#the sweaters are not optional by the way. if you come in dressed normally well let's just say I have security and they can smell fear

[elias-magnusnt]

institute christmas party? institute christmas party king? 🥺

Of course. One of the rare benefits of this job are the frequent occasions to get drunk on the Lukases' money, so if we get to wear ugly sweaters too? Enjoy!

[autumnsvoice87]

Spoonie Witchcraft- Full moon

So I have been thinking about low energy magic. As someone who is disabled I haven't had the energy to do withcraft the way I used to. I have not been doing much at all for the last year. There has been no moon water made, no ritutual magic, and I haven't even been able to smoke cleanse my home.

I have been stressed financially, as well as in extreme pain this past year. I decided to see what other spoonies had to say about what to do on a full moon. I want to do something, but I am not sure what I can or am able to do. I went to my witchy discord servers and Facebook groups and asked around. I also thought of a couple of ideas on my own as well.

Here are some ideas to use for the spoonie witch.

Sit outside under the full moon. This would be called moon bathing but sometimes theres a full ritual around it. However, just sitting out under the full moon and basking in its light is good enough. This is also only if weather permiting. Don't go out into a hurricane or other severe weather. You may just end up being blown away instead.

Prayer. Praying to the God's you believe in or work with in silence. Praying to your ancestors and giving them thanks for thier guidence and wisdom. Obviously this is more for pagan witches and not for the atheists.

Sigils. You can do sigils everywhere. You can draw a sigil on your palm and visualize its purpose. For example, drawing an abundance sigil and visualize money coming to you. It's a good simple spell. Can also draw sigils in your food with a knife or other utensil depending on what you are eating. Peanut butter jelly time!

Birthday candles. Using birthday candles in candle magic instead of regular candles can be a quick spell and still work just as effectively. Making wishes on cake is magic. Maybe make a wish on a chocolate swiss roll.

Tea and coffee. You speak intentions into your drinks. Maybe have a full moon tea blend and do this when the sun goes down. You can buy different blends of tea on etsy or at a farmers market.

Watching youtube videos. Watch videos about magic and the full moon. There might even be a live meditation on there you can join in on.

Tarot readings. A low spoonie tarot reading. A basic 3 card spread that is for fun and not the deep soul searching/healing that you may normally do. Another tarot idea is just to pull one card to just see what the message would be.

Gemstones on nightstand. Put stones on your nightstand that have the intentions you'd like to draw to you. For example, amethyst for protection against nightmares. Maybe green adventurine for bringing in luck and abundance to your life. Use black obsidian for protection against gossip. Well, by now, you get the idea.

Cleansing. There are multiple methods of cleansing. If you have enough energy, a small ritual shower could be what is needed to get more energy. Or, at the very least, feel more refreshed. If you can't stand for a shower, soaking in a tub with salt water will work. You may use a shower chair for the shower if you have one. I use a bar of soap that is hand-made by other witches. They tend to put essential oils and intentions, so there is a cleansing effect. If you are too low energy for that, going back to youttube idea; they have cleansing meditation music. You can sound cleanse with the music. You may also play witchy ambient music. There are a vast number of options for sound cleansing.

Journaling. Journaling is something that can be done lying down. You can find some journal prompts on Tumblr, or you can find them on pintinterest. You can do shadow work journaling as a form of releasing. It's fun to select a new journal or even get a fancy pen.

Dressing up. If you have a witchy shirt, dress, or robes. It is fun to dress up on the full moon in honor of the moon. Like going to a magical witchy party. I have 2 witchy dresses, a witchy sweater, and a long sleeve stars and moons blouse. I also have a regular black dress for if I want to be more subtle.

Self care. It is okay to just watch a movie or binge watch a favorite TV show. You could also read a book for fun. If you are very into astrology, depending on the astrological sign of the moon phase, self care would be more important. Tomorrow, the full moon is in Pisces, and there is a lunar eclipse. Self care may be the best option during this full moon in September.

I wanted to say a big thank you to The Four Winds Coven on Discord as well as the modern witch collective for helping me brainstorm this list. There are more of us spoonie witches out there than we think. This list is also great for someone who is just too busy to do much either. I hope you all enjoy these tips and tricks!

[milliesfishes]

can you pls write coryo helping the reader out with depression… 🥲

TW: mentions of suicide ౨ৎ꣑ৎcoryo helps you through depression౨ৎ꣑ৎ

Okay okay in this situation I’m imagining he comes home from the office one day and one of the maids casually mentions that you haven’t left your room all day.

And he’s confused cause normally you’re up and out and about, but as he thinks about it, lately you’ve been a little quieter, a little less active, though you’ve never gone so far not to leave your room.

Concerned, he decides to go up and check on you. Once he gets to your room he finds you curled up in a chair, in a grey sweater dress even though it’s the middle of July. You’re holding a book you don’t seem to be reading, your eyes trained on the wall.

As he gets closer to you, you don’t seem to notice. It isn’t until he kneels before you and takes your hand that you look down at him. You look out together, sure, but he can see the turmoil within.

“Are you feeling alright, darling?” he murmurs, stroking your hand with his thumb.

You force a smile. “Yes, of course.”

He frowns, squeezing your knuckle. “You’ve been up here all day, they’ve said. Are you not feeling well?”

You’re quiet, just looking at him.

Coriolanus knows you, all your tells and signs. You’re his reason, his love. He can read you like a map. And he can tell you are hiding something from him, maybe something bad.

So he takes both your hands in his, leaving the book in your lap, and brings them to his lips, pressing a kiss to each one. “Darling. You know you can tell me anything? I can fix anything.”

Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, maybe it’s the earnesty of his words, but you burst into tears. Tell him you’ve been so sad and lonely and miserable lately. Almost in the same breath you tell him it isn’t his fault.

He’s shocked. How hadn’t he noticed that things had been harder for you, that you’d not been your usual self lately? Despite your assurances, he knows his absence has to do with it, all those long hours at the office. They kept him from seeing the problem at hand.

Gathering you in his arms, he promises he’s going to get you help, that the best of everything is at your fingertips. “You’re going to be alright,” he promises, kissing the top of your head.

And so it begins. You begin seeking treatment, taking medicine, the whole package. Coriolanus wouldn’t have it any other way.

He also makes an effort to be home more often, wrapping you up in his arms and just holding you, breathing in your scent and remaining grateful that you’re still with him.

Because he truly didn’t know what would have happened if he never noticed.

It takes a long time for any progress to be made. So many sleepless nights with you, holding you through tears and reminding you that he was here. He was here and he loved you.

He’d hold back tears himself thinking about that unspoken possibility. Would you have drowned in your bathtub? Jumped off the roof of the penthouse? He didn’t dwell on it for too long.

The thought of you ever being so hopeless that you had no option but to take your life was nothing short of devastating to him. You were his angel, his love, the one true love of his life.

Without you, he didn’t know how to be good. That one sliver of light in his soul would be swallowed by his darkness. Because that sliver was you.

When you did start to show signs of getting better, he rejoiced. You began to smile again, your regular brightness returning.

One day when he was at home reading a file and waiting for you to come to bed, you walked in wearing a pretty pink nightdress, a change from the drab colors you’d favored in the past bit.

He looked up in surprise. “Darling-“

You were crawling into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek and smiling softly at him, resting your head on his chest. Immediately he set the file aside, opting to hold you instead.

When you felt him looking at you, you looked up with a sweet smile. “What is it?”

Months of hoping, praying, yearning, needing to see you happy. Of clinging to your limp form and wishing you’d reach out for him.

Coriolanus shook his head, returning your smile. He kissed your forehead. “Nothing, darling. I love you.”

[girlfromthecrypt]

i really love that your characters aren't like perfect and conventionally attractive if that makes sense? like basil having top surgery scars and just BEING trans and still being someone who's implied to be attractive, or small stuff like flo not being super toned idk it just makes me feel really happy that for once it's an IF whos potential romantic interests aren't "bland actual fucking supermodel", "bland actual fucking supermodel but with red hair" and "bland actual supermodel but 5'10"

sorry for rambling it's just like a game where I feel comfortable, that like in universe I wouldn't be given shit about what I look like y'know

also I liked Basil's joke about the MC (I assume this is only when picking the short option) being the same size as some of the kids. it made it feel like friendly and real

THANK YOU I'm serious this particular thing means so much to me.

I very much intend for my characters to be attractive, but each in their own way, not like the "bland supermodels" you described. Bc that's so real. In most romance fiction (not just IFs), I find that sooo many characters are just boringly beautiful. I have a hard time falling in love with the characters bc of that.

Also, I want each of my ROs to look according to what they do. Their appearance should suit their personalities and needs. Besides, "flaws" totally add to a character's charm imo.

-RO ramble incoming!-

To me at least, the SHC ROs are very attractive, but like in a normal, approachable way. I put a lot of thought into their specific kinds of attractiveness.

Basil is very attractive!! In a fox-like, impish kind of way, with his fairycore vibes and whatnot. I also love that you said "supermodel but 5'10" like 5'10 is short or sth lol. But I see what you mean! Basil, of course, is like 5'8 but I like to think anyone who meets Basil would be too distracted by the entire rest of him to even consider height. Besides, to me (I be gremlin) that's still kinda tall.

I figure being trans doesn't really factor into his attractiveness at all. From your ask, it sounds like trans people get described as ugly in a lot of fiction?? I wouldn't know, but if that's what you were saying, then that's a sorry state of affairs.

Flo is also attractive, in more of a "conventional masculinity"-type of way. But he's not well-dressed because he hates the feel of most fabrics, so he's only ever in his sweater. And of course he's not super defined! He has NO interest in being super handsome (aside from keeping his hair and beard shiny). He wants to be a tank. And he is a tank.

And if you consider how much food he consumes in the fairground-sequence alone (cheesecake, around five deep fried candy bars).... Yeah he loves to eat. Hence, he's got a bit of padding lol. There's no technical reason for the large nose ofc, I just thought that was cute.

Reem is the most "supermodel"-esque out of the ROs, I think. Although that's subjective. She's actually toned, but like... also very noticeably muscular. In that defined kinda way I might have intentionally avoided with Flo! But like, it makes sense that Reem would build abs and stuff for herself. She values her stage presence. She does want her performances and looks and outfits to be memorable, and HERSELF to be memorable. She's just raw, brutal magnetism. (Also I might have gotten inspired by BG3 Karlach when I first came up with Reem.)

Anita is pretty, too, but in like... a "cute" way. A Velma kind of way. With her, like, really thick glasses. Anita's appealing in a wispy, ethereal kind of sense. Or perhaps even slightly girl-next-door-ish, with an added academia vibe. Also, she's slim, not model-slim but "I forgot to eat/I'm stressed and have no appetite"-slim. This is really important to me. Will come up in the story, too. With that also comes her bad posture. She slouches a lot.

So yeah the ROs' attractiveness is rly something I put thought into, and I'm super happy you noticed. Makes my entire day whenever I get an ask like that. Thank you!

Also yeah hehe I was proud of that joke

[plaindangan]

in a comedic, lighthearted, but not without some sexy tension and dirty words : Over the span of 6 month, each month kaede gets NOTICEABLY thiccer, turning into a mega milf version of herself barely 4 month in. We follow maki in a 6 part reaction (1 part per month) as she sees the slow but STEADY and large progression of kaede into a sexy mega thicc pornstar sized cutie (and of course each single month maki gets more and more jelly)

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view!

January

“I was told to keep a journal entry of my time in Hope’s Peak Academy recently, though, quite frankly I find it a waste of time. But, Hope’s Peak wants me to keep a written record of my monthly time here so I’m forced to go through with this. Honestly, though, I don’t see the point. It’s not like I expect much will happen here that it needs documentation. I guess I can talk about the people here…but, really there’s only one that kinda, sorta, catches my eye and isn’t God annoying.”

“Kaede Akamatsu? That pianist girl…she’s not as annoying as the rest, and even kind of…tch. Why the Hell am I writing that down for you?! Look, here’s a pic of her. Just a regular blonde girl. That’s all, nothing more, nothing less. For what it’s worth, she’s pretty okay in my books. Just wants to help about the class, leaves me alone, isn’t trying to annoy me to death. At the very least, I can work with her.”

