#BUT from my digging online someone said everyone they talked to who got in the program also got in the school

[boycritter]

anyways i have probably been accepted into one of the schools i applied to? which is pretty neat

[presidenthades]

Day 2 of HOTD adventures at New York Comic Con

As I mentioned in my Day 1 post, I did end up attending the HOTD panel today! It was live-streamed, so I won’t bother with a full recap because a lot of people have probably watched the recording. I’ll just list a few things I thought were highlights.

First of all, I just want to brag about my very excellent seat. I had a great view of the stage.

My personal highlights:

Before the panel began, an event host went around the room to get some sound bites from the audience. The most notable was a pair of women who cosplayed Rhaenys and Meleys. That’s right, someone cosplayed MELEYS. I wish I’d gotten photos, but believe me when I say the cosplays were amazing.

When Matt talked about how he’s attended many fan events, it made me think about how during his brief interactions for photos and autographs, he still made every fan feel seen and appreciated. I read online that Matt, who was scheduled to do Saturday autographs only until 7pm, stayed after 10pm to make sure everyone in line got their autographs. He probably is aware that his lines are generally really long, and he did his best to make the experience worth it even though he had limited time.

It was a CROWDED room, I think 4000 people? If Fabien seemed a little startled/awestruck at first, that’s why. He also seemed surprised (at the panel and during other fan interactions later) that people were genuinely happy to see him. I suspect this is due to some people letting their feelings about Criston seep into their real-life interactions with Fabien.

Cock jokes. 😂😂😂

The host asked Tom and Fabien if they became more comfortable going from Season 1 to Season 2. Not sure if the livestream caught it, but Tom let out an awkward giggle after that question. 👀

When the host asked Fabien how he would rate his job as Hand and then the question was tossed to the audience, the reception was indeed lackluster. Lots of people held up hands with just one or two fingers raised. Fabien seemed really sheepish about it, though Tom defended Criston’s character. It reminded me of a conversation I overheard while queuing before the panel. There was a group of friends in the queue, and one of them said she’d never seen HOTD and knew nothing about it. Her friends told her that if the panel asked any questions about Cole, “don’t cheer because we hate him.”

Matt and Fabien discussing Daemon and Criston’s homoerotic trysts/tension. 🔥

Tom’s spiel about how he can’t turn his back on Aegon as a character or else everyone else will turn their backs was interesting. Also about how digging into the reasons Aegon behaves the way he does is “an explanation not an excuse.” I think that’s a nuance which unfortunately some people disregard, and that leads to toxic interactions in the fandom.

Matt’s description of Viserys’s death instilling in Daemon “an odd level of psychosis and grief” was VERY interesting.

I can’t believe Matt forgot Milly’s name. 😂 And when Fabien recounted that he told her to join them at NYCC, Milly said “no fucking way.” 😂😂😂

I happened to get a photo when Tom announced he spilled water on his trousers and, in his own words, it looked like he pissed himself.

The way the actors talked AROUND their feelings about the script/writers was intriguing. 👀 I wonder if Matt will actually make requests of the writers…

When the host asked what other character the actors would like to play, Fabien had trouble thinking of an answer, so the host said, “You love your character so much!” Fabien IMMEDIATELY said, “Don’t put that out into the aether.” It seems like he doesn’t allow himself to publicly declare that he likes anything about his own character, because he knows how much vitriol that would generate. 🥺

Tom has never watched Lord of the Rings??? CANCEL HIM. (JK please don’t.)

When the host asked the actors what was the worst note a director had ever given them, Fabien said it would have to wait a few years after HOTD. So I am pretty sure his “worst note” was something during HOTD. 👀

Matt thinks chipmunks and mice are the same thing. 😭

When the panel ended, Matt and Tom left pretty quickly because their handlers were ushering them to their next event. Fabien lingered onstage to take a picture of the giant audience. People SWARMED to the stage, and Fabien was nice enough to sign one or two things that people were shoving up at him before he also had to leave.

I ended up having time to go to Fabien’s autograph session later that day. On the way, I saw that Matt’s line was ridiculously long again. Tom’s line was also huge, I think because he left early the day before, so people were all trying to get his autograph today.

When I arrived, Fabien was going on a break, so several of us early birds waited for him to come back. Fabien and Tom’s booths were next to each other, and we were able to see what Tom was doing. Tom seemed tired again but was still nice and friendly to all the fans. I’m 99% sure his girlfriend was sitting nearby. He definitely perked up when he paused to chat with her.

When Fabien came back from his break, fans in the lines for both actors started cheering for him. Tom also started cheering and clapping and going “whooooo!” It’s good to see that the HOTD cast really do like and have fun with each other. ❤️

Once it was my turn to get an autograph and selfie, I told Fabien that I enjoyed his performance at Rook’s Rest, and I named a few specific Cole moments (pre-battle speech, stumbling around afterwards looking traumatized). He seemed to really appreciate hearing that; I feel like he might get a lot of “I hate Criston but…” kind of comments.

My HOTD adventures today were more Fabien-centered, and I enjoyed it! From my brief interaction, I would say Fabien is friendly, sweet, and genuinely interested in fan interactions—although maybe a little nervous/scared about what people will say to his face.

TBH I’m tempted to write a Criston POV for my fic series. I got Fabien to autograph a print that his team provided, but it would’ve been nice to be able to have him autograph something more personal. I love it anyway!

Now I’m going to show off my GOT/HOTD merch!

Postcards:

Stained glass window cling print that looks gorgeous when it’s backlit:

Not GOT/HOTD-related, but I found out last minute that Naomi Novik, AKA Astolat, AKA one of the founders of AO3, was attending NYCC on Sunday to sign books. So I hightailed to that event. She signed my copy of her new book (including my AO3 username) and my Fanbinding pouch. 🥰 I told her how much I adore her writing and appreciate her contribution to fandom. She was lovely!!

That little squiggle she draws in the middle is a dragon doodle! For those who don’t know, Naomi’s first published book series was Temeraire, which is about the Napoleonic Wars but with dragons.

Later that day, I was shopping at a booth selling gorgeous headbands. Then I turned around, and there was Naomi again, shopping at the same booth!! She was off-duty doing her own thing, so I tried very hard to pretend I didn’t know who she was, even though I was fangirling inside. She really is a nerdy fan like the rest of us, enjoying her con experience. ❤️❤️❤️

Here’s one of the headbands I got:

All in all, a very successful and fun con! But now I desperately need to catch up on sleep and get back to my normal routine, so maybe I can resume writing. 🥲😴

[whatbigotspost]

On being real mean and then less mean

Long post incoming........I've been chipping away at writing this for like a month now and (unlike my usual self) I've stalled out a few times unsure of what all I want to say. But I think I've got it squared up the way I would like to. Unfortunately, I need a long context laying preamble. Sorry this will feel like an online recipe experience 😅

As the 5 of you who usually read my blocks of text will know well, I grew up in a very toxic, abusive, high-control environment. If you wanted to intentionally produce kids who would have anxiety, shame, self-loathing, aggression, be overly-competitive, angry, and equipped with little-to-no social skills, you should be parented like I was. In my nuclear family, we couldn't have had worse life lessons or role modeling when it comes to building healthy relationships, strong friendships, and harmonious existence with others. Violence was often normalized. Manipulation was encouraged. Specific conditions and rules were put on receiving love and/or affection. We weren't seen as independent humans who had their own lives and thoughts and ambitions--we were seen as extensions of my father, brought into the world to be his unquestioning cheerleaders and adoring team, to do our best to become his clones, to live out his unrealized dreams, and to combat his grievances w/ the world.

In short, it sucked.

Above all, I was taught in a very deep and real way to hate myself, not that this was explicitly acknowledged mind you, but it was the implication of everything. This self loathing was an extension of my father's own insecurities and full inability to grow the fuck up and build a life for himself that was emotionally mature, resilience, and self-caring. This mentality, if truly internalized, creates ugliness from the inside that radiates outward. I can see that so clearly now, but back then, I didn't understand it at all.

I was implicitly taught a thought process like, "the best way to 'own' someone is to shit talk them into crying" or "you can make yourself look stronger and distract from your own shortcomings by staying 1 step ahead of everyone through making THEM feel like shit about their shortcomings."

But you weren't just mean to someone to stay ahead of them, you were also mean as a way to ingratiate others to you. "Telling it like it is" even if what you said was unnecessarily cruel, was a virtue. Like, "what? I'm just saying what we're all thinking!" kind of stuff. I was taught that "teasing" is a way you show someone you love them, where "teasing" means saying all kinds of awful things that are quite hurtful. I was taught that being funny was one of the most important qualities and it didn't matter if those laughs came at the expense of others' feelings and if, over time, your comments began to destroy those around you.

It's "just teasing." It's "just joking." It was a lot of "oh come, on grow a thicker skin" over "maybe saying cruel shit for fun is bad?" It was "God, I can dish it and I can take it, why can't you?" over "maybe I want friends who support one another instead of digging at our insecurities."

Some recent nostalgia I've been wallowing in this summer reminded me of my grossest self who lived by these rules.

Those worst moments, where I was a bully and an asshole, all occurred for me at school, when I was probably around 11/12 and older. School was a very interesting place for me. When I try to paint an efficient picture of what my childhood home was like for others, I often say, my family existed in a weird liminal someplace between mainstream, mid western white suburban society and a survivalist/separatist/cult/fringe culture (like Tara Westover describes in Educated or as seen in Captain Fantastic if you're familiar w/ either of those.) We were a cult of 4 and there were many things We Did Not Do, all my dad's rules. (My grandparent's house was a safe harbor unlike my home, but that's a tangent for another time.) That said, accessing education was something my father DID trust the local government to do (as long as he could emphasize over and over how we can't trust everything they say, we could trust their lessons of math, music, English, etc.) He strategically chose a place to live where I could get the best "free" education possible in Central Indiana. My social life existed fully in a traditional school setting, where it took me all of 2 seconds to clock that other kids' lives weren't like mine, and that was compelling to me. I became a lifelong student of interpersonal relationship dynamics far before I realized I had become a lifelong student of relationships. I remember when I was in elementary school journaling about and thinking about and talking about all the friend groups and dynamics, etc. Writing stories about friend groups. Creating Barbie universes and dramas with 2 neighborhood friends. Trying to spend more and more time w/ peers instead of family.

Beyond that, I loved school because I would receive praise and love at home for A's and praise and love from my teachers for being "so good" (aka offering 100% deference to adult authority as I been told to do, even if I could question them inside.) This all means when I was very young, I did SO WELL at figuring out school...how to make friends...how to get an A+...how to get teachers to love me...how to be The Good Kid...how to reduce my value to my grades and what I produced, which is a mentality I've still only begun to unweave from within me, some 30 years later.

Anyway, point is, despite the hand I was dealt, I somehow never had trouble making friends and with a lot of my closest friends, I wasn't all that mean to in the way I describe above, at least initially. But when I did apply that behavior, god damn was it ugly. I get that now, but back then, I felt cool as fuck.

The more it (temporarily worked for me) the more I used meanness. By the time I was like 17, I literally was known as mean and wore it as a badge of honor. Lacking emotional intelligence and an overtly loving home environment, I thought it was normal? cool? idk...to "not be able to handle mushy emotional stuff." I would (LITERALLY) run if friends were telling me they loved me. It became more and more common for me to apply, "witty mean girl" quips to even my closest friends. Stuff was said about me like, "oh, if she makes fun of you, it means she really loves you." I was always saying shit to gain laughs from others that really hurt some people and I would act like that was a THEM thing like "god, they're so sensitive, poor widdle baby."

