-36. 42-48. He paused when he saw one sat with a name on it. He didn’t recognize it, but it made him tilt his head. He looked to the one next to the named one, only to find his name upside down and staring at him.
“Why do you name your mannequins?” He asked, looking down at you. You lifted your head, your mouth falling open as you looked at him. He clenched his teeth. Draco bounced his eyes away from you, staring at his name in your handwriting. That image of you was far too erotic. He’d have to turn to the door if you kept looking at him like that. Your scissors clinked against the floor as you stood up. You gently stepped on the fabric, being careful not to wrinkle it. You joined him at his side, sliding your hand over the span of the mannequin's chest. Your fingers dipped between the gap, splitting his chest in half. Draco stared at the sight as you pulled him off the shelf. You set it to the floor. The chest of the mannequin was parallel to his.
“It’s you! It’s nice to just have your body on the shelf. I don’t have to measure and readjust the mannequin and measure again. It’s a lot of work. And I…” You sighed deeply as you stared at the mannequin. “Have so few customers that I’m not exactly low on them when I designate them to certain people.” You finished. Your elbow rested on his body double’s shoulder. Draco stared at it, trying to visualize himself compared to it.
“It’s kind of morbid. My lifeless body is sitting on your shelf.” Draco muttered, raising a brow at you. You shrugged. Your hand slipped over the shoulder, trailing down his back. Draco sucked in a deep breath as you pressed your hand to the mannequin's ass and side. You lifted it, shoving it back onto the shelf. Draco really didn’t appreciate how alluring your hands on his body double looked. He really didn’t appreciate you feeling up his mannequin either. You turned back to your fabric, settling back onto your knees. Draco turned to the fabric shelf, running his fingers over every roll.
“So what are you doing for Valentine’s?” You asked, your eyes still on the fabric. Draco paused. Valentine’s? He had only heard the names a few times. Every one was from someone who was not a pureblood. He peeked at you from the side, slowly beginning to understand. You clearly were magical. You wouldn’t be able to do half the shit you did if you weren’t. There was a wand haphazardly thrown on your desk. You were magical, but you weren’t pureblood. Which was why he had never seen you at any party of his mother's. Which was why you had only become her openly bragged about designer after the war. All the thoughts he lulled about in his head, about your smile and how it would taste, all the questions he had. Everything was inappropriate. He should be home. He supposes that would be true even if you were pureblood. His mother seemed quite comfortable with you, and now, after everything, it seemed okay if he grew to have a slightly inappropriate customer-seller relationship. He may even allow himself to grow to be your friend.
“You’re not a pureblood, are you?” Draco asked. He turned from the fabric, one hand picking at a stray thread. Your scissors paused. You sighed deeply, settling back onto your heels. You lifted your eyes, meeting his.
“Does it matter?” You asked. Definite no. But he was curious which of the two it was. Draco shook his head.
“Not anymore, I guess,” Draco muttered. You squinted, tilting your head.
“You don’t sound very happy about that.” You said. Draco shook his head.
“I am. I’m glad He’s not around. He should be dead. He pushed children to do his bidding and brutally murdered people. My cousin, once removed-maybe it was twice- he killed himself in the hopes of defeating him. And that was almost 20 years before he finally did. Trust me, I am incredibly satisfied that he is dead.” Draco said. He very cautiously settled down onto the floor across from you. He didn’t dare touch your fabric, keeping plenty of space away from the edge. Draco wiped at his palm, grimacing at the dirt that flew away from it.
“Good. I wouldn’t really appreciate making clothes for someone who wants me dead.” You muttered, slipping your scissors under the fabric again. Draco nodded. He had plenty of other words he wanted to say. He wanted to confess about his confusion and his frustration at his confusion. He wanted to say how much he hated that everything in his head seemed to revolve around the war and where it left him. But you didn’t seem like the person to tell about that. His therapist with a misshapen eyebrow was much more appropriate. He needed to talk about anything other than war and politics. God, he would listen to you talk about your socks if you had the time. He would argue with you about the best shape of pasta. God, he could talk about Nott’s dinners for hours.
“Why did you pick this shop out of all of them?” Draco asked. You didn’t stop your scissors. They started gliding through the fabric, a very satisfying tear filling the room. You giggled at it to yourself. Draco felt himself smile at the sound.
“It was the cheapest. It’s the cheapest because it’s a business killer. I thought I could handle it though. I just thought any shop was better than none. Now I’m not so sure.” You mumbled, frowning at the fabric under you. Draco frowned with you. The building itself was sad enough without your broken dreams filling up the dusty rooms.
“So what does your dream shop look like?” Draco asked. You scoffed out a laugh. A grin pulled at your lips. Draco was proud to have your frown tossed out of the room.
“It’s stupid.” You muttered. Draco scoffed.
“Tell me,” Draco responded. You shook your head. Draco tipped forward, leaning to the side. He met your eyes under your hung head.
“Tell me,” Draco repeated. Your smile folded into a grimace. You sat back, making him sit up straight. You sighed, staring at the metal scissors in your hands. You clutched your hands around them, pressing them to your chest. You carefully closed your eyes.
“I want it to be big. And bright. I want it to smell clean and floral. I want flowers at the entrance held in big tall vases shaped like thread spools. I want-” Draco pressed his hand to his nose as he tried to stifle his snort. Your eyes shot open, a glare quickly overtaking the relaxation you had before.
“Vases shaped like thread spools?” Draco snarked. You sighed.
“Yes. I told you it was stupid.” You muttered. You looked back down at the pattern laid across the floor.
“It’s not stupid.” Draco countered. You looked up at him with a glare.
“Then why did you laugh?”
“Because it was unexpected. I don’t think it’s stupid,” Draco promised. You hummed. You were avoiding his eyes again. He really didn’t like that much either. He much preferred when you would glare at him. At least he could see your face. Draco pressed his palm into the wood floor and leaned down towards it. He forced you to meet his eyes again.
“Tell me more,” Draco begged. He didn’t care about the pathetic tone; he just needed to hear the rest of what you had to say. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes in annoyance.
“You’re going to laugh again.” You complained. Draco shook his head.
“Promise, I won’t.” You clenched your teeth, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself.
“I want it to feel like you’re a little mouse that walked into a tailor shop. So I want a bunch of big sewing supplies as decor. I want a tape measure as my sign outside. I want buttons hanging from the ceiling. I want two big shop windows that I can fit four mannequins in. I want fabric scissors as the door handles. Oo! I want beautiful blue walls with Van-Gogh swirls. I want all my hangers to match. I want two changing rooms with doors and no curtains. I want a mirror and a proper stand in front of it. I want a better couch. I want so many customers I can't name my mannequins.” You finished with a giddy sigh. Your face had brightened more and more as you spoke, the biggest grin spreading over you. Draco was astonished that so much joy could fit inside of you. Draco furrowed his brows.
“What about your workstation?” You shook your head. You picked up a hand, waving him off.
“That part doesn’t matter; people don’t see it.” You mumbled, turning back to the fabric.
“It does matter. You see it.” Draco countered. You grimaced.
“No. I can work with dental floss and a paper clip. I don’t need a fancy workspace to make nice things.” You grumbled. You turned back to your cutting. You pulled at the metal circles, releasing the cut fabric from the block. You tossed the fabric and its pattern paper on top of your desk.
“Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. If you did get to design your own workstation, what would you want in it?” Draco asked. You hummed in thought. He watched your scissors as you continued your work. You cut out a full second piece before you finally brought your eyes to him.
“I’d want two rows of ribbon on my wall, under my buttons. I’d want a closet for all my fabric. I’d want a whole table dedicated to cutting fabric so my back wouldn’t hurt from doing it on the floor. I’d want two machines and two sergers. I’d want space for an ironing board and a small table next to it for my iron. And I’d want windows, a whole bunch of them. With sheer curtains.” You smiled at him as you finished, glancing up at the windowless walls. It was stuffier in here than it was in the actual shop. He couldn’t imagine it was very good for you to not have any sunlight all day.
“I hope you get it,” Draco whispered. You sighed in response, dragging you back to reality. Your drab little shop and its peeling paint and crappy hangers. Compared to the one you built in your head, this shop was pathetic. It had pretty wood floors though. That was a pro. It was probably the only pro.
“I hope so too.” You replied.
Once Draco stepped out of the shop after a few hours talking over your fabric, he pulled his coat closer to his body. It was colder now that the sun had hidden its face for longer. His wand brushed over his fingers as he buried them in his pockets. He started on his trudge to the closest fireplace. A quiet scream to his back made him jump, a memory of a classmate bloody and flying to a brick wall flashing in front of his eyes. Draco spun around, pointing his wand at the scream. A man with a trash bag over his shoulder stared at him. The scream was certainly girlish. Where could it have come from?
“What’s in the bag?” Draco mumbled. The man gave him a look, giggling.
“Trash. Prissy boy never taken out the trash before.” The man mocked, tossing the black bag into the disgusting dumpster next to the door. Draco should step back into your shop and hide from embarrassment. The man chuckled as he turned back to the restaurant, closing the door behind him. The hinges squealed as he pulled it, a bell finally ringing. It was the hinges screaming at him, not a dead classmate. Draco clenched his teeth, shoving his wand back into his pocket. He started back on his walk, much faster than he initially started. He didn’t peel his fingers off his wand until he was stepping out of his family fireplace. He settled down more as he slipped into his pajamas.
When he finally settled onto the side of his bed, he realized he hadn’t thought about it once you started talking.
As you made the outfits for the Spring Fling, Draco found himself spending more time in your shop. He limited himself to once per week, but he wanted more. When you told him about bobbins and sizes of needles, he could only think about you. When you would get so excited about your designs, he only thought of your laugh and the joy buzzing off of you. It was rare for him to think about his years in Hogwarts or the things he regretted. He loved your music and your fabrics and the chugging of your sewing machine. He even grew to appreciate the stray threads that always seemed to land on his clothes. Because every second of it would pull the weight off his shoulders.
After the Spring Fling, you started designing for the Summer Brunch. He sat next to you as you scribbled on your pad. He joined his mother when she went for the design meeting. He picked up your sewing room while you talked to her. He sat next to you as you started picking out fabrics. He let himself visit you at most three times a week. He obviously needed to help you, or you’d be lonely. Obviously. You taught him how to use a serger, and he actually did help besides running his mouth. He did a lot of organizing and picking up. He would catch all the small scraps of fabric tossed on the floor. He swept quite a bit. Draco caught onto the iron faster than you thought he would. He liked pressing seams; it made all the difference.
