#'m starting to see a pattern in my favs...

[sstardustt3]

I think Bill turned out the way he did because both his parents didn't really pay attention to him ever and would just absentmindedly praise him hoping he'll just stop bothering them. Also for the sake of getting him to leave them alone they didn't tell him no. Like ever. And if they did I don't think they really disciplined him properly. Atleast not his mom. Which is why he's so comfortable stealing money from her. Going onto his dad I think bill was definitely subjected to rants of his dad saying just the worst shit about his mom throughout his entire childhood. In a very moral Orel camping episode-type way (ifykyk) and I think he probably internalized it or something. Now that I finish writing this I'm starting to see a resemblance in my favorite character and I might just have to whip out a ven diagram atp.

[crescenthistory]

Hello lovely! Can I request Marlene McKinnon with b1+11 please? 🫶🫶

of course you can<33 my fav girl marls

Prompt: B1. "I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it" & B.11 "Come back to bed"

Words: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, not proofread, idiots in love, established relationship, morning kisses, cuddles, quidditch player!marlene, loving jokes at james' expense, background marylily, very background prongsfoot, implied gryffindor!reader (you share a dorm)

While there were no limits to what you loved about Marlene, on cold winter nights spent in an ancient castle with terrible isolation, her running hot as a furnace ranked high on any potential list.

It had been months since you decided to push your beds together in the dorm and spell the gap between the mattresses away, and you had yet to stop commending yourselves for the idea. Practically every night before you went to sleep, Marlene would mumble about "what a bright witch must have thought of this", and you never knew whether she was referring to you in a flirty way or herself in a self-congratulatory way, seeing as you thought of it together. You usually didn't call her out on it though, too busy grinning so hard your gums hurt.

You were also too busy having Mary fling pillows in your direction as she begged you to "stop being so lovey-dovey". With quiet whispers, you and Marlene would giggle about how her tune would likely change whenever she finally confesses her feelings to Lily and could follow in your footsteps.

In the meantime, you had a large bed, warm blankets that the four of you dyed cute patterns into at the start of term – the traditional way without magic, just like Lily taught you – and a beautiful soft girl in your arms. It was the perfect haven; a motivating start to the day and a reprieve from the weathers at night.

That is, until Marlene tries to get up at 6 AM to attend quidditch practice. 

Again, on the list of what you love about your girlfriend, her commitment and loyalty were high on the list, the two qualities that truly drove her in her sports achievements. She was a pleasure to watch on the field in more ways than one, and you were there to cheer her on for every single match, painting both your and her cheeks in vibrant red and gold.

However, when you were swept up in a heavenly cocoon of plush fabric and delicate skin, the smell that was so distinctly Marlene swirling in your nose and your mind, the mere suggestion that it should be broken even before the break of dawn felt like a death sentence.

You let her know as much.

"Marls, please," you whined, not caring that your voice was hoarse with sleep and your eyes weren't even open. You had just barely registered the kisses peppered to your hairline that already carried an air of goodbye and Marlene beginning to move.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she whispered against your skin before kissing it and removing her hands from around your waist.

You scurried after her and doubled down your own grip on her with surprising strength for someone not yet truly awake. "Marlene, baby, don't go." You weren’t entirely aware of what you were saying, just that you were begging and that you honestly stood by it – this was no time to leave.

You must be slurring your words because she began to giggle and her hand on the back of your neck came forward to brush over your cheeks and even squeeze them a little. "'M sorry my love, duty calls. You just sleep on, princess."

Another kiss to your hairline. You clung onto her harder and made a noise of distinctive disagreement.

One thing you had come to learn about Marlene over the years is that if she had not been sorted into Gryffindor, she would have been placed straight in Slytherin. Because this cunning sly witch made a sympathetic cooing sound, gathered you back up in her arms, and began rocking you ever so slightly back and forth. Only half your brain was awake – if that – to begin with, and within seconds your entire world was just your nose against Marlene's neck, her lips along your cheek and ear and the faint sound of her humming a Scottish lullaby.

You were swallowed by the abyss while wrapped up in love, and you would have stayed in the pit of its stomach had it not been for the gust of icy wind that brushed your face, some unknown time later.

With a low groan you opened your eyes into mere slits, trying to focus your gaze on the small commotion before you. There you were met with the sheepish smile of your lovely and traitorous girlfriend as she had just stood up from the bed and begun to pull on her red wool socks.

"Marlene. That was mean." You grumbled, but even so, you pulled the blankets closer around you as you shimmied clumsily to her side of the bed.

Immediately upon the reunion, Marlene's surprisingly warm hand went to caress your cheek where you looked up at her, scrutinising. "Sorry lovely, I wanted you to sleep." She pouted at you to make your frown wash away into a smile. "I have to get to quidditch practice with James in 30."

"I know you do." With a match against Slytherin coming up, James had the team practicing once or twice per day, at what you had promptly labelled ungodly hours. "But right now you have a cuddling appointment with me. Come back to bed."

You took advantage of her hand on your cheek to reach up towards her upper arm and shoulders and try to jostle her down towards you. Marlene chuckled quietly, trying to be careful not to wake your other two friends who were decidedly not known for being bright and cheery in the morning, and sat down beside you on the bed yieldingly.

You were ambushed by her peppering kisses across your face, each one its own silent silly apology. When she brushed her lips towards your own, you gave in for a few seconds before turning your head away.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," you mumbled begrudgingly.

She quickly stilled your head’s movement with her hand and pulled it back towards hers, chasing after your lips. "Don't care, c'mere."

The kiss was the kind of domestic one that made you want to giggle uncontrollably despite knowing that you really shouldn't – though, if you did, Marlene would have joined you in a heartbeat. Marlene’s lips had the most beautifully prominent cupid’s bow you had seen, and you could feel the press of it against your own upper lip, could feel her smile and her love and her wish to stay with you.

You latched onto the last one.

“Just a little bit,” you mumbled against her lips as you snuck your hands up under her Heart sleep shirt to spread across her toned back and encourage her to lay down on top of you. “Five minutes, just five minutes.”

There was not an ounce of embarrassment in you for how much you wanted her with you, and there was not an ounce of judgment in her. A wolfish, pleased grin spread across her face as she relented and snuck under the blankets to lay comfortably on top of you, slotted between your legs with your chests pressed together. “Just five minutes, you say?” She spoke in between quick kisses, defined eyebrows raised at you teasingly.

“Mmm, maybe ten.” You didn’t bother hiding your smile, instead hooking your pinkies behind her ears to pull her face back up towards yours.

Marlene laughed into your mouth at a dangerous volume – thankfully you didn’t mind swallowing it with a kiss. You’re welcome Lily and Mary.

When you came apart, Marlene leaned her forehead against yours and heaved a theatrically overdone sigh, looking up at you through her lashes. “Whatever my girl wants, huh?”

Without giving you a chance to reply, she hooked an arm around your neck and one around your lower back before flinging herself sideways to flop back down on the bed, bringing you with her in her arms. It was a practised manoeuvre, one that landed you with your face in the crook of her neck and side pressed against her warm body, one that never failed to bring butterflies to your stomach.

You stared up at her as if she hung the moon, knowing full well that she was the sun.

The love must have been evident on your face because hers melted into a soft puddle before bringing your chin up with a finger beneath it to kiss you sweetly. “I love getting my way with you,” you teased, causing Marlene to snort.

“Yeah, I know you do,” she said dreamily. “But if you make me late to quidditch practice, I require at least a thousand kisses to make up for it.”

“Just for you, or does James need some as well?”

Marlene made a sound that effectively communicated gross that’s like my brother as she smacked your arm lightly, but you just laughed, holding her closer to you and kneading the flesh of her back contently. “You should enlist Sirius to give James his own thousand-fold kisses.”

“I reckon that will be easy enough,” you whispered, still laughing as you kissed along her cheek and jaw. “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept your conditions, McKinnon.”

Marlene shook her head and looked down at you with a gaze that was nothing short of lovesick. “What have I gotten myself into?”

[lustnhim]

‘ grown. ‘ — elvis x fem! reader

note: requested + elvis is a family friend / warnings: MDNI, p in v sex, loss of virginity, risk of being caught, pervy elvis, oral m-receiving, inconspicuous touching, elvis kinda coerces reader, panty stealing elvis cause its my fav, prob typos. / summary:  your dad and elvis are really close friends so when elvis invited your whole family over to graceland for the 100th time, you didn’t expect much more than another boring evening

“Now I want you to be on your best behavior while we’re here.” Your mother said, looking at you from the rearview mirror. Scoffing, you kept your gaze fixed out the window, watching the passing trees. “I always am. You don’t have to tell me that everytime we go over.” You say, causing your father to chime in too. “Honey, your mother doesn't mean anything by it, we know you’re a good kid.” Shaking your head gently you let out a soft sigh, “And I ain’t a kid anymore.” You said under your breath, knowing that they probably heard you anyway.

As your family pulled into Graceland for what felt like the hundredth time, your eyes wandered the familiar landscape. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of boredom, despite the grandeur of Elvis' estate. His house was huge, much bigger than yours, but you had been in every room a gazillion times– It was nothing exciting anymore. A familiar figure approached your car as you got out; Elvis Presley, your dad's old buddy, was dressed a black shirt with a flowered pattern and black pants, he looked a little bit different since you last seen him- but then again that was a few months ago so he couldn’t have changed that much. Elvis brought your father into a hug and shook his hand before turning to your mother who he kissed promptly on her cheek. Your mother fussed over Elvis, babbling about how great it was to see him again. He flashed his million-dollar smile, a sign he was glad to see her too.The three talked a bit as they walked to the front door before he turned around, his piercing gaze seemed to linger on you for a moment longer than usual, making you feel a bit uneasy. “I’m sorry Darlin’ I ain’t even talked to you yet.” He said, walking over to you a strange smile on his face. “My, my…how you’ve grown.” He said, causing you to cringe a bit internally. “It’s only been a few months since we last came over-” You replied, laughing nervously. Pulling you into a hug which lasted a few moments too long he pulled away before walking back inside. 

You noticed a few other men who were all sitting in the living room which you recognized as his “Memphis Mafia”, you followed behind your parents and Elvis as he led them to the backyard. The aroma of BBQ filled the air, and laughter echoed as children played around. You meandered to find a spot to relax while your family talked to Elvis. You watched as the men from the Living Room slowly pooled outside. You noticed a few of them taking short glances at you making you feel a little nervous.Your father motioned you over and reluctantly you got up and walked over to the group of men he was speaking to. “My daughter here graduated high school not too long ago, top of her class too!” Your father bragged, pulling you close to him in an awkward side hug. You listened as the men all said their own praises to you, words of ‘congratulations’ and ‘good jobs’ but you noticed Elvis was staying oddly silent. Once your father started talking about other things you silently excused yourself back to your chair away from everyone else. 

You stayed away from the crowd as much as you could, hiding behind your sunglasses you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you most of the time. “Honey! Food’s ready!” You heard your mother call out, setting food on a table under a canopy as the other women scrambled to get their kids to sit down. Walking to the table you took a seat towards the end, your mother placing a plate of a burger and some chips in front of you. You looked around and saw everyone else getting their food, and you nibbled on some chips silently before you heard a gentle sigh and some scuffling beside of you. It was Elvis, sitting his plate down and smiling at you gently. “Well hello there stranger.” He teased, as your mother and father sat across from the two of you. “Been awfully distant today,” he said, taking a bite of one of his burgers. “Ah, yeah- Just tired.” You responded a bit dryly. “Pay her no mind, Elvis…she’s moody.” Your mother said, shooting you a look. 