“...And don’t ask why I have a picture of her, alright?!!!”

February

“...Okay, I kind of take back my ‘regular blonde girl’ comment. Kind of. Sort of. Honestly, I think I might need my eyes checked a bit. Because over the course of this month…I swear something’s up with her body? It’s nothing too strange, but, she’s…bigger. I guess that’s the word I can describe her?”

“Look, here’s a picture of her.”

The picture itself was of Kaede sitting on her desk and seemingly talking with someone. Compared to how Kaede looked before, the most obvious difference was that her boobs had significant increase from expected to ‘how the heck did Kaede’s shirt and vest fit them’?  It was if someone stuffed balloons into them, and it wasn’t helpng that her skirt was a tad shorter too. Giving you even more of a look at her fluffed up thighs~ 

“Perhaps, she’s just an even later bloomer than expected? I mean, it’s really nothing that special. She’s still the same Kaede as before. Annoyingly peppy and trying to help others out. Though…can’t help but feel she’s also a bit…dimmer now? Probably just my imagination.”

March

“Okay, so it’s not my imagination and she really isn’t a regular girl, because how the fuck do you explain this?!!

In this, Kaede was leaning against a hallway wall - without a care in the world. In this photo, Kaede looks as if she said ‘screw that’ to a few things. One, she was no longer wearing her sweater vest, instead option to just rock the dress shirt full time. The problem that entailed came with how it was very obvious her boobs couldn’t be contained by it. Similarly to Akane, a lot of her cleavage was showing, but in contrast to the gymnast, Kaede’s tie was slipped between her boobs and, aside from the button holding her boobs in place, Kaede had left the rest of her buttons undone to show off her chubby belly in the shot. Skirt wise, while it didn’t get any shorter, Kaede was now clearly wearing a pink thong and was rocking it unashamedly. You also can’t help but notice that her lips were now glossy pink and she had a fake, pink, butterfly on her cheek as well. 

“What the Hell is going on? She’s so…flashy now. How the Hell and why the Hell does she grow this much and not…? Ugh!!! Is there a scheme in place?! Maybe…maybe I have to go looking around. This isn’t normal. Nowadays, she’s acting almost like a kinder, if sluttier, version of Miu. I see her take so many guys and girls into side rooms now that it seems like a miracle if she ever comes to class. Then again, suppose with that body now, people she could always fuck her way to straight A’s now.”

April

“Update - I’m currently at my wit’s end. I’ve been studying and looking out for any signs of who or what could be affecting Kaede and haven’t found much of anything! What could be the reason she’s like this? Wha could have transformed her so thoroughly each month? Here’s how she looks now...”

For this photo, Kaede was standing at the side in a classroom or the other, eyes downward (probably captivated by some cock or the other). At this point in time, Kaede pretty much ditched the dress shirt and tie. Replacing it was a bright pink crop top that…honestly, wasn’t doing much to ever really conceal the jumbo sized milkers. But, at this point, you doubted she cared, especially considering half of her nipples were practically showing out. Trailing downwards, you’d see that Kaede now had a belly button piercing and a star right above it. To compliment it, or simply because she wanted a switch up, she was wearing magenta booty shorts that still kept the thong peaking. Given how Maki took this angle from the side, you would now be able to see the shelf of an ass that Kaede was carrying and how little those shorts were covering it up. Looking up top, Kaede still rocked the glossy lips, but now had heart-shaped sunglasses on top of her head, in addition to a heart-shaped tattoo being on her left cheek now.

“As for demeanor, yeah at this point she’s pretty much what you think a blonde bimbo would be like. She’s giggly, kinda shallow, doubt she has much brain cells in use - and really fucking horny. She’s gave up any attempts at trying to be subtle. Now, she just walks up to whatever person she wants, kisses them on the lips and practically fucks them wherever they’re at. Hallways, buses, outside in the park. I’m sure she’s done it everywhere on campus. That stupid sexy, whor-fucking Hell. Scratch the sexy part, damn it!!”

May

“Got hopeful news and annoying news. Because, fuck you, I’m giving the annoying news first. That’s what you get for reading this far.”

“Annoying news first is that Kaede’s body and demeanor is still growing…and I think it’s catching on somehow? First, bodywise, she nows looks like this:” 

For this pic, Kaede was outside, waving and strutting down a sidewalk - with sheer confidence exuding from her. It seems as if Kaede had reached her final form. The first thing that would jump out at you is the fact she had gotten quite the tan, with her skin being quite the shade of brown. Encompassing such skin is the thinnest of things that can qualify as clothing: Pasties and a thong. Sure, there were other minor accessories she was wearing like a gold necklaces, bracelets, and hoop earrings, but when it comes to the major stuff that covered her completely? Yeah, no. 

The pasties were heart shaped, being plastered haphazardly over each nipple. It was sloppy, but at this point, one couldn’t blame Kaede for the change. By now her boobs were so big, not only where they easily dwarfing her head, one could likely fit several other people’s heads between them with ease. On her boobs, ‘PIANO’ and ‘SLUT’ were tattooed on the left and right respectively. Of course, her boobs weren’t the only thing that could be taken note of. On the thong front, it was sinking deep withing a giant meteor of an ass, and from the angle Maki took it, you could also see that running down the side of her right cheek to her right thigh was a stream of music notes. Still cared about her passion even as it’s clear it’s taking a back seat to a more ‘lewd’ interest.

“Seriously, why the Hell does she get to look like this?! I…I clearly don’t want to look like that either, it’s just…anyways. You see what she looks like right now, but that kinda pales to what she’s doing. At this point, she’s now doing 18+ lives streams that I know makes her big bucks given how much I can overhear her catty mouth at night, moaning. Got everyone looking at her now, and…looking up to her? More girls at the academy are trying to emulate her…and a lot of them are looking like her. Even stuffy types like Kirumi or high-class girls like Sonia? They’re looking and acting more like her…?”

“...Which leads to the good news, I think I might have found a lead to the source? Apparently, it’s connected to some new drug or the other by a ‘Ms. Zetsubo” chick or something? I need more information, but, hopefully, by next entry, I’ll have something that’s worthwhile…”

June

There’s only one sentence and a photo for this entry.

“SORRY! SORRY! LOL LAST POST OR SUM SHIT! HEAD IN 2 BEACH WITH THE BITCHES THIS SUMMER!! BAAAAAAAII~ XOXO!!”

Attached to the photo was a photo:

The scene seemed to be a hotel room, and in it were two people. Both naked, though with one In the back ground a Maki with lipstick running all over her body, a lovesick smile on her face and eyes lit up in elation. Hm? Was it just you or did her boobs seem bigger as well? Well, perhaps that can be examined some other time as the main focus in the shot was a naked Kaede.

Giving you a wink and kissy face, alongside the V-sign?

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Character Profile - Canada

Character Name: Canada. Matthieu Marc Jean-Luc Bonnefoy. Matthew Williams. Matt. Mattie. Mattie-no-mates. Frostbite. Mo leanbh.

Age: 10-12 by 1760, 13-14 by 1815, 18 by 1867, 22 by 1945.

Height: 6'0/183cm by 1867, 6'4/194cm by 1949.

Physical Description: A beautiful but disappointing baby that grew into a tall and oddly hollow adult, Matt will surprise people a little when he's not dressed like a flannel onion. He's a little too tall and thin to look normal unless he's in the woods, and then his body proportions look correct compared to the winter-stripped trees. He's got shit posture, so it's easy to forget how tall he is until he's reaching to get something off the top shelf someone asked for, and suddenly he's unrolling himself a whole new half-spinal column. He got some of Francis' beauty but much of Arthur's sharpness. He looks somewhat fragile, but in the way an axe with a poorly proportioned handle does. He'll get the fucking job done, but the damage accrued will be impressive.

Eye colour: Blue on a technicality but a shade of deep arctic water grey-blue. The sky in the dead of winter when the cloud cover is so thick the whole world is tinged with carbon, charcoal and iron.

Hair colour/style: A few shades lighter than Alfred's and just a hue or two shy of being strawberry blond. When it's his own choice (and for much of history, it wasn't), he wears it longer than Alfred generally, so the curl shows more than on Alfred. He's spent so much time in the bush that it's gotten disgusting and needed to be cropped short again because he wasn't keeping it up on it. Still, in modern times he has an embarrassing amount of hair care products he's always hiding when Alfred comes over and throws a 15 in one bottle of something in the shower, or he'll get the absolute mickey taken out of him.

Other distinguishing physical traits: He's got some scars floating around but not many, all things considered.

Personal Appearance/Style: He can look extremely nice and put together, with a very fashionable closet of options at certain times, especially for official events, but otherwise, he's a creature of comfort. Flannel pyjama pants, sweaters, two pairs of socks, a collection of plaid shirts he's barely updated in decades. His entire existence relied on French fashion for half his life, so he knows the rules and can look like a fashion plate if he wants to; the problem is he generally doesn't want to, and his own tastes are quite homely. Even Arthur is like, "come on now, lad, you can do better than that."

Verbal Style: He mostly has a fairly mild Canadian accent and honestly plays it up around others to further distinguish himself from Alfred. He speaks a very standard version of French around others most of the time because he's easily embarrassed when laughed at about Quebecois or the rest of his non-standard dialects but drunk or upset, it's pure joual and ironically the only person who understands him is Arthur because English kept weird pieces of the Norman dialects that made up most of the early Canadien French. His Gaelic is good but has some French sounds in there. His Dutch sounds, unfortunately, Flegmish to Jan because he spoke French natively and learned a lot of it in Flanders during WW1. Russian + German, he speaks with a raging Ukrainian accent just for the raging fuck you from Katya. Those Gs of his are a pure hique from the steppes or downtown Lviv.

Level of Education: He had a very good classical education under Francis in the 17th and early 18th centuries, when he still thought he might be useful. Still has quite a lot of skills in Greek, Latin and Hebrew when he wants to. He's never been much good with math or financial things; his math somewhat stopped at what he needed to be an effective clerk for the fur trade. The only time Alasdair ever yelled at him was when Matt just completely blanked for decades with Algebra and Calculus. Did very well in almost all applied versions, though. He has much knowledge of many things and surprises people quite often with how much he has retained from being the first dominion. That position gave him a very pragmatic political education under Arthur and some really sharp peacekeeping skills. He got more into forestry after WW2. He's the most educated nation in the world now, and its probably because showing up for class keeps him out of the woods and going feral.

Occupation: Diplomat, forest ranger, government minister, arctic conservation.

Past Occupations: Soldier, sniper, infantry, pilot, paratrooper, ship's boy, lumberjack, fisherman, apothecary, fur trapper, merchant's clerk, farmer, hunter.

Skills, Abilities or Talents: He can go practically unnoticed by other nations, especially when those with stronger identities are around. He was practically born a part of the forest. He can survive in woodlands practically indefinitely, even when he's so mentally ill he turns off the human parts of his existence. Knows practically every animal and plant in his country and a good chunk of the world. As almost as natural on the water as Arthur but better in smaller crafts meant for freshwater.

Admirable Personality Traits: Deeply loyal, compassionate, giving, gentle, polite, and welcoming.

Negative Personality Traits: Loyalty is a really two-edged sword, anxious, depressive, reserved, cold, and passive-aggressive.

Sense of Humor: Gentle, ironic, self-deprecating.

Physical/Mental illness or affliction: Absolutely terrible lungs and horrible ankles from snowshoeing and hockey, he started having back pain during his last growth spurt, and it never went away. He's a fucking tinderbox of mental problems. Just throw the fucking DSM at him, honestly, because he's been a wreck his entire life. He might tie his father, but he happens to hide it even better than Arthur because he doesn't end up drunk on his brother's doorstep because he's got even less of a wish to be a nuisance than Arthur. And also, he doesn't affect international policy like Arthur or Alfred's, so no one really gives a shit how moody he's been for most of his life as long as he goes and does it out of view, so he's not wrecking the mood or being a nuisance.