The Summer Brunch finally came, and he already knew what all the clothes looked like. Narcissa had a one-shoulder dress with cascading water down her shoulder. White lace stitched around the bottom like the foam waves made. Lucius had a simple linen shirt with wide triangular sleeves. His pants had waves that rose to the top and crashed back down to his ankles. You made Draco's pants easy and wide, and he pressed the seams on them. His shirt you added a deep V-cut that you strung beads across. The beads would change color, which he didn’t understand.
It fared well against the brunch. All of his mother’s friends cooed at the sight of them. Draco slipped away as early as he could, making his way to the balcony of their beach house. It gave a perfect view of the horizon and the crashing waves. He liked to see all the overdressed guests walking along the line of the beach. It was quieter from his perch, which he liked. He didn’t have to converse with people who just used all the same lines. The same questions over and over that reminded him time was running out. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He didn’t know if he ever would. He kind of assumed he’d end up like Regulus.
Draco closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the lounge chair. He listened to waves crashing, trying to make out the words. He could catch the right advice if he just listened hard-
“There’s the life of the party!” Cheered Mattheo’s voice. Draco snapped his head up, catching the faces of his friends in the sliding door.
“What the hell?” Draco muttered as they just kept spilling out of the door. Mattheo flopped onto the only other lounge chair, kicking his legs up on the railing. He sighed deeply like he worked six jobs and had fifteen kids.
“Oh, this is nice,” Mattheo muttered. Theo squeezed out the door, fighting to get in front of Blaise. He settled on the ground next to Mattheo’s chair, hanging his legs off the edge of the balcony. Blaise grumbled about getting a chair as he spun back around into the house. Pansy came out next, slapping Mattheo’s legs to make him move them to the side. She settled on the foot end of Mattheo’s lounge chair, leaning back against his propped-up legs. Lorenzo came out wagging an entire charcuterie board of fruit.
“We brought snacks!” Lorenzo cheered, handing the board to Mattheo. Lorenzo settled on the ground next to Draco’s chair, stretching his legs out and pressing his feet to Mattheo’s chair. Blaise finally came back with a chair that Draco was pretty sure came from the dining room. He dropped it in front of the door, blocking off the entrance and exit. The balcony was not meant for six people. They didn’t seem to mind sharing space, though. Mattheo passed the tray back to Lorenzo. He settled it on his lap, picking up a strawberry. He held it up to Draco. Draco gently took it from his finger, rolling it over in his hand.
“What are you guys doing here?” Draco asked, pulling the leaves of the strawberry backwards. He raised the fruit to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the red flesh. Blaise leaned forward on his chair, snatching an orange slice from Lorenzo’s lap. He popped it entirely into his mouth.
“Uh, we were invited by your loving mother?” Blaise’s answer was muffled by his fruit, but his judgmental look was plenty. Pansy nodded.
“Duh, what you thought we just broke in? For you? Please.” Pansy mocked, snickering at her own joke. Draco glared at her.
“Oh, like you’re so fun.” Draco sniped.
“Your dad thought so.” Pansy bit back. Draco grimaced, scrunching his nose.
“That’s disgusting,” Lorenzo grumbled. He turned his mouth in revolt. Theo leaned back, giving Lorenzo a look.
“Weren’t you talking about Narcissa being a MILF on the way over here?” Theo rhetorically asked. Lorenzo groaned, dropping his head back.
“You guys are all gross,” Blaise mumbled. He dipped down, picking out a second orange piece and a small handful of grapes. He held his hand out towards Pansy. She gratefully picked the grapes from his palm. Blaise dropped his orange slice into his mouth again.
“Don’t get me started on your mother, Blaise.” Mattheo groaned. Pansy giggled.
“Ms. Zabini is the love of my life; she just doesn’t know it yet.” Pansy agreed. Draco pulled the top of his strawberry behind his head before swinging it off the edge of the balcony.
“Woah!” Pansy yelled.
“Bad boy alert.” Lorenzo mocked. Draco scoffed.
“Shut up, Berkshire.” Draco snapped.
“You shut up. Litterbug.” Lorenzo responded. Draco sighed, looking back out at the waves. He wanted to ask for advice. He wanted to know how to feel and what he should think. He wanted someone to tell him what to do and what he should be. If someone could just tell him what he needed to spend his time on, he’d feel much better about wasting it.
“Are there any cherries?” Draco asked, leaning to look over the top of Lorenzo’s head. Lorenzo hummed as his eyes searched over the platter. Mattheo’s hand shot out, pointing to the tray in his lap.
“Next to the blueberries.” Mattheo offered. Lorenzo gasped as he finally found them.
“How many do you want?” Lorenzo asked, tilting his head back to look at him. Draco glanced at the water.
“One is fine.” Lorenzo’s hand shot out, holding up a perfectly red cherry. Draco plucked it from his hands and bit the stem off. He sat up straighter, leaning closer to the railing of the balcony.
“I can make the water, right?” Draco asked, looking to the crowd of confused friends.
“Do fish like cherries?” Blaise asked, tilting his head. Pansy furrowed her brows.
“Not that I’m aware of.” She mumbled. Draco glared at them all, winding his arm back. He flung the cherry over the edge of the railing, keeping his eyes trained on the small orb. It flew in an arch over the sand and fell straight into the crashing waves. Draco felt a surge of pride as he settled back into his chair.
“It’s not for fish. It’s for my cousin.” Draco muttered, closing his eyes and trying to listen to the waves again.
“Well, my mouth is over here. You have terrible aim.” Mattheo joked. A chuckle passed over the group.
“Not you. He was my first cousin once removed- maybe twice. He killed himself.” The chuckle fizzled out quickly. Draco kept his eyes shut, tuning out the eyes glued to the side of his face.
“He thought it’d stick it to Voldemort. I guess it worked out, just 20 years later. My mother really loved him. She thought of him like a brother more than her cousin. He loved cherries. He would have them at every family dinner. I just like to sit up here and listen to the waves.” Draco explained. He swore he could hear breaths with every wave hitting the sand.
“Sometimes I think I can hear him in the waves,” Draco whispered, leaning his ear to the water. He was sure he heard a mumble of something in a voice he hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t clear enough to make out the words.
“You sure know how to kill the mood,” Mattheo mumbled. Groans and complaints met him. Draco opened his eyes, glaring at him. Mattheo threw his hands up.
“What if I want a dramatic cousin backstory! What if I want a dead cousin!” Mattheo dramatically shouted. Pansy shook her head at him.
“You do? We share the same cousin, Mattheo.” Draco grumbled. Mattheo scoffed.
“I don’t talk to him through the ocean. You got all the cool family. I’ve got Voldemort; it fucking sucks, man. You get all the cool stuff.” Mattheo grumbled. Pansy puffed out her bottom lip.
“Aw, poor baby.” She mocked. Mattheo glared at her. Theo sighed, lying back from his spot. He laid over Lorenzo’s legs, crossing his hands at his stomach.
“I like to think I can hear my mother in the rain. She loved the rain.” Theo mumbled, closing his eyes. Draco hummed. The group slowly quieted down as they closed their eyes. They perked their ears to the waves. A few breaths passed where all Draco heard was the water and laughter from the brunch downstairs. He wouldn’t be able to hear Regulus this time. All he could hear was Lorenzo’s teeth popping blueberries. Pansy had a nasally wheeze coming from her every time she exhaled. Mattheo couldn’t keep his feet still, the metal aglet of his shoe tapping against the railing. Theo had started humming. Blaise’s chair creaked when he reached for more fruit. His advice wasn’t going to come from the water tonight; it was going to come from the fruit-stained mouths of the people he loved.
“I don’t understand how everyone has so quickly switched after the war. My stomach burns with guilt every time I hang out with someone other than a pureblood.” Draco confessed, keeping his eyes shut. Hums sparked around him, quietly urging him to continue.
“It’s not that I wish it would go back. I just feel like everyone spent all that time telling me to never ever waste-spend my time with half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Then after Voldemort dies, everyone has changed their mind so quickly. I just don’t understand why I still have all these feelings of disgust and guilt. I don’t get why everyone else can go so quickly from hatred to even liking.” Draco continued. His hands bounced in his lap with irritation.
“They didn’t. That’s why it’s so easy for them.” Mattheo said.
“Yeah,” Pansy added, incredibly helpfully. Draco peeled his eyes open, meeting Mattheo’s across the balcony.
“So, you’re saying my parents still hate them, they’re just hiding it?” Draco asked, thinking of his mother’s smile as she pulled you into a hug. He doubted that was true. Mattheo shook his head.
“No, everyone who was a Death Eater had their own feelings towards Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Some of them hated them. Some of them were indifferent. Some of them really didn’t give a rats ass, but they were born into it. Like your mother. I don’t know about Lucius; I don’t talk to the guy.”
“He’s okay.” Blaise offered.
“Thanks, glad my father is okay,” Draco grumbled.
“Offering my two cents.” Blaise snipped.
“What I’m saying is not everyone really hated those people; they were bred to. Or they were trained and threatened to. Obviously, a good portion of them were in it for the love of the game. Some people just genuinely have that hatred deep inside of them. But your parents? I think they probably haven’t cared for a long time, but they wanted to protect you, so they spread that hate to stay on Voldemort’s side. At least that’s my theory.” Mattheo said. Blaise offered him a slice of watermelon. Mattheo grinned brightly before taking it from his hands. He sank his teeth into it, ignoring the water that covered the corner of his lips.
Maybe it was true. Maybe the whole time his parents were in it just to be on the side that would keep them alive the longest. It clearly wasn’t impossible to have different views than the ones that were being presented. The ocean crashed enough for him to know that Regulus was the right example of that.
“It’s okay to still have those feelings of guilt. You were raised to feel a certain way. What matters is what you do with them. If you hurt people, then it’s hate. If you fight what you were taught, it’s growth. You just have to argue with where those thoughts of disgust are coming from. Is it what your parents taught you?” Pansy added. Theo hummed in approval. His hand lifted, fumbling around the tray in Lorenzo’s lap. Draco dropped his hand down next to Lorenzo’s shoulder. A red strawberry landed in it.
