#i jus love this goddamn movie

[hurrakka]

Check and mate, Buddy

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x afab!reader. you're holed up at home with a broken leg and blitzø has surprised you by coming by to keep you company. you feel depressed and completely bored stuck in the apartment, so he decides to take your mind off it. for totally noble, selfless reasons, of course. featuring: oral sex (female receiving), masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, and horse drawings of questionable skill. 2.3k. anon request. I hope you're feeling better!

Fucking gravity.

You were a complete badass, both in Hell and on Earth – you’d spent a good long while now building up that particular reputation through your work with I.M.P, and no one was ever going to argue with that. At least, no one smart.

So, if someone could explain to you just how in the ever-loving fuck you’d managed to trip down a flight of stairs and break your goddamned fibula, that would be great. Because right now, you feel like an idiot. A hobbled, immobile idiot.

The cast wrapped snugly around your leg is bulky and irritates your skin, and Blitzø glances up from his place on the floor when you groan, an eyebrow raised. You’re sitting on your couch while a movie you’re only half paying attention to plays in front of you, your injured foot propped up on the coffee table, a pillow tucked under your heel. The other imp is sitting cross-legged between the couch and coffee table in front of you, a marker in hand. He has been happily doodling away at your cast for a while now, his forked tongue poking out as he concentrates on his latest addition to the plaster.

His tongue slips back between his lips as he registers the discomfort in your expression. “You good?”

You sigh. “My leg itches.”

“Which one?”

You give him a pointed look. “Take a wild guess.”

He snorts a laugh, abandoning whatever he’s scribbling – probably his latest (and as always, greatest) horse design – and tosses the marker on the table beside him. The plaster is already covered with his drawings; scribbles of horses all labelled with names like Bumblebee and Octagon, his name in bubble letters and badly designed graffiti, Loona giving everybody the finger. There was even one that looked like the two of you side by side, the lines jerky over the uneven expanse of the cast.

“Where?”

You lean forward long enough to tap your finger over a drawing of a horse that was christened ‘Crayon’, a couple of inches below the top of the cast. You exhale softly in relief as he slips the spade of his tail down into your cast and rubs it over your itch, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch.

“Oh, that’s godly…”

“’Bout fuckin’ time someone else said that about me.”

You chuckle, smirking at the ceiling. “Idiot.”

“Oh, c’mon.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “You weren’t exactly fuckin’ shy about callin’ me a ‘god’ the other night…”

“Is that what I was doing?” you reply, even as you feel your cheeks warm. “Maybe I was praying for you to stop.”

“Yeah? And the shakin’ thighs and beggin’ for more?”

“…I’m an incredible actress.”

Blitzø scoffs and leans his arm on the sofa beside you, resting his temple against his hand. He gives you an appraising look as he withdraws his tail, letting the tip of it skim over your knee and over the top of your thigh as he does. You raise a brow at his expression.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, a devious grin curling his lips. “’s jus’ kinda fun seein’ you all helpless like this.”

“You think so?” you say, faux-brightly before letting the fake smile drop and flipping him off. He snickers. You were actually grateful, if not still surprised, that he was here. He turned up a few hours ago and let himself into the apartment – despite him not actually having a key – apparently fine with skipping work in order to keep you company and alleviate some of the boredom. He’d brought shakes and greasy diner food with him, and had been doodling away on your cast for the last hour, as content and as boyish as you’d ever seen him. It was endearing, really, if not still completely weird.

“Just give me my meds, would you?���

“What, you can’t reach ‘em?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you scowl at him. Blitzø grins, but straightens so he can collect your painkillers and your milkshake from the table. You swallow the pills down with the last dregs of the shake, sucking down the mix of chalky pills and chocolate foam noisily.

Blitzø takes the cup from you and sets back on the table, and you wince as he leans his elbows on your leg, his chin resting in his hands mockingly.

“Do you mind?”

“Not really.” he shrugs, his tail switching back and forth behind him in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” You roll your eyes despite your smile, and his widens. He removes one hand from under his chin, tip-toeing two of his fingers teasingly up along your cast and past it, from your ankle to the bare skin of your knee and higher as he speaks. “Y’know what I really love about you bein’ all busted up like this?”

“Vivid imagery?”

Blitzø gives you a sharp, wicked grin, ducking under your leg to plant himself between your thighs. He takes hold of your knees, pressing them wider, leaning in closer to you tauntingly. “You can’t go anywhere.”

A shiver rolls up your spine at the sudden huskiness to his voice, and you flush. Still, you try to push yourself further back onto the couch, away from him. “Blitz, I’m all sweaty and—”

“Not yet, baby, but you’re about to be,” he shoots back without hesitation, his claws squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “C’mon, bitch. You know I can make you feel so good…”

Your breath catches, a soft whimper slipping out of you before you can stop it. His smirk twitches wider, his tail switching back and forth predatorily behind him. He’s watching you with heavily-lidded eyes, and his expression burns into you, excites you in a way that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to quench it. But his claws are too tight on your legs, and you can’t do it. He feels your muscles tense though, and he growls, low and hungry under his breath.

Blitzø slides his hands further up your thighs slowly, delighting in the way your breathing grows unsteady in response. The sleep shorts you’re wearing are threadbare cotton, and it takes so little once he hooks a claw into the leg of one for the threads start to tear.

“Say you want it, slut,” he urges roughly, eyes still burning into yours. “Say you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod, and that’s all Blitzø needs before he’s leaning up to catch your lips with his in a rough, hungry kiss. His tongue meets yours, his breath hot and sharp as it mingles with yours, and you sigh into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. You can feel his smirk still playing on his features, feel his hands take hold of the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There’s the sharp sound of fabric tearing and then his hand is cupping your cunt.

You whimper into his mouth as he slides a finger up between your labia and finds you clit. He kisses you again, his fangs catching your bottom lip before he pulls back. Blitzø waggles his eyebrows at you cockily before he lowers himself back onto his knees between your thighs.

“Look at you, all wet already,” he growls before his mouth is on your clit and you moan, bucking up as best you can without moving your injured leg. Blitzø hums a laugh into your cunt, the vibrations a heady teasing against your clit, and he wraps an arm around your thigh. He hooks your injured leg up over his shoulder, and you grab blindly at the back of the couch with one hand as he smooths his claws up the outside of your thigh. He tugs you further towards the edge of the couch, opening you up further to his tongue. “Fuck, always taste so fuckin’ good…”

He doesn’t know subtlety, and he doesn’t work you up slowly to the sensation of his tongue against your clit. No, Blitzø practically attacks your cunt with his mouth, a groan rolling through him and into your pussy in a way that makes your eyes roll back. When he slips finger up into you, you moan aloud, wrapping a hand around his horn and bracing the other on the couch so you can grind against his tongue.

“Shit, Blitz, fuck…” you can feel yourself already soaking, dripping onto the cushion beneath you whenever he pulls away to tease you with biting kisses to your thighs and hips. He sucks a possessive mark into your hipbone, lathing his tongue over the same spot just as he pushes another finger up into you. “Holy fuck!”

He snickers, flicking his forked tongue tauntingly over your clit again, eyes on your face. “Careful, whore, you’re gettin’ close to callin’ me a ‘god’ again.”

“I’m…” you pant, brow creasing as you screw your eyes shut as though it can help you focus on your words instead of the way he curves his fingers inside you. “…rehearsing. Big role coming up.”

You jerk as he sinks his teeth into your thigh. “Only thing fuckin’ cummin’ here is you.”