NOT GOOD. Nothing to be proud of. Signs of someone who deep down hates themselves and hopes you don't notice because of a big, bad exterior. In this era, I was someone who attracted and accepted other toxic people and was abusive toward and accepted abuse from friends who had these same issues. How I met and fell in love w/ my partner who is not at all like this during that period of time back when sometimes confounds me. His boundaries and feelings are why I started really looking inward. His patience and willingness to understand what was going on for me was immense (as I was similarly patient for things related to his baggage.) FOR YEARS we had a dynamic where I'd "make fun of" "tease" "just joke" about him too harshly in front of others and he would ask me over and over to stop. I'd get better for a while, then I'd backslide and make him feel like shit in a group setting again--but hey! everyone laughed at my ~*~*just oh so hilarious comment*~*~ and so that makes it fine right?? Obviously, not, and the older I got the more I started to FINALLY see "mean" as mean and not "telling it like it is" or being a core part of my humor.

How I REALLY know that this toxic coping mechanism I used to my benefit was a thinly veiled defense mechanism style behavior to cloud my deep deep deep self loathing is because when I'd be talking w/ my partner about his very reasonable and normal request that I not say unnecessarily cruel things about him for fun in front of others, I would be afraid of things like, "But that's part of who I am? It's my humor."

I really thought so lowly of myself that I believed that if I wasn't witty-mean, people wouldn't love me. That I wouldn't still be funny. That I wouldn't be ME unless I was being MEAN. It was so backwards and upside down because my meanness did make me harder to be around, and people were right there loving me anyway, not because of it, but despite it.

It's so sad to realize this! Looking back and describing this girl now feels in both parts foreign to me and also like looking in a mirror. I've been in 20 years of some form or another of "recovery" from this kind of childhood now, and I'm about 15 years into true healing and re-parenting myself. Almost 14 years ago, I made the biggest shift toward killing this old mentality...I moved away from my home town and the people I spent my days around to that point. I had an opportunity for a hard reset in my social life and behaviors, leaving behind old reputations that didn't serve me. And I’m still me. I’m spicy and I’m real and I’m blunt and I’m funny but I’m not cruel or mean anymore. The old me sometimes still rears her ugly head, especially when I'm tired, stress, or dysregulated. But it's less "how I am" now than ever in my life.

As I've been thinking about this whole topic for quite a few weeks now, and I tried to articulate what I did that really changed me and allowed me to shed that mean girl shell of armor I was wearing that I had so thoroughly needed to outgrow. If these things resonate with you, I do have some pieces of advice.

Speak from your personal values 100% of the time. That means defining your personal values first, not just accepting what you think is valuable you've been told by others. Once I grew the maturity to understand I needed my own life values, it was very simple to grasp that I was not in line with them. My top 5 personal life values are: love, equity, humor, loyalty, and open communication. Mean jokes don't check many of those boxes.

Become your own best friend first. My behaviors were driven by self-hatred I did not choose. When I choose how I want to feel about myself, I choose self-compassion, and I actively cultivate this mentality and practice all. the. time so that I don't backslide.

Stop "telling it like it is." This is not helpful. No one needs something obvious and cruel pointed out. This is basic "THINK" acronym stuff. It's a classic because it works. Is what you're about to say.... "true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, kind." Telling it like it is is only TRUE, it's rarely -HINK.

Never "just joke" about something someone could possibly be vulnerable about. If someone has a physical wound, you don't jab your finger into it for fun. When someone has an emotional tenderness, you similarly don't jab a mean comment into it. When in doubt, just don't joke about it.

Have actual hard conversations and "call outs" in the right times/spaces. Sometimes behavior that one friend may call "mean" is actually a very necessary hard conversation to the other person. So it's helpful to just remember that those kind of real-deal communications are rarely done effectively or productively with an audience or by using humor. Real shit deserves a real shit tone.

Push yourself to say the nicest stuff and just be fucking sincere and genuine. Tell your friends you love them. Tell your friends when you are obsessed with what they are achieving/doing/saying. Tell your friends WHAT you love about them. Make an effort for your most important relationships to have far, far more "positive bids" than negative.

Use "teasing" or "self deprecating" humor selectively and strategically. Sometimes, my partner and I DO tease each other by having open communication and actually knowing one another's boundaries, I now understand what's fine and what's not. So I can proceed w/o hurting him. But I don't know most people to that level, so I'm not going to try to tease someone else in front of others w/o that knowledge anymore. Self deprecating humor has also been a go-to for me in the past and one of the people I could be meanest to was myself. I realized I should use it sparingly with people who I don't know well, too, because I don't necessarily need to give them a cheat sheet to what my baggage is. And lastly, in general, I think that we should ALL be very very careful to spare strangers our sarcasm, deadpan comments, or whatever. Many folks are neurodiverse or otherwise don't get your sarcasm and your implications can be lost in translation. You never know what topics, with strangers, might be a hornet's nest you stumble into.

PFEW! Ok, I think that's plenty for now! If you've got similar tips or thoughts, LMK! Of course, I still fuck up my practice of not being mean all the time, but the best thing about having done this work and shared it with those around me is that my friends are much more like to say something like, "OW! Was that your dad talking for a sec?" and help me than to just go on assuming I'm an asshole. 😆

[femalegoloism]

oh no another opinion

im not really expecting anyone to read this but after thinking about it for so many days i just wanted to write everything down.

first off i want to start by saying that i believe caiti when she says she feels violated by what happened to her. her feelings are completely valid and it's disgusting that it came to a point where she gets to feel that way. but, with that said, i want to state a couple of things.

everyone in that room failed her. being 18 and exposed to grown adults and illegal drinking is a recipe for disaster. if you're bringing your 18 year old friend to a party with people considerably older than her and with alcohol involved i don't get why you would leave her unattended. or give her alcohol. or leave her alone in a room with strangers. and not only that, but refuse to take any blame for that and try to blame people that had no way of knowing (im talking about dream, in case that wasn't clear enough). you need to grow up and stop going live to talk about this as if it's your story to tell because by doing so you're digging yourself into a deeper hole and discrediting your friend's story because of all the inconsistencies. first you were too drunk to notice anything (even though you came with her and she's your best friend), but somehow still expected other people (who were also drunk and didn't even know her until that day) to notice how she was feeling. then you did notice, but decided to keep silent instead of defending your friend and taking care of her, even going as far as leaving her alone in that room when you noticed she was uncomfortable. you're a shit friend.

consent is a very tricky topic here, because i personally think different types of consent are cultural and depend on the type of crowd you're a part of in that specific moment. yes, verbal consent is very important, but to assume it always happens is delusional at best. maybe it's because i partake a lot in hookup culture (that is to say, i am not chronically online and leave my house and have normal human interactions in my day to day life). consent can be found in a lot of different things, like a hand to your shoulder, to a nod on your head, to a cuddle. it shouldn't be like that, but in mainstream culture that's just how things are. do i think that's okay? absolutely not. but just because i perceive it like that doesn't mean every single person does. my main issue with that in this specific situation is the power dynamics that play into it. if it were normal people i wouldn't really give it that importance but george being a really big and important creator really changes things. he holds some power over her, whether he realises that or not, and just because of that explicit consent should always be expected. now i don't think he's really aware of how this power dynamic works out for him (seeing as he spent most of his life stuck in his room, never really went out, got drunk or even interacted with other people apart from his close friend group until he moved to florida) and he's still navigating through it. i don't think he understands how someone may feel pressured to act fine around him or play into his games just because he is who he is. and now this brings me to my next topic.

george is not an assaulter. he's a dumbass boy who was drunk and needs to learn about boundaries and put himself in women's shoes for a minute to understand the shit we have to go through everyday. i don't think he did anything purposefully and wanted to take advantage of anyone. he touched a waist. that's it. i get that it can be uncomfortable for her and that he should've asked for explicit consent before doing that because he didn't knew her to just assume body language but that is not sexual assault. they were both drunk and he had no indication that what he was doing was bothering her. i can understand why he thought it was okay (laughing, smiling, getting up and sitting back next to him, deciding to stay even after her friends left) and i can also see how caiti could do this to avoid awkwardness. at the end of the day, it all was just a big misunderstanding. that's why you need to communicate when you're engaging with someone. you need to ask if they're feeling okay, but you also need to reassure that person that you're comfortable or like what's happening.

what really irked me about this is the rape rhetoric used by caiti in her statement. i don't want this to sound as victim blaming, because it's not, i just don't understand it. i've been thinking about this since i watched her stream and i need to get my thoughts down, so bear with me. when i first watched everything i thought he was touching her in private parts or straight up groping her, i even said so to my irl. i don't actually remember the actual words used, so forgive me if i say anything wrong, but i remember her saying things like feeling stuck in place and like she couldn't escape, feeling dirty months after it happened and not knowing how to make it stop. i don't know her or what she's been through to have such a strong reaction to what happened, but at the end of the day it was just your waist getting touched and you being uncomfortable. it's not okay. but you weren't raped, you weren't groped. telling things in a way that implies you were, i don't know if purposeful or not, is disgusting. by doing that you're diminishing the experiences of a lot of different people that have gone through so much worse things.

people projecting their trauma into this situation is why it became such a sensitive topic. your experience is not caiti's. don't pretend like you went through the same thing because you didn't. people think that just because they'd been SAd (i have been too! it's not important to the story though) they are more capable of forming opinions or treating this more critically are wrong. it's the opposite. you are not being rational about this and you are not being critical, you are being triggered and blowing things out of proportion. from the bottom of my heart, seek help, you need it.

ccs need to stop being so performative. as dream said, support victims because they deserve it, not because it's convenient. some of them are so scared to lose their platform they become so spineless it's actually scary. i'm not naming names, but i think that if someone reads this they'll know what i'm talking about.

this is a more direct "attack" (not attack, really, i just don't understand) but i'm still not going to name anyone. you can't say people need to stop being parasocial and just follow your lead in the same sentence. you're just saying stop being parasocial to these ccs but be parasocial to me instead and just do what i say because i actually know better. i don't understand why you're implying they're bad people and have always been when a week ago you were actively engaging with them and calling them your sibling. what am i supposed to take from that? why are you saying they're bad people now, when this came out, but were perfectly fine staying in their house weeks before this happened. if you know something, just say it. and i don't mean rumours, or things you've seen that are now taken out of context.

my final point, unless i came back to this later and have more to add, is that this could have been avoided if these people with platforms just learned how to communicate privately. dream asked months after that night if everything was fine, if something happened, and no one said anything. caiti continued talking to george (even if it was passive aggressive, or whatever she wants to call it) for months after it happened. isn't it better to just straight up telling him hey!! this happened!!! i didn't like it!!! or, if she wasn't ready to do it by then, just talk to him or one of his friends before going public with it. it's not a situation where he was made aware of the issue and continued being a cunt, he just had no idea of what was happening.

i wanna finish this by saying i don't hate them, i actually still like them (that can change as more information comes out). they need to grow as people and, for the love of god, go to therapy. but i don't think they're bad people or that this has to end their careers.

take care everyone

[sailorgundam308]

okay but you're right about the petite tav thing (also idk if you know but someone's lame ass "callout" post about you being a bully and how you'll never get commissions is circulating)

like in a game where you can create nearly anything with a tav it's boring as fuck to make them look copy pasted of every conventional girl irl. ive always thought that, it's why I can't read certain super popular fics in this fandom because the tav absolutely rips me out of any enjoyment (cough, the arrangement)

but it's not fair for people to be harassing you over your opinion, it's your blog if they don't wanna make themselves upset maybe they shouldn't be lurking on your page

It's what I think. I have no interest, never had, in any media, when a protagonist is the pretty standard petite girl. It doesn't resonate with me at all and, therefore, they come across as very boring to me.