“Personally, I’ve been spending a lot of time at Muggle movie theaters. They have some entertaining moving pictures.” Blaise said, chuckling at a memory.
“I’ve been reading more about Muggle politics.” Lorenzo offered up.
“Come to find out, they had a very similar situ-”
“Lorenzo, is this going to make me sad?” Pansy cut off. Lorenzo pressed his lips into a tight line.
“Horrifically sad.”
“Then don’t tell me.” Pansy decided.
“Do you guys still think about it?” Draco asked. Too many agreements far too quickly greeted him. He raised his brows as every one of his friends’ heads bobbed.
“Every damn day,” Theo grumbled.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Except for-” Draco cut himself off, looking over his shoulder at the water. He pulled at the chain of his necklace, pressing his thumb into the lines.
“Except for what?” Blaise pushed. Draco shook his head.
“Ew, Dude!” Mattheo shouted, pulling his mouth from his pink fruit. Pansy gasped next to him.
“You’re disgusting!” She huffed. Draco glared at them both. Theo snickered in response.
“Talk about thinking with your dick,” Lorenzo muttered. Draco couldn’t stop himself from laughing with the other, but he swallowed it down. He was lucky Lorenzo couldn’t see his face.
“Not funny. And not what I’m talking about.” Draco complained. Theo rolled his head on Lorenzo’s leg, looking to Draco.
“Well, spit it out,” Theo said. Draco tilted his head to the side, sighing through his nose.
“I’ve just been spending a lot of time at this clothing shop.” He explained. Theo hummed.
“I love retail therapy,” Theo whined, pressing a hand to his heart.
“Me too,” Lorenzo added.
“It’s not even that. I just-” He shrugged with one shoulder. He thought of you standing just a little too close to him as you explained how to press seams. He thought of your hums barely breaking over the whirring of your sewing machine. He thought of the serger in your shop shaking under his hands as he fed your fabric through it.
“I’ve been doing a little work in a designer’s shop. It’s actually been incredibly enjoyable. It’s the only time I don’t think about it.” Draco pushed out, running his finger over the raised metal lines. Eyebrows raised.
“You’ve been doing manual labor?” Lorenzo asked. Draco scoffed. Lorenzo held up a strawberry as an olive branch. Draco snatched it from him, pulling the top off.
“I just iron and sweep a little,” Draco grumbled. Pansy snorted. Draco glared at her. She held her hands up in defense. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine you holding a broom.” Pansy broke into laughter as she reached the end of her sentence. Her cackles made the others crack into giggles. Draco tried to stifle the snorts rocking through his body.
gasping and leaning out of my casket mid funeral to tell you more
toby having no clue what squirting is until you're gushing on his face and he genuinely thinks he broke you and he starts panicking thinking he hurt you because you have a few tears rolling down the sides of your face and you have to pull yourself from your haze of your best orgasm of your life to calm him down and after such experience he is constantly striving to make you squirt again
Toby who doesn't realize how much he loves being your puppy until he sees you interacting with Smile dog and you're cooing at him and calling him a pretty boy and toby really starts thinking about it you spend too much time with Smile and then one night you're out on a mission in da forest w Toby and he's straying from the path a little he's too focused on the mushrooms sprouting from trees and he's falling behind you get about three paces in front of him before you make the kissy noise and tell him to come on and toby is completely stunned into silence because you're tell him to come on like a dog and he's completely enamored he catches up to you but every now and then he'll pretend to get distracted with sometime just to hear you call him to your side like he's a dog
toby who loves that you go to bed shirtless/relaxes in tanks tops he loves laying down on top of your back and digging his hands under your sides he loves pressing his fingers into your stomach and pressing kisses to your shoulder before sinking his teeth into it, gently dragging his teeth over your skin or laying his head down on your stomach and pulling your thighs over his shoulders for a nap he falls asleep with your thigh his mouth he licks at any bite that's too hard as an apology bc he's just such a sweet boy
there was smth else I thought of but I can't remember so I'll just lay back down
I remembered what it was
you're sleeping in the same bed for Abt the third time it's very early in the romantic relationship and toby slowly wakes up but it's not your face in front of him it's his sisters with her jaw hanging onto the pillow and glass breaking the skin of her forehead and it scares toby so bad he swings his hand forward and smacks her, pushing her face further away from him but it's not her shout that follows it's yours and toby blinks harder and his sister's face disappears and instead it's your hands cradling your face and toby flips out bc he really didn't mean to hit you and now he thinks he's totally fucked the whole thing up and he's panicking and trying to explain himself and you bring him back to earth and pet his hair down pushing him back to bed
gasping awake to tell you you and toby wandering in the forest okay so boom you run ahead a little bit and then lay down on the ground and pretend to be dead okay so boom toby coming around the corner and catching your drift and he's all like "youre the prettiest corpse I've ever seen" okay so boom he's very cautiously running his fingertips up your leg and okay so boom he's leaning in for a kiss okay so boom making out on the forest floor
OKAY SO BOOM LICKING INTO HIS MOUTH BY THE SIDE AND RUNNING YOUR TONGUE OVER HIS TEETH OKAY SO BOOM
summary: You meet a guy at your apartment because of your dog, Kitty
warnings: You are down on yourself, you think you're a bad person, your dog is a bull terrier, Jon mention, Titus is included, lots of talk abt dog poop idk how that happened, I wrote alot about what kind of person you are which IK kinda breaks the reader thing but I think it's tolerable it's all personality wise, damian is hot?, damian thinks he's a bad person too, There might be a concern for kitty's health honestly, thats it
Your package had finally come in. Which was good because you’d been brushing your teeth in the shine of your shitty cookie-scented candle for two weeks now. You probably could’ve just gone into town and bought a lightbulb. But the thought of going into a Lowes or Home Depot made your heart drop to your ass. You just wanted a lightbulb. That’s all. You hoped that when you opened the box it would be a nicely bubble-wrapped white bulb. If you opened it and it was in crumbles, you’d have to actually log into your Amazon account. You’d spend ten minutes typing out a scathing review. For twenty minutes you would sit in the joy of hurting someone’s feelings before you’d feel guilt biting at your shoulder. Then you’d scramble to delete it and spend the rest of the night figuring out what scent you wanted your bathroom to be.
Kitty next to you whined as you tapped the top of the brown box. You glanced down at her, frowning.
“Yes, okay, fine. Needy little thing, aren’t you?” You groaned. You tucked the small box to your hip, tugging Kitty’s leash up your arm. Kitty wagged her tail as she skittered out of the mail room. She was faster up the stairs than you were. She’d stop every few steps to sit and watch as you caught up. Which was more taunting than her tugging at her leash. You finally caught up to her on the landing of the second floor. Whoever built this building hated renters because they decided the best spot to put the stairs was across every single hall. So you'd have to walk past every apartment number between the ground floor and yours. You hated it because it meant you almost always ran into someone on their way out of their apartment.
Kitty dragged you down the hall. She abruptly stopped, sniffing at a welcome mat. You tried to tug her away, repeatedly making kissy noises. You froze as the door swung open. A huge gray Great Dane stepped out. It hung its head, sniffing at Kitty. You felt your heart stall at the sight of the man behind it. He was built and sharp. He looked like he could cut through stone with his chin. His thighs were rippling with muscles that you couldn’t decide if you wanted hidden. If he was wearing anything other than his tight running shorts, you may never see such stunning thighs in your life. If they were hidden, your mouth would still be closed. And his arms could snap someone’s neck. And you didn’t think you were particularly interested in violence, but the curves of them still made you raise a brow.
“Oh. Apologies.” He said. His voice. You must’ve hit your head on the way up the stairs. He couldn’t be real. He sounded like the smell of the ocean fresh in the morning. You could remember the one time you went on vacation to the coast. It had started raining, and everyone went inside. Your friend had complained about it. But you sat on the front porch and let the rain soak through your clothes. It smelled amazing. It was like a mixture of earth and salt. And you didn’t mind that you were shivering because the ocean was screaming at you with its waves. You couldn’t imagine a better way to spend your time. Your friend made you take off your shoes before you came in, but-you snapped your eyes from his thighs.
“Jesus. I’m sorry. My dog was sniffing at your mat. I swear I wasn’t just standing around waiting for someone to pop out.” You said, laughing at yourself. The man nodded. He pulled a leg up, swinging it over the back of his dog. The dog’s head bumped against his stomach.
“Your dog is huge.” You stated. God, a good-looking guy could really make you look like a complete fool. The man glanced down like he just noticed the size of it.
“He’s a Great Dane. They’re quite big.” The man responded. Okay, cool, so he wants you dead. You nodded and tugged at Kitty’s leash. He wanted you gone, clearly, and you were taking up this beautiful man’s time. Kitty sat sturdy as stone in front of his dog. You grimaced and glanced up at him.
“Sorry. Kitty is really stubborn.” You tried, laughing again. Were you always this pitchy? You cleared your throat, looking down at Kitty. She didn’t bother giving you any attention, sniffing at the big dog.
“Kitty? That’s a Bull Terrier.” The man stated like you had to be the stupidest person on the planet.
“You and dog breeds, huh?” You joked. He stared at you blankly. Someone should come up behind you and take you out of your misery. You sighed.
“Well. Her name is actually Katherine. I named her after Shakespeare's play, but Katherine is a bit long. So I shortened it to Kat and then obviously that turned into Kitty.” You explained, tugging on her leash again. The man nodded, taking it in.
“I also named my dog after Shakespeare.” The man declared. He gestured down at his dog as you had forgotten about it. You nodded.
“Titus.” He added. You nodded again. You couldn’t flirt if you were held at gunpoint.
“Awesome.” You decided. He fell silent, staring at you. You really couldn’t handle the green of his eyes locked on you. You broke the contact, staring at the floor. You blew your cheeks out. He smacked his lips together.
“I need to start my run.” He declared. You gasped.
“Oh, of course. Yes, let me get out of your hair.” You said. You dipped down and gathered Kitty into your arms. She whined as you pulled her away from Titus. You quickly spun away from him, practically running from him. You made it to the first step of the stairs before he yelled something at you. You turned back around, finding him in the center of the hall with his dog standing next to him.