As you ate in silence, your parents, Elvis and a few of the men all engaged in conversation, talking about music, family, politics and everything in between. You dissociated a bit, not really paying attention till you felt something against your thigh. A quick, fleeting touch, but one that made you jump. Looking down at your legs you noticed Elvis’ hand laid awfully close to your leg. You looked up at Elvis who was smiling, staring at you parents who talked his ear off about any old thing. Excusing it as just an accident you continued eating, but more tuned in this time. It wasn't long before you felt it again, this time it wasn’t just a graze of his fingers, his hand was resting on your thigh. You tried not to move too much, acting like you didn’t notice, but you felt his thumb drawing circles on your skin. Your face flushed as you tried to grab your drink, almost spilling it in the process. “Watch out!” Your father warmed, catching the drink before it spilled. “Sorry!” You replied, cursing yourself. You heard Elvis chuckle, his hand squeezing your thigh under the table.You winced internally, trying to play it cool as your heart raced. For a moment, all you could hear was the beat of your heart. You focused on the conversation at the table, hoping Elvis would give up and stop. You took a deep breath as your father started to joke about something, the entire table laughing, including Elvis. When the laughter died down, you felt his hand slide up your thigh, under the table, creeping closer to your core. Your eyes widened, and you froze, unsure of what to do. 

Just as his middle finger brushed against your panties causing your chair to scrape against the grass. "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom," you said, feeling the heat in your cheeks. Your parents looked at you curiously, but Elvis merely smiled, raising an eyebrow suggestively. You didn't look back as you walked away, your heart pounding harder with every step. You couldn’t believe what was happening, you rushed into the house and went to the bathroom. Looking at your face in the mirror, god. You were blushing like crazy…your body shook a bit as you turned on the sink, splashing a bit of water on your face to try and fight the warmth that ran through your body. Wiping your face off you heard a knock at the door causing you to jump. “Yeah?” You called out, your heart rate quickening. “It’s me…” The voice said, and you felt your legs grow weak. “Elvis?” You asked and you heard a small laugh from the other side. “Yes, Darlin’...I think you and I need to talk…just the two of us.” You hesitated, not knowing what to do or even say, what would he want to talk about anyways? You took a deep breath before opening the bathroom door, seeing Elvis face to face. “Okay.” You said plainly, making him smile. “M’kay honey.” He said, moving away from the doorframe, allowing you to walk out. He placed his hand on your lower back as he led you through the house to the empty living room. The sounds of laughter and the chatter of the party faded away, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. 

Elvis led you to a plush sofa, arranging you to sit on the edge while he positioned himself beside you. His hands rested gently on his knees, smiling at you he let out a soft groan. "I wanted to say sorry...." He started, his tongue flicking across his lips nervously. “I- I watched you grow up n’ Lord knows how guilt I feel for….thinkin’ about you.” Elvis confessed and you shifted nervously on the couch, something about his tone, his voice wasn’t genuine. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman…and I- I don’t think I can help myself around you.” You tried to respond, tried to say anything but you couldn't find the words. You didn’t know how you felt. You didn’t know what you wanted. God knows you thought he was handsome, but something felt…wrong. “E-Elvis I don’t know what to say…” You finally managed to say, fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously.” Elvis leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "You don't need to say anything, darlin'. Just let me show you how much I want you." As he spoke, Elvis reached out and cupped your cheek, pulling you closer to him. His lips met yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his other hand slipped under your dress, finding its way to your core. You gasped into the kiss, your hand pushing at his chest gently– unsure of what to do. You felt yourself involuntarily melt into the kiss, your hand sliding down his chest to his lap. Easing yourself into the kiss you felt his hands snake up the back of your dress, rubbing your back before snapping the back of your bra off with ease. Pulling away he smiled, “Atta girl.” He said, sliding your bra off from under your dress. Guiding your hand to his crotch, his erection pressing against your palm, you cupped it gently. “Get down on the floor honey…on your knees.” He said, leading you gently down between his legs. "Look so good…" he whispered huskily.

You looked into his eyes and began to unbutton his pants. Elvis helped you out, freeing his length from his boxers. He was larger than what you expected, making you hesitate. "Don't worry, baby," he said, stroking your hair. "Just put it in your mouth.. We gotta hurry, don’t wantcha daddy to see his only daughter down on her knees" His words sent a jolt down your spine. You hesitated for a moment longer before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, looking up at him he urged you to go deeper. Taking his cock into your mouth you struggled to fit most of it- feeling his hand grip your hair he moaned as you began to bob your head, your hand gripping his base. Elvis's thrusts became more urgent, his hand tightening in your hair, urging you to take in more of his length. The sound of his desperate moans filling the room. "That's it, baby... take it all," he encouraged you. You found yourself glancing at the doorway, hoping and praying no one would catch the two of you. Elvis groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum…" he warned you, his voice hoarse. In a moment, his release flooded your mouth, the warm sensation spreading throughout as he filled you. The orgasm sent waves of pleasure through him, and he pulled out of your mouth, letting you catch your breath. Small bits of cum dribbled out of your mouth, wiping it gently you looked up at him, his still semi-hard cock twitching gently. “Take off your pannies’ honey.” Elvis ordered, licking his lips and stroking himself lightly. 

You struggled to stand, your legs wobbly but you managed to get to your feet. Lifting your dress a bit and sliding off your underwear, you felt the wetness between your legs almost immediately begin to pool onto your inner thighs. Embarrassed, you stood there, your dress raised and your cunt exposed. Letting out a shaky whimper Elvis smirked, moving over to make room for you on the couch. “Come lay down, sweetheart.”  You did as you were told, laying back on the couch as Elvis positioned himself between your legs,your dress pulled up to your chin. "Legs up, darlin', spread 'em wide for me." He demanded, and you obliged, hooking your ankles together, giving him full access to your wet, aching pussy. You looked away in embarrassment as he ran his fingers gently across your swollen clit. “You a virgin?” He asked, and you nodded. You watch as his smile grows wider. "Fuck, you're so ready for me." He said, rubbing the head of his cock over your swollen lips, teasing you. Without warning, he thrust himself inside, filling you in one smooth motion. You gasped, the sensation unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. The pain flooded your body in an instant, slamming your eyes shut you let out a pained moan. “Shhh now..” Elvis whispered, rubbing your clit gently. Elvis began to pump his cock into you, his thrusts slow, but deliberate. Each one sent shivers down your spine as waves of pain turned to pleasure. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a desperate, claiming kiss, as his pace quickened. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his thrusts grew more aggressive. The sound of wet slaps filled the empty room, both of your breathing ragged in unison. "Fuck, you're tight... so damn tight." Elvis said through gritted teeth, his hips slamming into you. You moaned into the crook of his neck, desperate to make as little noise as possible. 

You felt yourself nearing the edge, the pressure building within you. "Elvis..." you whimpered, unable to form a coherent sentence. He nodded, understanding, and began to thrust into you with renewed vigor, his cock hitting your sweet spot, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your pussy clenching around him. "Fuck, such a good girl..." Elvis groaned, his thrusts growing even more erratic. Elvis slammed into you one final time, groaning loudly as his release filled you without warning. His hot seed spilled into your quivering cunt, triggering another wave of pleasure that left you breathless. He pulled out of you and collapsed onto you, his breath ragged. You lay there, your body humming, as the reality of what you just experienced sunk in. Elvis crawled off of you, tucking himself back in his pants as you adjusted your dress back down and stood up, almost falling. Elvis chuckled and grabbed your hand.  "Where are my panties..?" You asked, looking around the floor for them.

“Souvenir.”

i might be slow posting fanfics for a bit, i really haven’t been feeling well lately BUT THAT OKAY. okay love u guys <3

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @18lkpeters @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @mysteriouslymagicalwolf @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisalltheway101 @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 (if you wanna be added or removed lmk!)

[arminsumi]

hii!! hru?? i hope ur doing finee!! :))

so i have a request 😭😭 imagine olden times gojo satoru x reader, reader comes from the lower class poor family and gojo is the higher rich class 🤩🤩 gojo and reader go to school together and gojo is rlly known and popular in school so reader gets curious and tries to talk/start a conversation with him!! then they become friends but they eventually both develop feelings for eachother 😭😭 but because of their differences they cant get together/love eachother and gojo's parents dont rlly support gojo marrying a poor girl and want him to marry someone with a high status!! (u can make gojo have a future arranged marriage if u want, i jus need an angsty fluff fic 😭)

✎ runaway lovers

💗 さとる

note : i found this buried deep in the drafts !! :( i'm late but i wrote this in one go and it was so fun, i got so absorbed into the story... ugh i'm a sucker for olden day gojo stuff. one of my fav posts was that hanahaki gojo fic. anyways!! aaa i swooned a bit at the part he says "i will always find my way hom and she is my home" 🥹

content : one day at school, those six eyes catch you spying through the gap in the door, and from that moment on gojo satoru grows fascinated with you. he just has to introduce himself to you. he doesn't care about the whispers around him and just falls right in love. unfortunately, his parents frown upon you two being together, and they try their best to pry the two of you apart.

warnings : fem reader, angsty fluffy, misunderstandings, gojo gets put into an arranged marriage, forbidden romance trope

playme : you're in love

"gojo satoru...?" you question curiously.

your friend nods, starry-eyed. "you know, from the gojo clan? oh, he's so... he's just... you can't even envision how good-looking he is; you just have to see him with your own eyes. come on."

"alright..." you chuckle, letting her lead you down the corridors. she trips clumsily on the way.

the two of you peer into the senior student's class. you whisper under your breath to her, "which one is he? there's so many people in the room... and i can barely see."

"just search the room. you'll know him when you see him. he stands out." your friend whispers excitedly.

your eyes look searchingly. and then they land on a head of snow-white hair; there's a boy, two years your senior, sitting upright like a stick and clad in a blue-toned kimono with an endearingly simple pattern on it — but you're not fooled, that's the highest quality silk. a clan crest stares at you, as his back faces you.

You peer through this slit in the door.

you're staring at him like you're spellbound. and... those hyper-attentive six eyes catch onto you right away.

gojo curiously peers behind him over his shoulder. when you see his face, it immediately makes sense why your friend — like so many other girls in this school — is completely taken by him.

and he... he's taken by you, the instant the two of you make electric eye contact. you look away as if singed by spilled boiling tea.

gojo's heart thumps in his chest.

who was that, just now, peering through the slit in the door? she was...

"good-looking, isn't he?" your friend smugly nudges your shoulder as the two of you scamper away like mice, escaping outside.

gojo's class concludes moments after catching you spying through the slit in the shoji door, so he quickly makes a path to follow after you as you escape to the taiko bashi bridge with your friend as if you're two criminals.

and he ends up eavesdropping on your conversation at a prime moment.

"...he looked like an angel..." you say in awe. his heart flutters and he widens his eyes, straining his ears to hear more but the bush of flowers is fluttering so loudly in the wind that it makes it difficult. so much for six eyes... what he wishes he had right now is six ears.

he picks up fragments of your voice. it gives him... butterflies, for the first time he understands what it means to have butterflies in one's stomach.

"...ah, don't tease me...!"

he blinks his pretty eyes and listens to you.

"...i can't possibly introduce myself to him...he's not just my senior...he's the prodigal son of the gojo clan..."

his heart... does something. a smug look forms on his face.

well... if she can't find the courage to introduce herself to me, then i'll introduce myself to her.

and so he does. when his best friend accompanies him on a gliding exit walk along the bridge, he stops by you and...

he bows deeply, like you're a very important person. but you're not, you're a commoner in most eyes at this school... and yet he doesn't treat you as such. it even takes his best friend, suguru, by surprise because he knows satoru to usually be a bit pompous.

electric eye contact is made between you and satoru when the two of you rise from your greeting bows.