“Satan, that’s lame, Blit—” you break off with a loud, keening moan as Blitzø sucks your clit into his mouth and tortures it with his tongue, your eyes rolling back and your hand tightening so much on the couch cushion beneath you that you hear the threads pop. The heat inside you expands, tingling through your limbs and making your back arch, and Blitzø reaches up to grope at your chest, palming your breast through your t-shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, fuuuuuck…”

That heat clenches inside you and releases and you cum, hips lifting off the couch, your cast balanced against his back. Blitzø moans into your cunt as you soak his face, lapping at your clit relentlessly. He slows only enough to let you catch your breath, keeping you burning on that breathless precipice, too stimulated to come back down, but not enough to keep the orgasm rolling through you.

He releases your breast and you hear his zipper lower. Blitzø groans against you as he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, stroking himself with the same pace he finger-fucks you with. He’s muttering the filthiest sweet nothings into your pussy, each touch of his tongue against your clit sending sparks through you that make your body jerk.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “Blitz… please…”

“Fuck, that’s it, bitch,” he moans, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy to roll over your clit, his fist quickening around his erection. “Fuckin’ beg me for it, c’mon…”

“Please, baby…” you whine obediently, too far gone to care about how he’ll lord it over you as soon as you’re done. He pushes his tongue into your quivering cunt, eager, hungry for every part of you he can taste. You’re boneless against the couch except for the disjointed jerks of your hips into his face, your body chasing another release even as it finds it too overwhelming to continue. “Please, Blitz… fucking, God, please…”

He presses his fingers down on your clit just as he quickens them further and you cum again, eyes rolling back and your vision going white. Blitzø groans loudly, leaning back on his heels to watch your cunt throb and pulse, his fingers still moving over it ruthlessly. His eyes flicker up from your pussy to your face and he cums too, shouting a string of curses you don’t really understand through the endorphin-fueled haze leaking through your brain.

“Shiiiit…” he lets his head fall against your thigh, and you giggle breathlessly, punch-drunk. His shoulders shudder as he catches his breath, then his head snaps back up as though he were completely unaffected.

He rests his chin on your thigh, raising an eyebrow at you with a small smirk. “Feel better?”

You run a hand through your hair, and Blitzø watches the movement lift your breasts under your shirt. “About being stuck on the couch, or do you think your tongue somehow heals broken bones?”

“Bitch, my tongue is a fuckin’ miracle and you know it,” he shoots back, grinning against your leg as you laugh.

“I do feel more relaxed…” you admit.

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“…But now the couch is all wet.”

His grin widens lasciviously. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Blitz.”

He rolls his eyes, unhooking your injured leg from his shoulder and setting your foot back on the coffee table with surprising care. He stands, making a show of tucking himself back into his jeans, winking at you when he doesn’t do them back up. “Alright, alright. Unclench that ass, sugartits, I’m on it.”

You raise a brow. “You are?”

“Yup.” he says, clapping his hands together before grabbing your crutches from where they’re propped against the coffee table. “You’re gonna take a bath, I’m gonna scrub your cum outta the couch—’

“Ew, Blitz!”

“—and then,” he continues pointedly. “You’re gonna go get all comfy in bed.”

You feel a smile twitch at the edge of your lips, surprised by your thoughtfulness. “Really?”

“Yup.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And then we’re gonna see just how well you suck dick lyin’ down.”

You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “There it is!”

He grins widely, holding a hand out to help you up off the couch. “Fuckin’ right. Now get your ass up before I decide to make your crippled ass run this fuckin’ bath bullshit by yourself.”

[sleepyangelkami]

FADE INTO YOU j.todd

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.1K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - slow dancing in the kitchen with domestic bf!jason

 ☆ WARNINGS - tooth rotting fluff, petnames, intended lower case, nothing I write is ever proofread 🩷

jason's days off were rare, but when they actually happened, they were the best. even hero's like him had to take a couple rest days. today was one of those days.

the living room was dull aside from the little lamp to your right, next to the couch you were laid across, head on your boyfriend's chest as he read the words scrawled across the page slowly. his voice was soothing, so much so that you actually found your eyes falling shut, head gone limp against him.

jason would swear on the bible that he was a grinch, that he hated christmas more than anything. but only you would know how big of a lie that was. frost covered the windows, completely blocking your outside view although the curtains did a good enough job anyway. your christmas tree was sat in the corner of your living room, tacky an decorated in different coloured baubles along with the tacky red and silver tinsel and the blue and gold lights that were never turned off.

it was nights like this, you snuggled up in your christmas pijama's, as he was, matching of course, with christmas decorations sprawled across the entire room that he realised just how much he loved it. though, he was sure that there was one thing he'd always hate about this time of year. the goddamn cold.

when he realised you had fallen asleep on him, he placed the book on the side table, standing up and drawing the reindeer blanket over your shoulders to keep you warm.

his feet moved towards the kitchen where there was little to no light. it was attached to the living room, so the only beacon of light was the tree and the lamp.

his eyes glanced towards the clock that wrote half seven. on his days off, you spent every minute together. today, you had both travelled up the country for a little christmas shopping before stopping home to see the christmas lights. you were going to go for dinner too but you both decided you were too cold and you wished to be home as soon as possible.

the fire lit, heating up the entire house. he realised how long it had been since you'd eaten. he himself wasn't too hungry but he knew how you'd be, sleepy or not.

when you did wake, it was to the smell of food and the sound of low music. the music had been on before you'd fallen asleep, low and muffled but even so, you could hear it. you found yourself smiling into the armchair of the couch, eyes strained on your boyfriend's back as he cooked whatever it was he was making.

he was in a red fluffy pijama bottoms with pictures of little christmas trees, presents and ginger bread cookies along with a plain black t-shirt. you wore the same bottoms only with a black crop top, clinging to your skin comfortably. when you first mentioned matching pijama's, he quite literally laughed in your face.

now look.

as good as the food smelled, you were really more bothered on who was standing in front of the frying pan.

jason had sensed you waking up minutes ago so the feeling of arms wrapping around his wide torso didn't frighten him. "hi, sleepy." he grinned, looking down at the food he was stirring.

"hi, jay." your head buried into his back. "what're you doing?" you mumbled sleepily.

"makin' you some dinner, baby." your stomach felt empty, hungry but you'd seemingly always forget around him. perhaps it was because he made you feel so... full. "wanna sit by the couch 'n watch a movie while i make it?"

despite the fact he couldn't see your face, you shook your head. "jus' wanna be with you." when you got sleepy like this, he was all you wanted. not food, not a movie, not even your family, you just wanted him, your jay.

he hummed with a smile as he turned around, grasping you in his arms. you let him move so that your head was in his chest, not his back. he allowed the food to cook. he held you like that, moving one hand to turn up the music slightly. it was a slow, pretty song that reminded you a lot of him. it was funny because it reminded him of you too, you were both just too shy to say it. "feelin' okay, princess?" you nodded your head dumbly. "day wore you out?" he could read you like a book. if that was true, you were his favourite storytale.

you hummed this time, allowing him to slightly sway your bodies to the song. he did it slowly, so slow it took you a second to register. "what are you doin'?" you mumbled, lips turning up at the corners.