“What?”
“I said, Have a good day.” He clarified. You winced in embarrassment.
“Yeah, thanks!” You shot back, racing up the stairs. You got up to the next floor before you set Kitty down. She glared at you before prancing in front of you.
“Yeah, thanks? Who says that?” You scolded yourself. Kitty led you back to your apartment. Which you were thankful for because your mind was still stuck on the man. You never got his name. You hadn’t seen him around the building before, which was interesting. You weren’t social by any means, but you’d memorized a lot of faces. Usually when you had to take Kitty out, you’d run into people.
Your lightbulb for the bathroom came in perfect shape. It wasn’t broken, which was good. It fit, which was good. It wasn’t the clinical hospital light that you were scared of, which was good. But you couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a fool you were. But at least you’d never see him again.
Fuck you. Seriously. Why’d you have to go around telling yourself dumb shit like, at least you’d never see him again. Two weeks later, you were sitting on the bench next to the front door to your apartment building. Kitty was squatting in the grass, taking care of her business. You were glad it was an odd hour of the night so your neighbors wouldn’t have to witness you leaning over with a bag. Thankfully Kitty hadn’t subjected you to that shame just yet. She was still shaking with effort.
The bad part was you could see Titus and his owner down the sidewalk. And he wasn’t alone. A man his age and equally built was running with him. He had a dog too, which made you wonder about how many pets were in this building. They both were drenched in sweat and running faster than you ever had. You were suddenly realizing you were still in your pajamas and slippers. You looked like your life was falling to bits, and this bitch was out here running at 2 am. Did he not have a job? He slowed as he and his friend approached the door. The other man gently took Titus’ leash from his owner.
“See you in, Damian.” The man called, running towards the door. He looked to you. He winked a blue eye at you as he pushed through the front door of the building. You looked to Titus’ owner in confusion. He was standing across from you on the sidewalk, huffing with his hands on his hips. Poor Kitty was still straining between the two of you. You supposed his name was Damian, but you weren’t going to say it out loud until he gave it to you. He lifted his eyes, staring at you through his top lashes. You parted your mouth as he watched you from across the grass. You turned your head to the side, scratching at your cheek as a cover. He had to be aware of how intense his eyes were. He had to be aware. You can’t possibly be 20-something with those eyes and not know how they look. You turned back to him.
His eyes had left you. He pulled at the edge of his shirt and wiped his face of its sweat. You stared at his stomach, your eyes widening at the sheer number of abs. Damian dropped his shirt back down, walking around your dog. He stopped a few paces in front of you. He sighed at the ground before meeting your eyes again.
“There’s a dog park around the corner.” He stated.
“Yeah. I’ve seen it," You replied. He coughed, patting his chest. He grimaced and cleared his throat.
“We could walk Titus and Katherine together, if you wanted to,” he offered, raising a brow. Was he? He wasn't, right? Why else would he want to take his giant for a dog on a walk with your dog? Kitty didn’t even reach your knee. She was the runt of her litter. And she was still taking a shit.
“Should I take her to the vet?” You asked, pointing at your dog. Damian paused, glancing back at her. Katherine? That’s her name, yeah, but it wasn’t really. He’s full legal naming her.
“Well, how long has she been straining like that?” He asked. You shook your head.
“Like 40 seconds, I think.” You said. Damian shrugged.
“Check it for blood when she’s done. It’d probably be good to take her.” He stated. You nodded. You pressed your hand to the sandwich bag under your thigh. You hadn’t taken Kitty on a walk in a month. You had lost her doggy bag holder weeks ago. Then you actually ran out of the bags, and you couldn’t remember where you had gotten them from. You couldn’t imagine that someone as put together as this Damian guy actually wanted to take you out. Granted, you weren’t even sure if the dog park counted as a date. It’s not like you could dress particularly cute to the dog park. You hated the thought of Kitty shitting and you having to scoop it up with your sandwich bag in front of Damian. Especially because he was rather hot, it would suck even more if he truly spent time with you.
You could see him dating you for four months before something something, and then you snap, and he sees the real bits of you. The parts that apparently made you so unbearable that no relationship of yours lasted more than a year. Your friendships died like hamsters. They’d crawl into air vents and keel over from lettuce. You never dated anyone longer than five months. They usually started bright and then fizzled out. Like your half-burnt cookie candle. One of the three wicks went out a week ago, and you never bothered to wrap the thing in foil to even it out again. You just let it burn crooked.
“So, the park?” He reminded. You pulled your eyes from Kitty, looking up at him.
“Do you think you’re a bad person?” He furrowed his brows.
“What?”
“Well, I just- I think I’m a bad person. So I’m trying to see if it’s like a universal thing or if it’s just me.” You explained. Damian shook his head.
“I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He whispered. He pulled his arms over his chest, watching you with a concerned look. You squinted up at him.
“Yeah, but you don’t know me.” You countered. Damian shrugged with one shoulder.
“I have impeccable judgement in people,” Damian said. You snorted. You tried to find the humor in his face, but he was serious. He was an odd man. Yet you weren’t getting that feeling of dread settling into your stomach when the man you had been slobbering over wore flip-flops.
“I lost her poop bags weeks ago. I’ve been using sandwich bags.” You confessed. Damian nodded.
“You can have some of mine.” He offered.
“I burn candles unevenly because I just can’t be fucked to fix it.” You added.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” He whispered.
“I was belting out a song-naked-in my bathroom. I swung my towel over my head and smashed my lightbulb. I didn’t want to go to a hardware store, so I ordered one online. I mean that’s pathetic.”
“I can go to the hardware store.”
“I clogged my kitchen sink, and I can’t figure out how to fix it. I’ve been washing my dishes in the bathroom sink. To candlelight! Because of my fucked lightbulb!” You stared up at him. He shook his head. Kitty’s leash loosened as she ran up to you, rubbing her face against your leg.
“I know how to fix it.”
“I suck, seriously. I haven’t dated anyone for more than five months. I mean, I can hardly stand who I am; I doubt anyone else could. My friendships never go longer than a year. There is something innately unbearable about me.” You declared. You dropped your hand to Kitty’s head, petting at her fur. Damian stared at you. You didn’t look away this time. You hoped he’d turn and join his friend inside. But he stood right there.
“There’s a first time for everything.” He whispered. What a dick. He wouldn’t even let you wallow in your own self-pity. He just had to have a solution for everything. You kissed your teeth, turning your face away from him.
“You’re irritating.” You grumbled. He hummed.
“You’re beautiful.” He replied. You glared at him.
“Flattery gets you nowhere.” You snapped. Damian shook his head. He unfolded his arms.
“I’d like to take you out.” He offered, pressing his fingers into his hips again. You hummed.
“Okay.” You decided. Damian smiled at you. He pulled at something on his hip. He held out the thin black plastic to you.
“Take your dog to the vet,” He whispered, slipping through the building’s front door. You sighed through your nose. You waved the poop bag at Kitty. She only stared at you with pure childlike love.
“You’ve liked me longer than a year, haven’t you, Kitty?” You asked, scritching behind her ears. Her tongue dropped from the side of her mouth.
“But you eat shit, so I’m not sure you have good taste.” You added. Kitty coughed, dropping back to the grass. She rolled over onto her back, showing you the span of her belly. You leaned over, scratching at it.
“I never gave you my number.” A man grumbled from behind you. You screamed, startling up and glaring over your shoulder. Damian gave you a guilty look.
“Jesus!” You yelled in frustration.
“Damian, actually. Apologies. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He whispered. His shoulders tipped inwards in shame. You shook your head.
“It’s okay. I was having a rather boring conversation with Kitty.” You shook your head, trying to shimmy off your fear.
“You can have a boring conversation with me.” He offered. You reached to the side and patted the bench.
“Okay.” Damian smiled at your response. He closed the door gently behind himself and settled next to you. Kitty jumped from the ground and started nosing his thigh for pets. The apple really doesn’t fall from the tree. He didn’t look at you. You turned and looked forward. All that was ahead was the sidewalk and the parking lot for your apartment building. Despite you complaining to yourself every time you took Kitty out about how boring it was, you didn’t mind it now.
“I think I’m a bad person too,” Damian whispered. He didn’t look away from the parking lot. You kept your eyes on the bland landscape. You scooted a hair closer to him, pressing your side to him.
“That’s alright. We can be awful together.” You both spent the rest of your energy next to each other. It wasn’t terribly long before you both decided it was too late to be staying out. But the few minutes you spent in silence were incredibly relaxing. You hadn’t felt so calm in a long time. It was like rain soaking through all your clothes again. His presence really was quite relaxing to bask in.
summary: mattheo crashes your wedding to Cormac and you make a hard decision (oooo intrigue you wanna read so bad)
warnings : Cormac is lwk a solid and nice guy, runaway bride, Cormac and Mattheo were both super immature in hogwarts, you have odd values, sexual insinuations multiple times, quickies in the closet immediately after meeting someone, talks of wedding, you're lwk fucking over Cormac, you're actually crazy a little but Mattheo fucks with it, honestly just fun I wanted to try writing this trope without making the fiancè an asshole, kinda wanted to play around with the idea of you leaving an actually pretty good guy for a different kind of love, he is stable you are deep, smoking ig (theo), you and Cormac work for the ministry, plot hole *ignore bc I flash you*, what a man I like this Mattheo guy idk if you know that, you think Cormac is hot like rlly hot, and Freddie is hot but him as Cormac I'm uncomfortable, Google translate Italian, sweet sweet sweet sweet.
In Hogwarts, Cormac sucked. You weren’t going to pretend that he wasn’t an asshole. He was a total dick. Not to you, but in general. You spent a few years under Mattheo’s arm, and the whole time, he and Cormac had some kind of feud going on. They would glare at each other constantly. They would snarl and almost even growl. It was completely ridiculous. They didn’t even talk about what the problem was; they were just pissed at each other. Mattheo refused to tell you why he hated him so much. He’d get to seething the second you brought him up. He pressed his lips into a tight line and shook his head at you. It was entirely too dramatic for the both of them.