About the post circulating about me, I know about it. It was made by 2 girls who didn't like when I said I don't like pairing Astarion with the aforementioned pretty petite tav type. They then devolved into, apparently, some sort of Alex Jones, calling into question my values as a person, made up what I said and whatnot. They've been flooding me with hate messages for a while, stopping short only of telling me to kill myself. But then, of course, I'm the bully in the story. lol

It's very much their problem. Anyone following me, reading what I say, knows what I stand for - and what I don't, cause I tend to say it pretty clearly.

And I agree with you, too: tumblr is a collection of personal blogs of people with differing opinions. Unless someone is attacking or harming a real person, or being an actual bigot, it's all a matter of thinking differently about things. And that's not an issue.

You'd think people who claim to be so inclusive would understand that not everyone has to agree on things - and that you shouldn't dig the internet for content that will piss you off because you feel like going on a moral rampage for the sake of feeling superior. You WILL find content to make you angry. Thing is, some of that will be justified. Some, apparently, will just be me saying im not into X type of pairing.

Sound's pretty easy to do, but some folks are actually pretty incredible in regards to the amount of effort they'll put to go after someone they (don't know) but decided they dislike.

One of the girls saying she "took a screenshot" of what I said is from a discord I'm also a member of, and I think she got jealous cause I only posted Karlach x Astarion art and they shipped him with a different character. The other one is just a hardcore harasser. I got all their hate messages saved. Maybe one day I'll post it so people can see what kind low level stuff they said to me. It was WILD.

In any case. I never deleted the post where I said I think Astarion doesn't look good with pretty cutesy girly tavs cause I DO think that, and there's nothing wrong with me saying it. I'm not talking about any real person, nor even any tav in particular. But people like to distort shit to make waves then feel morally superior.

Thankfully, my commissions are doing great! I don't beg anyone to hire me, and as with everything else online, no one is forced to anything - commission me or even interact with my blog. There is a block function here and I use it often - it works wonders.

Anyway, thanks for saying that. Truly. This whole thing was pretty upsetting at first, but I soon realized there was no conversation to be had with thesef people - they don't want to talk. They want to tear someone they don't know apart to feel superior and "win".

It's nice to know not everyone bought into the gaslighting shit these two (and probably now more ppl) are spouting.

:)

[lutawolf]

Between Us Episode 10 Commentary and Review

My other reviews can be found here.

We start this episode where we left off. Them asleep in the hotel room. Team's mom calls and Win answers. Look how fucking thrilled he is that Team's mom knows who he is. But I got to tell you, as a parent, if someone else answered my kid's phone like that. I would know. Why you ask? Because if I haven't met the friend, yet, then they aren't solid enough for that friend to answer the phone. Nope, I'm not joking. So if I haven't met them, and they're picking up the phone, that signifies that they are too important to just introduce to me normal like.

The fake sleep! How cute! And the head kiss. How adorable. These two are so sweet, they make me want to scream.

I love the up and down look that Team gives. HAHA. "Let's go, rich boy."

The parent meet. Notice that Team introduced Win to his parents as Hia Win. Not my senior at the club, not my friend. Basic Hia Win. Personally, I feel this says a lot. He says Team is a little bit difficult. Love it. Win isn't gonna lie to the parents. Then Team being like, I'm not going to serve you. Then he services him more food, lol. Anybody noticed that the parents aren't asking Win about who Team is dating??? Just if he is naughty.

The hugs and bye bye moment really feels couplish. The way they are saying bye, the mom and dad. It just feels like a couple. Then of course Win is going to drive. The parents have to notice that. Oh, Oh, Oh and they do!!! I called it!!!

Win is looking rough, did he catch a cold from driving through the rain? He asks Team about if he is feeling better, and Team has the "I don't wanna talk about it" game face on. You can tell Team is an only kid that he didn't catch that Win was sick sooner. Come on, Team, this is Win we are talking about. He might as well be the oldest. He takes care of others, not the other way around. That's right, put his ass to bed.

When did he become Winnnn online? Wasn't it Winnie the Pooh?

Team caring for his Hia. Aww... Cuddle bugs.

And Dean totally outed them in an, I'm a WinTeam shipper way. His smile says it all. 🤣🤣🤣 Can I just say that I've always liked Dean, but I love the clear view of Dean and Win's friendship in this series. And the sub trio digs in. OMG!!! I love how he is opening up to the sub trio. He is really coming clean about his feelings. Hopefully it will jog things along. Awww, they are so fucking cute. This episode is so mushy.

I'm dying over the chips. The way Win is just watching him add them to his bag. Finally, that full on view of his WTF face. 🤣🤣🤣 "Win, go back to your room." "I'm running a low grade fever. No. Night." 🤣🤣🤣 Ahhh poor baby. All that talk about feelings got you scared.

Yes! Win drag him away like a caveman! 🤣🤣🤣 They are so clearly out in the open now. Ain't no hiding this shit. Like I said, ain't hiding shit. Pharm threatening to go tell Win in front of everyone, lol. Then Win just smiling at Team like he got nothing in his head. Call him out, Dean! He would you!

DEAN!!! When I said call him out, I meant Win not subby sub Team who doesn't seem shy but is! Somebody smack him. Oh lawd, we're skipping to the friend Steve. I'm telling you guys. Win knows.

This young child is so much like Team. ARE YOU STARTING TO GET IT DADDY. As a parent. I am truly annoyed with him. I would walk through a pit of fire to make sure my kids are going to be happy. I don't and can't make everything right for them, but I can set them up for a successful future where they are happy. What's the point of success if you aren't happy?

The ABC gang are hilarious! Yeah, Team maybe not act like you don't get yourself in to trouble with water. Huh. Ahh, there is the apology and then the good boy. Once again, Win is getting him used to that praise. They kiss!! Out in the open for all to see!!! Love it.

Two second. Two seconds. You say you aren't scared and two seconds later you're scared! You guys are killing me! Fuck. These guys communicate so well on a D/s level, but not on a relationship level. Like someone trying to go from the scene into a relationship.

They are idiots. Both of them. Lovable idiots, but uncommunicative idiots nonetheless.

The next episode looks promising. Hope you guys enjoyed this! 💜💜💜

[joculine]

freshman year facebook rp groups and "dnd" friend circles.

its hard to dig back for that. i think it's gone, the original FB group. gone gone. i did a little digging and found a few image scraps, a big text dump.

there are a few others. i can track the freshman year dnd group i was in, from where it started, to all the scene kids showing off their dyed hair, trying to coordinate car pools to see like, the hobbit or whatever was out, dumb little FB post RP chats.

of course, the last post, the one at the top, is the post that killed the group. someone tried to start up a new campaign, i wanted to be a pirate, and then that shitty girl popped in and said "if its not awkward i would also like to be a part."

she kinda fucked up a lot of her friendships at the end of that year. looking back at how the dates line up, i imagine some very tough things were going on for her. she'd come out as trans in about a year or so and i know her parents were shit. its funny, i can dig into that old RP account i have and see she's actually still using hers as of this week. i think it's her primary facebook account.

i flip back through there and see all these messages about how she wants to kill me and beat me up and put me in cages and fuck me and hurt me. she talks unprompted about how she thinks im annoying or gross or dumb as shit and sends me whatever porn shes looking at. and then id go to school the next day and see her and we'd have a fun time. its sort of shocking to look at. but… shes a kid. maybe 14 or 14 years old. shes a huge asshole and really not a good person for me to be around, but shes still just a kid. and i know the same thing was happening to her, but unlike me it was coming from people she didnt know IRL and who were probably too old to be talking to her in the first place. i dont really know what to do with that in hindsight.. maybe i didnt at the time either...

anyway, on that post i see a lot of people commenting that we need to hash out our beef and reconcile. i didnt comment again though.

i look through all those messages and i see someone who is trying very hard to be liked. trying very hard to stay liked. kids are dumb. kids do dumb things to each other. it means a lot in the moment, but in the long run teenagers are just assholes. i think a lot of these people were especially shitty and occasionally both physically and verbally abusive. but they were the friends i had until i broke away. they were important to me.

i tried digging around a little more, to see if i could find my old messages with jack. (this is a different now tboy jack than the one i was posting about last week)

the messages go up to when we started texting. i dont really remember how long we dated and it was all online so was it really dating? ehh. no. i havent counted it since sophmore year. he was a good one though, better than most of the other people there. we both thought the other one hated each other, so we were both kind of mean in person in that way that tweens are. he moved before i ever got the chance to tell him how i felt in person.

its not easy. its not easy to all remember. it was all so long ago. i dont think i want to remember either. it was a time and a place where i felt so lonely.

im glad thats not where i am now. but i miss those people and that time. or i miss what could have happened, if it hadnt fallen apart or if i had made more of an effort or if things were just a little nicer.

its weird.. it was such a weird time to be a kid online. its still a weird time to be a kid online.

in a way, i almost miss it. i miss that thrill of being part of such a large group of people who all had different things going on and all had different relationships to each other. but when i really think about it...

i wish i had been who i had wanted to be. that i had known who i wanted to be. i wish i met these people on the level that they were beginning to come to themselves. i think everyone in that group had a 5 to 6 year headstart on figuring out their deals, as gay or, trans guys, butches, trans fems, etc. i was at bisexual, i know that much. but i retreated from that after i left that group, totally sealed off any thought that i was something other than straight and cis for... about six-ish years. i think it was too painful thinking about how i felt and how it feel apart to dwell on that part of myself that id had the fleeting chance to explore.

one guy there, the one who actually organized most of the RPs and the fanventure, was something else though. i think he knew who he was before anyone else. i think he knew who we all were before we did. he went across the spectrum of butch lesbian to GNC trans man and probably into other explorations of his identity since i knew him. i always found that really inspiring. it meant a lot that he saw me earlier this year when i came out publicly and shared in my joy. "im so happy for you." like he knew. like he always knew. maybe he did. maybe he didnt.

[dandylovesturtles]

heyo

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

and bc i'm socially awkward: 🕯️how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?

heya!

🌈I know I bitch about fight scenes on here constantly but I'm not kidding when I said I was in a fight for my life with chapter 7 of IMBI. How do people do action scenes in written form? HOW? Trying to describe fight choreography is a nightmare. I got through it by literally writing like 2 sentences at a time and then walking away for a few hours lol. I kept getting Leo out of there so I wouldn't have to keep describing what the other boys were doing. RIP Donnie your head getting banged was mostly important for character reasons but also it meant I had less fighting to write. Thank you for your sacrifice /wipes a tear

I can write emotional conversations all day but you want me to write actions? Nah bruh I'm gone byyyyeeee (why do I do this to myself)

Also any time I have to do research like. I'm so lazy y'all can't I just bullshit my way through it? (no because @intotheelliwoods already yelled at me about turtle ribs) (I FIXED IT NO MORE TURTLE RIBS) (<3)

🕯️I'm so socially awkward al;dfja;lsdjf;lasdjfl y'all get the text version of me and not the real life version of me that can't emote for shit and gets asked why she's mad every twenty minutes.

I'll be honest and note that I do tumblr and not twitter because fandom twitter scares me. I'm sorry |'D Tumblr is my home and my native language, I'd just look like a tourist and everyone would be mean to me on twitter a;lsdfja;sd

I DO THINK THOUGH that fandom is healthier when people are kind to each other in online fan spaces and generally just remember that the people you're engaging with are real people behind the screen, not just pfps on a screen. And giving people engagement definitely helps encourage people to do more, so if you want more fanart and more fanfic and more everything else be sure to like/kudos/comment/tag! I know people love reading their tags and comments especially, myself included.

That said I don't really agree with the culture of like, you have to comment or you're a bad person. I feel like putting pressure on people to do certain things has the opposite effect, where more people will lurk because they don't want people to think it means something that they, say, commented on this but didn't comment on that, or whatever. I mean I know I struggle with the fear of putting my foot in my mouth when I talk to new people, or the fear of people reading too much into what I say here versus what I say there (like logically I know no one is paying that much attention to ME but tell the social anxiety that lol), so I don't want someone to feel so pressured they just shut down engagement completely, ya dig?