"have we met before?" he begins smoothly, "your face reminds me of a girl i met in a dream."

your throaty stutter endears him, but makes his best friend snicker.

"satoru... don't go around flirting with monkeys." he says meanly.

for the first time, satoru ignores something that his best friend says. a reality-shattering moment, really, suguru widens his eyes as satoru asks; "what's your name...?" as if he's desperate and determined to know it.

and that's where it all begins. on the taiko bashi bridge. one spring.

it doesn't take long for his parents to find out that he's conversing with a commoner, and they put a stop to it immediately. not only because of your status... but because they don't want him to be "distracted". he needs to keep a "narrow focus" on his studies. and... they refuse to let some commoner mingle romantically with their precious prodigal son.

girls snicker in secret about you. rumors spread that you forwardly introduced yourself to gojo.

"i heard that she chased after gojo-senpai and desperately tried to introduce herself to him. she's obsessed with him or something, it's really pathetic!"

speak of the devil... no no, he's an angel like you said... satoru appears. not a word slipped by him. it makes his blood surge, is stomach twist; they had some nerve. he wants to cuss them out, be improper and raw and visceral. but he refrains. because consequences.

"i'll have to correct you two," satoru's sudden appearance shocks them out of their bodies. that voice is chilling. "it was actually me who initiated that introduction on the bridge. she was too lovely to ignore..."

oh, satoru... why did you choose the word 'lovely'? now rumors begin to circulate the school that you two are dating. they rapidly make their way to his parent's ears, and while his father may be lax on his lectures, his mother is strict.

she parts the two of you. cleaves your budding friendship. rips the two of you like paper, refusing to let her son be tainted or distracted by someone like you.

but does he listen to his mother's orders to never speak to you? no. he sneaks out to meet you after school. he squeezes in through your window at night with a toothy grin. he secretly invites you to his birthday parties ("where has the birthday boy run off to...?"). he holds your hand when no one is looking.

and he cups your cheeks and leans in for forbidden little kisses when it's just you and him in the vacant school corridor.

your faces melt like butter against each other. it makes his heart lurch to have a forbidden fruit touching his lips like this... it makes him feel weak, which is just laughably ironic. so weak, that he wants to take a bite... even if it puts both the reputation of him and his family in jeopardy.

there's a sad twinge in his chest when he thinks about how you and him are forced to keep your love secret.

"i'm sorry that... i can't show off something as beautiful as you without getting the both of us in trouble. i wish we could kiss right in front of the whole world's face." he admits in a soft murmur.

it's simple, these sad times. but then the future comes and delivers despairing news on gojo.

one day, while having tea with his mom and dad, they tell him that a marriage between him and another woman is being considered.

he violently jumps up from the table. a teacup shatters on the floor.

"huh...?" his shock and surprise slowly morphs into pure anger, "like hell! you can't j-just spring this on me. i refuse to be married to anyone except y/n—"

"—that commoner? you... still speak with her?"

his face drops. oh, shit... now he's given it all away.

and what a consequence he faces. locked into his room, like some funny version of rapunzel. he paces around, mind racing and heart palpitating.

his contact with you is cut off in the most brutal of ways.

his mother comes to you, and tells you with a convincingly icy lie;

"gojo is too kind to tell you himself... so he asked me to inform you instead; he never wants you to see him again. his heart has found a wife, and he doesn't want you to seduce him away."

you remember choking up and sputtering broken sobs at this reveal.

he couldn't tell you from himself... ah... did those kisses mean nothing? am i the other woman?

gojo doesn't know why you avoid him so violently the next time he sees you at school.

"hey — wait. can i talk to you? it's important." he asks.

you give him a bitter look. "i'd rather we not. i don't fancy being the other woman in your life..."

you confuse him. and he blinks at you astoundedly. what caused this? he's a smart boy, he tries to figure it out. but it leads to long nights of brooding in his futon, body sinking deep into the plush until he feels like gravity is accelerating on him alone. but it's just his thoughts. he tosses and turns.

he doesn't give up his determination, though. he will find out what deterred you from him...

oh but when he figures it out, through suguru's admittance, he bursts in through his mother's tea ceremony one day and confronts her with the rage of a dragon. right in front of guests. completely embarrassing her.

"you told her! you lied to her? do you think you can keep us separate forever? — NO. I WILL ALWAYS FIND MY WAY BACK HOME. AND SHE IS MY HOME!"

his yell is so piercing and raw that it makes his mother drop into her seat. the guests have mixed looks.

the backlash he receives for lashing out and denouncing his arranged marriage is severe. the scowling looks he receives are not nearly as bad as the ones you receive. unkind words is putting it lightly; the whole village and school turns against you. they still view gojo as the star child of his clan, but now as a star that has strayed from its rightful place in the sky.

he meets with you in secret. what begins as a tearful explanation and angsty bunch of confessions to hidden truths, turns into a steamy make out.

gojo needs your kisses like he needs air, like he needs water, like he needs food. you're his essential, he tells you that;

"my vitals would fail if you left, as if i would be stabbed."

he mutters against your lips other things... and then cries with you. it hurts to see such a pretty boy cry.

"satoru..." you begin soothingly.

he presses his forehead against yours. tear drops roll off his cheeks and splatter against your face.

he draws out your name. the wind stills. there's a long silence.

"...run away with me..." he murmurs. "please, let's leave this place behind... and start a family somewhere no one knows our names."

© arminsumi 2023

[lace-coffin]

How would the collector react with a very Neuodivergent m!reader who has a hyperfixation on things like barbed wire, eye, scorpions and centipedes (totally not projecting or anything) but anyways, after a few months Asa had kidnapped him he's picking up all of the curious looks and sudden happy moods at seeing certain parts of the hotel.

Asa Emory x Neurodivergent!M!Reader with a fixation on centipedes, scorpions and barbed wire

Hi thanks for the request! What’s the point in fanfiction if not projecting onto your fav characters? Hope u enjoy this!

Requests are open!

Asa was beginning to think something was different about you, something separating you from the other hoards of hopeless fodder projects in the basement. You’ve quickly become Asa’s favourite for reasons he can’t really place.

You tend to keep to yourself most of the time whether this is out of fear or general boredom he has no idea, only jumping in when a subject you care about is raised. Once you start it’s hard to get you to stop, not that Asa minds, it can get lonely in this dilapidated hotel in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, even for antisocial people like himself. So it’s nice to keep someone around to fill the silence.

He’s realised by now the younger man in his possession seems to light up when certain subjects are spoken about, it’s happened so many times in the same kind of environment that he’s been trying to dwindle down the variables to pin the behaviour down. Asa loves to dissect people hypothetically and physically so this is just the icing on the top for him.

“Come on pup, we’re seeing over the specimens today.”

Asa tugs the lead connected to your collar harder than necessary just to watch you stumble and try keep up behind him on all fours, being the merciful master he is, he’s provided you with knee pads as not to mark your pretty skin. How kind. Unseen on the other side of you a dumb sweet smile graces your owners lips, loving the way you gasp for air.

Asa knew the mention of the specimen room would have you excited, pace quickening on the other end of the lead as suddenly unable to wait. This he already had figured out, you love bugs and invertebrates,doesn’t matter what kind, however some clearly stood higher in the hierarchy in your brain.

Holding the dense metal door open for you to crawl through, you both enter into the dim room, the lights from the tanks and vivariums providing a warm and cozy atmosphere. Instantly perking up you come to a stop Infront of the masked man, moving to sit on your knees.

“Can I check the centipedes and scorpions please? I’ll do such a good job sir I promise!”

You beg, practically vibrating from your spot on the ground.

“Calm down pup, of course you can, just be careful and if you’re unsure of anything ask for my help, understood?” Your sir asks, holding your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him.

“U-understood! Thank you thank you!”

———————————————————

Outside time was important for your health and important to Asa’s schedule, he loathes being made late or doing something in the wrong order, it can ruin his mood for hours.

Usually a walk around the perimeter of the hotel suffices a few times a week, this can be on or off lead, depending on how well you’ve been behaved. Unharnessed time is reserved for good boys who know where they belong.

If you’ve been particularly well behaved recently or seem like you could use a pick me up then Asa will walk you down to the garden-esque area out the back of the hotel. there isn’t anything specifically special about this area, overrun with weeds and over grown plants that are hard to see through, just as broken down as the rest of the building, however the perimeter is lined with barb wire. Just your typical cheap barbed wire to keep pets in and keep pests out.

To you it was more than that, you could wonder the edge of the garden for hours at a time, running your hands along the chainlink and gazing at the twisted patterns.

Sometimes he would ask you about, listening along contently as you ramble about barber wire, hopping from subject to subject as they enter your mind. This is how Asa loves to see you, carefree and expressing your passions out on the makeshift patio, it wasn’t a lot but it keeps you happy. Asa would do anything to keep his boy happy.

[d8tl55c]

y ' a l l . it took me multiple weeks to start working on a pony town skin <- real <- i made SIXTEEN other ones before the one i wanted

so now you're gonna look at them :D

behold! i bring you: disheveled TCO & rehabilitated TCO

it was a long journey to get here and every freaking detail has some personal lore about it- so if you want to see some progress shots ive chronicled them below X3

ok so 💕✨\o_🎉

the original plan was to: 0. go for a cho post-Showdown and pre-Box 1. use my existing spacescug colors (so i wouldn't get overwhelmed and stop) to create interesting gradients with the black, 2. dress them in.......... WHATEVER seemed cool at the time, and 3. have fun.

SO! i did. ~

(fun facts: the spacescug is one of the 16 skins i crafted while anxiety-ing over ava/m (sometimes ill use it to SNEAK AROUND and admire people (pls say hi lol <3 )))

features. i went with the fluffiest hair i could find, a starry mask for privacy, a comfy sweater, and my two pride and joys: firetail and transparency-skirt.

see look look it's supposed to be showing the legs on the other side of the fabric :D :D :D !!! and, if you look close, it's discreetly distracting from the big shackle i added to the left hind leg. (if you look REALLY close, you'll see i drew some grass in the "hole" of the head. this is why im so excited about this i went ALL IN ;v;;;;) (transparency-skirt ruled as a concept, but in the end it didn't make it any further through my TCOs)

okay so then i spot this character.

i instantly fell in love with the way they did their head (never before seen by me), and was inspired to refine my own work a little,,, so i would fit in more with them when we hung out.

i tore the sleeves off of the cozy sweater, added a Rocket-Brand™-lookin collar, and retired transparency-skirt.

i enjoyed this version so much i didn't change it until fall rolled around....

in which, while re-doing my whole catalog of fav skins to match the new ground color, i changed like 7 entire pixels of the design which i am not going to waste your scroll bar with. <3

now it's getting real.

one day, i needed a break from a thing and decided to dev some more accessories. i had an idea to strap down the wings with one of the feather outline colors and a Waist item, and that quickly spiraled into changing several many, many, more things.

speed round! extra features include:

firetail upgrade! ++shiny

+detail on right hind leg: scars? a tracking device maybe?

aforementioned wing restraint

right cozy sleeve ripped further to install the

Rocket™ wristband: that can't be good

hair accents match accessories and each other better

Back Mane changed for ++disheveled points

Ear accessory added for ++disheveled points

Ear type changed for more fluff back there

and as you can see i bit the bullet and tried to make an homage to my new friend's head style, and i found that these closed eyes (left) look like frowny cho-eyes. :3

AND THAT WAS AWESOME. i felt great. stylish, even. i sat there with an extra 10% deduction to needless social anxiety in my new threads.

and i thought, huh. i've made this little guy suffer, mentally and physically, for fifteen outfits now. what changes if they escape The Situation? and heal?

i pondered this for a while, but i didn't get the boost to act on it until i met this MVP.

they taught everyone on that day cool and funny pony-making tricks! and they're sweet.

from them i was inspired yet again ☝

and this time, i mixed in EVERYTHING. slowly untying the ropes, healing the scars, repairing the hair. the glasses trick that TDL taught me to get the more expressive eyes. the colors and patterning i learned from making a troodon skin (another of the 16) to re-dye the hair and add a new layer of striped pattern to the clothes. yellow with the red so it nods to TDL AND represents more fire. thE SLEEVES ripped ALL THE WAY OFF!!! YEAAAH SHUCK THAT ANGST I MADE THE MARKS BASED ON HOW YOUR CURSOR INVERTS IN WORD

WHAT IF INSTEAD OF RETURNING TO GREYS THEY START DRESSING IN LITTLE EXPLOSIONS OF COLOR •-|,=-||-•|-',=•-|"/, |'['-•-|_|<,['- [,-|'"/,/_',= '////////

and

that's it.

except for ofcourse the :V s :3333333

SO THAT'S THE STORY OF THIS

WOW, haha, thank you for coming on this journey with me. if you know more about pony town than me i am so taking suggestions- i am still learning and having a great time doing it!

