#in case anyone doesn’t understand: he’s planning on buying them for me

[star-is-a-cat]

My friend just sent me a text asking what black cat ears I want “for no reason whatsoever” 👀

[greensagephase]

A Romantic Concert Night

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: A romantic concert night with Miguel, your boyfriend. Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: a lot of Spanish spoken (translations provided); reader understands and speaks Spanish; pre-established relationship; artist/group is Latino; romantic and soft Miguel; intimacy between Miguel and reader; mention of love making but no actual smut; a little of protective Miguel health wise, more like caring; Miguel doesn't care about dropping money for you, mans just want to spoil you; mention of future marriage; hand kissing, hand holding; Miguel just being a romantic boyfriend A/N: Inspired by the song “Quédate Bebé” by Grupo Frontera and me going to one of their concerts last year. If anyone reading this recognizes Grupo Frontera, then you know all their songs are about love and heartbreak, so that's the vibe for the concert (I’m a hopeless romantic and so is Miguel). So just enjoy a cute, sweet, and romantic Miguel! Masterlist

Miguel and you have been fans of this music group for months now. You know all their songs and lyrics. Their music is always part of your car rides, in which you’re usually Miguel’s passenger princess, and more often than not, the two of you end up singing while he drives.

Knowing this, Miguel immediately buys tickets as soon as the group/artist announces a tour. He surprises you with them, looking forward to spending a lovely evening at your side because that’s something Miguel loves, spending time with you, his beautiful girlfriend.

The day finally arrives after weeks of waiting for your tour date. Miguel and you dress up for the occasion. You honestly can’t stop looking at Miguel because he looks fine as hell, and his cologne - it does something to you. You can’t help but smell him a few times before you even leave your shared apartment because he smells so good. Eventually you head out of your apartment and head to the elevators. The plan is to drive to the venue, so you need to go down to the building’s car garage. However, just as the elevator’s doors open, Miguel tells you that he forgot something.

“Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back,” Miguel says giving your hand a squeeze before he hurries to retrieve whatever he forgot. You can’t help but wonder what it is since it appeared that both of you had everything already. You shrug it off and wait for him for a few minutes before he returns with a small smile.

“Let’s go, mi vida [my life].”

Miguel drives to the concert, his fingers interlaced with yours at some points during the drive. Other times, he lays his hand on your thigh, his warmth comfortably sinking into your skin. And of course, you play some of the artist’s/group’s music just to prepare yourselves during the drive.

Upon arriving to the venue, Miguel takes care of everything. He handles the ticket situation and holding hands, he asks if he can buy you anything as he glances at the food concessions.

“Do you want something to drink, mi vida [my life]? Maybe we can buy some water bottles, just in case we get thirsty? Or maybe a snack?” he offers, leading you towards the concessions to take a look.

He ends up buying some drinks and snacks for the two of you before he leads you to your seats since the venue is accommodated for seating and the concert is a smaller one with only about two thousand seats.

A few minutes after settling down and getting your things together while you wait for the concert to start, you pull out your phone and lean into him.

“Picture?” you ask softly.

“For the memory,” Miguel replies with a smile, nodding.

He throws an arm around you and pulls you closer for the picture, but he doesn’t even look at the camera the first time. Instead of facing it, Miguel is looking straight at you with that beautiful and endearing smile of his that only you can inspire in him.

You end up taking a few more in which he actually faces the camera after you playfully remind him to look forward but even then, Miguel still finds himself looking at you even after you’re done taking pictures. He just loves you so much he can’t stop himself and of course, you look so beautiful in the outfit you planned out for weeks after he initially surprised you with the concert tickets. You’re simply a sight Miguel can never tire of.

When he does look away, however, something catches his attention. There are a few staff members walking around selling lit up objects that are typically sold during concerts like bracelets and the sort, and one of those things are roses.

Without a second thought, Miguel stands up, suddenly towering over you. He beckons one of the sellers even when you tell him not to spend his money on that. He carries on with his plan and buys you one anyway.

Other people sitting nearby simply watch with little smiles as they see the interaction because love.

Miguel sits back down and with the sweetest smile, hands you the rose. “Una rosa que no se marchitará- como mi amor por ti [a rose that won’t wither - like my love for you].”

You don’t even have it in yourself to say anything negative or even scold him about spending his money on this because the look on Miguel’s face is just too endearing and cute. You happily take the rose and discreetly give him a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for the sweet gift.

“Mi dulce novio [my sweet boyfriend],” you whisper.

“Todo para mi reyna [everything for my queen],” he replies, pecking your cheek right back, his hand finding yours because he loves hand holding.

As the concert almost starts, Miguel, being a planner and always looking for your well being, pulls out some ear plugs because he doesn’t want ear damage for either of you.

“Oh, is this what you were forgetting?” you ask Miguel as he gently slides one of the ear plugs into your ear.

He grins, a gentle hue of pink growing on his cheeks. “Yep, this was it… We have to look out for our hearing, especially since we’re so close to the stage,” Miguel says, since he didn’t mind dropping more money for seats close to the stage. He slides the other ear plug in. “There. We should still be able to enjoy the concert perfectly, and maybe earn ourselves a little headache and hearing damage.”

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” you ask as you take the other set of ear plugs and help him put his on.

“What can I say?” he replies, smiling. “Just looking out for us, mi vida [my life].”

Once the concert starts, Miguel and you stand the whole time. There’s not a second either of you sit down because you’re enjoying the concert so much. Like much of the crowd, Miguel and you sing the songs and even dance a bit, at least as much as it’s allowed in the space since the concert sold out.

At points, Miguel wraps his arm around your waist, holding you close and looking at you with that smile that makes you melt.

Looking at him, you can tell Miguel is loving the concert, and he is. He’s enjoying every second of the concert partly because of the music and having the opportunity to see one of his favorite artists/groups perform live but primarily, it’s because of you. Being here with you, his sweet and beautiful girlfriend, is what’s making the night memorable for Miguel.

As the concert continues, Miguel keeps stealing glances at you, his heart racing at the sight of your happy singing and sweet smile.

“¿Donde están las solteras [where are the single ladies]?” one of the group members asks halfway during the concert to get the crowd riled up.

Just to see Miguel’s reaction, you jokingly raise your hand, only for Miguel to grab your wrist and lower your hand gently. He looks down at you with a feigned grumpy look, knowing you’re just messing with him before he leans into you, his mouth close to your ear so you’ll hear him.

“No les des esperanza a los muchachos. No estas soltera. Eres mia y yo soy tuyo [Don’t give the guys hope. You’re not single. You’re mine and I’m yours],” he says, lightheartedly. His voice is sweet and tender because he knows you’re just playing around, but he still loves to say it.

You’re his and he’s yours.

You smile up at him. “Siempre [Always].”

The rest of the concert flies by and before either of you know it, it’s over. After so much singing and a bit of dancing, the two of you are starving, so you go and eat at a nearby place. During dinner, you poke fun at each other for your raspy voices from all the singing, especially when your voices go out in mid-sentence.

With satisfied appetites and new energy, Miguel and you begin the drive home, thinking the night has come to an end.

Except, you get home and upon entering your shared bedroom to unwind for the night, you find rose petals scattered on the floor in a neat path leading straight to the bed where more rose petals forming a big heart decorate your duvet. The path of rose petals is lit up by small, warm lights creating the perfect romantic ambiance. You suddenly remember earlier when Miguel claimed to have forgotten something and told you to wait by the elevator. Now you see what he had been up to.

Just as you’re about to turn around, you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“Sorpresa [Surprise],” he whispers in your ear.

You chuckle and lean back into him, resting your hands over his arms and just melting into his embrace.

“You tricked me,” you tell him, smiling as your gaze lingers on the bed.

“Just a little. I’m glad you didn’t think much of it when I pretended to have forgotten something,” he says with a soft chuckle near your ear that immediately sends a heat to your core. “We don’t have to - you know - do anything if you’re tired,” he says, nipping at your earlobe. “I just wanted to do a little something because well,” he pauses and turns you around so you’re facing him. Miguel leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. The most beautiful set of brown eyes stare into yours. “Te amo [I love you],” Miguel whispers lovingly before he kisses you tenderly, his arms still wrapped around your body, pressing you against his warmth. You kiss for a few seconds, locked in each other’s embrace before you pull back gently, a little breathless.

“Te amo [I love you],” you whisper back to him, reciprocating those two words that make Miguel’s heart swell with happiness and love.

He pulls you closer, somehow, and kisses you again. His hand finds its way to the back of your neck to keep your head close and steady, not wanting to part from you any time soon, even if just to breath.

With each passing second, Miguel’s statement about not having to do anything is thrown out the window. The gentle kiss slowly turns into something else - something desperate and hungry that leads to Miguel laying over you and countless murmured “I love you’s” into each other’s lips as he makes sweet love with you, his body worshiping yours.

A while later after your passionate love making and tender after care from Miguel, you rest your head on his chest. Your bodies are tangled up, fitting into each other’s perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. With an arm wrapped around you, his free hand tenderly traces your arm, feeling the softness of your skin.

“May I ask something from you?” he asks softly.

“Anything.”

Miguel smiles and lifts your face so he can look you in the eyes. “A donde vayas, llévame. Te prometo que no molestaré [Wherever you go, take me. I promise I won’t bother you].”

“Miguel,” you say gently, smiling.

“Por favor [Please],” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “No matter what, ups and downs, I wish to be with you because I don’t know what I’d do without you. Una vida sin ti no tiene sentido. Es como morir sin haber vivido… So I ask, quédate para siempre [A life without you has no sense. It’s like dying without having lived. So I ask, stay forever.]”

Smiling, you kiss his forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, and at last, his lips tenderly.

“I have every intention of staying with you. Forever,” you whisper against his lips.

Miguel’s hand slides from your arm to your back. His fingers trace your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your own lips. He caresses your face with his free hand. “I have every intention of making you happy and feel loved. I also intend on… One day, putting a ring on this hand,” he says taking your left hand and kissing the back of it.

“Oh, really?” you ask smiling.

“Claro que si [Of course],” Miguel says with a teasing smile, thinking. “Tengo mil planes, propuestas para amar, tú y yo en la soledad [I have a thousand plans, proposals to love, you and me in solitude].”

You chuckle softly, recognizing the words from one of Miguel’s favorite songs.

“Te escribí un poema para enamorarte [I wrote you a poem to make you fall in love],” you say the next lines.

“Solo quiero amarte [I just want to love you],” the two of you say, smiling.

Miguel nuzzles your face before pressing another kiss to your lips, knowing that he could spend the rest of his life like this and never ask for anything else. As you rest your head on his chest again, Miguel is filled with happiness and gratitude for the beautiful romantic evening you’ve shared together.

“We should go to more concerts,” he murmurs, his hands tracing your back again. “So I can plan more evenings like these.”

“You already do,” you say, looking up at him with an afterglow from the intimacy you’ve both engaged in, a sight that always makes Miguel feel privileged as he’s the only one that gets to see you like this. “You always plan the loveliest dates.”

“But I’d have more opportunities, mi reyna [my queen]. More excuses to spoil you, and you know I love spoiling you,” he whispers, cupping your face. “I want to give you everything.”

“I just want you.”

“You’ll always have me,” he replies, his thumb tracing your chin with a smile. “And I’ll try to give you what you need and deserve. Plus, if we can end the night like this more often - no complaints.”

Chuckling, you playfully roll your eyes. “We can have these nights without everything else.”

“¿Si [yes]?” Miguel says with a soft smirk, knowing the answer.

You nod. “Yes, no question about that. You know that.”

“Hm, I know but still… I like to build the mood.”

You laugh softly and kiss his hand. “Fine. We’ll go to more concerts. You’re already so romantic, but I did notice you were extra romantic tonight. I love that,” you tell him.

“It’s a plan then,” Miguel replies pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, whispering sweet words for your ears only before he pauses. “Ay, caray [oh, damn],” he says.

“What?”

“I forgot I have a bottle of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries for us in the fridge.”

You laugh softly and look up at him again, amused at the sight of Miguel’s sheepish smile as he gazes down at you.

“It’s your fault,” he says, poking your cheek gently. “You distracted me with all the kisses. I forgot all about the champagne and strawberries.”

“So, now it’s my fault?” you ask.

“Yes, why do you have to be so beautiful and give the best kisses in the world, hm?” he asks, cupping your face again. He kisses you on the lips for a few seconds. “Stay here, I’ll go get everything.”

And with that, you stay in bed tangled up in bed sheets as your sweet boyfriend steps out of the bedroom to retrieve the last little surprise of the night, only wearing black boxers and fresh scratch marks on his back.

I just want to go to a concert with Miguel, hold his hand and kiss him fr! Thank you for reading!!! Also, for anyone interesting in listening to the song, here's a preview!

-Alondra

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 4: Runaway

My Little Runaway (5+1)

In the aftermath of the “earthquakes” – Wayne doesn’t buy that government bullshit for a second, earthquakes his ass – Hawkins becomes entirely uninhabitable. And said United States government, out of the goodness of its heart, deigns to relocate all of its remaining citizens to one of the nearby towns in Indiana (except for Eddie and his friends that got all mixed up in that bullshit Wayne still doesn’t fully know about; all of them get relocated to Illinois, Wayne included.)

And it's nice, in the immediate aftermath, having all of them around, Jim and Joyce and those kids. They make Eddie come to life in a way that Wayne had worried he’d never see again during those first few days in the hospital. It’s nice having other adults to talk to, who understand the circles under his eyes, who wake up alongside their own kids when they start screaming. Hell, it’s even nice living next to the Harrington’s boy – Steve, who looks just like his father yet couldn’t act more different. Steve, who shepherds around the kids and that girl with the short blonde hair without a complaint.