Hobbies/Interests: Reading, hockey, hiking, camping, woodwork and carving in practically any material, even ice. Sailing, kayaking, skiing, snowboarding. He and Alfred go good old-fashioned sledding almost every year.

Favourite Foods: Anything warm; he's not about to be fussy, annoying and picky. He loves poutine, the good stuff with duck fat demi-glace, but nothing satisfies as much as oven fries from the frozen section, cheese curds and packet or jarred gravy. He's the holy mother of carb whores. Potatoes, bread, pancakes, doughnuts, pastry, Montreal bagels. Remember, we're the fucking people who looked at pizza and spaghetti and went "hmmm..... that's not enough carbs" and put the fucking spaghetti on the pizza.

Most important personal item: When he plays some important hockey matches he uses the laces from the combat boots he was wearing for VE-Day to hold his leg pads on. He had a rosary with the largest piece made from the bulla Rome gave Francis he carried everywhere, but Francis took that with him 'for safe keeping' when the Seven Years War started to go against them, and Matt never saw it again. He still has the one Alasdair made him from whatever rocks and wood were around in a trunk of keepsakes.

Person/friend close to character: Alfred is the most important person in his life, whether he likes it or not. He usually prefers it that way but only sometimes. Maria has been a close friend since the 90s. Jan is very special and was almost exclusive until the 90s, but still a large part of his life. Arthur's really important still. Jack and Zee are a fixture. Francis is important but a massive dick. He and Aditya have always gotten on extremely well, especially with Sikh culture strongly represented in Canada. Katya is ungodly important to him, being his most distinctive formative part besides indigenous, French and British.

Brief family history: He was born a baby hot potato between Scotland, France and England, getting tossed around constantly because fuck he was useless and expensive. Assuming Arthur is his father, he's got two uncles (one of whom Arthur considered his 'actual' father for a while) and an Aunt. One older brother, one younger and a sister. He might have more 'family' on Francis' side, but his global relations are still very much informed by the Anglosphere today. Diversity win! your favourite gay couple committed war crimes and produced a nervous wreck! Everyone waited in anticipation of the third North American child after the impressive shows put on by Maria and Alfred. It was probably the greatest letdown of 17the century European bullshit in the Americas after the silver collapse, and that set the tone for his familial relationships for the rest of time.

Most painful experiences in the character’s past: 1760, the Rising of 1837-1838, Passchendaele, Halifax going boom.

Their Song: The Unlikely Candidates – Follow My Feet

[femmmie]

"Wha- what's happening?"

Cold sweat trickled down Ian's temples. He stood in the Smosh office but the lights were somehow off.

"I'm sorry, Ian," Courtney said with an apologetic half-smile. "But we had to do it to ya."

"You're not..." Shayne began, "welcome, anymore."

Jacky waived at Ian silently, but her smile was spiteful.

"You're fired from Smosh!" Damian spat.

They all stood there in the dark.

"Where's Anthony?" Ian cried out, desperate for an answer to this madness.

A terrible laughter filled the room. Starting softly but cackling, thundering louder and louder.

All Smosh cast and crew stepped aside to reveal him, standing there, dressed in all black. Anthony. His slender yet strong figure, his jewelry shimmering in the little light there was, and his eyes too.. Anthony looked maniacly at Ian, as he laughed. His perfect curls shaking from the laughter and falling over his face.

Anthony slowly walked up to Ian. Closer and closer. He'd stopped laughing now. Noses almost touching, Anthony said with an evil grin: "the old SWITCHEROO!" And he pushed Ian really hard. Ian felt himself falling, falling, falling...

He woke up.

"Wow, that sure was something," he chuckled to himself. Sure, Ian still had some issues to talk about in therapy. But he'd rather this nightmare scenario played out than talk to a therapist who was a Disney adult, ugh! Luckily, he had a normal one now.

He took a short shower and put on a black sweater and blue jeans. He felt fly as fuck; watching two and a half youtube tutorials on dressing fashionably had really propelled his style to the next level. And with his golden glasses, he saw every minute detail of himself in the mirror. He was really feeling himself today.

He went to the garage and got into his classic Corvette C4 and drove up to Anthony's house. Anthony greeted him at the gate, and as soon as Ian got out of the car, Anthony gave him a hug.

"Thank you for coming, wow you look really good!"

"Thanks, I have got my mojo back, baby," Ian joked.

"Oh, behave!" Anthony joked back and laughed. It was a sunny Californian morning but Anthony's laughter made it that much brighter.

Ian had come to Anthony's today to hang out.

"By the way, it's absolutely okay that you won't come to the office to film tomorrow," Ian said. They had decided at the beginning of their renewed business relationship that Anthony participating in the side channels would be completely optional, but Ian wanted him to feel zero pressure to show up anyway.

"Thank you," Anthony smiled, "I just really want to hang out with you as much as possible this week, but not necessarily with other people present as well."

Ian understood that. They had been reveling so much in the humor they shared, but it was like a language of their own and didn't always translate well to the other people at Smosh. But they were perfectly happy in their own little world.

They got into Anthony's house, which was very clean and clear. Only a few pieces of dark wood furniture, a couch, and some art pieces decorated the living room. The rest was all white. They sat down on the couch and talked.

"You know I had a weird ass dream tonight," Ian said.

Anthony loved when Ian told him personal stuff that he didn't know yet . He sat up, turned to Ian and looked at him with those mischievous eyes Ian had known and loved since sixth grade. "Tell me dude! What was it about?

"Well," Ian began but he had to laugh. Anthony laughed with him.

"What?"

"I dreamed that you fired me from Smosh, and everyone just stood there dissing me, it was dark and then you appeared, and you screamed "the old SWITCHEROO." Ian laughed, and Anthony lay in absolute stitches.

When he'd recovered from laughing so much, he said "you know you can't get fired from Smosh, right. You're the co-owner dude."

"I know," Ian said, smiling. "Apparently I still have some things to work through in my mind.

"Yeah, me too. But that's okay. I'm glad we can talk about it with each other."

"I am, too."

[thebisexualmess-19]

Villain x Henchmen (My OC’S btw)

In the poorly illuminated room, Maxwell, a feared villain of infamy, paces back and forth, plotting his next crime, while Brooklyn, his loyal tech-savvy sidekick, whose technological skills he exploits, works on the latest piece of tech to satisfy his needs

"Tell me, my faithful Brooklyn, don't you think it's time to take things to a higher level?" Maxwell grumbles, placing a hand on her shoulder "You know that no matter what I do, you would come out unscathed… right?"

“Is this a worry question, durability question or and Stamina question?” She asked smirking and not looking up from her gadget at the moment.

She was working on a watch shaped gadget for him like her gloves so he could access their online records as well as the internet at anytime he wanted.

Instead of normally having her hair down she’d pulled it up, leaving a few strand out to curl since Maxwell always complained whenever she didn’t have it down for him to play with it.

Maxwell smirks at your comment and steps closer to admire your latest gadget "Durability, my Brooklyn. You know I am a bit of a brute, so I need it to be resilient to any harm."

He places a hand on her other shoulder and nuzzles her neck softly, his fingers gently caressing her skin. Brooklyns hair was still tied up, but some strands escaped from their bindings and tumbled down to frame her face

She chuckles, leaning into him, speaking softer now that he was a lot closer.

“I can’t tell if that was a clever sex joke or if you’re genuinely just oblivious to how dirty that sounds.” She teased.

He laughs softly and brings her closer, his lips grazing her neck seductively "Both."

"And you know exactly what you are doing. Your hair, the way you are dressed tonight, your flirtatious words…" He nuzzles her neck again and trails a hand through the strands falling over her shoulder. "Your every move is carefully thought out, my Brooklyn."

“Is it?” She teased further, giving him a smug look. Screw behaving, she liked acting like a brat around him. It was funny seeing him either get fussy with it or put her in her place.

the clothing was actually by complete accident, she was doing her laundry and her tank top was the only option so she just grabbed a sweater and put it over, it exposed her shoulders a bit and freckles on them but she liked the way she looked and the jeans honestly just looked good.

She turned away from him, slipping out of his grip and continued working with a knowing smile.

Maxwell laughed, amused by her bratty antics. He walks around her as she continued working, his gaze fixated on her curves

He leans down to whisper in her ear, his lips brushing against it "You know you like being punished. You like when I get rough and demanding." Maxwell caresses her back.

“So? You always make it fun.” She smirked, Turing to face him and leaning against the table on her palms.

He grins and puts a hand under Brooklyns chin, bringing her head back so she’s facing him "Oh, that's true. You like it when I lose control, when I pin you down… How your face flushes at the very thought of it. You like how your body responds then."

Maxwell kisses her once, quickly, but then bites her lip softly "You like me taking what I want, whenever I want."

“Maybe.” She shrugged, her voice fanning innocence as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, smiling softly.

Maxwell laughs and raises an eyebrow "Oh come now, my Brooklyn. You can't make me believe that you don't secretly crave my touch. My hands running down your body… My lips touching every inch of you… How your legs shake as I push you to the edge."

She smiled, remembering all the times they’d gotten side tracked and his hero friend would call and interrupt them. The way he’d huff having to pull away from where ever he was paying attention to her. The times he’s have everyone leave them alone and he’s just take her on one of the meeting tables because he was overly frustrated, and the rare times he let her top him.

“Maybe I’m humoring you.” She teased, trying to get sidetracked and a reaction as always.

Maxwell's eyes narrow and he puts on a look of mock disappointment "And do you think I, your master, would fall for that?" Maxwell pulls her close and kisses her passionately, she did the same, as if trying to prove that her words are indeed a confession "Do not underestimate me, Brooklyn, my girl, for I know you want me."

He bites your neck softly, and wraps his arms around you, lifting her up and placing her in his lap "You've been bad."

“So?~”

"So you need to be punished." Maxwell grins and caresses your cheek, his thumb running lightly across your lips. His eyes linger on your mouth, as if he was about to kiss you again "I think I have just the right punishment in mind."

HA YALL THOUGHT!

[scyphosunny]

i ddddon't wanna write . leave me alone ( hey , this is an entry for vargastober day 28 ! even though i mostly ranted about my stuff

these days have been a mess . i mean , i knew they would but i didn't expect them to get so bad . please kill me

okay . . . my personal hell started back in saturday twenty something . i don't remember when , exactly . maybe 25 ?

i knew i had two costume parties coming up , one next to the other . and i accepted both because i mean i spend all week at home , with no real social interaction on sunlight touching my skin . as much as i enjoy staying home ( sometimes i really don't ) i still need to take some precautions if i don't want to go crazy and idk end up KILLING MYSELF or something . my existence is a mess and it's one of those days where i'm pretty self aware about it . . . where was i , yeah , two costume parties . one was just whatever themed and the other one was my little pony themed ! i had to decide what exactly to take out to the one on saturday . . . i had three " cosplays " pretty much done and ready to wear . i don't really take cosplaying too seriously ( and less now , honestly ) so my way of doing it was just getting clothes just similar enough to form a cosplay and wear it in case it's needed . i had three options , ink sans , jeremie belpois or scriabin ! because of course i had to make a scriabin cosplay . what kind of fan do you think i am !

uh , well . i had to choose between all three of them and of course i just chose scriabin . aside from liking him a lot and stuff jeremie's cosplay just looked like a normal outfit on me . i mean , of course it did ! just a blue turtleneck sweater and some pants . worked just great . i told my friends about it , " should i go as the parasitic evil guy from that one fanfic i like , as a rainbow skeleton or as the loser computer nerd . and they told me that i couldn't go dressed as jeremie because i was already a loser computer nerd . idc he's so me .

hmm , now that we're at it , i want to walk about my ink sans cosplay for a bit . . .

god . this is back to where i was absolutely obsessed with undertale aus once again . 2022 , maybe .