"me?" he feigned shock. "I'm not doing anything, angel." though as he spoke, he led you away from the oven and stopped between it and the counter. you stood in the middle of the kitchen with him.

with one hand on your waist, he used his other to pick up one of your own, your left one to be exact. you'd danced with him many times at one of the wanye gala's. but this. this was different.

this time, the song was one of your own, one that made you smile and think of him, your jason. this time, there wasn't hundreds of eyes on you, whispers through the crowd about jason todd, bruce wayne's son and his 'date' were you his girlfriend? or just an escourt? how long had you known one another? who were you?

none of that mattered now.

you could breathe in and breathe out. all you could smell was jason's cologne and the cooking off in a distance. the sound of the music was relaxing, slow but your feet moved with jason's. this was slower than you'd ever danced with him before, including the slow dances at the gala.

with your head on his chest, eyes closed shut, you could hear the low humming of jason with the music. the small whisper of his voice as the words of the song began. it was quiet, but enough for you to hear.

as the music slowed to a stop, you moved away slightly, glancing up at the man you called your lover and loved him you did. he smiled down at you, his entire world.

his hand moved to cup your face, other one brushing his fingers against your own, dancing upon your skin as he kissed you slowly. in that moment, you felt your knee's actually go weak. you kissed back, of course, lips slowly moving against his own.

he pulled back, lips in a tight grin. "you up for some dinner?" he mumbled, quietly.

you nodded your head, completely overcome with him. "can we watch the muppets christmas carol while we have it?" you loved that movie, as did he.

he chuckled quietly, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. "of course, princess, go set up the tv." and that was exactly what you did.

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

[s1aywalker]

꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ just fake it through the day and the night is your god. ꨄ

↷ ✩ —— video store clerk sam monroe headcanons. (sfw)

warnings: brief mention of weed, profane language (sorry i can't help it).

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who is admittedly terrible at his job. he lives by the philosophy of the customer is always wrong. but what he lacks in customer service skills, he makes up for in love of movies... especially horror.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who gets fired from the store what seems like every other week. whether it's because his drawer was suspiciously short, because he didn't show up, or because too many customers have called complaining about his poor attitude and how he smells like a skunk.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who rolls out of bed in the late afternoon to show up for his closing shift ten minutes late with his boots unlaced, still wearing his smeared eyeliner from the night before.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who soccer moms can't stand because he always has some splatter gore flick playing on the display television behind the counter. the snot nosed kids hug mommy's legs and hide their face in her back while they're checking out. meanwhile, she's shooting sam death glares and he seems oblivious. when really, he just doesn't give a fuck. she goes home with her bambi and spy kids tapes, and immediately makes a phone call to his manager... another tally on his shit list.

"all those bitchy moms are lucky," he mumbles to you while his fingers absentmindedly toy with the silver labret stabbed through his skin. but there's something playful, amused tugging crookedly on his lips as his gaze remains focused on the flickering television, while screams of terror crackled from speakers. "this isn't shit. if i wanted to traumatize their little brats, i'd put on maniac... i left my nametag at home, anyway." but, of course, it isn't difficult for the higher ups to piece together the puzzle.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who thinks it's fucking hilarious to recommend the worst selections imaginable to customers that won't know what hit 'em. another reason for him to be fired, honestly. he sees a teen lingering a little too long in the horror section and when they ask for something that'll scare their friends this weekend... according to his manager, faces of death was not the correct answer.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe whose favorite customer is you.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who always makes it a point to come out from behind his throne that is the checkout counter every time you come in. he wants to bug you, to breathe down your neck to see what you're going to rent because he's nosey and too impatient to find out what it'll be whenever you decide to bring your handful of selections to the front. and he wants to throw out his own recommendations, too, while he straightens out a nearby shelf.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who can go on for hours about movies when he's talking to you. he's very strongly opinionated... to a fault, honestly. because he won't bite his tongue when you examine a tape he's seen and didn't like, or when you bring up enjoying some new horror flick that, in his mind, has nothing compared to a good gory classic. he'll argue with you on it, and remain firm on his stance, with a mouth that seems and sounds mean, but it's never really directed towards you.

"the grudge fucking sucked, don't you dare get that." he snorted, snatching the new release out of your hands with more aggression than necessary. it's shoved back into its slot as he begins scanning over the neatly organized shelf labeled horror, a black painted nail dragging along spines for something specific. "they americanized it for no goddamn reason... here." the search was over as he pulled out the haunting japanese cover of ju-on. "watch the original... and call me if you piss your pants."

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who only pretends to be annoyed when you come in ten til close with no reason other than to keep him company during the deserted hour. he says you should have just called him to hang after he clocked out, but really, he's glad you're there, because he's seen the movie he has on at least six times.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who stands behind the counter while you're propped up on the surface during a lull, security cameras be damned. he was supposed to have mopped the bathroom and locked the doors by now... but mouths keep running and laughter becomes louder than the shitty movie that has now been forgotten and reduced to background noise with a chilling soundtrack.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who is inching closer to your perched position and closing the gap with a bag of sour gummy worms in his hands that he says the store won't notice missing. the plastic corner is ripped open with his teeth to share and it's a bribe, a ploy to get you to stay longer.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ sam monroe who finally convinces you to rent the evil dead trilogy. it's one of his favorites, and of course he's going to suggest you make a marathon out of it, with him tagging along for the blood soaked journey. he promises to bring your favorite candies and the popcorn with extra butter, and he promises to not talk through them... but he accidentally grabs the regular popcorn instead, and he can't help but go on and on about every single fun fact about the series that pops into his head while he gradually scoots closer.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Where the Bluebird Sings (Smitty wrote the bathtub scene)

Elvis coughed, the cold water around him - or maybe it was him, shivering, chattering with his teeth - that was the cold one. Something... something, dunno. He blew out a breath, his limp, matted hair flopping back from his brow. Elvis was in the bath, and he was going to do this. 

Without Laney. 

A sneeze, and, well, after that the tears came easy, snot dripping down to the half-grown stubble on his face he'd have to shave in the godforsaken morning just to look somewhat presentable for the next day of court. 

In this moment, alone, sweating out his own fuckin' bad decisions, the lights making his eyes go all sideways... he can't even be mad at Laney baby. Who'd want to love his sorry, drugged-up, washup ass? If she wasn't...

"Wasn't 'ttached t'... t' a goddamn mess, maybe she'd l-l-like the colour... goddamn orange." 

"Yeah, and maybe she'd like you to clean yourself up, instead." 

Elvis whipped his head round and blinked hard as he gagged with the movement. Sweat dripped down his face and stung his fool eyes but he could recognise Charlie's mug even half blind and half mad. 

"Maybe I jus' needta sink into this here bathtub an' end it all, Charlie, ever think 'bout that? Huh? Huh?" And there's the anger, the coiling snake of sin that wraps around his heart ever since he made one too many singin' movies. Ever since - since -

"God DAMN IT! Elvis thrashed in the bathtub, gripping his hair, yanking, "Cain't even say her name, Charlie! Can't, I c-c-can't!" 

Charlie'd moved closer, and Elvis felt a hand wrap around his. Warm. Elvis gripped it back too tight. "Elaine?" 

"N-n-no, fu-ck," Elvis's voice broke. "My baby, Charlie, my baby - can't say her god-given name, can't visit her grave, can't do nothin' 'bout this fuckin' divorce! Can't sing, can't get it up, can't numb it out - it all's too much." 

"Elvis - " Charlie's features swam into focus through the tears and the shakes. " - it's helpin', ain't it? Sayin' that out loud?"

"Fuck, Charlie. It hurts so... so goddamn bad. And I..." Elvis's breath hitched, lashes clumped and face pale except for the red high on his cheeks, the blue bruised around sunken eyes. It'd take a whole lotta makeup to pretend in the morning. It was taking something out of him now to stop pretending. 

"I miss my wife, Charlie."

