#I mean... you have to be stupid enough to stand for that

[gurugirl]

DILF [3] | older!harry

→ MAIN MASTERLIST ← -- | DILF [1] | DILF [2] |

Summary: Y/n's been dating Harry for a couple of months but a few interactions make her wonder where they really stand. Harry makes sure she knows just how much she means to him.

A/n: They're back! Here, we pick up with them a couple of months after part 2.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warning: age gap, smut, self-doubt, slight angst, a couple of awkward interactions with women in Harry's past

. .

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, feeling the clay slip between her fingers again as he guided her hands from behind.

Harry’s quiet laugh brushed warm against her neck. “Maybe. But watching you struggle is adorable.”

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He was close enough that she could see the faint gray threading through his hair at the temples, close enough that she could feel his body against her back. God, he smelled good, he always did. The extra effort he consistently put in for her did not go unnoticed.

“You know, when you said you were taking me somewhere different, I had no idea it would be so…” she glanced down at the sloppy spinning mound between their palms, “…messy.”

He grinned, his big hands steadying hers. “Thought you’d appreciate something that wasn’t just dinner and drinks this time.”

“I do,” she admitted, voice a little softer. “It’s just… hard to look cute with mud under my nails.”

Harry turned his face, his mouth near her ear. “You always look cute. Even when you're messy.”

Heat shot straight up her neck. She tried to focus on the lump of clay, but his palm was spread over hers, warm and steady, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d touched her the last time they were together, the Thursday before (though that night was spent just in her apartment and mostly in her bed).

“Careful,” she said quietly. “You’re going to make me mess it up again.”

“It’s already ruined,” he teased, nodding at the uneven lip of the bowl. “But you’re trying. That’s what counts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed put. She was having a lot of fun, even if she was awful at pottery work. He'd promised her that they'd actually go out and do something fun this time. She liked it. Liked that he’d planned this as an actual date, not just another excuse to get her into bed. Which part of her worried about, with any guy, not just him.

His hands left hers, and she turned, watching him move away to pick up a rag.

“Let’s call it a masterpiece,” he said, wiping his palms on a towel. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good.” He met her gaze, soft and lingering. “I want to feed you. Then I want to take you home.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. She wiped her hands clean and tried to pretend her cheeks weren’t burning. But when he took her coat off the back of the chair and held it out for her, she didn’t bother hiding her smile.

The sidewalk was slick from an earlier drizzle, the streetlights turning every puddle into a scattering of gold and red reflections. Y/n felt almost weightless when Harry laced his fingers through hers as they walked. She was still getting used to him.

It was stupid how much it meant, that simple gesture. That he’d hold her hand like that in public, like he wasn’t even thinking twice about it. It felt good, being with him. Easy. Like they’d done it a hundred times already.

Harry glanced down at her as they reached the corner. “You cold?”

“No.” She smiled, leaning closer just because she could. “I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hand lightly, and they turned the corner toward the little restaurant entrance, golden light spilling out onto the sidewalk. That was when the woman stepped into their path. Pretty. Sleek dark coat. High-heeled boots that clicked confidently against the pavement.

Harry slowed, his hand loosening from around Y/n’s.

“Harry?” the woman said, her eyebrows lifting in polite surprise.

Y/n blinked up at her, thrown by the way he'd let go of her hand and in the way she was looking at him.

“Sloane,” Harry said evenly.

Sloane’s gaze slid to Y/n, and for a split second, something sharp flickered behind her eyes before her expression smoothed over. “Crazy running into you here.”

Y/n felt the question rising in her throat—Who is this?—but before she could ask, Sloane smiled, all polite curiosity.

“And… you are?” she prompted, looking at Y/n directly.

“I'm Y/n,” she said, glancing from Sloane to Harry.

“Y/n.” Sloane nodded slowly, lips pressing together. "Let me guess… You're his niece? The one from out of town?"

Her brows pinched together as she glanced up at Harry. She didn't even realize he had a niece. That wasn't something they'd discussed yet.

Harry’s jaw ticked. “She’s not my niece.”

“Oh.” Sloane let out a small, surprised sound, her gaze swinging back to Y/n. “I see.” She paused, studying her for an extra beat, eyes scraping over her frame, before her lips curved again. “Sorry. Just… you look so young. It threw me off. Surely this isn't some kind of date…”

Y/n swallowed, trying to ignore the flush climbing her throat. “I’m not that young.”

