#i hope he hates capitalism and plastic

[lavenderbright]

i’m so happy tye is getting a third season but fushi in the modern world is so fucking funny to me. local agender boy tries boba for the first time, probably eats nothing else for the next 200 years

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt3

pt 2 here content: Choso refers to reader as his gf- other than that no use of pronouns. mention of reader wearing lipstick, obsessive crush to stalker arc :>

(a.n) this is slowly becoming a fic and I don't hate it. I felt lack of inspo last night and did a deep dive into what stalkers do- the red flags before they start the actual stalking lol

taglist: @flam3bird

Obsessive!Choso who almost felt his heart burst when he saw you wave hi at him when you walked into class. Smile on your lips as you walk down to your seat. Hearing your friend speak a little louder than a whisper while taking a practice test, seeing you look back at him and make a face almost asking him, ‘can you believe what she's saying?’ before turning around again, watching your friend lean in close to you and keep pestering you. His eyes watching you turn your phone on under your desk, ‘During a test? What are you thinking-’ he thought, mentally scolding you.

Obsessive!Choso who almost died when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out and seeing that you had texted him. ‘can u hear her from all the way over there ?’ reading it and hearing your voice. The realization of, ‘you were thinking of me?’ making him slouch in his seat, feeling his heavily pieced ears start to warm. Staring at your text, looking down at you, noticing you had the conversation still open. ‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked you in his mind. Quickly screenshotting the notification before opening it, ‘yeah, i can.’ he typed, sending it and seeing you turn your head and smile at him. Seeing you look down at your phone, his heart beating quickly when he saw the typing bubble show up. ‘she keeps asking me what the answers are’, smiling when he saw that your auto capitalization was off, another thing you two had in common. ‘is this not a practice test?’ he typed, thinking how crazy it is that he was talking to you. To you! Person of his dreams, everything he wanted in a partner. You. The person who always greets him with a warm smile, who's always nice to him.

Obsessive!Choso whose heart skipped a beat when he saw you move your shoulders, indicating that you were trying not to laugh. ‘I make you laugh?’ looking down at his phone and seeing you had texted again. ‘dont think she knows that’  you replied, putting your phone away and getting back to the paper in front of you. Making sure to remember to ask you why you're friends with someone like that. ‘You're not the same kind of person- or even on the same level mentally. So why would you be friends with someone who does nothing but bother you?’  Thinking he knew everything about your friendship with this person. 

Obsessive!Choso who went to the campus coffee shop, in hopes that maybe you'd be there. Knowing from your instagram stories that you usually came to pick up a coffee after one of your classes. Only this time you weren't here. Pulling out his trifold wallet before paying, looking to see he didn't have any cash, trying to find his card. “Pretty girlfriend.” the cashier said, breaking the awkward silence while looking at the photo of you in his wallet. “Sorry?” he asked, looking at them when he found the piece of plastic. “Your girlfriend-” they continued, eyes pointing at the picture. The sentence made him flustered, not paying attention that some people notice small things like that. Smile on his face as he mumbled a quiet ‘I know.’ before tapping his card onto the screen. 

Obsessive!Choso kept those few words in his mind whenever he caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. ‘My girlfriend.’ he'd think, smile on his lips when he would refer to you as that.

Obsessive!Choso saw a picture of your laptop and a notebook next to it in your story. Knowing you were home, knowing that you were waiting for him to text you, you had to be right? Opening the google doc on his computer, seeing that you were on it as well. A few minutes of him watching your cursor type a sentence and delete it. Before seeing a message from the upper right corner of his screen. A message from you, ‘Hey, I know it's late. But I hit a wall with this stupid project- could I call you?’ he read, eyes widening at how right he was. Clearing his throat at how forward you were being. Call? As in on the phone with you? 

Obsessive!Choso who almost choked when he heard your voice on the phone. Pressing the phone closely to his ear, closing his eyes with a smile when he heard you say- “Heyyyy”, not being able to find the words to say to you. A small ‘hi’ leaving his throat. Hearing you let out a small giggle before hearing you place your phone down. “So i'm on the doc- and I saw you were on it too-” you started, Choso pictured you. Sitting in front of your laptop, smile on your face while speaking. He could tell by just your voice that you were smiling, smiling while talking to him.

Obsessive!Choso who desperately wanted to record the conversation- well, more like record your voice. He wasn't the one speaking a whole lot. You had gotten used to filling the silences he left in the air, being able to tell that he wasn't much of a talker. But little did you know that he was thinking longer replies, but only thinking them. Smiling when he’d hear you ask a question. You started reading aloud what you had written- making sure it sounded right. Choso accidentally let out a low ‘Mhm’ while hearing you read, closing his eyes in regret when he heard you stop. “You sound so different on the phone-” you started, almost a whisper. He exhaled quietly in relief when he heard your fingers start to press onto the keys of your computer. The call didn't last longer than 20 minutes, you just wanted to ask him his opinion on if what you had so far sounded smart or not. But in his mind, the only real reason you called was to speak to him- to hear him. 

Obsessive!Choso who felt like he could die when you told him ‘thank you’ for his help. But when you mumbled a tired, “Goodnight Choso-” before you hung up, made his cheeks flush and his heart pound in his chest. The first time you had ever said his name. Immediate regret filling his gut when he remembered he didn't record it. But he would always remember it, always keep it close to his heart in memory. 

Obsessive!Choso was walking to the campus coffee shop after class. Seeing you speaking to some guy- probably one of the so called friends you choose to surround yourself with. Slowing his pace when he saw you slowly backing away from him- and nodding no at him. Seeing this guy, reach for your arm, speaking over you as he stepped closer. Even from a distance he could see your face look uncomfortable. At that moment, Choso didn't know what came over him. He walked over- more like storming over. His face full of anger, slapping a sweet smile onto it when he saw you look over at him. “I was just about to go find you.” Making sure to keep a sweet tinge in his tone when he spoke to you. Smile of relief on your face when you saw him. Dark eyeshadow and combat boots almost making you feel safe. A quiet ‘hey’ trailed from your lips, feeling the stranger's hand fall from your arm, taking a step back. “Me too, I wanted to bring up-” you started. Rambling about what the professor had taught today, noticing the guy back off before walking away. Seeing you exhale before looking at his face. “Thank you.” you whispered, looking down at your shoes. “A friend?” he asked, his tone deeper than before. Using the same tone he spoke to you while on the phone. “Absolutely not-” you smiled, looking back up at him. “Just some guy from my public speaking class. He's been bothering me since the first day.” You laughed, seeing him crack a small smile, his hands fidgeting with his rings. “Are you busy? I was just about to go grab a coffee-” you started, looking away from him in the direction of the same coffee shop he was going to.

Obsessive!Choso who thought; ‘Aren't you forward. Trying to spend more time with me?’ as he nodded no, “I'm not.” he replied, his hands in his pockets.

Obsessive!Choso who was convinced you were starting to feel the same way he did, even if it was only a week since they paired you together. I mean, who would ask someone if they wanted to have coffee with you? “Sorry if you had plans- or whatever.” you started, walking slowly next to him. “I didn't.” he mumbled, hearing his boots drag onto the concrete. “The least I could do is buy you a coffee!” you exclaimed, ‘No need to thank me- who else but me will protect you from all the horrible men in the world?’ Choso thought, looking over to see you, remembering all the people who have been broken by men who didn't love them. Knowing that you would never have to worry about those silly things with him. 

Obsessive!Choso who purposefully switched the two coffees you had paid for- in hopes he'd be able to share an indirect kiss with you. Knowing if he tried to pay, you'd see the picture of yourself he had in his wallet. Sitting down at one of the round tables, heavily ringed hands around the cup as he looked at you pick up his coffee. Making a face when the sour taste hits your tongue. “I think they switched our cups-” You smiled, pushing his cup towards him. Seeing him mutter a feigned ‘Oh’ as he gave you the correct cup. His eyes focused on the light print of lipstick you had left on the black lid. “I could get you a new one- I know some people are huge germaphobes.” You smiled, taking a sip from your cup to wash the bitter taste from your mouth. “There are worse things in the world than sharing a drink with someone.” He murmured, slouching in his seat, seeing you give him a sweet smile in return.

Obsessive!Choso who took one sip of his coffee, only to assure you that it was okay that you had drank from it. Who felt his knee start to bounce with anticipation when he felt the satiny feeling of your lipstick on his bottom lip. Hearing words falling from your mouth, but not listening to them. Thoughts of how technically that was your first kiss with him. Seeing your phone light up on the table, hearing you sigh loudly. And it continued to light up- repeatedly. “Jesus- this girl doesn’t know how to take a hint.” You exhaled, picking up your phone and typing something. ‘Must be the girl from class.’ he thought.

Obsessive!Choso whose lips moved before his brain could process what he was saying. “The girl from class?” he asked, seeing you look up at him and smile. “Yeah- she keeps trying to come over to my house for a sleepover.” You placed your phone down, “That girl is the epitome of peaked in highschool.” You mumbled, Choso finally found an opportunity to ask you. “Why are you friends with her?” he questioned, seeing you inhale at his words. “I chose this college to get away from all the bullies and all the pretentious people who would live the same boring suburban lives.” You started, “And to become myself- to find myself.” You mumbled, looking away from him. “Imagine my disappointment when I got here and it was full of superficial delta chi’s-” You laughed, seeing him return a smile to you. Humming in response to your words. “I was never good with confrontation- The idea makes me anxious and uneasy.” seeing him look at you with his head in his hand. Eyes half lidded while listening to you. His pointer finger tracing doodles onto the table. Liking the way you opened up to him, letting him get to know you. Being able to hear your unfiltered thoughts, not the bullshit you over thought before you posted on your story. 

Obsessive!Choso who paid close attention to what you were saying, hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. Feeling yourself cringe at how you just aired out your business to someone who was practically a stranger, not knowing why it was so easy to speak to him. Somehow never sensing any judgment or lack of interest in what you said. Feeling a wave of relief whenever you were able to speak to him- a real person who didn't care about people's opinions. “Honestly I don't know why I'm still friends with her- I've tried to sit in other seats, hoping she wouldn't sit next to me in that class anymore.” You spoke, finally answering his question. ‘I know. I watched you every time you moved seats.’ Choso replied to your words mentally. “I think the reason I'm failing that class- is that I can't focus on what is being taught because she's in my ear the entire time.” You smiled, easing up on the heavy topic. ‘Aha. I knew you were failing- just like me.’

Obsessive!Choso wanted to suggest that you to sit next to him, knowing your childish friend won't follow you if you did. “Failing?” he asked, eyes scanning your features. “Yeah, I was hoping this-” You sighed, “stupid project would help my grade at least a little.” Closing your eyes and leaning back into your chair. ‘Ask me. Ask me and I'm yours. Ask me to help you.’ he thought, fighting off his excitement when you looked at him. Lightbulb practically popped up above your head, “You're doing good in class, aren't you?”  you asked, smile on your lips as he nodded yes without thinking. “I know that we were only paired for this assignment- but would you be ok with helping me study?” You smiled, eyes so bright he swore he could see the universe in them. “Of course.” He smiled, seeing you exhale and look down at the table with a smile.

Obsessive!Choso who almost let out a small giggle when he saw your face flush. ‘Are you- blushing?’ he asked himself. The question you asked him didn't make him nervous. He understood most of what was being taught, but he didn't have the energy to physically write the essays, and besides- Choso preferred spending his free time thinking of you. Not of the stupid course work that he didn't need for real life. Trying to get to know you better through your social media. Dissecting every single photo you posted. Zooming into the background of your bedroom, seeing if he could find anything worth researching. A band poster, a shirt on the floor, a stranded bottle of nail polish he could buy so he would match with you- anything that would let him see you. The real you- not the person that you pretended to be with the fake friends you had. The person he saw a flicker of that day at the cafe. The person you came to this college to become.

-

pt 4 here

(PLS LET ME KNOW IF U WANNA BE TAGGED IN THE NEXT PART PLSSSS) omg thank god I posted this. I am alr writing pt 4 I don't CARE. this is my new passion, wrote this while listening to 'Such Small Hands- La Dispute' Choso thinks this is all fun and games, what happens when he sees I am crazier than he is ?

[secondbeatsongs]

Hello, you said in some tags in a poll that Speed Racer (2008) is your favorite film. If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to hear more about why you love it. I love the Wachowskis’ work (they’re among my favorite directors), but I kinda ended up bouncing off Speed Racer (2008). So, hearing that it had a real impact on someone makes me very curious why. I’m not interested in criticizing your opinion or arguing with you, I’d just really like to know why you love it in the hopes I might be able to enjoy that movie more in the future.

oh god this is from seven months ago, I'm so sorry - but I do love almost everything about Speed Racer (2008) and I still think about it nearly every day.

I love that it's so bright and colorful and absurd. I love that it's an anime in live action form. and I love that at its heart, it is a story about love.

it's about the mistakes people make out of love, and the consequences of that. it's about the way children grow to understand why the adults around them make the choices they do, and maybe choose to do the same things. it's about taking risks for the people you love, and the pain of failing to change the world, because everything is capitalism and everything hurts.

(and it's also about being transgender btw. like, that's one of the main things about it - it is very much a movie about being transgender)

what if your father's choices hurt your older brother, and your older brother's choices hurt you, and now it's you and your younger brother staring down a future where you're going to end up hurting him by making the same choice?

and then...what if you can escape that? what if the broken parts put themselves back together, and the hope doesn't run out, and you're not alone with the things that haunt you? what then?

and now you're at the end and mistakes were still made, people were still hurt, but everyone's grown and changed and they're different now. and they've figured out that maybe, just maybe, you can change the world by doing something you love, by creating art and beauty and making people feel things.

maybe you really can defeat capitalism by driving a car really fast. and even if everyone thinks you can't...don't you have to try anyway? shouldn't you fight with the skills you have, the only way you know how?

what if it works?

and I'm not even gonna get into most of the Racer X stuff (because I want people to go watch this movie, and most folks probably won't be spoiled for it), but his whole deal is just...everything. I love him.

(if there's a guy from Speed Racer that I want to put in a jar and shake every so often, or maybe wrap in a blanket so he can have a nice nap, it's Racer X. he's a great character. prime blorbo material)

anyway I've been rotating this movie in my head ever since I saw it for the first time, and I think I've seen it...seven? times now? and I still cry at the final race, and I still get blown away by the intro sequence.

(the beginning of the movie is genuinely one of the best things I've ever seen - it does an amazing job of introducing you to the world and the story of the characters, and gets you emotionally invested in it right from the start. it's fantastic filmmaking)

also like. story stuff aside, from a technical standpoint, the movie is a masterpiece. it's the type of thing that people hated when it first came out, but when you look at it now and see how it was made, how it intentionally looks bizarre and cartoonish, plastic and surreal, you can see the exact vision the Wachowskis were going for, and it's brilliant.

the way they did the visual effects, the way they made the outdoor scenes feel so detailed, the way the driving and the tracks work - they put so much thought into that, and the behind-the-scenes vids show how cool their process was.

also uhhh cars go vroom, crash into each other, flip upside down, explode, maybe have bees and hammers in them sometimes?

