#happy birthday you banger

[morgana-lefay]

27 years of "Du Hast" today. 🖤

As for many of us, this was the song that got me to know them back then (and the song I started ruining the lyrics with 😅) and, for that, it will always have a special place in my heart. And it sounds awesome live!

Here's a bit I recorded last month in Barcelona.

[crebbyhermit]

happy birthday nagi!!!

[starrysmiling]

you'd dreamed about him last night.

he'd been sitting in your lap on the armchair you always sit on, talking about something, his voice a melody of woven gold. you'd held him close by his waist, and his skin had been warm, human, where you leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder, mouthing shapeless words onto his skin.

[danikoshi-doodles]

Merry Christmas yall, and happy launch day to the James Webb Space Telescope!

He forgot lol

[kiffyjessi]

We were so insane for that @flowrx-lu

We might have peaked with this one, idk if we can top this perfection any time soon. But we sure had a heck of a blast!

My bestie who is obsessed with clavis had birthday recently so me and my friend ( @kiffyjessi ) decided to bake her the infamous clavis cake

This is how it was staring at us from the fridge

THIS WAS THE MAIN GIFT, because the whole bday party was clavis themed

The masterpiece that my other friend created (can't tag her because she unfortunately doesn't have tumblr)

+ Little bonus, this is my friends ikepri room, to show you that she likes him a normal amount

[pjflmga]

chicago, alessia russo x reader

summary: story based on the song chicago by louis tomlinson. angst and no happy ending. stream chicago it’s banger🔥

a/n: english is not my first language and i’m dead tired + wrote it in the middle of the night, so sorry if the grammar and stuff is shit at times🥲 also it’s like my first fic writte so yea:o ig if you have an idea of a story or smth send them in :)

wc: 1,8k ish

enjoyy

——————————————————

alessia was sitting on the coach of her apartment in north london, as she scrolled through instagram… or stalking through your instagram to be precise. your last post being a picture of your now 18 month(🥲) old baby.

“my baby girl olivia is now 18 months old🥹❤️” the caption said.

a tear formed in her eye as she thought of the name. the name that her and you had come up with together, at the age of 13. the name she thought you would name you little baby together. the name that you now used for your own baby, without her.

————

alessia and you had been close friends since middle school, when you both were 9.

it had been a normal school day where alessia sat daydreaming about going professional in the thing she loved the most, football, when the blondes friend lisa came running towards her.

“lessi!!! giorgio and peter are at it again.” she said while breathing out.

“huh?” the young girl answered as her head jerked up.

“they got into some argument and it’s getting heated.” lisa answered as the two began running towards the fight. “i think you can talk him out of it.” she continued.

“GIORGIO!” she yelled.

“PETER!” someone else yelled at the same time.

alessia saw how her brother and the other boy looked towards her and the other voice quickly. at that time teachers had arrived as well and told the boys off. so instead of parenting her older brother, the blonde looked over to the other voice and caught your eyes, as you were looking at her with curiosity.

“wow” she thought to yourself “she has the coolest outfit ever” so like the 9- year old she was, she walked over to you and introduced herself. “hello, my name is alessia, but my friends call me less or lessi and i think your outfit is so cooll!“ she said.

“hi alessia, i’m y/n, my freinds call me y/n/n. ” you answered excitedly. “thank you, your eyes are so, so pretty.” you continued, entirely mesmerised by her blue eyes. “oh and that potato head over there, is my brother peter.”

“the boy who fought with your brother is my big brother gio. he usually is the best, we play football together all the time!” alessia laughed.

“no way? i love football too!” you screamed excitedly. “would you like to play with me sometime?”

and just like that a wonderful friendship blossomed out between alessia and you. years passed and the bond the blonde shared with you, only grew stronger. as the two of you turned 16 she realised she might be feeling something else than normal friendship for you. little did she know, you felt the same about her.

as the weeks past the two of you became a bit more and more bold and flirtier, and then all of a sudden you started dating. both of your families loved the other girl. even your big brothers had become friendly and only bantered up a little now and then, but more as a joke of course.

after a few months, on alessia’s 17th birthday, you officially asked the blonde to be your girlfriend. she answered more than happily with a “yes!”. the other present from you might have been even better though. it was your black nike hoodie, that smelled just like you.

both alessia and you loved football, but it was clear as a day who was actually going for it and who wasn’t, and had it more like a side hobby.

alessia was thriving and was currently playing for chelsea’s academy team as well as playing for england’s youth team. you were more than happy for her and watched as she smashed in goal after goal week in and week out.

alessia was so proud of you who were doing quite good as well, playing for the local team in kent. ruling the midfield and scoring some nice goals yourself. of course, when she didn’t have training or her own games, she was there to watch.

everything between the two of you was just perfect, you went to school, played football and had each other. and that weekly routine worked perfectly well for you.

but as they say, all good comes to an end.

the blonde striker and you had only one month left of school before graduating and you were buzzing. you had told your girlfriend that you weren’t too sure of what to do now. sure, you had applied for some courses at a university in london. but other than that your plan was to chill a bit, playing some football and so on. it was no real rush anyways.

alessia on the other hand, had big plans coming up. the striker had applied for different collages in the usa to be able to play football on a higher level, as well as studying. but these great plans of hers weren’t anything you were aware of.

so graduation came, you were celebrating with your friends from school, as well as had a graduation party with each other that your families had planned. everything was just perfect. a few days later alessia had to leave for camp, and that’s when she thought it was time to break the news to you.

“uh, y/n…” she started as she felt a big lump in her throat. “i uh- i, i have a applied for some collages in the usa for the upcoming years. and i uh, i got accepted for unc in north carolina.” she stuttered out nervously.

“oh.” was all you got out, as she saw tears threatening behind your eyes. “less that is great for you.” you forced out with a weak smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you sooner, i really am.” the blonde whispered out. “but i just, i just didn’t know how to tell you and then time passed and you kn-“

“i get it alessia.” you said bluntly. alessia frowned a bit at the usage of her full name, instead of one of a nickname she knew you had, on your never ending list.

“but i thought we could make it work anyways. i’d come back when i have breaks, and maybe you could do the same and we call and text each other all the time. i mean we can do that yeah?” she started to ramble.

“i… i have to go.” you said and left, slamming the door in her face a little too hard. with the sound of your steps leaving, alessia broke down on the floor and cried. this was not the way she had thought it’d be.

sad and slow alessia went to camp, as she put on a smile on her face. this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes though. when game day came around, the lionesses were playing in london. the blonde excitedly looked towards the small crowd to see if you were there, like you had planned. but to her disappointment, you weren’t. she saw her mom looking at her with sad smile, confirming what she feared.

after camp, alessia went straight to your house, only to be met by your mom, who didn’t look oh- so happy.

“please let me talk to her, i need to speak to y/n.” the blonde pleaded.

“alessia, she is broken, she doesn’t want to see you right now.” your mom answered with a stern face. “and you know why.” she added quickly.

of course alessia knew all this was her fault, but she also knew this was something she had to do for her career. so when august came around, she packed all her stuff and flew to her new home for the upcoming years.

the two of you hadn’t spoken since before her england camp, despite her texting and calling everyday, with no success of reaching you. as the blonde forward landed in north carolina, she sent yet another text message “i’m in the usa now. i miss you y/n, please call me<3 i know we can work this out”. to her big surprise you this time gave her a short reply “i miss you too, good luck with everything.”

maybe, just maybe this bitter end of yours, would turn around? maybe that could be the case for you two.