MAYBE THAT'S JUST COMING FROM ME, person who doesn't know how to talk to people irl al;sdfj;ls

wow that's a lot of rambling about nothing... thanks for the ask!!

[destinyc1020]

Oh girl, your blog is an oasis for those of us Austin appreciators that are in other fandoms. I just read some tomdaya blogs claiming that Austin is a social climber 🙃. A guy that has been working in Hollywood since he was a preteen. I see many similarities with him and Z: their middle class parents encouraged them to act to deal with their severe childhood shyness and were grinding for many years in child entertainment. Then they really had to dig deep to be able to be taken seriously in the industry

Yeah, a lot of people would have liked if Vanessa and him had stayed together or at least stayed friends, but their relationship was not brief or springboards for fame. Vanessa's career has not been easy after HSM. She has had some nice projects but not huge success. And Austin stayed with her through it all. At the end it seems that he got so obsessed to get Elvis absolutely right that he neglected his relationships (even with his own family). But everybody that meets him remarks how nice and endearing he is

Anyway, thanks for keeping this space

First of all, thanks so much for the kind words Anon. 🥰

It's nice to be known as an "oasis" lol. 😄

Yea, I try to keep my blog pretty much fun, positive, and lighthearted for the most part. I like discussing a wide-range of things on my blog, but I don't enjoy ppl being negative about others for practically NO good reason. 🥴

Personally, I think some ppl are unnecessarily hard on Aus (or his voice) for some reason. I just hope it doesn't end up making him self-conscious about his voice or whatever. I don't know him personally, but he seems incredibly sweet and grounded, and everyone who meets him says he's very kind and genuine. I just don't get the hate for him honestly. 😔 Thank goodness he's not very big on social media.

Even Tom has hinted at the fact that he's had to take a break from social media for his own mental and emotional health, and worrying about his looks, etc. Even so-called "fans" can make you self-conscious sad to say. 😔 I just think ppl these days can be unnecessarily cruel online and don't realize that celebrities are REAL ppl, with REAL feelings that they're talking about.

You don't have to like everyone, but to "just not care for someone" "just because", or for petty reasons, when you don't even know them personally, and they haven't done or said anything horrific in the public eye is just weird imo, and not my style at all. 🤷🏾‍♀️

There are soooo many more horrible ppl out here to hate or dislike who really have said or done some crazy hurtful things. 🥴

Re: The Zendaya Similarities....

You know what Anon, I never really thought about it, but you're right. 🤔 Both Z and Austin came from humble beginnings, and their parents probably encouraged them to get out of their comfort zones to try some acting because they were both extremely shy growing up. 😊 I know Z was so shy that ppl were worried when she was in school. I can definitely relate because I was really shy growing up too, and I had a hard time speaking up or raising my hand in class. I was so quiet! Rofl 🤣 Austin is still pretty shy... you can tell... but I think acting and being someone different onscreen has really helped him to get out of his shell, just like with Z.

As much as I complain about Sam's writing and the length of time it takes to film that show lol, I think the Euphoria role especially really helped Z to get out of her comfort zone and to be seen as a "serious actress".

Re: Vanessa...

Look, I loved her and Austin together, but the fact is, they're no longer together, and that's that. 🤷🏾‍♀️ And it's not like she was Meryl Streep, and he was some penniless, out-of-work actor lol. Dude was working.... and even was on several popular shows. True, it was mainly fluff stuff, but let's not re-write history here. Vanessa was more popular and well-known obviously due to HSM, but it's not like she was in the stratosphere and he was in the depths waaaaaay down below lol. 😂

Anyway, I'm not gonna pretend to know exactly why they broke up.... That's btwn them. 🤷🏾‍♀️Fans can speculate all they want, but I try to remember that only THEY know the reason. It could be smthg simple as they were already having difficulties and were just trying to stay together just because they had been together for so long. Who knows? Either way, it's not really my business. As long as they're both happy with their new significant others (and it seems like they are! 😃) that's all that really matters at the end of the day imo. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Nobody tells me what to do, what to be interested in, or what to post on my OWN freakin' blog.

ANYWAY.....

With all of that said... No, I am NOT going to "shut up about Austin Butler" like that one Anon suggested. 🙄 Who are they, my mother???

Sorry! LOL 😁😅

[rabbits-habit]

I think if younger me got to see what we got to experience and where we went and who we are now they would fight a lot harder than I did back then.

I think if young me got to see my home, filled with greens, and my fridge filled with foods that I like, and my friends who enjoy things I enjoy they would be ecstatic.

If young me got to see that people liked who I am without having to fake parts of my personality and put myself down and mould myself into this perfect little box I thought I had to fit into to be loved, they would have more self-love.

I’m not going to say that she won’t see that we’re still struggling with the stuff that I thought would go away when we grew up but at least the other things are better. At least the other things are worth living for.

Even my worst days now will never compare to the worst days I had back then.

Being in grade 3, and being bullied really hard throughout my entire elementary school so far, I told my counsellor at school. They then proceeded to dig into what was happening, and when they kind of came to the conclusion that I was depressed, they told the principal who then told my teacher and my mother. It was a complete breach of confidentiality. Everyone in the faculty knew that I was depressed and anxious. Later that week they told me they had created a buddy system. I was paired up with this girl from another class, but in the same grade, they told us that whenever we were sad or having a hard time we should spend time with one another at lunch, and that now we always had someone that could spend lunch with us because we were both so lonely depressed, and removed from our class. Of course, I say it like that. They said “now you have a friend”. In grade 6, we went to different schools. I struggled with existence. She h@ng3d herself three weeks in. I wished I was her. I was really envious.

Being cornered behind the stairs outside and videotaped while they threw things at me and called me names, and told me I couldn’t leave until I called myself the same names. And then crying and running home on my birthday nonetheless. Always leaving class before it was done so I could run through the back doors and avoid being seen.

Being told I looked like I had four tits, because having a deformed rib cage stuck out as much as my breasts did made me look stupid. Being ashamed that I was long and slender and quite honestly, I never grew boobs that would make up for my deformed rib cage. Forever holding the idea that the more I ate and the bigger my stomach got the worse it would make me look.

A small thing that was a big thing. A kid in my cafeteria class got angry at me when we were having a fight about cleaning his station before leaving he yelled at me that I was ugly because I had a big nose and everyone in the cafeteria went silent, that silence made me know it was true. I’ll never forget that sentence. I’ll never forget that day when I first looked up nose jobs and I’ve never stop thinking about it since.

Being told that I was unlovable, because I had mental illness by my high school boyfriend and my parents

Never being encouraged to participate in group sports by my family. Playing water polo on a men’s only team because I was too tall and I found out later that was some thing my mother had asked for.

Being told that I was disgusting by my mother, because I thought I might be gay. Being removed from my swim classes because she thought it would be inappropriate for me to see other women in the change room.

Doing PE online in grade 11 and 12 and 10 after my grade 10 PE teacher saw the fresh scars on my thighs. I quit class PE the next day.

Only finding out when I was 21 that all the weird counsellors that kept trying to talk to me and the mental health system that was giving me strange therapists and doctors were actually just family services attempting to gather a file to remove me.

Not being allowed to leave the hospital after an attempt, because when they asked me who I could talk to if I felt unsafe around myself, I told him I had nobody. They asked me to talk to my family if I was hurting and I told them they were part of the reason I was.

Wearing long sleeves and pants in the summer from high school to end of college. Wishing I hadn’t woke up every time I did.

Writing my will at 19. Putting in a set amount for a cleanup crew, giving the rest to my brother, telling my parents they had to clean up all my stuff, but my brother got the money. If my brother wasn’t alive and my parents were, I wanted it to go to charity.

Becoming scared of women to a point where all I could make were male friends. They were my saviors. I’m so thankful to everyone what they spent with me.

In the beginning of high school, relaxing into the idea that maybe I was something other than straight, and when I would make side comments about a woman being attractive or maybe not liking guys that much sexually, being told that it was inappropriate for me to say something like that because I wasn’t gay according to my classmates because I was still closeted.

Telling my closest and longest time friend that I think I may be bisexual, halfway through high school, and having her disappear from my life when she got up and walked away from me.

Being used throughout all of my years of school by my classmates, to get good grades by stealing my notes, and forcing me to do most of the group project. I was just so happy to be included that I played along even though I knew what was happening. I thought maybe I could change them if they spent enough time with me.

Being shamed for not being able to afford university. Being told that college was just a blue-collar pipeline. Being told that I will never be something important.

Having my mother remove my dish from in front of me because it was my fourth snack of the day after already having three meals telling me that I would get fat if I didn’t watch myself and that instead of eating more snacks, I should go for a walk. A 5 km walk.

Being told by my great grandmother, after not having seen her for a year, the first things out of her mouth was “wow you got fat”. I was 14. I was only 110 pounds and 5’9.

Being forced to sit at the dinner table until I finish my meal and if I didn’t, I got grounded. Not because I didn’t like the food, but because I couldn’t convince myself to eat it after spending so much time being told that every meal should be deserved and earned not given.

Standing in my mothers bedroom, and nothing but underwear and a bra as she weighed me at 14. Pulling out the straps of my bra and underwear to ensuring that I didn’t hide my scars underneath of the very small, thin straps or underneath of my watch or my socks.

After having a fight with my family coming back after a day because they told me not to come back at all only to find the doors locked and sleep in the cold garage in November until they let me in in the morning and made me apologize for being upset.

Paying for rent in college because I had to move out at 17 and having to pay for college because my parents made too much money to let me get a student loan. Working three jobs while going to school full-time just to pay for my education and living.

Going to the food bank for the first time as an under aged adult only to get cat called by the homeless men that were there

Being followed home from my work, because “I was just too pretty to leave alone”

Having to text my coworker every time I left to go home at night because I had nobody else who was going to be there when things went wrong and that creepy guy follows me all the way back to my front door. Running around my entire block and doing a full figure 8 before entering my home just to ensure that I was truly alone.

Not eating because I didn’t want to go back to the food bank. Instead, eating crackers and applesauce is and Mr. noodles from the students association office knowing the names of all the staff that work there having them stock my favourite apple sauce because I was one of the only ones that actually wanted to eat it.

Getting a concussion in high school, and knowing that I might be mentally disabled for my whole life. Having everyone look at me differently, as if I was broken not like I hadn’t already seemed broken enough already.

 These are only some of the numerous moments I had, where I wasn’t sure if it was worth living through. Every time something happened it just dug that thought deeper into my mind.

But here I am now.

I may have issues every day now and some of them may stem from what happened back then but at least my life doesn’t look like that anymore. At least my problems stem from not getting paid enough or being in a bad relationship. things I can change. Things I can improve on. life doesn’t suck anymore and that doesn’t mean I don’t have thoughts questioning why I’m here. It doesn’t mean that when I look over my balcony, I don’t think of jumping. It just means that I know it’s better now and that I am fully in control of shaping my reality.

I am exactly who I think I am, and anyone who doesn’t like it can fuck right off. 

𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰...𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[protectbnhaboysatallcost]

Giving the boys your scrunchie | hc

A/N: is this a thing anymore? It was when i was in school but that was a hot minute ago. trends go so fast lol

not proof read

if this is just an american thing or just something my school did, I'll explain. People(mostly girls) would give their s/o a scrunchie and it was pretty much saying "this (boy/girl/they/them) is mine!!" :)

warnings: suggestive themes from natsuo bc i love him

izuku, shoto, katsuki, eijiro, denki, hitoshi, natsuo, shouta

Izuku Midoriya (all might)

read his here!