"This is a date, actually," Harry said.

Sloane hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well. That’s nice, Harry.” She flicked her eyes toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I didn’t know you were into…”

Harry’s brows lifted. “Into?”

Sloane waved a hand, dismissive, a laugh trickling from her throat. “Oh, you know. Younger women. It’s sweet. Keeps you young, too, I suppose.”

Y/n opened her mouth, then shut it, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “We’ve been seeing each other, a while.”

“Have you?” Sloane’s gaze sharpened, yet somehow her expression was still pleasant. “Aww, cute. How long?”

Y/n didn't appreciate the condescending tone.

Harry’s voice was even. “About two months now.”

Sloane blinked once, the only crack in her practiced composure. “Two months,” she repeated softly. “Well. That explains it, I guess.”

“Explains what?” Y/n asked, before she could think better of it.

Sloane’s smile thinned. “Nothing. Just… a bit of confusion about why our plans fell through about two months back.” She turned her eyes to Harry again. “I imagine this is why you cancelled on me?”

Harry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

For a moment, no one spoke. A car crawled past, headlights sweeping over the three of them in a long, uncomfortable arc.

Sloane’s polite tone returned like a switch had been flipped. “Anyway. I won’t keep you. Enjoy your evening.”

She gave Y/n a final, assessing look that somehow made her feel like she was standing there in a too-short skirt and borrowed shoes, even though she knew she looked fine.

Then Sloane turned and walked off, her heels tapping briskly down the sidewalk. Harry let out a quiet exhale. Y/n didn’t look at him. Her pulse was beating hot in her ears.

“Y/n,” he said gently.

She shook her head, voice tight, eyes focused on the restaurant. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I can tell you're upset.”

“I said it’s fine.”

When she finally forced herself to look at him, his expression was serious, eyes searching hers. His hand closed around hers again, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside.”

She let him guide her to the door, but the heat in her chest didn’t fade. And she couldn’t stop hearing Sloane’s voice in her head, all honeyed sweetness over something sharp.

You look so young. It’s sweet. How cute.

The hostess led them to a small table near the window, the soft glow of string lights overhead doing nothing to ease the tight knot in Y/n’s chest. She wasn't jealous… Not of Sloane. Though the fact that she knew something about a niece who lived out of town while Y/n didn't, felt strange. It was the first time she'd felt so out of place next to Harry since they'd started dating.

Harry pulled out her chair for her, but she sat without meeting his eyes. When he took the seat across from her, she could feel him watching, even as she pretended to study the menu.

A beat passed. Then another. “Y/n,” he said quietly.

She kept her eyes on the drink list. “Hmm?”

“You sure you're okay?”

“I am.” She flipped a page, ignoring how her voice trembled just annoyingly. “I'm fine.”

His brow creased. “Something's got to you.”

She forced a small smile as she finally looked back up at him, though it felt thin on her face. “Can we not do this here?”

He watched her for another long moment before nodding once, settling back in his chair. “All right.”

She hated how relieved she felt when he didn’t push. She needed to get her thoughts in order anyway before they talked it out. But the reprieve only lasted until the server came to take their order.

Harry asked for a steak and a glass of red. She ordered pasta she knew she wouldn’t eat much of, her stomach already in knots. She was being silly. Or… maybe she wasn't.

When the server left, Harry folded his arms on the table, studying her. “You know she doesn’t matter. Right?”

Y/n traced the rim of her water glass with her fingertip.“I’m aware.”

His voice softened. “Then why are you acting like something bad just happened between us?”

She huffed a quiet, humorless laugh, eyes still fixed on her glass. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just…” She stopped, shaking her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

“It’s nothing, Harry. Can we please just not?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He shifted back when the food arrived, thanked the server, and set into his meal without comment. He was frustrated, made obvious by the tension pouring from the set of his shoulders.

She pushed pasta around her plate, appetite long gone. Her mind kept replaying Sloane’s voice, the way she’d looked at her like she was some novelty that Harry had picked up along the way. A temporary distraction.