(the above is me complimenting the unhinged vibe of the races themselves, which I love very much)

anyway I could make other full posts about the script of the film and how much I love it, or the cool side characters, or the fanfic potential of the amazing world of the film, or how I can prove that it's set in 1991...but I guess if anyone wants those rants, they'll just have to watch the film and then come talk to me. :)

(please. please come talk to me about Speed Racer.)

so, yeah! I kinda lost my mind there and made this post way longer than I intended, but I do feel strongly affected by this movie, and I hope this has helped explain why.

[venus-star-bynding]

HEY GIRLIES (INTRO POST)

ok so... i suppose it's about time to introduce the cast. if you've been following vsb you know who they are, but, just in case you need a list...

Tess Starriy- Ness AU. chimera, part Giigian, PSI user. likes women and hitting people with her baseball bat.

Yuki Tazimile- Lucas AU. not a chimera, but a PSI user nonetheless. likes sunflowers and crying in her room at 3 AM.

Mitzuki Tazimile- Claus AU. chimera, part Giigian, PSI user. former Commander of the Pigmask army. WILL kill you. likes stargazing and punching things with her platinum arm.

Zalind Rosze- Jeff AU. chimera, something user?? does she have PSI?? we don't know. i don't think she knows either. likes bazookas and geometry.

Tillie Scarlette- Porky AU. not technically a chimera, but is considered one anyway. PSI user. former Vessel of the first Emperor of the Mind, Gyiyg. likes murder and the color pink.

Franklin Tenni- Ninten AU. chimera, PSI user. hopes you don't notice i only named her that to make franklin badge jokes.

Twinkle Roosevelt- Lloyd AU. chimera. the subject of philosophical debates on whether she is technically alive or not. a bit jealous that Zalind got PSI and she didn't.

Jack Mars- Duster AU. chimera, part Giigian, PSI user. also in a band called the Runaways. likes playing the bass and drinking paint.

Madame Fassaud- Fassad AU, though you could probably guess that. chimera, mostly made of plastic. PSI user, due to being a Monarque nymph. likes capitalism and listening to electra heart without understanding the meaning of the album.

Colonel Ivory- former colonel of the Pigmask army. chimera (?). seems mean, but will cry if you compliment his cape. likes embroidery and baking.

Roj Saturn- a Saturnian. from Saturn. who speaks Saturnian. obviously. chimera, PSI user. wears a red kerchief as a hood that she sewed herself. will adopt any traumatized child she finds in the dirt. likes cinnamon scented candles and baking pies.

Codyrwin- Tillie's Mindkin. former second Emperor of the Mind, after Gyiyg was killed. annoying. hates being called Cody. would kill you, but can't use PSI. likes arcades and taking over cities.

Soline- slightly aged up Fuel AU. chimera. drummer for the Runaways. likes fire and being way too loud at 12:30 AM.

Eyes- Tess's Mindkin. cellist for the Runaways. tends to jump into situations without thinking. gives the best advice, somehow. likes adventures with his friends and killing gods.

Vittoria- Queen Mary AU. Franklin's Mindkin. violinist for the Runaways. everyone's mom. likes singing and dramatically standing on the balcony of her castle watching over the land.

Truman- a Mook. PSI user. guitarist for the Runaways. drunk all the time. not to be trusted, in the nicest way possible. likes drinking paint at home depot and seeing how many public spaces he can get kicked out of.

Telestra Starbov- the last surviving Starman. PSI user. a former general of the Pigmask army, though she doesn't like to talk about it. singer for the Runaways. likes standing very still and staring at you.

Saf Saturn- another Saturnian. from Saturn. y'know. PSI user. very sarcastic. curses too much for a Saturnian. pianist for the Runaways. likes guns and occasionally drinking paint.

Tamothy Timor- a robot created by the Pigmask army. backup singer for the Runaways. thinks he deserves his own tv show. likes using the sparkle emoji and thinking he's the most popular Runaway.

Roxanne- Mecha-Porky AU. possibly the only creature in existence who idolizes Tamothy. plays tambourine for the Runaways. has no musical talent at all but was adopted into the band after escaping from the Pigmasks. likes video games (only when she wins) and gossiping about the Pigmasks.

Bunnie Larimar- a girl from an alternate dimension. guitarist for the Runaways. no one knows about the world she comes from because she never talks about it. likes women and making bad decisions.

Love Tazimile- Yuki's Mindkin. backup singer for the Runaways. brother of Gyiyg, the former Emperor of the Mind. very sensitive, cries easily. likes dogs and flowers.

have fun! i will not elaborate further. (/lh)

[tintagel-or-cockleshells]

Fic Origin Story

I was tagged by the marvellous @clottedcreamfudge and saved this link in my Notes to answer later.

What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)? Lord of the Rings. So, I'm a true blue nerd. It was actually a story about the Entwives, because it was a fic exchange. I was like 14 and did so much research. It was not a good fic.

What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it? It was a dreadfully obvious derivative of a book I got at the library, written in glittery wax crayon, about an Egyptian servant girl who had a heart of gold and an evil priest who had a heart of stone and tried to swap them on the Scales of Justice. Illustrated, too!

What's a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self? “Stop thinking it's all got to be Big and Important and say Truthful Things! You're allowed to have fun!”  

What's an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)? Well, I remember joining a LoTR messageboard, so nervous, and then people being rude to me because I had the same kind of name as a recently-departed troll. However! People were a lot nicer after that, I met them in real life, and now two of them are my goddamn bridesmaids.

Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want). Oh goodness me, this was a delve into the dives of my Gmail. This is from 2007, an Angels Unlimited fic.

"I hated babysitting.

No, I mean—the kids were generally cute and the more well-behaved ones went to bed on time, and you got paid heaps, but it was the time before bed when they want to show off so badly I hated. You got the ballerinas prancing around in lilac tutus, putting on their very expensive satin ballet shoes, and you being forced to watch wobbly arabesques. And the doll-mad ones telling you about the adventures of magical Barbie and Ken and sometimes Skipper, undressing them and invariably losing one tiny plastic shoe. AND then the ones who fancied themselves geniuses and watched University Challenge and got nearly all the right answers. Okay, so that was only one, but still. I was struggling with my French homework that night.

However, I’d never had to babysit a really religious kid before. People generally aren’t religious round where I live. In Park Hall, there’s not much proof of life before death. Its two churches are both in an equal state of disrepair. Nobody in my class goes to church on Sunday, and nobody believes in God. If he actually existed, he’d make sure nobody’s older brother got shot, or their mum taken away. But kids are like sheep when they’re that small, aren’t they? They believe what their parents tell them. And so Hope Adams was Catholic, and Believed with a capital B."

And this is from my newest fic, Ghosted, a Red, White and Royal Blue one.

“Love,” Henry says reluctantly, and looks even more bashful as Alex sends a malevolent grin his way. “God, you’re incorrigible.”

“That’s me. Dead or alive, I can’t be corriged.”

It really is their stop now, and Alex suspects (correctly, as it turns out) that there are plenty of people waiting to get on and off. He and Henry manage to squeeze their way out after a young woman dressed in scrubs, and pass a man with a bandaged hand, a nurse who looks absolutely exhausted, a man in immaculate 1920s threads, and two older women who could either be 1950s ghosts or modern day women with capital ‘S’ Standards.

But God, he’s unprepared for the onslaught of ghosts in the hospital. They have to walk past A&E to get to the main entrance, and he sees people in hospital gowns and surgical scrubs, ephemeral strangers in ghostly wheelchairs. The ones that gut him the most are the three kids playing in the little garden attached to a paediatric ward, sheltered in a courtyard within the hospital grounds. He’s only been like this for a year. How’s he going to cope if he keeps going on? If he’s still a psychopomp in a hundred years? In a time without Henry?"

THIS WAS excruciating. Thank you for tagging me, though! Let's tag... @jazzerdoc, @mariusperkins, and @rhymingteelookatme.

[genderisareligion]

~10 years ago, I was trans. Back then we knew we had a mental illness. We felt our bodies didn’t match our minds. We hoped changing our bodies would give us as much peace as possible, but we knew we couldn’t actually become the sex we wanted. I wished gay men and straight women would want me bc I wished I had a male body, but I knew I didn’t, and wouldn’t have imagined holding it against them. We all felt that way. Now instead of dysphorics, our movement has become overrun w/ antiscience rapists

I've been looking into this long enough to see this shift happen with my own two. It is disappointing that the transsexual/"transmed" community got demonized. Even while I hate gender and think it's a harmful placebo that benefits way less people than it harms, I still have sympathy for some people who believe in it the same way I feel about religious women as I used to be one. I've been struggling with anorexia most of my life and that has come with bouts of dysmorphia which I understand is distinct from dysphoria but similar enough that I know it's not always something that can just be "unbelieved in." It feels very real even if it's not and since the solution is impossible it can take a long time to heal from.

Before 2020 I considered myself a transmed ally and was especially reading/sharing content from FTMs because the only trans person I knew IRL was a transmed FTM (although he didn't call himself that and didn't even know what a TERF was when I asked lol fucking bless I love normies). Then the white supremacist shit happened (pinned post, some other shit a few weeks after that) as well as January 6th 2021 and I became officially disillusioned with all of gender. I still support him from over here because he's normal about his shit and is actually one of these people whose dysphoria and life quality did improve from going stealth but I'm also a staunch believer in "If there were no gender there'd be no dysphoria." (I'm not saying the fact that butch lesbians sometimes have easier lives as passing men is like fucking right or anything, just pointing out the objective fact I witnessed + he told me, that people left him alone more often and he was happier for that at least).

Does wanting gender abolished mean I think physical intervention is always unnecessary? For HRT and even some* reduction surgeries, not necessarily, I think it can depend on the severity (*SRS below the belt is pretty inhumane as it stands now but ethics in the plastic surgery world aren't what they are in the non elective world). I think it should be an absolute last resort and that a lot of people with dysphoria could go without and get some extensive form of therapy instead if our society wasn't so violently capitalistic via medicine, wasn't putting suffering people through an automated surgical assembly line to avoid doing the real work of trauma recovery. Trauma these people received from just like being born into violent capitalism and its sexism which of course the capitalists don't want to acknowledge so they tell you it's about your "gender identity"

Unfortunate trans is becoming synonymous with anti science and rape apologism because there used to be more to it than that

[myckicade]

Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

*

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

*

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

*

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

*

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

*

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

*

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

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[miekasa]

homecoming (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: college au, how many ways can i fit levi’s captain status into the modern world, fluff

↯ notes: i love levi :// and i’m out of gifs to put at the top of these, so when i learn how to make headers i’ll let you guys know. also this isn’t proofread rip in peace 

↯ summary: there’s a pretty well known homecoming tradition, and levi’s hoping you’re willing to partake in it. 

“So,” you hum, wiping away any crumbs from your mouth, “Are you going to tell me exactly why you wanted to have a picnic at 2:30 in the afternoon on a random Thursday, or am I supposed to wait for a grand reveal?”

Levi rolls his eyes, and sips on his wine, ignoring your incoming giggles. “Can’t I want to take you on a date?” he clicks his tongue, setting his, now empty, plastic wine cup onto the picnic blanket, “Ungrateful brat.”

You smack him on the arm, mouth open in offense; but Levi’s chuckling, shoulder’s shaking at your reaction. “I am a very grateful brat,” you correct him, “But I am also very suspicious one.”

Levi hums, not bothering to reply. Instead, he separates the two halves of his sandwich, wraps one half around a napkin, and hands it to you. You accept it, albeit a little hesitantly, and watch as Levi pays you no mind, biting into his half neatly.

If it were any normal situation, you’d probably try to snap a picture of him—you have somewhat of an ongoing collection of sneaky pictures of Levi on your dates, particularly when he looks cute munching on his food, much to his disdain—but this was not a normal situation.

Levi is acting strange. It’s not just the nature of this date itself—it may be out of character for Levi to want to go on a picnic of all things, but could be quite the romantic at heart, and often planned very quaint dates for the both of you. It was everything that happened since you set up your picnic that was truly out of the ordinary.

Like the way he seemed distracted, getting lost in thought in a way you hadn’t seen before; and how he kept sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and readjusting his small silver earring. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s nervous about something.

“Seriously,” you say lightly, carefully setting your half-eaten portion of the sandwich back onto the blanket, “What’s this all about?”

Levi looks at you for a beat, once again using his free hand to brush his dark hair behind his ear, then with suspecting eyes, “You don’t like it?”

Your eyebrows draw together at his questioning, confused by the lack of sarcasm, or even hurt in his tone; like he was genuinely surprised.

“What? No, Levi, that’s not what I meant,” you assure him, “I just mean that this isn’t really us. You hate eating outside—you always make us wait for indoor seating—and, if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen a couple go on a picnic in real life.”

Levi reaches to pour more cheap wine into your faux glasses, “I guess romance really is dead.”

You squint your eyes, carefully tracking his movements as he hands you a plastic cup before refilling his own. Levi isn’t one to dodge questions, or any kind of confrontation. Now you know for sure that something’s up.

“Levi,” you call gently, feeling like you finally have his full focus when his eyes meet yours, “What’s going on?”

His gaze softens at your question this time, and you finally see a hint of the Levi you know behind his expression. He sighs, carefully closing the boxed wine, and taking his cup into his hand. With a slight head nod, he motions for you to come closer, and you obiiently shuffle closer to him, until you’re sitting side by side.

You take the liberty of resting your head on his shoulder, cheek soft against his coat. You can hear him take a deep breath, feel his exhale deflate his shoulders, before he speaks.

“Homecoming is next weekend,” he starts, “You’re going, yeah?”

You hum in affirmation, watching as he takes a careful sip from his cup before continuing.

“There’s this tradition. It’s stupid as shit, if you ask me, so you don’t have to say yes,” he mumbles, lips barely off of the plastic, before he takes another sip. “But, if you’re dating someone, they’re supposed to show up to the game in your jersey.”

You snap your head up from his shoulder, blinking at Levi and the implications of his words, as you begin to piece together the mystery of his actions from this afternoon. Levi—your Levi—took you on a picnic, complete with homemade sandwiches and cheap wine, to ask you to be his date to his homecoming game.

Your stunned silence is filled with light breeze that brushes past your hair, and makes Levi return to brushing his away again. He drinks in your expression, grey eyes growing cloudy as he assumes the worst of your silence.

“Like I said, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he explains cooly, bringing his cup to his mouth again for a bitter sip, “I didn’t know if you were going to stick around for the whole day anyways, you’ve probably got other shit to—”

You kiss him quiet. Levi is surprised at first, jolts a little bit when your actions cause him to spill some of his drink, but he kisses you back, a small wave of relief washing over him. At least he didn’t make a complete fool of himself just now.

“Of course I’ll wear your jersey, Levi.”

Most parents and alumni stuck around for the traditional football game, but the boys’ soccer team was always popular amongst students, and for good reason.