( i used to love drawing them so much , god . . . if you scroll in my page all the way down you can see like , two pieces of fan art posted here . i wouldn't even make digital pieces , i would just make everything on my sketchbook instead . god i was happier back then-

when i liked a character a lot , i suddenly get the urge to get a cosplay of them . not even WEAR the cosplay i'm fine with just having it . and well , it was halloween 2022 , in school and dressed as sunny from omori because idk why not i just had his clothes there i guess . and i was like hey my school is chill . i should just cosplay ink sans at some point . wouldn't that be super cool . so i dedided i would ! back when i still had the money ( and energy ) for it , i would go to various flea markets to get stuff to make this cosplay . i made a list on my phone written in wingdings with everything i needed to make this cosplay ! and then i asked my mom to make it for me . i had to provide her specific references made by myebi because last time i asked her to make an undertale cosplay for me she searched references herself and found that one side of the fandom instead . i was in elementary school back when this happened .

well , i can't say i worked my ass to get this cosplay done because i was mostly just getting materials for my mom to make it , i remember going to three different places in one day to see if i could find pants like his ANYWHERE because i had this super specific mental image of how his pants looked and i really wanted something similar . i couldn't find anything so i just ended up using a long , brown skirt that did the job just alright . i took the whole thing to school , i even made an overwrite button to match the whole underverse vibe .

my friend and i made jokes about dressing up as sans and papyrus / ink sans and xgaster for halloween but he didn't do shit of course . the overwrite button was actually supposed to be a surprise for him , like ink sans pulls up and gives you , dressed as xgaster btw , an overwrite button and you're like hahaha omgggg like underverse that's actually so cool sunny you're the coolest guy ever and then everyone's happy and having a nice time and you feel the greatest you've ever felt in your whole life for embracing the cringe because you just love being cringe but instead you get to the school and you realize everyone has normal interests and meanwhile you're dressed as a rainbow skeleton , not that ANYONE will get the reference and also it's not EVEN LIKE YOU HAVE MAKEUP ON BECAUSE YOU ASKED SOMEONE TO PUT MAKEUP ON YOU BUT AT THE END YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW IF IT WAS WORTH IT so you just look like a creep awkwardly sitting on a corner hoping to not be perceived by anyone and it's also hot because you have three layers of clothing on and you live in mexico are you STUPID and also the big scarf you're wearing is difficult to put on and it's also itchy so you go to your empty classroom and wait for everyone to go home so you can just escape from everything throw every piece of clothing you're wearing to the trash and cry in bed knowing that you worked for a whole year just to get that cosplay and wear it on your last halloween in highschool but instead you missed the whole day watching tiktok in a corner wishing you could just teleport home or wake up the next day being NORMAL for god's sake why can't you even enjoy anything , you spent so much time in it , you made your mom spend so much time working on it for it to turn into a bad memory and

. i think i got a little bit sidetracked there . hey did i ever talk about that one time when i learned piano and dressed up as sunny to play duet on an event i was going-

you know what the worst part of it is ? no one even made fun of me , it was just me . i was the one not allowing myself to enjoy the experience . god i'm tearing up as i write this . maybe i should take a break .

i actually had pretty much everything done for scri's cosplay since last year , some nice pants to wear , his glasses , an unusual amount of red yarn to tie on my hair since well i do that every day just because i can . and of course , a nice , long coat to wear . i didn't actually get his shirt , or not his actual shirt of course but i know that if i pushed my mom just a bit to find a shirt that worked for the cosplay she would've done it in the first place . and when i say " pushed just a bit " i mean pushing her . like , at all . i mean , she loves sewing and she did make some adjustments to my coat and she enjoyed it , but to be honest i was too lazy to actually go and tell her i wanted his shirt . too much work , and she would ask for photos of scriabin , which would have to be mostly my art to avoid the possibility of her seeing some gay stuff . i actually did have to show her some pictures , and i just opened my askblog and showed her some photos from there . great .

hmm . . . i used to have some photos of a thing i made where i drew everything i wanted to get for the cosplay , but i can't find it anymore . . . i don't know where it is . . . maybe i should ask nyne if he has it , i'm 90% sure he does . ..

oh hey i found it ! oh god , as you can see i also wanted to add the wings . i've seen a bunch of cosplays on tiktok with WINGS THAT CAN FOLD THEMSELVES . isn't that like , the coolest thing ever ? i really wanted to make scriabin's wings this way . i figured it would also be easier since well they're bone wings and adding the yarn would be fun but lol KEEP IN MIND I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT COSPLAYING IN THE FIRST PLACE . i know i can just idk get materials and learn and ngl the idea sounds pretty sick but at the time i didn't have the time or the money to buy material . right now i do have time but no motivation at all . so . WHATEVER , maybe i can make something as cool in the future . who knows

uhh . . . where was i . . . what was i talking about . . . . . . i don't know .

( hello this is sunny again . i started writing this a day ago but i mentioned the halloween thing and i ACTUALLY got super depressed by it and also i smashed my keyboard several times because my space key wasn't working properly but hey i'm back and feeling better

i showed up to the first party . .. god , i had to walk a lot . there was a fucking horse parade on the street my bus was supposed to go through . there was a bunch of people recording and now they have a clip of scriabin walking next to a bunch of horses . what a fun thing .

once i actually got to the party i realized that i was going to be the only one of my friends to show up . they were busy so i get it . but i miss them . at the end two more people i didn't know showed up and we played uno , then we watched the fnaf movie while eating maybe way too many snacks . i ate an abnormally sized bag of takis . god , i love takis . then we played just dance ! i really love playing just dance . i think i'm good at it .

anyway , i got home pretty late . i refused to take the glasses off because scriabin wouldn't . but god , they made everything dark because of course they're sunglasses lmao so i had a hard time moving around . idc it was worth it .

little thing though . . . when i was about to play just dance with my friends i emptied my pockets because i had a bunch of spare change and my keys there . and i didn't want them to make a bunch of noise . fun thing is that i forgot to get my keys back ! and my family was in another party so i had to wait outside my house until they got there . it was abnormaly cold for mexico . . . good thing my scri coat made a good job keeping me hot .

lol here's me with the cosplay on . . . i just realized i didn't even TAKE ANY ACTUAL PICS OF IT just some videos to show them to friends . i do have a video showing the whole thing but the quality and the lightning is so bad i might as well not post anything at all . whatever , you have a video . imagine the rest of it . just make sure to add big ass platform shoes to the mental image please .

while i was waiting . i was texting the people from the mlp themed party and i told them i was dressing as twilight sparkle ! i actually put a bunch of effort on my costume , which is unusual for me already . i just don't have a lot of energy rn . i dyed a bunch of clothing purple and my mom sewed some nice ears and a horn for me to wear . i was super excited to go ! and then they told me that there was supposed to be only one twilight sparkle , which was the birthday girl . that they said that in the gc but my stupid ass won't actually check messages most of the time . and yeah i get it but :( :(((((( my costume ! i actually did cry a bit thanks to that . i had to get another costume in less than 9 hours and it's not like i had the energy so i was actually considering not going to the party . they said it was okay , that i could be a bootleg version on twilight and ngl it did feel offensive lol so whatever i guess i'm going as fluttershy . i woke up next day to my mom sewing a new pair of ears for me . she's so sweet . . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤoh also fun thing i spent part of the night crying because i was talking with cris about how much i missed my best friend so i woke up with a swollen face that didn't disappear for A LOT . great . as soon as i get to the party one of my friends asks me " did you sleep properly ? you look really tired . " and i was like hahaha yyyesss i think i just cried myself to sleep because i missed my best friend but um i'm okay now i actually lied i didn't even get good sleep

god whatever . . . the party was okay . too much people and birthday girl got sick and we had to finish the party . the food was nice , at least .

the real thing happens the next day . but hey this isn't about how much i want to kill myself , this is about my vargastober piece !

let's see , i had something way more simple planned for this one . and i actually remember watching the reference i had on my board thing and i was like . should i do this or something HUGE just because i FEEL LIKE IT ( i decided to go by that second option . you know me . i just love this scenario so much man , it's kinda funny how i made at least five chapter 20 pieces and they all have insane amounts of effort . don't look at me , it just happens . just be grateful ! though , i feel like these are pieces not a lot of people can enjoy . i mean , what if you're not crazy about chapters 20 / 21 like i am because you don't have age regression issues / a soft spot for stories with kids ? ( i'm just roasting myself here ( that ooor maybe you don't really know what the story is about maybe you just follow zarla because of any other thing and while you do recognize that one asshole with long hair and the average looking guy you just don't know what the heck is happening like what why are they kids this doesn't make sense . also , it's not like anyone else draws this much about this scenario but also it's not like there's ANY vargas fans in the first place so i guess being the crazy one is MY job . i think that being crazy for vargas is . . . my job god WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT HOW IS THIS RELATED

anyway , yes . i wanted to draw something like what i did for a long , loooooong time now . i remember being like " should i do ( thing ) or should i finally draw them like that " and then i would just do anything else . i'm glad i didn't try though , i'm just getting experience working with backgrounds so i'm glad i could do something once i actually knew what i was doing . well ,

i used this as a reference , and i watched this tutorial to help me with it . i still took the other thing as a reference though . i did get my own poses and stuff but the background and color palette are similar . XP

let's see . . . if i'm honest , i don't even have too much to say about the process . i got the background done quite fast ! nature backgrounds are always easier to work with since they don't need lineart most of the time . . .

i really liked the background so far ! but i started feeling weird . my head started to hurt and my eyes to feel itchy ????????? idk . i was like god . am i going to get sick . ( i got sick

so i just saved the thing and left it there for later . i watched my daily dose of code lyoko with my sister and then i took a shower . . . at this point i was literally shivering for no reason . yeah , sick . a fever . goooooooooood , kill me . last time it all started with a fever , then everything happened and i gave up on vargastober . of course i wouldn't allow this to happen again i think so i turn my pc on at 12AM and i try to get myself to work on it i rested my head on my desk for 20 minutes , then i wsa like nah man i'm not gonna do shit i turned my pc off and i called it a day . next day i felt better , just with a random stomachache that wasn't leaving . i got myself to work on it at night , and i was able to draw scri them both and color scri before 4AM .

works just great . next day i got myself to work on it on those 40 minutes before code lyoko started because i was feeling bad and unmotivated . . . . . i didn't think i would finish it but hey i did

so , this is the piece ! i added a reflection , blurred the background , corrected the color a bit and colored the line for it to be visible enough . something i don't like about working with backgrounds without a line is that , in order to make the characters fit on the piece i have to color their line until it's barely visible . not gonna lie , i think edgar does look a bit weird . i don't like the texture on his pants . i wish i changed them to idk green but i didn't have enough time to look at it and correct a bunch of stuff . i guess i'm satisfied with it , maybe if it bothers me too much i'll actually go back and edit the piece . i don't know . i don't really feel like it . also , i like the brushes i used for this one . i used the same canvas brush i used for forgotten's piece and god i

also hey you want a speedpaint

i keep forgetting to record these man

more talking about life now that vargastober is over my motivation to draw just evaporated . i have a piece to finish , which is actually also from vargastober and idk i might finish it tomorrow and post it if i like how it looks but i honestly don't think i'll like it . don't get me wrong it looks gorgeous so far i just don't know if i can get it to look scriabin enough . the piece erases some of his most iconic details so it's hard to realize it's scriabin in the first place lol

i also need to work on the askblog . . . i already have my idea done i just need to fucking draw it oh god

these days have felt like they're ai generated . everything feels weird and kinda negative too . i don't know , kinda feels like i'm about to die yknow . yeah i haven't been great

i read a piece of shit ( a messed up code lyoko fanfiction ) and now everything just feels weird . nyne said it might be sickness haze and idk MAYBE that makes sense . also , the stomachache disappeared . . . . i'm glad . i really thought i ruined my stomach permanently with takis .

idk when i'll post anything . i have some ideas for comics but comics are long and uuuggghhhhhhhhhhh

so yeah , these days have been about being miserable and sick . i miss my best friend . meg , if you see this please break up with your boyfriend , meg's boyfriend if you're reading this no hard feelings dude keep making him happy it's not like i was able to do that

[brooksidecounseling1]

How to Prepare for Your First Visit at Therapy Associates Utah

Starting therapy can be a significant step toward improving your mental health and well-being. If you're considering your first visit to Therapy Associates in Utah, it's essential to prepare adequately to make the most of your initial session. This article will guide you through the steps to prepare for your first visit, ensuring you feel comfortable, informed, and ready to embark on your therapeutic journey.