Steve, who is starting to spend a lot of time in Eddie’s bedroom these days.

So despite the hullaballoo and pain it took to get here, Wayne is grateful that they all live so close, that their houses are all in a row on that sunny suburban block. He’s grateful to have a house, with neighbors that are actually his friends. And he’s grateful that when Steve and Eddie do start dating, when Eddie is all but moved into Steve’s small house next-door, that he’s still close enough to see his kid every day.

(At least, he’s grateful for it at first.)

1. The Lawn Incident

The first time it happens, they aren’t dating yet.

“WAYNE!”

Wayne startles at the sound of Eddie’s shout as he sprints through the front door, screen shutting behind him with a loud bang.

“What? What is it?!”

The government is after them. That kid from Hawkins is there, he’s got a gun. Eddie’s hurt, he’s bleeding, he’s – 

“Get me away from him!” Eddie screeches, gesturing at the door he just ran through. Wayne grabs for his rifle (the one he keeps next to the door just in case) and runs forward, expecting to see a mob on his doorstep – 

There’s no mob.

There’s no sign of anyone. Just Steve Harrington mowing Claudia Henderson’s lawn across the street, shirtless –

Wayne sets the gun back down by the door and turns to shoot Eddie an unimpressed look.

“What? What?! Didn’t you see that? He’s trying to kill me!” Eddie pants, peering out the window and ducking as Steve turns. He sees Wayne and waves.

“He’s not the one you need to worry about killing you, boy.”

Wayne leaves Eddie to his moaning about the boy’s physique and tan and sweat and heads to the kitchen. (Surely 10 AM isn’t too early for a beer.)

2. The First Date

Wayne’s honestly grateful that the Harrington boy moves faster than his own nephew. If it was up to Eddie, he’d be pining for years. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to invite him to dinner the next time he saw Eddie after The Lawn Incident. And he has the insight to plan their dinner date for the following day, meaning Eddie only has twenty-four hours to work himself into a tizzy.

(Granted, that’s plenty of time for Eddie to accomplish that, but still.)

Anyways, Wayne has to sit through Eddie parading across the living room in various band shirts of varying quality before Eddie finally decides on the one he’d tried on first (Iron Maiden, and Wayne doesn’t have the heart to tell him that maybe a grinning skeleton isn’t the best idea for a first date but hey, the Harrington boy already knows what he’s getting into), and Eddie’s debating the merits of sneakers versus boots when the doorbell rings.

Eddie spins around so fast to stare at Wayne that Wayne has to stifle his laughter. “He’s here!”

“You gonna get the door then, or are you just gonna let him decorate the porch?”

“Right, right,” Eddie mutters, first to Wayne and then to himself. Throwing his shoulders back, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the front door. Wayne watches as Eddie nods to himself once, twice, and pulls the door open – 

And then just stands there, blinking at the Harrington boy, before slamming the door in his face.

“Eds? Everything okay?”

Eddie whips around and backs up against the door, pale like he’s seen a ghost. He tries to whisper something to Wayne, but Wayne can’t hear it. “Sorry?”

“I said HE BROUGHT ME FLOWERS!”

“Are you gonna let him in and get a vase or – ”

“Huh? Oh, SHIT - ” Eddie turns back around and throws open the door. The Harrington boy is standing there with an amused grin on his face that only grows wider as Eddie starts babbling, snatches the flowers out of his hand and makes a break for the kitchen, leaving Wayne and the kid to look at each other.

“He’s a little excitable,” Wayne finally breaks the silence, and the Harrington boy laughs.

“I know. I like that about him, though.”

Wayne lets himself finally smile at the Harrington kid – Steve. “Me too, kid. Me too.”

3. The GED

“Wayne, you gotta hide me!”

Wayne barely has time to set his coffee down before Eddie is sliding into the living room and diving behind the couch. “Oh? And what’s the emergency today?”

Eddie pokes his head up from behind the chartreuse couch cushion. “Wheeler’s gone crazy, Wayne! Do you know how many flashcards she has?”

“More than a few, I’d hope. Your test is coming up next month.”

“They’re color-coded,” Eddie hisses. The doorbell rings and he dives back down, making a meep sound.

Wayne rolls his eyes and stands up out of his rocking chair. “I guess I’ll get the door.”

“NO NO NO - ”

He opens the door and Steve is standing there, alongside the older Wheeler girl and Steve’s friend Robin. “Wayne,” the Wheeler girl greets him with a tight smile, and then she’s passing him and powerwalking into the living room, Robin at her heels. (And judging by the immediate hollering Wayne hears, she finds Eddie relatively quickly.)

“Evening,” Wayne greets Steve over the din of voices in his living room. “I take it studying’s going well?”

The sound of something breaking cuts Steve off before he has a chance to reply, and Steve shoots a nervous look at Wayne. “It’s, uh, it’s going. I think Nance might have met her match.”

“Mmm,” Wayne hums, and then something else crashes onto the floor and ya know, Wayne didn’t need to watch Bonanza tonight anyways.

“I heard Hopper got some new IPAs from Wisconsin?” Steve offers, wincing as the sound of Eddie and Wheeler arguing meets its crescendo.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

4. The Fight

Wayne’s not expecting there to be any lights on when he gets home from the shop that day; Eddie had said something about an anniversary dinner with Steve, something about six months of dating, so it’s a shock to walk through the door and see Eddie swaddled under a blanket, eating ice cream while watching The Thing.

“Everything okay, son?”

“Of course! I mean, what would I have to be upset about?” Eddie snaps, forcefully digging his spoon into the Chunky Monkey.

“Right,” Wayne says, and then slowly makes his way into his bedroom where he makes a call.

“Eddie, please, I just want to talk - ”

“Sorry, son, it’s just me.”

A choked-up Steve sighs over the phone. “Hey Wayne.”

“Hey, kid. You mind telling me why Eddie’s on a mission to clean out Ben & Jerry’s tonight?”

 Steve sniffles. “I asked him to be my boyfriend. Like, officially.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Eddie assumed we already were, which is bullshit because I asked him, like, after our fourth date and he said no, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be ‘Steve Harrington’s Boyfriend’ or whatever but apparently it was a joke and, I mean, it’s not like I’ve been dating anyone else but I just thought - ”

“That he meant what he said, right,” Wayne huffs out a breath. “Let me go talk to him for a bit, okay son?”

“ ‘kay. Thanks, Wayne,” Steve replies quietly, and then he hangs up the phone. Wayne takes a moment to look at the ceiling – Lord, he loves his kid, but this is not what he wanted to be doing on his Friday – but he heads back into the living room anyways and turns off the TV.

“Hey!”

“Son, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About what you said to Steve, that’s what.”

Eddie grumbles, stabbing his spoon through the bottom of the ice cream carton. “You’re on his side then?”

“Hey, you’re my kid. I’m always gonna be on your side. But that means sometimes I gotta tell you when you’re in the wrong and right now, son, you’re in the wrong.”

Eddie throws his head back against the couch with a sigh. “It’s just – he should have known!”

“Eds, we both got a bit of that Munson-meanness in us. We both know that sometimes our jokes don’t sound like jokes. How was your boy supposed to know that if you didn’t talk to him about it after the fact? He can’t read your mind, kid.”

“I know, I know, I fucking know!” Eddie scrunched his face up and threw the empty ice cream carton to the side. “It’s my fucking fault and I just – I hate that he thought I was just trying him out for six fucking months, as if I’d actually do something like that to him!”

“Well,” Wayne sighs, “then it sounds like both of you let your own shit get in the way of things. And the only way you can fix it now is if you talk it out.”

“And say what?”

“That it was a stupid joke and that you’re not the sort of person who’d treat anyone that way. And for the record, kid, I think he knows that. He might be gone on you, but he’s not the type of guy who’d stay with someone who treated him badly.”

Eddie bites at his lip for a little bit. “Okay. I’m gonna go talk to Steve.”

“Good,” Wayne nods, and then Eddie is fast-walking to the door – 

And he still has Wayne’s blanket.

“Bring that blanket back!”

“Yes, Wayne.”

“And some more Chunky Monkey!”

“Yes, Wayne!”

(Wayne’ll be lucky if he sees either in the next year.)

5. The Game

It’s a perfect fall Sunday; a cool breeze flows in through the open window, Wayne has a cold beer and a new can of peanuts in front of him, and the Colts are starting as receivers for the first playoff game of the season. He has four blissful hours of peace in front of him, just him, his football team, and –

“WAYNE!”

Wayne groans as Eddie slams into the house. “WAYNE, I need – no, no, no, WHY? You’re watching the game too?!”

“It’s the playoffs, son,” Wayne says. Or, rather, he tries to say; a whole stampede of footsteps follow Eddie into the house and suddenly Wayne’s surrounded by his kid, six teenagers, a pre-teen and the Corroded Coffin boys (who were in town for a visit). 

“Whatever, he can watch the game Eddie, we just need a table - ”

“ – grab the extra chairs, we can get it set up - ”

“Wait, wait, wait, set up what exactly?” Wayne asks but the teens have scattered, running to all ends of his house to set up something at his dining room table and – ah, yes. Their dragon game.

“Really, son?” Wayne asks as Eddie walks by and snatches a couch pillow. “Can’t you do this at your house?”

“I promised Steve that he could have the house if his team made the finals or whatever - ”

“The playoffs, Ed.”

“ – yeah, that’s what I said, but we need to finish up this campaign before Jeff and Gareth go back to school and - ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Wayne scoops his beer and his peanuts up and heads for the door.

“ – only six hours or so and – hey, where are you going?”

“I’m running away,” Wayne replies drily as he shoots Eddie a final wave. “Steve has a bigger TV anyways.”

Eddie lets out a theatrical gasp, but Wayne is too far away to hear whatever else he has to say. 

(Steve does have a bigger TV. And Jim and Charles are fans, too. Maybe they have more of that IPA.)

+1 The Proposal

Wayne’s used to it by now, the sound of his front door slamming shut. It usually signals that Eddie’s in one of his moods, or is excited to share something about the store or Steve or their brand new puppy – Strider, because his kid is a nerd – or because it’s been seventy-two hours and at that point Eddie usually feels the need to make an entrance to check in on Wayne because it’s rare these day that they go three days without at least checking in, but when Wayne goes to check the door, it isn’t Eddie standing there.

It's Steve, and he’s panting.

“Steve? You okay, son?”

‘Yeah, yeah,” he nods, “I just – I don’t know how much longer I can put it off.”

Wayne feels warm all the way in the cockles of his heart. “It’s just ‘til this weekend, son.”

“I know! But Eddie’s so smart,” Steve complains, running his fingers through his hair, “he’s so smart and he knows something’s up and I’m trying not to act weird but because I’m trying not to act weird then he knows that I’m acting weird, and I’m afraid he’s going to pull away again and I just – we just keep having moments where I want to tell him and I keep having to stop myself and I don’t know if I can wait any longer – ”

“Then don’t.”

“ – and I – what?”

Wayne shrugs. “If you don’t want to wait any longer, then don’t.”

Steve looks lost. “But I – I just want this to be perfect. Eddie deserves something perfect.”

“Kid, you are his something perfect,” Wayne replies, and Steve flushes bright red. “You could ask him while he’s on the shitter and it’d be perfect because it’s you.”

“You really think so?” Steve asks shyly. “I mean, not that I’m going to ask him when he’s going to the bathroom - ”

“You probably could do a little better than that,” Wayne agrees, and the two men are laughing when Eddie bursts into the room behind them.

“WHAT is going on here, hmm?” Eddie exclaims.

“Eddie,” Wayne starts, trying to stop whatever monologue is coming but Eddie cuts him off.

“No, Wayne, don’t try to tell me something isn’t going on because something is going on and you,” Eddie says, turning to point at a bright-red Steve, “you are being incredibly suspicious right now and if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you keep running every time we’re in the same room because you don’t want to be with me anymore but that can’t possibly be true because I woke up with you - ”

“EDWARD ANTHONY MUNSON,” Wayne interrupts, completely unwilling to hear whatever scandalous thing was going to come out of Eddie’s mouth next, but it turns out he didn’t have to be the one to interrupt Eddie after all because Eddie has stopped talking entirely. He’s just standing in Wayne’s living room and gaping at Steve.

Steve, who is kneeling on Wayne’s shaggy carpet, a black ring box in his hand.

Wayne’s throat tightens up as soon as he sees the tears lining Eddie’s eyes. “Steve?”

“I was going to wait until next weekend,” Steve starts shakily. “I had a whole plan. I was going to take you to Metallica next weekend and wait until they started playing our song - ”

“Nothing Else Matters.”

“ – right, ‘Nothing Else Matters,’” Steve replies, his own eyes swimming but he’s beaming at Eddie, he’s smiling up at Wayne’s son and shit, Wayne’s going to need a handkerchief himself, “and then I was going to slide this ring onto your hand and – I know that we’ve only been together a year, I know it’s really, really fast – ”

Eddie’s half-laughing and half-gasping for breath, tears streaming down his face and collecting in the corners of his smile.

“ – and I know that it’s only for us, really, but being with you – this past year has been the best year of my life and maybe it makes me selfish, but I want the rest of them, too. I want them all with you, Eds. Will you - ” Steve swallows, bracing himself, “would you do me the honor of being my not-at-all-lawfully-wedded husband?”

Eddie nods and gasps and shouts out the word “YES!” and then he’s throwing himself on top of Steve, laughing and crying together and kissing and then Steve is sliding the ring on Eddie’s finger – a small black diamond with a silver band, one that Wayne had helped Steve decide on out of four possible choices – and then they’re kissing again and murmuring words of love into each others’ mouths and the moment is everything Wayne has ever wanted for Eddie but if Eddie keeps kissing Steve like that it is going to quickly become something Wayne doesn’t want to see, so he interrupts.