You and Mattheo came to an unfortunate end, as every teen romance did. You were unluckily paired with Cormac for an Ancient Runes project. Mattheo hated it. He hated it so much he refused to let you breathe. He stood outside the classroom door and tossed his arm over your shoulder the second you left. He glared at Cormac as he led you away from him. He’d conveniently realize he needed to check out a book at the same time you were working in the library with Cormac. He even tried to convince your professor to let him sit in your class. It even came to him storming into the room after class dismissed to interrupt a conversation you, Cormac, and your professor were having on the final day of your project.
You broke it off. He tried to get you back for weeks, but you never let him. You made it incredibly clear that he wasn’t coming back.
You hardly saw anyone from Hogwarts for years. You focused on your career. You became a court scribe for the Ministry of Magic. It was enjoyable, and the pay was amazing. You liked that you got to overhear professional drama and write it down. Sometimes you really had to hold back a giggle at the shit people said in front of the jury.
One day you were having your lunch in the lobby when you saw none other than Cormac McLaggen. He was sitting across the lobby, in your mirrored seat. The Ministry of Magic was completely in love with making every room symmetrical. He raised his eyes from his sandwich, catching yours. You tilted your head to the side, raising a brow at him. He grinned and dropped his head to hide it. He looked back to you and stood up, snatching up his briefcase and lunch. Cormac gestured at the chair across from you. You nodded and he plopped himself down.
“Haven’t seen you in forever,” Cormac muttered. You nodded.
“I intended it that way. Hogwarts was awful. You work here?” You asked. Cormac nodded, dropping his briefcase to the floor.
“I work in Games and Sports. For the Quidditch League.” Cormac said. He lifted his hand and pointed to the ceiling. You lifted yours and pointed downwards to the floor.
“I work in the courtroom. I’m the scribe.” You explained. Cormac grinned. You searched his face, noticing he looked different. The last time you saw him, he still had a breakout on his forehead, and he had an attitude. A rough one at that. Even when Mattheo wasn’t around. But his features had sharpened. And he was…
Hot? Was that possible? Were you really going to say that Cormac McLaggen was attractive? His cheeks had hollowed out, and his chin was pointier. He had grown out his hair, and it was curly. You couldn’t tell in school because he always kept it so short. As far as you could tell, he was calmer. He seemed to settle down a bit.
“Did you go to anger management?” You cut off his ramble. You really hadn’t heard a single word he said; all you were hearing was his hot face. Cormac pulled his lips into his mouth, dragging his teeth over them. You crossed a line.
“Oh- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m think-” You started. Cormac shook his head, waving his hands at you.
“It’s fine. I get it. Last time you saw me, I was flipping my lid over anything that moved. I was a total asshole.” Cormac said, squeezing his eyes tightly at the memory. He confessed? He knew he was an asshole? Most assholes you knew hardly knew that they had any effect on anyone.
“Yes, I went to anger management, and I have therapy every Tuesday. I realized that I was hurting people all the time, and I just couldn’t live with myself. I realized I wasn’t who I wanted to be. So I changed. I’ve gotten better. I’ve actually noticed quite a bit of growth.” Cormac explained. A softer and more genuine grin spread across his face. He was so proud. And you found yourself hoping he was single.
“That’s amazing. I’m glad you’ve worked on yourself.”
“So you’re asking upright questions, can I?” Cormac asked. You jerked your hand out in front of you, giving him approval.
“Still with Riddle? Heard you guys were on and off the last couple months of school.” Cormac ventured. He raised a brow as he dug his teeth into his sandwich again. You scoffed.
“No. We broke up the last couple months before graduation, and we did not get back together.” You declared, hardening your tone. Cormac hummed around the food in his mouth.
“And I haven’t talked to him since then. It’s been years. I don’t regret it.” You added. Cormac swallowed.
“You broke it off?” You nodded.
“He was overcontrolling. He was breathing down my neck for weeks.” You complained. You glared at Cormac’s sandwich like it was the culprit. Cormac fell quiet, the chatter of the lobby filling the conversation. You lifted your eyes, giving him a questioning look. He was frowning at the table.
“That might’ve been… partially my fault.” he winced. You raised a brow. He sighed.
“He might’ve overheard me talking about how I liked you. And that I was going to ask you out once our project was over. My friends pointed out that you were seeing someone, and I told them I didn’t care. That I would charm you into cheating if I needed to.” Cormac whispered. You stared at him, thinking over those few days you were stuck in class with Cormac. He gave you his only quill and wrote the rest of his paper in a ballpoint pen. Which got points taken off. He’d bring you random chocolates he said his parents sent him too many of. He’d laugh at your jokes even when you knew they weren’t funny.
“You were overly nice.” You mumbled, tilting your head as you thought over Mattheo’s behavior. Jealousy looks the worst on everyone, but especially your teenage boyfriend. You can’t change the past, though; no point in worrying about what you could’ve done.
“Just to be clear, you both were total dicks.” You added, looking him up and down. Cormac nodded.
“Well aware. I regret pretty much every day I spent in Hogwarts. I’m really sorry for how I talked about you. It was totally objectifying and disgusting. It was even misogynistic as well as egotistical. I was a total asshole.” Cormac widened his eyes, furrowing his brows together. You tilted your head to the side, sucking in a sharp breath.
“God, you’re hot.” You murmured. Cormac’s face twisted into confusion.
“Do what now?”
“How long is your break?” You asked, skipping over Cormac’s confusion. Cormac stared at you with his mouth parted.
“20 minutes,” Cormac answered.
“That’s how long your break is or how much time you have left?” You furthered.
“Left.” You started gathering your things.
“How against closet quickies are you?”
“Are you serious right now?” Cormac furrowed his brows at you. You nodded. Cormac dropped his eyes to his lunch. He stared at it for a moment. You waited, impatiently.
“Yeah, okay,” Cormac stated, wrapping his sandwich back into its paper.
And that was the loving start to a beautiful relationship. You didn’t spread the information about the way you both squeezed into a Ministry of Magic closet. You only ever went over sharing your lunch in the lobby when people asked about how you got together.
Cormac was really an amazing boyfriend. He was sweet, much sweeter than you realized he could be. He was intelligent. His therapy was really doing wonders. He’d journal every night before kissing you out of your pajamas. And he’d journal after. Which you took as praise of your abilities. He valued your career. He didn’t sweat it when you told him you’d have to stay late. He’d run you a bath 10 minutes before you got home so it was perfectly warm when you got home. He met your needs and never complained.
So when he got on one knee, you didn’t dare say anything but yes. Of course you would. He was so sweet every move of the planning. He helped you every step. He went with you to the florist and the caterer and the photographer. He went with you to every venue, and he didn’t whine when you dragged him to another. He only smiled and kissed your cheek when you asked to look at another. His mother went with you to every dress shop. You stared into the mirror through your veil, and you knew he’d cry when he saw you. He helped you plan the guest list and the seating arrangement. And when you snapped at him from all the stress, he didn’t snap back. He gently laid you down on your stomach and massaged your back.
The day finally came, and the weather was good. You were thankful for that. You couldn’t even imagine what you’d do if all this planning for your outside wedding came crashing down for a little fucking rain. Cormac’s mother was the sweetest, zipping you into your dress. Your bridesmaids were very sweet too. The moment you caught your breath, they were popping back in with more bad news. You should’ve hired a planner.
“Someone lost their shoe.” One of them piped up.
“Who is someone?”
“Groomsman.”
“Then it’s the groom’s problem, not mine.” You decided. The florist had shown up an hour late. The caterer said the oven in the reception’s kitchen had run out of fluid. He sent someone to grab more from the store, but he said dinner would be pushed back at least an hour. One of your bridesmaids had a stain on her heel. Despite all the awful bits that kept coming up, things were put together. The venue was nice. It was a historic building in perfect condition and perfect green grass in its backyard. The arch and its seats were set up. Cormac had kissed you as you dragged your dress into the building, wrapped in its black bag. The day was falling together. And you did mean falling because things really were going haywire.
Cormac’s mother slipped out of the room to check on her son. It was getting to the time that he needed to make it downstairs and make his entrance. You sighed and glanced over your shoulder at the mirror.
You couldn’t wait to watch your hands age around your wedding band. Cormac was the sweetest boyfriend you ever had. You were glad he was to be your husband at the end of today.
When you made it down the aisle, you kept your eyes trained on Cormac. You tried your hardest to keep them trained on him and not look at all the people staring at you. You were right; he cried when he saw you. You smiled at him, glancing down at the grass path leading you to him. What a man. He made you breakfast. He made you dinner. He ate lunch with you at work. He loved to listen to you talk about your cases after work. He giggled when you told him something you thought was funny.
You handed your flowers off to your maid of honor, standing across from Cormac. Cormac gently took your hands into his. The officiant began talking, all the words you heard during rehearsal. Cormac gave his attention to you. He gave you the brightest grin you’d ever seen. His eyes were gushing with tears, his giddiness easing off him in vibration. You swear you could feel him shaking in your hands. Lawfully wedded, have and hold, Sickness health, good times bad times, blah blah blah. You kept your eyes on Cormac.
“I do,” Cormac answered. You nodded and grinned. A head shot up from the crowd on Cormac’s side. They were sat on his side, surrounded by the crowd of people. Your eyes flickered to the shape, ready to scold someone into obeying the rules of your wedding. Completely disrespectful to stand during the ceremony. You froze when you saw him.
His curls were longer. He was dressed in a nice suit, his hands buttoning it as he stood. He placed his hands in front of him, crossing them over one another. He stared at you. The crowd around him glanced up, murmurs spreading. He was breaking your wedding silently. He didn’t glance down at the people whispering to him. His eyes stayed glued to you. The officiant fell silent, noticing the ruckus. Cormac turned his head, his jaw tightening at the sight.
“Did you invite him?” Cormac asked.
“Absolutely not.” You would never invite Mattheo to your fucking wedding. Especially not when the groom was Cormac.
“Leave, Riddle!” Cormac yelled from his spot at the altar. You watched as Mattheo slowly made his way down the line of guests, straight for the aisle. He didn’t speak a word as he stepped over people’s feet. He stopped in the aisle, facing you again. He stared at you.
“What the hell?” You whispered. Mattheo didn’t have a speech or a romantic gesture; all he did was stare. He didn’t beg or plead as he did back in school. He watched.