—————

the years past and alessia was now in back in england, more specifically in the red side of manchester. she had also gotten her first call up to national team. her time at collage had been an absolute blast, but not one day went without her thinking of you.

thanks to social media, she knew you lived in central london now. she knew you studied at queen mary university to become a journalist, a dream you had had as you grew older. and she knew you had a new life, that didn’t include her.

the years flew by and right out of nowhere alessia was the front face for the lionesses having won the euros, gotten a silver medal in the world cup and was now settled in north london. but still, not a day went by without her thinking of you. not a day went by without her wishing she could tell you about all her adventures and experiences she’d gotten the past years. not a day went by without her wishing to have you in her life. she wondered if you kept up with her life, what you would’ve said and if you were proud of her.

it had been a tough game for arsenal against their blue london rivals, chelsea. the blues had beaten the gooners with a comfortable 3-1 win at stamford bridge. despite the loss, she bid her thank yous to the fans, as well as signing some autographs and taking some photos. just as she was about to walk away into the dressing rooms, she spotted a face she would recognise anywhere. was it you? it couldn’t be? she blinked, and just like that you were gone.

as the striker got home she burst down in tears, putting on the hoodie you once gave her, thinking back to all the times you had been there and comforted her. especially after a loss. you always knew what to say and what to do, to make her feel better.

alessia replayed the day she told you about her heading off to collage over and over again, and thought once again, what she could’ve done differently. so the arsenal player grabbed her phone and typed in your contact, because of course she still had it saved with a red heart next to your name. but she quickly came to her senses and closed her phone. she couldn’t be that selfish.

she knew you were happy and had a baby. she knew that her name was olivia, just like the two of you had planned. what alessia didn’t know was whether after all these years, you had forgiven her or not. because believe her or not, even if it didn’t work out, the years you had together ever since you were 9 years old were the most meaningful and important to her.

but, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

[koolades-world]

Hello! When you have time can you please do headcanons on the brothers (and side characters) reacting to MC pranking them by getting a brussel sprout, dipping it in chocolate and nuts, then wrapping it into a ferrero rocher covering and then going so far as to reseal the box? I think this would be really funny lol

hiii!! yes omg of course

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE (i think i timed this right? if not, i'm close bc it's still your birthday week lol) y'all go wish atom happy bday! literally so many of my bangers are a request she made. hope you had a wonderful birthday <3333

enjoy <3

Mc pranks everyone with fake Ferrero Rochers

Lucifer

he actually automatically assumes the anti-lucifer league put you up to this

you manage to dodge all liability for something you were totally responsible for

take this secret to the grave lest you suffer the wrath of lucifer haha

Mammon

he loves you so much, so he pretends to enjoy it since he assumes it's just an odd human thing

however afterwards, he immediately throws it away

you might casually mention it again in the future and then he realizes it was a prank all along

Levi

may or may not burst into tears because he thinks you hate him and that's why you gave it to him

please buy him a regular tray and show him it was just a prank

if you really love him, eat one yourself to show how sorry you are

Satan

if you were anyone else, there's no way you'd still be alive

seems the most likely to spit it out, but laughs it off with you

he might play a harmless prank on you back and hopes it's not the start of some mini war

Asmo

will outright ask you if you were being serious or not

that intense look in his eyes gets you to confess

as payback, he has you act as his mannequin for the evening to test out fun outfits and makeup looks on

Beel

he's the wrong one to prank lmao

he will deadpan eat them, tell you how oddly delicious and different they tasted

will ask for more. prank: failed

Belphie

he sees right through your shit

he will eat one, but will immediately realize what you did

won't retaliate but will give you the meanest stink eye ever

Diavolo

will happily eat it

he thinks it's just a human thing and will make sure to let you know he enjoyed it

it seems as if he actually liked it! is this success or not?

Barbatos

that 'candy' will not enter his mouth once

it's barbatos, he saw this coming and won't fall for it

in fact, you somehow end up eating it. well played barb, well played

Simeon

would for sure pretend to enjoy it

he doesn't want to hurt your feelings after all, since it was a gift

unless you ever admit to what you did, he will never say anything about it

Luke

like father like son

he assumes it was a well intentioned gift and will take the fact that he hated it to the grave

honestly maybe just don't do this to him it feels cruel haha

Solomon

he seems like he'd actually enjoy it

just convince him that it's just how they are now and he's been away from the human world for too long

however, this will all go out the window as soon as he buys himself a tray haha

Mephisto

he feels so betrayed haha

here he was, thinking you'd gone out of your way to give him a gift

contemplates retaliation, but decides not to because he deems himself a gentleman

Thirteen

she doesn't contemplate retaliation

her plan had already begun to moment she took a bite of your monstrosity haha

you may want to watch your back from now on, but she'll probably get you anyways

Raphael 

i feel like he would at first be confused

but then, he's going to threaten you with his spear(s)

run for you life mc!

[spncvr]

scott street | remus lupin

summary: You return to your childhood home. Remus, your past love, unexpectedly returns. (based on the song scott street if that wasn’t obvious)

pairing: rockstar!remus lupin x fem!reader (3rd person oops sorry)

warnings: is this.... angst?? idk but hurt/comfort!! no use of y/n bc i cannot write that and not die a little, and my terrible english i'm sure i mixed all the tenses up here guys sorry im tryinggg,, this is lowk cheesy as hell i feel like... LMAO

a/n: i was sick so i didn't go to school tdy but i wrote this banger oneshot (its 2,4k words can u belive?? longest thing ive ever written in english)

masterlist

Walking Scott Street, feeling like a stranger

With an open heart, open container

THE SUN SUNK behind the many leaves which hung lazily on the branches. Through the old sheer curtains, the breeze blows faint whispers. The room is tinged with a familiar feeling; as if the concrete used that constructed this house is laced with memories from the past. The memories all flooded back like tides in a vast ocean, rolling back and forth as they brought back recollections of days gone by.

This was where she had grown up. The small backyard, the one with grass that had used to touch her ankles, was where she had first learned how to do a cartwheel. The bed, unchanged since she had left, felt almost ancient. She remembered the time she had faked a headache to skip school and had spent the whole day in it; back then the bed had felt like the only place she had wanted to live in. 

This was where she fell in love. So much in love, that she could not seem to pinpoint the exact moment she had ever fallen out of it. Maybe she never did. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore, at least.

The room’s walls are bare, and the old, washed-out wall once covered with posters of her favourite rock bands, no longer stands amongst the antique wallpaper. But his pictures were there. Their pictures. It seemed as though they were taunting her as it was propped up on the small table beside her bed. She picked one of them up, one that had stood out to her the most, and gazed at it.

She grew up without wealth. That was clear from the photo, where her top was much too big for her. Maybe it was her father’s; she can’t remember. But that hadn’t mattered to him. He had his arms around her shoulders and a smile on his lips akin to those she’d seen of him on posters and TV screens. She missed when he’d shown it just for her to see.

I’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can.It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan.

She tries to remember the moment or event that had taken place where they had taken the picture. And she almost forgets. It caused her to quickly put the picture back down, and a loud thud resonated between the calm sounds of home.

How could she forget? She felt like she was losing too much of herself. The part of herself that had lived here, one that had loved so freely and so openly, was slipping away so incredibly quickly—and suddenly she understood why her mother had cried when she chose a university so far off. She had almost forgotten a part of herself—a version of herself, that she seemed to have missed the most.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, still close to the picture she had put back down, only to look at it again, this time from afar. 

Of course, she remembers this moment. It had been her birthday, and he had taunted her mercilessly, telling her how she was just as old and frail as he was since she had always made fun of him for having his birthday at the start of the year and hers so close to the end. This may have contributed to the small roll of her eyes in the photo, but she was unable to control the grin that had painted itself on her lips. She can’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. Joking about being so incredibly old while being so young. She’d have given everything to be seventeen again if it meant being seventeen with him. 

Behind the picture, she had been staring at, was another one. And this time, she didn’t forget because, try as she might, she couldn’t.

She can’t seem to let go of the memory of the first time he kissed her, after a gig, a small one that he held with his mates at a pub not that far from here. She remembers how his skin was alight with adrenaline, and his gaze piercing. She couldn’t forget the moment when he told her that she had always been the one he loved not long after the picture, somewhere outside the pub, where the crisp chilly November breeze did not win against his palm that rested against her cheek.

Not long after, when he had brought her back to his, when he had kissed her silly. When she had realized that she really loved him too, and when the realization had hit her so hard, she had to loop her arms around his neck to keep herself upright, when there was only quiet in the house and all that could be heard was her gentle laughter and his sweet nothings, he had whispered in her ear so quietly, almost as if it were a secret, I would have been content to love you from a distance.

There, they were eighteen, fresh out of school and without the slightest idea where they’d go next. She had occasionally pondered what would have happened if they had more time, if they hadn’t both been so foolish, or, if they had both recognized how much it was they felt for one another sooner. But doing so would have made the parting even more painful than it already was. That was something she didn’t like to imagine.

She sighs and leaves the room. She needed to breathe.

Do you feel ashamed, When you hear my name?

ADMITTEDLY, REMUS DIDN'T think he’d ever come back. To Wales, yes, of course, it was his country (now more than ever). But not to this house. Not to her house. He couldn’t ever think straight, not when he knew that she was out there somewhere forgetting every minute detail about their past, and not when the love she’d once felt for him had long gone. But here he stands. 

He’s overthinking this. She probably isn’t even home.

She’s always told him when they were young that she wanted to leave.

