Some of these will not apply to many people so pls take them with a grain of salt. Also I’ve been collecting these pretty much for the two years I’ve been in college so it’s not a guide, they’re just… random I guess.
Warning - specially tailored for super shy people aka me
There’s a thing called the ‘first week window of endless oportunities’. It’s when groups are still forming and everyone’s desperate to make friends. This is the time to put your best self forward (I’m not saying be fake, just a little extra friendly).
Leave. Your. Door. Open. Do it. Even if you have a roommate. Best way to make friends the first week.
Actually get out of your room. You’re not going to meet many people if you hole up in your room. If you have a tv room or people are watching a movie, I don’t care if you’re not interested in what they’re watching, go.
If you have the balls to go to the room nextdoor and introduce yourself then you probably can skip this section by all means do it!
But if you don’t, going from door to door asking for help with your laundry takes a lot less courage + you will learn how to do laundry. Asking to borrow something (pencil, hair tie, hair dryer) also works.
If you’re staying at a residence hall, ask to sit with people at lunch! Nobody is going to say no, i promise.
Similarly if you see someone alone, ask them to have lunch with you!
Also if you meet someone you get along with, as soon as you can, ask for their number ‘so you can go to the dinning hall together’.
Remember people’s names - it makes people feel like you actually care about them. I know it’s hard but make an effort. Also it just gets annoying when someone asks about your name for the fourth time. Use mnemonics if you have to.
Asking what someone’s major is and where they’re from is standard procedure when you meet them but it doesn’t make for an interesting conversation. Think of other questions!
Make sure to arrive about 10 min early to your classes. There’ll be very few people and so it’ll be easier to strike up a conversation (actually people will probably talk to you without you having to say anything which is g r e a t)
Say yes - as a rule of thumb, your social life should prevail over your academic life the first two weeks. This is the time where you’re not really pressed for time. Say yes to watching movies, say yes to going to lunch, say yes to going to campus events (and even to parties). Obviously don’t do anything that makes you really unconfortable but do try to step out of your comfort zone
Make friends with an upper-classman from your same major. Or at least be on speaking terms. Talk to them on Facebook, ask them about your major, just use any random idc excuse to introduce yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it.
Don’t go home every weekend, even if you live close by. You’ll miss out on the best of campus life and some of the most fun memories with your new friends.
Keeping your old friends
If you know you’re going home for the weekend, try to finish most of your assignments/studying and make time to hang out with your friends. Spending time with them is the best way to keep those friendships alive.
But! Don’t worry too much if you can’t come home or make time for your friends too often, you just have to make an effort to text them regularly. It will come naturally if it’s your best friend, but don’t forget to set a reminder to text other close friends at least once every two weeks.
You may think you don’t care now but you will once you come home for the summer.
If any of your friends are staying in your hometown for college, be ready for them to get another friend group. That doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten about you, but don’t be mad if they seem to have a lot more plans that don’t involve you. You can always ask to tag along some time and maybe even become friends with these people!
Some people you’ll just lose contact with. Don’t fret it.
Please print out or buy a calendar that has a whole page for each month. With boxes preferably *shameless plug*. You may think you have it all under control but there’s nothing like being able to see all your due dates, hang out plans and laundry days at a glance. (Also js but the pilot frixion are perfect to use on calendars because they’re erasable).
The Complete College Checklist (Use for Fall 2017)
Completely Updated Complete College Checklist!!
I have complied a list of all of the items someone needs to pack and bring to college if they are living in a residence hall. This list is categorized and alphabetized for your convenience.
Reblog this to help others who are struggling with their college checklist!
Bed sheets (2 sets)
Bed Risers (optional)
Cup for toothbrushes
Shower curtain hooks
Shower curtain liner
Shower organizer/shower caddy
Towel rack (over the door)
Hangers (thin felt or wooden hangers)
Pads/tampons (for the ladies)
Retainer (for those who’ve had braces)
Retainer case (don’t forget)
Dresses (I’m taking 3 or 4)
Pajamas (are a MUST)
Panties (15-20 pairs)
Pants (dress pants)
Purse (I’m only taking one)
Robe (a MUST)
Socks (24 pairs)
Workout clothes (in case)
Colored Pencils (you’d be surprised)
Cup for pencils
Index card holder
(college ruled) paper
Post-it Note Dispenser
Staples & Stapler
Tape & tape dispenser
Broom & dustpan
Swiffer Sweeper (optional)
Tiny Trash Bags
Toilet Bowl Brush
Toilet Bowl Cleaner
Flash Drive/USB/External hard drive
Bottled Water (or Brita filter)
Mac and Cheese Cups
If this list helped you and you decide to do a dorm haul video, send the links to the blog and I will post them!