“Congratulations, sons,” he says, and then Eddie is jumping up and running in Wayne’s arms, laughing and jumping and asking if he knew and if he wants to see the ring and if Wayne knew it would ever be possible for Eddie to be this happy.

“Oh, I knew,” Wayne replies with a sly grin. “Knew it the day you ran away because you saw him mowing Claudia’s lawn shirtless.”

“Hey!”

“Aww, my little runaway,” Steve says, hugging Eddie from behind and pressing a smattering of kisses against his cheek. “Just as long as you let me run away with you from now on.”

“Deal,” Eddie says, turning to smile at Steve and yeah, Wayne can give them a few moments while he digs out the IPAs. (They’re not champagne but hey, they’ll do.)

(And having Steve as a son-in-law? Yeah. That’ll do too.) 

[astraphone]

the stubborn grace of being loved regardless

2.2k, blackwall/amber cadash. for as long as they’ve known each other, blackwall and inquisitor cadash have been keeping secrets from each other and from the world. when blackwall’s secret comes to light, amber feels it’s only fair to reveal a truth of her own.

Inquisitor Cadash is no stranger to lies.

Before she was the Herald of Andraste, before she was anyone at all, she was a kid in the slums of Ostwick trying to drum up whatever extra coin she could from unsuspecting passers-by. She was always a charmer, with a knack for convincing anyone that whatever useless trinket she was selling was worth buying. It was all but inevitable, for a surfacer with few other prospects, that her talent would catch the attention of the Carta, using that honeyed tongue to smuggle and sell lyrium to the highest bidder.

Not much has changed in the Inquisition, really. She’s still selling lies to anyone who will listen, just packaged differently and with much higher stakes: yes, I’m the Herald of Andraste. Yes, I’ve been chosen by your god, and yes, that makes me someone you should follow.

She’s not particularly proud of it. But she’s learned by now that what she believes is much less important than what the people around her do. Trick them into thinking you’re something holy, and they’ll move mountains.

As any good liar, Amber knows another when she sees one. She’s always known that Blackwall harbors some dark secret, and of course she’s wondered, but she’s never been one to trouble herself much with people’s pasts. There has always been an implicit understanding between the two of them—one without which she doubts they could have ever attempted a courtship—that their pasts are their own business, and she’s been content to leave it at that.

This, of course, all changes when the bastard goes and turns himself in.

When she goes to see him, he won’t look at her. He glances up briefly as she approaches his cell, just enough to see that it’s her, then returns to staring at his hands from where he kneels on the floor.

A cold panic has been building within Amber since she stood in the crowd before the gallows and heard his confession. He’s going to hang. He’s going to hang for something he did years before he met me, and he’s here on purpose, and he never said goodbye. Some of it recedes as she stands before him, the worst-case scenario of him being lynched by a mob of angry Orlesians not yet come to pass, at least.

“You weren't supposed to find me. You were just supposed to think I was gone.” His voice is a ragged, utterly broken thing.

“So I gathered. I wasn’t supposed to know where you went, or what happened to you, or why you abandoned me in the middle of the night without a word. Too fucking bad, Blackwall.” She’d intended to come in with more empathy for the man who’s certainly having one of the worst days of his life, but her worry for and fury at him have been warring in her mind since his disappearance.

He flinches as though she’d struck him. “I never wanted to hurt you. For what little that’s worth. I thought you’d be happier thinking I was a noble man, a Grey Warden, instead of this.”

She takes a careful step forward and sits cross-legged in front of the bars, easily close enough to touch him. She doesn’t, but he shrinks back anyway, like he’s afraid she might. “Well, I’m here now. You may as well tell me the rest of it.”

He sighs, visibly relaxing by a fraction when she makes no further move towards him. “I suppose it can’t get any worse.”

She sits silently as he tells her all of it. It’s a long story, and her focus slips once around the middle, but he knows the signs of that well enough by now, waiting patiently for her to regather her attention.

When he runs out of words, she’s quiet for another moment, not speaking until something like a plan has formed in her mind. “Okay. This isn’t ideal, but we have a few options. Storming the jail outright is probably unwise, but doable worst-case. Leliana could probably sneak you out, but… I know people who make a living off jail breaks. We’ll just need a delay on your execution, which I’m sure Josephine can arrange…”

She trails off as she realizes that Blackwall is staring at her, disgusted disbelief written plain across his face.

“Are you mad?” He jerks forward, rattling the bars of his cell. “Haven’t you been listening? I deserve to rot in here.”

There’s something almost feral in his eyes, but she doesn’t back away. “Listen to me, Blackwall. Or—” she falters, silently cursing her memory as she struggles to recall the unfamiliar name.

“Rainier,” he mutters.

“Rainier. Whoever. You came here to stop an execution. And that was very brave, and you succeeded, and you dying here isn’t going to make a single thing better. So now I’m going to get you back to Skyhold, and we’ll figure the rest out from there.”

She hadn’t for a second considered doing anything else. This isn’t the first friend Amber has had to break out of jail, or the first lover who’s confessed a crime to her. This, after all, is why she agreed to join the Inquisition—leverage to keep her people safe, no matter the circumstances.

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Blackwall snaps. “You know it all now. There’s no future for me outside this cell, and I was a fool to ever pretend there was.”

Every time he’d warned her they had no future together, she’d assumed he’d been referring to the Warden’s Calling. She’s almost insulted as she realizes that it’s been this all along—this, as if she doesn’t also have blood on her hands.

“You think you’re the only murderer here? I spent twenty years in the Carta. Would you see me hang for it?”

“You left that life behind.”

“So did you.”

“I ran from it, like a coward, and I left my men to die in my place.” He rises suddenly, like he’s unable to bear kneeling in front of her anymore. She stands with him, though he’s so much taller that she has to crane her neck to look at him properly.

“And I didn’t leave the Carta until an opportunity fell into my lap.” Despite her best efforts, her voice is rising to match his. “Let me be clear. I am very fucking angry at you right now, because, again, you left me and went off to die without a damned word. But I know what it’s like to have a past you’re not proud of. Maker, Blackwall, I married into one of the worst Carta families there is. You think I’d turn my back on you over this?”

“As I understand it, your marriage didn’t work out.”

“Because of the future she wanted. Not the past she’d already lived.”

“I’m not a good man, my lady.”

As if she’s a good woman. As if that’s ever been a prerequisite to her heart. “I love you. I don’t care.”

She’s never told him she loved him before, at least not in so many words. She’s certain he already knew, but he flinches again anyway. “You should care.”

“Well, tough shit! Is that a problem?”

“It’s not right! You would drag yourself down with me. You would drag the whole Inquisition down with me if you allowed me to return. You’re better than that, better than using your criminal ties for a traitor and a killer.”

“You—you—” She’s starting to stammer, as she tends to when she’s agitated, and she can’t help the tears of frustration that well in her eyes. She forces a breath, pulls her words together. “You put me on a fucking pedestal, you always have, and you’re wrong. You talk like I’m corrupting the Inquisition for my selfish means, but the Inquisition was built on my selfish means. Do you—do you want to know a secret, Rainier? You told me yours, so it’s only fair. This whole thing is a sham.”

In the end, it’s far easier to say than she thought it would be. One frustrated outburst, and the truth she’s guarded so closely all these months is out there in the world, no taking it back.

“What do you mean?” Blackwall asks slowly after a few agonizing seconds of silence.

“I don’t believe in any of this.” It’s a relief to finally say it out loud; some of the pressure in her chest that’s been there since the Conclave eases, just a bit. “I don’t believe in the Maker, I certainly don’t believe I’m the Herald of Andraste. I’ve been lying since I woke up in Haven, because I saw a chance for a better life and I stole it.”

“But you've always—” Blackwall’s eyes go distant, likely recalling everything he’s ever heard her say about her so-called faith. “What, truly?”

“Truly. And now you’re the only one who knows. So, what will you do? Expose me for a fraud? I won’t stop you.”

“No, I—of course not. I’m just…”

“Rethinking every conversation we’ve ever had?”

That, of all things, gets a snort out of him. “You know the feeling, do you? What a pair we make.”

“Frauds and liars both.”

He sinks back to the floor of his cell, his manic energy apparently spent, and she follows him back down. They sit there quietly for a moment, watching each other from either side of the bars. She wants, so badly, to reach out for him, but she keeps her hands at her sides.

“Was it to get away from the Carta?” He asks finally.

She nods. “I didn’t agree to stay until Leliana promised to bring Ingrid to Haven. I thought being such a… prominent figure would give us some protection if they came looking for us. I never expected it to go this far.”

“You wanted a better life for your daughter. There’s no shame in that.”

“Sure, fine. My reasons were good. But I’m, I’m important now, right? The things I say have weight in the world. And I’m pretending that’s a gift from a higher power and not dumb luck.” She shrugs. “Not saying I mind it, necessarily. Or that I wouldn’t do the same again. But I’m not going to pretend it’s noble.”

“What you do now is noble, though.”

“That’s my point. Look, you told me once that you signed on to the Inquisition because of the person I am, not who I was. One liar to another, maybe that’s what matters. Who are now, and who we want to be.”

And damn it all, she does want to be something better than she was, doesn’t she? However this whole mess started, she’s in too deep to back out now, and she doesn’t think she would if she could.

“You didn’t kill anyone for your lie.” Blackwall, stubborn ass that he can be, is still trying to argue the point.

“That’s not really true, though, is it? People follow me into battle because they think I’m blessed by the Maker. Some of them don't come home.”

“People follow you into battle because they see a woman worth following.”

“And if I weren’t the Herald, they’d see a lyrium-addled Carta thug who can’t think straight half the time.”

He looks aghast. “Surely that’s not how you see yourself?”

“No. But I know how people looked at me before all this. And I’d rather them see something else, even if it’s built on a lie.”

Blackwall’s hands twitch, like he’d been about to reach for her but reconsidered at the last second. “Your people adore you, and not just because you’re the Herald. Your mark closes rifts, but it’s not what makes you a leader, and they know it. Andraste herself could disavow you, and they wouldn’t stop believing in you.” A pause. “I wouldn’t stop believing in you.”

“See, you say things like that to me, and then you wonder why I want you around.” She says it lightly, but he scrubs a hand over his face like he’s just barely holding himself together.

“I—” he breaks off, voice strangled, “I didn’t want to leave you. But you deserve better than this.”

“Damn what I deserve,” she says fiercely. “I want you.”

The sound that comes out of his mouth at that is half-laugh, half-sob. Tentatively, Amber reaches her hand up through the bars to touch the side of his face. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You are remarkable, my lady,” he says, barely above a whipser. “And you’re doing good, no matter the reason why you started.”

“So are you.”

He reaches up to take her hand in his, pressing a kiss to it before releasing it back to her. “What happens to me, if you get me out?”

It’s not quite acceptance, but it’s close enough for her to work with. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she admits. “But I’m not leaving you to die here.”

“That might not be your choice. Whatever you may want for me, Val Royeaux wants my head on a pike.”

“I wouldn’t worry. I'm the Herald of Andraste, remember?” She winks at him and he finally, finally, gives her a ghost of a smile. “I tend to get what I want.”

Whatever happens next, there are two fewer secrets between them today, and despite the rest, she feels lighter for it.

[thezombieprostitute]

Oh can you write number 10 with Curtis Everett? Thank you. 🩵

Nightmares

Ask is based on this post.

A/N: I was initially planning on starting the next phase of the Garbage Men AU with Nick and Lady but this ask inspired me to write something up for Curtis and Teach instead. So they'll be leading the charge!

A/N2: Reader is plus sized female. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Family stress, Implied violence, Mentions of death, PTSD. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Curtis was used to having rough dreams. He was sure he should probably see a psychiatrist or something about the PTSD nightmares but he threw that aside to focus on work. Then you crashed into his life and it helped him find some much needed balance. He still had nightmares but you helped him with those now. You improved his life and mental well being so much the dreams didn’t hit as often. 

But they still hit as hard. 

You were woken up out of your sleep by Curtis calling out in his sleep. Quickly you start gently rubbing his stomach and repeating his name, intermingled with “it’s me” and “wake up”. It’s not the first time you’ve helped him out and the two of you learned this was the safest way for you to wake him up and help him ground himself.

He woke up with a gasp, looking around confused for a few seconds. His brain registers you and he pulls you in for a deep, desperate kiss that leaves you breathless. When he finally pulls away to breathe he pulls you close and holds you tight. You don’t have much room to move so you nuzzle your face against him while cooing reassurances that he’s okay. 

It takes a while for him to calm down enough to let you go. When he loosens his hold you pull back just enough to get a good look at him. He’d been crying. 

Wiping the tears from his face you ask, “wanna tell me about it?”

“It was mostly a memory but, instead of Franco killing Edgar, he was killing you. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but just watch.”

Now it’s your turn to hold him. You move so that he can lay on top of you, his head on your chest, while you quietly hum and rub a hand up and down his neck and shoulders. You can feel his shaking finally stop before his muscles start relaxing under your touch. There’s not much you can do but this is something that soothes both of you. 

“Feels like these nightmares are happening more often,” you comment. 

“They always get worse this time of year,” he confides. “It’s around this time Edgar was killed.”

You nod in understanding. “Is there anything you’d like to do? Take some time off? Visit his grave?”

“He…he doesn’t have a grave. His body wasn’t recoverable. There wasn’t even a memorial service since it would’ve just been me attending.”

“Maybe we should do something for him, then,” you suggest. “Maybe it’ll help you as well, to lay him to rest.”

“Maybe,” Curtis grumbles, sleep slowly taking him over again. 