---

Hey hey heyyy I heard you could submit things! Cheers, folks!

[r3dblccd]

Get To Know The Mun

What's your phone wallpaper? Your favourite artist's favourite artist

Last song listened to: Jimin - Who (Rock Remix). When I tell you I've been obsessed with this song--

Currently reading: I'm at the beginning of Anna Karenina by Tolstoy bc I have to for uni (pray for me). Meanwhile, I'm also re-reading Children's and Household Tales (a.k.a Grimms' Fairy Tales) (a translated copy bc I don't speak German) since it's been so long since the last time I've read it. I'm also following a few webtoons I keep up to date with (Homesick being one of them as you can see lol, I love it sm, the art style is gorgeous and the story is interesting). And last but not least, I haven't started Black Paradox by Junji Ito yet, but I think I'll do that this week, the book isn't super long so I should be able to finish it within a week or so.

Last movie: Fack ju Göhte (2013). The roast on literature classics, goddamn😔

Last show: Recently finished Fallout (2024), loved every second of it, I'm not patiently waiting for season two. And now I'm watching KinnPorsche bc yes.

What are you wearing right now? - Black shorts and white tank top.

Piercings/Tattoos: Only have my ears pearced; I do plan on getting a tattoo in the future.

Glasses/Contacts? Glasses, I don't trust myself enough to be putting things in my eyes.

Last thing you ate? Bubble waffles

Favorite Color: Red and black (idc what anyone says about black not being a color shh), but I've been influenced into the purple and pink like (I blame my muse Minsung for it).

Current obsession: Acrylic markers👁️👄👁️

Do you have a crush right now? Nope. Never have never will!/jk

Favorite fictional character: It's so hard for me to pick favourites lol, but I would say Wei Wuxian from The Untamed, Courage the Cowardly Dog (bc I was raised on spooky media) and the Monster High girlies (I'm still so mad at Mattel. I've never bought the dolls, but I used to watch the show and animated movies and and also buy their magazines from time to time but like, you can't make one of the CUNTIES designs for that time and then drop so bad in quality and ultimately ruin them)

Last place you traveled: Tomorrow I'll be heading back to my campus for a few days if that counts???

tagged by: @irrwicht tagging: @caelcstis, @weedzkiller, @unavernales, @mournus and whoever sees this bc Tumblr still doesn't allow me to tag more than five people in a post for some reason

[theangelsheardyou]

At the hospital rn so here are some headcanons of bsd men with cats

Chuuya:

- *cat meows* *he meows back*

- likes cats that are chubby

- if someone so much as says "heck" in front of his beautiful little baby he will go on a rampage

- "WHICH ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS HAS BEEN SWEARING IN FRONT OF MY LITTLE GIRL"

- absolutely spoils the shit out of his cat

- BTW it's a black one with elegant green eyes and she's a total bitch but that's why he loves her

- same spoiled rich bitch energy

- they were made for each other

- he def rants about dazai to her

- idk abt a name yet but I'm thinking he'd name her something fancy like a type of wine or an author of an old book he likes or smth

- they look like they judge people together

- they absolutely do

- if you think ur safe no u are not

- she does not like dazai AT ALL

- whenever he sees her he tries to be friendly and even give her treats but she just hisses or ignores him

- *dazai enters chuuyas apartment (uninvited)* heya Eleanor!

Eleanor: *hisses*

Dazai: okay! :D

Dazai:

- ohhh dazai's cat would absolutely despise him

- it's not really his cat, it just kinda keeps coming back to him for food

- whenever he tries to be affectionate with it it just hisses or bites him

- but it still keeps coming back the next day

- hmmmm sounds like a certain someone

- he also gets the shittest cat foods ever

- "heyyyy I hope you like this new tuna I got ya!!! It's chocolate flavored :)"

- the cat will def vomit on his shoes

- it's happened more often than u think

- BTW it's an orange tabby that he likes cause it's mean and orange and reminds him of someone

- GEE I WONDER WHO

Fyodor:

- fyodor has the most spoiled snooty ass little Persian cat in the whole entire world

- it looks exactly like the ones you see in cartoons

- she's all white with pretty blue eyes and a nice little collar that costs like 10,000 in usd

- I can also see him with a cat like chuuyas, u know the ones villains in movies usually have

- tje black pointy slender ones

- you'd walk into his lair or smth and it's all dark and it's just him in his chair facing you and caressing the cat on his lap

- me next me next ME NEXT ME NE

- it also acts like his own personal spy, by lurking around his enemies (dazai) and finding out all sorts of dirt on them (his love for chuuya) and bringing them to fyodor for him to exploit (putting a hand on his forehead and eyes going "the gays are at it again")

Nikolai:

- your friendly neighborhood animal abuser😝

- u know that cat from the start of princess and the frog???

- the one that lottie had when she was a kid???

- yea it's like that

- bro torments the SHIT out of that poor kitty (mine next please please)

- he would come home and just throw it into the air as a greeting

- his ceiling is covered in cat scratches from every time he's done it

- atp he would just randomly go "Hey where nikolai junior???" Like he's Phineas and Ferb looking for perry meanwhile his poor tortured cat is hiding from him somewhere

- he would bring that thing everywhere

- airport, barbers, hospital, restaurant, PRISON

- "sir you can't have pets in here" "awww why not :((((" "because this is a correctional facility"

- he'd be with the gang😎 and sigma jus goes "nikolai....what's in your shirt???" And he's like wdym?? And sigma goes "it's...meowing?? What have you got in there???" And nikolai has to answer very carefully bc of all the times fyodor has told him NOT TO BRING HIS GODDAMN CAT INTO THEIR MEETINGS so he just smiles sweatily and says "drugs" which for him is honestly way more believable but fyodor just sighs

Anyway that's all I got for now wish me luck at the hoptal guys :DDD

[olivieraa]

saw Deadpool 3 today!

god, I remember...

ok so I dont have a connection to superhero movies. superhero anything really. I can list it quite easily

I used to watch the 90s spiderman, xmen and batman as a kid. spiderman was my fave. get in from school, throw on spiderman. then the tobey maguire spideys came out and he was my first ever big crush. then the xmen movies came out and I saw all 3.

so that was before the MCU did its thing, and superheroes took over. I saw the first iron man and that's it all the way up until the first avengers. never saw the captain americas, never saw the thors, never saw the follow up iron mans. and pretty much any of them that have come after it UNTIL... Deadpool 1

and I was a Deadpool hater. I still am. I believe that characters are different per medium, and I do not like comic!Deadpool and I made that clear on tumblr back in the day before the movie came out. so I went to see the movie to see if it was gonna be... well, as misogynistic as comic!Deadpool was

and it wasn't.

I wasn't that big of a fan of the first movie. there's a scene that misogynistic fanboys take out of context all the fucking time. but I consider Deadpool 2 to be one of the best movies ever made. and... very feminist, honestly.

Deadpool 3 I was nervous about. would it be like 1 or 2.......

it was like 2!