Understanding the Purpose of Your First Visit

What to Expect

Your first therapy session is an opportunity for you to discuss your concerns, experiences, and goals with your therapist. It is typically focused on building rapport, understanding your background, and establishing a plan for treatment. Knowing that the first session is primarily about gathering information can help alleviate any anxiety you may have about being put on the spot.

Establishing Goals

Before your first visit, take some time to think about your goals for therapy. Consider what you hope to achieve through this process. Whether you're looking to manage anxiety, navigate relationship challenges, or work through trauma, having clear goals can help your therapist tailor their approach to meet your needs.

Steps to Prepare for Your First Visit

1. Gather Necessary Information

Before your appointment, it’s essential to gather relevant information that may be helpful for your therapist. This can include:

Personal Information: Be prepared to share your name, contact details, and insurance information if applicable.

Medical History: Consider any past medical conditions, medications you are taking, or previous therapy experiences that may be relevant to your current situation.

Current Concerns: Reflect on the specific challenges you are facing that led you to seek therapy. Jot down notes or examples that illustrate these issues.

2. Reflect on Your Goals

As mentioned earlier, think about your goals for therapy. Write down your primary concerns and what you hope to achieve. This reflection will not only help clarify your thoughts but will also provide your therapist with valuable insight into your motivations and expectations.

3. Prepare Questions

It’s normal to have questions about the therapy process, your therapist’s approach, or what to expect in the coming sessions. Prepare a list of questions you would like to ask during your first visit. Examples of questions might include:

What therapeutic approaches do you use?

How do you measure progress in therapy?

How frequently should we meet, and how long will therapy last?

4. Understand the Logistics

Make sure you know the details of your appointment to avoid any last-minute confusion. Consider the following:

Location: If your appointment is in person, confirm the address of Therapy Associates Utah and any parking options available.

Timing: Arrive a few minutes early to allow yourself time to check in and settle before your session starts.

Virtual Sessions: If your session is online, ensure you have a reliable internet connection, a quiet space, and a functioning device (computer, tablet, or phone).

5. Consider Your Comfort

Therapy can be an emotional experience, so it's essential to prioritize your comfort. Dress in a way that makes you feel relaxed and at ease. If you're attending in person, bring along any items that help you feel comfortable, such as a water bottle or a favorite sweater.

What to Expect During Your First Session

Building Rapport

Your therapist will likely start the session by welcoming you and explaining the structure of the appointment. They may begin by asking open-ended questions to encourage you to share your story and experiences. Building rapport is a crucial aspect of the therapeutic process, so be open to sharing your thoughts and feelings.

Assessment and Evaluation

The therapist may conduct an initial assessment to gather more detailed information about your background, current situation, and mental health history. This process helps them understand your needs and develop an appropriate treatment plan. Be prepared for questions about your family history, relationships, and any previous experiences with mental health care.

Establishing a Treatment Plan

By the end of the session, your therapist may start discussing potential goals and strategies for your therapy journey. Together, you can establish a plan that outlines your objectives, frequency of sessions, and preferred therapeutic approaches.

Addressing Common Concerns

Feeling Anxious or Nervous

It's completely normal to feel anxious before your first therapy session. Remember that your therapist is there to support you, and they understand that opening up can be challenging. Take deep breaths and remind yourself that this is a safe space for you to explore your thoughts and feelings.

Confidentiality and Privacy

Therapists are bound by strict confidentiality laws, which means that everything discussed in therapy is private. If you have concerns about confidentiality, don’t hesitate to ask your therapist about their privacy policies during your first visit.

What if I Don’t Click with My Therapist?

If, after your first session, you feel that the therapist is not a good fit for you, it’s okay to seek someone else. The therapeutic relationship is crucial for effective treatment, and it’s important to find a therapist with whom you feel comfortable and understood.

After Your First Visit

Reflect on Your Experience

After your session, take some time to reflect on your experience. Consider how you felt during the session, the insights you gained, and whether you feel comfortable moving forward with therapy. Journaling about your thoughts can be a helpful way to process your feelings.

Set Aside Time for Self-Care

Starting therapy with Therapy Associates Utah can be emotionally taxing. Make sure to prioritize self-care after your appointment. Engage in activities that relax you, such as reading, going for a walk, or spending time with loved ones.

Conclusion

Preparing for your first visit with Therapy Associates in Utah is an essential step toward a successful therapeutic journey. By gathering information, reflecting on your goals, and understanding what to expect, you can approach your initial session with confidence and clarity.

Therapy Associates Utah is dedicated to providing a supportive and welcoming environment for clients. Taking the time to prepare for your first visit will not only enhance your experience but also set the foundation for meaningful progress in your mental health journey. Remember, seeking help is a courageous step, and your commitment to self-improvement is the first stride toward a brighter future.

[buttercup-art]

From the OC questions!

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

Thank you so much for asking these! I had a lot of fun with them!

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

Noa prefers to be left alone whenever she's sick. She's usually seen at her best; strong, confident, perfect. And here she is, weak and pathetic! (at least in her eyes). Her hair is messy, she didn't bother to get dressed out of her pajamas because she was way too tired, and she's leaking snot everywhere. Why the hell would she want people to see her like that?

However, if someone does decide to visit Noa, despite her strictly telling them not to (looking at you, Hugo-), not only is she going to be angry, she's going to feel incredibly embarrassed. She might even try to hide herself from them the best she can (like hiding under a blanket while saying "Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!" She looks fine, of course. She's just being dramatic because she feels gross lol).

But if they refuse to leave, she'll (begrudgingly) let them keep her company (especially if she secretly enjoys it, hint hint). Not so much let them take care of her, though. She can do that herself.

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

If she has a day when she has nothing specific to do (and she rarely does. She's a pretty busy woman), she usually spends it painting!

While she is a rather logical and analytical person, she does enjoy the finer things in life, art being among them. Though, her art focuses a lot more on technique and realism, rather than self expression. (Think Roman art. A study of anatomy and the human form).

It's also one of the only times where she's seen 'dressed down' (but not really? She still makes an effort to look sleek and stylish, just in a much more casual sense). A black turtleneck sweater, covered in paint splotches here and there, plaid pants, and black flats. No one can see her since she's doing this in her own penthouse, but she feels better knowing she looks presentable.

If she's not in the mood for painting, another option for a lazy day is to spend it reading. Specifically mystery and suspense novels. She really enjoys trying to figure out the big twists and endings, even jotting down notes in a journal while she reads. Most of the time she's able to figure it out way before the author can reveal it. But sometimes her normal thinking process can lead her to be wrong about a book's ending, simply because she ends up thinking way too much about certain details (when the author clearly wasn't thinking enough about it. And they're the one who wrote the damn thing!)

And when that happens, she gets so disappointed and annoyed that she starts insulting the writer and/or the characters. You might hear her say something like "T'es bête comme tes pieds !" (you're as dumb as a rock!), or "Quelle nouille !" (what an idiot!). She's still going to keep reading it the whole way through, but all she's going to be thinking about is how she could have written it better.

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

Quite a long time. She likes things in a specific way, and does not handle things changing all that well. Although she can adapt well to fast-paced situations, it's different when it comes to her living space or a place where she's suppose to feel comfortable.

For example, if Noa were to spend the night in Hugo's apartment, she would be very awkward and tense about it (even if he tells her "make yourself at home". She's not used to sleeping there, so it's going to be hard for her to relax). I'm talking making sure she doesn't dirty any of the carpets or the furniture, making sure things are put back in the exact same places they were in if she ever needs to move something (almost to make it look as if she was never there in the first place), sitting upright with perfect posture, etc.

The same applies if she ever needs to move to a new place. Just overall being tense about it and acting as if she doesn't live there.

To make herself feel at home, however, she needs her own space, or things that feel like her.

Like a cozy spot where she can read that's not her bed. Even if it's just a corner of the living room. As long as it has comfortable blankets and a reading light, she's happy. Her own mugs/teacups (even for Hugo's place. She might use his once or twice, but not all the time).

A whole cabinet in her kitchen reserved (and filled) with all kinds of tea, especially her favorite ones.

Some splashes of color throughout the space, particularly purple. Maybe some flowers or artwork decorating the walls. She's a very stylish person, and where she lives reflects that. It can't be too dull or boring.

Things like that.

She'll get used to it after a while. It just takes some time for her to adjust.

[hemworld1]

A Guide To Branding Your Construction Company’S Workwear

When talking about branding initiatives, construction companies aren't often the first companies that come to mind. Although they ought to be. If you want your construction firm’s name to be out there, a smart place to start is with branded construction apparel, which all sorts of businesses currently use. There are agencies waiting to brand anything at all in today's online market by adding your company name and logo on a variety of goods that people use every day, from your office pens to your work boots. To set the stage for explicitly branding construction industry firms and the attire they wear, let's take a step back and first talk about branding efforts more generally. Make sure your staff will want to use and wear the construction attire like mens construction shirts and equipment you choose before branding it.

Both the workplace and the job site are acceptable settings for stylish custom work shirts. Oxford shirts, Polo shirts with short and long sleeves, and lighter-weight sweaters are common designs. The ideal "on-the-job" gear is a sweatshirt. They contribute to arm protection, add a layer of warmth, and also still bear the company's name. Additionally, they are cheap and simple to repair when damaged or even worn out. Workers in the construction industry require shelter from sudden wind and rain. Additionally, it's not unusual for a building job to go on into the winter. Additionally, having your employees wear their branded coats to sports activities or other non-work-related outdoor activities doesn't hurt at all! In chilly weather, gloves help keep your hands warm. However, gloves also have certain extremely specific functions, in contrast to shirts and jackets. Many provide protection when handling hazardous materials or engaging in activities that could harm the skin. Whether your workers use vibration-reducing gloves, welding mitts, warm-up gloves, kevlar gloves, gloves resistant to chemicals, or just strong rubber gloves, most of these can easily be branded with your construction firm’s logo. Then come work boots - there are businesses that will even put your brand's logo on a variety of work boot brands as well! There are other high-visibility items of clothing that can be labeled, in addition to safety gloves and hard hats. Lastly, you can also get your worker’s safety glasses imprinted with logos that can be used for welding, cutting, and other dangerous jobs.

Don't forget to have your staff tag their mens construction shirts with permanent markers, iron-on tags, or stitched initials. It would be simple to lose track of which clothing or protective item belonged to which employee given that most employees will be rocking the same logo on their pieces. You surely don't want your workers to dislike you because you encouraged them to dress in potentially uncomfortable ways. Everyone should find the rebranding process of their construction company exciting and entertaining, even the staff. On casual Fridays and other casual or special days, certain companies and groups promote the wearing of company outfits with logos. Soon enough, proudly displaying the company logo becomes normal, without the need for any recommendations even. Remember to buy mens construction shirts and other gear from a reputed clothing or wholesale clothing company that provides regulated, comfortable, and safe options.

[luminnara]

Poly Lost Boys x pregnant!reader

The Lost Boys fall head over heels for the (human) reader...who is already pregnant. 

I wrote this on a whim and think it’s cute! Let me know what you think! This gave my brain a good itch so part two will be coming lol

Warnings: pregnancy, vague mentions of past abuse, David smoking all the time because he’s him

PART TWO HERE

Santa Carla, California was a town unlike anywhere you had been before...but with a nickname like murder capital of the world, you hadn’t really expected it to be normal.

The seaside town was full of colorful people--locals, wanderers, tourists, and, just like you, runaways. It wasn’t a place you ever thought you would be rolling through, but it was the only place you could think of where you could show up and nobody would ask questions about your past.

Plus, the bus fare was cheap and it was sort of all you could afford.

It had been a few nights since you arrived. You already loved the boardwalk, even though you couldn’t really drink anything and you couldn’t really go on the rides, but just walking around and seeing the sights and smelling the smells had you feeling like maybe you could call Santa Carla your new home. Was your motel shitty and cheap? Yes. Were you nervous being out in a new place like that? Also yes. But after everything you had just been through, the lights and the crowds were a welcome change, and there was no way you were going back now.