You smile down at him and continue stroking his back, encouraging him to fall back asleep. 

“Hey Curtis, we got a lead on Franco the Elder,” Hal reports over the phone. “It’s been verified by Jake and Mace’s intel. Looks like he’s been buying enough ammo to supply a small gang. Thing is, it’s all handgun ammo. Feels like he’s gonna be looking for the personal touch on whoever he hits.”

Curtis contemplates, “my money is on him supplying a small group to act as distraction while he goes for his real target. Anyone spots a gang causing trouble, tell them to call for backup just in case. Especially if it’s near the Free Clinic.”

“I’ll tell Jake to send out the bulletin,” Hal confirmed before hanging up.

Curtis made sure to call up Mace before Jake could send the text to everyone. He was sure Mace would want to hear from him instead of a text. Franco had been a boogeyman of sorts for him and his girl since her testimony. Doesn’t help that Nick killed Franco’s brother to keep her safe. His one solace was that no one seemed to identify Mace as a person of interest. 

After he talked to Mace he checked in with you. It was a bit of security for the both of you to check in throughout the day, even when one of you had the day off. Those were his favorites because, given your increased self-confidence, you would occasionally send him risque photos. But, today, you were both working so he had to settle for texts and occasional calls. 

The check-in text from Curtis came at a good time. You and Barber were going over the lawsuit the Clark Kent Estate had issued against Nick and his Lady. Barber and his paralegals were taking care of the actual lawyer stuff while you worked with Nick on the public opinion aspect, getting the stories and evidence ironed out. Right now, though, you need a break and Curtis’s text was a good excuse to step away from the desk. 

You message with him for a little bit while refilling your water bottle before your phone starts ringing. It’s a contact you hadn’t expected to talk to possibly ever again. You answer the phone, “mom? What’s wrong?”

“Why does it always have to be something wrong,” your mother scolds. “Why can’t I just be calling to say hello?”

“Because you never call me unless something is wrong,” you retort. “Well, you know what? That’s not fair of me. You do call me for other reasons: you need something.”

“I just want to inform you that your aunt and I are coming to the city and we’d like to meet up with you for at least one day,” she barks. “You can afford to take one day off, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you sigh. “My work calendar is swamped.”

“Oh just tell that whats-his-name author to go without you for a day.”

“I’m not working for Mr. Drysdale anymore, Mom.”

“YOU GOT FIRED?!”

You have to pull the phone away from your ear for a second as her voice reaches a volume that hurts to hear. She keeps screaming into the phone and you hear snippets of “paid so well” and “how can you earn a living” and “no one wants to date a homeless girl.” You set the phone on the nearest surface and sip your water until she winds down. A few of the people in Barber’s office give you weird looks but you ignore them. A couple of them just give you knowing nods. 

As she finally pauses to catch her breath you pick the phone back up, “did you not hear me say I have a very busy work schedule?”

“Of course you do,” she responded, her tone accusatory. “You’re probably having to work several jobs to make up for the one you lost! How could you–”

“Mom, if you don’t shut up and let me talk I’m hanging up on you!” You hear a small “tsk” but she does quiet down. “I have a job that pays just as well as the last one but it’s a lot more actual work and is a lot more time sensitive. If you and Aunt Jo want to visit the city I can only promise to try to meet up with you.”

“I’ll make sure to coordinate with you closer to time.” 

The line goes dead and you breathe a sigh of relief. Dealing with family on top of mafia legal battles? This is gonna be a nightmare, you think.

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Tagging everyone who was tagged in the original Dream Come True series. Please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!

@alicedopey; @alexakeyloveloki; @bigtreefest; @dontbescaredtosingalong; @hisredheadedgoddess28; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @texmexdarling; @veltana; @winter-soldier-101

[serensama]

I think we're getting low on onions again...

Chapter 2

Slight AU- No Dread Wolf/God plot or Spite, and Neve and Rook are old friends.  Read on Ao3

Prompt 24 out of 25: Illario 

Rook stared at Neve, unsure if she was joking or being serious. Even after being friends since they happened to meet each other almost a decade prior through fortuitious happenstance (an intersecting aboard a Tevinter Galley- Neve working with the Shadow Dragons to free some slaves and Rook on board to steal a priceless artefact), she regularly mistook one for the other. It was a Tevinter custom to buy your new friend a fried fish every day for three months? Apparently a joke- that she let rook in on after two and a half months of free fish. The Antaam had taken over Antiva and the country was currently occupied? Shockingly serious. Rook didn’t think they would deviate from their focus on winning the war against Tevinter and conquer another country. 

Neve thought the hats she wore were stylish and suited her? She claimed that was being serious about that, but Rook begged to disagree. 

The two caught up whenever Rook had the time to visit her detective friend, often getting wrangled into one of her cases or strong-armed into helping out the Shadow Dragons because she was too much of a soft touch. Not that she minded too much, if it assisted those in need then she was always ready to help. After all, if she wasn’t given a helping hand when she had nothing, her life would have turned out very differently. 

So when Neve said she needed Rook to go meet with a contact in her stead, she had to double check it wasn’t a joke and it wasn’t another way the woman was trying to wring more free food from her.

“So distrusting Rook-” “Coming from you!” “I’m a detective, I’m meant to be distrusting,” she smirked, handing her a vellum with the details for the contact. “The Shadows are making a deal with the Crows, they help us with some Venatori and we help them with their Antaam. A win-win and then after that... our alliance is over.” 

“So why do you need me to go? It seems you have everything in hand,” Rook queried, handing back the missive after a quick scan. “If I went I’d probably mess something up, blow someone up or both.” 

Neve took it and lightly tapped the Lord of Fortune on her head.

“Spot on, Little Dove! That is exactly what we want.” “You want me to blow something up? Is this some weird ‘Vint joke again, because truly Neve-” “Not at all. I need you to be you, Rook. There’s one crow in particular, Illario of House Dellamorte, a well known lover of the fairer sex. And you, my friend, are very fair. We need you to keep him busy whilst we speak to the Talons coming here,” she explained, sitting back on the edge of her cluttered desk. “Whilst undoubtedly talented, he’s been known to be not as, hmm how can I say this?...competent as other master assassins. And as he’s the grandson of the First Talon and been sent as her one of her envoys-” “You need me to babysit him to keep him occupied so he doesn’t try to get in on the job and mess up the plan,” Rook finished, understanding the plan they had devised for her.  “Exactly!” “So what... I run around and make it hard for him to attend the meeting? Create some sort of dangerous diversion around Dock Town? You want me to beat him unconscious?” she asked, getting more and more uncomfortable the longer Neve didn’t stop her mind from wandering to more insane possibilities. “I’m not actually going to blow anyone up, Neve!” The Tevinter mage laughed at her friend’s propensity to think outlandishly. 

“Oh Maker, of course not Rook! This has actually been organised as a blind date, no killing necessary,” she said with a grin on her face. “Is it too late to put killing someone back on the table?” “Rook, you’re making a much bigger deal about this than it is-” “You. It’s you who I want to kill.” “I figured. Think of it as killing two birds with one stone, we get the Crow out of our way, and you, Little Dove, can go on a date. See what I did there? Killing? Two birds … you’re no fun.” 

“Stop making horrible jokes where my only logical recourse is to plot your death…”

“When was the last time you went out with anyone?” Neve asked veering the conversation back to the topic at hand. The woman had suddenly become very interested about her love life ever since finding her twin flame in Ashur (Rook was never going to call him ‘The Viper’ in private, it was stupid and she refused to.) 

Rook sat there on the floor of Neve’s little apartment and thought back. There was that tryst with the sailor... or that weekend with the twins... 

“...Sex doesn’t count, Rook.”  “How does sex not count?!” she yelped pathetically. As if she had time to have a proper relationship with someone. Even those native to Rivian, who understood how the Lords of Fortune lived and earned their coin, many still found it difficult to maintain anything longer than a few tumbles in the sack. And she didn’t need it. She had her friends, never ending adventure and- “You’re not doing much to disprove my point Rook,” she said, her concern obvious in her eyes. “We both don’t have a lot of... or any family, really. I think of you as a sister and I... if anything were to happen to me, I can’t stand to think of you alone without someone having your back.” 

Rook’s defences came crumbling down. Blasted woman, being sappy and shit. She knew that always got her to do anything she requested, no matter how ridiculous. She really needed to learn how to be more callous, it would make her life so much smoother. Though she was loath to admit it, she missed romance in her life. 

“It should be fun, we’ve been advised that he is the life of the party. Plus as a Crow, so if it works out, I know you’ll always have people looking out for you.” “Or looking for me. You do understand that there are a lot of In-House jobs, right? Plus you’ve not even met the guy! How do you know he’s not a serial killer? You know... outside of his day job?” 

“So, as long as he’s getting paid for the murder, that’s not a problem?” “A girl has to have her limits. Besides, you’re the one setting me up with him, none of this can really bunch up your knickers too much, can it?” Rook quipped, as she rolled her eyes and stood up. “Alright. If I was to help you and meet this guy, what time and where?” “7pm in front of The Cobbled Swan. You won’t be able to miss him. By all reports he is dark, handsome with brooding features. The source says that he has a wonderful smile.” “Sounds just like your type. Why aren’t you going out with him again?” “I don’t think Ashur would appreciate that. Remember, we would like this plan to succeed and not end with a contract on the Shadow Dragons just because my partner couldn’t keep his jealousy in check, Rook.” 

“Okay. Counter offer. Ashur’s really pretty, tell him to go out with the Crow instead of either of us.”

“Rook!”

“Fine! But I’m borrowing your good silk shirt!” 

The things she did for her friends, honestly. 

--- 

Okay... so maybe she owed Neve an apology. Illario was fantastic. Charming, witty and he made her laugh- and it did not hurt that he was beautiful. Tanned, smooth skin and such expressive brown eyes; she had to admit at the very least, Neve knew how to pick them. Rook had come a few minutes before 7pm and was impressed to find the man already there, in his dark Crow attire looking far too dashing to be standing in Dock Town of all places. 

Conversation came easy to them. He spoke of his love for Treviso and how he would love the opportunity to take her around after finding out she had never been before, her ‘job’ not affording her the opportunity to visit his fine city yet. He described the markets and taking her to the opera if she had felt so inclined, and she could not deny that the fluttering in her stomach was not just from her very strong physical attraction to the man. “I have to tell you, I’m quite surprised at how tonight has turned out,” he admitted, taking a sip of the most expensive wine the bar had to offer, “everything apart from this Red, this is exactly what I expected from Tevinter. Bitter and angry, with very little flavour.” “And what do you mean by that?” she asked, leaning forward to steal his glass, sniffing at the richly coloured alcohol. “The wine or the evening?” “Both, in any order- surprise me,” she grinned as she returned his glass to him, but remained in the same position to show him she was definitely interested in what he had to say. That and it gave him a wonderful view of her chest, courtesy of Neve’s shirt which she didn’t button past her waist. Somehow it felt more scandalous than her Rivaini armour ever had, and that was considered glorified underwear to most people. 

He smiled and mirrored her position so their elbows almost touched on the table, both craning forward to the other as if they were about to share a secret. Oh no, he smelled amazing, his deep, lush cologne so wonderful that she reminded herself that he may not appreciate her asking if he minded if she sat on his lap and just spent the rest of the night smelling him. She knew he did not wear it whenever he was on a job. It would be too easy to notice him, easy for a possible witness to pick him from a crowd based on that scent alone, she was just lucky she got to enjoy it on the rare occasion he was able to use it. Like on a date.  “Tevinter is not well known for their wine. Mages, sure, cream of the crop. But Antiva my dear Rook, Antiva is known for our vineyards. It’s like nothing your tongue has experienced,” he smirked as he noted the way one of her brows rose at the unintended double meaning. “And as for the evening... When I had been told by my cousin that I had to attend this meeting, I was not expecting to enjoy myself at all. I thought that it was another task given to him that he thought was beneath him and always fell to me- but I am very pleasantly surprised by the quality of company,” he articulated, his wonderful accent making each word sound like a sonnet. 

Rook crossed her legs, unsure where the wave of primal desire came from. Had it been so long since she’d been touched that a pretty face and a decadent voice was enough to get her to fall into bed with someone? She considered his face once more, his classically handsome lines made him look like a statue or someone straight out of a romantic painting of old. Yes, for this man, that was enough for her to invite him to one of the empty rooms upstairs and distract him all night if that was what Neve and the Shadows needed of her. Three full days and nights even. It was all for the cause, right? Whatever it took. 

Rook pushed herself to the edge of her seat so she could move even closer to him, ignoring the way the rim of the table dug into her stomach. She picked up his glass once more and brazenly took a sip, holding his gaze as she drank. She was thrilled to see his eyes watch every small movement she made, the lick of her lips, her finger tracing her mouth to wipe away any wine and deftly lick up any errant liquid. Even though The Cobbled Swan was not the brightest lit establishment, it was bright enough for Rook to see the way the assassin’s pupils had started to dilate. 

“I have to admit that I was... wary... of tonight, I did not know what to expect. But like you, I have found myself more than satisfied with my companion for the evening,” she sat back, hoping the Crow would give chase. “And I don’t know, I’ve sampled Tevinter and have always enjoyed it. Is it possible that you’re merely overselling Antiva’s experiences? I would hate to be disappointed.” 

“My Lady Rook, I have never had any complaints. In fact, most people have never been able to go back to anything else after having tried an Antivan.” “An Antivan… wine, correct? Or an Antivan himself?” she encouraged, circling her finger on the rim of the glass. He chuckled low and wet his lips before answering her, placing the palm of his hand gently on top of her own to stop fidgeting. “Yes.” 