Not only did the university’s team have an exceptional record, but they had no shortage of eye-candy playing for them, either. Even the team’s managers were pretty cute. You were certain players like Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger were not plastered all over the university website solely for their soccer skills.

Though, good looks aside, they were undeniably good, and made a damn impressive pair on the field. However, most of the crowd would agree that Jaeger, Arlert, and the entire team, could thank their captain for their win today.

You step onto the field with a wide grin as you watch Levi’s team wrangle him into the middle of their circle and toss him up in the air unceremoniously. You almost want to capture the moment for yourself, but to your left, Hange is already recording a video you’re certain Levi would threaten to have deleted.

Most of the mob had fizzled away after the exciting win, leaving behind the team themselves, and a couple of students—likely friends or family of the athletes. After their final huddle, the boys begin to dissipate, greet the remaining crowd. Hange leaves you to badger Erwin, who had been sitting out due to an injury.

You spot Levi carefully picking up his duffel bag, and take the opportunity to run up to him, encase in a sudden and warm hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Levi has but a moment’s notice to secure his hands around your back and steady your bodies, lest you both fall to the ground from your uncoordinated momentum.

“You played so well!” you exclaim, pulling back from your hug, but keeping your palms on his shoulders, bouncing excitedly, “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good! You’ve never played like that before!”

Levi admits to tuning out your praise in favor of drinking in your appearance. The green of his away jersey looks good against your skin, the fabric somewhat loose on your frame. His eyes trail down to the sleeve, a minuscule smirk growing on his lips as he reads his last name in all capital letters underneath his number.

“Come on, Hange and I are taking you guys out for lunch!” your words snap him back to reality, “Anything you want, it’s on me, Captain.”

Levi rolls his tongue against his inner cheek. That’s a promise he’d have to take you up on later. For now, he plays along with your childlike enthusiasm, agreeing to your plans.

He motions for the two of you to get going, but his stride is blocked when you refuse to move from in front of him. Instead, you let your hands crawl from his shoulder to his neck, fingers tickling the hairs at his nape, before you pull him forward into a gentle kiss.

“You really were great, Levi,” you tell him again, pressing another kiss to his lips sweetly.

Levi hums, indulging you one more time, before he hears gasps and not-so-subtle exclamations of “Captain has a girlfriend?!” coming from his annoying teammates. He scoffs when he pulls back to see Jaeger looking at him with his mouth open so wide he could catch flies.

“You’re kind of ruining my reputation,” Levi tells you, but there’s no real bark to his tone.

It’s your turn to scoff, slowly trailing your hands down his arms, and eventually back to your side. You turn and the both of you begin to walk, not before you note, “You ruined your own reputation when you invited me and Hange here.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Hey!” you whine, frown deepening as Levi chuckles at you, “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.” 

Levi doesn’t stop laughing, but gently wraps his arms around your shoulder as the both of you follow behind Hange and Erwin, and back to your car. 

“Don’t think your unusual displays of affection are going to make me forgive you,” you pout, but reach your hand to wrap your fingers around his anyways; Levi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk, “I don’t care if you scored the winning goal or not, just for that, I’m only buying you one appetizer.”

Levi hums noncommittally. That’s fine, he could think of at least three other things he would rather you do for him instead when you both got home. With and without that jersey on.

[pepsi-maxwell]

more wrestle derby au, featuring matt jackson inviting wardlow to go park skating (euphemistically ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) with him because like i said, indulgent aus are for crack ships, i rest my case.

rating: g

wordcount: ~1000

---

"Oh god my body's broken-"

"-think my bruises have bruises-"

"-how long until the next jam? Please say we're up against the Best Friends, some easy team, for the love of-"

Matt's mostly tuned out everyone's complaints as they skate off the track. He's pretty sore himself; fell right on top of Kyle's wheels at one point so he's limping a little, gonna have one hell of a purple shin, but he managed to do some good offense against Cash, created a path for Adam to get through, so he's happy with that.

And sure, they still lost abysmally, but now that they've gone up against the Pinnacle and the House of Black, they've pretty much covered all of the really heavy hitters, which means the next few rounds should be less intense.

"Uh. Hey. You got a minute?"

He pivots smoothly on his back wheels, all those freestyle skate sessions coming in handy. Comes face to face with the big guy himself. Wardog. Alone. The rest of his team are over by their bench on the other side of the hall, including their pissy looking captain, finally out of the sin-bin. Which makes this capital-i Interesting, and very much worthy of his attention.

"Just wanted to say, good game, and... hope I didn't bump you too hard out there?" he says, holding out his palm tentatively.

He wants to hate him for how impeccable he looks, like he's barely broke a sweat, whereas Matt feels (and probably smells) like he's been dumped in the Everglades, but. Honestly, he looks like a big puppy dog, just... so earnest, and he can't be mean to a face like that.

So he bumps the plastic of their wristguards together in a facsimile of a high five. "Nothing bruised but my pride," he says cheerfully, if only because he can see Kyle glaring at him, probably for fraternising with the 'enemy', like that even matters outside a jam. "There was no stopping you out there! Even if I'd got lower to block, you could have just stepped right over me."

And, hmm.

Isn't that an interesting thought.

Wardog rubs his helmet, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I mean, you got some good offense in, and your form was really good-"

"-oh yeah, I do so many squats off-skates, you wouldn't believe," he agrees, preening slightly because it's true! His form is perfect, and it's good that someone notices! "But still, you're, like, unstoppable as a jammer! You know, you should really do it more often."

He really shouldn't be putting ideas in the guy's head; trying to block him in a single jam had been bad enough. At least the Pinnacle's usual jammer is a similar size to the rest of Matt's team and easier to hold in place. Even if he is a filthy, filthy cheater who plays dirtier than the Elite at their absolute worst.

But still. There's something about this guy that has him wanting to return the compliment. He just seems so... nice. And big. And a little hot, maybe? Hard to tell with the mouth guard and the helmet, but he's gotten good at judging attractiveness under people's gear, so.

"Honestly?" he says, like he's imparting some deep, well-hidden secret. "I hate jamming. Too much endurance. I'm much better at doing offense, or stopping someone else." Matt wonders how much of that's actually truth, and how much is Mr Penalty Box not wanting to share the limelight.

And he could make a dirty remark about endurance, but Wardog's just lapped the Elite about six times with ease, so it'd be more an insult to himself. "Huh. Can't relate!" Is what he says instead, because he genuinely can't; doesn't understand how someone wouldn't enjoy sailing past the opposing team like the biggest, most smug asshole on on the planet. So much fun. If Matt was Wardog's size, with that much agility, he'd jam full time. Maybe even the national team, dude's wasted at a regional Sur5al tournament.

They're interrupted by the Chairman calling out Wardog's name, his real one, probably to talk strategy for whoever they're up against next, and Matt decides to make his most impulsive decision of the day (so far).

"Hey, do you park skate?" he asks, already having an idea of the answer because he's pretty sure he's seen this guy before at his local bowl. One of the benefits of regional tournaments, at least, everyone's pretty local. Follows up Wardog's nod of confirmation with, "Cool! I'm on the social media page for the tournament; look for Matt Jackson, you'll know it's me. Hit me up and we should totally go skate sometime!"

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I'll. Definitely do that. Listen, I should head back to my team, but I'll... send you a message?" he says, with the tiniest pink tinge to his cheeks that says he actually will, and honestly, he's way cuter than he has any right to be, which means there's a decent chance that Matt's going to message him first.

To skate.

Definitely.

Just skating. Nothing else.

He watches him cross the empty track, eyes on one very specific spot as Nick ploughs to a stop beside him.

"Matt, I swear to god, you better not be hitting on the guy whose team just tore us a new one-"

He shouldn't go for it. It's the most obvious thing he could say but it's also going to annoy the hell out of Nick, so he can't not. Smirks and says, "Oh, he can tear me a new one any time."

"One of these days, I am going to kill you so hard-"

Matt rolls his eyes and pushes off with a toe stop. "Yeah, yeah, just save it for when Kenny's back. You still need me for the tournament."

Grabs the helmet cover with the star for their next match up, making the unanimous decision to play jammer because he's got someone to show off to now, and by god he is going to shine.

---

fun fact helmet covers used to be called panties because of course they were 🙃

[heliads]

The Football Player (Part Two)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you’re also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

part one / masterlist

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure that the last couple of days have actually happened. Bucky Barnes, star football player and receiver of about a thousand crushes from all of the girls at your college, asked you out? If you’d heard that a week ago, you would have laughed, but it’s real. All of it. 

Your friend was over the moon when you told her. She had grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away to some isolated corner of the campus so you could go over everything, detail by detail. Honestly, she might have a bigger lot in this date than you, and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure that the high pitch of her excited scream upon hearing the news could shatter glass, or possibly just your eardrums.

Now, all you have left to do is plan out exactly what you’re going to wear and do on this date. You’d asked Bucky what you’d be doing, but he’d just winked and said that he had a plan. You’re not entirely sure what that means, but the excited grin tugging at his lips had convinced you that it was going to be absolutely perfect, just like him. Just like the idea that he loved you and you loved him, and everything was going to be alright.

In the end, you meet him in the late afternoon, just before the golden hour of dusk when everything takes on an additional shade of rose and mystery. Bucky had picked you up outside your dorm, driving you off campus to a spot he’d picked out earlier. You had your doubts beforehand, half convincing yourself that none of this was real and it would end up being a study date or something, but the look in his eyes when he saw you coming out was like none you’d ever seen before. Either he’s an amazing actor, or he’s truly head over heels for you. When he presents you with a hand-picked bouquet of flowers, you’re pretty sure it’s the latter.

Now you sit beside him in his car, watching him tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you wait for the red light to turn green. You feel like you have an entire storm of butterflies making themselves a home in your stomach, but you’re too excited to even think about turning back.

Eventually, Bucky comes to a stop in a parking lot that’s more gravel and sand than asphalt, helping you out and into the fading sunshine. A light breeze toys at your face as you look around you, recognizing the wind-washed slats of a nearby boardwalk. You turn to Bucky with a smile as he holds up a slightly battered notebook the size of a cell phone. “I’ve got it all planned out here. First, we walk around the shops, then we get ice cream at the place down the block, and then we can head down to the beach until it’s too dark to see anything.”

You can’t help but laugh, letting the sound ripple away from you, carried away by the breeze. “I’m impressed. You planned all of this out?” Bucky nods, tapping the notebook against his hands. “It’s Steve’s notebook, actually, but this was a very important occasion so I borrowed it.” You raise an eyebrow, unable to hide a grin. “You stole your friend’s notebook for the date?” Bucky loops an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the boardwalk. “I had to make sure everything was perfect. I’m sure he won’t notice.”

In the end, it turns out that the sacrifice of Steve’s notebook is indeed for a worthy cause- Bucky has planned out every detail, every shop. You find yourself laughing harder than you have in a long time, watching as the setting sun brings out copper highlights in Bucky’s hair and eyes that you never noticed before. He seems reluctant to let go of his touch on your arm, choosing instead to escort you around like a proper gentleman. You can’t find it in yourself to have a problem with this.

Later, when you feel like you must have walked miles up and down the time-worn wooden slats and poked your head inside every small antiques shop and brightly-postered tourist trap, Bucky points out the ice cream store at the very end. It’s such a walk from the entrance that not many visitors have taken the arduous journey down to its front stoop, but Bucky swears by it and so the two of you slip inside, smiling at the bright ring of the bell affixed to the door.

The chill of the air conditioning, albeit arriving only in irregular cycles, is a welcome balm and you enjoy the simple feeling of Bucky’s hand linked around yours as you peruse the menus taped to the walls before ordering. The two of you take seats outside underneath a striped awning, watching the other beachgoers play on the sands below. When he attempts to steal a bite of your ice cream, you fend him away with your spoon, imagining the defending swoops of plastic against plastic to be the clash of metal swords in an all too crucial duel. 

Once the sun has begun to slide beneath the horizon, you walk with him down to the beach, slipping off your shoes and holding them in your hand. The feeling of the cool waves against your feet soothes the dim heat of the sand, and you let the night breeze cool your temples. Bucky picks you up, twirling you around in the air before kissing you. You can taste the salt air on every breath, and you can’t help but hope that this night will never end.

Eventually, however, the sky darkens from rose to indigo to inky black, and stars begin to spangle themselves across the horizons. You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually one well-cursed yawn tears itself from your lungs and Bucky holds out his arms, ready to take you home. You lean against him as you walk, letting your head slump against his shoulder. You feel him press a kiss to your head, and curl into him a little more.

You’re only a few feet from the parking lot when things take a turn for the worst. Perhaps the universe sensed that things were going too well for you tonight, and wanted to balance out the scales. Regardless, when you see the silhouettes of a few rival football players emerge from the shadows of the closed-down shops, you can’t help but know that this won’t end well.

You go to Mid-Capital University, home of the Avengers, and if there’s one thing you know it’s that the MCU football team has a long and lasting rivalry with Pierce University, home of the Hydras. Most colleges have rivals, that much is true, but there’s nothing like this one. You’ve heard stories of the Hydras crossing fans of your school and giving them trouble, or breaking into the MCU locker rooms to steal gear and damage property. Judging by the look in the eyes of the Hydras in front of you, they both recognize Bucky as a star player on the team they hate and are eager for retribution for their latest loss.

Bucky recognizes them too, and you feel him stiffen beside you. His arm gently unlaces itself from yours, guiding you to stand slightly behind him. He speaks to the football players, making sure to keep his voice light. “Hey, boys. Mind if we pass through?” The leader of the pack, Brock Rumlow, steps forward. “Afraid not, Barnes. We’ve got unfinished business.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, brow furrowing. “We don’t want trouble, not tonight. Let us through.” Brock folds his arms across his chest. “What, you don't want to get into a fight in front of your girl? Too bad, Barnes. We’ve been waiting for this for a while.” Bucky turns to face you, jaw already set. “Get to the car, now. I’ll be right behind you.” You don’t hesitate, taking in the determined look in his eyes as the rival football players draw ever closer, and dodge around the Hydras to get back to the parking lot. They let you go, but they do eye you in a way that makes you pull your arms closer around yourself.

Once you make it back to the parking lot and stand anxiously by the car, you find that you don’t know what to do. There were only a couple of them, and Bucky’s stronger than them by far, but the odds are definitely against him. You don’t think any of Bucky’s friends on the MCU football team would arrive in time to help him, and Bucky specifically told you to get to safety, so you can’t involve yourself. Besides, you dressed for a cute date, not a fight. You’re not sure your shoes would support you against football players whose biceps are the size of your head.

This being said, you hate the idea of just standing here and waiting to see what happens, so you pick your way back through the line of cars to see what’s going on. From the first glance, it looks bad. Bucky’s managing to hold his own, but there’s only so much you can do when the fight is three to one. As you watch, one of them brings his leg down hard on Bucky’s left arm. Even from here, you can see that the impact is brutal, and hear the groan of pain echo across the empty boardwalk.