The aforementioned motel was the sort of place that offered cheap weekly and even monthly rates. While that was perfect for you—and way better than being stuck on the streets—it definitely wasn’t the coziest of places. It sure as hell wasn’t the Ritz. The wallpaper was peeling. The carpet was coming up in the corners and looked like it hadn’t been washed in…well, ever. There wasn’t much in the way of amenities, and you counted yourself lucky to have not run into any trouble so far, especially considering your current state of being, but hey, it would have to do.

It was your third night in Santa Carla, and you had slept the day away. You were fucking exhausted after a long bus ride, hunting for lodgings, and then finally letting all of it catch up to you, but now, it was time to get up and get shit done. As much as you wanted to sit down and cry, it wasn’t an option anymore, and if you didn’t figure out a job situation right fucking now, you and the kiddo didn’t stand much of a chance. 

The kiddo. 

As you looked at yourself in the cracked, somewhat dingy mirror on the back of the door, you sighed. That’s how you’d been referring to it: the kiddo. Your ex had plenty of name ideas, at first, before everything had gone down. Now, you couldn’t bring yourself to recall any of those names, and ever since running away with the last of your cash the week before, you’d been avoiding even thinking about them. It was too hard and too painful, and you were in Santa Carla hoping for the chance to start over and maybe make a new life for you and the kiddo, a nicer life than what you would have had before if you had stayed. Names weren’t your top concern, not when money and food and housing were all so much more immediately important. 

You rummaged around in your bag and pulled out a short, airy dress, one of the last things that was still comfy to wear. You were very obviously pregnant now, and there was little hope of hiding your bump with bulky sweaters. Besides, it was summer, and fuck, you wanted to look at least somewhat cute even if your life was falling apart. 

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself after fixing your hair and makeup, “Job search time.”

And that’s how you ended up walking down the boardwalk, peeking at every shop window to see if they had a help wanted sign. Unfortunately, they didn’t--they still had all their teenage employees until the schoolyear started, and store after store was letting you down. 

Until you saw VideoMax. 

The rental store was bright and trendy, and when you walked in and asked the man behind the counter if they were hiring, he looked you over with mild interest. 

“Yes,” he said. “I am, in fact.”

“I’d like to apply,” you said quickly. “I’ve...well, I’ve never worked in a video store, but I’ve got a flexible schedule and...well, I kind of really need a job, so...”

And then he smiled, introduced himself as Max, and told you that he needed an evening position filled because the last girl ‘left town.’ He seemed somewhat irritated as he said it, and you wondered if she had simply walked out of the job without giving notice or something. 

“No, no, nothing like that. She was a nice girl, really. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose.” Max said as he showed you how to run the register the next night.

You gulped.

“Santa Carla is a colorful place,” he explained. “With all sorts of people.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh...heard the nickname.” you mumbled. 

Max chuckled. “Yes, quite a nasty moniker, isn’t it? I’m told the city government hates it. But please, don’t be afraid. My store is the safest place on the boardwalk.”

You looked at him curiously. “Why’s that?”

“None of those rowdy gangs out there are stupid enough to bother me.” he waved his hand dismissively. “I certainly hope you haven’t had the misfortune of running into any of them.”

“No, not yet,” you said. “I only got here a few days ago and I haven’t had much time to socialize...”

“Are you here alone?” he asked, glancing pointedly down at your belly. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I...ran. I just couldn’t stay there with him anymore. It wasn’t safe for us anymore.”

Max hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Protective mother.”

“Well, I guess…” you mumbled sheepishly. “I haven’t really started thinking of myself as a mother yet.”

“No?” Max asked.

“I guess it just hasn’t sunk in.” You shrugged.

“I’m sure that you’ll feel better with time. Family is important, after all.” Max said.

You nodded and smiled at your boss. So far, he was turning out to be an easy to talk to, relaxed kind of guy, and as the days passed one by one, you learned more about him. You found out that he didn’t have a family of his own, despite talking about the value of having one so much. He owned the video store and had a house outside of town, and besides Thorn, he seemed to be alone. He was smart and confident and an all around good employer, and above all, he was right about his shop being safe from the rough and tumble gangs out on the boardwalk.

Most of them, anyways.

-0-

Paul was the first of the boys to catch your scent. He was fucking bored, and he was starving, and it was making him whiny, something that David absolutely despised.

“Go find some food, then!” David snapped after Paul complained for the third time. They were lounging around their usual spot next to their bikes, leaning or sitting on the railing as they watched the crowds of humans around them. It was a normal enough night—clear skies, bright lights, and plenty of sights and smells to keep them occupied—but even David had to admit that he could go for some kind of action.

He wasn’t about to let Paul know that he was right, though.

“I don’t feel like goin’ out alone, man!” Paul said.

“Why?” Marko sneered. “Scared?”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you,” Paul growled, lunging towards him.

Marko ducked out of the way easily as he laughed, and David just shook his head.

“Fine.” He said, standing up. “Let’s go. Lead the way, Paul.”

Paul jumped up eagerly, and the others followed as he started off down the boardwalk. It was rare that David let him take the lead, but tonight, Paul had more energy than the other three combined, and David was willing to take a step back.

When they ended up outside Max’s video store, though, he couldn’t just sit idly by.

“The hell are you doing, dumbass?” He growled, seizing Paul by the shoulder before he could go waltzing right in.

“What?” Paul asked, twisting to look back at him as he was suddenly pulled to a stop. “What’s the matter, man?”

“What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you?” David asked with a scoff. “Don’t you fuckin’ see where we are?”

Paul glanced up at the sign above the store and then swatted David’s hand away. “Cool it, man.”

“You know how Max feels.” David growled.

“Yeah, Paul,” Marko piped up. “We ain’t allowed in. He’ll skin us if we do it again.”

“Guys, seriously?” Paul asked, looking at them as if they were idiots. “You’re gonna totally pussy out?”

“Pussy outta what, Paul?” David raised a brow as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his coat and moved to light one.

Paul watched his hands and rolled his eyes. “Of course you can’t fuckin’ smell it…you’re always smokin’ like a chimney, man!”

David narrowed his eyes, but paused anyways. “The hell are you talkin’ about now?”

“I’m talkin’ about…” he closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale. “…that.”

David raised his lip in a sneer, getting ready to snap at Paul for being an asshole, but before he could, Marko let out an excited little noise.

“Shit, what is that?” He asked, mouth practically watering.

“Delicious,” Dwayne growled.

David glanced between the two of them and, seeing that they were in agreement with Paul, shoved his cigarettes back in his pocket. When he inhaled, all he could smell was the smoke that always clung to his skin and his clothes, and when he tried to snort to clear his nose, Paul let out a loud laugh.

“You’re totally nose-blind now, aren’t you?” He cackled.

“I am not!” David snapped, his tone dangerous. “You’re just a goddamn bloodhound…”

“Yeah, whatever.” Paul spun on his heel, not willing to wait a second longer. “I’m goin’ after that scent. Caught it earlier and it’s definitely comin’ from the store. Max can tear my head off for all I care…just wanna know what it is.”

Marko bounded after him, following at his heels, Dwayne only a step behind. David watched them go, too angry to yell at them for just walking off like that. Paul was right; he could barely smell anything useful now, and he hated that. Maybe it was time to finally figure out how to wash his fucking jacket or something.

Not about to let the others have all the fun, he walked after them briskly, shoving his way into the moderately-busy movie rental store.

And that’s when it finally hit him.

An absolutely mouth watering scent, but not the kind that made him hungry for blood. It was everything he loved wrapped up into one smell, and as it twisted and wafted around him, he nearly forgot where he was. His legs moved on their own, his head foggy. He could care less about whatever had happened to the rest of the gang. All he wanted was to be enveloped in that scent for the rest of his days.

“Can i help you?” A voice asked, bringing him back down to earth.

And when he looked down in irritation at whomever the fuck was stupid enough to pull him away from his new favorite thing, his eyes widened.

You had the most perfect face he had ever seen.

To his left, Paul was leaning on the counter. Leaning towards you. To his right, Marko was doing the same. They were busy chatting you up, and you were looking between them, lips pulled into a smile as you laughed at something Paul said.

But David couldn’t move.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t even remember to breathe.

He just stood there, in shock, because he was pretty sure that this was some sort of love at first sight bullshit and he had no idea how he was supposed to handle that.

A quiet grumble sounded, too low and too soft for the human behind the counter to notice, and it took David a moment to realize that it was coming from his own chest. Dwayne glanced down and gave him a gentle, knowing smirk, and David didn’t even have it in him to snap and tell him to fuck off.

“I’m Paul, and this is Marko,” Paul was busy telling you. “Tall, dark, and handsome back there is Dwayne, and the grouchy one is David.”

You laughed lightly, and the sound was like music to their ears. “Nice to meet you all. I haven’t seen you around before…are you new in town?”

“Nah, we’ve been around for ages,” Marko winked. “Haven’t seen you, though.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m kinda the new one,” you smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I got here not too long ago. Max was nice enough to give me a job.”

“Where is the old man, anyway?” Paul asked, looking around the store.

For a moment, you thought he looked worried, spotting a flash of panic in his eyes. Just as soon as it had come, though, it was gone, and the rocker you had met only moments before was back to the same old fun, stoner-looking guy he had just been.

“He’s taking his break,” you explained, nodding towards Max’s office at the back of the store. “You know him?”

“Well, I mean, not really—“

“Everybody around here knows Max,” Marko cut in, elbowing Paul sharply. “I mean, he’s the video store guy. Duh.”

Okay, well…that was a little weird, but you’d let it slide.

“Right,” you said slowly, finally taking the chance to look at the four boys in front of you.

They looked like trouble, that was for sure, and some part of you felt apprehensive. They were wearing leather jackets and ripped jeans, earrings dangling from their ears, fingerless gloves and mesh shirts just adding to an overall theme of maybe these guys aren’t as nice as they seem. You couldn’t bring yourself to be scared of them, though, and as you chatted for a few more minutes, you found that they were easier to talk to than anyone you’d met in your life.

That’s how, not much later, you ended up agreeing to hang out with them after your shift.

“I haven’t got much longer,” you said as they were making to leave. “Max doesn’t like to keep me on too late. Everything’ll still be open when I’m off—“

“Aw, baby, don’t worry your pretty little head,” Paul grinned. “We don’t have early bedtimes.”

“No curfews here,” Marko agreed. “We love the nightlife around the boardwalk. Right, David?”

The platinum blonde, who had barely said a word the entire time, finally looked at you. “That’s right, Marko.”

As his eyes met yours, he somehow managed to take your breath away.

“Maybe you’ll learn to love it too, sweetheart.” He said with a smirk.

Paul glanced at him in surprise, as though his words meant something more than you could ever hope to glean.

“Uh, y-yeah, I hope so,” you swallowed thickly.

David’s smirk only widened. “We’ll be waiting for you outside. C’mon, boys. Wouldn’t wanna upset Max. You know how he hates having riffraff in the store.”

Marko blew you a kiss, but you barely noticed. You were too busy staring after them as they left, walking out just as suddenly as they had come in. Alarm bells were ringing in your head. They were one of the gangs Max had warned you about, weren’t they? Shit, and you had just agreed to hang out with them! At the very least, they probably wanted to party, and you couldn’t exactly do much of that in your current state…oh, you’d really fucked it this time, hadn’t you?

“What’s wrong?” Max asked, suddenly appearing at your side. “You look rather flustered. Is everything alright?”

“I, uh…” you looked up at him and cleared your throat. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

You watched as his brow furrowed and his nostrils flared slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes, I’m sure,” you nodded quickly. “I…might have made some new friends. I think.”

Max almost looked exasperated for a moment before he managed to cover it up with mild interest. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, I…agreed to hang out with them after my shift.” You said.

He hummed thoughtfully, and then gave you a nod. “Well, I’m sure that sounds lovely. I won’t need you here for too much longer tonight. A bit more work, and then you can go meet up with them.”

And so, less than an hour later, you were nervously walking out of the store, your jacket in your hands and your eyes peeled for the colorful biker gang you probably shouldn’t have even spoken to. You spotted them hanging out on a railing above a bench just a few shops down, David smoking while Paul looked at him hopefully.