One day, she had whispered to him in the darkness, when they were six, her favourite stuffed animal tightly tucked between her arms, one day, we’ll be far away. Remus can’t remember whatever caused her to tell him this at such a young age, with such strong conviction. He thinks it was probably something silly—a classmate’s admonition that some activities were simply reserved for boys. Or maybe it was because her parents had refused to let her get ice cream after she’d finished all of her green vegetables (all that suffering for nothing, really). But the mindset had continued to stick in her mind; an ember of determination that refused to fade away.

One day, she says again, when she’s thirteen because her teacher had failed her in her first ever physics exam, one day this won’t matter. I’ll go. I’ll leave. She had said it so firmly and so surely that it scares him sometimes. Because, really, they’ve never been anywhere but here—so sometimes, he asks his mirror, pretending that she’s staring back at him: What if it’s just the same? What if it’s just as bad?

One day, she says again, when she’s seventeen because she has been looking at universities far off and away from Wales. He’d watch her as she’d stare at the campus pictures on the brochures their school had offered and study the student’s bright wide smiles, and sometimes, he wondered if she ever pictures herself in those hallways, with a group of new friends—she’d be the smart one, the witty one. Sometimes, Remus wondered if she ever pictured him with her as she told him with the biggest smile on her face: One day, I’ll be there. Anytime soon.

She’s never liked it here. That much was always clear to Remus. Her books were the sole bright spot in her otherwise (as she put it) bleak existence. Always arranged in a way that only she could fully understand within the small bookshelf she had bought for herself with her first paycheck when she was saving up for Uni. Often, he wondered if she had brought them with her when she had left or whether she had left them here. No longer feeling the drag of her fingertips against its words. Abandoned by its only reader. 

And for a while, he had thought that he’d given her another reason to love the place they’d always called home. But he left her. So why, then, would she ever choose to stay? Books could only last for so long.

Just knock, he curses to himself. Say hello to her parents. Tell them that you wanted to see how they were doing. 

And just when he’s about to finally get it over with, the door opens.

And she’s there.

She looks different. Hair cut short and brushed neatly. Her clothes fit her nicely. It feels kind of jarring. He doesn’t really know what to expect. He’d been half-expecting to see the girl who had her hair always tied up in a ponytail that didn’t do much, with the amount of hair that was always falling out of it or the girl who wore oversized band shirts that belonged to her father, along with the sneakers she’d been using ever since her feet had stopped growing—the girl who was so full of life it felt nearly impossible not to love her. It was silly, really. Of course, she’d changed. It’s been four years. 

“Remus?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing, “What’re you doing here?”

He opens his mouth and closes it again. What was he doing here?

“I’m—” he starts but pauses for a while to come up with an answer, “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

“I don’t,” she says, plainly.

“Oh.” he breathes, she’s always been forward, “Well, I’m here for holiday.”

“Yeah . . . yeah me too.”

He rocks on the heels of his foot back and forth, “I just— wanted to know how your parents are doing.”

She purses her lips, “Oh. Well, Dad’s doing alright, I bought him a bunch of LPs—some of them yours, actually. And Mum’s still trying to get used to me being back here. She’s cooked a thousand meals.”

“That’s good to know,” he nods, smiling, because sometimes, she has no idea the effect she has on people. “I’m glad they’re alright.”

“How’ve you been?” she inquires, “Heard you’re not doing too bad in your band thing.”

He laughs softly, “It’s been alright.”

She smiles, for the first time he’s talked to her, and shakes her head softly, “Modest as always. Send the lads my love.”

“I missed you,” he tells her. And it spills from his tongue so quickly, before he could even think about it. She needed to know, somehow, that he couldn’t shake her off his mind. He played for her, wrote for her and of her. And sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night he swears he could feel her shadow brush his hand, he hoped and prayed to whatever God that was making him feel so incredibly homesick, that she’d been listening to the songs he’d written.

He could only hope that she’d understand the undertone of his words.

She looks at him with this look that seems to pierce through time, reaching back into the past, unwanting to let go. Then, there was this beat of silence; one long enough for him to hear everything that had been left unsaid.

She looks at him, her honey-laced lips slightly parted. “Do you want to come in?” She sounds hesitant as she steps aside, letting him through.

He nods as he follows her in.

The house felt achingly familiar, yet everything felt and seemed different. The walls were the same colour, and the couch that had always looked somewhat old still stood in the exact same place it had four years ago, with new cushions adorning it. The air felt thicker. She always had that effect on him, he supposes.

“Tea?” she offers, a smile playing on her lips, as she leads him into the kitchen.

“Always,” he replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

She turns her back to him to make tea and he feels like he’s missing her all over again. He’s watching her move, taking the tea kettle and suddenly he’s sixteen again, when he’d brought James, Sirius and Pete here because they’d had run into trouble with the police—well, admittedly, it was just James and Sirius, but the four boys had never failed to stick together—and the first thing she’d asked them when she saw all four of them at her doorstep late at night is if they’d like some tea.

“How long are you staying?” she asks, back still turned. “A few weeks,” he says, “Got a bit of a break before the next tour.”

When she handed him a cup, he noticed how even her arms and the tips of her fingers had changed. She looks good, beautiful. 

“So, how’s life been?” she asks, taking a sip.

“Busy,” he replies, “Touring, recording, writing. It’s a lot, but it’s what I love.”

“I’ve been listening to your music,” she admits when he sips her tea. It’s exactly how he likes it. “It’s good, Remus. Really good.”

Remus looks down at his shoes, “Thank you,” then, “I’m sorry.”

She frowns, “What for?” “For leaving,” his voice, barely a whisper, “for everything.”

“Oh, Remus,” she sighs as she puts her cup down on the kitchen counter, “no, you had to go. It was your dream—I mean, look at you. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says again. Because she had smiled at him the same way she did all those years ago in that pub.

And this time, she says it back.

They spent the rest of the day talking and, at times reminiscing, catching up on their lives, and it felt like no time had passed, like they were the same two kids who had believed in forever. As the sky turned dark, and the light from the lamp in the living room spilt against the floors of her house, she had looked at him—that same look she had always given him five, six years ago before asked him, quietly:

“Will you stay?”

Remus smiles, his heart full, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Anyway, don’t be a stranger

likes and reblogs r appriciated! <3 also i just learned what a taglist is,, so lmk if u wanna be included in my remus one :D

[achromatophoric]

Wenclairtober 2024, Day 2 - Blood

The night finds Enid and Wednesday standing before a gothic mansion, from which emanates the distinct sounds of an absolute rager of a party.

Wednesday: Let’s get this over with.

Enid: Oh c’mon, Willa. It’s Yoko’s birthday party! I bet you’ll find something here that’s fun.

Wednesday: I highly doubt—

The front door bursts open to reveal the birthday girl, already spattered in blood with a cone hat askew atop her head.

Yoko: MY BITCHES!! Welcome to my Bloody Birthday Extravaganza!

The vampire wraps the giggling werewolf in a twirling hug while Wednesday watches on, unamused.

Enid: Eeee! Happy birthday, Yoko!

Wednesday: Yes, congratulations on miraculously escaping being staked for another plodding step along your inexorable journey towards an eternity of meaningless existence.

Yoko: 😦

Enid: Uhhh— oh! *peeks around Yoko* Is that a bar I see?

Yoko: Oh yeah! Check it. We’ve got sanguinria and arteritas. If you want it virgin, the purple cups are alcohol-free and the pink one are from certified virgins. Thirsty?

Enid: *wrinkles nose* I think I’ll pass for now.

Yoko: *sympathic wince* Sorry. The boys were supposed to bring the non-vamp drinks, but Kent just called. Ajax somehow stoned himself in the store, so it’ll be a bit.

Enid: *groans*

Wednesday: *eyes the pink cups* At least he’s consistently unreliable.

Yoko: Anyways! So like there’s like five bathrooms— just follow the signs…

The roommates follow Yoko on the tour, passing by numerous vampires in various states of inebriation. Yoko jerks a thumb back at a closed door as they pass by.

Yoko: And stay out of that room. The Lestans and Twihards are going at it in there, and if it’s anything like the last time, they’ll be halfway to a hate orgy by now.

Enid: *makes face* Oh ick!

Wednesday: *sips from pink cup*

Yoko: Here’s the dance floor. That’s my boy Undeadm4us dropping them sick beats.

Enid: Nice! *bobs with music*

Yoko: And outside, we have the coup de grâce…

Yoko: *flourishes* Ta da! Blood wrestling!