Shoto Todoroki (white)

*sigh* this boy

he's crushing on u but won't make a move

you're crushing on him but won't make a move

you weren't trying anything

you just wanted to wash your hands for lunch

"todo hold this, I'll be right back."

he LOVES when you use a nickname on him

"Okay"

the usual squad is sitting at the table.'

then Mina walks by

"Oh~ and whos scrunchie is that todoroki?"

"(L/n)'s"

"I didn't know she had guts like that."

everyone at the tables like "???"

"That's basically a wedding ring on a guy."

"congratulations todoroki." Iida's responce.

Midiyoria's all like "That's great Todoroki! I'm glad you finally got together.

Todoroki expression stays the same.

"Thank you"

on the inside he's like 'I just thought she didn't want to get it wet.'

this is the real story

you come back and everyones looking at you.

"Guys, someone just asked me out in the hallway."

"what??"

"Good thing I don't have to worry about that anymore."

everyone blushes and you're digging into lunch

you said this because you don't have a problem turning down people anymore.

Todoroki's starring at you the whole lunch <3

"(L/n), you can call me shoto."

"???" you choke

"okay? um you can call me (y/n)."

<3

later in the day you are walking home next to him when you realize he still has your scuniche on

"Oh sorry shoto, you can give me the scrunchie back."

"Why? What did I do?"

"What?"

"You want to divorce me?"

"...what?"

you sort everything out after a long talk.

"But I mean if you want to keep it, I don't mind Shoto"

He will, until y'all trade it out for real rings :)

Katsuki Bakugo (black/orange)

This one is difficult

I think y'all have to be dating first

"Kat can you wear this?"

"Why the hell should I do that?"

"Um, bc i want you too."

"no"

your gonna have to wrestle to get it on him

*panting* "now was that so hard?"

"tsk" *grumpy pomeranian*

but he doesn't take it off <3

of course the bakusquad notices

"Omg! that is so cute bakugo!" -mina

"the beast is tamned yet again" -denki

"very manly bakubro" -kiri

"how did she even find one with your colors?" -sero

bc you made it

hours behind a sewing machine

"SHUT THE HELL UP EXTRAS"

"i think its cute kachan"

"FUCK OFF DEKU"

cue bakugos quirk

he burns the scrunchie

:(

he's like "...fuck"

hides from you

he can't find it online bc you made it

shows up to school the next day

"here"

throws a scrunchie on your desk

"?"

"omg katsuki 😍"

"Shut up, down think about it too much"

"okayyy, wait where's the one i gave you?"

"...shit"

Eijiro Kirishima (red)

this is the plan

"hey kiri put this on."

"um okay why?"

"it is the new must have for manly people

ofc say less

he'll take a million

plan worked

now the next day

"ooo kirishima what's that?" -kaminari

"who tied you down?" -sero

'wait you're dating someone?" -kaminari

"its (y/n) isnt it?" -mina

"yay (y/n)" -kaminari

"???"

shark.exe has stopped working

not that he's complaining but since when were yall dating?

he looks at you

your just smiling

as if he wasn't red enough

but he's totally for it

"(y/n) you want to sit with me at lunch?"

"oh I'll carry your bag for you."

"don't forget to stay hydrated"

what a lovely guy

"so just wondering, my scrunchie worked?"

he's like "?"

so you explain what the scrunchie means

and he laughs

"you could have just said something"

"but we're dating right?"

"i thought so."

"well we never actually said anything"

"oh"

right skipped a step

"well then will you be my s/o?"

"of course"

and that is yalls story <3

Denki Kaminari (yellow)

he comes to you

"give me one of your scrunchies"

"...okay?"

"your favorite one."

"no"

"what??"

"It's may favorite bc i wear it, if you have it i cant wear it"

"but babeeeee"

"omg shut up fine."

"its yellow?? that's totally bc of me rihgt? you wear it bc it reminds you of me?"

"sure thats why."

"<3"

it was really on sale but why break his heart

is flaunting it around the next day

"oh this? yeah it's just my s/o's scrunchie"

"Kaminari literally no one cares." -mina

"What? everyone should care! not only am i off the market, but they also love me sooo much they want the whole world to know Im theirs."

"you came and asked me for one"

"(Y/n) how you just gonna spill my secrets like that? Whatever happened to us against the world?"

"eat or be eaten babe."

Hitoshi Shinso (purple)

you saw it on tiktok

thank you internet

"hey shin, keep this safe for me"

you say handing him the purple scrunchie

he smirks "sure"

he's also seen it on tiktok

but who is he to shut you down when your finally making a move

brings you a sweatshirt of his the next day

"keep this safe for me"

he ain't never seen someone turn red so fast

but you still grab it and put it on.

"oh so your finally dating (Y/n)? about time" denki says.

technically no, so he pulls you aside before training

"we're dating now?" he asks

"is this a question or a statement?"

"mutual agreement?"

"okay"

he smiles and grabs your hand, if the hoodie and scrunchie didn't say y'all were dating, walking down the hallways together would.

Natsuo Todoroki (blue)

<3

this is 100% on purpose

in your eyes this was his collar

you wouldn't say that though

just a cute "aw this matches your hair" slipping it on his hand

his heart

i mean anything you do that shows him you think of him melts his very soul

love deprived bby 🥺

he's never taking it off

wait until he hears what Fuyumi says about

she looks at it and laughs

"What?"

I see that (y/n) has taken it to the next level"

"??"

when she explains what it means

he swears he has a fire quirk after she tells him bc he is RED

loves it <3

comes home

"oh (y/n)~" he sings

your scrolling on your phone as he plops next to you

"Natsuo~"

he runs his hands across your body

"if your gonna put a ring on it you should at least propose properly"

you look up confused, then see him holding up his wrist

you laugh

"I didn't think you'd find out so soon, i'm just trying to tell all the leeches in your class that there's no chance"

"that's so hot"

he leans over you

"my turn" he says before abusing your neck, leaving plenty of evidence that you're taken behind.

Shouta Aizawa (black)

put it on him while he was sleeping

"what is this?"

"a present <3"

doesn't really mind it until he gets to class

"wow Aizawa your (s/o) doesn't mess around huh?"

"aw i think its cute"

"slay aizawa"

"what the hell are you guys tslking about? shut up and work."

then he goes the his desk

"Shouta, I see (Y/n)'s got you whipped" hizashi comments

"why do people keep talking about (Y/n)?"

he explains what the scrunchie means.

"*sighs* i should of know they had hidden intentions."

but he doesn't take it off, even with the students whispering about it in the halls

"I didn't know Aizawa was taken."

"man and i was gonna shoot my shot after graduation."

then he gets home

"Welcome home, how was work?"

"annoying, all because of your little schemes"

"what? me? scheming? I would never, that is so beneath me."

"😑"

"...did it work?"

"yes"

"good"

asks are open :)

[rayshippouuchiha]

Yamada: so how did you and izuku start dating

Aizawa: I saw him crush a watermelon with his thighs and I accidentally said out loud “oh god I wish that were me right now” and here we are now

~The way this immediately and completely ate my entire brain~

Of three things Aizawa Shouta is absolutely sure:

One, he simply was not built for operating during the daylight hours. Nighttime really is where it's at in his opinion. The general lack of crowds and eye-searing sunlight just can't be beaten. (Dusk and dawn hours also get a pass but they're both on thin ice.)

Two, the beach is a sandy hell-scape whose only redeeming factor is the convenient access it provides to the eldritch horror that is the ocean aka the place he'll doubtlessly end up drowning himself when he finally, and according to Hizashi inevitably, snaps and runs gibbering mad into the abyss.

And three, he's absolutely and irrevocably cursed. He's being singled out and punished from on high by the gods themselves. His name is writ large across the cosmos in mockery. There is a cosmic "kick me" sign taped to his spiritual back and Shouta's going to hunt his former student Sero down and give him detention for life for encouraging his family's patron god to put it there.

By this point it's really the only logical explanation.

Which, as a card-carrying atheist, he's pretty sure is saying something about the depth of his feelings regarding his current circumstances.

Because there's no other explanation for why or how he's managed to find himself in this current situation.

The situation being, of course, Shouta, in full hero gear, standing in the hot sun on a pristine sandy beach, surrounded by screaming fans as he provides extra security and crowd control for the 20th Annual Heroic Sukiwari Charity Drive.

Shouta has seen hell and it is both Ms. Joke's open mic night and this exact moment right here.

Because, again, he's absolutely 100% cursed.

And the avatar of said curse is, obviously, his soon-to-be ex-best friend who somehow roped him into this entire thing.

Because some people say divine retribution when talking about cosmic revenge plots but Shouta tends to just says Yamada Hizashi. The two are, in many ways, interchangeable.

Shouta's going to put purify salts in all of Hizashi's hair products and also his sugar jar and possibly his energy drinks the next chance he gets.

Because if he never sees another shirtless pro-hero or another watermelon again in his life it'll be too soon.

He's pretty sure he has permanent hearing damage from all of the screaming and screeching the crowd's been doing since this thing started.

And if, after all these years of friendship with the personification of a megaphone, watching a bunch of pro's crush watermelons with nothing but their personal strength on a beach to raise money for various charities is what finally destroys his hearing Shouta is going to shave Hizashi bald before he finally embraces sweet death.

Or enacts Nezu's birthday plans and becomes a supervillain.

The jury's honestly still out at this point.

Shouta does his best to shut out the screaming behind him as one of the cameramen slides up beside him, getting a better angle on the stage as Hizashi, who's currently screeching about Miruko's performance, practically dances across the sand in front of where Shouta's standing.

"Wow, wow, wow," Present Mic chants as he dramatically fans himself, "that was one on heart-stopping, hare-raising show. Let's give it up for everyone's favorite bad, bad, bunny, Miruko!"

For her part, Miruko just struts off the small stage with a nonchalant wave to the crowd, her tiny white bikini in place and the pulverized remains of the half dozen watermelons she'd dropped kicked into soup left behind her.

"But don't lose that rhythm yet listeners," Mic announces gleefully. "Because we've got one more hero set to take the stage! So, without further ado, it's the moment I know a lot of you have been waiting for, myself included if we're being honest. The pièce de résistance of our little shindig, the showstopper himself, the one, the only, the #1 Can Do Hero Dekiru."

The crowd is absolutely deafening.

And, for once, Shouta has to grudgingly admit that he can't actually blame them.

Shirtless, sculpted shoulders and tight abs on display thanks to his low sitting and almost criminally short green swim shorts, and with his trademark bashful smile in place, Dekiru trots out from behind the curtained-off area with a crate of watermelons resting on his shoulder like it's no big deal.

Shouta's pretty sure someone to his immediate right faints but considering they're not currently a trample risk he ignores it.

But the casual show of strength with no quirk use in sight is more than a bit impressive.

For all that people, romance specifically, and attraction in general, have all been things to be considered on a firm case-by-case basis for Shouta, even he has to admit that Dekiru is ... captivating.

Rather drastically so for Shouta considering he's never actually met the man before in person.

Though Shouta does feel like he almost knows him on some level considering the fact that it really would take an act of the actual gods to get Yagi to shut up about his erstwhile protege during staff meetings.

Dekiru waves his free hand at the crowd as he sets his crate of watermelons down on the stage.

"Show us what you've got!" Mic demands from a few feet to Shouta's left. "And let's give him some encouragement listeners!"

The crowd starts up a loud and steady chant of "De~ki~ru!" as the hero pulls his first watermelon out and begins his set.

With an effortless flex of muscles, Dekiru digs his fingers into the watermelon and wrenches it completely in two.

Shouta reaches up to tug at the top of his uniform, relishing the small sip of cool air it grants him.

Shoulders and biceps flexing, another watermelon meets its end between Dekiru's palms.