Note: If you are going to have a roommate, divide some of the cleaning supplies and bathroom items among each other to avoid having duplicate items (such as multiple shower curtains.) If you do not have your own bathroom, please disregard the bathroom items and some of the cleaning supplies.
Can we take a moment to appreciate what a wonderful and weird kid Rosie will be because her dads are like the most ridiculous and insane people to ever raise a kid
- she’ll know the Latin names of all species of ants and swear like a sailor by the age of five
- she’ll be so confused the first time she learns other families don’t have a mini fridge solely devoted to body parts and chemistry experiments.
- her clothes will be a mix of knits and insanely expensive toddler clothes
- her hair will never be brushed and have clips half heartedly stuck in it to try and tame it
- her school lunches will consist of a peanut butter sandwich, juice box, an apple, and cryptic codes and notes
- she’ll go to the opera for birthdays and replay them later at home
- she’ll teacher herself to play all of her dads favorite music on the violin.
- perfect grammar and a beautiful vocabulary mingled with swearing
- she can recite all of Shakespeare’s sonnets after a single afternoons reading
- temper tantrums that include detailed and perfectly logical arguments as to why they should stay in the museum.
- deducing people to get what she wants
- sitting for hours “fwinking”
- having only science themed toys and known good the life’s stories of all the famous scientists.
- snuggling with her dads and watching BBC documentaries every Thursday
Like she’s the cutest, weirdest, smartest little bean to ever grace the earth
Notes: Multiple Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Foursome, Oral (all receiving), Exibitionism, Drug Use. I hope y'all like this, so here’s your surprise fic guys, and thanks to @stilinski-jpeg for her unwavering support here and all the help she gave me.
nursey being a good boyfriend looks like: sprinting across campus with a pair of protective goggles in his hands because dex forgot he had chem lab today, standing outside a lecture hall at 9pm because dex had a test at 8pm and he didn’t want him to have to walk home alone, a thread of texts between nursey and dex’s brother coordinating what they’re getting dex for his birthday, packing a bag of two sandwiches, two gatorades, and two bananas for the bus because dex always forgets to bring bus snacks for himself
dex being a good boyfriend looks like: a well-stocked first aid kit in the side pocket of his hockey bag (and his book bag) in case nursey wipes out, checking the weather app before nursey leaves for class to make sure he has enough layers on and snow boots or an umbrella if he needs it, an alarm on his phone set for 7am bc he doesn’t have class until 9:30 but sometimes nursey sleeps through his alarm for his 8am, cans of diet pepsi in his mini-fridge even though he’s a coke guy bc nursey loves pepsi
a/n: bc ive always thought jeongguk would make an excellent tattoo artist. (also i’ve remade and i’m reposting this on my new blog as the first addition!)
“____, please? I need you to hold my hand, I can’t do this
without you,” your best friend pleaded, eyes wide and unblinking and you felt
yourself wavering at his terror-filled gaze. You groaned internally as you
stared him down, knowing that you would always give in to him.
So I got bored and checked the weather for both Almaty and St. Petersburg and they're hilariously different so here's an otayuri drabble
Why the hell Yakov was making him practice in this heat, Yuri had no idea. But he hated him for it.
Sure, it wasn’t drastically hot, but 19°C was hot for St. Petersburg, and Yuri could be enjoying the weather if A: it wasn’t so humid, and B: Yakov wasn’t making him practice.
Yuri tipped his head back, the vertebrae in his neck creaking and tense muscles stretching.
“Give me a perfect triple axel into a spread eagle and you’re free to go.” The old man told him, drinking from the water bottle handed to him by Lilia.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Yuri said, exasperated. “In this heat?”
“Vitya’s been making Katsuki practice his quads all day, at least I’m not that cruel.” Yakov shrugged.
“Actually, I’m doing this voluntarily.” Yuuri called, taking off and landing a frustratingly perfect quad flip.
“I’ve been trying to make him come home for hours Yakov, this is none of my doing.” Viktor groaned, leaning against the barrier and wiping his brow.
“You said it yourself Vitya,” Yuuri shrugged, pulling off an effortless triple axel into a spread eagle. “I’m going to need to try my best to beat you.”