Yet, despite its simplicity, it made you think. There was something surface-level about your relationship with Cormac. He was too sweet. He was just doting constantly. Constantly kissing and calling you sweet things. You never ate alone. You were surrounded by sweetness. Even when it was fake. He’d tell you he thought you looked nice even when he was lying, and you knew it too. He was just sweet.
He didn’t tear at your soul and reach all the way through you. His exhale didn’t slip past your lips and fill your lungs. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t know what you were thinking, even when you didn’t say anything. He didn’t make you laugh so hard it felt like your ribs were breaking open. He didn’t know when you needed him to be quiet or when you needed him to argue. He didn’t know how to undress you without making it a thing. His hands were needy. It wasn’t unloving. He cared for you, but there was something about Mattheo. Somehow, when his fingers spread over your bare skin, it wasn’t greedy. He traced you like you were a stone statue in church.
“Honey?” Cormac called, squeezing your hands. You tore your eyes from Mattheo, raising a brow at Cormac. His tears had stopped. He looked like he was pleading with you. You glanced back at Mattheo. He held his hand out, waiting.
“Sweets, what is he doing?” Cormac asked. You pinched your lips together and sighed.
You hated to do this to him. Mattheo’s face broke into a grin. He knew what you had decided. You pulled your hands from his. Cormac’s face fell, his hands reaching for your forearms.
“I’m sorry, Cormac.” You muttered, dropping your hands to your skirt. You yanked at the tulle, gathering it up into one arm.
“Don’t. We can call it off. We can talk this out.” Cormac pleaded. You hiked your dress into the crook of your elbow, looking up at Mattheo. He nodded, waving you forward. You felt a smile that hadn’t touched your face in years pull at your lips. It was complete, your widest one yet. One that made your chest swell and even made your feet happy in their heels.
“I don’t want to.” You replied, running away from the altar. Mattheo turned his back, ready to join your side and run with you. You ignored Cormac’s sweet family gasping as you caught his hand. Mattheo matched your pace perfectly as you both fled.
Mattheo dropped your hand as you burst through the front door. He raced you down the front steps of the reception building. A convertible was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, waiting. Theodore Nott was sat in the driver’s seat with a cigarette pressed between his lips. The car’s engine was still running as he waited. Mattheo opened the back door for you, letting you slip in first. He gathered part of your skirt into his lap as he settled next to you.
The wooden doors opened as guests stumbled out to catch you. Cormac squeezed through them, staring at you from the top of the stairs. Mattheo caught sight of him, leaning forward to Theo’s ear.
“Floor it, would you?” Mattheo snarked. The car jerked forward as Theo sped you away from the stairs. You pulled your veil from your hair, tossing it behind you. Theo pulled out of the parking lot, earning peeved honks. Mattheo turned to you, his hand gently cradling your cheek.
“I missed you.” He whispered. You nodded, breaking your grin by gnawing at your lip.
“I missed us.” He added. You didn’t bother nodding. Mattheo’s thumb pulled at your lip, releasing it from your teeth. He tipped forward, catching your lips.
You were right, as per usual. Mattheo reached a deeper part of your heart. He dug his nails into your soul somewhere under your ribs. He squeezed his fingers with each jump of your heart. You were devout to him. You were a prayer he could catch with his mouth and swallow to keep holy inside of him. You were much better than any drug or drink. He was much better than any fiancé.
You flung your arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer. Mattheo dug his hands into your sides. His rough hands covered the lace and beading you spent thousands on. Mattheo dipped his head down, exhaling down the length of your neck. Mattheo finally brought his mouth to your throat. You sighed at the familiar feeling, drooping your head back.
“Do not fuck in the back of my car,” Theo demanded. You peeled your eyes open, glaring at him. To insinuate that you would ever do such a thing first thing after rekindling.
“I would never.” You countered. Mattheo pulled from your neck, wiping at the spit he left with his thumb.
“Please, there’s no need to lie, darling,” Mattheo replied.
“You’re awful.” You snapped, snarling at him. Mattheo raised a brow. He tossed his arm over your shoulder.
“You left your husband for me.” He negated. You frowned.
“Fiancé. Different.” You corrected. Theo hummed, flicking his cigarette out the window.
“Got a point. Fiancé is totally different from husband.” Theo agreed. Mattheo smacked the back of Theo’s headrest.
“Focus on the road,” Mattheo complained. He pulled your hand up to his face, gently cradling it. His fingers wrapped around the diamond band, gently slipping it off your finger. He held it to the sun, twisting it back and forth. It was a big rock. A big gaudy rock. It was sweet but- well. It’s sweet.
“We could make a pretty penny with this,” Mattheo whispered to you. You didn’t really hear him; all you could hear was the brown of his eyes. When he turned to look at your ring, the sun caught and made them golden. Theo twisted his hand backward, cupping it.
“Let me see!” Theo yelled from the front seat. Mattheo glanced at you. You jutted your chin up. Mattheo dropped the ring into Theo’s hand. Theo pulled it to the front, gasping when he saw it.
“God, he’s rich. Mattheo must be really endowed.” Theo grumbled, passing it back. Mattheo scoffed. He turned back to you, holding the diamond to you.
“What do you want to do with it, baby?” Mattheo whispered. You stared down at it.
“Can we be mean?” You started. Mattheo grinned.
“Of course.”
“Maybe a little evil?” You added. Mattheo nodded.
“Stop teasing, tell me.”
“We keep it. Years and years. Then, when it’s finally our wedding. We put it in an invitation.” You schemed. Mattheo raised a brow.
“Random one? Like roulette?” He asked.
“‘Course not. We send it to Cormac. Taunt him after he’s moved on.” You explained. Mattheo paused, staring at you with his mouth hanging open. Mattheo closed his mouth, snorting.
“Sounds perfect.” He answered, capturing your lips again. You smiled, breaking his kiss.
“You’re both fucking crazy. Bitch psicopatiche.” Theo mumbled, reaching for the radio. He cranked the volume up, hoping it would drown you both out.
I hate ai and ppl who use it j fyi Slytherin boy fandom I'm looking harshly at you
ok i'm planning the second part of "Went to stupid town they said you're the mayor" and I do have a plot made but i'm getting stuck on their first date My original plan was for them to go out and then on the way home they get attempted mugged and Jason beats the shit out of the mugger and reader is like IT'S MORE THAN A FEEEELLIINNN but like idk the vibe of it is killing my spirit so
Do you guys have any ideas for reader!Jason and writer!Reader's first date? leave a comment or fill up my inbox if you do!
summary: it's your borthdayyyyy and he wakes you up for your giftsss
warnings: u guys love to bicker as a love language, u accidentally hit him but is ok, google translate Arabic, you call Damian dam-it cuz I think that’s really fucking funny, Damian dresses u but it’s not an age play thing I hate age players, Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne, Talia included, Talia appreciated, Damian is a lil overprotective of you when it comes to his mother, objectifying Damian, Damian has unfortunately heard too many times that he has a milf and a dilf, dats it
For weeks now, Damian was acting weird. He was whispering into phone calls. He was turning his phone off when you leaned your head on his shoulder. When you brought him a cup of tea to the small library, he was shutting his planner before you reached his side. Your birthday was coming up, so you assumed he was just hiding a gift from you. He had always gotten a little more tense around your birthday.
His gifts were always thoughtful. A special limited edition version of your favorite book. A replica of your favorite stuffed animal you lost as a kid. Another bottle of your favorite lotion and its matching candle. A leatherbound journal he had custom designed with his art. They always made you coo and press kisses to his cheeks. Damian would scrunch his nose at your kisses and mumble about the simplicity of his gifts. You had a feeling he was always worried that his gifts were inadequate. So you’d always make sure to mumble about how much you loved the gift for the week after.
You were pretty sure you knew what he was getting you this year. For your recent seven-year anniversary, you went on a trip to Scotland. One day you both spent an evening in a cafe, and you had the most amazing tea of your entire life. When you got home, you and Damian spent weeks drinking through boxes of tea trying to find a dupe. You never succeeded and eventually gave up. It had been a long time since you had forgone the idea of getting another sip of that tea. But you knew Damian. He would spend years chasing something down just to make you grin and kiss his face. You were entirely certain that he would hand you his beautifully wrapped present and inside would be a tea that tasted just like that evening in Scotland. You were excited to finally have the tea tomorrow after months of searching.
You sighed as you settled down into your side of the bed. Damian glanced over the edge of his phone at you. You readjusted your blankets, patting down the fluffed covers. You pulled your phone from your bedside table. You opened your alarm app. Damian pressed his cheek to your shoulder, staring down at the screen.
“What time are you planning to wake up tomorrow?” Damian muttered. You hummed. You reached a hand up, pinching at his cheek.
“I was thinking of getting up early; I have to run to the craft store and a couple other things. So probably eight.” You said. You set your alarm, double-checking the time again. Damian tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. He straightened up, staring down at his phone.
“I was thinking of getting up early too. I wanted to run to the gym before making your breakfast.” You nodded at his words. He always made you your favorite breakfast for your birthday. There wasn’t a minute of your birthday that he didn’t remind you how much he cherished you. “So probably like Four.” Damian finished. You froze, your mouth falling open. You tore your eyes from your phone. You stared at the wall across the bedroom like it might offer you support. The room was silent as you wrapped your head around his words. How dare he compare your times? Four and Eight were not the same early. He was psychotic. Damian tapped at his phone, likely setting his alarm for the ass crack of dawn.
“I can’t fucking stand you.” You muttered. You set your phone down on your bedside table. You clicked your lamp off. You leaned forward, puckering your lips.
“Yes, Habibi,” Damian responded. He leaned to the side, kissing you goodnight. You tried to pull away, only for Damian’s hand to pull you back by your chin. He kissed you again before pecking the corner of your mouth. You grinned, settling down into your sheets. You pulled the blanket up. You sighed as your head hit your pillow. You closed your eyes, ignoring the glow of Damian’s lamp.
After a few minutes, his phone finally clacked to his nightstand. He turned his lamp off. The blankets and bed shuffled around as he sank to his pillow. Damian finally sighed as he lay down, his breath hitting your face. You were grateful for the mint toothpaste. You felt his hand find your cheek, his thumb rocking back and forth under your eye.
“Happy Birthday-eve, Ya Ayni,” Damian whispered. You felt a grin pulling at your lips. You surged forward, poking your tongue out of your mouth. You licked the tip of his nose. Damian groaned. His hand left your face, wiping at his nose. You giggled evilly as you lay back down.