Shouta really needs to add a water bottle to his utility belt because hydration is important. Or so he's been repeatedly told.

"Those hands, those muscles," Mic groans dramatically. "He really is the Can Do Hero!"

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Dekiru sits down on the stage and fits a watermelon between thick, toned thighs.

His hips twist, those thighs flex, and the watermelon cracks, spilling juice and sweet pink flesh all over Dekiru's lap.

"Oh god," Shouta can't help but say, "I wish that was me right now."

On stage Dekiru's eyes go wide as his attention somehow abruptly zero's in on Shouta.

It's at that moment that Shouta becomes aware of the deafening silence that's fallen over the beach.

Head-turning agonizingly slowly to the left, Shouta's confronted with the sight of Mic, microphone in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

His sunglasses are askew and he's staring at Shouta with a look on his face that's one part horror and one part unholy glee.

As a matter of fact, the entire beach is staring at him in much the same way.

For a moment Shouta just freezes, body going still at having so much attention turned in his direction.

This ... was not the turn he was expecting the day to take by far.

His first instinct is to, honestly, use his scarf to slingshot himself directly into the sun so his soul can be cleansed with cosmic fire.

But then ...

"Ah," Dekiru speaks up from on the stage, one hand ruffling the back of his hair and cheeks darker than before, "maybe we could go on a date first though? If you'd like?"

There's suddenly a part of Shouta that doesn't actually want to delete himself from existence via self-immolation.

And there's an even large part that doesn't want to outright reject Dekiru's seemingly sincere offer.

Because, when it all comes down to it, Dekiru seems to be, by all accounts, what passes for exactly Shouta's type.

Whip-smart if his very public arrest record and tendency to argue online and on the air with people he disagrees with is anything to go by.

Cute, with that dark green hair and sharp undercut, matching wide eyes, and a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.

Leanly built and small enough that Shouta's sure he could move him around easily but obviously muscular enough to be able to put up just the right amount of resistance in the right situation.

And, above all else, if the stories are to be believed, obviously some degree of batshit insane.

More than one story Yagi had told during breaks had Shouta questioning if the man had imported special American demons back to Japan and then stuffed them all into the deceptively charming and approachable-looking hero that is Dekiru.

So there's really only one logical way to proceed forward in this situation.

Shouta grins.

Several people in the crowd around him step back.

He's pretty sure he hears someone start reciting a prayer.

But Dekiru just blushes, eyes locked on Shouta's and teeth tugging at his lower lip.

"Hope you like coffee," Shouta finally says into the breathless silence that's fallen over them, "and cats."

Dekiru lights up, a smile brighter than the sun and twice as deadly blossoming across his face.

Just off of Shouta's side, Hizashi's busy having some kind of hysterical seizure.

Around them the crowd is going absolutely feral.

Yagi's going to birth actual kittens in the middle of the staff room when he finds out about this.

Shouta can't wait.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crushing - Harry Styles

a/n: just a little something that was inspired by a tiktok and @pastequeharry​ !

pairing: Harry X Famous!Reader

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

“Welcome back, I hope has everyone returned from our little break because we are playing a fun little game with Y/N, who by the way won a Grammy award for best new artist this weekend, so congratulations on that!”

Ellen smiles at you widely as she claps along with the audience and you’re just smiling shyly, still not quite used to the sound of it.

“Thank you,” you nod looking around.

“Okay, we are going to play a round of who’d you rather. Are you familiar with the game?” she asks you.

“Yes, I’ve seen others play it before.”

“Great. For those who don’t know the game, two people will show up on the screen and Y/N will have to choose one. Whoever she chooses will come with us to the next round and at the end we’ll know who is her ultimate crush.”

“Ah man,” you huff, feeling a little nervous about who they are gonna show you and the audience laughs at your reaction as your fingers dig into the armrest of the armchair you’re sitting comfortably in.

“Are you ready?” Ellen questions with a smile that tells you just how much she is enjoying this.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be, but let’s get started,” you chuckle nervously.

“Okay, let’s see our first pair,” she starts and two pictures show up on the big screen and on the smaller one at the front of the stage so you don’t have to crane your neck. “So we have Zendaya and Tom Holland. Who are you choosing?”

“You really had to start with two of my biggest Marvel crushes?!” you whine and the audience starts laughing again as you chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide. “I love them both, but I’m gonna have to go with Zendaya, because in height, we would be better. I’m sorry Tom, I still love you!” you declare, looking around all cameras, hoping they all got your confession.

“Alright. So now we’ll keep Zendaya and move on to the next person, who is… Harry Styles. Zendaya or Harry Styles?”

The blood rushes out of your face as you see a picture of Harry, memories of the two of you meeting at the award show in the weekend flooding back to your mind. Harry has been a crush of yours since probably forever. You’ve been a fan of his since his One Direction days and your career started to take off sometime around the time he started his solo career, only difference is that it took you a little longer to earn yourself a name in the industry. But this weekend you finally met him for the first time, in real life, without you just watching him on the stage with four other men.

You spotted him at the area that led to the red carpet, he was about to step out when his eyes laid on you and though he was wearing a mask, you still knew he was smiling from the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Your breath caught in your throat, stopping in your track as you were holding up your gown so you wouldn’t trip and fall with all the cameras around.

“Y/N! Hi!” he greeted you stepping closer, as if the two of you were old friends.

“Hi!” you managed to speak up, feeling completely starstruck.

“Love the gown! You look wonderful!” he complimented you and you could feel your cheeks heating up so fast.

“Oh, thank you, but I think you’re stealing the show with the boas,” you chuckled making him laugh as well.

“Thank you. Congrats on the nomination, I really hope you win by the way.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Listened to the album, it’s really good,” he nodded and your heart skipped a beat. Harry Styles listened to your album and he liked it? This must be Heaven, but when did you die?

“Thank you so much! I hope you win too, though your chances are better with your three nominations,” you joked making him laugh again.

“Yeah, just a little,” he nodded. “Here, let me help you.” He offered you his arm helping you step up the few steps that lead to the area where the red carpet photos were taken and you were thankful for the help, though you could already hear all the camera’s clicking in your way and you knew the photos would be all over the internet by the next day.

You only met one more time during the evening and you could only congratulate to each other on the wins before you both were snatched away, but you still play your conversation with him in your head before you go to bed in the evening.

“Um, Zendaya is everything but I’m gonna play this game honestly so I’ll choose Harry.”

The audience starts cheering and clapping at the decision as Ellen smirks at you, nodding along.

“No need to be shy, we all have a crush on Harry probably,” she jokes making you laugh. “Okay, next up we have… Harry Styles and The Weeknd.”

“I’m gonna stick to Harry,” you answer probably a little too fast, but if you’re being honest, they can’t show you anyone at this point who would beat Harry.

“Harry stays, next we have Harry and… Florence Pugh.”

“You guys made sure to make it hard for me!” you chuckle staring at the screen. “But I’m still gonna stick to Harry, though I love them both.”

“Alright, for the next round we have Harry Styles and Niall Horan.”

“I’m upset, because as a One Direction fan, I should not be forced to choose between them,” you point at Ellen, giving her a hard look which the audience finds quite hilarious.

“I’m sure you had ranked them before, don’t be shy,” she smirks and you sigh rolling your eyes.

“Okay, no offence to anyone but Harry stays. Sorry Niall, I still love you though,” you add with a smile.

“Harry is in a winning streak, it seems. Okay, let’s see his next opponent. Harry against Chris Evans.”

“Harry,” you answer with a sigh, crossing your legs, knowing well you will not choose anyone over Harry.

“Fast answer, great. Harry Styles or Ariana Grande.”

“Love Ariana, she’s a queen, but Harry,” you answer with a smile, the audience enjoying your obsession over Harry Styles and at this point you are not even trying to hide it.

“Harry Styles or Henry Cavill?”

“Harry,” you answer right away.

Henry’s picture disappears and Harry’s moves to the middle as the game comes to its end.

“Seems like we have a winner here. Harry Styles beat everyone!” Ellen chuckles as you glance at the big screen, blushing a little, but you are hoping your makeup is covering it well.

“You said it yourself, everyone has a crush on him,” you shrug, trying to play it cool.

“Yes, but not everyone was helped out by him,” she smirks as a photo of the two of you appears on the screen from last weekend and you cover your face with your hands as the audience goes wild.

“He is a gentleman,” you sigh dreamily.

“He really is and I have to say that the two of you look great together.”

“Oh stop it,” you chuckle, playing it over a little, just to make it less obvious how giddy even the thought makes you.

“Well, now we know that he is your number one choice, hopefully he’ll take the next step,” Ellen chuckles before moving on and asking you a few more questions as part of your appearance on the show.

Weeks go by and you kind of forget about the whole interview. It blows up the next few days, but nothing really happens, people just get excited that you are crushing on Harry just like everyone else, but it dies down pretty quickly.

You barely recovered from your Grammy win and yet you are already marching towards another milestone in your career. None other than Gucci asked you to be part of their new campaign in an amazing photoshoot and you just couldn’t say no, not that you ever even thought about it. After some online meetings and sending emails back and forth the first fitting’s day has finally arrived and you are buzzing!

Heading down to the showroom to go over every outfit they want you to wear for the photos, you can’t wipe the excited grin off your face. Growing up you could only dream about owning anything Gucci, now you are going to be promoting them so it truly is a dream come true.

Arriving you are walked into the showroom that is now filled with racks of clothes and there’s a podium with three mirrors surrounding it for the fitting.

“Y/N! Hi! So nice to finally meet you after all the emails and calls!” Nancy, the creative director of the campaign greets you.

“Nice to meet you too!”

“We are in a little bit of delay, I’m very sorry about that, but we can start in about ten minutes, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh, no worries. I’m free all day,” you assure her before she thanks your patience and runs off to finish off whatever she was doing before.

Wandering around you take a look at the beautiful clothes on the racks, blown by basically everything you see and you can’t wait to wear the outfits that were meant for you. In the back of the room, a part is closed off for a changing area and you hear the door opening as Nancy walks out first, talking to someone following her behind and when you see the person, you freeze.

Harry Styles walks out, wearing a just a shirt and jeans, looking very casual but still, unbelievably hot. The man could wear a potato sack and still look better than any other men.

“Thank you so much,” he smiles at Nancy before his eyes lay on you, a wide smirk tugging on his lips in realization. “So nice to see a familiar face!” he beams, walking closer before he pulls you in for a short hug that catches you by surprise, but also warms your chest.

“Hi, didn’t expect to see you here, though you are kind of one with the brand at this point,” you tease him making him laugh.

“I am, yeah. I heard that you would be featured in the campaign as well. Amazing choice,” he smirks, glancing over at Nancy who smiles proudly, clearly agreeing with him.

“Y/N, I’ll get the changing room ready for you and we can start in five, alright?” Nancy informs you.

“Yeah, thank you!” You nod in her way and she is already off to do the work, leaving you and Harry alone.

“So, I learned some interesting information the other day,” he hums with a serious face and he got you curious about what it could be.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, you know, I was watching The Ellen Show and you were on, playing a little game.”

“Oh my God,” you breathe out, already feeling the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks. Harry smirks down at you, clearly enjoying that he got you so nervous and embarrassed of what happened.

“I wish I knew about your little crush earlier!” he teases you, making your groan.

“And why is that? So you could pull my leg at the Grammy’s when I was already shitting my pants?”

Harry lets out a chuckle shaking his head as he hides his hands in his pockets, his eyes running up and down your figure before they meet with your gaze again.

“No. Because then I wouldn’t have talked myself down from asking for your number.”