Enid: 😬

Wednesday: *not even looking* Mud wrestling? How objectifying. I am shockingly unsurprised.

Enid: *whispers* Willa! Be nice.

Yoko: Bitch, don’t knock it till you try it! Heck, Divina even had fun! She’s prolly still showering it off.

Wednesday: You even subjected your paramour to such an undignified display of vulgarity? I didn’t think my opinion of you could—

Having finally looked up, the seer trails off as she scrutinizes the wrestling arena. Most of the lawn is hidden by white tarps, with a sizable dip in the center. Blood is literally everywhere, originating from the shin-deep pool in which a pair of vampires are actively wrestling.

Wednesday: 😐

Wednesday: This is blood.

Yoko: Uh, duh. I said blood wrestling.

Wednesday: *contemplative* Is— Is it real blood?

Yoko: Yes? Girl, this is a vampire party. And before you ask—

Enid: *shuts mouth*

Yoko: *smugly* Divina spent months collecting donations.

Enid: Oh, okay.

Yoko: So whatcha think?

Enid: Chica, this is your biggest banger yet!

Yoko: Sweet! *turns* I’ll probably regret asking, but what do you th— huh? Where’d she go?

The two look frantically about, startled to have lost track of the diminutive seer. Enid spots her girlfriend’s discarded clothes, but before she can do more than gasp, a ruckus draws all eyes to the blood wrestling pit.

Some vampire: H-HELP! SHE’S CRAZY!

Wednesday: Cease your sniveling! Are you not a supernatural predator? Is this the best you have?!

Yoko: 😧

Enid: 🫢

Yoko: The Wednesday Addams is naked.

Enid: *softly* Uh huh.

Another vampire: Getheroffgetheroff!!

Yoko: In my blood wrestling pit.

Enid: Yup.

Wednesday: Pathetic! I demand a challenge! COME AT ME!! *pounds bloody breast*

Yoko: *proudly* Guess she approves!

Enid: One hundo percent.

Yet another vampire: HOW IS SOMEONE SO SMALL SO STRONG?!?

Enid: 😳

Enid: *swallows thickly* Soooo… can I uh— can I ask like a ginormous favor?

Yoko: 🤨

Enid: 🥺

Yoko: *rolls eyes* Fine, but burn the sheets when you’re done. And tell your girl that I want double the thread count on the replacements.

Enid: Thanks Yoko you’re totes the best!

The besties return their attentions to the blood wrestling pit, unsurprised to find an indecently gore-slick Wednesday standing atop a pile of groaning vampires. The shameless seer licks the blood from her lips and releases a furious snarl.

Wednesday: More, you miserable wretches. I. DEMAND. MORE!!

[byakkomaruu]

listen to me for just. one second. hear me out. imagine, if you will.

your roommates are mattsun and makki. you're fuck-buddies with both, but you don't tell either of them, thinking they don't know.

they know. they tell each other everything, they definitely fucking know.

but they don't care. your fuck-buddy relationship with both of them was meant to be platonic with no limits, and if either of you found a true lover, the fuck-buddy relationship would end with no hard feelings-- hopefully no feelings at all.

they know. they just think it's funny that you don't know. and they also have banger sex with you, so really, who's losing here?

speaking of the fact that mattsun and makki tell each other everything, they talk about their sex with you to each other. and it's not like, "hAhA bRo NiCe." there was a time when mattsun brought your vibrator into the ring and then he texted makki everything. the summary of it:

issei: SETTING NUMBER THREE SETTING NUMBER THREE SETTING NUMBER THREE.

takahiro: what the fuck.

takahiro, two days later: SETTING NUMBER THREE HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD.

you think they don't know you're fucking both of them. meanwhile, they just scraped "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" off of your ice cream cake and replaced it with "we know :3" with girly pink icing in takahiro's chicken scratch handwriting. it's their new inside joke.

[1moreff-creator]

Today, 28/9/24, marks the one year anniversary of my David MV analysis video. I still thank the stars that LGI is an absolute banger of a song, otherwise I'd have gone... well, more insane than I already did.

As a fun fact, this video took practically five hours to export. Either my computer's bad, or it just couldn't handle the two and a half hour video. Given the script is around the length of The Great Gatsby (47k words), I don't think we can blame it too much.

Happy birthday, you damn cursed child.

[akai-anna]

Round 2

Round: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[ashipiko]

RAHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY ‼️‼️ SURPRISE, LOSERRR 🫶🫶

plus a lil bonus,,,,

ASHI’S BIRTHDAY CAMPAIGN! 🌺

…Well, Ashi was supposed to react to Viv’s gift, until a certain somebody came in and stole the spotlight. If led to the birthday girl malfunctioning a little, the second lover’s quarrel of the day, and a desperately needed 5 minutes for them to sort it out. Hopefully the gift giver had no problems with waiting in order to get a proper, deserved reaction.

“ACEY, for the last time, no PDA at the party…!”

“Is that just so you don’t short circuit on me, or is that an actual rule?”

“An actual rule! For my sanity…!”

“Too bad I’m a rule breaker then~”

Sighing upon realizing it would take a little longer than wanted to get out of this trap, Ashi embarrassedly looks over to the one who gave the gift, “A-Anyway! Vivs, gen thank you SO much for this banger of a banger?! This is sick! I look so stinkin’ cute!~ Like, your art is literally off the walls insane.”

“All the artists dropping off these trinkets for me are so talented…” The girl’s iconic sobs visit yet again, “You guys just get the Ashi charm! I’m so cute…!”

(ASHI REACTION UNDER CUT)

viv you cannot just call me a loser AND DROP THIS?????? CUZ HELLO????????? BRO EHAT!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭 I WDYYALLY LIKE LOWKEY SCREWMED WHEN THIS FIRST GOT SENT IN THE EFFORT. YOU PUT IN? ASHI’S ARTGIRL CHARM LITERALLY POPPED OFF HERE LIKE ??2?:2!/?. THE POSE IS SO COOL. THE COMPOSIYION ISS O NICE. ITS LIKE SHES JUMPING OUT OF HER NOTEBOOK…… THE LETTERING FOR THE GEOOVY???? WAAAUAGAH. THE COLORS THE EVERTHING THE SPARLLESSSS WHEN I GETCHU VIV. WHEN IGEG YOU!!!! THANK HIU SO MUCB FAM LIKE AXTUALLY

And your ACE HES SO CUTE. HES SO HNDOSME. PUNCHES HIMM!!!!! do not LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT 😭😭🤔😭👊😭🥲😳 IM LOSING MY MIND IT. yeah. I JEED TO SLEEP. IM GOONG INSANE. THANK YOU AAHIN VIVS THIS ACTUALLY MADE ME FO COO COO NUTS INSANE

[were--ralph]

hello, I'm 16 years old, and I love weed.

I am also decently good at picture editing. furthermore, I detest only having street weed available to me. so when my friend showed me an app that delivered weed, for cheaper than street weed, with higher quality than street weed, I was very happy. I asked her if we needed IDs and she said her sister said no, go to the website, you need an ID. I'm very tenacious person, I went to a break room to get water but they were out of plastic cups so instead of giving up I filled up a plastic bag with the water and drank it like a cat. so what I did is I took my debit card, a blank piece of paper, and a cut up plastic bag, and I did a little photo shoot with him on my table. The card was to capture the dimensions of an ID card, the film was to capture light in a way that an ID card might capture light, and the blank piece of paper was to have under the plastic so it could be more easily applicable as a light map than my table. so, I spend the next hour, mind you the started at 2:00 am, editing an ID onto the table. this wasn't even the ID I wanted to use for the website, this was just a mock-up using one I found on Google images. And what do you know, I got it really fucking convincing. so convincing that when I showed my friend, his response wasn't "look at that obviously digital ID," his response was "look at that obviously fake ID," which was something that could be remedied. for I had scaled the mountain and I had created something from nothing, I had used my birthright of Creation to fucking make a picture of an ID on my table, that looks like it actually existed. It had depth, had lighting, it had pixel by pixel editing. so I go and edit the image of the fake ID and put my face on there and a fake name of my choosing with dates that don't look too suspicious. And then I evolved my creation to be me. I, now a 22-year-old, was sitting on my table. My name was Aron Parker Russo, I was born 2 days after my birthday but 6 years before it. I had created a reality in which I was unquestionably able to buy good marijuana. so I take my creation to the site, and I upload the picture for whichever benevolent employee spends their days mulling over IDs not really giving a shit and just glancing at them to review them. And then, to my utmost horror, it was an AI that scanned the ID. I still tried, I tried to got it through, but it was no use, because the reality I had created was not a reality in which Aaron Parker Russo was known by the government. This is my 13th reason, and I think it could be a banger ass Tumblr post.