“—you sure?” you heard Paul ask as you approached them.

“If she can handle it.” David said, breathing out a puff of smoke into Paul’s face.

“She totally can.” Marko said. “And we’ve still got plenty of wine—“

“If you guys were hoping to drink, I’m afraid I can’t really do that right now,” you said awkwardly as you appeared in front of them.

They scrambled to straighten up, their conversation abandoned as Paul and Marko both opened their mouths to greet you. Then, they took in the sight of your full body, no longer obscured by the counter, and their eyes widened.

Oh, great. They were upset, weren’t they? And you were an idiot for thinking they’d want to hang out with a pregnant chick.

“Wow,” Marko was the first to recover. “Look at you!”

Dwayne gave him a light shove. “Be polite.”

“Ow! I am!” Marko protested.

You sighed. “Sorry…”

“Sorry? For what?” Paul asked. “Girl, you don’t have a bun in the oven, you’ve got a whole loaf!”

For a moment, you just stared at him.

“Paul,” David growled, just about to ready to throw him off the pier for insulting you.

“What?” Paul asked.

Dwayne punched him in the arm, snarling another “be nice,” but when a laugh bubbled out of your throat, all four of them stared at you.

It was the first time you’d really been able to laugh about your situation, and God, did you fucking need that.

“You’re right, I kinda do,” you laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

They all visibly relaxed, especially David, who tossed his cigarette over his shoulder without a single care as to where it ended up. They seemed to be looking at you with renewed interest now, their eyes more curious than anything else, and when you realized they hadn’t turned you away yet, you smiled. Maybe this would be alright, after all.

“Well c’mere, sit down.” David ordered, and for some reason, you felt compelled to listen.

Paul hopped down from the railing and offered you his hand. Even though you totally didn’t need his help, you took it, laughing at the goofy grin on his face as he raised your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss against them.

“My, how chivalrous,” you joked as you sat down on the bench. “But seriously, guys, I don’t wanna cramp your style or anything. If you wanna party, I can just head home—“

“Nah, we don’t really go to parties,” Marko said, plopping down next to you. “Sides, we don’t really wanna do anything without you around tonight. Right, Paul?”

“That’s right, Marko.” Paul agreed, leaning his hand on the back of the bench. “Gotta say, I am pretty bummed you’ve got a boyfriend, though…”

You paled. “Oh, no, I don’t. Seriously. I don’t even wanna think about that piece of shit.”

David moved around to face you and you watched him cock his head to the side. “What happened?”

You sighed. “Without going into detail…I guess I’m sorta on the run. I’m hoping he doesn’t find me here, if you catch my drift.”

For a split second, you saw white hot rage in his eyes, and then it was gone again. “Yeah. I got it. Where you stayin’, sweetheart?”

“Shitty motel.” You shrugged. “I’m planning on saving up for a little apartment soon, hopefully. Motel’s not really a place for a baby…”

“You need more than just a little apartment for that.” David scoffed.

“Well, excuse me for not having a nice salary right now,” you snapped.

He looked a little impressed by your tone. “You got some bite in you, huh?”

Marko laughed loudly. “You fit right in!”

You glanced over at him with a wry smile on your lips. “Do I?”

“Oh, totally!” Paul cackled. “Sassing’ David on day one? You’re way braver than us.”

“Yeah, you’re brave alright.” David said, pulling your attention back. “Takes guts to come to Santa Carla. Especially alone. Especially in your…condition.”

“Yeah, well…I kinda figured my ex wouldn’t follow.” You shrugged. “Plus, I didn’t exactly have much cash, and the bus was cheap. Motel’s cheap, too.”

“Don’t worry about the motel anymore.” David wrinkled his nose.

“Excuse me?”

“We gotta place you can stay.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

At your sides, Paul and Marko erupted into cheers. “Oh, hell yes! You’re gonna love our place, we got so much cool shit—“

“—all the weed you want, after you pop the baby out, of course—“

“—good drinks, all the takeout your heart desires—“

“And space.” David interrupted, his eyes boring into you. “Plenty of space.”

You were speechless. What the hell? You’d only just met them. You couldn’t just move in, that was insane! Although…your due date wasn’t too far off. You didn’t have a place of your own. The motel was better than the street, by a lot, but once the baby came, how were you gonna work? Max was a nice boss, sure, but you weren’t exactly expecting paid maternity leave. You were just a clerk at a video store, and you didn’t have the savings to be prepared for this.

“Room for a nursery,” Dwayne spoke up, sounding hopeful.

“No, I couldn’t impose like that,” you shook your head. “Besides, you guys wouldn’t want a baby around. I don’t have much longer, and you guys are probably way too cool for kids—“

“As if,” Paul interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve already got a kid.”

“…what?”

“And we take great care of him, mind you,” Marko said. “We’re like, totally parental.”

You looked up at David, absolutely bewildered.

He looked back down at you calmly, as if he was certain you were going to accept their offer. “Come on. Let’s get you moved in.”

You chewed your lip. Logically, this was a bad move, but…there was something about them, about the way you could see how big and tough and scary they were, but how their body language was so gentle towards you, that had you thinking it was a good idea.

And so, with no better option, you accepted his outstretched hand.

(Continue!)

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right? 

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

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

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

[wannabe-fic-writer]

WandaNat x Reader : Falling For You

Summary: You finally get everything you ever could’ve wanted.

Covers the “Campfire/Fireplace” square for fall bingo. 

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2,169

* * * * * * 

This was a terrible idea. One you knew you would come to regret agreeing to, but at the moment you were asked to participate, you couldn’t possibly say no.

With the two pairs of gorgeous green eyes staring at you coupled with an annoyingly knowing smirk and an adorable pout, there was no way you could deny their request. 

That’s how you find yourself hiking a trail over fallen leaves, shivers rolling over your body as your two best friends chat away at your side. 

They keep their voices at a low whisper, not allowing you to hear or be a part of their conversation. While you would normally feel some kind of way about it, you’re far too cold to sulk about it.

You furiously run your uncovered hands up and down your arms, hoping the friction of your jacket would warm you up and combat the cold surrounding you. 

Apparently neither of them remembered to check the weather for the day. When you asked Natasha said it was fall and shrugged. 

So you dressed accordingly, jeans, boots, a sweater and a jacket. It isn’t enough. It’s much colder than a normal fall day, instead it feels like the beginning of winter. 

You look down at your feet. The crunch of the leaves beneath your boots is a little louder than usual since the morning dew had frozen, adding a small layer of ice over the dead foliage. 

A huff falls from your lips and you drop your hands, shoving them into your pockets instead. It’s not like your rubbing was doing anything. 

“How much further is this secret destination?” You ask.

Both women look over at you, small frowns on their faces at your tone of voice. You hadn’t meant to snap at them but cold was starting to affect your mood. 

You smile apologetically and Natasha rolls her eyes and chuckles. Wanda knocks her elbow against Natasha’s arm, then moves to your other side.

She wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you close,“ it won’t be much longer detka.” 

“Yeah,” Natasha pulls your hand from your pocket and laces your fingers with hers,“ we’re almost there dorogoy.” 

Detka, dorogoy, lyubov. You have no idea what those words mean but she and Natasha were always calling you them. Sly little smiles would form on their lips when they did and you’d wish you knew why. All they would tell you is that it’s Russian and not a bad thing.

When Natasha squeezes your hand, Wanda lays her head on your shoulder, and you sigh. 

It was things like this that made your friendship with them hard. 

The two of them have been dating since before you even met. You first ran into them at the coffee shop you worked at. They came in and took a seat at a table in the corner and you approached them, almost instantly commenting on how cute they were together. 

Your one comment led to a friendship you couldn’t imagine you’d find with anyone else. Which also led to feelings developing that you fought tooth and nail to reject. 

They first came for Wanda, the younger woman being the first to hangout with you one on one. Her sweet and empathetic behavior and words drew you in like a moth to a flame. 

Then you started spending time with Natasha. Your first hangout was awkward to say the least. You aren’t the most outgoing and Natasha was closed off, it caused very little conversation and very long silences. 

Both of you were tempted to not hangout again without Wanda, but decided to give it one more go. Which is exactly what you needed. You can’t recall how the day started but it ended with you two having a blast at a cat cafe. Your mutual love for the soft purring animal made you close. 

Every second you spent with them made you fall faster. Rejecting your feelings stopped being an option once they’d gotten so strong. Now you try your best to ignore it, though that doesn’t work much either.

Especially not when they’re so affectionate with you like this. 

“Look look, we’re here.” Wanda says, squeezing you excitedly. 

Natasha smiles and shakes her head at her girlfriend’s excitement and as you all turn the curve, your destination now in sight, she looks at you. 

Her smile widens as she watches your eyes brighten. 

To anyone else, a cabin in the woods might not mean much but both women know that to you it's much more than that. A tradition to put it quite plainly.

Your parents made it a point to take you to a cabin when the season changed, wanting you to experience nature and such. 

You hated it at first but it grew to mean so much to you. Not just growing to appreciate nature but also loving every moment spent with your parents, loving the memories you made with them. 

“Wait,” your eyes move from the cabin to Wanda then Nat,“ are we staying here?” 

Pink lips form into the perfect smile and she nods.“ We know you haven’t been in a long time.”

The passing of your parents was rough, without them you never found the will to come to a cabin again even though you’d considered it. When you were finally ready, you didn’t have the time.

Of course you’d shared these thoughts with your best friends and you knew they were listening, but you didn’t think they’d do something about what you told them.

While you were lost in thought, the women were worried. You weren’t saying anything and they couldn’t help but wonder if they’d overstepped. 

Their plan would completely go up in flames if you were uncomfortable with this. 

Swallowing, Wanda unhooks her arm from yours and steps in front of you.“ Y/n, detka, we don’t want you to be uncomfortable so if you don’t want to stay we won’t.”

Her words pull you from your thoughts and you register what she said, which makes you immediately protest. 

“No, no,” you gently grab her hand, squeezing hers and Natasha’s.“ I want to stay I just, was thinking. This is really sweet of you two, thank you.” 

They share a smile, then Wanda excitedly tugs on your hand.“ You haven’t seen the inside yet, come on.” 

With more excitement than you and Natasha combined, Wanda pulls you both to the cabin. She shows you around as if this isn’t her first time being here. You notice she doesn’t mention the bedroom situation but you chalk that up to her excitement and figure there are two bedrooms. 

“This place is beautiful,” you all stop in the living room where you plop down on one of the cozy chairs.“ but I can’t stay. I don’t even have clothes.”

“Oh we took care of that.” Natasha waves you off as she moves off to the side in search of something. 

Wanda answers your confusion.“ What did you think I was doing when I went to your bedroom?”

You nod in understanding, recalling how she stayed behind you and Natasha the whole way down to the car and dipped away to the trunk before you pulled off. 

“Always thinkin of everything huh?” You joke, slouching in your seat. 

Frowning, Wanda comes over to you and reaches down to grab your hands,“ don’t get comfortable here, we’re gonna go sit by the lake and watch the sunset.” She adds a pout and pulls on your hands.

“But it’s so cold out.” You whine, dropping your weight back to make it harder for her to pull you up. 

She doesn’t give up though, continuing and struggling to pull you up. 

A sudden presence appears behind you, the redhead whom you love lowers herself, her mouth right beside your ear.“ Come on dorogoy, we’ll start a fire. Keep you nice and toasty.” Her hand gently rubs your arm and all you can do is nod, seemingly put in a trance by her sultry voice flowing straight into your ear.

Letting up, you allow Wanda to pull you up and you follow the two outside. 

The younger woman laces her fingers with yours as you walk down to the lake. It’s across the trail through a small stretch of trees. 

It’s a welcome sight, seeing the expanse of trees on the other side of the lake and the rocks and logs surrounding a makeshift fire pit. 

You and Wanda sit on a log, taking in the scenery while Natasha set up the fire. The instant you shiver Wanda wraps her arm around you, pulling you into her side and rubbing your arm. You resist the urge to sigh this time, especially when you look over and see the happy smile on her lips. 