You must have made some sort of sound, maybe a gasp of horror, because Bucky’s eyes fly to you. They linger on you for a second, and then a new wave of determination floods through them, and he stands back up again to take on the football players once more. As you draw closer, you almost trip on a large rock next to your foot. A sudden idea enters your head, and you pick it up, tossing it once or twice in your palm before launching it at one of the football players. It hits his hand hard, and you can hear the impact of stone against bone even from where you stand. 

The Hydra grimaces in pain, turning towards you in a mixture of rage and surprise. Bucky takes advantage of his sudden distraction to hit him one last time. The Hydras look at each other, taking in the bruises and weakened arms already lacing their features, and without another word, take off into the night. The second they’re gone, you run over to Bucky, eyes flying to the way he hugs his left arm as if it’s been seriously hurt.

Bucky just laughs, the sound echoing off into the night and rattling off of the closed shops. “You have good aim, doll. Maybe you should try out for the team too.” You smile at that, although you can’t shake the worry knotting in your gut. “What about your arm? What if it’s really hurt and you can’t play?” Bucky considers it, moving it stiffly back and forth, then shakes his head. “I think it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Y/N, I’m more worried about you. All my planning for a perfect date and you had to see that.”

You scoff, surprising yourself. “I’m not a delicate daisy, I can see a fight and move on. I wasn’t the one who had to fight off three guys at once.” Bucky manages a grin, brimming over in a mixture of surprise and pride. “Maybe so. I’m not intending on doing it again any time soon, though.” You tilt your head to the side. “I’d hope not.”

The two of you end up driving home, and you let Bucky into your dorm through the empty hallways so you can see to his arm. It ends up being fine, just requiring a few bandages to keep it in place so it can heal properly. The mixture of gray doctor’s tape and bandages reflects off the light, making it look like it’s almost made of metal. You look up at him, worried. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

Bucky smiles, gently touching the side of your face with his good arm. “I’m sure of it. I’ve got you to look after me, don’t I?” You let yourself smile at that. “You do indeed.” Maybe it’ll hurt him a little longer, maybe it won’t. You intend to stay by his side to see it through.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise​

[jewish-space-laser]

ok i have an idea for a cbl blurb? could u do a blurb from harry’s pov from the night where he got drunk and how he felt when he saw yn and stuff? ik it already happened but i think seeing it from his viewpoint would be interesting!

Could be Lethal - Part Three (Harry’s POV)

“And every time I’ve held a rose, It seems I only felt the thorns, And so it goes, and so it goes, And so will you soon I suppose...”

– And So It Goes, Billie Joel

HELLO EVERYONE! It’s been months since I’ve posted anything on here, but I randomly got the motivation to pick this up last week. I apologize in advance for my rusty writing skills! This ask has literally been sitting in my inbox for 10 months, so posting it actually feels quite cleansing. Anyway, here is a (long) blurb full of angst, angst, and you guessed it, angst! I hope you love Harry’s take of that night as much as I do. I love you all muchly, thank you for your ongoing love and support <3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxooox Tile

(3.8k word)

You and Harry were friends, with a capital ‘F’. Yeah, you’ve been sleeping in his bed for the past two months, and maybe your entire nervous system goes into hyperdrive when you’re in the same room, but that’s normal, right?

or

The one where you and Harry have an arrangement… of the cuddling sort.

 See the CBL masterlist here!

WARNING: Detailed descriptions of heavy drinking

~~~

It was bullshit. It was all bullshit. 

Harry was miserable. He knew it, his friends knew it, his family knew it… it seemed the only person who wasn’t picking up on his desperation was you. 

You were a complete enigma to him. Sometimes, you were the warmest, most open person he’d ever met, indulging him with interesting conversations, stupid jokes, and even the occassional existential discussion. It was always difficult for Harry to truly open up to a person, having been jaded time and time again by people who weren’t able to look past his famous exterior. 

That’s what makes it so much harder, he thinks. Knowing you properly, you knowing him properly. It made the moments where you were closed off harsher, colder, more difficult to read. 

Since you left his house two days prior, he had done just about anything he could to take his mind off of you. He loved thinking about you, but he also hated thinking about you. It was tortuous and circular and he just wanted a brief moment of emotional respite. 

No, he didn’t want respite, he needed it. 

So he watched all three Lord of the Rings movies in a row, tested out a new stir fry recipe, spent way too much money online shopping, and even scrolled through the Humane Society website in a moment of weakness. But none of it mattered, because even if he could distract himself for a moment, you were still there, lingering in the peripherals of his mind like a song stuck in his head. 

It was dizzying and mind-boggling, and Harry was at a loss for what to do. So when Sunday morning rolled around and it still felt like his lungs were being crushed into a ball, he started drinking. 

It was only 8:00AM, but he bypassed the coffee cabinet and went straight to the fridge, pulling out a chilled bottle of champagne. The pop of the cork was as loud as a gunshot, but Harry didn’t even flinch, hardly registering the sound of it hitting the floor across the room as he rushed the bottle to his lips. 

Bubbles fizzed past his tongue and dripped down his chin, sliding down his bare chest before puddling on the floor. He had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly at the burn of the carbonation, but each gulp sent pleasant tingles over his skin. 

For the first time in ages, his mind felt numb. He didn’t necessarily feel good, but he didn’t feel miserable anymore, and that’s what mattered. He could close his eyes without seeing your smile flash in his head, he could listen to music without immediately relating the lyrics to you, and after his second bottle of wine, he was even able to brew a cup of coffee without thinking of you. 

Okay, maybe he thought of you a little. 

At some point, he passed out on the couch, cartons of Vietnamese takeout sitting cold on his coffee table. When his eyes finally blinked open, the sun had already started to set.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. There was a familiar ache pulsing behind his eyes, and he groaned loudly into his empty house. It never used to feel empty, but now you’d come and gone, and it was too late. You’d left your mark on his house and his coffee and his heart… so he drank more. 

There was no more wine, so he started in on his collection of hard liquor, expensive bottles lined on top of his cupboards. Normally they were reserved for when he had guests over, but this fell into the realm of desperation. His sunken eyes scanned the glass bottles before settling on the cheapest of them, an unopened Maker’s Mark. It would do. 

He was pouring a healthy sized glass of the whisky, and then suddenly he wasn’t. His heavy eyes blinked in confusion as he stared across the bar at the bartender, who was raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

“That’ll be thirty-five pounds, mate,” the bartender said, “got roped into buying the first round, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry grunted, glancing over his shoulder to see Thomas and Jessie watching him from a booth. 

He doesn’t remember leaving his house, let alone coming to the pub with his friends. In fact, if he tried to think about it, his memory of the entire day felt fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. 

In his mind, this was a success. A full day gone without thinking about you or talking to you or seeing you. The clock behind the bar read 00:43 in red neon numbers. He took one of the shots quickly, signing the bill and taking the remaining five back to his friends. 

“Harry mate, we told you we’re not getting pissed tonight,” Thomas groaned, “what’d you get six shots for?”

“What kind are they?” Jessie asked, wrinkling their nose. 

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, setting the tray down directly in front of himself. His vision swayed to and fro, but he still managed to down another shot, disregarding the concerned look his friends shared. “It’s rum. If you don’t want any, that’s fine.”

“It’s a Sunday, mate,” Thomas reminded him gently.

“We’re at a pub, aren’t we?” Harry slurred. “Supposed to get drunk here.”

“You asked us to come here,” Jessie said slowly, “said you needed to talk to us about something.”

Harry blinked at them slowly, swaying slightly in his seat. He didn’t remember any of this. 

“Actually, he said he needed a drink,” Thomas corrected, “I didn’t realize he meant twenty drinks.”

Another shot burned down his throat, and then everything was cold. 

“Harry.”

His head was pounding. Every limb felt heavy. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes, already overwhelmed by the echo of Thomas’s voice reverberating off of the tile floors. 

“Harry.”

He knew that somebody was trying to get his attention, but he just couldn’t. The alcohol had done its job for most of the day, keeping his brain muddled down and diluted just to spare him the pain of remembering. But now, it backfired, trapping him inside his own head with no way out, with nothing to do but remember. He could hear people talking in the background, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was as if he was underwater, slipping further and further down with each painful clench of his heart.

He felt a hand press against his arm, and jerked away, causing his stomach to twist. He didn’t want to be here anymore, and he certainly didn’t want to be bothered. 

“G’way, Thomas,” he managed to grunt. 

“It’s me.”

Your voice was clear as crystal to him, but he knew it couldn’t be real. You had left him, after all.

The image of you driving away from his house was burned into his memory, playing over and over again in slow motion. If he thought hard enough, he could even remember the way your body had felt beneath his, whining and squirming and gasping, just like he’d always dreamed about. He could remember the sunken expression on your face the next morning, the heavy silence of the car ride to the coffee shop. He could remember how he’d hoped, so badly, that you’d finally talk about it, this unspoken connection that could no longer be denied. Most of all, he remembers the way his heart dropped when you told him that you didn’t remember any of it.

Another gentle brush, this time along his hairline, and he managed to open his eyes just a sliver. 

You looked amazing. Well, there were circles under your eyes, you were wearing your pajamas and slippers, and you were frowning in concern, but to Harry, you were the most beautiful thing. 

 “You’re here… y’really here….” he sighed. 

You were crouched in front of him, holding a plastic cup of water, and all he wanted to do was pull you into his chest. You looked sleepy and cosy, just like you always did when you stayed over. Before he could reach out to pull you close, you were putting the rim of the cup against his bottom lip.

He took it, grateful for the relief it provided his dry mouth. For the first time since he came to, he took in his surroundings. He was in a single stall bathroom, curled on the floor next to the toilet. The walls were an ugly pale yellow, while the floors were white, making the streaks of dirt and grime more noticeable than ever. Thomas was leaning against the sink across the room, watching you as you tried to get him to finish the cup. 

“Y’look so pretty, always look so good,” Harry slurred, “just wanna snuggle, like we always do.”

He loved the way your mouth dropped open. Everything about you was endearing, really. He watched as you twisted your head to say something to Thomas, water sloshing around in the cup when you nodded your head quickly. Thomas left immediately after, but Harry hardly even noticed. 

When you turned back around to face him, he felt blinded. Despite the dark circles under your eyes, they’re bright and they pierce through him just like always. He loves the color of your skin and the shape of your nose and the little crease that forms between your eyebrows when you’re anxious. He thinks he could probably paint you with his eyes closed. 

Warmth licked across his skin when you brushed your fingertips against his forehead, tucking a stray lock of hair back into place. Harry leaned into your touch, unwilling to let the moment pass too quickly. 

“Can you try taking a sip of water, H?” You tilted your head. “For me?”

He could have laughed, had he not been so nauseated. He would do anything for you normally, but he really did feel awful. “G’na make me sick,” he insisted, wrinkling his nose at the cup in your hand. Even though he could hardly focus, his eyes zeroed in on the faded X scrawled in sharpie on the back of your hand, a souvenir from your night out at TAVERN. He had a matching mark on his hand, and he dreaded the moment the ink would wash off fully. Just another thing forgotten.

He just wanted you.  

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the look on your face told him that it had slipped out. There was no way he regretted it though, not with you right in front of him. Not in this state of mind. 

“It’s gonna make you feel better, and then we can go home,” you urged softly, scooting a tiny bit closer to him.

Home. When he thought of home, he thought about mornings in his house, sunlight filtering in through the blinds and leaving shadowed stripes across your skin. Home was the way you squinted your eyes tighter together right before waking up. Home was you at his kitchen table, going off at him about not doing his dishes. 

“Y’coming home w’me?” He managed to say. Your eyes softened.

“Only if you drink this whole cup,” you lifted it up to him once again, gingerly tilting his head up with a finger on his chin. Even though he felt like his stomach would combust if tried to swallow anything, he allowed you to help him drink some water. Some sloshed messily onto his shirt, but it felt sobering. You met his eyes for a moment, “is that good?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

If you asked him to drink water, he would drink water. He would drink an entire ocean of water. It was achingly clear to literally everybody but you. He could tattoo your name over his heart and you still wouldn’t see.

You gulped loudly, but didn’t say a word, simply prompting him to take another sip of water. He wished more than anything that you’d say something. Make some kind of facial expression. He just wanted a signal, a sign, that you felt anything towards him; disgust, affection, pity. 

He was sure you must pity him. 

Harry drank the rest of the water, cheeks burning as he asked you for a refill. He was still drunk, but the fog had cleared enough for him to sit up straight without feeling like he was going to hurl. He watched you refill the cup in the sink that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades, but that was honestly the least of his concerns. 

“Y’must think I’m pathetic,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back against the wall. “Can’t lose you.”

“You haven’t lost me,” he heard you say quietly.

But it felt like he had. Because even though you were friends, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fall asleep to the sound of your soft exhales. It wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t feel that rush of excitement when you sneakily texted him under the table on nights out. Having you at a distance could never be enough. 

“Harry…” you sighed, rubbing your eyes, “why did you drink so much tonight?”

If your obliviousness hadn’t been so devastating, he would have laughed. How could you sit here with him, look into his eyes, and not see that his heart was entirely in your hands? How could he explain anything to you if you hadn’t already seen it?

So he wouldn’t try. Not right now. 

He mustered up the strength to push up onto his knees, managing to stand up fully with your steady grip on his arms. He took one shaky step as his head spun, and felt your arms snake around his waist to keep him balanced. Without even thinking about it, he wrapped his arm over your shoulder, reveling in the feeling of having you so close as you helped him out of the toilet. 

You brought him to a stop in the main room by the bar, and he couldn’t help but bury his nose into the top of your head. You smelled just like you always did. It had only been a few nights, but your scent was already fading on his bedsheets. 

“Y’smell like lavender,” he hummed, squeezing your arm lightly, “s’like you’re tryin; t’torture me…. So pretty.”

It really was torture, having you hold onto him as you both walked out of the pub. You were distracting, with your warm skin and soft hands. Each step was difficult; his feet were heavy as anvils and he just wanted to curl up right here on the sidewalk. 

Just as he was considering plopping down on the pavement, he heard the familiar beep of your car opening. He closed his eyes once he was sat in the passenger seat, feeling you fuss over his seatbelt. He flinched slightly when you slid a cold water bottle between his knees.

Harry blinked, and then suddenly you were buckled in behind the steering wheel, poking his arm and peering at him with tired eyes. “Can you stay awake for me, H? Just till we get to your house, okay?”

“Y’coming to my house?”

You were so good to him, all the time. By the looks of your attire, you were ready to be in bed hours ago, yet here you were, patient as ever.

“Yes, I’m taking you home,” you said through a yawn. 

“Miss having you at my house,” Harry exhaled. He didn’t even know what he was saying really, just the same thoughts and memories circling through his mind like planets around the sun, all them centered on you. “My sheets don’t smell like you anymore.”

Suddenly, he felt hot all over. His trousers were too scratchy against his skin, his palms felt clammy, and the longer you stayed silent on the other side of the car, his stomach started turning. In an effort to cool off and calm down, he let his head fall against the window, the cool glass soothing his skin. 

Drunk or not, he was trying to tell you how he feels, he was constantly trying to tell you how he feels… and you didn’t say a word. You never did. It was so frustrating that he found himself biting back tears. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, you cleared your throat. “You can’t…” your voice cracked, “you can’t say things like that, Harry. It hurts me when you say things like that.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Harry managed to say. “But it’s the truth.”

He was so confused. How on earth could you be hurting when he was sitting here with his arms wide open? Was he so repulsive that the mere thought of being with him caused you pain, somehow?

He was too drunk for this. 

Luckily, you seemed to be on the wavelength. “Let’s just… not talk,” you said, shoulders slumped. 

Harry was feeling awfully dejected himself. He’d spent the last few days trying to cope with his complicated feelings, and now he was back at square one. Every time he thought he knew where the two of you stood, you would say something vague and he would start all over. Your relationship was like a house of cards; delicate, fragile, and knocked to the ground with the slightest shift, the tiniest gust of wind. 

The headache started out small, but by the time you pulled your car into Harry’s driveway, he was feeling like he might keel over. Somehow, he was simultaneously drunk and hungover. If he was going to make it up the stairs to his room, he was going to need something in his stomach, and water that wasn’t from a pub bathroom.

It was humiliating enough that he’d needed you to help him from the car, but upon entering his house, he nearly kicked his shoe through the living room window, grumbling about toast. He knew he’d been less than impressive tonight, but perhaps this was what you needed -- seeing him at rock bottom -- to finally open up and have a real conversation about what you could be. 

When he woke up in the morning, he would be sober, and he would be ready. He would make you coffee like he always does, and maybe he’d even run out and pick up fresh pastries.

“Want some toast,” he said, though he was fairly certain he’d said it once already. 

You were standing in front of him, toes just inches apart, and it felt instinctive to place his hands on your waist and pull you in. The silk pajama top you were wearing was cool against his hands, but he could feel the heat of your skin underneath, the frantic thumping of your heart against your ribcage tickling his fingertips.

Your hands were on his shoulders to keep him steady, but he was suddenly feeling more sober than he had all night. All day, really. 

Harry slid his hands further behind you, locking together behind your back. Having you close felt incredible. It hadn’t even been three days since he last saw you, yet every atom in his body was craving your touch.

“You, um,” he felt your shaky whale against his collar bone, “you have to let go of me if you want me to make you toast.”

Letting go of you felt physically impossible, so instead, Harry dipped his head down and rested his forehead against yours. The anticipation was excruciating as he waited for you to do what you always did: sink into his arms, wrap yourself around him, soothe him to sleep with the weight of your head on his chest.

Fissures cracked through his heart when you pushed him back, taking a single step back that may as well have been a mile. Suddenly, the air all around him felt cold, the room felt darker, the silence felt louder. He took a deep breath in, but still felt like he was suffocating.

“Do you really not remember?”

He needed to know. He had done everything in his power to think about anything else, but had somehow ended up here, standing face to face with you. He wonders if this is how it was supposed to be, if throwing you together over and over again was the universe’s ultimate plan, if all of this misery would be worth it in the end. 

He’d experienced heartbreak before, but this was something else. And when you choked out, “Harry, please don’t make me say it,” in the smallest voice he’d ever heard you use, he knew that he could write millions of records about the pain of this moment, and still never do it justice.

“You remember, don’t you?”

All you did was nod your head once, but he suddenly felt drained. Maybe it was the full day of heavy, reckless drinking… or maybe it was the realization that things really might not work out. He still wanted to try, though. Even though you’d left the other day, there were countless other times you had stayed. For months you’d been coming over in secret, coming out of your shell and showing him how amazing you really were. That had to count for something; there had to be a reason. 

Coffee. He would make coffee in the morning and the two of you would fix everything. 

“Should we head to bed? ‘S getting kind of late, y’must be exhausted.”

You really did look tired, your eyes rimmed with red from yawning over and over, back hunched and shoulders slumped. He was feeling knackered himself, and was more than ready for this night to be over.

“Actually… I think I’m gonna head back home,” you gulped. Harry felt like he’d been slapped, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. It’s as if you’d turned to sand; there one moment and slipping through his fingers the next.

“You don’t want to stay?” Harry tried to keep his voice even, but even he could hear how it wavered. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying.

“I just… have to go home,” you said, looking everywhere but at him. 

He waited for you to say something else, but instead watched as you hoisted your purse further up onto your shoulder and walked out the door. Shell shocked, he stood there frozen, even as your headlights disappeared down the street. 

A long breath blew past his lips as he finally moved to lock his front door, any hope of you walking back through it dashed by the way you’d walked out for a second time. 

Harry likely would have benefited from a glass of water and pain medication, but with a buzzing brain and a shattered heart, all he could manage was to pass out on the couch fully clothed, dreaming about what might have been if you had just stayed.  