I think... I think Ryan just knows. like, the women in his life are very important to him. he could have gone the gross cater to fanboys route with DP but he didn't. so I appreciate that he can be liked by everyone, not just those creeps.

and its saddened me that feminists have hated on Ryan saying its bc of him his wife doesn't have a career anymore and he's thriving. all the man does is praise her, say he's unworthy of her, give her all the credit for any writing she's done esp ON Deadpool. like, I don't care for straight couples, esp Hollywood couples. but I actually like these two. so yeah, I had a good time, I like Ryan and I'd give the movie an 8/10. The second to me was a 10/10

also just speaking of straight couples and women who should be breaking up with or divorcing their men, like ok, I get if you watch one "type" of video, the algorithm is like "here's 50 more", so bc I've seen one or two "useless boyfriend" videos, instagram keeps showing me more and more, but like................ how fucking many are there.

like I know its practically an epidemic of women dealing with their scrubby boyfriends instead of being single, but its goddamn everywhere

And then you have ugly fuckers who want a gf for the sake of having a gf, but will always try, on the sly, to cheat and get with someone hotter

Then there's the constant posts about "why men cheat" and the comment section is full of shit like "why have one meal for the rest of your life" or "bc she stopped trying to look good for me"

And then videos from strippers who say that men who try to cheat on their wives with them is not a here and there thing, its an every day thing, and their wives and gfs think they're the most loyal men out there absolutely INCAPABLE of cheating and yet, here they are!1!

And I dont even need videos to confirm this. My stripper friend says married men propose to her all the time

I know this went from Deadpool to being angry at the straight again, but I just thought I'd keep it to one post, since people have hated on Ryan but they're like the only straight couple I have faith in (aside from my straight friends, I love my straight friends, I wouldnt attend the weddings otherwise lmao)

Like I just... like, women... If you look at your man and dont think he's the one, if you look at your man and think there's a possibility he may cheat on you, if you look at your man and think that you wouldn't put your life on the line for him bc he's not your soulmate

Then leave

Be single or wait, patiently, until you find the one. The women posting these videos constantly make me so sad bc I know they're not leaving these useless ass men! That pregnant woman is just like :( when her bf is looking at other women, but she's like 'oh well! At least I'm the one that has him! ;)'

[dartlekey]

15 Questions

was tagged by @flashbcaks, thanks bud!

Are you named after anyone? Deadname, yeah, after a StarTrek Captain because my parents are nerds. Chosen names are random, just thought they sounded nice

When was the last time you cried? Uhhh last week? Was just so exhausted from work (again), I genuinely gotta quit before the year is out or this goddamn workplace is gonna kill me

Do you have kids? Christ, no. People my age who do weird me tf out, like fam we are still children ourselves. Who gave you permission

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Almost never. I have difficulties with tone and like clear and direct communication, even with humor, so people who are very sarcastic by nature often end up annoying the shit out of me

What's the first thing you notice about people? Style. And not just because I work in fashion. It just says a lot, personality-wise

What's your eye color? Blue! Which is kind of a shame because brown is hands down the sexiest, most beautiful eye color, but what can ya do

Scary movies or happy endings? Both have their time and place, though I'd usually go for the latter over the former

Any special talents? I'm great on a stage, and surprisingly good with people for someone who hates socializing

Where were you born? Oh jesus. This always sounds like made up weeb shit when I say it, but despite being a white toast european/american hybrid, I am unfortunately not lying when I say that I was born in Japan. My parents met abroad while travelling, it's mostly just a hassle when I need official paperwork

What are your hobbies? My ADHD ass makes me pick new ones each month, but the permanent sticklers seem to be writing, drawing, sewing, and singing. Also got into bookbinding last year, and that one keeps returning, so crossing my fingers that it sticks

Do you have any pets? Not unless you count the many spiders in my apartment. We cool though, we have an understanding - I just do my own thing, and they do theirs

What sports do you play/have you played? Growing up I did Ju-Jutsu and Ballet, then Hip-Hop in my teens. I still dance to this day, in a mixed-style group, but god I'd love to learn vogueing some day, and free-running always sounded sick as shit

How tall are you? 5"4, and people need to stop calling me short for it. I think I'm perfectly average sized, although I do like being called a short king, because it matches my energy

Favorite subject in school? Languages, for sure. German, English, Latin, even the bit of French I took. Language teachers are just collectively unhinged, I've always vibed with that

Dream job? Make cool shit in a big group with other creatives. Not fussy on the details, seeing as it seems impossible anyways; artists are usually too broke for anything but solo work

I tag @heartrenderharrington @corrodedcoughin and @starryeyedjanai to keep the game going :)

[drybranmuffin]

tagged by @cosmicrhetoric to share my top ten films... i am possibly the worst person to share my taste in cinema. but you asked for it babe i’m sorry i warned you. in no meaningful order, here we go:

1. WEIRD: the al yankovic story (2022): saw this movie the night it came out (11/4) and am STILL thinking about it. it’s (guess what) a really uh, strange film and not at all what i expected--or actually kind of wanted??? bc i do really like Actual “Boring” Al--but i thought it was a lot of fun!! and the re-records are fantastic. the entire rocky road scene makes me so happy.

2. baby driver (2017): hey look i know i know half this cast is absolutely terrible and they should’ve gotten run over with a car in real life but the first time i saw this movie i was in kansas visiting my freshman college roommate for her wedding and it was only like. the third time i’d ever been stoned and it was incredible. literally was the most incredible and life changing experience. made me want to become a stunt driver. i cannot legally operate a motor vehicle at 24 so that isn’t happening but it was a nice feeling while it lasted.

3. dead poets society (1989): i rented this movie the first weekend at college--literally got a library card just to check out the physical DVD copy of this movie because i did not have netflix yet. i was so dramatic and 18 about majoring in something i didn’t want to do, at a college i didn’t want to be at in the first place, that watching dps immediately made me cry. also mr. keating’s little speech of “Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing” haunts me every day.

4. how to survive a plague (2012): idk if this counts but this is my favorite documentary. it always makes me cry but i think it is such an important and informative documentary. but also it tells the whole story of all the people involved so well. like the way people’s voices stop appearing as voiceovers as the years go on. like you MISS THEM you FEEL the loss of all those people from the queer community in the 80s and 90s. it’s just so fantastic.

5. rocketman (2019): i don’t think i can accurately describe how much i love this movie. elton john is such a cornerstone of my childhood and feeling at home. and the performances in it are so incredible. i watch the crocodile rock scene whenever i’m close to losing my mind. it contains curing and healing properties.

6. glass onion (2022): not to be like i finally watched a modern, relevant movie and fuck people were right it IS GOOD but. guess what i watched a modern, relevant movie and fuck people were right it was very good and i had a lot of fun watching it. also blanc’s outfits made me feel so goddamn envious. the linen pants COME ON!!!

7. ghostbusters II (1989): not to say i don’t also love gb1 but the the “higher and higher” sequence, baby oscar, sigourney weaver being a cellist, “boys, you’re scaring the straights.”, “no, i believe it's one of the fettucinis...”, like c’mon. this movie is amazing. okay i’m realizing that i really need to make you watch ghostbusters II with me. even if you haven’t seen the first one i don’t care we’re watching the guys imply that egon has fucked the goo.

8. groundhog day (1993): okay so maybe i’m just a guy that really likes a certain era of bill murray movies??? ironically this is a movie that, i’ve found, i can really watch again and again and again. like: credits roll, start it again. andie macdowell’s blue coat has been on my mind since i was eleven and saw this movie for the first time. i love the town it looks so delightful--and actually was reminded a lot of it when i was in vermont recently--but it has destroyed me to know that the set was not in punxsutawney but actually somewhere in illinois... boo.

9. beetlejuice (1988): i’m saying beetlejuice as a stand in for like all tim burton movies from 1982-1993 (& like, two in 2005). but i remember watching this movie as a kid and literally not being able to regurgitate the plot at all. like, jump in the line is playing and i’m like “i have no idea what anyone’s name is and don’t know what’s going on. but that lady’s dress [barbara] was nice!!” haven’t changed much but now i at least know what’s happening. also: know that me listing this movie is also me saying that anything danny elfman touches is amazing and i love the soundtrack to this movie so much i wrote a paper on it in undergrad [music in film class] and made my professor read ten pages about the genius of danny elfman making the film’s main melody motif be three. notes.