Rook watched him as he clearly warred with himself to decide his next move, when he paused and turned around, confusion written across his handsome features. He pulled away and Rook found herself missing the feel of his hand on hers. 

“Cousin? Why are you here?” he called out to the new Crow walking towards them. “Thank you for coming here in my stead, I can now take it over from here!,” the man said, flashing them both a smile. He pulled a seat from an empty table and placed it closer to Rook’s side, eliciting an unimpressed tut from her date. “I appreciate your assistance tonight, but the other matter has been wrapped up and I can continue on here and you can go back to the Talons,” he added, not allowing much room for argument. 

“Illario-” Rook blinked. Illario? The cocky bastard who came prancing in was Illario? “Lucanis, we can discuss when we get back, but I must get back to my date.” 

“Lu-Lucanis? I thought... I didn’t realise when you said you were my contact from House Dellamorte I didn’t realise that you weren’t Illario,” she stammered, blindsided by the switch up. 

Lucanis offered her a short bow and an apologetic look, unsure where the comedy of errors had begun. “My sincerest apologies Rook, I had not known you were expecting my cousin Illario’s attendance specifically. I was just advised to meet with Rook and keep her company until I was summoned back by the Talons. I didn’t realise this was meant to be a date between you and my cousin.” “You... you didn’t even... not a worry,” she had started to voice her offence but ignored it. It was her fault for assuming and not confirming his name was actually Illario. He had not lied to her, or at least meant to. “It was lovely to meet you, Lucanis. For whatever it’s worth.” “And you, Rook,” he replied with a deeper bow, making sure to catch his cousin’s gaze upon straightening. She may not have spoken ‘Crow’ or well versed in any other Antivan apart from ‘churro’ or ‘paella’, but she knew exactly what that stare said. We will talk about this later. Rook looked on as her accidental date left, his gait of a man who knew he was both death and sex incarnate. And she was sorry to see him leave. Instead she was left with... Illario. The real one. A man who was surely very handsome and probably very much fun for a quick tumble- but he did not inspire any flutters in her stomach. And she certainly did not want to share a drink from the same glass as him, let alone any of his bodily fluids. 

“So, Rook is it? Tell me about yourself,” he smirked confidently, far too sure in his allure, too brazen even for her. His smile made her skin crawl and if her reproductive organs weren’t already primarily inside her body, they would have found a way to crawl inward at the way he raked his eyes over her. She had half a mind to get up and leave, make it up to the Shadows and the Crows by some other means, but she was already there- may as well make the most out of it, especially on their coin. 

Either way, Neve owed her. She was going to keep the shirt. 

--- 

The moment his cousin stepped through the front door, Lucanis pulled the man through and slammed him against it. He had come in smelling of liquor and perfume, but not the kind that Rook had worn. What had this idiot done? 

It took another couple of seconds for him to see the black eye and the swollen nose. 

“Good evening to you too cousin, did not realise you were waiting up for me,” he sneered, freeing himself of Lucanis’ hands. “What is your problem?” he asked as he pushed past him and further into the foyer of their rented villa. “Is there any dinner left? I’m starving.” 

Lucanis suppressed the urge to throttle his kin and gripped at his dagger instead. Caterina would not be happy to learn he had murdered him due to a moment’s frustration. He followed the man into the kitchens where he had started to forage but could not find anything that caught his fancy. “Hey, can you make me an omelette, like the one you made after our job last week?” “No, make your own damn eggs,” he said, his mouth pulled down into a deep scowl. It was the refusal to make him food that caught Illario’s attention. No matter how tired or angry he was at him, Lucanis was always happy to feed those closest to him. “Where have you been? Why are you hurt?”

Illario misinterpreted Lucanis’ anger for concern due to his condition, they were Crows and family after all. He reacted the same way when they were children when an older trainee had roughed him up. 

“It was that crazy bitch from tonight, that Rook. I had gone there as the Shadow Dragons swore I’d have fun with her but she was the biggest disappointment ever. I say we don’t help them on that basis alone- the Tevinter’s lie and do not deliver on their promises,” he huffed, finding an apple and biting into it, his obnoxious chewing grating on Lucanis’ nerves. 

“Why would you ask me to go and then switch back mid-way- what the hell was going through your head? What if she was the daughter of an important Shadow Dragon? You could have ruined the entire alliance!” 

Illario shrugged and took a few more bites from the fruit before answering him, knowing that his cousin held a soft spot for him and wouldn’t do anything out of line, he was the good one, always stayed within the lines their grandmother had set and never stepped out of bounds. He would always defer to her before taking matters into his own hands. 

“I heard from someone in House De Riva that the woman they organised for me was just some common wench, not even connected to the Shadow Dragons and I was insulted. They think that someone from House Dellamorte was going to be happy with any old consort? So I organised for my own entertainment whilst we remained in Dock Town. Imagine my surprise when passing the bar and seeing you both, and the woman I was meant to meet was actually very easy on the eyes,” he huffed at the last point. “So naturally I cancelled my plans and decided to proceed with the original date. You saw her for yourself, she was gorgeous, but she was also as boring as the lectures on poison handling that Viago always gives.” 

Lucanis could not marry his cousin’s experience with his own. The Rook he had the pleasure to meet was vivacious and exciting, funny and enticing- what could have happened to change her so much? “So... what happened then?” “Huh? After a while I excused myself and pretended to get a message from the Talons and told her I had to leave,” he shrugged, finding the last slices of bread from earlier in the day to eat. “Sure. But what happened with the eye and nose then? You said it was Rook who hit you,” Lucanis pressed, not sold on his cousin’s rendition of the evening.  “Did I say that? I meant the guards at the next bar I visited. The owner did not appreciate that the barmaids were giving me free drinks and ignoring their regular patrons. He decided to rough me up when I was using the facilities and had my hands full,” he cracked up, lewdly gesturing to his crotch. Disgusting, he hated when his cousin was drunk, it almost made him want to inherit First Talon just so he could slap Illario around whenever he acted like such a pig. 

Lucanis gave his cousin a withering look and left him behind to clear his head. It was a rare occurrence for him to meet anyone he connected with and even if the night had soured her opinion of the Crows or House Dellamorte, he would try to repair the damage his stupid cousin had done. He made his way back to the Swan to see if anyone could tell him where she may have gone to, any lead would not be turned down. He was again pleasantly surprised when he saw her still at the same table, this time joined by a woman, a Templar and 

the leader of the Shadow Dragons, the woman casting magic to ice Rook’s hand. Fucking Illario. 

--- 

Fucking, fucking, Illario. 

He listened as Rook told him the story of the disaster date they had. It turned out that there was a woman his cousin could not charm. That fact alone was enough to confirm that if he wasn’t interested in her before, he certainly was now. “So let me get this right. Illario, that idiot, talked about himself all night and then proceeded to get drunk. Somehow along the way the imbecile’s ego thought you were ‘up for a good time’. He then got a little too excited and paid for a room. When you turned him down, he ended the date like the spoiled little shit he is and got a little forward with one of the barmaids, to which you rightly struck him twice, hurting your hand?” Lucanis asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop his migraine from coming on. He glanced up to see her nod, testing out her recently healed appendage. 

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to get a contract on my own cousin and then pay double to the House to let me murder him myself,” he sighed disappointedly. To debase her, himself and their House, he almost wondered if he should leave him to their grandmother to deal with. Idiot probably thought he could get away with acting out because they weren’t in Treviso, like location mattered. 

“It’s not worth it- I’m pretty sure I broke his nose with that hit, I’m good,” she said, doing her best to placate him. “I’m so sorry Rook,” Neve apologised, holding both of Rook’s hands. “We never thought... I can’t believe that we ever thought he may have been a good match for you-” “It’s not your fault the guy’s an asshole Neve,” she replied, brushing it off. “But I can certainly see why you wouldn’t want him executing any of your plans moving forward. Everything go well at the meeting?” “Yes, the Fifth and Seventh Talons agreed on the terms and we will begin our arrangement shortly,” she confirmed, still looking guilty about setting up her friend with such a dud. “I promise the next time I even think of setting you up with someone, I will personally vet them.” Lucanis could not help but smile at the horror on Rook’s face at the thought of another potential date in her horizon. How hopeless had Illario been that the mere mention of one would make her recoil so thoroughly? Though, it was not like he could talk seeing as technically his accidental date with Rook was his first ‘date’ ever, but he had to believe it was better than whatever happened with his fool of a cousin. 

“You really don’t need to do that Neve, I forgot to tell you earlier, but I’ve actually met someone I’m interested in,” the Rivaini said, doing her best to look anywhere but at her friend. “Really?” the detective replied, suspicion dripping from the single word. Rook nodded vigorously, hoping her enthusiasm alone would convince the woman. “Who?” she asked, crossing her arms like a suspicious parent, waiting to catch their child out in a lie. The Crow waited to see how she would answer, interested in the answer himself. Invested in finding out their name, location and schedule, specifically where they would be alone for long periods of time with no one checking in on them. He wanted to know- for a friend. 

“Him,” she answered naturally, pointing at him with a grin. The three Shadow Dragons turned to him and looked at him with varying levels of surprise, doubt and fascination. 

“Him? Lucanis Dellamorte? The Demon of Vyrantium... the mage killer?” Neve spelled out slowly for Rook. “I only know him as Lucanis, but sure to all those things too. Maybe a little less of the mage killing though, if he can help it,” she winked up at him which he felt himself return in spite of himself. “I would prefer to live through our next date, if he’d be open to having one. Maybe he'd be willing to meet me at the Diamond and show me around Treviso when I come to visit in the coming weeks?”

Lucanis did his best not to forget that they had an audience and carefully chose his words and actions to remain appropriate in polite company. Let there be at least one Dellamorte who didn’t embarrass himself in public that night. “For you, Rook? I’d consider it.” “To sweeten the offer, I’d even buy a bottle of your favourite Antivan wine for you,” she said, moving to stand in front of him, the alluring scent of the lavender oil on her skin enough to get him drunk, wine or no. 

“Really? My favourite bottle can go up to 2000 sovereigns.” “I’d even steal a bottle of your favourite Antivan wine for you,” she quickly amended, earning her a laugh from the normally reserved Crow. Neve, Tarquin and Ashur shared the same knowing looks and hastily made their exit- however the two had managed to find each other, they were not going to stand in their way. Not when they could easily see the way the Crow had looked at her when he entered the bar, and definitely not when they could see the almost ravenous glint in Rook’s eye whenever she looked at the assassin. 

Lucanis gently took the hand she had been nursing, the skin bruised but intact. He allowed his thumb to gingerly brush along her knuckles, listening intently to the shift in her breath. He took a leaf out of her playbook and lifted her hand to his lips, holding her wide eyed stare, thoroughly enjoying the pretty way her cheeks flushed. He looked forward to meeting her in Antiva, however he was not quite done seeing her that night. 

“That room my cousin purchased-” he began, instantly regretting his choice of words at the look that crossed her face. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that perhaps we could use it to play Wicked Grace or continue our talk or-” “The room remains mine and unused, Master Crow,” she said, shaking her head at him. “But if it was with you, Lucanis, I’d more than consider it.”  

Chapter 3

[razorblade180]

May we have a Itto x Sara scene please.

Ei walks into a Teahouse to grab a meal when she notices Sara sitting on stool drinking a cup.

Ei:General?

Sara:!? *stands* Madam Shogun! H-how are you?

Ei:Hehe, relax. Please, go back to enjoying your drink. I’ve been frequenting this place lately but I’ve never seen you until now.

Sara:I don’t come here too often but today a favor/job demands it. My coworker, Heizou, is working a case that is rather time sensitive and delicate. He enlisted the help of a mutual friend, Kuki Shinobu, who is a very capable person.

Ei:If you’re praising her then she must be someone rather remarkable. Miko may have mentioned that name to me before. Are you meeting them here?

Sara:I wish that were case. Kuki has many responsibilities; the biggest one being the soul source of common sense in the Arataki Gang. With her absence, Heizou thought it best for me to distract her boss so he doesn’t get involved or cause unnecessary headaches for anyone; including myself.

Ei:Arataki Gang? Now I’m certain I’ve heard that name. Ah, would the leader happen to be that Oni that’s always patently waiting for you to come out of Tenshukaku?

Sara:…His name is Itto, and he’s actually trying to break in.

Ei:*nods slowly* Hmmm, I see. He’s not very good at it.

Sara:And I’m thankful for it. Anyways, he’s always trying to challenge me to duel. While besting him wouldn’t be the hardest thing in the world, I convinced him to come here to eat after a beetle f-

Ei: *tilts head* Hmm?

Sara:*red* After I beat him in TCG. He’s in the restroom washing his hands and probably drying the tears he refused to notice after losing, for the fifth time in a row. At the rate things are going, I’ll probably go to vendor afterwards and buy him that Dango he likes.

Ei:…So today has gone smoothly?

Sara:Honestly, I can’t complain. To my shock he actually has mora and is paying for the food as my reward. I never had to think about it much but it’s a good thing places like this have meals for an Oni to enjoy. Even I’d feel terrible if I accidentally fed him beans.

Ei:Sara, I have a question.

Sara:Of course! What do you need?

Ei:I am out of touch with many of today’s trends and understandings. However, I’ve read quite a bit light novels as of late, as well as know how things were long ago. Correct me if I’m, but your task is a date?

Sara:What? Oh no. This isn’t-… no.

Ei:But…you know so much about him. Likes, dislikes, you have planned a day around him and to my understanding, he actively seeks to spend time with you.

Sara:*red* You aren’t wrong, but it’s not like I like him.

Ei:That’s what the girl in the novel said! However her actions and reactions, much like hers, contradicted her words. The narrator themself even explained that the girl was actually quite endeared to the gentleman. Her friends even set up date for them to get closer. Not to say your friends would employ such a mischievous tactic.