~~~

As always, let me know what you think! I love talking to you <3 xoxoxoxox Tile

[stab-the-son-of-a]

And We’re Live

“This ought to be fun.”

The man, the being, the figure, doesn’t introduce himself, of course not. He needs no introductions, not because he’s notable or particularly renowned, but because he refuses to. You may call him the announcer, capital and article optional, as that’s what he is, and all he will be. 

The Announcer adjusts the display on the screen for the optimal viewing experience. On it is a dim, possibly damp even, basement, with a small crowd of people huddled inside. Three is company, but four is a crowd, and this collection of people is certainly a crowd crammed inside. 

Three men, one woman, but only one of the men stands. He’s one of the only ones who can, as one man is clearly too weak to, and the other, the older man, has a broken leg. The woman could stand, but her faint wavering even while sitting down belies the fact her balance is not yet restored from the head injury that left a streak of blood dried in her hair.

“You recognize these, don’t you?” The Announcer asks. He asks you, in fact. You can’t recall the color of his eyes, the tone of his skin, or anything, though you can recognize his attentions on you even through the screen. “Yes. You. It’s been some time since you’ve last seen or heard from them, but I’m sure you remember.” 

The Announcer smiles. It appears, a flash of expression, but you can’t remember the emotion behind it or recognize any other feature of his before he fades away in your mind again to nothing more than a vehicle of your entertainment. He knows this. He is not the star. Your gaze slips back toward the more interesting people. Thom nods off, cradled against Dale’s side opposite to Jaden, and Summer is half hidden behind Dale’s bulk. Half, because her focus, even as fuzzy as the concussion leaves her, never wavers from Jaden. Focus, and wariness.

“When last you saw the unfortunate guests of the Pierce couple, they were not enjoying their stay. I’d wager they enjoy it less and less as the days pass. How long?” The Announcer laughs. It’s as unremarkable, and unmemorable as the rest of him. He answers his own question. “Long enough, let us say. Such trivial matters don’t lessen your enjoyment of the main event, does it?”

You feel like maybe the announcer winks, inviting you in on some inside joke or exclusive club.

On the screen, Jaden Pierce towers over a floor-bound Dale Gibson, an ugly smirk on his features, and dangles a water bottle in front of them. 

The Announcer speaks a final time. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your show, my whump aficionados.”

Jaden slowly uncaps the bottle, the seal crackling being the loudest thing in the room. Preening under the cumulative weight of his captives’ stares, he asks, “Aw did you guys want any? There’s only one bottle and really it’s like, unsanitary as hell and super nasty to share so. Take your pick, babes, which of you is desperate enough to earn it?”

“Go to hell you bastard,” Summer croaks. Clearing her throat, she glares, as if that would cow him. Instead, it seems to encourage him, a smirk growing on his face.

Jaden rolls his eyes at the display. “Ooooh I’m so scared.”

“Please. You can’t mess with this like you have our food,” Dale reasons. “We can’t last as long without water. I’ll- I won’t eat. Just please, they need water.”

“Pretty sure you’re showing every sign of dehydration too, so why aren’t you arguing for more water for all of you?” Jaden shifts the bottle to hold it in the crook of his arm before he crouches down and cups Dale’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “Oh that didn’t occur to you, did it? Look at those eyes. Anyone ever tell you that you got eyes that tell a story?”

Dale doesn’t justify that with a response, setting his jaw and silently returning Jaden’s curious stare with a furious glower. 

“Get your disgusting hands off him,” Summer snarls. Jaden’s attention flickers to her, and Dale immediately moves to reach out for Jaden’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing their gazes together once more. Or at least, it did, but surprise has Jaden jerking back from the contact, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Unsure of what to do with his hand, or if his impulsive action just ruined any hope of good will from their captor, Dale slowly withdraws his hand back to cover Summer from Jaden’s potential retribution. 

After a few more tense moments, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, or come to some sort of decision.

“Jesus H Christ but you’re boring these days,” Jaden grumbles half-heartedly, but he does shove Dale back. The older man tips, just barely catching himself from dragging an semi-conscious Thom to the floor with him. Noticing the fact Thom barely reacted to the motion, the young man stands back up and takes a few curious steps to the side, an odd expression on his face as he studies his collection from a new angle, and especially the branded man. “So… Uh. What’s up with Thommy boy? He seems a little... not poggers.”

“You branded him,” Dale points out evenly, forcing his panic down. “He needs proper medical attention.” 

“Well, yeah, he got branded sure, but Sunshine there looks right as rain after her little Jack and Jill impression down the stairs, and she didn’t even need anything. So why hasn’t he gotten over it yet?”

“He’s starving,” Dale explains, right as Summer snarls, “Are you really that dumb?”

That’s the perfectly wrong thing to say, as Jaden flips- his eyes dark and hateful, lips twisted into a sneer, focus entirely on her now. Dale flinches back on instinct, free arm extending to block Jaden’s path to Summer. Dale knows, Summer knows, Jaden knows, that it won’t do anything concrete to stop him, but the younger man still does not advance.

Silence descends on the room, heavy and oppressive like the midday heat leaching into the basement.

Though Dale pushes her back, bodily places himself between Jaden and his two charges, Summer continues. “How could you be this... stupid? I can see your report card now. ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moron, look into McDonald’s applications’.”

Emboldened by the silence, and undeterred by the way Dale whispers for her to stop, Summer adds, “Now I know we’re going to go free. You’re going to forget something so fucking simple and get yourself in trouble. And the whole world will forget all about you, you miserable mistake of a human being.”

At the almost petulant look on Jaden’s face, Summer bursts into short, sharp laughter. “I can’t be the first to point out you’re a failure! You’re going to ruin your worthless life-”

“Be quiet,” Jaden orders. Growls. His grip on the water bottle has the plastic bloating and deforming, the flimsy packaging crinkling. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you. Do not test me.”

“You’re too incompentent to make me do anything, idiot,” Summer fires back.

“Fucking BITCH!” His shriek ends with an abrupt and solid crack.

Dale hurries to gather Summer in his arms, to check her neck and her head. A heavy, purple bruise blooms on her face and jaw even as the swelling shuts her eye. “Come on, Summer, come on,” he whispers, “just open your eyes and look at me.”

Thankfully, despite the lurid color, she is only a little unsteady and dazed and forces her clumsy arms to prop herself up properly. Swallowing a furious sob, Summer screams at Jaden’s retreating back, “You’re fucking pathetic!”

-

Three hours later, Lab Coat Lady entered the basement, flanked by Jaden bearing that damned pistol. When Dale tried to get his attention, Jaden silently raised the gun to the center of the older man’s forehead. Only when Dale slumped and allowed the woman in pink access to Thom, even as his heartbeat climbed ever faster and higher in his throat, did Jaden lower his threat. 

Sluggish and flushed with fever, Thom struggled to cooperate as the woman ordered, except for her last demand- to remain still- as she readied to pour a faint yellow liquid down his throat. She glanced up at Dale, then Summer. Quietly, she offered little explanation (“Hydrocodone”) before tipping it back, and, when Thom realized what had hit the back of his throat, she expertly covered his mouth and nose and held his jaw shut. 

Dale watched it all, feeling like Judas.

Only after his motions slowed and his eyelids drooped did the woman in pink release her hold enough to settle him onto his back. 

From there, she debrided his burn, slathered a generous amount of antiseptic cream, and bandaged the wound with a silvery material, all under Dale’s watchful eye. 

The woman approached Summer next- and again, as soon as either she or Dale moved, Jaden leveled the gun at Thom’s head. Both captives froze, a single, too long moment of realization that despite this effort, he might still decide to blast a bullet into Thom’s skull; blissfully unaware, Thom dozed in a drugged haze. 

He kept the gun trained on Thom the whole time the lab coat lady attended to Summer’s head injury, cleaning out blood from the wound and her hair. Summer, even if only for a moment, leaned into the rhythmic sensation of fingers gently carding through the freshly detangled locks. After that was settled, the pink coated woman checked her pupils and eye tracking, and apparently gave her a clean enough bill of health. Her carving on her lower stomach received the same treatment Thom’s branding had. 

The silence began to itch, like a week without a shower, and Dale clenched his fists as best as his broken wrists allowed. He just wished someone would speak and explain this abrupt change. Was it because of what Summer said? Had they gotten through to him somehow?

Dale stared at Jaden, expecting him to say something, make some sort of joke or verbalize his threat or name what they owed for this kindness. Jaden acted like Dale didn’t exist at all. It was unnerving, the same way it was unnerving to see teachers outside school hours, or parents when they were children- someone with a previous persona acting entirely differently from what one could expect of them. Unexpected was never a good sign when it came to Jaden. 

“On your back,” Lab Coat Lady directed him, pushing him back, powerless, helpless in everyway. He couldn’t defend himself on a good day, let alone stuck supine. He couldn’t even fight back as she pushed down on his chest and drew his hands away from his body. “Cooperate. Things will go smoother.”

They did. His wrists were rebandaged, and his leg braced. That simple act alone brought tears to his eyes, both from the metal pressing against the swollen flesh, and the relief of loose bone finally finding stability. Again, he tried to find Jaden’s gaze, to lock eyes and try to understand, but the man didn’t glance in his direction at all, though he had to feel the weight of his stare. 

Wiping her hands down with sanitizer again, the pungently clean smell permeating the poorly ventilated basement, Lab Coat Lady pulled out three prescription bottles. Haphazardly, Boomer, Thom1, T2, and a sun were written on the bottle lids in sharpie. The lids themselves had timers on them, presumably counting down to the next doses. Next to emerge from the bag was four more water bottles. Just as silent as Jaden had been the whole time, the pair left the basement and latched the door behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Summer whispered after a few minutes. 

“I don’t know,” Dale admitted, struggling to sit back up, even as Summer reached over and helped him to change positions. His gaze dragged back to the locked door, and his mind to the man who had walked out. He didn’t know that man at all. He hadn’t considered that sort of behavior in Jaden’s abilities. His palms began to sweat and shake as he checked the bottles left behind. 