TOODLES 💕

[sadhornydemons]

Rapid-Spoiler-Season-Speculation: Apology Tour/Ghostf*ckers

Caution: some references are made to other spoilers, so proceed with caution if you wish to avoid.

Apology Tour:

Alright, I'll admit, this episode I think I understand the least, so I'm sure I'm completely off the mark in even attempting to make sense of it.

Cake will be served, and it's clown Blitz version. Heart on an item in the back, heart on the knife. How many years has it been and she's still obsessed?

WHATEVER this is, Blitz didn't just stumble into it, I wonder if some type of invitation got him there.

Blood/red stained sheet for unknown reasons.

I think I'm the only one who preferred the earlier design, but guess I just have a type.

WHAT. DA. FUCK.

Yeah, of course, this is when my imagination starts churning.

Did Stolas reach just the perfect amount of drunk before his Spotify breakup playlist reached Olivia Rodrigo, causing him to throw on last year's Halloween costume and portal himself to his ex so he could express himself properly?

No, Stolas had an entire stage prop production prepared. That or we haven't seen the full extent of his magic conjuring abilities.

(same outfit, I'm keeping my eye on the spiked collar 'cause it's new to his wardrobe)

I don't know what could bring this on. At first, I thought it was a dream sequence, but the spiked collar turns up in a later scene. Maybe I just haven't accepted that my fav character could be an asshole?

Screenshots of Blitz, sheet is now a hoodie, we really don't know what he's looking at in this particular scene.

I don't think this is a full scale concert, though. Probably more of a private event. Maybe Verosika was planning a gathering of the 'We Hate Blitzo' fanclub, but Stolas was the only one to RSVP.

If it is, a public concert, I mean, I can just imagine the headlines:

Prince Stolas shocks audience members by appearing as the opening act in Verosika Mayday's concert, preforming his original ballad, 'Imp Dicks Aren't Worth the Heartbreak'.

And if it is a regular event, there's the possibly Blitz attended on purpose..to apologize about things? (hence the title) I don't know, it just all seems too weird.

As poster bleucaesura noted, Stolas is on his couch in this scene. The red stained sheet, presumably with Blitz under, stand before him. Stolas's collar is spiked, so this seems to happen after the musical number.

This is mainly all the info we have this episode, but looking ahead to future ones, I'm thinking this is gonna conclude the majority of the Stolitz angst. Or at least the current ones.

As many have noted, this season has been following a pattern of focusing on, and occasionally resolving Blitz's relationship problems. Unhappy Campers introduced Barbie properly, adding more details to the fire incident. Oops and Mammon's Magnificent Musical Mid-Season Special added to that by focusing on him and Fizz. Full Moon and Apology Tour seem to be based around Stolas and then both Stolas and Verosika, fitting since it's comparing people from his love life.

Hence, I believe the next episode will instead prioritize Blitz's relationship with M&M:

Ghostfuckers:

The IMP mobile is totaled and appears spray painted. Therefore, guessing this scene must take place first:

But what would cause "a life on the run", as Blitz puts it, unless he wasn't completely serious?

And I'm not sure if the hooded folks, "Come out, we've got your surrounded." scene was edited in before this or not.

There are those clouds in the background and it seems to call for a more scary scene, or at least until he checks his watch.

(actually those could all take place in previous episode or the ones to come, for all we know!)

Blitz wears a bad disguise rather than using an asmodean crystal. We could read too much into that because maybe Blitz just LIKES coming up with disguises, but in other spoilers, we see Blitz using a book for portals.

The enemy is doing bad things to the character's mental health, bringing about their worse fears. In reference to Blitz, I wonder if this is this is where those scenes come into play:

Interesting how it's edited like Blitz watching a filmstrip of his life, complete with a decorative frame.

Shown in a different style, I wonder if this flashback will also be used:

And, (if my earlier theory is wrong), this has to appear somewhere:

We see a flashback to a younger, longer hair Millie (not unlike her wedding photo):

(and it looks like outside a ship? Hey, maybe pirates really did have port windows!)

Which may be used to match up with this fight:

This, however, is hopefully, just another hallucination:

Okay, for the rest of this episode, one can't really speculate because the (looks both ways cautiously) storyboards leaked last year reveal a good chuck of the action and dialogue. So without getting TOO into that, for those who want to avoid getting too spoiled, I'll conclude this episode may turn out to be a fun, scary, but with admittedly triggering subjects, that showcase Blitzø's messy and occasionally obsessive relationship with Moxxie and Millie.

...and possibly new issues with Loona? Something is hinted out, but I might get into THAT speculation in the last two episodes.

[pinkomcranger]

I agree with you about Saga! I personally don't ship Andercasey (no hate to people who do, of course! You're all great and your creations are fantastic <3) but I love love love their platonic relationship! It's so great to see male/female platonic relationships represented in media, and their relationship is fantastic (whether you like it platonic like me, or romantic!). Saga in general is such an amazing character and it's sad to see how the fandom treats her. I know this is a usual pattern in fandoms in general, not just with AW - people ignore the women (of course, woc even more so!) in general, no matter how interesting they are, just to focus on the (white) men. I do like Caseywake personally, since I find the dynamic interesting, but I don't like, ship-ship it very hard, I find it intriguing. But whether people do or don't, it's sad to see they also can't give focus to Saga and acknowledge she's her own person. They make her a prop in other people's relationships. It just sucks. Why are women always the backdrop and props to mxm relationships?? In general I find it sad that people are so quick to only value romantic love - not that there is anything wrong with shipping. Usually I'm a big shipper as well. But bc shipping is such a huge thing, then they can use the excuse of "I only like Saga and Casey platonically, but I don't write platonic things, and Saga doesn't have any interesting romantic pairings to make for her if it's not Andercasey so I just don't write her!!" And it sucks so bad. I wish this fandom was different but unfortunately it follows this very old pattern of a fandom. :(

I think everyone in every fandom needs to do some self-reflection on why they ALWAYS ignore the female characters and poc. It's always been a problem and unfortunately continues to be.

Oh, you absolutely do not have to ship Andercase romantically. It's perfectly fine to see them as platonic, it can arguably be said they were written that way! Their relationship is beautiful however way you see it. Their chemistry was off the charts, Melanie and James/Sam made sure of that!

Platonic m/f relationships do make me happy, and personally, that's Alan/Saga for me. Nary a hint of romance or even surface level attraction, and I'm here for that.

Now, putting my personal ships aside, you're very correct. In fandom, women and WOC especially get ignored to place more focus on the white men. And I've never understood that in this day and age, when women and WOC are finally starting to get the recognition we deserve. What's the point in this?

You can very much ship your fav men, while also including the woman, especially if she was such a big part of the source material. It's very egregious when it comes to Saga, considering she's the deuteragonist. She gets equal writing and treatment, in fact, I would go so far to say that if the series WASN'T called Alan Wake, Saga would be the protagonist.

There's truly no reason to ignore Saga when she drives the story we get. Alan himself admits, with no hesitation, no anger, that he needs Saga. So to see the fandom essentially go "that's nice you feel that way, Alan, but I don't need her beyond propping!" leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

You can't even give a good case of "I CAN'T create for Saga shipping-wise, there's nobody to ship her with outside of Casey!" There's her husband (and I know that's difficult considering we don't even get so much as a glimpse of him, and that's interesting to me, but that's a topic for another day), there's Rose, there's Tim, there's Ahti, there's Estevez, there's even Alice. Saga has just as many options as Alan.

And there's no excuse to ignore her in another pairing. You can EASILY write CaseyWake without using her as a prop, or just an aside to say "see? I remember she was in the game!" Where are the ensemble fics? Why can't she be written with all of her characteristics and agency that was she given in-game? Does a black woman who isn't a stereotype that uninteresting or frightening to the general content creators?

Again, this isn't something new to just Saga in this fandom. Alice suffered from it the most, by virtue of being the most important woman in the previous games. And she got pushed aside for ScratchWake. But with the release of AW2, she's been given more love, I've seen more fics for her, I've seen quite a few Alan/Casey/Alice fics. Which also tells me that fandom finds it easier to write for a white woman than a black woman.

There really isn't anything I can do about that, I can't FORCE anyone to relate to Saga in the same way I do. I know there's difficulty writing for WOC, there's difficulty relating to them personally if you're not one. But again, in this day and age, when we're being shown more on the big screen/small screen, in books and video games, there's truly no excuse.

POC in general are still nowhere close to being represented as much as white people, but seeing a character like Saga so well written, so wonderfully portrayed, so loved by her creators get ignored for the basic white men, while this same group of people claim they're tired of decades of white men being the focus but continue to personally make them the focus, shows an extreme case of hypocrisy and covert racism, because again, there's no excuse.

I understand the fixation on fictional and FBI Casey. There's so much we're not shown, that we can fill in the blanks and easily fit it into canon. But at the same time, you can do the exact same thing with Saga, because we're NOT shown or told everything about her and her life.

I want this fandom to be better and do better. Like you said, all fandoms need to take a good, hard look at doing some self-reflection. Don't choose to ignore the beautiful women we're given just because they don't fit your narrative.

[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

[motsdice]

I've just started getting into D&D and am becoming a bit of a dice goblin. I asked for recommendations of where to buy from my local group, and someone suggested Kraken Dice. Unfortunately, I then learned that they have some terrible business practices, but I love that they have extended sets with a 30mm D20. Dice Envy has sets with a 34mm D20, but they are just a little too big. Do you know of any other vendors that sell sets with a 30mm D20 or something similar? Thank you!

Kraken is terrible, and their costumer service is the worst I've ever experienced with a dice shop. You may be able to find dice of theirs for trade/used/second hand though. Honestly I really love their symbol and have been thinking about picking up a second hand set if I find one I love.

I'm not a fan of big dice (they don't fit in my dice organizers) so I'm honestly not sure :( Dice Envy is the only other shop I know of that consistently has the big dice but you've already taken a look at them. Viridian has at least two sets with a 33mm (which is also bigger then you are looking for :/) d20 but both are pokemon themed and pretty expensive, here's those sets though:

I also found this one! It's chicken themed, no idea if that's your thing but the big d20 is 30mm! These are made by Udixi, I'm not sure if they make other sets like this (Udixi is one of the Big brands most dice shops sell).