I'll be honest, I didn't read this it was way too long, but im glad things worked out for you.

[goodgirlofglory]

Hey bestie, Happy Fourth of July! ❤️🤍💙🦅

Aka, happy birthday Steven Grant Rogers. 🪖💪

Usually, my go to reads consist of Bucky, but today I am feeling patriotic. So my ask includes reader giving steve a sloppy toppy 😏 💦 under the fireworks after an eventful birthday

But not just any blowjob, this is the first one that steve has gotten in 70+ yrs because he’s a grandpa that didn’t venture out into the modern world until he met reader. So now, he really understands why Bucky enjoyed his time with the ladies back in the 40’s 🇺🇸

And this blowjob in particular has him gripping whatever he can in his fists, has him moaning like a little boy, his mouth drooling, his eyes rolling, his soul leaving his body. 🙉 and reader is just talking him through it like the good girl she is 😊

Anyways, thank you for listening to my slutty asks. I hope you have a good day/evening where you are!! 🌸❤️

Bestie!!!🫶🎀🦋

Happy birthday to both Steve Rogers and the US of A🎉🎉✨️✨️✨️🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

I'm definitely in my Bucky corner nowadays too, but there's no hardship revisiting dear Stevie boy, so in the name of patriotism, here's a little somethin somethin😉😌

Absolutely LOVE the prompt (and your slutty asks are always a fav)!!! Things got a little out of hand, so Steve ended up reeeallyyy subby in this, but I kinda like it, don't you?

Enjoy, sweetie, have a good day/night wherever you are🫶🫶🦋

In the name of patriotism / One-shot

Pairing: Inexperienced!Sub!Steve Rogers x Experienced!Soft!Domme!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: SMUUUUTT, oral (m receiving), soft domme reader, semi-public sex (oral behind the trees while there’s a party in the garden, ball-sucking, deepthroating, messy head, cum swallowing woop woop, dirty talk. Steve is very subby in this.

Summary: See delicious prompt above

“A-are you sure you’re okay w-with missing the f-f-fire-w-works?” he asks again, breath significantly more labored than just a minute ago - when you’d pinned him to the tree and gotten on your bare knees in the grass. 

As you look up at his face, an explosion of glittering gold and red fireworks fills the sky above him, illuminating his strong nose, high cheekbones and blond hair tousled by his own hands raking through it. You consider his words, feeling his bulge throb under your hands - where you have them paused at his zipper. The belt you just undid hangs limp on each side of your hands, signaling how fucking close you are to the one thing you’ve been thinking about for the last hour. 

Another glittering explosion in the sky, this one gold and silver, and his chest is heaving. 

“View’s pretty great from here,” you say, preening as you see his furrowed expression break up in helpless laughter. He shaks his head a little, but his cock throbs again, betraying how he really feels about that comment. 

It was by pure chance you walked by as Steve said it. You’d been on your way back from the bathroom when you’d halted outside the living room in Sam’s house and heard the boy’s talk through the crack in the door.

“Wait, nothing?” Sam asked incredulously. 

Steve’s voice came a moment later, sounding sheepish and maybe a bit abashed. 

“No. Not since the war. Sure, a kiss here and there, but you know me. I don’t get out much,” Steve’d said apologetically, and the resigned way he said it had set something off inside you. 

If there were three thing Steve Rogers was not to feel, it was inadequate, undeserving and unsatisfied. It was the whole reason you’d planned this combined birthday and 4th of July-celebration, goddamn it. For Steve to feel celebrated and loved, surrounded by loved ones, doing things he enjoyed. It had been an absolute banger of an evening, and you just got the idea of how to make the night even better for him. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t completely selfless. You did have a big ol’ crush on the man. Who didn’t? And if he hadn’t had a single sexual encounter in 70+ years, you were the perfet candidate to change that. 

So here you are, knees soaking in the dirt, hands dragging the zipper of his faded, blue jeans all the way down, your own breath growing choppy as you stare at the gray boxers hiding the thing you want most. There is already a wet patch in the fabric, right where the tip of his cock is outlined. Your mouth fucking salivates at the sight. 

He shifts where he stands, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you bask in how impatient he is, how much you can sense he wants it, even if he’s giving you every chance of an out. Polite, chivalrous man - how can he not see you’re dying to gag on his cock behind a tree in Sam’s garden - while the rest of the party’s conveniently occupied watching the fireworks? 

“I just - um - you just have to know I-I-I’m not pressuring you or -” he starts, stuttering so adorably, and his words dies on a gasp of breath as you reach up and lay your hand atop his boxer-clad cock, feeling it jump at the contact. He is so sensitive.

“Don’t you want it?” you ask. It’ll be agony having to tear yourself away at this point, but you’ll do it if he says no of course. You can tell he won’t though. 

“No! I mean yes! I do, I fucking do - God, so much - just-”

“Then be quiet,” you say softly. It’s honestly astounding seeing him so flustered, stumbling over his words like his mind is already going under. Big, strong man, Captain America himself, putty in your hands, fumbling and blushing, and his cock isn’t even out yet. It’s making you fucking soak your panties. 

His head thumps back against the tree and he exhales like he’s relieved. Relieved it’s actually happening despite him doing his part and checking your consent. Like you weren’t the one dragging him into the bushes and telling him to stay still, winking at him while you kneeled before him. 

A small sound escapes him as you pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free before tucking the band of his boxers all the way under his balls - so you have proper access to him. You’ll accept no less, even given you have little space and even less time to do this before someone’s gonna come looking for you - it’s Steve’s party after all - and you’re the host. 

He’s fucking huge, intimidatingly so, even for you. He’s pale, bright pink on the tip, hair neatly trimmed by the base. He’s long and thick, prominent veins on the underside leading up to a pronounced head with a tight frenulum you can’t wait to tease with the tip of your tongue. You hold him gently by the base as you examine him, and a clear drop of precome trickle out the slit at the tip and down his shaft as you watch. It’s unreal how gorgeous he is. 

“Perfect,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, and meet his eyes as his head whips down to see you. A groan seems to tear itself from him as he lays eyes on you gazing at his cock from eye level. He ducks his head a little, almost like he’s trying to hide from the praise, and you see in the flashing light of the next firework that there’s a tell-tale blush high on his cheekbones. 

Oh, he liked that. 

You take him into your mouth as you hold his gaze, making him pay attention to every inch of himself disappearing slowly in between your lips. His mouth falls open as you work him deeper, tongue working to coat him in spit, cheeks hollowing in to add suction everytime you pull him out. You command he watches it all, and lets you see exactly what it does to him. 

His brows crunch together and rise on his forehead, his mouth gasping wider open, his face contorts almost to a grimace and you eagerly eat it all up as you work your mouth over him again and again. You gasp off him, and he gasps with you, sounding almost pained as you tease him with your tongue, running it from root to tip and back.

He throws his head back only to whip it down seconds later, unable to keep his eyes away from it, body shuddering each time you swipe the tip of your tongue from his frenulum to his tip, swiping at the spittle of precome that it coaxes out each time. 

You’re going pretty slow for someone who has such little time as you do, but you can tell it does it for him. He’s sensitive beyond all reason, and you know just a little more of this and some naughty words will get him right off that edge. 

“You like it?” you ask, moving your mouth down to take his balls into your mouth. 

He chokes on a groan as you latch on to one testicle, rolling it into your mouth and releasing it with a suctioning pop. His hands fists at his side before unclenching and reaching behind him, grabbing at the tree like it can save him. 

“Yes,” he gasps, desperately. 

You take his spit covered cock in your hand and jerk him off, fast and hard right off the bat, watching with preening satisfaction as his eyes clamp shut and his jaw drops, hips shifting restlessly, itching to thrust into your hand like he just can’t help but chase the pleasure. 

“Good. I want you to come for me. Don’t hold back when you reach that edge, give it all to me,” you say, voice deliciously raspy from taking him so deep, and he’s already nodding before you’re halfway through the sentence, putty in your hands. 

The fireworks above are going off full force now, painting the Captain in flashing colours of gold, red, silver, blue, green and purple, illuminating him like a fucking work of art as he gasps and groans, bites his lips red, saliva coating them and running out the side of his mouth to trickle down to his jaw. He’s such an open book, honest, body shameless in its pleasure even as he blushes bright red as he meets your eyes, seeing you staring unabashedly as you keep jerking him, suckling the other testicle. 