You can’t help the stunned reaction that takes over your face at his blunt flirting, your lips part as your eyebrows shoot up while Harry just stares back at you with a sly smirk on his deliciously pink lips.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, but now that I know that you are crushing on me just like I’m crushing on you, I think it’s time to make the first step. So…” he pulls his phone out and hands it over to you and continues while you type your number in. “I’m not just asking for your number, but I happened to hear that you have nothing else planned for the day, is that true?”

“It is,” you nod, feeling out of breath as you hand him back his phone, your number saved in his contacts.

“Then how about grabbing lunch after your fitting? I happen to have nothing today as well, we should take advantage of it,” he suggests and you can’t push your stunned smile down.

“Sounds good,” you nod, biting into your bottom lip.

“Great. I’ll run some errands while you are here and I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“You could stay here if you want, I don’t mind it,” you tell him, feeling like he is only leaving because he doesn’t want to intrude.

“I would love to, but I really want to see the final outcome of the campaign and not spoil it for myself,” he smirks making you chuckle.

“Alright. Then see you in an hour.”

“Yeah,” he nods with a boyish smirk before turning around and walking out of the showroom.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[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.

[endcryst4l]

fairy tale

the sequel to favorite galaxies! the song that is referenced later on and is the title is fairy tale by homemade haircuts :] (read the third part here)

After multiple pleads of Tommy, Wilbur and even Phil, Techno finally built up enough courage to ask you to come over again.

“I did it, (Y/N)’s coming over for dinner tonight.” Techno told his family when he came downstairs from his room. Phil and Wilbur cheered, Tommy began jumping up and down. Techno chuckled, “they said they were going to bring dessert as well, but needed to know whether you guys preferred vanilla or chocolate cake.” 

“Aw they don't need to do that.” Phil said before Techno cut him off, “That’s what I said as well but I wasn’t able to change their mind.”

“Chocolate?” Wilbur suggested and they all nodded, Techno off to his room again to talk with you. 

“Hey (Y/N)?” he said as he unmuted himself in the discord call. “Shit!” you yelped, “Sorry, you scared me.” Techno laughed, “Sorry, sorry. They said chocolate. They’re all really excited to see you again, especially Tommy.” “I’m really excited to see them too. How have they been doing?” you asked. Techno smiled, “good! Wilbur hasn’t stopped asking to meet you and neither has Tommy. He’s literally been asking about you multiple times a day.” You aww’ed and Techno smiled, excited to see you again. “That’s so sweet. I’m really excited to meet Wilbur and see Tommy again, he’ll love the dessert I’m bringing.” 

“What are you making?” Techno asked. “Ahhh that my dear is a secret. Now I must go to work on it.” you said and Techno huffed, making you laugh. “Hey I’ll be there tonight, okay? Don’t get too sad, bye Tech!” “I’ll try, bye (Y/N).” 

You smiled to yourself as you stood up to make chocolate cupcakes with galaxy frosting. 

After finishing piping the cupcakes, you smiled. They looked pretty good, you couldn’t wait to see Tommy’s reaction to them.

~

Your hand reached to knock on the door when it suddenly opened to reveal Techno with Tommy in his arms. “(Y/N)!” the toddler yelled excitedly as he reached for you. “Tommy!” you exclaimed, hugging him and shooting Techno a smile. “How have you been, big guy?” you asked Tommy. “Good! I made more drawings today.” he told you. “All of which are galaxies by the way.” Techno added, gesturing for you to come inside. “Oh really? Show me!” you said to Tommy and he nodded, climbing out of your arms when you reached the living room. 

“Hey (Y/N)! It’s good to see you again.” Phil said when he saw you. “Thanks for letting me come over again.” you smiled and you turned to Wilbur, “nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” Wilbur smiled, “Oh trust me, I know. Neither of my brothers have shut up about you. Nice to meet you too, I’m Wilbur.”

You laughed and turned to look at Techno, whose face was now a deep red. “Wilbur I’m going to ki-” he began before Tommy interrupted him. “Look!” he said and he held up one of his drawings. You quickly shot Techno a wink before complimenting Tommy on his drawings, also telling him some new facts you came across online.

Techno’s eyes widened, his face an even deeper shade of red. He stood there frozen for a split second before he heard a small snicker of Wilbur. That asshole. Phil smacked his oldest son, making Techno snort. Deserved.

“So what did you make for dessert (Y/N)?” Phil asked. “That’s a surprise. Speaking of, is there anywhere I can put it?” you answered and he nodded, getting up to lead you to the kitchen. “You really can’t show me?” He tried again and you chuckled, “okay then, but don’t tell them anything.” 

He zipped his mouth shut and you grabbed the container from your bag, opening the lid to reveal the cupcakes. “Holy shit (Y/N) these look great! Oh my god Tommy will love these.” he said. “Aw thank you, I really hope so.” you said as he got out some ingredients so the container would fit. “Is there any way I can help with dinner?” You offered but he firmly denied again, calling out for Wilbur.

“Yes father?” he said when entering the kitchen. “You’re helping me with dinner.” Phil answered and Wilbur saluted him. You wondered how the three brothers could be this different. “So (Y/N), what did you make for dessert?” Wilbur asked, making you laugh. Different yet all the same. “All of your curiosity is making it very hard but I’m not telling you.” 

Wilbur pouted at you and you shook your head no, you weren’t going to slip up now. 

You felt someone tap against your leg and you looked down to see Tommy. “Hey Tommy, what’s up?” you asked as you crouched to face him. He leaned in to whisper, “Techno told me to come save you.” You giggled and followed Tommy back to Techno, who was sitting on the couch. He smiled when he saw you walking to him, he missed you already. “What’s up?” you asked, sitting next to him. Tommy quickly crawled in your lap, melting the boy in front of you. 

“I- uhm I listened to the playlist you sent me and I really liked it.” he told you and your eyes lit up, “really? What song was your favorite?” “I think it was called Fairy Tale? The band name was something with haircuts in it I believe.” 

You felt your stomach explode with butterflies at the realization he was talking about the love song that reminded you of him. Thoughts were now flooding your mind, about if he thought of you when listening to the song, did he even realize what the lyrics were, did he just liked the song with no further intention, does he like y- “(Y/N?)” Techno suddenly said, snapping you back to the conversation. “Hmm? Oh- Fairy Tale! That’s a good song, one of my favorites as well actually.” you answered blushing. Techno grinned and took a glance at Tommy, seeing him nearly asleep. His hand reached to poke the younger awake but you swatted his hand away. Techno raised his eyebrow at you, to which you smiled and calmly told Tommy to stay awake for a little bit longer. In response Tommy huffed and cuddled closer, which was a bad idea on his part. Techno began tickling him, earning loud laughter and screams from Tommy. 

Phil and Wilbur looked at each other at the same time, then quickly poking their heads out of the kitchen to see what was causing the disturbance. Wilbur sighed in relief at the sight of the three of you laughing, going back to the kitchen just as quick leaving Phil who stayed put a little longer. He couldn't stop the massive smile from spreading to his face and the warm feeling rising. Wilbur called out for Phil who, with one last glance, returned to the kitchen

Once Tommy calmed down from his hysteria Techno put on some Avatar, also slowly scooting closer to you. Upon noticing you smiled softly and put your arm lightly around his shoulders. Techno’s face heated up, not really used to this closeness. He could say he didn’t like it but he wasn’t really the one for lying. 

After one episode Wilbur started setting the table, quickly eyeing the three of you, a mixture of shock and pride on his face. He didn’t know how his brother managed it, but he was impressed. “Dinner’s nearly ready.” he told them, getting nods in response. Tommy had fallen asleep after all, so you attempted to wake him up. Attempted being the key word, he was still half asleep when you took a seat at the dinner table. “Tommy, you know you can’t have dessert without eating dinner right?” Phil told him and Tommy quickly woke up, climbing off your lap to his own chair. The two other brothers and you were laughing but Phil quickly shushed all of you and told you what was for dinner, “Roast veggies, roast potatoes and steak!”

He gave everyone their portions, everyone also immediately digging in. You complimented him, it was really good. Phil thanked you, soon the room filled with conversation and laughs. 

~

“Dessert time!!” Tommy exclaimed excitedly as everyone finished up their dinner and cleared off the table. You chuckled and walked to the kitchen with Phil. While he was boiling the water and grabbing the cups and plates, you took the container from the fridge and started placing them on little plates.

“Surprise!” Phil said as you two walked out of the kitchen, both holding a tray. All of the boys went quiet, excited and curious. You put your tray down, earning wow’s from Techno, Wilbur and Tommy. “Tech! Look, they’re like galaxies!” Tommy said and Techno laughed, “yeah they are. They look great (Y/N).” You smiled, really happy that Tommy recognized them. “You‘ve done a great job, these look incredible.” Wilbur said and you thanked him while handing out the plates with the cupcakes. Phil filled up the tea cups and soon new conversation was flowing. Wilbur asked a few questions, curious about the person his brother was in love with. You answered all of them happily, Techno butting in when the questions were school related. 

It didn't take long before more embarrassing childhood stories were told, all of you laughing, Techno tallying the times Wilbur embarrassed him in his head for later payback. Tommy was telling you about how he told his best friend Tubbo about galaxies as well and that he loved them too. You tried not to physically melt and told him to invite him over so you could draw together. Tommy got so excited he jumped off his chair and started running around the house, the remaining at the table laughing again. You took a glance at the clock, caught off guard by the way time had flown by. 

“I hate to be that person but I’m afraid I have to get going.” you said, getting understanding nods from everyone. Tommy abruptly stopped and dramatically huffed. He dragged himself back to his chair and sat down with a big pout. “Hey don’t worry bud, I’m sure (Y/N) will be back soon.” Phil said to him, making him look at you hopefully. “Yeah I will! Don’t worry about it too much, okay big man?” you smiled and he nodded, getting up and giving you a hug. Phil glanced at Techno, watching his expression change to pure and absolute adoration. It made Phil happy, even if he never knew what it truly felt like. The happy sparkles that Techno’s eyes held whenever you were there were enough. 

Wilbur and Techno cleaned up the table, you had offered to help but your attempts were quickly shut down. You glared at the pair when they walked away, making Phil laugh. Your gaze shifted to Phil, now also glaring at him. He only laughed harder, making Tommy giggle as well. You tried your hardest not to break but when Tommy began laughing as well you broke and laughed along with them.

“Are you going to ask them out?” Wilbur asked Techno, catching the latter off guard. “What? Ask them out? Like to be my partner?” Techno replied and Wilbur nodded. “I-I don’t know. That’s a big step. What if they don't like me and I ruin our friendship? What if they don't want to be friends anymore because they’ll think it’s- I’m weird? What if-” Techno rambled before Wilbur cut him off. “Dude. Do you need new glasses? You two look at each other like you are each other’s world and were literally cuddling on the couch earlier. You said they made a playlist for you right?”, Techno nodded, “well there you have your answer. Trust me, they feel the same.” He was still processing what Wilbur said when he heard your laugh and automatically smiled. Wilbur noticed and chuckled, “you’re so whipped for them, I can’t believe it. What happened with the ‘I’m independent I don’t need anyone ever’ Techno?”

Techno quickly smacked the back of Wilbur’s head before he could get more words out, making Wilbur laugh. Techno rolled his eyes, put away the dishes and walked back to the kitchen table. You smiled at him, getting up to grab your bag and jacket. Meanwhile Wilbur also came back from the kitchen, with your container in hand. “Oh thank you, I completely forgot about that,” you chuckled, “also thanks for letting me stay over again.” “No problem (Y/N), truly. Thank you for the cupcakes, they were really good.” Phil said, “and really pretty!” Tommy added and you giggled, thanking them and saying your goodbyes. 

Techno walked with you to the door, thinking about what Wilbur had said in the kitchen. “Thank you for inviting me, it was a lot of fun.” you told him, interrupting his train of thoughts. “Of course, you’re welcome here any time. I think Tommy likes you more than he likes his own brothers.” he said and you laughed, “impossible. I’m sure he would love watching Avatar with you as well.” He shrugged, “I do prefer watching it with you though.” 