“Thank you, Dam-it.” You muttered, tugging your blanket closer. Damian scoffed as he settled onto his back, pressing one hand to his stomach. He slept like the dead. He was always on his back, and he was a deep sleeper. He’d only wake up for his alarm and you shaking him around. You tossed and turned constantly. Early in the relationship, he tried to cuddle you in your rest. He’d try to follow your movements and curve with your tossing. It only ended up with you elbowing him and Damian getting eye bags. So he gave up on that.
Instead, he’d keep a hand on you at all times. He’d find the contact one way or another. When you flopped onto your stomach, he’d press his hand to your back. When you switched over onto another side, he’d hold your shoulder. Sometimes you’d wake up to him holding your arm to his chest. You remembered Damian’s palm warming your wrist before you slipped into your dreams.
Your brain was swirling you around in storylines that made no sense. You vaguely felt the weight of Titus joining you both in bed, wrapping around your feet.
You could smell strawberry fields more clearly. There was sun poking at your eyelids as you twirled in the greenery. Bright red, mouthwatering strawberries called to you from under the soft green leaves. You leaned down, gently tugging at one. Just as the small stem broke, a hand wrapped into your hair. Your body startled, your eyes flying open. Only to find there was a hand pressed to your scalp and a face staring at you in the dark from the floor.
Your hand shot out, smacking the stranger in the face. They howled, falling back onto the ground. They cradled their face in their hands as they cowered on the floor. You yelled in fear, reaching over to flick on your lamp. You looked back to the form, slowly recognizing the slope of the shoulders and curls.
“Damian?” You asked. Damian lifted his head from the floor, his hand still hovering over his eye.
“Yes, Habibi. Good morning to you as well.” He grumbled. He gently tapped at his skin, frowning at the sting. You winced. You smacked your partner in the face. You cooed, reaching out for him. He leaned forward, gratefully letting you cradle his head.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” You gently traced over the small red hue spreading across one cheek. You were starting to worry it might bruise.
“I had this weird dream. It was dark; it’s only-” Your eyes shot to the clock on your bedside table.
“It’s only tw-” You paused, looking back to the clock to make sure you read that right. A bright 2:35 blinked at you. You furrowed your brows, the softness from your voice slipping away.
“Why the hell are you waking me up at two in the fucking morning?” You snipped. Damian closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He pulled your hands from his face, gently kissing your palms.
“It’s your birthday,” Damian explained. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.
“Fuck that.” You flopped away from him, tugging your blanket back up. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping Damian would shut off your lamp soon. Damian’s weight pulled at the edge of the bed, making you fall back into him. You glared up at him.
“My love.” He drawled out, his tone too sweet and husky for him to be doing it accidentally. You shook your head.
“No. You know I don’t get up before the sun. It’s rude to Mother Nature.” You complained. Damian shook his head, leaning into your space. He dragged his lips across yours, giving you a whisper of a kiss.
“Please.” You scoffed at his plea.
“You know how much you love chocolate pudding?” You ventured. Damian hummed.
“You don’t need to remind me of the pudding pool metaphor. I’m well aware.” Damian responded. He tipped his head down again, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. You sighed, following the pattern of movement he created. He poked his tongue at your bottom lip. You shook your head, pulling your mouth from his.
“If we had a pool of chocolate pudding and I was like ‘Go crazy, Dam-it, you can swim however long you want in this pool,’ and then ten minutes later, you were having the time of your life, I said ‘okay, you have to get out now; we’re draining the pool,’ How would you feel?” You rambled, digging your hands into his pajama shirt. Damian groaned, tilting his head back.
“I understand. You don’t want to be woken up. You will like this. I picked out your outfit; you just have to put it on. I’m driving. You don’t have to do anything.” Damian said, pulling your fingers from his clothes. He intertwined them with his.
“You’re putting me down like a dog.” You theorized. Damian glared at you.
“You will like this.”
“Promise?” You asked, squinting your eyes at him.
“I promise, Ya Ayni,” Damian whispered. He pressed a kiss to your lips, sealing the promise. You dropped your head back, groaning loudly. Titus lifted his head from the end of the bed. You looked back to Damian.
“Fine. But you’re putting my clothes on for me. I’m not supposed to be awake at this time, and it’s your fault.” You stated. Damian grinned, stepping off the bed and peeling you up by your hands.
Damian was gentle, sliding your clothes on, but the whole time he smacked his lips in disdain. You glared at him when he finished. He held onto your hand, leading you into the car. He didn’t turn on music as he started to drive. You didn’t mind it; it was probably good to talk so you could wake up.
“Where are you taking me?” You asked, peering out at the city lights flying by.
“Secret.”
“This is kidnapping. I’ll put my head out the window and scream stranger danger.” You said, wiggling your hand over the window button threateningly.
“You will not,” Damian grumbled. You stared at his side profile as you pressed your finger to the button. Your window slowly rolled down, hitting you in the face with cold Gotham air. Damian’s eyes snapped to you before looking back to the road. He rolled your window back up with his button.
“You’re infringing on my rights.” You scoffed, staring out the window with a grumpy face.
“You’re infringing on my good attitude,” Damian whispered back. You gasped.
“Damian Al-Ghul-Wayne and good attitude in the same sentence is preposterous.” You snapped. “You get pissy breathing.”
“I do not,” Damian said, pissily.
“You’re the one smacking the shit out of me for no reason.” Damian piped back. You rolled your eyes.
“That was an accident!” You scoffed. Damian hummed, pursing his lips.
“Tell that to my bruise.” You glared at him, even though you knew he didn’t catch it.
“Asshole.” You grumbled.
“Dickhead.” Damian muttered back, pulling into the Wayne Manor.
You gave him odd looks as he led you through the dark halls. You were knowledgeable about their late-night activities. Damian refused to work on holidays, which included your birthday. Yet being walked through the quiet halls of the manor at 3 in the morning was not the norm for you.
“You are killing me.” You whispered as he walked in front of you. He split the pure darkness with his phone flashlight. His hand was pressed behind his back, like he could sense whether or not you were following with his palm. A glare was shot at you over his shoulder. He looked forward again. He sighed as he reached the closed double doors to the dining room. He turned to the side, glancing at you before pushing the door open. Damian slipped into the darkness. You followed after him. The lights flashed on, a thousand voices screaming at you. You jumped, your eyes scouring over the room.
“Happy Birthday!” They called again. Dick, Jason, Tim, Bruce, Duke, Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Alfred were standing around the dining table. Your mouth dropped open. Good lord, what a load of people. You turned to the side, stealing a look at Damian. He shot one shoulder up at you in a half shrug. Your eyes were pulled from him as you were tugged into a hug by Dick. He was still in his suit, the dirt creating a cloud as you fell into his hug. You laughed and pulled away. You started to notice that just about everyone was still in their suits. Who else could say they had the real Nightwing and Batman at their birthday? Jason held a party hat out at you. You gratefully took it, slipping the cheap stretchy band under your chin. Damian joined your side again.
“I don’t remember verifying party hats, Todd,” Damian grumbled, glaring at the bright, pointy cardboard on top of Jason’s head. Jason pulled another from his stack, waving it at Damian.
“Don’t be a David Downer.” Jason sang. He tipped the hat forward, tapping it to Damian’s cheek. Damian’s nose scrunched up, swatting it away.
“I would never wear such a thing,” Damian mumbled. You pulled the hat from Jason’s hands.
“Yes, you will,” you countered, pulling at the strap. Damian tilted his head to you, allowing you to snap the band under his chin. You straightened the hat on top of his head.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Ya Anyi,” Damian grumbled. His hand reached out for you, gently rubbing his thumb over your skin.
“My birthday wish is that you aren’t so fuckign annoying.” You grumbled back. Damian curled his lips up in a snarl. He mockingly rocked his head back and forth.
“Bastard.” You whispered.
“Ass,” Damian mumbled, dropping his hand into yours. You gave him a soft smile, slipping into the green of his eyes. You couldn’t be more irritated by him, but you didn’t love anyone else in the world more. You were more than happy to complain about him until your last breath because it would mean he never left.
“I am late.” A smooth voice declared from far too close to your back. You startled, letting out a small yelp. You turned around, finding Talia staring at you from down her nose. You grinned awkwardly, letting out a chuckle.
“You are quiet.” You mumbled. Talia nodded.
“Well, my training-”
“Mother, you made it,” Damian said, pulling from your side. He fell into her arms, pulling her into a hug. You held back your coo, smiling tightly. You glanced at Bruce on the other side of the room. He was staring at her with his mouth slack. Jeez, he was a lost cause. You caught eyes with Dick, finding him mumbling with a grin to Jason. Gossip hogs. You turned back to Talia. Damian pulled from her hug.
“I did not want to miss your birthday,” Talia said, meeting your eyes. You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders back. You had met Talia multiple times over the years you had been with Damian. You had already spent many holiday dinners sharing elbow space with her by the time you were moving in together. It never made it easier, though. She never seemed exactly overjoyed that you were who her son decided on. She never seemed exactly disappointed either. You were pretty sure she was perfectly neutral on you. Damian returned to your side. Talia stepped forward, looking you up and down from the floor. You suddenly felt like you should’ve checked over what Damian put you in before you left. This was a lot for a box of tea.
“I brought you this.” She held out a neatly wrapped box. It was hardly bigger than your hand. The corners were pointed, and the edges were crisp. You giggled at the wrapping.
“I see where Damian got his wrapping skills.” You chuckled. Talia did not laugh. You glanced up at her face, feeling your mouth dry at the blank look she gave you. Damian’s hand gently pressed against the small of your back. You smacked him away.
“Don’t.” You grumbled. Damian tilted his head to invade your eyeline. He gave you a mocking look, whining to mimic your tone.
“Dickhead.” You whispered, your heart stalling when you remembered who you were standing in front of.
“Asshat,” Damian mumbled back, glancing over his shoulder at his chatting family. He was acting like this was casual. You were staring at the ground, realizing you were totally dead. You lifted your eyes from the gift, searching Talia’s face. Although to your surprise, she had actually cracked what you assumed was a grin. Though it could be discomfort. You weren’t totally sure. You shot her a smile and tore off the wrapping paper. You shoved it into Damian’s chest. He fumbled to hold your trash, dropping a small piece.