You take him back into your mouth, pressing him all the way back and into your throat. He sounds almost alarmed as you take him down your throat again and again, pushing your limits to give him that ultimate pleasure, working what you can’t get into your mouth with a spit covered hand. 

To his credit, he stays almost perfectly still like you told him to, only moving his hips whatever inches he can’t seem to control - and also trembling more and more as he nears his peak, moaning almost continually. 

“Fuck,” he swears at one point, and his hand flies out to tangle in your hair, holding on with a grip that alludes to unmatched violence but keeps to a desperate cling instead, a simple gesture to keep himself grounded. You groan around his cock, encouraging and maybe a bit patronizing, even as you gag around him before pulling off with a gasp. 

“Come on, baby, I’m right here. I want it all,” you say in between suckling and messily kissing the tip of his cock, jerking him for real now, hauling him to the edge. 

He whimpers at your words, and you relish the vulnerability of it, how he gives himself to you so entirely.

“I want your come, sweet thing, I can feel you want to give it to me,” you say, earning another desperate whimper. 

“Be good and come for me. That’s it, I’m right here, give it to me,” you babble, and his hips are thrusting into your wet fist now, mindlessly chasing that edge as his eyes lock with yours, pupils blown wide, mind empty but for your words and his need to come. It’s an absolutely gorgeous fucking sight and you don’t want to go a single day without it from now on. 

You take him back down your throat and he comes fast. How can he not, it’s his first blowie in 70+ years, maybe ever - you haven’t asked him yet. Also, you’d be insulted if he didn’t come fast, given how much work you’re putting in, taking him all the way into your throat and drenching both his cock, balls and your own chin in your saliva. 

You feel the way his muscles tense up long before it happens, like his whole body is going to combust on the spot, and then this tiniest, most vulnerable sound leaves him, like a choked whimper mixed with an almost woeful sigh. And then his cock is pulsing deliciously in your mouth, throbbing as he explodes, and you hum low and long in encouragement as he gives you everything he’s got, shaking and trembling through it all. Bark splinters off the tree he’s pinned against as his fists clench through it, and his cum is thick and salty and perfect on your tongue, coming out in such intense, forceful spurts you nearly choke on it. 

The fireworks are dwindling a bit in the sky, but you can still enjoy the sight of Steve going limp, head thumping back against the tree as he puts a hand through his hair, the other coming forth to cradle your jaw as you keep his throbbing cock in your mouth long after you’ve swallowed all the cum.

You gently release him, coo at him when he hisses from the sensitivity, and tuck him gently back into his pants, doing up the fly and belt before kissing his bulge lovingly, hoping for a swift reunion. 

Ever the gentleman, he helps you with gentle hands as you get up on your feet and before you can really think on what comes next, he’s kissing you. He cradles you close with one arm around your shoulder while the other cups your jaw and his embrace is warm and tender and needy and perfect. You put your arms around his torso, holding him tight and kissing him back, letting his tongue snake into your mouth, loving that he isn’t averse to his own taste. 

You kiss long and sweetly, unrushed, and you think maybe this should’ve come before the blowjob but Steve doesn’t seem too unhappy about the turn of events, turning you around to pin you against the tree as he plasters himself against you.  Are you tripping, or is he hard again? 

The chatter of the party comes back to life, and you break the kiss to murmur against Steve’s lips. 

“We should get back to the rest before they get suspicious.”

“Why?” Steve asks casually, and it’s your time to blush from the blatant lack of care he has for the possibility of people finding you like this. You giggle and slap his chest playfully. 

“Because, it’s your party and I’m the host,” you say, but it’s a nonsense reason. You could just stay like this until everyone’s left and it’d be okay with you. Maybe you could suck him some more. 

“Would you like to stay after? I’d like…um…” he seems to struggle to put to words what he wants, kissing you hard before just saying “more”. 

You giggle again and he smiles against your lips. 

“You’re so good with your words, Captain” you tease. 

He groans and his arms pull at your hips to grind his bulge into your stomach. 

“Nothin' like you. Fuck, that fucking mouth of yours drove me crazy,” he groans, never pulling back more than just enough to get his words out between your mingling breaths. “I’d like to return the favor.”

And a thrill goes up your spine and shivers down it at the promise in his voice, the breathless desire that manifests there, and you nod eagerly just as Sam’s voice cuts through the chatter out in the yard, calling for both you and Steve.

[didhewinkback]

the moment you knew

a something old blurb, exploring the moments they both knew they were in love with each other. it switches pov halfway through

word count: 5k, warnings: its not the proposal

---

2009

When you were fifteen, Johnny’s parents were going to be out of town for a whole weekend and he was planning on throwing the banger of the year. It was all anyone in your year could talk about for the whole week. Everyone was planning on going. Everyone, that is until your parents told you they had plans that night and you had to babysit Archie. You screamed, you cried, you got sent to your room but they wouldn’t budge, not caring at all about the fact that they were absolutely ruining your life. 

You sat on the couch that Saturday, playing round after round of Mario Kart and bemoaning the state of things when there was a knock on your door. You told Archie to pause the game while you got up to answer it, expecting it to be the pizza he begged you to order, grumbling and stomping your feet the whole way. You swung the door open, cash in hand, only to find Harry on the other side, holding a few DVDs and a spare gamecube controller. 

“Room for one more?” he asked, smile growing on his face when he sees the shocked expression on yours.

“What - what are you doing here?”

“Came to hang out with my best mate Archie. Guess you’re alright too.” he says, pushing past you to get into the house, heading straight for your kitchen. 

“Harry!!!!!” Archie shrieks, running from the couch to the kitchen and hugging him tight, Harry laughing as he hugs him back. “I’m soooo happy you’re here, she was being sooo soo boring.” 

“I dunno, man.” he says, smiling over at where you’re frozen in your spot, in shock that he’s here, crashing you and your brother’s pajama party instead of being at the actual party a few blocks over. He winks at you and your cheeks immediately burst into flames and you have to look away. That’s new. “I think your sister’s pretty cool.”

“Not tonight. She’s in a mood.” Archie says adamantly with a firm shake of his head, which makes Harry laugh, hard. His head tilting back, eyes crinkling. You can’t take your eyes off him. Has he always been this cute? 

“Hey mate, ‘m gonna get some snacks ready in here, but I brought my controller, why don’t you get us all set for the next round? You’re the only one I’d trust with this,” he says, deadly serious, handing Archie the controller, which he holds to his chest with utter reverence, nodding before sprinting back to the tv room. Harry watches him go with a smile, before turning back to rifle through your fridge. 

“Think your dad will notice if we nick two of his beers?” 

“Why are you here?” you blurt out, mind still whirring from seeing him on your doorstep.

“Ouch.” he says, raising his eyebrows at the blunt question. 

“I don’t mean - I just mean - “ you say, shaking your head, unable to think of anything else but the fact that he’s here. Not at the party he’s supposed to be at, the party of the century, but here. In your house. To play Mario Kart with you and your little brother. 

“Johnny’s party is tonight. Everyone’s going to it. Like Katie’s gonna be there -”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t go. Wouldn’t have been any fun without you. ” he says simply with a shrug, not waiting for your answer as he grabs two cans of beer, letting the fridge door swing shut behind him as he turns towards you. “Rather be here. With you.”

Oh.

And it’s like the world tilted off its axis. Time stops as you stand there, absolutely frozen in place, staring back at him as he grabs a bag of crisps off your counter, experiencing a feeling you’ve never felt before, a feeling that in years to come would only grow stronger, a feeling you would associate with him and only him. All these little moments from the past year suddenly make more sense, like missing pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. 

The way his hand holding yours at his birthday party made sparks shoot up your spine, the way your heart races when you catch a whiff of that new Axe spray he’s been using, the way your cheeks flush when he holds eye contact with you, something that never happened before this year.  It’s like your chest has been cracked open, warmth flooding your veins, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Your heart is racing and you feel like you’re on fire. 

You love him. You’re in love with him. 

Oh god.

“You coming?” he asks, starting to head towards the tv room, beers and snacks in hand, pausing when he looks back at you, brows furrowing.  “What’s that look on your face for?” 

“What?! Nothing - nothing.” you say quickly, warmth flooding your cheeks. “I’m fine. I’m gonna grab some pretzels or something.”

“I already grabbed the pretzels.”