You look so young. I didn't know you were into…

Why did Harry like her even? What did they really have in common? Was he one of those men who liked the younger ones? Easier to manipulate, someone with less experience who wouldn't give him too much lip? Y/n didn't feel like she was a pushover, but what if she'd gotten it wrong? Maybe he was just enjoying fucking a pretty young thing because he wasn't serious about their future.

When she finally glanced up, Harry was watching her steadily, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not eating,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, stuffing a forkful into her mouth and chewing as she raised her brows.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Y/n.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, softer this time, though she knew he didn’t believe it. She didn't believe it herself. But she didn't want to get into it at the restaurant in front of everyone. She'd come out looking like the dumb young girl who was overreacting.

They finished in tense silence, her fork barely touching the food again, other than a few mouthfuls to prove that she was eating something. The only sounds were the muted clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation from other tables.

When the check came, Y/n offered her card, but Harry waved her off and paid without comment. He stood and held her coat out for her, but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Outside, the night felt colder than before. She kept her hands stuffed in her pockets instead of reaching for him. Harry didn’t say a word as they walked the short block to where he’d parked. He unlocked the car, stepped around to open her door, and waited while she slid in.

The moment he closed his own door and settled behind the wheel, she felt the hush of the car wrap around them. No music, no chatter from nearby tables, no reason left to keep pretending.

He didn’t start the engine. He just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Are you going to drive?” she asked, though her voice came out small.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said calmly, turning to look at her.

She shifted against the seat, pressing her palms over her thighs. “I told you. It’s silly.”

“Are you jealous of her? Cause you shouldn't be.”

“Harry…”

He turned his body toward her. The low light from the dashboard cut across his face, tracing the lines of tension around his mouth.

“I’m not taking you home like this,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not. You're upset about something.”

A knot tightened in her throat and she swallowed around it. “I'm not jealous, so you know. The issue is… It's… dumb.”

“Then humor me.”

She rubbed her thumb over the seam of her coat, trying to gather the mess of her thoughts into something she could say out loud. “It’s just… that woman.”

“Sloane.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated, eyes fixed on the dash. “I know it’s not about her, not really. But she—” Her voice caught, and she pressed her lips together.

“She what?”

“She looked at me like I was… like I was this stupid little girl you picked up for fun. At least that's how it made me feel.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know.” She forced herself to look at him. “I do know that. But it made me think… about the age thing.”

His expression didn’t change, but she felt the heat rush up her neck as she continued. “I mean… we’re at different places in our lives. You’ve got kids, an ex-wife… a whole history I’m never going to be part of. And me…” She let out a breath. “I’m just some… twenty-something who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

The confession hung there, raw and unpolished. She could feel her pulse hammering behind her ribs. The more she spoke, the dumber she felt.

Harry drew in a slow breath, his gaze steady on hers. “Is that what you think I see when I look at you?”

She didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure.

He reached across the console and covered her hand with his. “Y/n. If I wanted something easy… someone who didn’t have opinions or who was just here to make me feel young, I wouldn’t have come looking for you." He pushed out a laugh. "You're smart, outspoken, feisty… and to me, you and I get along really well. I don't really think much about the age difference.”

Her eyes burned. She tried to blink the heat away, but it didn’t help. “Then what is this? Because I…” She swallowed. “I really like you. And maybe that’s stupid, but I do. And I don’t know what this is to you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that her heart sank, sure she’d just made everything worse. Then he gave her hand the smallest squeeze.

“It’s not stupid. And it’s not nothing. You’re not nothing to me.”

She felt something crack in her chest, relief and fear tangling so tightly she couldn’t pull them apart. He seemed so sincere. It was in his eyes, in the way he seemed so sure of what he said. She let her eyes wander over the numbers on the clock on his dashboard briefly.

Harry’s voice softened. “Look at me.”

She shifted her gaze back up to his again

“I like you,” he said simply. “I like you more than I've liked anyone in a really long time. And it’s not about your age. It’s about you. Like, genuinely, Y/n. I like you.”

Her throat tightened, her voice a whisper. “I don't know what to think sometimes. Because I really like you. One of my friends even warned me not to get attached because chances were you'd regret this or decide you'd had your fun and be done. I want to prove that that's not true, but I don't know… After what Sloane said…”

His jaw flexed, and for the first time that night, something like anger flashed in his eyes. Not at her, but at the idea itself. “People like that don’t know shit about us. They'll see soon enough that we're solid.”