“I’ve created a monster. I’m doomed.” Viktor sighed defeatedly, gazing at Yuuri.
“And Yurio-” He started, trailing lazily around the rink.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’m not stopping until I have both records, so I suggest you watch yourself.”
“Getting cocky, now are we, Katsudon?” Yuri asked, cocking a brow.
“Well it’s not the only thing I’m getting.” Yuuri shrugged, taking off into a perfect quad salchow, winking at Viktor as he landed.
“What the fuck have you done to him, Vitkor?” Yuri asked, slightly disgusted at the innuendo.
“I don’t know!” Viktor said exasperatedly.
“Alright, that’s it.” Yakov sighed. “Katsuki, get your ass out of my rink before you kill yourself.”
“I’m not even tired though.” Yuuri sighed, taking off into a quad loop.
“You’re hell bent on destroying my skaters and I can’t have that. Get out before you hurt yourself.” Yakov said firmly.
“Yuuri.” Mila started. “We adore you, you’re sweet and talented and everything but with every jump you land, Yakov pushes us that much harder, so please, for the love of god, get the fuck out of the rink.”
“Okay, okay.” Yuuri sighed, finally skating off of the rink, Mila earning an exhausted ‘thank you’ from Viktor, who followed behind Yuuri.
“Yura. Triple axel. Now.” Yakov said firmly, folding his arms.
“I’d like to see you do it, old man.” Yuri huffed, crossing his arms.
“Just do it, Yuri.” Yuuri called. “Anyway, we’re leaving for today, guys.”
“Finally!” Georgi groaned.
“Please take like, the next week off, you’re making us look bad.” Mila joked.
“No actually do, you’re driving me insane.” Yuri called.
“And Yakov said I couldn’t coach anyone.” Viktor smirked, pecking Yuuri on the cheek.
Yuri unlocked his dorm, dumping his duffle bag at the door and kicking his shoes off. It’d been a week since Yakov and Lilia’s asshole of a son kicked Yuri out of his mother’s house.
He stalked over the mini fridge in the corner of his room, opening it and pulling out a cold can of fanta, wrenching open the tab and flopping down on his bed.
He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it and opening up whatsapp, ignoring the 689 missed texts from the Barcelona GPF group chat and scrolling to Otabek’s contact, selecting video call.
Otabek picked up after around the 3rd ring, and the imagine Yuri was greeted with wasn’t what he expected.
A flushed, tanned, sweaty, muscular chest and a giggling little girl in the background. The camera shakily carried up to Otabek’s face, where it was obvious that he older boy was fast asleep.
“Bekaaaa!” Giggled the little girl, a bony little hand with garish pink nail polish and ratty bracelets pressing down on Otabek’s chest. “Oyanw! Beka! Käne Beka!”
Otabek made a weird noise between a snort and a squawk, eyes snapping open suddenly as he lurched forwards.
“Sälem aytşı Yura!” The little girl giggled.
“Natya…” Otabek murmured groggily. “Nege telefonım bar?” He asked, reaching for the phone and pulling the little girl to the side. “Bul öte jaramsız.” He scolded, blowing a raspberry into the little girl’s cheek.
“Um… is this a bad time?” Yuri asked awkwardly, taking a sip from his soda can. “I can go…”
“Crap! Yura, I forgot. Sorry, I fell asleep and my little sister took my phone-”
Otabek laughed, ruffling his sister’s messy black hair.
“Sälem Yura!” She grinned, waving at the screen.
“She says hi.” Otabek grinned, translating.
“Hi Natalia.” Yuri smiled, waving back, earning a gap-toothed grin from the little girl.
“Natya, Siz bizden kete alasız ba?” Otabek asked his sister, slipping back into his native tongue.
She nodded, waving at the screen.
“Bayt Yura!” She giggled, running off.
“She’s adorable.” Yuri smiled, sipping from the can again.
“I know.” Otabek grinned.
“Did you teach her to call me that?”
“Call you what?”
“To call me Yura?”
“She’s called you that since she saw you on TV at the Russian Nationals two years ago.”
“Don’t look at me, she just does.”
Oh, Yuri was look at him.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“You’re half naked. At least I think you are… I can only see your chest.”
“I’m wearing underwear if that’s what you’re asking.” Otabek snorted, flashing Yuri a crooked grin.
“Really? No pants?”
“It’s too hot.” Otabek shrugged, reaching for a something offscreen and bringing a glass of water to his lips.