If you just like big dice, Bryce's Dice sells some 30mm single d20s, they're spindowns which aren't really meant to be rolled for D&D but here's a link to one of the colors:

Chessex also makes large d20s that are 34mm, Bryce's Dice and Viridian both also sell larger than 30mm d20s but that doesn't sound like what you want.

Not quite 30mm but Die Hard Dice sells metal 20mm d20s. They also sell matching 11 piece metal dice sets. These are also a fairly pricey option though. Around Christmas DHD has good sales though and usually they have coupon codes. Here are links to their extended sets and larger d20s:

HD and Udixi also make sets that are just all big, lots of shops sell them but Viridian is my fav (and usually the cheapest) so here they are in their shop:

This is much longer than I thought it would be, sorry about that! Hope these help <3 If anyone else who sees this has suggestions please add them!

[quietlyimplode]

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist of Fic Recs - Version 2.0 - Page 1

Page 1 / Page 2 / Page 3 / Page 4 / Page 5

Updated June 2021

This is not an exhaustive list (and in no order whatsoever) of the brilliant fic that is out there. Please let me know of any i have missed or any recs to put in and I will endeavour to add it. I have not included warnings or ratings. Please make sure you look at the tags, judge for yourself and as always take care of yourself first. (17 authors under the cut)

The Irish Mayhem @the-irish-mayhem

White - part of Perfection of Duality Series - the making of Natasha Romanoff. One of my favourite fics in the world. I will love it forever.  -    25/25

Perfection of Duality- part two - Natasha - Natasha in shield - 4/?

Mypedia @sebuttstianstan

anything that bleeds - Natasha - Natasha is a sub. Don’t let that fool you, Natasha’s backstory with bdsm elements. 21/22

Shadesfalcon @shadesfalcon

Like Real People Do - Clint/Nat - ‘Do we have song?’ Iterations of what’s the ties that bind them together.    1/1

Whether you ask it or not - Clint/Nat - Natasha gets poisoned - and has the line ‘“’Night, little dragon. May your fires ever burn hot upon your unsuspecting foes.”    1/1

Sometimes winning means you’re the last one standing - ot6+everyone - don’t play ‘never have I ever’ without some laughs and trauma rearing its head   1/1

I am good - Clint/Nat/Laura - Clint brings Natasha home for the first time.   1/1

Careful She Bites - Clint/Nat - don’t confront Natasha about the handcuffs. Just don’t.  2/2

What happens here stays here - Clint/Nat- Natasha can’t remember Budapest.  1/1

Koren M- cybermathwitch

I’d Make Room for you - Clint/Nat/Laura - perspectives of each other are important. 1/1

Course Corrections - Clint/Nat/Laura - taking care of each other 2/2 snippets into conversations/life Course Corrections (Age of Ultron Fix-It Fic)

As if you have a choice - Clint/Nat - Natasha gets pregnant. They know they can’t keep it. 3/3

The weight of us - series of 11 - my fav is ‘Seeing Red’ and ‘Sharp and Sweet’. Clint/Nat shield days

Red Flag Warning - Natasha - red is a warning colour. Clint should know.   1/1

Edgeofthegalaxy @natasha-romanoff-deserved-better

buried in your bones, i see it in your closed eyes - Natasha dissociates and its a long way back Clint/Nat 1/1

Origins - Young Natasha in the red room, of learning morality and goodness. 1/1

But even the strong can fall - Natasha goes silent on a mission, Clint knows something is very wrong. Clint/Nat 2/2

Just a Kid - sometimes Natasha doesn’t realise how messed up her childhood was. Sometimes she needs to be told. Nat/team 1/1

Collateral Damage - Natasha comes home from a mission; Tony needs to patch her up. Tony & Nat 1/1

Daughter of Rohan @natrasharomanova

Living Louder - Clint/Nat - break my heart. Origin stories.   21/21

Beside you (sequel to living louder) - Clint/Nat - shield falls. Clint and Nat find each other in the aftermath.

It’s still raining - Clint/Nat - everything happens when it’s raining.  1/1

You are a piece of me, I wish I didn’t need. Clint/Nat/Laura/family. Clint brings Nat to the farm for the first time. Healing ensues.   1/1

Impossibilities- Clint/Nat but with Pepper/Maria/Darcy and Jane - Natasha is pregnant?   1/1

Wake my spirit Cold - Clint/Nat - Christmas throughout the years -    1/1

(We could be) infinite - Clint/Nat - ENDGAME FIX IT. The soul stone split in two. No one dies.    1/1

I am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt - Clint/Nat - ENDGAME FIX IT. Natasha dies but is alive in a multiverse. Clint dies in the alternate. They meet in the middle.     1/1

Sugarfey @sugarfey

Chrysalis - Natasha - this is how it goes and how she came to be.  Ashes series  1/3

A walk on part in the war. Natasha - Drakovs daughter is ‘saved’.  Ashes.  2/3

World on Fire - Clint (/Natasha) Clint has a history and can play the guitar.  Ashes   3/3 - my favourite part.

First Name Basis- Clint/Nat - getting to know you.    1/1

Right where I used to be - Clint/Nat - it’s Natasha’s birthday, Clint uses this to get to know her better.    1/1

Once was lost - Clint/Nat - slow burn, Natasha offers herself to him once.    1/1

Expresso is not an option - Nat/Maria - ‘you could destroy shield in a heartbeat, couldn’t you?’

Thursdays Child - Nat/fury - fury mentors Natasha-from afar.    1/1

Shelter - Clint/Nat/liho/lucky - Lucky puts one big paw on Natasha’s knee and looks at her as though she hung the sky with pizza -   1/1

Almost home - Natasha - find a mooring and settles -    1/1

Long spaces 3/3 - Natasha/Clint - natasha and Clint fit together - all the broken pieces. .  3/3

Inkvoices - @inkvoices

Smile for the living - POST ENDGAME - Natasha is brought back.     1/1

In deed- Clint/Bucky/Nat. In which dogs and deeds are discussed.    1/1

Driver chooses the music. Clint/Nat - get in the car.

On Names - Clint/Nat- she goes by many names -  1/1

AlwaysLera

Fallout Patterns - what happens when your mind is a nuclear bomb? Nat/Clint - sex is not always sex when trauma is as deep as hers -   14/14

Breathe me with your hands - Clint/Nat - navigating sex -  1/2 One Red Thread Series- Nats pov.

Hold you by the edges - 2/2 One Red Thread - Clint’s pov.

Ghosts that we knew - Clint/Nat - aftermath of the avengers. Natasha navigating the world when Clint safewords out. 15/?? Unfinished.

How the day sounds - Clint/Nat - thanksgiving throughout the years -     14/15 (?fluffy)

You were a kindness - Clint/Nat - a perfect look at the trauma of being brought in. Let herself be nothing but a branch. Let herself be nothing but stardust. Stardust could not be hurt. Stardust could not be used. Stardust could not be held.    1/1

Crashing, understanding, blinding, tumbling - Nat/Tony - plane crashes - tony takes care of Natasha whilst blinded -    1/1

Two plus two is five - Clint/Nat - how do you test a concussion? Two plus two is five in large quantities of two.   1/1

Into the dark (song fic) - team after harrowing mission watch Clint and Natasha dance - 1/1

The ocean carry you home - team- pepper is pregnant, Natasha doesn’t cope well with the news. Yellow blue bus.    1/1

Enigma731 @enigma731

Something just like this - Clint/Nat - Clint is depressed. Natasha doesn’t know how to help.    1/1

Going to the Chapel. Clint/Nat - get married in Budapest and have sex.

September - Tony/Nat bonding - Tony makes a memory machine to cure ptsd, Natasha helps.   1/1

Everything Costs - Clint/Nat- Natasha keeps getting hurt on missions, Clint wants to know why.  1/1

That’s way you showed me (I wasn’t quite so alone) - Clint/Nat - 3 christmas’ -    1/1

Prompts (some lovely short 1 shorts) - team assorted -   13/?

It starts with Time - Natasha - Natasha goes looking for her family -   1/1

The war I can’t win - Natasha/Clint - Clint gets injured. Natasha is his support.  1/1 (it mentions Occupational Therapy this is a winner)

We are not shining stars - Natasha/Laura + Clint - Clint dies (fair warning) it’s all Natasha can do to cope.    1/1

Unpack your heart - Clint/Nat - in the beginning they left post it notes -   1/1

Hearts and Bones and Blood - Natasha/Clint - Clint saves Natasha from mental health services when she first comes to shield. Because sometimes she gets lost in her own head.

What Girls are Made of - Nat/team - 5x Natasha has unconventional means of flying.    1/1

Ghost Towns - Clint/Nat - Natasha has memories implanted in her head, shield medical and Clint try to help.   1/1

The glass parade - Steve /Natasha - he watches her become different people.  1/1

Slipsthrufingers

Cleanliness Is Next To… - Nat/Clint- Or Five Memorable Showers Clint Barton and Natasha Have Had, and One Time There Was a Bath Instead. -  1/1

The more you know - Clint/Nat - this is what they learn first (or Natasha is not what is written in her file) -  1/1

Perspectives - Nat/team - perspective and interpretations; what do you see?

OracleGlass

safe as houses - Clint/Nat - what makes them go to a nonshield safehouse?

The clutch of circumstance - Clint/Nat- he helps her start. 1/1

Ranni

Voluntary Procedure - Clint and Natasha agree to be mind wiped. The others are not happy - Clint/Nat/Team 6/6

Stronghold - Natasha and Clint shut down their various safehouse. Clint/Nat (team) 1/1

Spy Vs Spy (recced by Anon) - Clint & Coulson & Natasha - Natasha Romanov was the most beautiful person in the room and nobody asked her to dance. 2/2

Paperairplanesopenwindows @paperairplanesopenwindows

On the first day of Christmas - Clint/Nat/Laura- Laura wants to celebrate, Clint and Nat aren’t so sure - 1/1

A little to the left - Clint/Nat/Laura - she’s Natasha but a little to the left (POST ENDGAME) -   4/4

Family Togetherness Time - Clint/Nat/Laura - Steve gets concerned about Nat and turns to the people he thinks can help. 3/3

Eauline

In every lifetime I choose you - Nat/Steve - Natasha gets captured to get to Steve. 11/11

MillyVeil

Burn baby, burn. Clint/Nat - Clint saves Natasha from heatstroke. 1/1

Teamwork - Clint/Nat - fuck or die, Clint’s not ok but Natasha is. He doesn’t understand. -   2/2

Other people - Clint/Nat- she’s up for some monkey sex until she’s not.    2/2

altheterrible @altheterrible

Shining white in the sun - Natasha - Clint dies, Natasha tries to cope. She doesn’t do it very well. 7/7

tastes - team - different tastes in points in time - 1/1

strix_alba

places to go, people to be- Natasha - Natasha gets to decide who she really is after the fall of shield 1/1

[thehanwen]

Quarantine Netflix Recs

Since were all at home watching Netflix I thought I would give my fav show/movie for every letter so everyone has something new to watch. Please send me your own recommendations or make your own alphabet list and tag me! Here goes:

A: Anne with an E- This modern take on Ann of Green Gables is quirky, fun, and dramatic. It has good music, writing and is all around a good watch. It deviates from the books a bit, but keeps the spirit.