Sara:*thinks of Heizou*…Kuki would never.

Ei:Perhaps a peculiar coincidence then? Whatever the case, I’ll leave you to your task. *walks away*

Itto:*approaches* Alright Sara! You may have won but don’t get to crazy with ordering- why is your face all red?

Sara:It isn’t. Your makeup is smudged around your eyes.

Itto:Nuh uh, I tripled check! You’re as red as your own mask, or my horns. Don’t tell me you can’t handle your own tea!?

Sara:The room is stuffy; nothing more.

Itto:Hmmm yeah I’m not buying it. *leans in* Maybe it’s not the tea. You’re not even sweating.

Sara:Haven’t you heard of personal space!

Ei watches from across the Teahouse as she orders. She’s not listening that much, but rather watching the Oni laugh freely as Sara tries to act stern before sighing. Despite the defeatist posture she has, her gaze at the man holds no animosity or real negativity. It’s rather…endearing.

Ei:(Hmm, perhaps I should ask Miko to explain this. Then again…maybe I’m not the person who doesn’t understand?)

[saturnz-skiez]

I love nope I love thinking about how every single action Jupe makes drives the plot but that’s not the case for anyone else. They can have character quirks and small side discussions, they can do things for the sake of character depth or dynamic development. Why does Em vape? It shows off her more carefree and laid back personality and approach to life, but also why not? Why does OJ mention “hobby weed”? To demonstrate how he doesn’t center making money in everything he does, unlike Jupe, but also why not? Why is Angel on a VR headset in that one scene? Because the game dialogue is literally describing the plot, but also why not? That kind of stuff. Sure it has some tiny significance, but it’s also there just for fun!

But there is nothing Jupe does in his limited screen time that isn’t important. He cannot just be a person. Every action he takes is for the sake of the bigger picture. We don’t really know who he is because nothing shows off who he is outside of a cruel and ignorant businessman with unresolved trauma bleeding through into said ignorance and cruelty. But also everything he does is inherently tied to Jean Jacket, the very thing that kills him.

• He buys the horses for Jean jacket, he wants the ranch for the horses and also to show off a sort of capitalistic greed and ignorance present in his character that aligns with how he treats animals.

• He drops by the Haywood’s fence after they steal the horse to show his hyper focus on his business over all else, which is a trait exhibited in his treatment of Jean jacket. and also so he can invite them to the star lasso experience and foreshadow it. His feigned indifference to the stolen horse also adds more depth to the kids pranking OJ, which Jupe likely told them to do. He exerts this weird superiority over them (probably because he has more money than them) and makes them think he doesn’t care before setting his children off to bother them and endanger their animals. This trait is important to how he treats things he thinks he can control likely because he sees them as below him, like Jean Jacket. Both these scenes progress the plot and are set up directly before the reveal of Jean jacket.

• He's shown spacing out and practicing his lines one more time with Amber because A. He has trauma and the flashback is necessary for the film, and B. Because he is secretly terrified and the audience should know that he’s aware of how bad things at the Star Lasso Experience could go and do end up going. The opportunity to capitalize trumps his genuine fear for his and his family’s life.

• Even when he talks about the Gordy’s Home incident to the Haywoods, this helps them better understand his mindset toward and treatment of dangerous animals, value of spectacle over serious discussion, and his treatment of Jean jacket leading to his death. Which then helps them get a better handle on how to treat it themselves as seen when the Haywood siblings, angel, and antlers sit down and talk about their plan and OJ brings up how Jupe went about it. Therefore this progressed the plot.

He cannot even speak about his emotions without urging on the invisible story and barriers that have always been placed around his life without him even knowing. This might just be me going crazy but the narrative itself is quite literally a thematic element and metaphor.

[moss-ridden-owl-creature]

1: I’m a therian & otherhearted!

2: Tundra wolf theriotype, Border collie hearted, dragon, crow and cryptid kintypes :)

3: I commonly get mental shifts and phantom shifts. Had a cameo shift once, I believe it was a pair of antlers?

4: not hugely? I make weird sounds but often times it doesn’t affect me much tbh.

5: it’s a great community! I don’t understand large parts of it and because of that I avoid doing deep dives because it’s just a lot to understand and things are hard or have very small differences but overall everyone is super cool!

6: hiking, digging, oddly enough jingly jewelry makes me happy. (I live with my parents so I’m unable to buy stuff like collars. So I wear a lot of necklaces with chains and stuff.)

7: I do but not actively right now? I’m chillin rn tbh.

8: Do research, if you ever plan on coming out to your parents, ask them in a way that doesn’t make it seem like you are one in case of negative reaction. (Ex: “Have you guys heard of [alterhuman label]?”).

9: I own 3 pieces of gear excluding jewelry. Two tails (one dyed silver fox tail and one marble fox tail), and a mask hand made by me :)

10: I’m a Nordic pagan, and my patron deity is Fenrir (big wolf said to end the world), so personally I believe in someway he has something to do with it. But I’m also a past life therian :)

11: I don’t have anyone to tag :,D

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[survey--s]

528.

Ever had a promise ring? No.

Who knows your biggest secret(s)? Probably the people who read these surveys lol.

Do you ever get messages/asks on Tumblr? I don’t think I ever have but I used to get quite a few comments etc. back in the days where we all posted on Xanga.

When was the last time you waxed anything on your body, if ever? Never.

Do you like shrimp? Yeah, they’re one of my favourite types of seafood.

Are you lactose intolerant? I actually am but I can tolerate a little bit before it impacts me.

Have you ever thought a man over 40 was attractive? Sure, I mean, I’m 34 so 40 is hardly ancient lol.

Have you ever been told your aspirations are unrealistic? I don’t think so.

Who was the last person you sat beside at a restaurant? Susie.

Who is popular in your country? (Singers, actors etc.) I don’t really pay attention to that kind of thing.

What did you watch today? I’ve been watching Come Dine With Me since I got in from work.

Peaches or plums? Plums. I’m not a fan of the fuzzy skin on peaches but they do taste good.

Do you understand art? I have to be honest, I just don’t really care much about art.

Do/did your parents buy you a lot for Christmas? They did when I was younger, yeah. As I got older I didn’t necessarily get lots of stuff, but I did generally get good quality stuff that I asked for. Nowadays I just get money or experiences.

Out of all the cultures in the world, what culture do you find the most interesting? Japanese, as it’s just SO different to ours.

Do you like ramen noodles? I LOVE ramen as long as it’s not too spicy.

Who/what was that last thing that you slept with? The dog lol. He comes back to bed every morning for a cuddle when Mike goes to work.

Do your parents do things that "embarrass" you? Not so much now as an adult, but my dad just doesn’t care what anyone thinks and has zero filter lol. My mum was fine though.

What IM service do you use the most? Messenger or WhatsApp.

Who was the last person to IM you? My mum - she was just confirming our plans for Friday.

When you eat take-out, do you just eat it out of the containers provided? Generally, yes, but one specific case where I never do is when getting fried rice from Chinese places; I pour it into a bowl.

Would you need to sleep with someone before considering marrying them? Yes.

Do you carry condoms? No.

How organized are the files on your computer? I barely have anything to organise on here lol. I just download the photos for my posts on here.

Did you have a childhood hero? Were they real or fictional? No.

Would you consider dating a psychiatrist or psychologist? Sure, if I found them attractive and they were a good person.

For each person you’ve kissed, describe your feelings in one word: I’d be here forever LOL.

How do you react when you trip or stumble? This is a daily occurrence for me ha. I just deal with it?

Are you good at the game Twister? Nope. I’m not even remotely flexible.

Do your friends trust you around their bfs/gfs? Why would they need to trust me? Surely if their partners are decent people, it doesn’t matter what other people do?

Would you rather make the first move, or your crush? Either is fine.

If you have a camera, when do you use flash? Whenever I need to.

What would you do if you found a gun in your best friend’s bedroom? I’d be really freaked out as guns are very much illegal here.

What do you call your grandparents? My grandparents have all passed away.

What would be a cool earring design? I like ones that kind of go behind the earlobe and then the design hangs underneath, if that makes sense?

Besides nightmares, what is the scariest thing about sleeping? Being totally unaware of what’s going on around you.

Do you look better with red lipstick or black lipstick? Red.

Ever had a terrible breakup? Of course.

Favorite bands/artists? The Beatles, Jack’s Mannequin, Plain White T’s, Dolly Parton, The Chicks, Ed Sheeran.

Favorite quote? “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

Wearing any bracelets? No, I hate bracelets lol.

Does your phone take pictures? Of course lol.

Who is your favorite neighbor? They’re all nice enough. The one I speak to most is called Chris and I look after her cat when she goes away lol.

Have you ever gotten a detention? No.

Does your door have a deadbolt on it? No.

Have you had any soda today? Yeah, a Canada Dry and a Pepsi Max.

What is your favorite scary movie? None of them really. I just don’t enjoy that kind of thing.

What’s the most historic thing that has happened in your lifetime? Covid, 9/11, the Iraq war, Obama being president, the war in Ukraine.

What happens in your country regularly that people in most countries would find strange or bizarre? I don’t know if there is anything, really? I can’t think of much that happens in the UK that’s particularly unusual lol.

What’s your funniest story involving a car? Nothing is coming to mind right now.

If you built a themed hotel, what would the theme be and what would the rooms look like? I have no idea, maybe seaside themed.

Do you think that humans will ever be able to live together in harmony? No.

What’s the most amazing true story you’ve heard? Nothing in particular is coming to mind at the moment.

What’s the grossest food that you just can’t get enough of? Haha, I have no idea.

What brand are you most loyal to? None really. I change my preferences all the time.

Where are you not welcome anymore? I don’t think there is anywhere.

What’s a common experience for many people that you’ve never experienced? Giving birth. Having children.

What fashion trend makes you cringe or laugh every time you see it? Crocs. They're just hideous to me. <---- same. I don’t care how comfortable they’re supposed to be, they’re just awful lol.

What are the initials of the last person you made out with? MF.

If you found out you were pregnant, who would be the first person to know? My husband, but that’s not gonna happen lol.

How old were you when you had your first kiss? Eleven.

Is it awkward when you run into your ex? It would be, but they all live at the opposite end of the country so, luckily, it’s not going to happen ha.

Were you intoxicated the last time you threw up? No. I had a horrendous bug.

Who is your most recent ex? His name is Chris.

Has the person you last kissed taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah sure, we live together.

Have you ever broken anything because you were mad? Yeah.

Do you “blow kisses” often? At the animals yeah, lol.

Do you need to “break up” with a friend? Nope.

[art-of-secret-dark-heart]

If MBTI types were yandere dudes #3 (ENFP)

Note: just in case… the mbti types as Yanderes are just for fun and I’m not an expert in mbti. It’s exaggerated so… I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. Lol… also this is more of a ramble for me to de-stress. DNI if you’re a minor.

Content Warnings:Highly obsessive and desire to murder

——-

✨ENFP✨

Dude will be constantly thirsting for your love. From day one, he’ll be the enthusiastic guy who welcomes you to whatever community you’re trying to fit into (whether it’s a town, school, workplace, etc). Most likely throws a welcoming party for you.

He’ll make sure there’s nothing wrong, that you have no hardships/injustice to deal with. If there is something wrong, he will fight for you. It’ll become a whole big thing in the community. He loves you too much to see you get hurt or get disrespected on.

Would like to go to places with you to discover new things. Probably would be taking pictures of you with whatever beautiful sight you guys will encounter. Don’t go out of frame. The beauty of the scenery wouldn’t be complete without you.

Really good at picking up subtle shift of mood. So as hard as you try to cover up whatever you’re truly feeling, he’ll be able to see it all. And if you’re not happy, he will do his best to cheer you up. (Just don’t leave him). But this can be dangerous…if he sees you’re unhappy with someone like a friend or family of yours, he might think you have been hurt by them. Even though it might just be that you had a bad day, or something as simple as being too late to buy your favorite snack, so you’re a bit grumpy. To him, you’re everything, thus he might find a way to hurt that friend or family. And if he’s under stress and has been hurt by you… he might just skip to killing them instead.

Your “lover” would want to share his enthusiasm on whatever inspires him with you. His infectious happy personality might even rub off on you. But this strong positive mindset might become irritating when you’re trying to tell him what he’s doing is wrong/bothering you. Yet somehow he’ll spin it into something positive. Like if you want to be left alone and not always having to hang out with him, he’ll just smile and say, “Aww… honey, you’re such a romantic. They do say, “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Alright then, I’ll see you later. In the meantime, I’ll plan and get everything ready for our next rendezvous !” But if this becomes the norm, where you just keep going against what he wants, then he can get judgmental about your life choices. Then making it sound like being with and loving him, will be full of happiness. So why go against his love for you?

Hate surprises? Well too bad, there will be many spontaneous “fun” to be have (most likely romantic/ and something creative/unique) from this guy. But he does enjoy the small moments too. So it won’t be all crazy hectic (Good luck to the introverts).

He will love it if you open up your heart to him. Definitely will slowly share what’s in his heart with you. He’ll fall in love with you hard and pretty quickly, but won’t propose just yet. Trying to instead figure out ways on how to make you “happy” everyday. He’s even fine if you’re away for awhile… when you guys are dating. If married… maybe not.

If you’re doing some good for the world, or just listen and understand his goals/dreams etc, as well as somehow inspire him (with something creative), he will be in love with you. If you’re the curious type and share the same sense of humor with him, then even better.

Always the friendly outgoing guy who helps others, he would have a ton of friends. They’re just everywhere; in the town, your neighborhood, your doctor’s office, wherever you go, even where you are online, and probably even among your personal social circle like family.