Thom’s was more hydrocodone and an antibiotic. The instructions were clearly detailed on the side of the bottle. The same for Summer’s, another antibiotic. Dale had been… not prescribed, but given, pain relief. Tylenol-3, codeine. The bottles were light, and almost more full of air than medicine, but they contained an unimaginably heavy question within: Why.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Before the Night Ends

Dean/Castiel, 2.1k words, post-Wedding/pre-Honeymoon

ao3

It's been a wedding for the ages. Dean and Castiel finally tied the knot, with guests flying in from all across America, Heaven, Hell - even the Empty. But everything must come to an end, and after a wonderful Roadhouse reception Dean and Cas drove off in Baby and off towards their honeymoon.

Except, it's a long drive from Kansas plains to California beaches. They stop close to midnight at a motel along the highway, to sleep, celebrate their wedding night and that it's Valentine's Day, too.

           There’s a motel off Highway 70 called Angel’s Paradise, first established in the early 1900s, and last renovated in 1982. The owners back then, who remain so today, envisioned heaven as some tropical destination. That meant each room, alike in their simplicity and functionality, would be redone along these guidelines. Walls plastered with paper-print palm fronds and blooming, pink flowers. Bathrooms tiled a light blue – like waters from the clearest ocean – and little soaps shaped like shells to match the shell-patterned shower curtain. They’d have an entertainment unit housing a small television set would double as a dust collector, various ocean-themed knick-knacks cluttered atop it, ranging from homemade to store bought. A wicker table situated between two wicker chairs, a wicker dresser placed next to the entertainment unit and a wicker bed-or-beds layered by their own palm fronds, matching the walls. Finally, tying the décor together was a little (wicker) side table near the door with a plastic conch set to catch keys or loose change or cigarette ash. Given these changes, any customer might imagine they were in Florida rather then Colorado, or it was June instead of February. Especially in the crown jewel of Angel’s Paradise, the Honeymoon Suite.

           Except the Suite’s current boarders were very aware of where and when they are. Probably because they have yet to see their room for the night.

           Dean tucks his hands into his elbows, shivering outside the Suite while Cas fiddles with its doorknob. “Come on,” he whines, “what’s the hold-up?”

           Cas pauses, turning to Dean. “Sorry,” he says, “the lady at the counter – she said they were having issues since the last occupants. Something about them breaking the lock?”

           “Fuckin’ a…” Dean hisses, bouncing now. An icy wind cuts across the parking lot, Dean defenseless to it because he forwent a heavier jacket and how thin the material of his suit was. Castiel looks marginally warmer than Dean, wrapped in his trademark trench coat. Still, Dean notices how his hands tremble while holding the key. Cas’s hand flicks to the left, Dean’s gaze catching the silver band wrapped around his ring finger. One day, he may get used to it. Dean hopes he never does and can experience the same flutter of warmth rippling through his heart from seeing it. He leans into Cas, Dean dropping his head onto Cas’s shoulder. “Who do I have to pray to for this door to open?”

           “No one,” Cas declares, lock clicking in time with his words, “because it’s open!”

           Dean curses under breath, smiling. “Great,” he says, “let’s get in there, then – hey… hey!”

           Swept off his feet, Dean falls into the loving grip of his husband. Cas places one arm at his back, supporting most of the weight, while the other arm traps Dean’s knees, keeping his legs bent and Dean unable to wriggle himself free. Cas smiles down at him, laughing.

           “You think this is so funny,” Dean scowls, holding onto Cas’s tie like it were a lifeline. “You little shit –“

           “Mr. Shit, Dean,” Cas interrupts, kicking the door open and striding past the threshold, “I did take your last name, after all.”

           “My mistake…” He huffs, burying his head in Cas’s chest while he uses the fingers not squeezing Cas’s tie to comb the hairs at his husband’s neck. “Dean and Castiel Shit… I can see the monogramed towels already.” Dean closes his eyes, purring like a kitten while he absorbs the heat that radiates from Cas. It’s inhuman how much of a furnace he was, especially after giving up his grace to live as a human, to be human with Dean. Like always, Dean’s smile widens at the thought. He tries hiding his rapidly flushing face, but Cas tears Dean off of him. He ungraciously dumps Dean onto the bed, blue eyes betraying his cool demeanor as they glow with mirth from Dean’s startled squawking. “What do you think you’re doing?”

           “Going to get the bags,” he says, moving towards the door, “Why don’t you get comfortable, I’ll only be a moment.”

           Dean shakes his head, situating himself better on the bed. He sits at the foot of it, toeing off his snakeskin boots and then peeling off the dark grey dress socks he wore with them. While pulling at his tie, Cas returns with their bags. He doesn’t close the door after, and a blustery chill fills the space. Goosepimples erupt in scattered bunches up and down Dean’s arms. “Close the door!” he yells, dumping the tie onto the slowly growing pile of discarded clothing. His suit jacket joins his tie and socks and boots as Cas deposits their bags by the television. He then hits the door with his elbow, shutting out the wind. Cas gestures at the closed door with a flourish and wry grin. Dean scoffs, “Ugh, who’s bright idea was it to do this in winter?”

           “The same man who, on his birthday, said,” Cas drifts closer, helping Dean unbutton his shirt, “and I quote, ‘If you think you can propose to me and not expect us to get married as soon as possible, then you don’t know what you’re signing up for… buddy’.” Cas eases the shirt off Dean’s shoulders, kissing the exposed skin right above his t-shirt. “For the record,” Cas adds, whispering into his collarbone, “I expected it. It was one of the reasons why I couldn’t wait any longer.”

           Dean remembers. Their family, together, celebrating Dean’s birthday. His first birthday free from Chuck’s machinations, with a cake Jack spent all day baking and presents that lined the end of the table. He held Cas’s hand as he blew out the candles, mind blank because nothing he could wish for would match the happiness he felt in that moment. He tells Cas this after he asks what he wished for. And Cas, of course, proceeds to kiss him. Cas kisses him while Eileen cut the cake, while Jack helped plate them, and while Sam clapped Dean’s shoulders in warning to reign it in. Dean pulled back, gasping, unsure how he might respond to his then-boyfriend’s passion. Then Cas asked him that all-important, heart-stopping, mind-blowing question, opened a velvet box, and Dean knew exactly what to say.

           “I would’ve waited,” Dean reveals, helping Cas with his clothes as Cas guides Dean’s legs out of his slacks. “Everyone knows how long I’ve waited to tell you I love you… I would’ve waited, even if we died and we had to get married in heaven.” Dean pecks Cas’s lips, divesting him of both jackets and his button-down shirt. “I’m glad we didn’t have to, though.”

           “So am I.”

           They stand together in t-shirts and boxers, barely an inch of space between them. No one speaks, not that they have to, but the usually comfortable silence makes Dean nervous. His focus drifts from Cas and onto the plastic conch behind him. Then, he notices how the rest of the room is decorated. Dean giggles, “Wow… it’s, this place is…”

           Cas nods. Dean needn’t say anything else. “You should’ve seen the inside,” he snickers, “the staff were wearing Hawaiian shirts and shark-tooth necklaces.”

           “Hey,” Dean shoves him, “don’t diss Hawaiian shirts.” He collects his clothes and boots, bringing them over to their duffels. “I’ve got about three packed away in here, and I’m planning on buying at least a few more before our honeymoon ends.”

           “Should they even be called Hawaiian shirts if we’re not in Hawaii?” Cas asks. Dean hears the mattress squeak, and guesses his husband sat on the bed. He digs through the duffel, Cas monologuing in the background. “Are they called Coloradan shirts since we’re in Colorado? If we buy them in California, won’t they be Californian Shirts? Or is it because they’re made in Hawaii, and then shipped elsewhere? Can you imagine it – shirt factories, dotting the beaches? Oh, I’d hope the workers making all these Hawaiian shirts are at least being paid a fair wage, given how popular they seem to be…”

           “There’s no factories on any beaches,” Dean tells him, “and – hate to burst your bubble, angel – but I doubt Hawaiian shirt makers are paid what they deserve, regardless of where their factories are.” Cas hums in that same, sullen note he usually does when the beginning notes of Sarah McLachlan play and Dean can’t switch channels fast enough. He folds his clothes, setting them aside. Then, Dean sneaks his hand into his stack of clean boxers, finding the surprise he hid for his husband. “Hey,” Dean rises, “capitalism sucks, but we can’t let it ruin our trip.” Dean drops onto Cas’s lap, delighting in the tiny ‘oof’ that escapes from his husband. “Here,” he says, “I was saving this for later… but hell, we’re running out of time. I’d rather give it to you before the night ends than a day later.” Dean hands him an envelope, Cas’s name scrawled on the front. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

           “A card?” Cas asks, flipping the envelope back and forth, “Dean… you didn’t have to get me anything.”

           “’Course I did…” Dean presses a kiss to Cas’s temple, ruffling his hair. “It’s Valentine’s Day… probably the first Valentine’s Day I actually wanted to celebrate in a long time, because I’ve got someone I love and want to celebrate. And sure, it’s not like we didn’t do just that… in front of all our friends and families… and a few exes… and uninvited guests –“

           “The point, Dean?”

           “Sorry,” Dean lays his head atop Cas’s, watching him peel away the envelope’s glue. “We’ll have tons more holidays and anniversaries to celebrate in the future… I just didn’t want our first Valentine’s Day to be overshadowed by our wedding. You mean so much to me that I’m not gonna just lump the two together like you’re some kid who was unlucky enough to be born on Christmas. You deserve it all.” Cas flips the envelope, shaking its contents free. A pair of red panties floats onto his outstretched hand. “Not just some stinkin’ card.”

           Cas squeezes the panties. “Are you –?”

           “About to show you how friggin’ fantastic married sex is?” Dean wrangles the panties from Cas’s fist, waving it about like a flag. “You bet. Let me slip these on and…“ He starts towards the bathroom, Cas slowly chasing him.

           “You don’t have to,” his husband growls, “you can change here –“

           “Cas, I won’t be long –“

           “I don’t know if I can wait!”

           “You’ll have to!” Dean closes the door on Cas’s face, laughing as he hears his husband bang against the door in protest. He yells for Dean, but Dean ignores him. Dean brings his hand to his face, covering his mouth with both it and the panties he carries. They smell like cherries. He forgot to tell Cas they’re edible. Cas will figure that out later.

           He’ll also give Cas his real card later, as well. The one he wrote using all the words Dean was too afraid to say at the altar. Little details about the way Cas hogs all the blankets when he sleeps, and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and that Cas’s hugs chase away dark thoughts better than any drink might’ve. There were also bigger things he mentioned, in this card. About Cas and his unwavering faith in Dean, even at times where he didn’t deserve it. About the despair that bloomed whenever Cas left his side, a bouquet of horrid, wilted roses growing rampantly over his heart and piercing it with their thorns during those awful times it seemed their last goodbye truly was. About the love Cas inspired within Dean that changed his life, from the very beginning, from the touch of Cas’s hand on his shoulder. That simple act which broke him free from Chuck’s wheel again and again and again. Dean couldn’t say any of this in a crowded room. He doubts he can with only Cas. He already cried enough for one day. So, they’ll have sex instead. After they’ve burned through the remaining fumes that linger in their tanks, Dean will present the card, curl against Cas’s side with his head tucked underneath his husband’s chin, and listen while Cas reads how much he means to Cas.

           But that won’t be until later. Now, Dean shimmies out of his boxers. He pulls the panties on, flicking the bow twice once it’s settled. “Are you ready?” Dean croons, jiggling the knob, “because it’s time to ride ‘em, cowboy!”

           Cas pries the door loose, almost ripping it off its hinges as pull Dean forward into a searing kiss. Dean smiles into it, letting Cas take lead. Dean’s gift were the panties. Cas’s gift is putting in the work to get them off. Cas throws Dean onto the bed, his mouth attacking Dean’s neck. His hand trails down Dean’s side, tickling and teasing him.

           He couldn’t have written a better ending to his story. Or imagine a better beginning to his next.

[nerdypanda3126]

Congrats on the 100 followers! Could you do "my clothes look really good on you" for Lukanette Please?

Thank you for the ask, anon! I didn’t end up getting the exact dialogue in there, but your prompt did give me an excuse to use You Look Good in My Shirt by Keith Urban, which has been sitting in my fic playlist for forever now. Hope you like it!! 

You Look Good in My Shirt

Read on Ao3

Luka had his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the airport seat as he tapped his foot to the music blaring in his headphones. His flight back to Paris from… well, wherever the most recent tour had ended, had been delayed rather indefinitely. He didn’t mind the wait, although the chair underneath him was plastic and hard and small. He shifted to relieve the side of his butt that was asleep.

As he sighed and leaned forward to take his headphones off—the music was good, but he’d been listening to it on a loop for the past hour or so—cool hands slipped over his eyes and a warm, familiar scent wafted around him. Like baked sugar. Marinette.

“Guess who,” she said with a giggle. As if he didn’t know that melody anywhere.

“Jagged, is that you?” He grinned at his own joke.

She imitated a buzzer and moved to his other ear. “Guess again.”

“Uhhh… Penny?”

“Nope.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek underneath her hands. He pulled her hands off his eyes and found her resting her cheek against his shoulder fondly. Her dark hair was longer now—it fell across the back of the seat next to him. He could still see the pink tipped ends from when she’d dyed it. God, that was forever ago. Back when they had first started dating. But her eyes were still the same beautiful, clear blue.

“I’m disappointed, Luka, really.” She pretended to pout. “Those headphones must be ruining your hearing.”

“What are you doing here?” he countered as he rubbed his thumb across hers. “I thought you were in London.”

“This is London, silly.” She kissed his cheek again and slid around him to sit next to him. “I thought you were in America.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, good we cleared that up.” He’d forgotten how devilish her grin could be when she wanted it to be. “I heard your tour went well.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter when her thigh pressed against his. “Yeah, it did.”

“Well, how long are you in London?”

“Just…” He gestured to the flight board. “Just until my flight leaves. For Paris.”

“Oh. Me, too. Going home to see the folks, you know how it is.”

As they watched, the board changed. The flight wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. They shared a sideways glance.

“Coffee?” she asked, pointing over to the pitiful 24/7 kiosk that was set up near the gate.

“Sure.”

He stood and gathered his bag and his guitar case before she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the room.

***

He pressed his hand to his lips to hold his coffee in as he laughed mid-drink to Marinette’s story. Thankfully it didn’t come out his nose, but he still set the cup down as a precaution.

“So I’ve got this model, standing stark naked in the middle of everything, her hair and makeup completely done—like a bird’s nest, what was I even thinking?—and I’m hand sewing this hem like a madwoman, cursing everything in the near vicinity, and who should walk up, but poor, defenseless Adrien.”

“Oh, I bet that went well,” he muttered, grinning down at his cup as he pictured Adrien, the pure ray of sunshine, at the back end of Marinette’s unbridled stage rage. He had a tendency of making jokes when she was stressed, trying to lighten her mood, no doubt, but it almost always backfired on him.

“He chucked a fistful of glitter at me!” She mimed the action and Luka almost lost it again. “Like, stuck his hand in this box full of glitter—Heaven knows why he even had it—pulled it back out, and puff! A cloud just settles all over me. And more importantly, all over the gown.”