“Always making a mess.” You mumbled. Damian scoffed. Without the paper was a stunningly carved wooden box. It was stained a dark red, and you hadn’t seen a more intricate design.
“Talia, this is beautiful. I haven’t seen-”
“That’s just the box; open it,” Talia ordered, pointing her finger at it. Oh okay. Damian needed to shoot you now so you never had to think about this moment again. You nodded, looking back down at the box. Damian snickered next to you.
“I’ll gut you.” You snapped. Damian only chuckled harder.
“If you wish, Ya Anyi,” Damian muttered. You slowly pulled the wood lid off. You gently held it in your hands like it might shatter if you breathed too hard. You stared down into the box. A small shining blade was staring up at you from a black velvet background. Your mouth parted as you stared at the weapon. It wasn’t very big, but there were jewels embedded in the handle that caught the light of the Wayne chandelier. It looked like a knife someone would hide in a garter. Damian peeked his head over your shoulder, staring down into the box.
“Mother.” Damian ground out. You ignored him as you pulled the blade from the velvet, passing the wooden box to him. You cradled it in your hands, tracing over every small metal detail. The handle had carved vines into it that sprouted out jewel flowers. The metal had an almost pearl shine to it that fascinated you.
“I told you in advance, no weapons. They are a civilian; there is no need-” You cut Damian’s rambling.
“Talia, this is beautiful. I’ve never seen such a stunning knife.” You gaped, tearing your eyes from the blade to look at her.
“Dagger.” She corrected. You pressed your lips tightly together. Damian was definitely hers. He would rather choke than let you make a grammar mistake.
“Habibi-”
“Well, it’s lovely. These jewels aren’t real, are they?” you asked, turning to the side. You held the dagger above your head, twisting it in the light as you stared at it. Stunning.
“They are. You deserve such jewels; no need to fight me on it.” Talia said. You raised a brow, glancing at her in question.
“Damian has written about you struggling to accept gifts you deem yourself unworthy of.” You hummed disapprovingly, shooting a glare at Damian. He was staring at you with his mouth agape. You gave him a look of questioning before staring back at the dagger.
“I love it. I’m only not sure what to do with it.” You mumbled. You probably should’ve kept it to yourself. Talia hummed.
“I can get a stand for it, decor for your home?” You nodded at her suggestion.
“This would be very pretty in our library.” You whispered. You tilted it to the side, smiling at the way the gems pointed the light back at you. Damian reached up, gently pulling the knife from your hands.
“Mother, this was very kind, but we cannot-”
“To tell you the truth, I find a younger reflection of myself in you. I mirrored the design of the dagger after the first one I received. Obviously, we have led very different lives. I am happy for it, but I still believe that a good quality dagger is useful to most people. I think you know how to appreciate the finer things, even when they come in more…” Her eyes trailed to the floor as she searched for her word. “Off putting form.” She finished. You grinned widely. You nodded quickly.
“I’m honored.” You replied, tugging Damian closer to you by his shoulder. Damian was frowning down at the box. You gently placed the knife back into its home. Damian grumbled as he closed it. Damian spun around the table, setting down the intricate box. Talia drifted away from you, greeting the rest of the family. You were excited to know if she would be talked into a party hat as well. Damian turned back to you with a tightly wrapped box. It was taller and wider than Talia’s. He had to hold it with both hands, but it wasn’t large enough to not be tea. You smiled at him as he held it out for you.
You tore through the paper, tucking it under your arm. A bland cardboard box was revealed. You pulled at the top, finding a glass jar. You gently tugged it from out of the box, turning it in your hands. It had tea leaves filled to the top. You glanced at Damian.
“Is this what I think it is?” You asked. Damian raised a brow.
“That depends on what you think it is,” Damian responded. Alfred appeared next to you, holding a small teacup out at you. You took it from his hands, raising it to your lips. The warm liquid swept into your mouth. You were snapped right back into the cafe with Damian. You could feel the leftover foam on the corner of your lips. You could see Damian’s grin as he wiped it away. You could smell the fresh rain. You handed the cup back to Alfred, quickly pulling Damian into a hug. The box squished between the two of you. He dug his arms out from between you, wrapping them over your back.
“It’s perfect. I can’t believe you found it. It must’ve taken forever.” You muttered, burying your face into his shirt. Damian loosened his hold on you. You pulled away, grinning at him brightly.
“Anything for you, Ya Anyi,” Damian whispered. You pressed a kiss to his nose. Damian scrunched his face up. You finally gave the large family your attention. You spent about two hours with them. Alfred baked a cake that was amazing. Their laughs were so loud you could swear your eyes were ringing on the ride home. You were honestly excited to go back to bed. And in the real morning, with your special breakfast, you’d drink your tea. You’d definitely have to ask Damian how he found it. You wouldn’t be surprised if he flew to Scotland just to find it.
When the car finally stopped, Damian didn’t make a move for his seatbelt. So you sat with him. When he stared out the window in silence, you waited. When he let out a huff through his nose, you didn’t respond. When he dropped his head onto his hand resting on the door, you folded your hands in your lap. When he wrung the steering wheel, you felt the urge to whistle. You instead just tucked your lips.
“I don’t like that she gave you that knife.” Damian finally whispered. You sucked in a deep breath.
“Why?” Damian kissed his teeth at your word.
“It feels like she’s saying she wants you involved in all the violence business. What civilian needs a dagger?” Damian grumbled. He pulled at his hair, making it look even more slept on than it already did. You stared at the front door of your house. You’d kill someone to keep this house. If you didn’t die in this house, you were going to drag your half-corpse body to the front doorstep.
“No, I don’t think so. I think she was giving me her blessing.” You stated. You actually could kill for some ice cream. You’ll make a note to have it next year. Damian scoffed. You tore your eyes from the house, turning in your seatbelt. You stared at Damian, begging your half-asleep mind to focus on him.
“How did you figure that out?” Damian asked.
“She was going on and on about how I can appreciate nice things even when they come in more ‘off-putting forms’. That’s you.” You explained. Damian snapped his head to you in offense.
“That is not me.” Damian snapped. You raised a brow.
“Yeah.” You grimaced.
“No, it’s not.”
“I like that you’re a little pissy and off-putting.” You tried. Damian glared at you before pointing his nose at the window. You sighed, reaching over the console to rest your hand on his forearm. He turned to look back at you.
“Really?” He mumbled. You nodded. He sighed out of his nose. His other hand landed on top of yours.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do with it,” Damian whispered. You nodded.
“I’ll figure something out. And she said I reminded her of a younger her. I think that’s a compliment, right?” You said, looking out the window. Damian stayed silent. He didn’t hum in agreement. He didn’t even sniff. You shot your face back to him.
“Right?” Damian quickly nodded.
“Oh yeah. It’s a compliment.” He declared. You hummed in acknowledgement. Okay then. You were totally winning on this whole future-in-law thing.
“Pretty sure,” Damian added. You dropped your mouth open.
“You’re not sure?”
“I’m not even positive Talia is my mother’s real name, to be truthful with you,” Damian responded. You shook your head. You dragged your hand down his arm, sandwiching your hand between both of his.
You both sat in silence as you stared forward. Talia was really stunning. You were baffled by Damian’s looks when you first met him. When you met his parents, all the pieces clicked together. Human genealogy was really something else. Bless those hot people for making your hot boyfriend. You opened your mouth to finally break it. Damian held a finger up, silencing you.
“Don’t say it,” Damian muttered. You huffed, turning away from him. He waited for you to ignore his demand. You stayed perfectly silent, the tension rolling away from his shoulders.
“I was only going to say that I’m glad your parents liked each other so much 27 years ago. I’m quite appreciative of it, in fact.” You grumbled. Damian groaned, dropping his head against the headrest.
“Get out of my car.” He demanded, unbuckling his seatbelt. You scoffed.
“Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll get out when I want to.” You snapped. Damian leaned across your lap, pulling your gift bags from the floorboard under your feet.
“So you plan to sleep in the car tonight?” Damian asked. He pushed open his car door, sticking one foot out. You crossed your arms.
“You know what, maybe I will. We’ll see how you feel about sleeping alone.” You pursed your lips, glaring at Damian. He squinted at you.
“Okay.” He left the car, shutting the door behind him. The car’s lights turned off as you sat in your seat. You watched Damian’s back as he stepped closer and closer to the front door. You could do this all night. Damian glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow at you. Fuck him, seriously. He was evil.
You dropped your hand to the seatbelt. You pushed your door open, chasing after him. He snorted as you jogged to reach his side. He held his elbow out, letting you slip your hand through it.
“I missed your stupid face.” You grumbled. Damian hummed, pushing the front door open.
You finally woke up at the appropriate time, clicking off your alarm. You didn’t bother getting dressed. You only headed straight for the kitchen in your robe. Damian wasn’t there making your breakfast. But you found a note taped to the fridge. He’d be back soon after his run. Your gifts were there.
By the time your tea finished brewing, Damian was rushing through the door covered in sweat. He entered the kitchen behind you, his breath coming out in short huffs.
“Apologies, Habibi. I’m running a little behind. I’m going to rinse off and get started on your breakfast.” You turned around from the counter, taking your tea with you. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes glued to his face. You tried really hard not to stare at his sweat-soaked muscles, looking like a glistening Thanksgiving turkey. Damian pulled at the bottom hem of his t-shirt, dragging it over his face. You stared at his abdomen, shaking your head. Fuck this guy.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a crush on me.” You said. Damian froze. He dropped his shirt, furrowing his brows.
“Yes. We are dating. That is quite the norm, Habibi.” Damian explained. You sighed.
“Joke.”
“Ah.” Damian huffed. You nodded, dropping your eyes to your tea. Damian followed your look.
“What are you doing?” He asked. You paused, the bejewelled dagger’s tip stilling in your tea. It really made quite a great utensil. You were planning to use it to cut your breakfast too. You pulled the metal from your cup. You took a gentle sip, staring at Damian over the edge. You pulled it away, dipping the dagger back into your tea.
“Enjoying my birthday presents, Dam-it.”
gosh what a man right i miss him i wish he was like a person
areudirty
gracieabrams
gummygunk
ellievsbear
stormborns
titsay