Although he’s a guy with a positive outlook, always keeping up a facade of happy sunshine. He will feel hurt and lose sleep, if you say you actually hate him (the same applies if you really criticize him). Will be thinking up all night on how to make things better with you.

He loves making plans with you, but if the plan involves something that he has never done before, he can sometimes lose focus. Maybe too caught up in your beauty. Unless he feels the plan can benefit his relationship with you (like maybe you have been so “mean” to him. So he will push his focus into doing something together, something that you have always enjoy doing. Or some kind of “bonding” activity.) Too bad he’ll never lose focus or interest in you.

If he does kidnap you (maybe more like marry you and has a way to keep you with him without actually locking you up), then be prepare for a chaotic mess. Sometimes chores would hardly be done, so the mess will pile up, especially if he’s feeling hurt by you. It’ll just be a dumpster/land fìll mess. So you gotta push him into doing them, maybe by suggesting that you guys can “bond” over doing chores together…. Although do be careful, he’ll somehow turn doing chores into something romantic.

He actually wants to help others, but he would drop everything to help you, you’re his number one priority. Even if you just say you’re bored.

As it was said before, he falls in love with you pretty quick. Hardly even knows you, but he’s already thinking you’re the one. Find some way to make it sound like you’re connected to him. Like maybe a string of fate sort of thing. And oh boy, he would so whole heartedly believe it. Your “love” gives him life. So strong is his belief in this “love”, that he might burn down the community that you guys are in, if you ever try to completely leave him….

But after some time, if you don’t shower him with love like he does with you, he might get a bit more needy. Maybe feeling down and thinking that he’s not doing enough to prove his love to you. If you push him enough (being “mean” towards him), he will be controlling in what you do and where you go. Maybe even control what you like. Judging you, and maybe surprising to you, being cold. No more sunshine. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

Fantasy or isekai whatever: maybe a religious leader. If not, maybe a rich philanthropist, or just head of an organization that does good in the world. Will always have open doors for the people. And open arms for you.

More of a horror touch (based on popular media): maybe a film director who makes happy romantic fantasy movies, but his films are slowly becoming darker… and there are strange rumors on the set. Or maybe an event planner for… special (deadly) events, that may require him to organize a heavy bloody painstaking clean up by the end of it (Probably only plan all of it for your sake). Or could maybe be a special (supernatural?) consultant??

———

Okay, that’s all for today. Went overboard, but that was fun. I might post again tomorrow (If not busy). If I do, then it’ll likely just be one. Again, if you got a type you wanna see next, kindly just let me know. Hope you guys have fun reading!

(Also, I hope to soon reblog some yandere stories from other writers again. Plus maybe post some of my art and maybe plan for a game. All yandere.)

[butwhyduh]

can you write about how the bat-boys (or jason lol) would react to you getting covid/ them getting covid? i tested positive and need something to cheer me up while a rot in bed 😭

The CDC says just do you fam. If you gotta work, you gotta work🤷🏻‍♀️ quarantine on your own time bro. (Joking but the new rules for nurses are sooo stupid)

I hope you get to feeling better anon 🙏🏼

Jason: didn’t think he could get covid. He wears a helmet all the time. Plus he doesn’t really do colds and got vaccinated. But his throat started itching. And he’s being told by Alfred to stay home. He reads and sleeps so much. First thing he does out of quarantine is text ‘I lived bitch’ to the family group chat. Gets covid from his favorite hotdog stand. Will avoid you the whole time and you won’t understand until you ask if he’s sick. Jason didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t worry.

Dick: I think dick would have gotten covid early. So this is probably the second or third time. He’s vaccinated so probably more worried about actually losing his mind rather than being really sick. Will FaceTime people as much as possible. Tries to lead th titans from his bedroom until Kori gives him a look. Picks up a new hobby. Or 7. Gets covid from anyone. He knows the whole superhero community. He talks to you everyday if you aren’t quarantined together. But you probably are.

Tim: he doesn’t have a spleen so he’s vaccinated and boostered AND wears masks everywhere he goes. But he wakes up one day feeling like he was hit by a bus. Tim is over dramatic and plans his own funeral even tho he’s not seriously sick. Gets covid from Dick. Will tell you things he’s always wanted to say in case he dies. He doesn’t. But it’s nice to finally hear Tim say he loves you.

Damian: ‘no I am not Ill. I am fine.’ Meanwhile has a high fever. Will be forced into bed and quarantine. He is a weird quarantiner. He sharpens his weapons the first few days. Then starts meditating. By the time his quarantine is over, Damian has either discovered religion or can levitate with his mind. Got covid from school and will tell everyone who will listen. Damian will just straight up lie and say he’s on a mission so that you don’t think he’s weak. It’s not his smartest idea.

Bruce: ‘oh I need a nap. I’ll be fine.’ Meanwhile he’s looking 3 shades of green and swaying. Works from his bedroom. Even worse than Dick about trying to control his team remotely. Doesn’t read or start a hobby or find a religion because he literally never stops working the whole time. Gets it from Tim. Forgets to talk to you for 4 days and you worried he died somewhere. Will buy you a bunch of stuff to make up for it.

Alfred: doesn’t catch it. He has avoided every cold the Batfam catches for the past 30 years. Covid isn’t gonna catch him slipping.

[heyclickadee]

Yep. I can see arguing that it’s different for background characters. I’ll admit that I tend to lean towards “the empire killed them” in the debate on what actually happened to the younger clone cadets and the tubies even though we don’t see their deaths on screen, but that’s because they’re; one, background characters, and two; kids and babies, and showing them getting killed on screen is a whole different animal than showing the same thing with adults (but I’m also very open to the idea that the cadets and tubies just got taken somewhere else). You can say that stormtrooper #603 probably died from falling off a thing. For main or even secondary characters, though, the rules are different.

Nobody’s sitting here debating whether or not Wilco, Governor Ames, Slip, Cade, Nolan, or Mayday died. Nobody goes back and forth over whether or not Hemlock tortured Crosshair. That all happened on screen, right in front of our eyebulbs and/or ears. And, conversely, I went back and checked—nobody really thought the Ninth Sister in Fallen Order was dead when she fell off of a high thing, and they only justification I saw anyone give was that she was cool. (And, turns out, they were right. She survived.) The idea that it’s suddenly different for Tech and that he MUST be dead despite *waves vaguely at the combination of storytelling conventions, foreshadowing, Tech’s demonstrated ability to hit long odds every time, vague cast and crew statements, and social media fuckery again* is one I just can’t get behind. I think there are a few reasons for it, though:

1. The moment Tech falls in “Plan 99” is expertly done and gut-wrenching because of it. It aims to rip out hearts and set them on fire, and it succeeds. If you’re attached to any of the characters on screen, it can be a little hard to pull yourself out of being punched by your feelings enough to pay attention to what’s happening. (Though I think this comes back around and rejects the idea that people are only arguing that Tech’s alive because they’re emotionally attached to the character. For my part, the only reason I did briefly start to buy that Tech was really dead (for a day or so about a week after the finale aired) was because of how much I love the character and how much he means to me on a personal level, not the other way around. So I’m sympathetic to this first one, and really don’t mind it or the next three categories, even if I disagree.)

2. Some fans find it easier to assume he’s dead and rip the band-aid off, just in case. (I’m also sympathetic to this, even if I’m not doing it).

3. Some fans want him to be dead for story reasons. For example, they don’t want Tech’s sacrifice to lose its weight in the event of the show bringing him back. And…I’m…sympathetic to this, but only to a point. I understand where people are coming from with this, but I can’t agree. I don’t see self-sacrifice as inherently toxic if done well, but the idea that self-sacrifice must equal self-annihilation in order to count absolutely is. If you accidentally walk out in front of a bus and a friend pushes you out of the way to save you but, tragically, gets hit by the bus themselves, it doesn’t suddenly not count as an act of love and sacrifice if they survive. Tech dying is not what gives that moment in “Plan 99” weight. Tech’s love for his family does. Their love and grief for him does. All of that exists in that moment and will continue to exist when he comes back. Besides, Tech isn’t choosing to die; he’s choosing to get the people he loves out of there alive by taking a massive risk that could get him killed, and that difference matters. So. Anyway. I get why people make this argument, even if I really don’t like it.

4. Some fans are exhausted by fake-out deaths in Star Wars. Which. Okay, I get that, I actually don’t think “no body, no death” should universally apply, and there have been some badly done fake-outs in the last forty odd years. That said, fake-out death isn’t a bad trope on its own—it can be a very good trope—and should be considered on a case by case basis. And the fact that they’re putting all their energy into this specific one is. Hmm. But still. I get it.

5. Maybe getting into some unkind speculation here, but: Some fans (getting into the Reddit dudebro territory here (dudebro is being used here as a gender neutral term)) are still upset that The Bad Batch isn’t Republic Commando and they hate the fact that Tech’s “death” is very cleanly set up to be a fake-out in a “if it’s a fakeout, it’s immaculate; if it’s a real death, the writing here is abysmal” kind of way, so they’re lashing out by trying to will Tech’s death into existence in the hopes that it will turn the show into what they want it to be. The first four categories don’t really throw the word delusional around, from what I’ve seen. They think Tech is dead, but they don’t mind that other people don’t. This fifth category, though? This are where most of the “delusional” comments come from, as far as I can tell. I’m not sympathetic to this. At all.

6. Definitely getting into unkind bit of speculation, but I think it’s warranted: A tiny minority of assholes are still angry that autistic Bad Batch fans got to be happy about Tech being like us, and they’re using the idea of Tech dying as a way to bully fans who would be very happy to see Tech back because they’re miserable people who can’t stomach the idea of anyone who might be a little different from them enjoying anything. Or they’re just generally angry that anyone not them likes the character. These people can go suck it.

Again, this is all just based off of anecdotal evidence, so it’s probably not very accurate. But this is how it looks from my point of view.

Anyway, Tech and Phee would (will) be that hyper-competent adventure couple who would also absolutely awaken the ancient horrors on purpose on a bi-monthly basis.

[mishafletcher]

Are you a Gold Star lesbian? (Just in case you don't know what it means, a Gold Star lesbian is a lesbian that has never had the sex with a guy and would never have any intentions of ever doing so)

So I got this ask a while ago, and I've been lowkey thinking about it ever since.

First: No. I am a queer, cranky dyke who is too old for this sort of bullshit gatekeeping. 

Second: What an unbelievable question to ask someone you don't even know! What an incomprehensibly rude thing to ask, as if you're somehow owed information about my sexual history. You're not! No one—and I can't reiterate this enough, but no one—owes you the details of their sex lives, of their trauma, or of anything about themselves that they don't feel like sharing with you.

The clickbait mills of the internet and the purity police of social media would like nothing more than to convince everyone that you owe these things to everyone. They would like you to believe that you have to prove that you're traumatized enough to identify with this character, that you can't sell this article about campus rape without relating it to your own sexual assault, that you can't talk about queer issues without offering up a comprehensive history of your own experiences, and none of those things are true. You owe people, and especially random strangers on the internet, nothing, least of all citations to somehow prove to them that you have the right to talk about your own life.

This makes some people uncomfortable, and to be clear, I think that that's good: people who feel entitled to demand this information should be uncomfortable. Refusing to justify yourself takes power away from people who would very much like to have it, people who would like to gatekeep and dictate who is permitted to speak about what topics or like what things. You don't have to justify yourself. You don't have to explain that you like this ship because this one character reminds you a bit of yourself because you were traumatized in a vaguely similar way and now— You don't have to justify your queerness by telling people about the best friend you had when you were twelve, and how you kissed, and she laughed and said it was good practice for when she would kiss boys and your stomach twisted and your mouth tasted like bile and she was the first and last girl you kissed, but— 

You don't owe anyone these pieces of yourself. They're yours, and you can share them or not, but if someone demands that you share, they're probably not someone you should trust.

Third: The idea of gold star lesbians is a profoundly bi- and trans- phobic idea, often reducing gender to genitals and the long, shared history of queer women of all identities to a stark, artificial divide where some identities are seen as purer or more valuable than others. This is bullshit on all counts.

There's a weird and largely artificial division between bisexuals and lesbians that seems to be intensifying on tumblr, and I have to say: I hate it. Bisexual women aren't failed lesbians. They're not somehow less good or less valid because they're attracted to [checks notes] people. Do you think that having sex with a man somehow changes them? What are you so worried about it for? I've checked, and having sex with a man does not, in fact, make your vagina grow teeth or tentacles. Does that make you feel better? Why is what other people are doing so threatening to you?

Discussions of gold star lesbians are often filled with tittering about hehe penises, which is unfortunate, since I know a fair few lesbians who have penises, and even more lesbians who've had sex with people, men and women alike, who have penises. I'm sorry to report that "I'm disgusted by a standard-issue human body part" is neither a personality nor anything to be proud of. I'm a dyke and I don't especially like men, but dicks are just dicks. You don't have to be interested in them, but a lot of people have them, and it doesn't make you less of a lesbian to have sex with someone who has a dick.

There's so much garbage happening in the world—maybe you haven't noticed, but things are kind of Not Great in a lot of places, and there's a whole pandemic thing that's been sort of a major buzzkill? How is this something that you're worried about? Make a tea, remind yourself that other people's genitalia and sexual history are none of your business, maybe go watch a video about a cute animal or something. 

Fourth: The idea of gold star lesbians is a shitty premise that argues that sexuality is better if it's always been clear-cut and straightforward—but it rarely is. We live in a very, very heterosexist culture. I didn’t have a word for lesbian until many years after I knew that I was one. How can you say that you are something when your mouth can’t even make the shape of it? The person you are at 24 is different to the person you are at 14, and 34, and 74. You change. You get braver. The world gets wider. You learn to see possibilities in the shadows you used to overlook. Of course people learn more about themselves as they age.