“Seriously? Isn’t it like, 19°C? Kinda pathetic. And that’s coming from a Moscow native.”
“It’s 36°C over here.” Otabek said flatly.
“Damn, your coach makes you practice in that heat?” Yuri asked incredulously.
“Nah. Training’s cancelled. He’s passed out in the porch.”
“Lucky bastard. Yakov’s been forcing me to train.” Yuri huffed.
“Watch your language, Yura. My family is in the vicinity.”
“I’m like 300 miles away they can’t hurt me.”
“My cousin will find you. You know what Aleks is like.”
“And I hope you boys are keeping it PG-13!” Came the call of cousin in the background, causing Otabek to flush slightly.
“I’m just saying! Your mother wouldn’t be too happy if she saw you-”
“Aleks, sabırlılıqtı toqtatıñız Beka!” Came a call.
“Dude I can hear like, your entire family, where are you?”
“In my back yard.” He shrugged, switching the camera so Yuri could get a view of the lush, green garden, and the hammock Otabek was laying in.
“Its huge!” Yuri gasped. “Your family must be loaded!”
“My mother was an Olympic silver medalist. That kind of set us up for quite a while, then I started to send money home whenever I got it.” Otabek shrugged. “Joq, Natya, şlangini tömenge ornatıñız!”
Yuri heard giggling in the background, along with running water. Otabek shifted, the camera shaking a bit as he moved.
“My sister has a hose, I’m going inside.” He explained as a jet of water splashed behind him. “Nope nope nope nope. Not today.”
“Are you afraid of getting wet, Beka?”
“No I just don’t want to get- AH!”
“Are you okay?” Yuri asked, cocking an eyebrow at the maniacal cackling heard in the background.
“Yeah, my sister just got me in the ass while I was running inside.”
“Damn, good aim.”
“Yeah,” He said, camera shaking as he went up the stairs, opening the door to his room and pushing in. “Yura?”
“I’m gonna need to change but I’m too lazy to disconnect the call, can I just put you against a pillow so you don’t see anything?”
“Sure.” Yuri shrugged, tossing his empty soda can into the trash.
The screen went a dark reddish-brown colour as it was pressed against the pillow, the camera suddenly flipping just as the screen went black.
Yuri could see Otabek pull away, turning around and pulling down the damp, dark grey boxers.
What the hell was Yuri supposed to do?!
The rational thing to would be to tell Otabek 'hey the camera accidentally flipped and I can see your ass and probably dick but I’m not sure’, but for some reason Yuri couldn’t speak.
Otabek turned in the direction of the camera, humming to himself as he stopped up the boxers and tossed them into the laundry hamper at the edge of his room, walking over to a chest of drawers and pulling out a pair of boxers.
Otabek quickly pulled the boxers on, rooting through the drawers and pulling out some shorts and a t-shirt, putting those on too.
He reached for the camera, which suddenly flipped back to front facing as it was being pulled away from the pillow.
“Sorry I took so long- Yura, are you okay?” Otabek asked, suddenly concerned.
“Y-yeah I’m fine. Why are you asking me?” Yuri stammered awkwardly.
“Your face, it’s all… red. Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Yeah yeah I’m fine! I’m just a bit hot and sweaty from practice, I should probably shower.” Yuri said quickly.
“Okay…” Otabek murmured, unconvinced. “If you don’t feel better after the shower, call Viktor or Yuuri or someone like that. And make sure you drink a lot of water. And eat properly. None of that energy bar nonsense-”
“Okay mom, jeez. I’m fine, really.” Yuri said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man.” Otabek said jokingly.
Yuri rolled his eyes, snorting.
“I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll call you later.”
“I really can’t stop you can I?”
Yuri laughed, ending the call and flinging his phone onto the other end of the bed and pressing his hands into his face.
tododeku; a not-so-surprising regular occurence in the class 1-A dormitory.
“Midoriya? What… are you doing?”
Midoriya brings a finger to his lips, making shushing sounds at Todoroki from where he’s crouched behind the large potted plant by the elevators. Todoroki’s not sure where those potted plants came from, but it does make the empty hallway feel more like a place to live and less like a government building, so. Playing along, Todoroki crouches beside Midoriya.
“I’m hiding,” whispers Midoriya. He glances around the plant. “From Kacchan.”
“Ah,” Todoroki says, unsurprised. “What’s he overreacting about this time?”