B: Broadchurch- If you like crime dramas, this is for you. With one crime spanning the complete first season it delves deep into motive and emotions. David Tennet stars in this tense British mystery. 

C: Cargo- A dystopian zombie apocalypse film set in Australia with a focus on human connection, and sacrifice. This is honestly so different than any other zombie movie I have seen in the best way. 

D: Daybreak- Sticking with the apocalypse theme, daybreak is a humorous view on what happens when a nuke kills all the adults and leaves all the teenagers. Its like if high school was the whole world, but the world had also ended. Strong characters and ‘Ferris Bueller’ esc fourth wall breaks give this show something special. 

E: The Worlds Most Extrodiary Homes- For a change of pace this mindlessly beautiful home reality show shows off architecture that could be classified as art and makes me wonder how anyone can actually live here. If you just want something with no stakes what so ever, this is the eye candy for you.

F: Frontier- A gritty, and dark period piece starring Jason Momoa as the badass outlaw working against the British in the Canadian wilderness. Half political, half survival drama this show focus on the fur trade during the 1700s as well as themes like revenge, family history and love.

I have to do two for F: Feel Good- This emotional comedy is about Mae, a gay, ex-addict comic and her previously straight girlfriend. It is real and emotional and hilarious. It’s filled with amazing characters and amazing writing and explores hard to talk about subjects, including addiction, love, coming out, and family and romanitc relationships. 

G: Godless- A refreshing addition to the western genre. An injuryed outlaw, a headstrong widow, the whole of the wild west. Gritty and dramatic, this mini series is a must watch

H: How it Ends- Another apocalypse film, can you guys see a pattern? This one is less about the event however and more about family. A young man and his future father-in-law travel across the desolate wasteland of the USA to save his fiance. 

I: I am Not Okay with This- A sci-fi coming of age story, based on a comic book, about a young girl who develops mysterious superpowers and is not okay with it. Also shes gay and in love with her best friend, its great.

J: John Mulaney- I assume everyone has already seen all of his specials, but if you haven’t go check them out! They are hilarious and relatable on a deep level. 

K: Klaus- This is my new favorite Christmas movie. Its got wit, charm, great character development and beautiful animation. It’s the first original Christmas movie that I've liked. It gives a new spin to all your favorite Christmas traditions while holding on to the essence of the Christmas spirit.

L: Let it Snow- Based of the book co-written by Maureen Johnson, John Green, and Lauren Myracle this film is a feel good romance with quicky characters that have thier lives changed forever by a snowstorm in their small hometown. Friendships and romances are formed and tested as these teens figure out how to deal with what life throws at them. 

M: Maniac: In an unlikely pair Emma Stone and Jonah Hill work amazingly well together in a drug trial that is supposed to cure all mental illness, of course not everything goes as planned. Our heroes go through multiple stages of the trial and discover their brains are miraculously linked. This series merges multiple genres into something surprisingly cohesive. 

N: National Treasure- “I’m gonna steal the declaration of Independence”

O: The OA- A psychological sci-fi thiller about a blind girl who gets kidnapped and held prisoner by a mad scientist looking for other dimensions. The friends she makes along the way mean everything, but when she gets found not only are they missing, but she can see again.

P: Princess and the Frog- A cute Disney twist of the classic fairy tale. A young woman working hard to buy her own restaurant meets a prince that has been turned into a frog by a shady magic man. But when she kisses him he doesn’t turn human, she turns frog. Together they have to figure out how to get back to being human and along the way they learn what they really need.

Q: apparently I have never watched a single thing on Netflix that starts with Q. So Queer Eye I guess. I’ve never watched it, but I've heard good things.

R: The Rain- After a deadly virus is discovered in the rain, sister and brother, Simone and Rasmus are separted from thier family and hide in a bunker for 6 years. Once they are forced to emerge they discover the world is much different than how they left it and their family wasnt all they thought it was.

S: Sense 8- This sci-fi drama focuses on 8 people from all over the world connected by some kind of psychic link. As they discover the extent of thier new abilities they also find out they aren’t the only ones and some others aren’t so friendly. This series was made with so much love and divotion and it shows throughout. The character development and backstories are rich, the writing is witty and thoughtful and the representation and focus on love above all else is so refreshing. 

T: Tallulah- This drama is dark and witty, while simultaneously being bright and uplifting. When a young drifter kidnaps a baby from a neglectful mother and pretends the baby is hers, her boyfriends mother takes them in. The story is about family and doing the right thing, even when you can’t find the right choice in the grey area.

U: The Umbrella Academy- This series based on a comic book written by Gerard Way is about superheroes with out being about superheroes. They don’t save the day. They can barely save themselves, oh and also the world. Numbered 1-7 these siblings all have their own issues and getting them to work together was the dying wish of their asshole of a father.

V: None? Anyone have any ideas?

W: The Witcher- This series, based on a video game based on a book, is about a mysterious monster hunter and the bard he meets a long the way. Somehow full of action and also full of humor this series delves deep into the history and culture of this fantasy world. 

X, Y, Z: I got nothing guys, but thanks for reading all the way down here. I hope you watch some of these shows and that you send some of your own recs to me! 

Also None of these photos or shows or anything are mine and all belong to their rightful owners

[moonlit-han]

a sweet ride ↠ yang jeongin

genre: bad boy!jeongin, high school au, fluff word count: 3.5k warnings: swearing, mention of smoking & underage alcohol consumption, almost suggestive request: yes (yangomangos, prompt included: “Don’t cry.”) a/n: this one’s for the jeongin enthusiasts~ 

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

every morning as you wait outside your high school for classes to start

you hear the thunder of his motorcycle

it’s loud, mildly obnoxious, and occasionally spits out fumes

but you don’t care

you actually like the sound of the bike and how the vibrations rumble in ur chest

it’s a sleek black and built almost entirely by him: old chassis, long handle bars, and a satisfying growl as the engine ignites

if you stand too close when he pulls up in the parking lot in the morning, you can feel the vibrations coming through the pavement

(your mum would probably lock you in a tower only a knight could enter if she ever found out you’d been on a motorcycle

…..not that you’d been on one

yet (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)? )

the owner of that motorcycle is your high school’s one and only bad boy

♡･｡.:*.ﾟyang jeongin ﾟ.*:.｡･♡

(but please call him “I.N.” because he’s actually out of the preppy, popular crowd  ( ｀^´ ) )

he could ride that motorcycle straight through your heart and you wouldn’t care

okay maybe not your heart bc that would hurt (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

but definitely through your bedroom

that would be

f i n e (⊙‿⊙✿)

……….

all your friends cover their ears and turn away when jeongin pulls up

there isn’t a rule against a senior having a motorcycle and riding it to school

there are people who drive cars to school and that’s fine

he has a license and always wears a helmet

and he wears a thick leather jacket and heavy, black boots

(you’ve seen those boots

they look like they could stomp through concrete or smth)

there is no way he wouldn’t be safe

well, besides the fact that he rides a motorcycle

but you, still not caring, just kinda stare as he rides into the parking area in front of the school

he always does this cool lil swing into his designated “motorcycles only” spot

and then takes off his helmet

to do that fucking hair shake that you always see in movies

that can only mean “hot guy on a motorcycle”

fucking hell

oh and he then runs his fingers through his black hair

to make it appropriately ~windswept~

and, yes, he looks way too god damn hot

unnecessarily so in your humble opinion (๑`^´๑)

you almost flip your shit every morning just bc of him

he’s handsome like a fucking movie star

angled cheekbones, a defined nose and chin, a jawline so sharp it could ki— it could seriously hurt you

and don’t even start on his eyes

jeongin’s eyes are so dark you often wonder if they’re actually brown

if he looks at you in the halls, you immediately get the sense he could somehow see into your soul

and, judging by the dark aura he has, probably can

jeongin isn’t particularly horrible or anything, but he’s known throughout the school to, honestly, not give a flying fuck

about anything

he’s….a little chaotic

for example, he flouts any rule he doesn’t like

and he talks back if a teacher says something he doesn’t agree with

(this has lead to some very heated discussions in class

although, you were actually inclined to agree with him most of the time, since he usually brings up some good points and such

(it’s generally a good idea, you’ve mused on a regular basis, to treat people like human beings and not like machines only in existence to produce goods and perform services to a select few)

most of your classes are with him

and he’s really smart

like the kind of smart where he barely does any work but still passes the class with an A

i mean, who said he could do that??!!?!

who allowed such sorcery

heCk

and you know he’s passed all his courses

he may or may not occasionally smoke or drink behind the school but you know for a fact there are people who do much worse and nobody says anything about them

maybe it’s the leather

and the moodiness

but um;;;;; that’s kinda hot, you know?

you’re not really sure why people think he’s the “bad boy”...

you’ve never seen or heard him be mean or rude to anyone, so how bad can he be?

okay okay yes you’ve seen the knife hilts poking out of his boots

but who the fuck cares?!! ( • ̀ω•́ ) 

it’s not like he’s ever pulled them on anyone

that you know of

.............

OH

and you’re pretty sure he knows you kinda watch him, too

bc one day he parked his bike facing the school instead of away

and you were just ~there~ as usual

but feeling very alone and exposed

since your dumbass friends had all decided to abandon you in your hour of need by walking away just before he rode up

and then, like a herd of sheep, they all turned to watch you as he did

ahahah friends? what are they?! nah don’t need them;;;

so there you were standing out on the pavement

very obviously looking at him

w e l p  Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)

but, of course, he just had to look up

and this lil shit winked at you

actually winked

EXCUSE ME YANG JEONGIN

W H A T

;;;;;;;;;;;;

your friends teased you all day

“ooooh look it’s lover boy”

“shut up shut up shut up”

“but he just lookeD AT YOU”

“you’re lying”

“Y/N YOU FOOL”

“HHHHHHHH”

and it only gets worse from there (....um, you sure about that y/n?)

now whenever jeongin arrives in the mornings

he makes a point at looking over at you

you don’t always notice, unfortunately

and he ends up with a sad lil smile on his face bc he knows you’re having fun with your friends

but fuck!!!!

you’re just so!!! cute!!!!!

how can he not notice you??!!!

especially when you’re in all of his classes

and obviously watch for his motorcycle every morning

it makes him feel kinda cool, tbh

he’s also noticed that you like strawberries

a  l o t (≧◡≦)

as in, your backpack is a strawberry

you have strawberry pins on said strawberry backpack

your raincoat has a pattern of strawberries on it

your pencil case may or may not be a lil cat eating, yes, a strawberry

SO

jeongin being the smooth guy (he thinks) he is

gets you a strawberry sweetbread

and is all excited to give it to you

so after class on friday, he decides today’s his chance

(also, the sweetbread isn’t gonna last forever alfdjghafkgj)

aaaand you both try to walk out the door at the same time

which doesn’t work

but WOW YOU’RE NOW REALLY CLOSE TO HIM

jeongin: *vibrates*

ACTUALLY TOUCHING SHOULDERS

WHAT

…..fuck (￢_￢;)

and since when do you smell really good, too?? alkjhsjfghajhf

jeongin’s just a little overwhelmed, you know?