“And then he ran like hell?”

“And then he ran like hell.” Marinette agreed, grinning. “I have to admit, as far as defusing my moods goes, the glitter bomb was an unexpected win for him.”

Luka shifted forward and wrapped his hands around his cup, still chuckling. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

She paused, and when he glanced up she was watching him curiously. “What about you?” she asked, and there was an intensity behind her voice that he couldn’t place. “Has anything… changed?”

Ah. So that was it. He swirled his coffee in his cup and tried to ignore his hammering heart. “No, nothing’s changed,” he admitted quietly.

There was another pause between them. Luka focused on the steam still dwindling from his cup as he thought back to the last time he’d seen her. With tears in those beautiful blue eyes as she turned to wave at him before she boarded the plane. Nothing had changed for them. Not since they’d decided to break up almost three years ago.

The official reason was they’d gone their separate ways to follow their separate dreams. His took him touring all over the world. Hers had her at the head of a major fashion house in London, traveling to various other fashion capitals and running shows with Adrien following like a lovesick puppy behind her the whole way. She’d called him jealous. He’d called her selfish. Those were words he could never take back.

When the smoke had cleared, they’d taken a long, even look at one another. And walked away.

He still loved her. Of course he did. He'd spent three years trying to get her out of his head unsuccessfully. And now she was in front of him and he was stuck in London for the night.

He glanced up at her again and she was contemplating her own coffee.

"Me, too," she murmured.

***

He didn't quite know how it happened. He'd walked her home, fully intending on finding himself a hotel for the night, and then his back was pushed up against her door and her lips were locked firmly on his as she pressed herself against him.

She broke away, panting. "Do you want to come in?"

As an answer, he leaned down to kiss her again and started stripping off his leather jacket.

***

He woke up the next morning alone in Marinette’s bed, although something from the direction of the kitchen smelled amazing. He tugged his jeans on and ventured out of her bedroom to find her at the stove, flipping an omelet expertly, wearing nothing but his shirt from last night. He drank in the image; the hemline fell just below the round curve of her ass and made her shapely legs look miles long. He’d missed this.

“Since when are you an early riser?” he asked before a yawn overtook him.

She started at his voice, then pouted. “I was hoping it’d be done by the time you got up.”

He dared to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist before he kissed her cheek fondly. “Mmm... I wake up faster when a home cooked meal is involved.”

“I thought you’d like some breakfast before our flight.” She giggled as he started to trail kisses down her neck and swatted him away playfully. “None of that, Rockstar. Hot things.” She gestured with her spatula to the stovetop and shooed him away. He laughed before he kissed her one more time behind her ear.

“Speaking of hot things…” he whispered in her ear. A shiver ran through her and he smiled against her skin. “My clothes always did look better on you.”

She turned her head to meet his lips over her shoulder. His hands wandered down her sides and tightened at her hips, pulling her backwards into him. She whined into his kiss before she turned fully around to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned back against the counter and pulled her in between his legs, still kissing her fiercely. God, he’d missed her.

She broke away from him suddenly with a squeak and turned back to the stove to find her eggs curling at the sides of the pan as they overcooked. She tipped the omelet off onto a plate and shoved it at him, pouting.

“This one’s yours, since you’re responsible.”

“As if your overcooked eggs don’t still blow hotel food out of the water.” He smirked and took the plate and she handed him a fork. He stood behind her, eating quietly, as she worked on a second one for her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started. He paused to look up at her. She was swirling the eggs around the pan thoughtfully, scrambling them for herself instead of making an omelet. “I mean, I know it’s been a while. But last night…”

“We don’t have to figure everything out, now, Mari,” he said gently.

“Well, it’s not like anything has really changed, has it? I’m still here and you’re still everywhere else.”

Even though she wasn’t facing him, he could practically hear her brow furrowing. He finished his eggs and set his plate down behind him before he crossed his arms. “It’s not impossible.”

“You say that like you’ve thought about it, too.”

He hummed and reached out to caress her hip again. “Maybe I have.”

She half-turned before she remembered herself and scraped her eggs out of the pan and turned the stove off.

“It’s been three years, Mari. I haven’t stopped thinking of you for one second.”

“I’m still working with Adrien.” She stabbed her fork into her eggs with a little more force than necessary and he winced at her bitter tone.

“I wasn’t jealous of him,” he said quietly.  

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, yes, I was, but not for the reason you might think.”  

She paused and reached out to tap her bare foot against his. An old signal they’d used to tell each other they were listening, they were there for the other. He smiled at her acknowledgement and took her hands in his.

“I was jealous of how much time he had with you.” Her eyebrow quirked up in a silent question. He looked down at their joined hands as he continued. “Not that I thought he’d ever take advantage of that, or try anything. But I wanted to be here with you. You know that, right? I wanted to be the one backstage with you, standing by your side while you realized your dream. It hurt to think that someone else had that. Could be that.”

“You had a dream, too, Luka. I couldn’t have stood in the way of that. You would’ve hated me.”

“I could never hate you.”

“Still.” She tipped his chin back up to look in his eyes. “You deserve to have your dream, too.”

“It hasn’t been what I thought it was,” he admitted. “The music, that’s all I ever wanted. The touring, the fans, the hotels, the planes… it gets to be a little too much sometimes.”

“You sound like Adrien, now.” A smile was tugging at her lips. At the irony, he supposed. “That’s why he wanted to be behind the scenes. Out of the public eye, while he recovered from… well, you know.” She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Turns out he’s really good at it. Besides throwing glitter and making awful puns… he’s really good at it.”

“I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Liar,” she said, her grin becoming devilish again. “You can’t tell me you’re suddenly okay with him being my right hand man.”

“I’ve had three years to think about it, Mari. Three years to wish I could take back everything I said.” He sighed. “Even if it wasn’t me, I’m glad you had someone there for you. And that’s the truth.”  

She hummed and swung their hands between them before she turned to start eating her cooling plate of eggs. He waited, leaned back against her counter, arms crossed across his chest, for her to consider.

“So, if it’s not impossible,” she started in between bites. “What would this look like, do you think?”

“This?”

“Us. You and me. Trying again. You with your touring and me with my shows. You said you’ve thought about it. How do you think it would work?”

His breath left him and he ran his hand through his hair. This was the last thing he’d expected when he booked this flight. “Um, I book every possible tour in London.”

She nodded. “That’s a good start.”

“Video chats whenever I’m away. Every night if we can manage it.”

She tapped her fork against her lips as she hummed in thought. “What about my parents?”

“What about your parents?”

“Well, they’ll want to know, and I’m sure Juleka will, too, if not the Captain, why we should do this again after all the heartbreak from the first time around.”

A shard of glass spiked through his heart thinking of Marinette being heartbroken because of him. She was right, though, Juleka would tear him a new one when she found out he was dumb enough to put himself through this again. And the death glare he would no doubt get from Tom—scratch that, Sabine— was shudder-inducing. An idea struck him and he stepped forward to put his hands on her hips.

“You said you’re going to see them?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How about I come with you?” Her back stiffened before she turned to face him again. He shrugged. “Let’s face it head on, together.”

“If you’re coming to see my parents, there had better be a baby or a ring on my finger before they’ll even consider letting you off the hook.”

“Well, one of those is doable before we get on our flight.” He raised his eyebrows. She shoved his shoulder and blushed. He laughed and corrected himself. “The ring. We can get you a ring.”

Her blush hadn’t faded, but she rolled her eyes and she was giving him that smile that meant she was trying not to be pleased. “You did not just propose to me like that.”

“Technically, you proposed for me.” He smirked and leaned down close enough to kiss her, although he held back, pausing an inch or so away from her lips, waiting for her to meet him. “It was your idea, after all,” he whispered.

He didn’t have to wait long before she pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her back to support her, leaning back against the counter to let her fall into him before she broke away and slid down to touch her toes back to the floor.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, grinning. “It’ll never work.”

“Well, maybe it’s a little too soon to know if it’ll work or not.”

He laughed as she trod on his foot a little harder than necessary. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me, you jerk!”

He was still laughing, but he managed to wrangle his expression back to a halfway serious one. “Look, all I know, is you look amazing in my shirt.” He ran his fingers along the hem behind her to prove his point and she flushed a bright crimson. “And I’d love to see you in it every morning from now on.” He raised his eyebrows and the grin she was giving him rivaled his own. “Marry me, Marinette. Make an honest rock star out of me.”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “That’s impossible,” she said. Her grin slid sideways and became that devilish one that turned him into jello in her hands. “But I can certainly try.”

[aestheticallyunaesthetic17]

100 questions and answers

Who is your hero? Probably future me, i want to be able to grow up and be the better person that i hope they are, and the only way of knowing that is by making it happen.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be? New Zealand, Canada or USA. I lived in TX for 3 months and loved it there and I have family in NZ and Canada.

What is your biggest fear? Wasps, 100%. Not being stung but the way they look scares me.

What is your favorite family vacation? When we went to Krakow in Poland.

What would you change about yourself if you could? My skin color. I hate it so much.

What really makes you angry? People hating others or stopping others from being themselves.

What motivates you to work hard? To make future me happier than I am now.

What is your favorite thing about your career? I want to be in cabin crew, so probably the traveling.

What is your biggest complaint about your job? Being away from family.

What is your proudest accomplishment? Getting through the shit 2020 brought me without killing myself.

What is your child's proudest accomplishment? No kids rn.

What is your favorite book to read? Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman

What makes you laugh the most? My boyfriend.

What was the last movie you went to? What did you think? Freaks. I was a bad movie, a little like the scary movies franchise. My friend was scared at parts which was super funny to watch

What did you want to be when you were small? An actor. Typical Leo ;)

What does your child want to be when he/she grows up? They can be anything they want to be.

If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be? Visit Edinburgh alone.

What is your favorite game or sport to watch and play? To watch, American Football. To play, archery.

Would you rather ride a bike, ride a horse, or drive a car? Drive a car, it's peaceful and warm. I would blast music.

What would you sing at Karaoke night? no idea.

What two radio stations do you listen to in the car the most? Heart and Capital

Which would you rather do: wash dishes, mow the lawn, clean the bathroom, or vacuum the house? Dishes or vacuum.

If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work? Yard work!!!

If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be? Tandoori Prawn curry.

Who is your favorite author? Jacqueline Wilson or JK Rowling (only her books, not her)

Have you ever had a nickname? What is it? Just Em. But id like to be called Millie.

Do you like or dislike surprises? Why or why not? Depends on the surprise tbh, I like to plan a lot.

In the evening, would you rather play a game, visit a relative, watch a movie, or read? Watch a movie.

Would you rather vacation in Hawaii or Alaska, and why? Hawaii. I was meant to go this year but covid and leaving the US fucked it up.

Would you rather win the lottery or work at the perfect job? And why? Work the perfect job, id get bored sitting around all day.

Who would you want to be stranded with on a deserted island? my boyfriend.

If money was no object, what would you do all day? Travel and see the world.

If you could go back in time, what year would you travel to? 2012. To see my Nana again.

How would your friends describe you? Stupid.

What are your hobbies? Traveling, photography, music and shopping.

What is the best gift you have been given? Forgiveness from myself.

What is the worst gift you have received? Sixe XXL jacket when im an XS

Aside from necessities, what one thing could you not go a day without? My macbook.

List two pet peeves. - Breaking trust - Bad table manners

Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully working my dream job, maybe moved to a different country and traveling the world.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? too many, roughly 16

If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have? Invisibility or teleportation.

What would you do if you won the lottery? build my own house

What form of public transportation do you prefer? (air, boat, train, bus, car, etc.) Train, its so relaxing. Then planes.

What's your favorite zoo animal? Lions or tigers.

If you could go back in time to change one thing, what would it be? My time in America.

If you could share a meal with any 4 individuals, living or dead, who would they be? - My nana - my bf - Princess Diana - Obama

How many pillows do you sleep with? 4, two on each side.

What's the longest you've gone without sleep (and why)? 26 hours, traveling to Texarkana from Edinburgh.

What's the tallest building you've been to the top in? Idk tbh

Would you rather trade intelligence for looks or looks for intelligence? looks for intelligence because then you can earn enough for plastic surgery.

How often do you buy clothes? 1/2 a month

Have you ever had a secret admirer? Idk I guess so.

What's your favorite holiday? Summer vacation Christmas for an actual holiday

What's the most daring thing you've ever done? Moved half way across the world and lived with strangers.

What was the last thing you recorded on TV? Nothing

What was the last book you read? 1984

What's your favorite type of foreign food? Indian

Are you a clean or messy person? Both, but relatively clean

Who would you want to play you in a movie of your life? Millie Bobbie Brown probably

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 1 hour

What kitchen appliance do you use every day? Kettle

What's your favorite fast food chain? Chick fil A (i know, i cant buy it now tho)

What's your favorite family recipe? Nana's bacon and egg pie

Do you love or hate rollercoasters? LOVE

What's your favorite family tradition? Opening gifts on Christmas Eve

What is your favorite childhood memory? I dunno really, Ive forgotten a lot of my childhood.

What's your favorite movie? Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Beautiful Boy

How old were you when you learned Santa wasn't real? How did you find out? Probably 7/8 but I dont remember.

Is your glass half full or half empty? Half empty.

What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love? Said i'd come back one day.

What three items would you take with you on a deserted island? A boat and food. Yes i am that person.

What was your favorite subject in school? Scottish school, geography. US school, government.

What's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten? Haggis

Do you collect anything? Foreign coins

Is there anything you wished would come back into fashion? Skinny jeans, my ass looks gooood in them

Are you an introvert or an extrovert? introvert that likes being sociable

Which of the five senses would you say is your strongest? hearing

Have you ever had a surprise party? (that was an actual surprise) nope

Are you related or distantly related to anyone famous? my dad is well know in the whisky business. Has his own prime tv show

What do you do to keep fit? Walk a lot and swim.

Does your family have a “motto” – spoken or unspoken? nope

If you were ruler of your own country what would be the first law you would introduce? everyone is equal.

Who was your favorite teacher in school and why? Scottish School, my geo teacher. US school, my english teacher.

What three things do you think of the most each day? My bf, my mum and America

If you had a warning label, what would yours say? Sad, angry and anxious

What song would you say best sums you up? 17 again

What celebrity would you like to meet at Starbucks for a cup of coffee? Timothee Chalamet or Tom Holland

Who was your first crush? a boy called Finlay who i rode the bus with

What's the most interesting thing you can see out of your office or kitchen window? sheep or cows very often

On a scale of 1-10 how funny would you say you are? 5

Where do you see yourself in 10 years? kids, married, settled down and happy. moved countries 100%

What was your first job? never had one

If you could join any past or current music group which would you want to join? 5sos

How many languages do you speak? 1 - english

What is your favorite family holiday tradition? opening gifts on Christmas Eve

Who is the most intelligent person you know? my mum

If you had to describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be? a cat probably or a tiger

What is one thing you will never do again? trust people fully

Who knows you the best? my bf.