That tugs a smile out of Midoriya. “I wanted to get a drink from the kitchen, but I didn’t realize he was using it.”
“Bakugou can cook?”
“Oh, yes,” Midoriya nods, his curls bouncing in a very distracting manner. “Kacchan’s wanted to be the best in every class, including home ec. I think because everyone expected him to do worse in that class, so he tried even harder.”
Midoriya peers around the plant again, but no homicidal Bakugou appears. Yet. Todoroki wonders if he’s actually hearing muffled explosions coming from the stairwell leading to the common room or if Midoriya’s paranoia is getting to him, too. He flips over an idea for another few seconds. Then he turns to Midoriya.
“Do you want to come to my room? He probably won’t bother you there. And I have a mini-fridge, if you still want that drink.”
Midoriya widens his eyes at Todoroki. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“No. But if you don’t want to—”
“No! I mean I—Um, I’d like that. Thank you.” Midoriya scratches his right cheek, eyes sliding away.
Todoroki nods. “Come on.”
They check once more to see if the coast is clear, and then slip into the elevator. Midoriya is asking if Todoroki really has a mini-fridge in his room, wouldn’t that ruin the Japanese-style aesthetic he has going for his room, well I guess you could have the fridge inside one of the wooden cupboards and it’s not like you have to stick to the old-fashioned style completely; Todoroki just lets him ramble on, content to stand should-to-shoulder next to him.
His long legs extended across her lap as he took a large gulp of the amber liquid. Sighing contently, he placed the glass bottle on the floor and snuggled deeper into his couch.
Her hands were lazily drapped over his feet as she focused on the television. The movie that they had been watching was fairly interesting although she was having a bit of a hard time following the plot.
“Wait, is he the sister’s boyfriend?” Y/N asked her best friend who shook his head in return.
“No, that’s the guy they met at the bar who looks like the boyfriend.” Dylan explained.
Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N continued to watch the film hoping somewhere along the way things would make sense.
This was their routine. Every Friday night for the past 3 years was spent on his lumpy couch drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching movies.
As the ending credits started, Y/N let out a soft yawn as she extended her arms.
“What did you think?” Dylan asked, eager to know what she thought of the film.
“I thought she was going to pick the boyfriend’s brother’s friend.” Y/N admitted with a giggle, thinking about the cliched love triangle movie she just watched. “The ending was very unexpected.”
Pulling his feet off of her lap, he sat on the edge of the couch.
“What about you?” She called out as he walked to the kitchen with his empty beer bottle.
“I was routing for the boyfriend’s brother’s friend too.” His laugh echoed throughout the kitchen.
Their friendship consisted of watching cheesy romance movies together, texts at 3am when they couldn’t sleep, and the comfort of knowing that they always had someone they could count on. It was completely platonic.
A/N: Prepare yourself. It’s quite a ride. This is my first time doing angst so feedback is definitely appreciated. Enjoy!
After what feels like forever, the plane finally
touches down in his home city of Toronto. Shawn lets out a deep, strangled
sigh, rubbing his eyes. He’s exhausted from the extended time that he’s been
away from home, but he honestly wishes he was still on the road for just a
little while longer. He knows he should be excited; he should be happy even.
Today is the day he will finally see her after months of being apart, but when
she comes to mind, his stomach turns and he’s disgusted with himself. All he
can think about is what he did. He shakes away the thought in his head and
pulls his carry-on over his shoulder as he makes his way to his designated
baggage carousel to collect his belongings. It takes him 15 minutes to find all
his bags before he continues down the long hall towards the revolving exit
doors. Geoff is outside the airport for him. His plane was early, but he didn’t
want to bother her to take off work and have to come get him. He isn’t ready to
see her just yet anyways. He just needs a little more time to think. He walks
out the doors and props up his suitcase. While waiting for his friend to show,
his eyes wonder upward, gazing at the black sky, contemplating what the hell he
should do when he gets home. He can’t hide it forever; his guilt will eat him
As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts! I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.
Let me know what you think! Happy reading.
Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.
There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.
So, he waits.
He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.
And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.
The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.
When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.
“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.
Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.
You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.
“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.
That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.
“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”
“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”
He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.
“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”
Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.
“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.
“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.
Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.
He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.
He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.
Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?
No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.
You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.
“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.
“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.
He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.
You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.
“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”
“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”
You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.
“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.
“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.
Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.
“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”
“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”
“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”
Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.
You’d said the words, though.
You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.
“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”
Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.
His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.