“Right. You did. I’m uh. I’m going to wait here. For the pizza. Should be here aaaaany minute.” you say, brain scrambling for any sort of excuse, needing a minute to stand here alone and think. 

“Oookay. You’re being really weird.” he says, heading into the living room, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, the flush on your cheeks only getting warmer by the second. You can hear him and Archie talk in the tv room, his animated tone making your heart beat even faster, thinking about how good he was with your little brother, how good he was with everyone, how good he was. 

You bury your head in your hands, trying to catch your breath, to slow your racing thoughts.  

You were in love with your best mate. 

What the fuck were you going to do?!

2019

It was his mum’s birthday and Harry was prepared for anything. 

Rain? He had ordered three types of tents, all to block out a potential storm but not detract the view from the garden that his mum cherished so much. Sound system glitches? He had five different kinds of bluetooth speakers and six auxiliary cords to be sure there would be no interference with the Shania Twain playlist he curated himself. Uncle Mack has one too many and starts asking Gemma how it feels that her younger brother will be getting married before her? He had Johnny prepped to keep an eye on his drinking and distract him with Man City stats if needed. 

It had been ages since he had been able to be home for the celebration and he was determined to make it perfect. He loved his mum more than anything and even though he had a team of people willing (and paid)  to assist him at the drop of a hat, he was set on doing most things himself, a point he knew his mother would take pride in. He had invited all her favorite relatives and closest friends, ordered a massive catered menu inclusive of all food allergies and even decorated her favorite cake, strawberry cream, himself. He had first aid kits, a stocked bar, endless supplies of SPF. He was prepared for absolutely anything.

Anything, that was, except for you. 

He was having a drink with his cousins, reminiscing about the family parties of the past when he looked up and there you were.

Christ. 

He’d never seen you in that dress before. He felt like his eyes were bugging out of his head as they traced the way it held your body so perfectly, like it had been custom made for you. He was practically ogling you, something he had never done before, at least not consciously. You’d always been pretty but today, right here, right now, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It felt like the earth shifted under his feet. Like the world tilted off its axis. His pulse was racing, his brow starting to sweat.

He was making his way over to you before even making the conscious choice to do so. It’s been ages since he’s seen you or even talked to you, his calls and messages going unanswered for weeks now, ever since his album listening party in August, which yeah, he fucked that one up. Should’ve talked to you first, should’ve done something different to not ruin the tradition you’ve had together since you were 17, the way you’ve been ignoring him making him realize it always meant as much to you as it did to him. 

He can’t seem to get anything right these days, keeps doing what is expected of him, what looks best, ignoring what he wants and hurting people in the process. His brain has been so muddled these past few months that at this point he doesn’t even know what he wants. He feels like he doesn’t know anything. Especially here and now, feeling like he’s burning up on the inside just from looking at you. 

He knows he should give you space, let you come to him so he can take the time to pull you aside and right any wrongs but he can’t stop himself, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He was by your side in seconds, breath catching in his throat when you turned away from your conversation with Gemma to face him, small smile on your face. 

“Y’ look - that dress is nice. Um. Y’ look - y’look really nice.” He’s stuttering over his words, barely able to string a single sentence together, feeling hot under his collar, Gemma’s scrutinous gaze not helping in the least. 

He hasn’t felt this way around you since he was 13 and tried to hold your hand on a walk to the heath one day, only for his sweaty fingers to get caught in one of your bracelets. He had turned practically scarlet in embarrassment, pretended there was a bee he was trying to shoo away, refusing to admit the truth, that he had a massive crush on you and all he wanted to do was hold your hand. 

“I’m going to get a drink.” Gemma says, eyes darting between the two of you. “Either of you want anything?”

You both shake your heads, thanking her with smiles and he can feel her eyes linger on him for a second, the way he keeps shifting his weight, fiddling with his rings, his sister picking up on his nerves better than anyone before she squeezes his shoulder and heads over to the drinks. He watches her walk away and then turns back to face you, where you’re staring down at your hands, not able to make eye contact for more than a few seconds. 

“‘M really glad -” he starts to say, at the same time you say “Is your mum - ?” before you both cut yourselves off, sheepishly laughing. 

“You go,” he says softly, desperate for you to talk to him about anything, biting on his tongue as he wills his mouth to stop moving, feeling petrified that if he opened his mouth right now all that would come out would be something along the lines of “I know ‘m engaged and you’re my best mate but you look dead fit.”

“Was just gonna ask if your mum was having a nice time.”

He deflates a bit, was hoping for more about you or what you’ve been up to, anything to get a good read on you but you’re talking to him so he’ll take what he can get. 

“Yeah, think she’s cried about three times already. So far, so good.” he says, resisting the urge to duck his head to force you to make eye contact with him. 

“You done good, H.” 

“Thanks,” he says and you smile at him quickly before looking back at your hands, silence falling between you once more. 

He hates this. He’s not sure what’s going on or what he did, knows it's more than just that party, the two of you have been out of sync for months now and clearly you’re trying to avoid talking about it but he has to try something. He’s got a feeling there’s things you aren’t telling him, but he also knows there’s been certain things he’s been avoiding talking about, the nerves gnawing away at him about his upcoming nuptials, how he’s not sure what he’s feeling is just a case of cold feet or something more, something that terrifies him when he thinks about it too much. So, he doesn't. He just looks back at you, feeling more lost than ever before.

A strand of hair falls in front of your face and he has to clench his hand to hold himself back from tucking it behind your ear, suddenly feeling desperate to touch, to drag his knuckle down your cheek and along your collarbone, wondering if the sensation would make your breath catch, fire simmering in his belly at the thought of being the cause. 

What the fuck? 

He shakes his head, trying to drive those thoughts out of it, not sure where they’re coming from, thoughts he’s never had about you until now, at least not that he’s aware of. His cheeks burst into flames, looking back at you to be sure you can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you’re barely looking at him and he can’t - this can’t be how today goes. He needs his best mate, needs to have a fun day celebrating his mum, needs to forget the weirdness and stress of this year, if only for a few hours. 

“Hey, so I know we’ve both been busy and I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he says, speaking quickly when he catches your look of apprehension, “which is fine, ‘ve done that with you loads of times it’s nothing - I didn’t mean to bring that up. Not like that.  I just -”

He pauses, takes a deep breath, tries to rearrange his scrambled brain.

“We’re both here and you look great and I’d just - I’d really like it if we could just forget everything else and just hang out like old times. Just have fun. Me and you. And Johnny.  ‘M flying solo today -” he says, catching the way you visibly relax and oh. 

Is that it? Do you not like Erin? You’ve always seemed to get along with her just fine and they’ve been dating for years and you’ve never said anything. If that’s it, why haven’t you said anything? Your friendship has been rocky since the engagement but he never thought - if you’d had a problem you’d have said something, right? But you’ve both been avoiding any talk of relationships in recent years, cagey about the subject with each other ever since that fight you got into the pub a few years ago. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

He wants to get into it now, demand answers from you, but knows that would negate everything he just said, and knows that keeping everything light is the only reason you’re still looking at him now. 

“It’s been a really weird year and right now I just want to hang out with my best mates, celebrate my mum before my work schedule gets mental. Let’s just fuck around today, yeah? See how many beers we can sneak Archie?” he says, something loosening in his chest when you huff a small laugh. 

“Yeah,” you say, smile growing on your face. “That sounds good to me.”

“Cool. Let’s grab a drink then?” he says, turning to walk towards the bar.

“Wait,” you say, reaching out to grab his hand, quickly letting go when he spins back to you, his hand tingling with the ghost of your touch, itching to grab hold once more. “I just - I’m sorry for not being around, um -”

“Hey, no, ‘s fine. Got nothing to apologize for. Y’ just -”, he pauses, placing his hand on your shoulder and squeezing once, eyes never leaving yours. “Y’ know you can talk to me about anything, yeah? Your friendship means everything to me. You’re my best mate. That’s never changing.” 

“Right,” you say and there’s a flash of something in your eyes he can’t quite decipher, gone just as soon as it appeared.  

“‘M gonna hug you now.” 

“Please don’t -”

“It’s happening whether you like it or not,” he says, wrapping his arms around you, feeling relieved when you do the same, relaxing into his hold. He’s holding you tighter than necessary but so are you, both of you seemingly needing to be close after this year of miscommunication and distance. He could stand here all night holding you, he thinks, feeling the most at ease he has in ages. You pull away first, quickly rubbing at your eyes but before he can say anything you’re already starting to move away. 