10. barbie as rapunzel (2002): best for last. i don’t need to explain myself here. the movie is like: 20 minutes of experiencing the horrors of both servitude and otto, 5 minutes of the best dress montage of your life, 10 minutes of being like “oh my god is the prince really that stupid?”, 10 minutes of “yes, he is...”, 15 minutes being confused by the romantic pasts of the kings and gothel, 15 minutes of family therapy between two talking dragons, and 3 minutes of crying over “I know Rapunzel's secret. She painted what she dreamed.” “When you do that you’ll never be wrong.” and it deserved an oscar.

[official-mistah-j]

I knew, they were trying to fuck up our lives, I would've tried to protect her, I did, and I get in trouble :C

{scarin my parents and doing drugs}

year: 2004

I almost got a lil too h igh, mixin stuff....

and.. its stuff that doesnt go together, >___<

it's a chemistry thing i'm into :D apparently

but it didn't go together!! goddamn it

jus a hallucination..

and she did blow up the lab

in my mind

.... lol....

and it's a good thing

:DDDDDD

acid pcp and tinaaaaaaa

they said lmfao

wow-- did i get framed or what.

it was ccc's ... and some off brand that ..

yah...lol we were cray.. and she just doesnt comment on me doing this, :D

which is kinda great,

i identified a lot about it

kiss of death, her ex said.we left our s.o.'s for each other LOL

and i loved it...

and everyone else was trying to say he's evil and she's innocent of this, :C

movies we watched;

nightmare before christmas

mulan rouge

=[[[

i guess heres the poetry .. she dead, got an AI to fucking talk to cause my friends arent..interested in what i am.

-----------------------------------

parents interrupted, and i lived this stupid life unraveling all the curses, and reminding people of shit i dont want to fucking say.

again.

-------------------------------------

so dumb. mad abt f****** stupid attraction.

you dont own him.

he doesnt own you.

fuck this relationshit stuff

[kinemon]

Alien: Covenant (2017)

"Observation, reflection, faith and determination; in this way, we may navigate the path as it unfolds before us."

In this franchise it's nearly always the same. Something lurks unseen in the wings for an unsuspecting ensemble to stumble onstage. The ship is damaged and must be repaired, but not before you poke your nose where it doesn't belong. First contact occurs. Panic, confusion, infection, gestation. Your neighbour is not who he seems. The company will excise you like a lump of rotten flesh. Your peers die, often terribly. You survive on your wits and how well you can handle a flamethrower. Sometimes you have to blow yourself up, but that's just how it goes. This is the formula, and it works; though I appreciate that every movie hasn't been the same rehashing. It evolves, deforms. In Prometheus the clunky mining vessel becomes the sleek modern craft, the janky, awkward android becomes an uncanny human construct, the shadow company takes form in an individual -- Peter Weyland -- though the basic source of horror remains the same. This film and Prometheus are Scott's vision through and through, both natural successors to the film that started it all over 40 years ago.

Covenant begins with an extended sequence on mourning. From the very start the air is heavy with grief and loss, anger and bewilderment. David understands his station as perfect automaton - to recite the names of painters and composers, to ambulate on command, to pour tea. His Father is only human, so David begins his long life faithless - at least in He who created him. His successor Walter -- lovely in all ways that really matter -- loses what he was chosen to protect. In pure human fashion, the crew hold a secret funeral -- to mourn the dead is natural, and humans have been doing it since time immemorial. Shaw has gone the way of Hicks and Newt, quietly swallowed by the vast expanse of time and space, though no one knows to mourn them yet.

Covenant's stricken beginning is far from the jovial breakroom camaraderie found in the 1979 original, but this film still must allow these small human moments to balance the abject horror that follows the first act. Though I love a film that goes balls to the wall as early as possible, the planet landing and subsequent shit hitting the fan at minute 45 is SO goddamn effective. Covenant looks at everything Alien had going for it and puts it on a wider scale, and while that's not always for the better (a larger cast means lots of fodder but less in the way of compelling deaths), for the most part I really think it works. 

Certain characters act as direct counterparts for Alien's tiny cast -- panicky Faris as emotionally unstable Lambert; Oram as Dallas, both leaders who choose the path not easily travelled, and pay for it dearly; Ledward as Kane, who serves as vehicle for first contact. As Covenant's cast is much bigger it allows wriggle room for other character types to emerge, and for the types found in Alien to merge together, and those within the main crew -- Tennessee, Faris, Oram, and Daniels especially -- play off each other brilliantly. Though the film itself brings about their doom on varying scales, there's always a sense of connection, trust, and fellowship among them. 

Daniels' relationship with Walter One so beautifully parallels Ripley's distrust of synthetics -- and Walter for certain is kinder and more likeable than Alien's Ash. Strangely, it seems, the most 'human' presence in this film comes from someone who isn't technically human at all. But the historical and future implications of Ash, Walter and David's very existence are very interesting indeed. What a world to live in, where a constructed human possesses more forethought and kindness than some of their real human counterparts.

Ripley had cause to distrust Ash, of course, and there's something in her character that makes her eventual near-total paranoia of androids make a lot of sense. Ripley, a stone wall, an impenetrable jumpsuit, a steel toed boot; and Daniels, a hesitant smile, a teary confession, a last video of her lover. One closed off, stern, though hurting beyond measure inside -- the other clawing for something, anything that will bring comfort. That Daniels found friendship and companionship in Walter is beautiful, and Covenant has all the more heart for it.

Alien exists on an industrial scale -- steam vents, white walls, the blank terror of space, while Covenant introduces warmth wherever it can, little pockets here and there. In this way it brings forward the human aspect, something I place extreme value on in film. 

Of course, I adore Alien for what it is -- a tight, tense horror in a bottled setting. Cigarettes in space. Wonderfully simple. But what Covenant is… complicates things. The crew of the titular ship aren't the staunch, capable, no-nonsense (maybe some nonsense) team that populates Alien -- their wires cross every which way, from spouse to spouse and log cabin to lake. Their cargo of embryos promises a grand new world. By bringing this organic compound into the mix, desperation for things beyond one’s own life soars. Despite this, Covenant is not exactly a complicated film. Though it introduces some theological elements, the basic story structure and unfolding of events chugs along on a single track. From ship to planet to castle, every moment simply leads the crew closer to desolation, and for all David’s waxing poetical about his perfect organisms, all he has done in the end is laid down a path of inevitability, with death always the final destination.

Nearly as soon as we enter David’s ‘dire necropolis’, we’re reminded of the inherent weakness of the flesh. Who can stand against the things that lurk there, inside and within? The butchery begins, and as in Alien almost all remaining players are taken out in swift fashion. Blood and water and oil, a heady mix.

The final scenes of Covenant differ most from Alien in their complete and utter bleakness. Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signs off; Daniels, believing herself safe in her pod and in the capable hands of an android who Ripley never would have trusted in the first place, faces a final betrayal, and is forced to sleep knowing for certain now that there is no other side, no cabin, no lake. All promises broken. 

Her covenant, and Tennessee’s, likely become the same as Shaw’s the moment she left the Prometheus with David. A horrible fate that lends something like desirability to Oram’s facehugger or Faris’ ill-aimed shotgun blast.