ANyWaY;;;;;;

y/n, blushing furiously: “oh my god sorry”

jeongin, spluttering: “no, no after you”

((oh wow his voice dropped since the last time you saw him

how is that even possible??? guys….))

after a couple tries back and forth through the doorway

(your teacher’s trying not to laugh in the background)

you finally both make it out of the classroom

and you start to speed walk away since your friends are waiting so you all can hang out

“hey, y/n!” comes down the hall after you

ALSDJHADJFLHG what ;;

you turn around quickly to find jeongin standing right behind you

“um, so i noticed you really like strawberries”

e x c u s e  m e (O_O);;;

first of all:

yang jeongin—your school’s super hot bad boy, the guy you’re only a little obsessed with bc he rides a motorcycle, the inexplicably brilliant student, and total badass—just spoke to you

WHAT

((really, Y/N?? r e a l l y?????))

second of all:

he’s holding something wrapped in absolutely adorable cat (and strawberry) wrapping paper

that’s completely against his aesthetic

but matches yours to a tee ( ◡‿◡ ♡)

huh….

“y/n?” *holds out package*

you have to mentally shake yourself a little

but you’re back now

hhhHHHH

“me?”

“Yeah, I got you this. I hope you like it.” (●´ω｀●)

“thanks?” you say a bit lamely

you take the package and get a whiff of sweetbread

s w e e t b r e a d!!!! (*♡∀♡)

ajfhakljfhgjdsfgh your fav

you’d half expected jeongin to blast on outta there asap

but now he’s just standing in front of you, just kinda shifting back and forth

wait…is he nervous??

you slowly unwrap the package, careful not to damage the wrapping paper

(you are so going to reuse it or hang it on the wall or something ajdsdjfg)

and inside is a rounded sweetbread with strawberries delicately placed on top amongst swirls of pink icing

you gasp quietly

fucking hell it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen

jeongin’s just watching you, a small smiling spreading across his face

(which you don’t notice bc  b r e a d)

you take a small bite of the treat and

。*:゜♡ヽ(*’∀’*)/♡゜:。*。

IT’S SOOOOO GOOD!!!!

you take another bite before looking up at jeongin and you finally see his smile

( ◡‿◡ ♡) (♡‿♡) (*♡∀♡)

it’s actually the best thing you’ve ever seen

there’s so much genuine happiness, and just a hint of mischievous mirth, in his smile

you feel like you’re looking into the sun, it’s so bright

why did jeongin, of all people get you, of all people, a sweetbread?

jeongin, completely unable to look cool anymore and shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet: “is it good?”

“OH MY GOD YES!!!”

and then you do something you never thought you’d do

ever

in the whole world ever

you throw your arms around yang jeongin’s neck

and give him a really big hug

his arms come up and around you to hug you back almost immediately,

which you were expecting even less than your own actions

but his hug is wonderful, even if he’s holding you like fine china

in a moment, you remember yourself and quickly step back

jeongin is blushing so much that he looks like a strawberry

(so good you just wanna eat him up (◕‿◕))

((y/n pls,,,,, not here....))

and you know you’re blushing just as much

you splutter an apology and run off down the hallway

and because you’re running off,

you don’t notice that jeongin is staring after

like a lovesick puppy (◕︵◕)

your friends are all over you about the sweetbread

bc they love it too

but you just say that you forgot you’d brought it with you that day

for some reason, you didn’t want to tell about your encounter with jeongin

when you get home, you savor the sweetbread,

remembering the warmth of jeongin’s smile~

the next friday, you’re outside at the picnic tables during lunch

it’s an absolutely beautiful day, with a light breeze~ (⌒ω⌒)

against the better judgement and fervent suggestions of your friends

you decide that it’s a great idea to get on top of one the tables

and dance

why?

someone had started playing ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”

no one can resist that song

so you’re having the time of your life

just dancing around on the table that your friends have since vacated bc they

a) don’t want to get kicked in the head, and

b) feel quite embarrassed to associate with you while you’re like this

......traitors (๑`^´๑)

and as anyone with an ounce of sense does when dancing to ABBA

you occasionally close your eyes in happiness

and suddenly you’ve stepped into air

your heart lurches and your eyes fly open 

and your mind goes completely blank with panic

but you never reach the ground

you’re now surrounded by the smell of leather, metal, and.....

boy

someone had saved you from falling

the arms holding you are strong and well-muscled

and, surprisingly, comfortable

“i’ve got you,” a voice murmurs

you look up into the face of none other than jeongin

(⊙__⊙✿) 

welp

you think to yourself “what... i thought he didn’t care about people??”

((nope y/n, he cares about YOU bc you’re the cutest and so lovely))

he smirks down at you, then sets you back down on the ground

“try to be more careful. okay, y/n?” he says, smoothing a wayward piece of your hair, then just walks off

you blush

(this seems to be becoming a common occurrence with jeongin)

and just stand there, dumbfounded

as jeongin saunters away to sit under a tree at the far end of the lawn

it’s a good saunter, and the tight, black skinny jeans only help (⊙ __ ⊙);;;;

your friends rush you, asking if you’re okay and asking what was up with jeongin

you say that you have no idea

......although, that’s not entirely true

since you now have a sneaking suspicion that *gasp* jeongin might have a crush on you?

maybe??

(hopefully!! (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)?) 

your friends just continue dithering as you stare at jeongin, who’s watching you right back

he winks

ALKJSDHGAKLDJFGADJKFGBADJF

you really wish he’d stop doing that bc it’s making your heart pound like a herd of horses and now yOu CAn’t EveN THinK

FUCK!!

later that day as school’s letting out

jeongin comes up to you, leather jacket slung over his shoulder

he’s got on a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple times

and ooooooh my

you’d never noticed before

(well, besides during lunch when he caught you)

but yang jeongin has really nice arms

and pecs (⊙‿⊙)  

and now you’re staring (oh fuck,,,,, not again)

“uh;;;; hi, jeongin!” you manage to squeak out alkdjfhsldjf

“hey, i was wondering if you wanted a ride”

eXCusE Me wHAt??? ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

“on the motorcycle. i have an extra helmet, since my sister sometimes rides with me”

O H 

your mouth takes control before you even have time to think

“sure! i’d love to!!”

a minute later, you’re standing in front of that sleek, black motorcycle that you’ve admired for months

the young man riding it helps the matter quite a lot, too

there’s even this little carrier container on the back of the bike that he puts his (small) backpack into

he reaches out for yours and stows it

then, jeongin hands you a helmet with lime green racing stripes on its sides

you briefly wonder if his sister is anything like him

probably

“have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” jeongin asks

you shake your head, unable to speak bc you’re so excited and also kinda nervous

your mom’s words fly through your head

don’t you dare get on a motorcycle, y/n. ever. don’t you dare! they’re too dangerous by half and— well, if i ever find out you’ve been on one, you won’t be allowed out of the house, except for going to school, for a month. you mark my words, y/n! (; ･`д･´)

you promptly ignore her voice in your head and slid the helmet down over your head

the world suddenly becomes slightly more vibrantly colored as the visor shields your eyes

jeongin had swung his long legs over the bike, straddling it with his feet still on the ground

“so, the important thing is to stay in line with me. what i mean is that if i lean to one side or the other, you’ve gotta lean with me. otherwise, we’ll fall over and that really wouldn’t be good. just hold on tight to my waist and, sorry i don’t mean to sound rude, but please don’t scream.”

jeongin looks only a little rueful as he says that

but you don’t blame him

you wouldn’t want someone screaming in your ears as you tried to concentrate either

“okay, right. lean with you. hold on tight,” you say

jeongin sits down, one foot still on the ground, and pats the seat behind him

“come on! take a seat—i promise you’ll be fine, y/n”

tentatively, you clamber onto the motorcycle behind jeongin

and wrap your arms around his waist

you can feel . . .

holy shit his abs feel like a fucking washboard

ExCuSE mE?????!!!! (＠_＠)

heCk

((y/n, pls. calm down;;; we know he’s got muscles))

so um,,,, yeah

it’s really actually quite comfy to lean against his back

but then hen he lays his hands over yours

and looking back over his shoulder says, “ready, babe?

B A B E

HHHHHHHHHHHH

***y/n has officially malfunctioned***

damn tho

this boy is bold as fuck

wow

you’re not exactly complaining

bc you now know that you like being called “babe”

it makes you feel special (✿◠‿◠)

and you like how it sounds coming from jeongin

you can tell jeongin is grinning under his helmet

“yep, i’m ready,” you manage to say

and then you feel and hear the thunder of the engine igniting

it’s exhilarating and you hadn’t even started moving yet

jeongin yells over the engine “hold on!”

in one smooth motion he kicks the kickstand up, brought his foot off the ground, released the brake and clutch

and then...

and then you feel like you’re flying

even though you’re not going 70 mph (113 kph)

the wind tears at your clothes

making you feel freer than you’d ever felt before~

you thought you’d guessed what it would feel like to ride on a motorcycle

but even your wildest imaginings couldn’t come close to reality

you hold on tightly to jeongin’s waist, feeling every shift of his body as he guides the motorcycle along the roads surrounding your school

all too soon you find yourself back in the parking lot of your high school

you don’t release your hold on jeongin until after he’s shut off the engine

jeongin takes off his helmet, shaking his hair as usual, and hangs it on a handlebar

then he turns on the seat

you lean back

but jeongin reaches out and gently removes your helmet to place it on the seat between the two of you

even without touching it, you could feel that your hair was mussed

so you shake out your hair, too

and immediately understand why jeongin does it

you feel strangely powerful and a bit sexy

it’s a fun, new feeling

jeongin smiles like you’re the loveliest flower he’s ever seen

and, for the second time that day, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear

“how was it?” he asks, a look of concern on his face

you beam, feeling infinitely more at ease around jeongin

“amaaaaazing!”

“yeah? oh, don’t cry, y/n”

“what? oh” you realize that you are, indeed, crying

you wipe the tears from your face

after all, they’re just tears of happiness

“jeongin, it was incredible, oh my god. can we do it again? please?”

he laughs, throwing his head back 

and you glimpse the dimple at the base of his throat

“maybe another day, babe” jeongin concedes

you pout

“oh, okay. thank you”

there’s a look in jeongin’s eyes that you can’t quite place

is it sadness? fondness? desire?

he exhales, then the corner of his mouth quirks up

you feel the warmth of his fingers caress your cheek

“y/n, may i kiss you?”

***yet again, we regret to inform you that y/n has malfunctioned***

what the ever loving flipping fuck

d— did jeongin just,,,,

did he?

ALKJHGALKJFHG;AKLHFGAKLJGHKAJH

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” jeongin says in a rush, dropping his hand

shit.

SHIT!

“no no no!! it’s fine, yes. please. that’s fine. that would be— that would nice. yes, very nice.”

wow you sounded almost hysterical

“good,” jeongin says simply

and leans in to softly press his lips to yours

you immediately kiss him back

and feel him smile against your mouth

just a moment later, he draws back, respectful, a question in his eyes

you chase his lips, not wanting to waste the precious opportunity to actually be kissing the yang jeongin!!

his hands come up to cup your neck

and you rest your palm against his chest, feeling the trembling beat of his heart

he tastes like like elderberry and cinnamon and clove all wrapped into one intoxicating milieu 

you could kiss him for days and never tire

after what seems like hours, you break apart

“y/n,” jeongin begins

“oh just shut up and keep kissing me,” you say without hesitation, surprised at your own boldness (again)

it seemed that was becoming a habit around jeongin, too

he doesn’t bother responding

and, instead, kisses you until you’re breathless

again, you feel like you were flying

* . ∗ ̥ ⋆ ݃ *♡٩( ｡⌒▽⌒｡)۶♡* ݃ ⋆ ̥∗ . *

[thewollfgang]

Hey! I haven’t read lucifer fics in forever, but since you and tarysande recently updated, i started looking for more but am having a hard time finding good ones that i haven’t read before. Do you have any recs? Preferably none post season 4

aw, well, glad to welcome you back, anon! Let me see what I can dig up for you.