The second the fire is lit you feel its warmth added to the body heat coming from Wanda. It knocks the initial chills away, but it’s not until Natasha comes to sit at your other side, that you start to warm up internally. 

She takes your hand, squeezing it as she speaks,“ Y/n there’s another reason we brought you out here.” With a small frown of curiosity you look over at her. Taking a deep breath, she meets your eyes and continues,“ f-for a while now, myself and Wanda have been wondering um,” she stops to collect her words and you’re left utterly shocked.

In the year of you knowing her, not once had you ever seen the redhead look so nervous and be at a loss for words. She is the most badass person you’d ever met and right now a red blush is rising on her cheeks.

“Wondering what?” You decide to turn your attention to Wanda, figuring that Nat could calm down if she weren’t the only center of attention, only to find the brunette is also blushing.“ What is it Wan?” 

Her soft green eyes rise to look into yours and she swallows.“ Well, we figured out that um, we started to feel differently towards you. Like, the feelings we had for each other became feelings that we both had for you.” 

It takes everything in you not to freeze up at her confession. A number of emotions swirl through you and you open your mouth to say something, only to register one particular word.

“Had?”

Wanda’s eyes widen but Natasha answers.“ Have. We currently feel this way about you and we were wondering if you would be interested in being with us?” 

Your face suddenly splits into a grin, one that both women immediately adore seeing.“ Are you being serious?” You ask and they both nod.

All this time you’d been falling for them and it turns out they’d fallen for you too. 

A quiet snicker escapes your lips and you shake your head, earning slightly confused looks from the women.“ You know, if I didn’t have feelings for you two this would’ve been a terrible plan.” 

While you can’t possibly imagine not loving them, you could picture and laugh at the awkwardness that would’ve ensued had you said no and the three of you were stuck up here together. 

“Well I don’t think it would’ve been that bad. We’re still best friends so a little awkwardness maybe but-”

“Nat,” Wanda cuts the redhead off, gaining her attention.“ You’re focusing on the wrong things lyubov.”

It’s then that Natasha addresses the beginning of your statement.“ Wait so you’ll go out with us?” 

Smiling, you nod.“ Yes I will. I’ve never done the whole poly thing but, I’m more than willing to try for you.” You turn your smile to Wanda,“ both of you.” 

They look past you to look at each other, bright smiles exchanged between them. Suddenly Wanda lunges towards you, wrapping you up in a big hug and peppering kiss over your face. 

A snort of a laugh leaves you as she kisses you and you hug her back with one arm, your other still occupied with your hand in Natasha’s. 

“Okay okay Maximoff. I love you too.” You say with another soft laugh.

She pulls back, smiling even brighter. Then a finger curls under your chin and your head is gently turned, eyes meeting another pair of gorgeous green eyes. 

“We love you too detka.” 

Ever so slowly she leans in and kisses you softly. You melt into the kiss, a quiet sigh of content at finally finally being able to do this. And when she pulls away, quickly pecking your lips again, you’re pulled into a kiss with Wanda. 

Her lips are a little softer than Natasha’s and she kisses you with a little more restraint.  

A quiet smack parts your lips and you lean back against Natasha.“ I think I could definitely get used to that.” 

Both women chuckle softly, Wanda leaning back against you and Natasha wrapping both arms around you and the brunette. 

Right there, sandwiched between the two women you love as the heat of the campfire warms you, you’re happy. 

* * * * * *

Taglist: @natasha-danvers @owloftheshadows @yumusak-yastik @blackxwidowsxwife @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ecruzsalez 

[petersbaby]

Wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

Inspired by this song:

Summary: New girl in town goes to a Halloween party and meets a boy. She ends up feeling as though the universe brought them together and becomes immediately enamored with him. Reader has slight yandere/obsessive tendencies (she will come to realize she has an obsessive love disorder.) this is the night they met and where it all started.

This won’t get much traction because it’s so specific and kinda niche, but this is something I’ve been thinking about for a while now and now that it’s Halloween season it’s perfect to start off with this. A Halloween night that would start a great romance.

-

Here are some visual aids to go by <3 this is the type of outfit you’re wearing.

It was Halloween and you were going to the biggest party in the school, EVERYONE was talking about it for weeks. It was your favorite holiday, and you couldn’t wait to go and see everyone in their costumes.

It was exciting because it was indeed a costume party, and you could dress up without looking like a weirdo. These days teenagers seem to think they’re “too cool” to wear Halloween costumes.

After school, you get home and shower to begin getting ready for the night which would start in four or five hours, so you had plenty of time. Makeup was first, silver glitter and black eyeliner were definitely the main elements, what really pulled the look together.

Then, your costume. It was a little revealing but still tasteful and classy in a darker way. The biggest aspect of the outfit was a pretty black dress you’d had sitting around for a while now, nowhere fancy enough to wear it and you figured this would be the biggest and best opportunity.

For shoes, you opted for some black converse, the most comfortable option. You couldn’t walk very well in heels anyway. You thought about wearing some type of sweater over your dress, but decided that it would take away from the costume and hide your dress too much.

As you were relatively new, only starting school here in august, you didn’t quite have any real friends. Just a few people who were nice to you, and so you found this to be a good opportunity to maybe meet some people.

You weren’t looking for boys necessarily, but if one wanted to talk to you, you weren’t going to complain.

-

9pm

You arrive at the house, which was covered in festive decorations. Orange lights, fog machine, carved pumpkins.

You could hear the music from the end of the driveway, it wasn’t the usual poppy annoying stuff so for that you were excited. Once inside, you take in the vibe. Crowded, for sure, but not so much that it was suffocating.

You walk around a bit, talking to the few people you recognize from school here and there but ultimately decide to get some fresh air.

-

You made your way out of the sliding back door, where you noticed there were some people hanging out. Someone was even in the pool for some reason, you figure it must be heated because it’s cold outside.

The music was less blaring, it was an entirely different vibe. The sky was black, stars peppered along its expanse and a bright, full moon shining a dim light on your surroundings. You look to the side and notice a guy sitting on one of the patio chairs, smoking weed (which was very evident from the smell alone).

He looked totally normal, not even the slightest hint of festivity. He looked a little bored, too, so you decide to approach him.

“Hiii. I’m (y/n), is it okay if I sit with you?”

He snaps back to reality as if he’d just been woken up from a trance.

“Oh, um- yeah, sure of course.” He gestures to the other chair. You sit, unsure of what to say to break the ice and make conversation. Once having gotten closer to him, you realized that he’s really really cute and smells quite nice as well. Definitely a hint of tobacco, so you figured you’d try something.

“Do you happen to maybe have a cigarette I could bum?”

“I do, actually. Do I just give off that vibe? Like I participate in devious activities?”

“I mean, you’re literally smoking weed right now. Plus I can smell the cigarette smoke on you so I figured you had some.”

“Oh. Well I’m Eddie. Pardon my late response.”

He reaches into his coat pocket, chuckling, and pulls the pack out.

He grabs you one and hands it to you, along with a black lighter. You put the cigarette in your mouth, flicking the lighter on the tip of it as you try to shield the flame from the wind.

“Thank you.” You hand the lighter back. “So what’s your deal? You’re not dressed up and you don’t look like you’re having too much fun.” He chuckles again.

“I come to parties exclusively to sell.” He taps the metal box that you only just noticed on the table beside him. “This isn’t really my crowd. Mostly preppy kids who are assholes to me until they want drugs.”

“…oh.” You respond, thinking for a minute while you take a drag from the cigarette nestled between your manicured fingers.

“But I like your costume. It’s very cute.” He says with a sweet and slightly shy smile.

“Thank you. You look cute too, you’re dressed as yourself. Very imaginative.” You say with slightly smart tone.

“Are you supposed to be any particular cat, like cat woman, or…?”

“I’m just a cat. A black cat.”

“Fair enough.” He admires your outfit and the way your skin looks under the moonlight, noticing that you have goosebumps all over your arms.

Without saying anything, he leans forward to shrug off his leather jacket and hands it to you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, knowing you really need the warmth but don’t want him to feel like he has to give you his jacket.

You were the one that wore a sleeveless dress in October, after all.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just don’t lose it, okay? That jacket means a lot to me. Not monetarily, it’s a piece of shit but it has sentimental value.”

“I won’t, I promise. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m gonna go inside to get a drink. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to come back out here to hang out with me. I’ll just follow you inside because now I’m cold.”

You start to punch him in the arm. “You said you were fine!”

“I’m just kidding. I’m gonna get one too.” He says, gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him.

You decide to make yourself a cup of the mysterious red drink in the punch bowl instead of a beer because beer is nasty.

Of course, Eddie grabs one. It must be a boy thing, liking such a gross drink. You go into the main room with everyone else and he decides to stay behind, sitting back on a couch near the kitchen.

He wasn’t gonna hold you captive, he’d just find you after the party to get his jacket back. He was definitely intrigued, though.

Throughout the night, he made several sales. Mostly just weed, a couple of hallucinogens. He would watch you from afar, dancing and smiling. You looked so happy.

And you were, you had made friends with a few girls and you felt like you’d known them forever; however that was probably just the alcohol making you feel that way.

One girl in particular had really piqued your interest, she was gorgeous. Long brown hair, greenish-blue eyes, wearing glittery makeup just like you were. She was wearing an angel costume, the white dress complimenting her tan skin and highlighting her features.

Another cup later, you’re both dancing together lazily and kissing, something she initiated stating that she just did it for fun. You saw no reason to say no, and just decided “fuck it”.

There were eyes on you, no question. But you started to realize there was only one person who you really wanted to look at you, you drape your arms over her shoulders and scan the area around you, searching for his face.

Just when you were about to give up, you spotted him in the corner of the kitchen, in the next room. When your eyes found him, they immediately made contact with his, and you realize he was looking for you too out of the crowd of people. You flash a smile at him and go back to kissing your friend, extra passionately to maybe put on a little show. He was conflicted.

Part of him could watch this all day, but the other part is jealous. Yeah, it was just for shits and giggles, but he still was regardless. You felt a hand on your arm and turned around to see him on the dance floor with you now.

He pulled you away from your friends and closer to him, guiding you back outside to where you had met earlier.

“What’s wrong? I was having fun.” You ask, a little grumpy.

“That’s good, I just wanted to let you know I’m about to head out. I sold my whole inventory.”

“Noooo, wait! You can’t go.” You pout.

It was half not wanting to give his jacket back and half not wanting him to go away and possibly never see you again without even exchanging numbers.

“Dance with me. Just one song, and then you can go. Pleeeease?”

He groans, struggling to resist the adorable pleading face you were making. “I can’t dance.”

“Me neither, you just gotta not care. You know? C’mon!”

“I don’t wanna go back in there. It’s just a bunch of sweaty jocks and wasted girls getting a little too rowdy.”

The last part went right above your head, not registering that he was making a joke about you. A new song starts over the speakers, escaping the house and coming to reach your ears outside.

“Fine. Then here.” You grab his hands, guiding them to rest on your waist and putting your hands against his chest. He gives you a knowing smile, as if to say “I’m a fool for you”. You slow dance in the backyard for the whole song, not caring how silly you looked to anyone else or if anyone else was even seeing you.

When the song comes to an end and dies down, you pull away but his hands stay at your sides. In one movement, impulsivity and desire take over as you press your lips to his, kissing him softly.

You were scared, that maybe you were a little too bold and that you did this too soon and freaked him out. You realize you haven’t done anything he didn’t want to do when he starts kissing you back almost right away.

Your hands held either side of his face, fingertips lightly brushing his cheeks.

Either way, you overthink it still. “I’m sorry”, you say, as you pulled away from each other completely this time. Your breathing was a little fast, but it was the best feeling. You felt that maybe this was the start of something; and that from this point on you would love this boy.

You were fucked. He doesn’t respond, and goes back in to kiss you again, using his lips to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for.

It was getting late, and you noticed that the music had gotten quieter and the amount of people was starting to lessen.

The party was starting to be over, and you had to go home, but you didn’t want to. Hours ago, you didn’t know this guy but now it felt heart wrenching to have to be away from him.

“Do you want me to take you home?” He asks.

You nod and follow him to the road to his van.

(Part 2)