[timextoxhajima]

Grounded: Level 9

Level 8 | Level 10

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol reader

Taglist: @jaehyvnsvalentine @licorice526 @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs @yunapixie @rindomo @sleeping-hero-of-procastination

“Do you want to bet how long it takes for people to figure out?” 

“Hmm? Figure what out? That you’re a loser?”

Swat.

“Ow,” Minho grins, rubbing the spot you whacked on his arm. But he quickly wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you into a mild headlock. Gently punching him in his gut, he releases you, sneering a little before resigning and circling his arm around your shoulders again. 

“No, seriously. It’s not going to be long before people find out,” The sweat that’s gathering under your heavy, dark clothes is making you sweat. “When are you going to tell JYP?”

“When are you going to tell Bang PD?” Minho cocks a brow. 

The streets are silent, now that it was a terrible time to be awake. Illuminated by the fluorescent street lamps, the ground is an asphalt grey under the lighting. Your dorm building was showing up around the corner, reminding you that all good things need to come to an end. Granted that all good things need to be covered in black and a mask and a cap. 

“Probably soon. Ju Rin told me to keep him updated ASAP before he finds out on his own.”

“Should we tell them together?”

“What, like you’re gonna come over and we walk into Bang PD’s office together?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean, he could get a new method of capitalization.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind, thought you’d laugh.”

“I would if it’s funny.”

Minho side-eyes you warily. 

“I think I would find it funny if the fans wouldn’t completely trash us for dating.”

“You know that there are fans who would support us, right?”

“I know, I know, but it’s just hard to ignore the dark side of things.”

The uneven ground under the soles of your shoes somehow manage to reach the nerves in your feet as you stop at the entrance of your dorm building. You take the tiny step up to the entrance while Minho remains on ground level, allowing the two of you to be levelled (which was pretty entertaining because that’s just how small the height difference between you and Minho was). 

“I know you worry, and I know it’s just... such a shit time to be involved in this... I just hope you don’t regret that it’s with me.”

The way Minho’s voice gets lower and less pronounced leaves satin-soft strokes on your heart, and those stupid sparkly eyes under the dim lighting makes you want to squeeze him into your pocket. 

“It bothers me that you’ve grown to say this kinda shit without retching.”

“Who said I wasn’t dying trying to contain it?”

If smiling because of Minho was a sin, then you belonged in Hell at this point. 

“Alright, you need to go. I have some stupid Kingdom shit tomorrow and I know you have some scheduling plans. I heard Ju Rin’s being sorted out for some ETUDE House CF already?”

A subtle surprise writes itself across your face. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon for news like this to travel, but as far as you knew, only HYBE was aware of this. 

“How did you know?”

“A certain someone might’ve told a certain someone in Stray Kids.”

“No,” The disbelief and mischief is welling your gut as you squint at him. 

“Yes,” Minho smirks and gently nudges you towards the glass doors that make the entrance to the building. 

“Who? Why do you know this information and I don’t? It’s my own group!”

Minho shakes his head, eyes halving as he continuously pushes you to the door. “I’m sure you’ll find out in due time. Just bring Jeongin up to your group and see who freaks.”

It’s innocently entertaining, the way you are filled with determination to figure out who the second member of your group is who has some kind of romantic link to Jeongin. 

“Yah, which one of you is dating Yang Jeongin?” 

Ju Rin frowns and almost hisses upon the announcement when you step into the apartment, pulling out her Airpods and placing down her Apple Pen next to her iPad. 

“What?”

“You heard me,” The disgusting smirk is cemented into your face when your remaining group mates come out of their bedrooms. “Someone here is dating Yang Jeongin and you better make yourself known now before I dig it out of Minho.”

“How do you know that someone here is dating Yang Jeongin?” Ju Rin looks anxious, but it’s pretty funny because all Ju Rin is going to do when she finds out who’s dating Jeongin is probably just going to be a mom-like lecture. 

“Because someone here told Jeongin about you being groomed for the ETUDE House CF and he told Minho and it went a whole circle.”

“What the-” Ju Rin furrows her brows and snaps her head to look at the other three members. “One of you- own up now.”

“What? Who? Yang Jeongin? Not me, I’m-”

“Into Beom, yeah we know, moving on,” Ju Rin waves her off, and Gahyun’s eyes widen.

“What? No, I am n-”

“So Eun?”

The tallest member finally looks up from her phone screen, Purple Kiss’  Ponzona playing loud enough for you to hear the music through her earpieces. 

“Hmm?” So Eun pauses the video and pulls the buds out of her ears. “No,” She looks down at her phone before locking it, then shoving it into her pocket. Then she rolls her eyes to look at Min Jung, shock written across her face as she points to herself.

“Me? Dating Yang Jeongin? Whaaat? No... Pfft.”

“Oh my God,” Ju Rin groans, pressing her index and middle finger to her temples. 

“NOOOOOO,” Gahyun howls, dashing over and grabbing the maknae by her shoulders. “WHEN? WHAT THE HELL? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us? If you guys are dating, I mean- We’ll need to keep it under control.”

“I’m- I’m not dating Jeongin oppa-”

“JEONGIN ‘OPPA’- YOU CALL HIM ‘OPPA’?” And before Gahyun can continue screaming in her face, So Eun yanks her off the youngest. 

“Will you stop it-”

“Minjung, I seriously hope you were planning on telling us because-”

“We’re not dating, okay? I just... I might have a thing for him, that’s all.”

“And so you thought it was a good idea to tell him about a plan that’s not supposed to start in another two or three months?”

“I didn’t know he would tell Minho,” Min Jung’s sulky tone tugs on all of your heartstrings, especially since she knows she’s got that power as the youngest. 

Ju Rin rolls her eyes, sighing a little, while Gahyun struts over and hugs her. The leader turns to you with slightly pleading eyes, brows raised in a bid to play to your empathy. “Will you ask Lee Know if they’ve told anybody else?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And you,” The eldest squints playfully at Jeongin. “I’d tell you to use protection but you’re underaged so I will kill you if-”

“What- ew!”

“5, 6, 7, 8- Finger, hand, tak, tak, anchor your toes and- yeah! You got it. See, wasn’t so hard,” With your hands resting on your hips, you grin proudly at Ju Rin in the reflection of the mirror. 

“There’s a reason why you’re in the dance line and I’m not, you know.”

Out of breath, she topples to the ground, sighing heavily while stretching to reach her toes. The hum of the dance studio whirs in the air atop her heaving breathing, then you notice the shadow from outside the door of the studio before you can hear the knock knock.

“hELlo there,” Minho pushes the door open, holding a small bouquet of roses and a bag of snacks. Nuts and fruit. “I hope I’m interrupting you.”

“Remind me again how the two of you ended up together?” Ju Rin tilts her head backwards, her crown against the wooden flooring of the studio and squints at Minho. 

“I wish I knew too, sometimes,” You stride over, past her on the ground, and head for the things Minho was carrying. “You didn’t tell me you were coming so early.”

“I might have a Kingdom practice thing later so I thought it’ll be wise to drop by earlier.”

“Getting a little bold with your visits, aren’t you?” Ju Rin groans slightly as she sits up, turning around with her butt anchored to the ground. “Not afraid Dispatch is going to find the two of you out?”

“Please,” Minho scoffs arrogantly, mindlessly taking the bouquet that you’ve held out to him while you struggle to get the pack of almonds open. “What’s Dispatch gonna do?”

“Uh, get the entire STAY fandom to hate you, and mine to hate me,” The speech is garbled and strained as you wince, unable to force a hole into the plastic of the pack. 

“STAY isn’t gonna-- Are you trying to tear a sheet of metal into two or get a bag of almonds open?” 

“I’m- this- short of- tearing you- into- two- fucks’ sake-”

The plastic crinkles when you relax, giving up on the stretched out material. Minho side-eyes you, simply waiting for you to ask because his iron-coated pride will not help you himself. 

“PLeaSE?”

Minho laughs his stupid evil laughter and returns you the bouquet, gladly taking the bag of almonds. “Like I was saying,” The bag gets ripped open within two seconds. He hands it to you, before gently ushering you into the studio to close the door behind him. “STAY isn’t gonna hate me for being a normal human being. Heck, they’ll probably think it’s the most human thing I’ll ever do in my career.”

“I mean, when you say half the things you do on VLive and on shows... Hm-”

“Whose side are you on?” Minho hisses at you. 

“Um... whatever side that doesn’t leave me single and alone,” The sneaky and cheeky hint runs a blush on Minho’s face. 

“Eish, if you were supposed to be single and alone, I wouldn’t be here anymore.”

Ju Rin rolls her eyes and groans exasperatedly, heading to her bag where her bottles are. “If you two have to say such romantic things to each other, would it be too much to ask for you to do it elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere?” Minho raises a brow. “Like... a dorm-”

“I take that back-”

Knock Knock

All three of your attentions whip to the door. 

Minho turns to the both of you, eyes glistening. “Expecting anybody else?”

Ju Rin shakes her head. 

Minho hands you the bouquet again, cautiously walking over to the door and pulling it open. Ju Rin and you watch with concern in the reflection, but when Minho gets the door open, it feels like you’ve turned into a statue.

“Oh- Annyeonghaseyo, Stray Kids’ Lee Know-ibnida-” 

Ju Rin quickly shoves you off your feet and forces you to move when she hurries over to a bowing Minho, hands nervously rubbing against each other. 

“Bang PD-nim!”

The CEO raises his hand and calms Ju Rin before turning to the JYP artiste bowing to him. “I thought I noticed your manager’s car driving off earlier.”

He looks up at the mirror and notices you standing by the PA system, almond pack in hand and bouquet in the other. 

“You do realise I can see you standing there, don’t you?” He grins widely at you. Ju Rin turns and side-eyes you, feeling the tension radiating off Minho. “Anyway, I’d like to have you and Lee Know-sshi in my office in about 10. I’ve got some news for the two of you, yeah?”

Bang PD pats Lee Know on the shoulder, casually pushing his glasses up his nose and walking off on his heels. Ju Rin waits until the lift down the corridor has ding-ed shut before she traps her face between her palms, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Oh, boy.”

“Oh, boy, indeed,” Minho sucks in a deep breath and rests his fists on his hip. “Man, JYP is not going to be happy.” 

Then he bursts out into the loudest laughter you’ve ever heard in your life. 

So the look on Minho’s face would’ve been humorously priceless if you weren’t involved in this situation - but when he opens the door to Bang PD’s office and THE Park Jin Young is sitting in the seat right next to Bang PD himself, Minho doesn’t look short of throwing up. 

“Ah! You’re both here on time, come in, come in.”

“Uh, PD-nim-” Minho chokes on his words as he greets his boss. 

“Sit down, sit down, we’ve got news for the both of you!” JYP waves the two of you into the office, and Ju Rin is standing behind you, peering in like a child. 

“Ah, Ju Rin-sshi, do come in as well,” Bang-PD waves her in too, earning strange turn-arounds from both you and Minho. 

The three of you sit anxiously opposite the two CEOs, eyes fluttering between the two of them as they take turns staring at a document on the desk between the two sides. 

“Um,” Minho almost wheezes. “Before you say anything, I’d just want to explain that we wanted to come to you with this news. We just didn’t expect-”

Bang-PD raises his palm and signals to Minho to stop, then he pulls his glasses off the bridge of his nose. “We know you wanted to tell us. Bang Chan-sshi has actually already informed us ahead of time, but he had faith you two would do it on your own accord and that’s why we didn’t rush you.”

“But, we are here today to discuss a very serious thing that we might be coming out with, and we’d like your permission to use your relationship and news as a start point.”

“I’m sorry,” Ju Rin sits up and frowns. Sometimes you wonder how she hasn’t offended your boss. “Are you telling me you’re marketing their relationship?” 

Both you and Minho’s eyes dart from her to the CEOs.

“Yes. But the news is that we’re going to call for less restrictions on dating and to encourage a more civil response from the public whenever an idol couple is revealed. BTS has agreed to endorse and promote this movement when it’s being released, but we’ll need the two of you to be strong for this cause. After this joint agreement in collaboration with the South Korean Human Rights Act is published, we’re definitely going to get a lot of strong responses. More couples are going to come out, they are going to hide behind the both of you, the faces of our new company policy.”

The silence is deafening. 

Ju Rin’s eyes are so still, she’s not even blinking. 

Minho looks like he’s about to punch someone in the face. 

Bang-PD looks like the dad he always is and JYP, frankly doesn’t look all that happy, but he’s working with arguably the biggest name in the level of CEOs now. 

If it wasn’t such a serious situation, Minho would’ve definitely laughed. 

“Wait, let me get this straight. HYBE is collaborating with the South Korean Human Rights Act in a bid to pass a policy to abolish no-dating rules for entertainment companies, and this policy will be endorsed and supported by JYP with Lee Know-sshi and y/n’s relationship being a... start point?” Ju Rin sucks in a deep breath while you await their confirmation.

Bang-PD sucks in a deep breath. “That’s right.”

Ju Rin side eyes the pair of you again, who are obviously too shocked or stunned to provide any kind of appropriate response. 

“Might I ask... what’s going to happen, or rather, what are the possible outcomes of this... stunt? What if it doesn’t work and both Stray Kids and WI5HES get absolutely destroyed by it? I’m going to sound selfish but you do realise WI5HES is like, a month old? We don’t have an established fanbase nor-”

“Ju Rin,” The whisper is raspy in your throat. You can see the worry and concern in JYP and Bang-PD’s eyes as she spits the words out. 

JYP is eyeing Minho’s reactions while Bang PD can only look at his newest leader empathetically, hands clasped against each other on the table. 

“Please understand that we know what your worries are. Whatever you’re thinking now, we have thought about it, and we know there’s probably nothing that we can say to persuade you into walking into this agreeing 100%, but HYBE will promise the both of you, both groups, and both entertainments our utmost attention and protection we can offer. Senior groups of JYP have also been notified as well.”

Minho’s eyes flit to pierce right through JYP’s skull. “You mean to say that ITZY, TWICE, 2PM, DAY6-”

“And Boy Story and NiziU- of course, most of them would be underaged anyway. Anybody under the ages of 20 - international age - wouldn’t be allowed to date.” JYP nods solemnly. 

Minho leans back in his seat, unable to believe his ears. You’re surprised you haven’t fainted yourself. 

“This is... huge,” Ju Rin’s head gently shakes. “This will change everything in the idol world.”

“Which is why we’ll need the both of you to make sure your performances and images as idols are still up to standard. After this news is out, you will be free to go on dates as openly as you want to, but there mustn’t be a decline in quality of the music and performances you produce and put out.”

Minho finds your hands under the table. It’s sweaty - which is a pretty rare sight - but the comfort seeps through your skin and into your blood and bones. Then he turns to you, sparkly feline eyes twinkling under the sharp, fluorescent lighting of the room. 

“Do you trust me?”

Ju Rin holds her breath, pupils darting harshly between you and Minho, then to the two company directors who seem more nervous than they should be. 

Your fingers interlock with his, and you look at your company’s directors with so much faith, you could only hope they got the cue.