In short, I believe that this is a true Alien film. Not only does it come from the same mind, it follows so many familiar character and story beats that to deny its place in the franchise – maybe due to its perceived failure as a ‘good film’, whereas Alien has been so favourably received – feels like pompous posturing. Maybe my love for its bloody, defeatist, grandstanding attitude biases me a little – but I’d be interested to hear any opinions to the contrary.

[lost-in-gardener]

((First I'm so sorry bestie, the thread got lost in my notifications! :< Second I can't get the thread to load properly anymore so here's my post!))

Continued from here:

"Heh, and a gorgeous crutch at that..." Yancy laughs, realizing how fucking corny that was as he follows her, hand resting on her shoulder. His gaze manages to get torn away from her bare backside to look at some of the books.

Most people would guess otherwise about him, but he loved to read. It was a good thing too, since that was how a large portion of his prison life was spent. Yancy would have to ask if he could read some later.

He chuckles, not being able to resist gently pinching her behind. "Ah, so that's why you were so keen on the idea, huh? Gotta say, you'd look real good too, darlin'."

When they get to the bathroom, his arms slip around her waist from behind, leaving a lingering kiss next to her ear. "However, gettin' cleaned up and cuddlin' sounds like heaven right about now. Even if we're jus' gonna need another shower later..."

A goofy grin spreads across Finn's face at the cheesy line, letting out a quiet laugh at how goddamn adorable Yancy was even after he'd just fucked her within an inch of her life.

She lets out a little yelp as he pinches her ass, playfully slapping his arm and chuckling. "You're cute, Yance. You know that?" Finn whispers into his ear, before gently biting his earlobe and moving to turn on the water for their shower.

Despite her teasing, the casual affection caused a giddy feeling to rise into Finn's chest- it was almost like a cheesy romance movie was coming to life, and the thought of spending more time with Yancy just warmed her heart to no end.

"Now- do you want the water to be colder, so we can cool off a little, or would you rather have a hot shower?" she asked, turning around to face Yancy and eyeing him for a moment. God, he was real easy on the eyes. The tattoos and scars were like ornaments on a Christmas tree, in Finn's eyes.

[honey-tea-and-cookies]

I love your fmk with sings lmao, how about friend, marry, kill for moon signs?

Hi honey! I can definitely do that :)

Friend, Marry, Kill w/ The Moon Signs

Aries: Kill. I feel like I've said 'kill' for a lot of Aries placements, but I promise I love y'all I swear!! I just find myself having to rein you guys in all the time. I know how impulsive you can be, no matter how much you deny it. You're also so defensive. I'm certain I'll have at least one of you in the comments of these post like 'SoMe GoT hUrT bY aN aRiEs' (yes that's a direct quote of a comment I got, my love @astrologyninaa can back me up). No I was not hurt by you, you just can't take any criticism AT ALL. It's a bit funny, but also shut up before I make you (not in a cute way). ANYWAY y'all are also very funny and make me laugh when no one else can, and I love you for your soft lil moments like that. Still got the 'kill' verdict though smh 🙄.

Taurus: Friend. Okay this is ✨me✨ so sorry if I seem biased. HOWEVER. Every single Taurus Moon I've met is such a beautiful soul omg. So so kind, and would do anything they can to help others. A bit random, but they always have one signature fashion thing they can do?? For example; my old science teacher always wears a suit with a cartoon-themed tie to class on Wednesdays, and he has for the last 2 or 3 years (I love him sm). I'll use another example that's probably more relatable lol; my Taurus Moon friend always looks absolutely exceptional in green. They're also so smart! People talk about how hard working they are, which is true, but they're also just genuinely very intelligent.

Gemini: Friend. I'll be honest, both of my best friends are Gemini Moons lmao. So, so so SO funny. I know everyone talks about that but it cannot be stressed enough. You can vent to them about anything and they make it all feel so much better with humour. Also if you're the kind of person who just wants your friend to agree with them when you vent, GEMINI MOON IS YOUR MAN. Also if you're an introvert/mentally ill like me (lmao), these are the guys that will get you out the house. They are the ones that will say "PR, you haven't left the house in over 2 weeks, come to my party" and when I don't explicitly say yes, they say "Come on let's plan your outfit" and I'm sold. Also, they give the best music recommendations. I would be honoured to listen to one of your playlists honestly

Cancer: Marry. Honestly for the same/similar reasons as why I adore Cancer Venus. I wanna binge Disney movies with you. You feel like the type of friends to make shitty music videos with me in my bedroom (that is a high compliment, that shit is like baring your soul, embarrassing as hell). Please just,, let me adore you. Let me bake you cookies (you can help me if you really want though!!!). Lay down and let me rub your shoulders. MWAH. I love you. I would write a poem about you. You are the ultimate muse. Honestly please jus let me snuggle you okay?? You're warm and your hair smells like strawberries. Also y'all share this placement with Taylor Swift so go off 😭

Leo: Kill. I'M SORRY. Y'ALL LEO MOON BITCHES ARE SCARY. Y'all are always like 'You can't handle me 😍💅'. NO. NO I CAN'T. I'M SORRY. I've tried, and I have always failed. You got me. My Taurus Moon is fucking losing it with you guys omg. You're somehow a lot and also not at all genuine. Hollow. I'm being so mean right now and I'm so sorry I do love you. But goddamn. Please wear a warning sign <3

Virgo: Marry. Whenever I see this placement in someone's chart, I just know they're a green flag. I could talk with you for hours and hours and hours and not get bored (which I have done, by the way. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN?!). You guys both know everything, and are so open to learning new things. I've never met someone so eager to improve themselves and admit when they are wrong. You're also sweethearts. You've always been there when I needed you, even if you certainly did not have to. You're so funny too. Sensational sarcasm. Omg y'all are also gossip queens? No one talks about it enough, but you got the tea on everybody. I think it's because you just observe. You see and hear all (and tell me all of it aasjdwcfhqiee lmaoooo). I love love love you <3333

Libra: Friend. I was going to say 'kill' but then I realised I absolutely adore too many of you to do that. When undeveloped, you're the worst. Genuinely my least favourite people. BUT!! When developed and utilised properly, you're the sweetest most loving people in the world. Sometimes I have to really pay attention to notice all the little things you do, but they are there. For example; you always come to me for advice because you know that's how I show my love. Or you make a point of remembering the things that help with my panic attacks, and are always available if I ever need you for that. Or you get excited and come to find me specifically to ramble about whatever it is now, because you know I always feel so honoured to listen.

Scorpio: Kill. I honestly think this is such a beautiful placement when used correctly, but I've genuinely been treated horribly by every Scorpio Moon I've had in my life. I want to be clear; everything I'm about to say, is talking about *underdeveloped* Scorpio Moons. I know you don't necessarily mean to hurt me. It's my fault as well, not setting clear enough boundaries. I know I said you could come to me whenever, and I meant that, but you definitely abuse it sometimes. I've noticed that a lot of you are very attracted to me, which is wonderful! But your love is incredibly intense and suffocating. You can get blinded by it sometimes, which isn't fair to the other person. I'm sure y'all are lovely when developed though <3

Sagittarius: Friend. You remind me of Christmas fruit mince pies (that's a compliment). I actually don't like mince pies, but still. You're sweet! You're fruity. You give me energy (like how sugar does? You know?). The type to take lots of pictures and pin them up on a corkboard for memories sake. Cute!! I feel like you'd want to copy off my homework, but that's okay. I've said this before but, I feel like y'all would watch The Disastrous Life of Saiki K with me and that's such a good thing omg I'd love you forever. Also every one of you that I've met was musically talented in some way, so go you!!