“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”
You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.
You’ve got his number saved in your phone.
He’s got your number now.
Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.
When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.
How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?
“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.
“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”
“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.
“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”
Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.
You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.
“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”
“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”
“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.
The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.
“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.
“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”
“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”
“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”
You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.
You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.
“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.
“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”
“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.
You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.
“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.
“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”
He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.
“Swear,” he nods.
“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”
“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”
“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”
“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”
“No,” you nearly whisper.
“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”
“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”
“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”
He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.
As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.
After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.
“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”
You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.
Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.
Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.
“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.
“Ye’ look great.”
You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”
“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.
“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”
You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”
“I did, too.”
He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.
It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.
He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.
But, he did.
He had to.
Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.
He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.
He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.
He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.
A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.
And your ass? In those jeans?
He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.
He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.
“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.
He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.
He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.
Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…
hey, whats up, hello! so you’re gonna be a freshman and you’re probably moving in real soon, and you might be excited but also nervous, not to worry i got you! here are some tips and tricks and general advice based on my own experience.
okay so step by step:
okay so this is easily the most stressful thing about the first week of school. you gotta get all of your stuff into a tiny dorm if it’s a big room i am literally so jealous my dorm was like a prison so don’t freak out, stay cool and pack efficiently!
try not to overpack, it’s really easy to believe you’ll need everything you’re bringing but trust me you won’t even look at half of it
a good tip for this is, if you don’t use it at home, don’t bring it to school! (plus it’s really easy to just buy stuff you need on amazon so don’t forget that that’s an option too)
if you’re going to a school that deals in snow, DON’T bring that stuff (jackets/hats/boots/etc) with you when you move in. if you know you’re going to go home for a weekend before the snow sets in, definitely leave it at home and bring it with you later!
let your parents/guardians/friends/family help you move in. it might not seem like a big deal, but letting them help you will make them feel better. and if you don’t like how they arrange things, let it be! you have all semester to rearrange and settle in, they only have this one day, so just let them have it! also don’t forget to thank them when they leave!
ah yes, the wonderful concepts of roommates. i was lucky my freshman year, but some people aren’t
try and connect with them via facebook/school emails/phone, settling things like are you gonna share a mini fridge, microwave, coffeemaker and how you’re gonna decorate (if you’re into that) will help when you finally settle into your room
definitely go over ground rules once you’re all unpacked and settled in. my dorm had us go over a list of questions, come to an agreement, and sign it in case there were any future conflicts. cover things like:
is it okay to have my friends sit at your desk or on your bed when you aren’t there?
how should we handle overnight guests?
do you want me to give you a heads up if i have friends coming over?
100% agree to give each other a heads up on parents coming to your room
definitely definitely give each other a copy of your class schedule, and if you have classes at the same time maybe you can agree to make sure you’re both awake at the right time!
you don’t have to be bff’s with your roommate, sometimes it turns out that way and sometimes it doesn’t. what you do need to be is open and honest with your roommate. your year will be miserable (especially if you can’t switch roommates) if you don’t communicate with each other. don’t be afraid to tell them if something is bothering you. if you’re to nervous to do that or don’t like confrontation, talk to your RA or RD
so now that we got all that out of the way, here are some general tips about social things:
that whole keep your door open and people will come talk to you think is a load of bs. me and my roommate did that for weeks and no one came in. everyone is just waiting for someone else to take that chance. so go into peoples rooms and ask them if they wanna grab lunch/dinner! walk around and poke your head in their room! it might be awkward as hell but at least you’re trying :)
go to all (or as many) dorm activities as you can! this allows you to meet more people too even if the event is really dumb, at least show up. you always have the option to leave!
go to club meetings! even if you aren’t sure you want to stay in the club. it’s much harder or maybe just more awkward to join when you’re an upperclassmen, so try and get those roots down as soon as you can
that being said, you can always leave a group without any hard feelings. people do it all the time, so don’t be scared that once you go to one meeting you’re stuck in the group forever
don’t let anyone tell you that as a freshman you can’t get involved. if you want to, you can. there is absolutely nothing stopping you. you might have to work a bit harder but i know you can do it!
sometimes freshman year can suck, or at least have it’s moments. don’t give up. everything gets infinitely better as time goes one, i promise. if you’re having a tough time or feel isolated or overwhelmed, reach out to someone, a parent, friends from home, an old teacher, anyone really! don’t give up, things might get tough, but you ARE strong and you WILL get through it