Castaway. by ariaadagio // @ariaadagio // M 26/26

Summary:

The Devil is real. A sentence Chloe Decker never believed until Lucifer Morningstar burned out her skepticism with his hellfire eyes. It's a "Hell" of a reality shift, but Chloe realizes she may not have time for gradual acceptance when she discovers that one of the bodies in her most recent murder investigation isn't human. Worse still, the next target might be Lucifer. A story that begs the question: who prays for Satan? [Post-S3 finale continuation. Deckerstar.]

(If you haven’t read any of aria’s works yet, I high-key recommend anything and everything.)

a study in humanity (series) by mutememelody // @mutemelody // T 3/3 works

Lucifer needed to break the pattern, so he does the one thing no one would expect. This, of course, sets off its own series of events. Canon divergent after Season 2 Episode 5: "The Weaponizer".

(a fav series of mine and I wish to death for like twelve more stories in the series)

Caging the Devil by Hircine_Taoist // M 54/54

Summary:

Instead of flying away with Chloe, the bullets, and thus the cards, fall differently for Lucifer and the Detective. Trapped and fearing for the Detective's life, the Devil threatens to do all he can to send Hell to Cain. Pierce realizes his best chance of living out the rest of his days is to keep Lucifer imprisoned and vulnerable. While their friends desperately search for them, Cain seeks to keep the two locked away. Forever.

Keeping a clever detective and the Devil caged, however, is no easy feat. Meanwhile, Chloe and Lucifer are more vulnerable than ever, and forced to face some uncomfortable truths about their relationship while still trying to assure they both survive.

(intense, Cain-is-actually-terrifying whump filled story.) 

One for Fantasies by LuckyDragon // @luckydragon10 // T 1/1

Summary: 

Chloe Decker had never been one for make-believe.

(a sweet and soft and tender little one-shot. I love the imagery.)

Patrick the Bartender Is Not Paid Enough For This Shit by Liannabob //​ E 1/1

Summary:

Alternate title - "Throwing things off a balcony doesn't make them vanish."

The story runs parallel to season 1 (sort of between-the-scenes) following Patrick the bartender and exploring what it might be like to work at Lux.

(a HILARIOUS outsider pov fic. Liannabob is superb at them, check out Ella Enlighted and Observing Lucifer, too!)

De Noite Ardo by RushAndTomatoJuice // M 1/1

Summary:

“Lucifer.” Her voice sounded as choked as his had only minutes ago. He was compelled to raise his eyes to meet hers, and he did so warily.

One look at her and he knew they were doomed. He knew he’d always been weak, especially when it came to his desires. But he was enthralled with the way her eyes turned the darkest of blues in the moonlight, and this yearning he felt inside him overflowed and reached out to her. Now, he could only hope she’d forgive him in the morning.

(Friends with Benefits AU. Absolutely Wonderful) 

faith is half the battle (series) by alecto // @alectoperdita // T-M 3/? works

Summary: 

Ironically, accepting Lucifer is the easiest part of the long and messy fallout following Pierce's death.

(one of my fav post s3 fics)

Time Heals All Wounds by NotOneLine // @notonelineff // T 3/3

Summary:

Following the events of the season 3 finale, Chloe Decker is left stunned and devastated.

But there's no time to mourn the life she once knew.

Not when her partner needs her.

(this fic has a some imagery that just Sticks with Me, you know? that good hurt/comfort)

like once in a life by redledgers // @buckysleftarm T 1/1

Summary:

When the kaiju invade Los Angeles, Chloe Decker joins the resistance.

(Pacific Rim AU, Hell yeah)

Devils, Detectives, and Questionable Decisions (series) by whopooh // @whopooh // G-M 4/? works

Summary: Phryne Fisher meets the devil - or, Lucifer meets the Honourable Miss Fisher.

(Lovely crossover with Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. The characterization is on point and so, so lovely)

.

AND i KNOW you said no post S4 Fics, but you have to try this one, I am so Desperately in Love with It and it doesn’t focus on it. (or, if you must, you can skip the last three chapters, but it would make me sad) 

The Fool You Need by Brokenjaw (Vrael) // @brokenjaw // G 6/6

Summary:

Lucifer hides his daemon. She is, by all accounts, embarrassing.

(hands down one of the best daemon AUs I’ve ever read. the SYMBOLISM the EMOTION. one day I will print this fic out and bind it in leather so I will have it with me always) 

Happy Reading, anon! I hope there are some on this list that you have’t read before. 

[theyarebothgunshot]

A bit of venting ahead that’s got nothing to do with your blog ! I just need to get it off my heart.

Okay so I’ve been in this dumpster for a bit now, happily living my live, and then I decided to strap my tinhat on and go into battle (aka looking at the j/2 tinhat tags and comparing)

And wow the crazy is just so much more extra on that side but that being said...now I’m kinda :/ ´cause I can see clear patterns of manipulation and how a lot of the narrative around both sides is just...perspective.

For one if you compare their post to our it’s...kinda funny because ... well a lot of the screenshots/post are even from the same video, just that one person is cropped out (best but by far not the only example are the gifs of the boys making hearts with their hands, there are two versions of them one if misha cropped out and one with Jared cropped out)

And then there’re the post that say that Jensen has more fun with j or m in panels/ acts differently around them and I believed that for a long time too until I saw the SPNDC jen & mish Pannel from 2019 (I don’t know if they were tired but that one was just nothing like their usual bantering) and some other panels with Jared and Jensen ...

And don’t get me started on all those posts “comparing” the relationships, ugh their always so manipulating....like Jensens “special” laugh? That’s totally just his normal laugh, see it in a lot of videos ... close whispering ? Jup so many pic of the cast doing it in all combinations. “Inappropriate” touching? Jared and misha do that a lot for laughs. I’ve actually considered doing a whole post on the matter just to show how similar a lot of these things are but... I don’t know if I want to invest my time. And I could go on... but this is already too long.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that while I’m still a cockles fan and I will devour all the wonderful tinhatting, I guess it just really irks me how many people just take one side of the conversation and make a big deal of it. The whole thing just strikes my as manipulative.

...Sorry for the venting your blog is actually my fav since you seem like one of the more down to earth people that actually consider more than one side.

i totally get what you mean. people have been asking me to do a comparison post as well (both to see what the similarities are and to point out what makes me think that cockles give off a romantic vibe and j/2 don’t) but i just do not have the energy or patience to do it. if you do manage to make one yourself, please link it to me because i’d be interested in that.

i have a feeling that most cockles blogs do not crop out j*red to manipulate people into believing cockles is real, because a lot of the blogs i follow don’t delete him from posts at all, but i believe you when you say you’ve seen it. i have seen a lot of j/2 tinhatters do that with misha, though. one of the funniest things was seeing a j/2 tinhatter explain that when jensen was talking about ‘the one’ being a ‘partner and a teammate’ he was talking about j*red while we all believe it’s about misha. like you said, a lot does have to do with perspective.

idk how to explain it though (at least not without going into too much detail, which i just said i wouldn’t do lmao), but when you look at everything surrounding cockles i just know that it’s different than j/2. 

[visceralcoma]

First Line Game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors! Thank you for the tag,@paracosim, this looks like fun.

So because I have a ridiculous amount of fics I work on at any given moment, i'm only going to grab the first lines of the last 20 I published and/or updated of fics longer than 500 words and some I i add more as the first lines are game lines.

Rippling the Pages (Harry Potter, OC Insert Portal Fantasy): There were three things Raz knew for a fact.

Ropes, Tangles, and Nauts (Greedfall, M/F, "Woke up Married" Vasco/De Sardet): It wasn’t often that Vasco woke in his captain’s quarters hungover.

Fit Together (Cyberpunk 2077, M/F, Johnny/V fic) :“You’re a dick, you know?” “And you're a cunt. Maybe we'll fit together after all?” Johnny smirked while lounging backwards in V’s surroundings.  It’s not like he had an actual effect on things, what with being in her head.  The only time he could do anything was when he took control of her body.  And she’d be damned if he did it while she was conscious again.

Cleanest, Least Bloody Option (Cyberpunk 2077, explores & somewhat fixes one of the darker game endings): "Cleanest, least bloody option." The words came out, like a relief, like she'd been fighting the inevitable.

Driving Mister Silverhand (Cyberpunk 2077, explores what Johnny thinks of V's driving): The first time V got into a car since Johnny woke up in their head, had been a disaster.

Try Not To Think About It (Cyberpunk 2077, Vik tries not to think about how much time V has left) : “Hey Vik....” V’s voice pulled Viktor from the screen where the replay of last night’s match was on.

Touch (Dragon Age: Inquisition, M/M, Cullen/Cole exploration of how it would start): He was sinking - suffocating.

The Savages' Union (Dragon Age: Inquisition, M/F, Inquisitor/Cullen - Avvar!Cullen AU): When she woke to a gag firmly in her mouth that was tied securely at the back of her head, she screamed.

La Gordita Frita (Cyberpunk 2077, M/F, Jackie/V exploration): Before, during, and after every three-nighter rager she’d dragged Jackie through she always craved empanadilla de papa.

Mea Culpa (Dragon Age: Inquisition, F/M/M, Portal Fantasy/MCIT OC/Felix/Clemence): When the Tevinter Magisters invaded under the guise of “talking” with the rebel mages, the servants of Redcliffe castle refused to serve them.

Losing (Cyberpunk 2077, M/F, Jackie/V exploration): "Pinche gordo pendejo." V swore up and down as she slammed her hand down on the table.

Sins Against the Wall (Dragon Age: Inquisition, M/F, Portal Fantasy/MCIT - Blackwall/OC ) : The cold harsh morning wind of the Frostbacks bit through the barn’s walls and wormed its way under the layers of pelts, furs, and blankets Blackwall slept under.

The Forging of the Iron Lady (Dragon Age: Inquisition, F/F, Vivienne exploration, Vivienne/Enchanter Lydia) : The day Vivienne arrived in the Ostwick Circle, she was but a scrap of a girl.

In the Gutters (Greedfall, M/M, Constantin/De Sardet/Kurt): Arsène stepped up to the coin tavern.

Load Baring Naut (Greedfall, M/M, Vasco, Constantin/De Sardet): "What's this? A stowaway on my ship?" Vasco eyed Simon De Sardet, who knelt before him in the captain's quarters. "Oh well we can't have that, now can we?"

Fuck with Honour (Greedfall, M/F/M, Vasco/D Sardet/Kurt): “Green Blood, you sent for-oh-uh.” Kurt stuttered as he caught sight of her sitting on the bed with one breast out of her chemise as she fed the fussing bab.

he Golden Damsel (Greedfall) : When news of Teer Fradee reached the streets for the “first” time, the natives of the island became a topic among the lower levels of the coin tavern.

No Deed Left Unpunished (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Portal Fantasy/MCIT, Cole/OC): I can’t come in unless you open. He should have said that out loud. The inky red snow crunched under the soles of his shoes with laces that didn’t listen.

Vessel (Cyberpunk 2077, M/M, Placide/V: "You are my vessel now. Through Agwe, I see what you see, hear what you hear." Placide said while his eyes glowed. There was something else he wasn't saying, something he kept back.

The Shape of Magic (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Portal Fantasy/MCIT): Red energy twisted up with a clap of thunder and the swirling red mass lifted above the city in an undulating mass.

Tagging my fav ppl and authors: @thereallonelyagain, @alyssumflowers, @chocolatecatcupcakecheese, @cass-darling, @paraparadigm, @maladaptivemischief, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @goblin-tea, @red-hot-chili-tiefling, @kunstpause