Also, many of us, especially those of us who grew up in smaller towns, or who are over the age of, say, 25, grew up in times and places where our sexuality was literally criminal.

Shortly after I graduated high school, a gay man in my state was sentenced to six months in jail. Why? Well, he’d hit on someone, and it was a misdemeanor to "solicit homosexual or lesbian activity", which included expressing romantic or sexual interest in someone who didn’t reciprocate. You might think, then, that I am in fact quite old, but you would be mistaken. The conviction was in 1999; it was overturned in 2002.

I grew up knowing this: the wrong thing said to the wrong person would be sufficient reason to charge me with a crime.

In the United States, the Defense of Marriage Act was passed in 1996, clarifying that according to the federal government, marriage could only ever be between one man and one woman. It also promised that even if a state were to legalize same-sex unions, other states wouldn't have to recognize them if they didn't want to. And wow, they super did not want to, because between 1998 and 2012, a whopping thirty states had approved some sort of amendment banning same-sex marriage.

Every queer person who's older than about 25 watched this, knowing that this was aimed at people like them. Knowing that these votes were cast by their friends and their families and their teachers and their employers. 

Some states were worse than others. Ohio passed their bill in 2004 with 62% approval. Mississippi passed theirs the same year with 86% approval. Imagine sitting in a classroom, or at work, or in a church, or at a family dinner, and knowing that statistically, at least two out of every three people in that room felt you shouldn't be allowed to marry someone you loved.

Matthew Shepard was tortured to death in October of 1998. For being gay, for (maybe) hitting on one of the men who had planned to merely rob him. Instead, he was tortured and left to die, tied to a barbed wire fence. His murderers were both sentenced to two consecutive life terms in prison. This was controversial, because a nonzero number of people felt that Shepard had brought it upon himself.

Many of us sat at dinner tables and listened to this discussion, one that told us, over and over, that we were fundamentally wrong, fundamentally undeserving of love or sympathy or of life itself.

This is a tiny, tiny sliver of history—a staggeringly incomplete overview of what happened in the US over about ten years. Even if this tiny sliver is all that there were, looking at this, how could you blame someone for wanting to try being not Like This? How can you fault someone who had sex, maybe even had a bunch of sex, hoping desperately that maybe they could be normal enough to be loved if they just tried harder? How can you say that someone who found themself an uninteresting but inoffensive boyfriend and went on dates and had sex and said that it was fine is somehow less valuable or less queer or less of a lesbian for doing so? For many people, even now, passing as straight, as problematic as that term is, is a survival skill. How dare you imply that the things that someone did to protect themself make them worth less? They survived, and that's worth literally everything.

Fifth, finally: What is a gold star, anyhow? You've capitalized it, like it's Weighty and Important, but it's not. Gold stars were what your most generous grade school teacher put on spelling tests that you did really well on. But ultimately, gold stars are just shiny scraps of paper. They don't have any inherent value: I can buy a thousand of them for five bucks and have them at my door tomorrow. They have only the meaning that we give them, only the importance that we give them. We’re not children desperately scrabbling for a teacher’s approval anymore, though. We understand that good and bad are more of a spectrum than a binary, and that a gold star is a simplification. We understand that no number of gold stars will make us feel like we’re special enough or good enough or important enough, or fix the broken places we can still feel inside ourselves. Only we can do that.

The stars are only shiny scraps of paper. They offer us nothing; we don’t need them. I hope that someday, you see that, too. 

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[finelinevogue]

Can you write something about when Harry and Y/N broke up but fans speculate that they got back together and they did get back together. They broke over something stupid, please. You don’t have to do this exactly it can be something like that.

let’s see how this turns out! hope it’s what you wished for?!

The last few months had been rough.

What had started as rumours of a breakup between everyones favourite couple, you and Harry, had turned into an actual breakup.

It had started by Harry spending more time with Olivia, due to press for Don’t Worry Darling. They were always hanging out with each other, even when there was no publicity stunt telling them to. You found it appropriate at first, wanting the movie to gain some form of reputation, but after a while you believed it turned South. It was becoming a definite friendship and not just because they had to. It was the way that Harry would bring Olivia over for dinner without checking with you first, or taking the dog for a walk with her not you, or even staying longer out on stunts than they needed to just because they wanted to.

So you challenged Harry on it. Hell, even the tabloids were challenging you both - claiming Harry had split from you for Olivia. You made him question whether he thought his actions were irresponsible and appropriate or not, to which he thought there was nothing wrong and thought you were being irrational. You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, only to find him later on the phone speaking to Olivia about how crazy you’d been acting about it all. So you showed him crazy and walked out.

Until today.

For over a half a year your sister had her wedding planned and Harry was supposed to be your guest. You were nervous about turning up without him, because your family were very judgy. Your sister couldnt help being the smarter and the prettier one, but she also didn’t have to parade it around so everyone knew of it. Your mum and dad thought you a disappointment for the longest time, but once you’d gotten a job and had moved out they were a bit more loving over you. Still didn’t hide the fact they desperately hoped for you to have a relationship. It wasn’t that you were bringing Harry along to prove that someone loved you, but more to prove that they would never fully be satisfied whether you had a boyfriend or not. There would always be a podium stand slightly lower for you to stand on.

However, they didn’t know about the breakup.

“Y/N, nice to see you. Where’s Harry?” Another guest asked you, relatives of your mum. It was the same question over and over again, no one really caring about how you are but instead whether you’re in a positive relationship.

“Oh um I think he’s just running a bit late.” Was your chosen answer to respond to said question. It was repetitive, but it kept people off your back.

The wedding was completely beautiful. It was in a beautiful church and was decorated to perfection. The theme was white and royal blue, something your sister had always dreamed of. Children played amongst the pews and family relatives mumbled to each other about gossip. There was still a heavy sadness to the event. Maybe it was because your sister hadn’t asked you to be a bridesmaid - instead, choosing her best friends instead - or maybe it was because you missed Harry so much.

He’d fucked up. He really had, but it didn’t take away that burning passion for him that spread like a wildfire in your belly. You missed him. You still loved him. Worst of all, you had to pretend everything was all alright in front of your family when actually you were breaking apart inside.

Harry hadn’t messaged saying that he was or wasn’t coming, but after everything that had happened you were confident he was going to be a no show, and you would be the embarrassment of the family once again. Your relationship had been very private and exclusive, but Harry’s fans were so investigative you wouldn’t be surprised if they knew that you’d broken up and were aware that you were at a wedding today without him. Neither of you had made a public statement about your breakup, but neither of your wanted to damage each other even more. Fans suspected though and rumours travel fast.

“Y/N how are you doing? How’s Harry?” Another aunt came and asked you, this time with your mother in tow.

“Oh he’s great, yes.” You smiled forcefully, not actually having a clue how your ex-boyfriend was doing. You didn’t keep up with his social media because you were afraid of what you might find.

“Where is he? Is he here?” Your aunt asked.

“He’s late, apparently.” Your mother answered for you, sneeringly. “You’ll be made a fool of if he’s a no show Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I hope everything goes well for you both.” Your aunt kindly said, before waiting for your mum to say something nice too. That was a mistake though.

“Well it’s unlikely she’ll find someone again!” Your mother laughed and pulled your aunt away from you. You furrowed your eyebrows and let your heart sink low.

What were you thinking, letting Harry go like that? Your mum was right, you were never going to find anyone else again. You were so lucky with Harry. He was so kind and so patient with you, but obviously he’d run out of steam towards the end. It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always been told you’re a mighty handful and you need a lot of work put into looking after you, so you understand why you were probably too much for Harry. The showbiz life had never really been something you’d completely submerged yourself into, whereas you guess for Olivia it was rooted in her from birth. She understood Harry’s world the same way he did hers. They would match perfectly for each other, if that’s what they wanted.

You watched the room continue as usual, but you couldn’t keep yourself here. There was too much sadness welling deep within you that you wanted to just run and then keep running. So you did, only to get as far as the bench in the front courtyard. The outside felt calmer and more freeing than inside, you sat and absorbed it for a while, not realising that you were crying until your pretty multicoloured dress had grown darker with a pool of your tears.

“Shit.” You tried rubbing the tears out, but only made you cry a little harder. You thought about your makeup running and tried to compose yourself, fanning your face to calm it down from the heat now.

“And here I was thinking weddings were supposed to be happy.”

You stopped fanning your face to look at him. You couldn’t believe he was standing there, dressed in a beautiful white suit and salmon pink shirt underneath to compliment the colours of your dress - the outfit that you’d helped him pick out over a year ago. He’d remembered. He trusted that you’d still be wearing this dress. He was a sight alright. A vision of beauty and love.

“Harry?” You questioned, wiping your under eyes to clear away any running mascara, not quite believing he was standing there.

“So what was it? Bad music playing? No vodka? Or maybe there’s nowhere for you to escape to go read the book I know you have stuffed away in your clutch bag.” He stood at a distance from you, hands in his trouser pockets, to make sure you were comfortable.

“I brought vodka instead of the book.” You chuckled, reaching into your clutch to prove it to him.

“Lucky for you, i’ve come to save the day.” Harry reached to the inside of his blazer pocket and pulled out a Kindle. You’d always been debating whether or not to buy one, because the feeling of having a book to turn its’ physical pages is a feeling second to none. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Harry handed it out to you and you stood up to reach for it hesitantly. Harry assured you that it was okay and that you’d been reading too many books if you thought it was a trap of some sort.

“Thank you, Harry.” You spoke sincerely. You stroked your thumb over the cover and turned the case lid over to start up the screen. The screen lit up and it was set to a picture of your favourite quote, annotated just as you would have in your own book. You chuckled and let a few tears drop from the kindness of all of this.

“And then…” Harry unlocked the Kindle with your birthday as the password, before clicking on the library so you could discover what was waiting for you on your virtual shelves. Harry had downloaded all your most favourite books, whilst also downloading the ones he knew had been on your to-be-read list. He’d even added a few of his favourite books too, just because you liked reading his recommendations.

You smiled, but felt so lost.

“W-why are you here, H?” You asked, closing the lid and bravely looking up into his enchanting eyes. You had to control yourself not to comment on how wondrous they looked.

“To save the day.” He chuckled in repeat, until he knew you weren’t taking that for an answer. “Because I fucked up. Big league time.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your shoes to see that they weren’t that far apart at all. He was so close to you, yet he wasn’t yours to catch.

“And i’ll never forgive myself for letting you walk out of that door. The promotion shit with Olivia? Done. I’ve finished. I explained that the movie isn’t as important to me as you. You,” Harry paused to breathe out, and took the risk of guiding your jaw up to meet your gaze with his soft hand, “you are real Y/N. You’re so important and key to my life and it bloody terrified me, still does actually, to think that you make me feel this way. I want everything with you. Marriage, kids, a home. A life. I was so worried I would screw it all up, though, to the point where I did screw it all up. I lost you and so I lost me. It’s selfish of me to ask whether any part of your heart still wants me, but—”

“Yes.” You quickly interjected before he could say something he’d later regret. “There is, yes.”

“R-really?” He stumbled over his response, not expecting you to react so soon but his words had got to you. His feelings were vulnerable and raw and it reminded you of how much you love him and feel safe with him.

“Why? Would you like me to say different.” You teased.

“No,” Harry rushed, stepping closer towards you, “God now. Stay, please. Forever, if you’ll have me?”

“I can deal with forever.” You leaned up to where his lips were, craving the taste of them against yours so badly. “Can I?” You looked between his lips and his eyes, watching his eyes coo in admiration of you. His arms snaked around your neck and cupped the back of your head, resting his ringed fingers against your skin delicately.

“You don’t have to ask, angel.” And with that you didn’t hesitate to reclaim your clips on his. He tasted as sweet and as soft as you could remember. The hint of mint sweets he kept in his car could be tasted all over his mouth, and he could no doubt taste the vodka on yours. He took no time in rushing to have his tongue exploring your mouth once mouth, biting on your lip when he got the chance to. He wanted you to remember this moment and how much love he has for you, and always will. Just as you do for him.

Hesitantly pulling away you smiled at him cheekily, feeling so much lighter and happier to have him here. With you in his arms so expertly.

“What?” He asked, leaving a quick kiss to your nose, inhaling his scent as he did.

“Just can’t believe you’re here.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he leaned into your touch so comfortably. He had missed you so damn much, and it showed.

“Let you down once before and I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“So you’d have shown up even if I hadn’t?”

“Not happily, but yes.” He laughed thinking about it.

“Why?” You laughed with him.

“I’ve got to make my impression on your family somehow. Need to remind some of them how amazing and beautiful their special Y/N L/N is.”

“Some are going to need a lot more persuading than others.” You sighed, side-frowning over your words.

“No offence, but anyone who doesn’t treat you as a fucking diamond doesn’t deserve you and should watch out for kick up their backside from me.” You laughed over his empty threat and buried your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat and rumble of laughter that came from within. This moment alone felt like home. Safe and warm.

“I love you, H.”

“Bloody love you too.”

Harry ended up returning to the wedding with you, much to your mothers surprise, and you both enjoyed the celebrations together. You shut yourselves out from everybody and just danced, talked and drank the night away.

You were so in love.

Later, photos got leaked of the wedding and it showed you and Harry dancing away in one of the backgrounds of the photos. It was supposed to be a shot of just the bride and groom, but you two have managed to get caught in it. You looked so caught up in each other that you still weren’t even aware the photo had been taken. You and Harry had determinedly avoided the camera all night, exactly for this reason, but a part of you was kind of happy that this one photo got leaked, because it showed the world that Harry was yours and you were his. It showed that you were together, or back-together as addressed by some FBI fans, and that you were stronger for it.