Your cheeks flushed red and a smile crept up on your face. “Well, let’s watch more together soon then.” you said to which he quickly agreed to. He couldn’t wait to have your arm around him again. His cheeks heated up and he quickly looked down.

“I really do have to go though, my parents will kill me if I come home too late.” you said and he nodded, eyes still on the ground. You leaned in to kiss his cheek, just as he looked up to say goodbye. Noticing it on time, you quickly stopped, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. It didn’t help much, both of your faces now inches apart. His face held the same reaction, his heart racing. He thought back to what Phil and Wilbur had said and decided, fuck it, as he leaned in to close the gap and kiss you. You stiffened for a second, you’d silently hope this would happen but were still surprised. Techno noticed and quickly pulled back, apologizing profusely. You tried to tell him it was more than okay, you were just caught off guard but he kept cutting you off with apologies. You shook your head, leaning in again and kissing him. He finally shut up and kissed back, his hands now on your waist and yours on his cheeks. 

Techno pulled back again, looking into your eyes. You raised your eyebrow, wondering why he all of sudden stopped. “I- uhm, well,” he stuttered, your hands dropped to his cheek and he sighed, it was now or never. “Do you- Would you want to be my partner?” he asked quietly. Your eyes widened, shock taking over your expression. Was this real? The boy you’ve been loving since you could remember felt the same? You were brought back to reality by his hands leaving your waist and his mouth opening to apologize. “Yes. Yes I’d love to.” you quickly said, making the biggest smile ever cross Techno’s face. “Really?” he asked and you nodded while laughing, feeling all giddy and happy. He engulfed you in his arms, giving you the biggest hug ever. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, before Techno let you go making you frown. He chuckled, “I know dear, but I don’t want your parents to kill either of us.” “Yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll text you when I get home.” you said before giving him a quick kiss and turning around to walk away. “Bye (Y/N), be careful!” Techno said while waving. “I will!” you told him and waved back with a smile. Holy shit. 

Techno closed the door and leaned against it. Did that really just happen? His heart and stomach were doing backflips. He smiled to himself, you were his partner now.

His smile hadn’t toned down when he walked back to the rest of his family, who were impatiently waiting on him. “And?” “So?” Phil and Wilbur said at the same time, making Techno laugh. “We- I- We’re together now.” he told them, earning the loudest cheers he’s ever heard. “Congratulations man! I’m proud of you.” Phil told him and Techno thanked him, sitting down on the couch with them. “Did you ask them?” Wilbur asked and Techno nodded. “Dude! Congrats. What happened?” He asked and Techno told them everything that happened. 

Tommy, who was supposed to be asleep in his bed, came downstairs after hearing the cheering. “What’s going on?” he asked sleepily and Techno chuckled, “(Y/N) and I are dating.” he answered and the blonde nodded, “does that mean they’ll come over more?” he asked. “I think so, yeah.” Techno told him and Tommy nodded again, walking over to his family and sitting next to Techno. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs. You need to sleep and I need to check if (Y/N) is home safely.” Techo said to Tommy after picking him up and saying to goodnight to his dad and older brother. “Can I say goodnight to them?” Tommy asked and Techno nodded, taking him to his room. He started up his computer, happy to see a message from you. He quickly typed a response before video calling you and putting his headset on Tommy. 

You answered the call almost right away, aww’ing when you saw Tommy with the big headset on. “Hey big man, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you said and he nodded, “yes but I woke up because they were all being loud and then Techno was going to talk to you and I wanted to say goodnight.” Techno smiled softly, kind of bummed he couldn’t hear your replies. “Awe that’s not good. Next time you just punch Techno lightly and he’ll be quiet.” you said to Tommy, making him giggle mischievously. Techno raised his eyebrow at both of you, that didn’t seem good. “I will. Goodnight (Y/N)!” Tommy said while waving. “Goodnight! Sleep well and sweet dreams.” you smiled and waved back. “I’ll be right back.” Techno said into the headset as he put it down and went to put Tommy in his bed.

After a few minutes he was back, “hey love.” he said as he put on his headset. “Gosh!” you sighed, making Techno laugh. “Please give me an announcement next time, I think I just lost 10 years of my life.” you said, Techno only laughing harder. “I will, I will, sorry.” he smiled. The two of you talked all night, switching to your phones when it became too late. You fell asleep first, Techno chuckling when he heard your soft snores. “Goodnight, (Y/N).” he whispered, before falling asleep himself. 

[dulceackles]

heyyyy, could you maybe write a one shot with ethan x reader. Ethan read some mean online comments and completely shuts down, so the rest of maneskin calls the reader to have her help them cheer Ethan up, and at the end it’s just really fluffy with a group hug including the reader?🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Silent movies | Ethan Torchio

Requested: yes

summary: Ethan reads hate comments after a long day of practice and the band decides to take the evening off and have a movie night with y/n. 

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x reader (she/her, third person)

word count: 1.4k

content and warnings: well it’s only little angst in theory, it turns fluff, little cursing.  

The rain had washed the streets the whole day and the wind had pulled threes apart the whole day. It was hard to believe that even an outdoor loving person would have wanted to step outside but gladly Ethan, Victoria, Thomas, and Damiano had had a great time practicing their new songs yet to be released. 

Damiano and Victoria were in the kitchen making Tortillas for the band and Thomas had drifted into his own thoughts after a long day of work. Ethan sat on the couch, scrolling social media through on his phone to kill some time while waiting for their dinner to be ready. He usually didn’t dig in too deep what people were talking about them online but for some reason, one specific comment section stole his attention. Maybe he should have not cared, be the bigger person and not let some internet trolls get underneath his skin but maybe it was overwhelming to see so many people agreeing on just hating him. He didn’t know what he could have ever done differently in a public eye that would have made people dislike him so much. So maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much it actually hurt him.

“Ethan?” Thomas snapped Ethan out of his thoughts, he looked confused. 

“Hmm?” He answered to him noticing he had gotten up. 

“The food, It’s ready.” Thomas said, “I’ve called you like two times now.” He muttered

“Oh sorry.” Ethan got up and started to walk to the kitchen with Thomas. Thomas however had noticed that something was bothering him greatly. He hated seeing his friend sad but didn’t fully know how to bring it up.

Victoria and Damiano were already filing their Tortilla’s as Thomas and Ethan walked to the dining table. 

“You asses couldn’t wait for as, huh?” Thomas pointed at them smiling. 

“Hey, We made these!” Damiano raised his hands in defense.

It didn’t take long for Damiano and Victoria to notice Ethan’s off behavior. It was painfully clear something was bothering him, he didn’t even say much during the whole dinner and that made Victoria worried and even though she tried to carefully ask him about it, he didn’t say much. 

“What’s wrong?” Victoria had asked. 

“Nothing. Just was on Instagram and have you guys seen the way some people talk there?” Ethan answered her, gently playing with the end of his hair. 

“Don’t worry about them, like you said they’re just being rude for the sake of it. It doesn’t matter what they say.” Damiano said. 

“true.” Ethan nodded his head but Victoria could tell Ethan was still feeling low. 

“Let’s have a movie night, we’ve played all day I think it’s enough for today.” Thomas tapped his hands to the table. 

“Yeah I agree” Victoria got up, “Let’s invite y/n too, she’s probably really bored at home too.” She knew y/n was really good at cheering people up.

Y/n heard her phone’s notification sound ring as she was laying in her bed reading a book she found on sale at the nearest thrift store. 

Vic: Wanna come for a movie?

y/n: Sure, what are we watching? 

Vic: Haven’t decided yet. By the way, Ethan’s really upset. He read some comments online. So heads up. 

y/n: ohh okey, I’ll bring snacks.

It didn’t take y/n long to drive to them even if the weather was ruff and she truly was happy it didn’t because she hated to drive in dark and in rain alone. Because wasn’t that just how horror movies started?

After she had parked she quickly trotted to the front door. She knocked on it waiting for someone to open the door and let her inside out of the sharp rain. 

“Snacks or won’t open.” Ethan joked behind the door. 

“Well for god’s sake just open the door it’s pouring here.” y/n laughed at him through the door. She heard the door lock twist open. 

“I brought Popcorn,” Y/n said showing a pack of microwave popcorns in her hand.  

Y/n walked in and took her now slightly muddy shoes off. “Sorry, I tried to jump over puddles.” 

“Hii Y/n!” Victoria screamed from the living room and y/n greeted her back. 

Ethan and y/n walked into the kitchen to make the popcorns into the microwave as Damiano, Thomas, and Victoria were throwing pillows to the floor to make the best movie night living room possible. 

The microwave howled as the popcorns were popping inside. 

“Did your mom told you you’d hurt your eyes if you looked into the micro too long too close?” Y/n asked Ethan as both of them were keeping a very close eye on the popcorns, “Or was that just my mom?” 

“Oh, she did!” Ethan smiled remembering the complete urban legend his mom too had told him once. 

“I always wondered if she believed in it.” Y/n slowly said as she turned to look at him. His hair fell long alongside his back and y/n too had noticed he looked a little tense. She wondered if she should have said anything or if he was better left alone.

“Victoria told me you were a little sad today.” y/n said gently, almost whispering.

Ethan hummed, “I knew they called you here to babysit.” 

“No they didn’t.” She protested, “No one just wants that you’re sad.”

“I just saw some stupid comments, it’s not serious.” He said. The microwave peeped and he took the steaming popcorns out. 

“I mean it is serious if you’re upset by them and understandably everyone would be.”  She looked into his eyes that were staring back at hers. 

“hmm. It’s just... I guess it just makes you wonder if there’s something true about what they say.” He looked down a little bit. They started to walk to the living room. 

“Well I think no, I see not one flaw in you and nothing I would change even if I had a chance.” y/n said as she laid down to the pillow see others had made onto the floor in front of the tv.

Ethan giggled and laid down next to her. “I wouldn’t change anything in you either.” He smiled at her. 

“aww, cute.” y/n laughed and snuggled to give Ethan a little cuddle. He rested his head on the pillows. 

“I just don’t get why people have to be so mean online.” He said as he gently played with y/n’s hair in his thoughts. 

“They just don’t have anything better to do I guess. It really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.” y/n said while drawing figures onto his hand with her fingers. 

“Yupp and besides, There’s always gonna be someone who likes you and someone who doesn’t,” Damiano said joining them on the floor and stealing the popcorn bowl. 

Ethan too got up to sit to make room on the pillows for Thomas and Victoria too. 

“That’s one thing I didn’t know though; like how much at the end of the day how much you’ll get shat on once you get noticed in the music industry,”  Victoria said as she and Thomas joined them. 

“True, well I guess sometimes people just need someone to use as a trash bag for their own negative emotions.” Thomas agreed, he reached his hand to crap a couple of popcorns. “I think, you know, we have each other and close ones and those really just are the people you need sometimes and who you know you can lean on. Yeah, You are the people whose opinions I care about, no one else.” 

“Awww.” Damiano, Victoria, Ethan, and y/n said at the same time and y/n could see that Ethan’s eyes had softened. 

Victoria wrapped his other hand around Thomas and the other one around Damiano pulling them into a hug and Thomas wrapped his hand around Ethan who then pulled y/n into the hug. 

“I love you guys,” Ethan said as they all hugged each other and he truly felt like at that moment, it really didn’t matter what they said on the internet. 

Y/n rested her head against Ethan’s chest and he pressed his cheek on top of her head yet before all of their hair got tangled with each other, they stepped back to their own seats. 

“So what are we going to watch?” Damiano asked. 

“We should watch silent movies cus people talk too much.” y/n snapped her fingers to her own pun.