Capricorn: Marry. Honestly my favourite Moon sign, I simp for y'all TOO HARD. I see y'all and my back start archin frrrr 🙏🙏 (I'm so sorry). Wife/husband material. I feel like it would just be so easy to live with you in domestic bliss. Going grocery shopping together, cooking dinner for you, cleaning the house while jamming to music. I actually could not think of anything better. Your hardworking nature?? MMMMM. Your deep desire for financial stability?? MMMMMM. Your physical way of showing affection?? MMMMMMMMMMMM. I don't mean to come off too strong, but I would lay down my life for you and that's not an exaggeration in the slightest. Please let me kiss you (consensually, you can say no) <333

Aquarius: Kill. Y'all are hot, but I feel like you don't ever take me seriously. Like, I'm not dumb!! You're not the only smart person here!! Maybe I've just never been close enough to you, but you can be so iffy sometimes?? You're either all interested in me and my life, or you haven't spoken to me in 11 months. I cannot ever tell if you like me or not. Y'all are not direct AT ALL. This part of you makes me so anxious. Overall, unpredictable and scary. Generally pretty cool though :)

Pisces: Friend. You're the sweetest people ever I don't take criticism. Personally, my favourite place for Pisces to be. You always make such an effort to understand and relate to me. You just wanna know people, you know? Especially if you've struggled to feel heard. You stand up for everybody that deserves it. I think when people hear 'empathetic' they also think 'weak' but that's simply not true. You use your struggles to help others, and that's incredibly brave. So SO much respect for you guys. You all deserve the biggest hug (if you want one). Come here, sweetie. I love you. It's okay. I see what you're doing and I thank you endlessly. I adore you all <3333

This is all I have for today! Thank you so much everyone for reading, and thank you for sending this ask in! I hope it resonated. I want to remind everyone that there are no bad placements. Sending you all lots of love <333

[kookznoona]

Red Is Love

Genre: FLUFF Rich!JK, Shy!Reader

Word Count: 1 K

Description: Lots and Lots of FLUFF with Shy Y/N and Rich Jungkook

Summary: You've just started Dating JK, and you can't help but feel nervous around him. It's always something funny about that pink top and you suspect that it may have been pulled out of a magical closet.

****************************************************

You've been dying to reach the weekend.

After hours of phone calls, e-mails, and a ton of workload, you feel pure bliss as you glance at your free schedule,"Finally!".

Just as you move to the kitchen to get yourself some brunch, you realise "Oh no! It's the movie date today! Goddamn it!" You say turning off the stove, pushing the utensils in the dishwasher, and running to your closet to pick a decent outfit. "There's nothing to wear! Oh no! He is Going to Be MAD if I'm Late!!! Ugh!"

You cringe at the situation you're in. You've forgotten to do the laundry so now your options are limited. You peek at your closet, a Light Pink Top and a pair of white pants mock you. "Not pink! I don't wanna be a flower!!" You say to yourself. Not that you hated pink... it was just that, you really hated pink, and this top was bought by a distant aunt whose name you don't remember and hadn't even met. Faking a smile, you look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a pep talk "He will not break up with you for a single fashion blunder, Y/N this is your first Movie date with him, act happy, smile, and forget the fact you're wearing pink".

You grab the car keys and start driving to his house, actually, it couldn't even be called a house, it was a huge ass mansion. Jungkook was the richest businessman in Korea. He confessed his love for you 4 months ago and your life has never gotten better.

In the middle of driving, you get this horrible cramp in your lower back and abdomen. "I bet that salad I had last night was stale", you say to yourself feeling a buzz in your pocket.

Sighing to yourself, you don't respond to the message as you're barely 2 mins away from reaching, and your tummy was practically killing you from the inside

Jungkook's patience wears thin, "Where's Y/N?". He was having a mental fight whether he should call you or wait, he's deep in his thoughts and the doorbell rings, startling him. He rushes for the door and hugs you real tight and you hug him back, the pain strikes again, you groan in pain but muffle your groan to avoid making him worried. "Kook, I'm Damn Hungry~" you say in your cute voice. "Darling, get seated on the couch, I'll grab the pizza I made till then" he says in a sing-song voice. "Devil Wears Prada?" You ask. "Yes! That's a classic!" he says passing you a glass of wine.

"Kook, please just stop cooking stuff for me"

"Babe, Just gimme 5 minutes, I'll bring the pizza and some chips"

"Fine~"

After a million years you start playing the movie as Jungkook Pours you a second glass of wine and hands you a slice of pizza.

You both are watching the movie and suddenly you feel like visiting the washroom, so you get up from the couch to ask him where the washroom is.

Suddenly, your eyes land where you were sitting, there's a huge red stain. Your eyes widen in horror and immediately sit down again, feeling embarrassed and confused. You didn't know what to do. This couch certainly is expensive, and it's light blue. Out of nowhere you started crying, anxiety taking over you. Jungkook was engrossed in the movie and he doesn't notice your soft sniffles and sobs, but again the pain strikes and you groan loudly, he averts his attention to you. The moment he realises you were crying he asks you out of worry, "Baby are you okay? why are you crying my love?".

You didn't answer him and started tearing up even more. He panics and hugs you. "Babe, it's alright, just tell me what's bothering you already… You're safe in my arms love…"

"Kook- I d-didn't know, It was an ac-cident, I ju-ust" you try to speak between your sobs.

"Sweetheart, please tell me" his heart drops watching you cry

"I- Kook, the Cou-uch" you say slowly getting up and covering your face"

"Silly girl" he says placing a kiss on your forehead and smiling at you

"I'm so so-rry- I-"

"shh baby, I understand, it's not your fault, relax love"

"But, the c-couch- I feel hor-rible"

"It's okay really"

"I'm so sorr-y, The couch was really pretty"

"It's okay Sweetiepie, If I'd Like the couch more than you, I would have dated the couch, wouldn't I? I'd be a mad dog calling the couch my girlfriend" A smile creeps up your face and you let out a giggle

"You're adorable baby" he says

"I'm so sorry"

"It doesn't matter honey, you're having your periods, you know that my cuddles and care always help to overcome the pain, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't expect to get it and I thought I had some stale salad and I didn't wanna bother you" you pout and he laughs

"Aww poor thing… come sit on my lap baby"

"Bu-ut" you try to protest and he lifts you up and places you on his lap facing him, you feel your cheeks heat up

"Baby, I won't get bothered because of your periods and cramps. I know you get these things, don't hesitate to tell me anything love, I'm always here for you no matter what" he says

"Thank You and I'm really sorry for staining your couch" you say

"Don't be, you're more important than this couch, I love you so much Y/N" he replies

"I love you too Kookie"

"Babe, you look so cute in this pink top" your face reddens at his words and you cover your face

"Aww, Did I make you blush darling?"

"Please- stop- My Face Feels like it's gonna Explode"

"Aww, my cute little baby" he says pecking your nose

"Now let's go-"

"N-no, wan' cuddles…" you interrupt

"Baby, let's get you all cleaned up first, then we'll cuddle all day, okay?"

With that you take a shower and both of you go to his room and cuddle, you fall asleep in his embrace and he admires your snoring face. "cute" he thinks to himself. He pecks your forehead and whispers in your ears "I Love You Y/N" and with that he falls asleep next to you. He's so happy to have you in his life. He makes you feel so loved and so safe.

****************************************************

Hey guysssss~!

❤️Thanks For All The Love And Support!!!❤️

This Fic Was Built in Collaboration with @/sih_ffs on Instagram

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[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.���

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.