“To the bar, yeah? Pretty sure Archie’s got a new girlfriend he won’t talk about. A few pints oughta loosen him up,” you say, already heading over there. 

And he knows alcohol will only make more of a mess in his already muddled brain, the way he’s fighting the urge to watch you walk away, a swirl of confusing emotions flowing through him, but he needs this time with you. To have fun, let go. To forget. Scared of what will happen if he ruminates too much. So he doesn’t. 

Six Months Later

He presses his palms to his eyes until the memory disappears and all he sees is black, practically curling in on himself as the April air whips around him, the estate lights blinking in the distance, the last of the partygoers still going at it. Was that the moment? Should he have been paying more attention? 

You said you loved him for most of your life - had he been that selfish, that wrapped up in his own bullshit to not notice? He wracks his brain for signs of something he missed, rifling through memories to try to look at them from this new lens. Tries to think of the biggest moments of friction in your friendship, they are far and few between but …oh. There was that holiday break that haunted him for years when you wouldn’t talk to him when he brought home… - you said you felt sick but was it because he brought a girlfriend home? Were you jealous? Or heartbroken? 

He continues on his walk, shaking his head at himself, at this night, at what this weekend has come to. He’s felt off kilter all year, feeling like he’s performing to an adoring crowd, his performance instincts trickling into his real, personal life, making him feel like a shell of himself. He knew something felt wrong the second he got down on one knee in front of all of Erin’s friends and family but brushed it off as nerves because she looked so happy so surely he must be too? 

But he’s been lying to himself, too scared of disappointing those around him to grapple with the truth, trying to convince himself that this was part of growing up and becoming a man, that real love, the marriage love, isn’t the all consuming, unquenchable, need them like you need air kind of love. That a mature love is one that just feels fine most of the time, something expected, simple, fine.  He keeps telling himself that being so public with his love life is what happens when you enter new tiers of fame with a famous partner, that everything is happening as it should, regardless of how he feels about it. Resigning himself to this new reality without taking a moment to challenge it or question it or demand better for himself.

Not questioning how weird it is that his engagement, supposed to be one of the biggest moments of his life, happened without his best mate ever knowing. That the thought of telling you filled him with so much dread that he avoided it entirely, just sent you an invite to the engagement party like a coward. How you had politely offered congratulations then avoided him for the rest of the night, which turned into the rest of the year, blaming work schedules and busy social calendars, leaving him feeling more unmoored than ever before. Never questioning the reason why that was, not realizing you’ve been his anchor for so long. 

You.

You’re the first phone call he would make when he couldn’t sleep late at night, on a bus somewhere in another American city, feeling so young and old at the same time, worn down from years on the road while feeling all the confusing emotions of being a teenager, needing to hear your voice to calm his racing mind. The first face he would seek out in any crowd, especially that first solo night at MSG, feeling like he was teetering on the edge, getting swept up into something so much bigger than himself, and then locking eyes with you, the two of you looking at each other as if to say “can you fucking believe this?”. The first person to call him out when he started getting too used to this new world around him, a bit high off his own supply, leaning into the parties and the girls and the paps screaming his name, the free drinks and clothes and gifts, starting to expect things to be done for him instead of asking first until you shrewdly looked at him from across the table one day at lunch in 2014 and said, “you’re turning into a bit of a wanker”, which shut that down right quick. 

The first person he would fly over when he felt lonely on tour, living for the way your face would light up when you could see the view from the stage, the way you lived for all the tourist attractions, your post show fro-yo bike rides turning into late nights at whatever bars were close by turning into private parties at the best restaurants each city had to offer as his career expanded and took shape. The first person he would see when he landed back home and over the years crashing at your house for days on end became crashing at your dorm became crashing at your flat in the big city, with you showing him your new favorite spots in London, telling him he can’t call himself a true Londoner until he lives here for more than six months at a time. Some of his favorite memories over the last few years have been exploring the city with you, you playing tour guide for once, taking him to off the beaten path museums and coffee shops, indie theatres and underground dance clubs,  determined to make your home city feel like his, a feat that became impossible when he got engaged to an American. 

He thinks back to his mum’s party, how visions of you in that dress lingered in his mind for weeks on end, how when he began to promote the new album, it was sometimes your face he saw when he closed his eyes and sang, something that only happened when he was trying to write songs with White Eskimo when he was 13, desperately trying to rhyme “hairband” with “want to be your man”. How he’s tried to sit down in the studio the past month to work out his thoughts through song, only confusing himself more when the only lyrics that would pour out of him were about you. You, who he’s barely spoken to these last few months. 

He’s spent the last year trying to convince himself that the distance between you is due to growing up and schedule changes, that it is always difficult for the best mate who’s a girl to get along with the fiance. He knows how horribly reductive and stereotypical that is but you weren’t giving him anything to work with and he was too determined to not rock the boat to ever ask,  never once thinking you were keeping your space because his engagement broke your heart. Because you’re in love with him. 

You’re in love with him. 

He wants to be angry with you, angry that you could keep this from him for so long, never saying anything for years,  that you waited until now to do anything about it but instead he only feels anger at himself. That he missed the signs, that he didn’t try to talk to you more over these last few months, that he let you think the only solution was to leave. That he spent years convincing himself that when he gave any of your boyfriends a hard time it was just him being protective, that those pangs of jealousy he felt whenever some random bloke made you smile was par for the course of your friendship, that it was totally completely normal for his blood to boil whenever one of his mates from LA asked for your number, a request he always ignored. How could he be so bloody stupid?

He clenches his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand. This weekend has felt like someone placed a ton of bricks on his chest, the pressure slowly building and burning every hour that passed by. He couldn’t catch his breath all night until he finally found you on that courtyard, heart fluttering at how pretty you looked until he took in your expression, your packed bags, the way you were clutching onto your mum. 

He winces when he remembers how broken you looked, tear tracks down your face despite your best efforts to wipe them away. He had been desperate to do whatever he could to make you stop looking like that, whatever he could to help. Never once thinking…

He stops walking, staring up at the night sky as he blinks back tears, tries to slow his racing heart, his racing mind. Every thought that has flown through his head over the last few hours, every memory that he has picked apart, overanalyzed, it's all come back to you. You, one of the only constants through his ever changing career and ever growing life. You, his best mate and his favorite person on the planet. You, who stood in that courtyard looking like the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and told him you’re in love with him, that you’ve loved him for most of your life and he’s not sure anything could get any better than that. 

The fog in his head clears as he blinks up at the sky, feeling more settled in his body than he has all year, feeling like he finally truly knows what he wants. 

It’s you. 

It’s always been you.

Nothing has ever made more sense to him. He’s been in love before, has had it reciprocated but nothing - none of that, none of them - ever felt like this. He didn’t know anything could feel like this.  It’s like his chest has cracked open, the world tilting on its axis, a missing puzzle piece finally fitting in place. 

All the confusion, all the agony, all the questions have suddenly faded away. There’s a reason it always felt like something was missing from his relationship, from what was supposed to be his great love. There’s a reason few things have felt worse than having to watch you kiss Conor Williams at that birthday party. There’s a reason he never feels more settled, more at home, more himself than he does when he’s with you. He started loving you when he was 13 and a part of him never stopped. He’s never been able to give himself over fully to anyone else because a part of him has always belonged to you. And now he wants you to have all of him. 

He’s in love with you. And you’re in love with him. The greatest woman he’s ever known, his favorite brain, the heart he’s always felt most protective over has been steadily beating for him all this time. He can’t stop the tears now as they streak down his face. Feeling the most confusing combination of elation, clarity and dread. Because he knows now what he has to do and it’s going to be ugly. It’s going to be the worst thing he’s ever done to another person. 

Because he can’t get married tomorrow. Not to someone who isn't you. And he wants to like, date you first before he -. He shakes his head at himself, running his shaky hands through his hair, huffing a laugh of disbelief at how he’s already getting ahead of himself, how he already feels like he can breathe properly again, how nothing has ever been more clear.

He’s going to go face this now, before any more damage can be done. He’s going to talk to his mum and Gemma, then he’s going to talk to Erin. 

And then he’s going to go get you.

--

a/n: if you've been with this story and me for a while first of all ily second of all, you know how much i looove to explore their past before writing a big moment for their future and this was so fun to think about and work through. i had written the whole first half and his 2019 bit in like march so i loved getting to come back to it! thought everyone would like to see where he was at post confession. let me know what you think ! also the collage is just of his parts, i didnt want to put a pic of 2009 harry up. outside pics are the party, middle pic is rehearsal dinner fit.

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