She blinked, a shaky laugh escaping before she could stop it. Her grin widened as his did.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand again. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to Sloane, not to your friends, not to me.”

“But I feel like I do.”

He nodded, as if he understood more than he was saying. “Then let's figure this out together. Yeah? Probably time to really sit down and talk about what this is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was tentative. Careful. But it felt gentle and hopeful.

Finally, he released her hand and started the engine. “All right,” he said, his voice low as he started up his car. “Let’s go back to mine and we'll talk about all this.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. She felt like her skin was still buzzing from the way he’d looked at her when he was talking, like she was something precious, not temporary. That was all she wanted, really. To be taken seriously.

When he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, neither of them moved for a second. He just looked at her, his big hand resting on the gearshift like he was still debating whether to say more but he didn't. He climbed out and came around to open her door (always the gentleman), and when she stepped out, he caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his.

“You believe me?” he asked, voice low.

She swallowed. “I do.”

His mouth twitched. “Okay. Good. We've still got more to talk about.”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. He flicked on the light over the kitchen and set his keys down. She hovered awkwardly by the counter, suddenly unsure what came next after her silly tantrum. Well, it wasn't really a tantrum, more like a moment of uncertainty and wavering confidence in what they were doing. What they were.

Harry turned to her, and for the first time all night, he looked uncertain too. Like he wasn’t sure if touching her would be the right thing. She hated that she'd made it weird.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“No,” she said softly. “I just… I think I need you to tell me what this is.”

He stepped closer. “What do you want it to be?”

She hesitated, searching his face as she shook her head. “I'm starting to have real feelings for you, Harry. I need to know we're on the same page. I want it to be something real.”

“It already is.”

Her breath came out in a wisp, and she opened her mouth to argue… she didn’t know why, maybe just out of stubborn habit, but he shook his head and cupped her jaw gently in his hand to keep her focus on him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “This isn’t casual for me. It hasn’t been for a while. I've got real feelings for you too, Y/n.”

She blinked, her heart fluttering so fast it almost made her lightheaded. “So what are you saying?”

He exhaled a slow, steadying breath, like he was working up to something.

“I’m saying…” he said, pausing as he took her hand and jutted his head toward the living room. "Let's go sit down."

She followed him to the couch, and just when she thought they'd both sit, he pulled her with him, dragging her into his lap and shifting them both until they were sitting together, looking at one another. He put an arm around her, his other hand on the top of her thigh.

“I've been thinking about it a lot, and I want you to be my girlfriend. If you want that too. Feels right to me.”

For a second, she couldn’t find her voice. All she could do was stare at him, her pulse thumping wildly in her ears. She gripped the side of his sweater in her fist and when she finally managed a breath, it came out thin. “Yes. I want that.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her before she could say anything else. It was different from the other times. Like he was sealing something between them. Like a handshake but far sweeter.

She slid her hands up to the front of his chest, and when he pulled back, she was smiling so wide it almost hurt.

“You look happy,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“I am,” she whispered.

“Good. That's what I want to see.”

He kissed her again, slow and sultry, his tongue sliding against hers, and she felt her body soften against his as all the tension she’d been carrying seemed to melt away.

When he finally pulled back, he moved his lips up to kiss her forehead. “Come on,” he said. “Need to make sure you understand how serious I am."

He didn’t rush her. Just led her down the hall with one big reassuring hand at the small of her back. When they reached the bedroom, he turned on the lamp on the dresser to fill the space with warm, honey-colored light. Then he faced her, quiet, searching her eyes as if he was giving her one last chance to change her mind.

She didn’t. She wouldn't. Harry was the man of her dreams, and if he was serious about all this… if he really wanted them to take their relationship to the next step, she was all in.

She stepped close and pressed her palms to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart under her hands. God, he was gorgeous and so nice. She didn't know why she ever had second thoughts about his intentions.

“You’re sure you want me as your girlfriend?” she whispered, a cheeky soft smile working its way up on her mouth. Despite her grin, her question was serious.

His lips curved, soft and reassuring. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her again. Long, unhurried, like he had all night to convince her she was all he wanted. She felt her body melt into his, her breath catching as he slid his hands down her sides, thumbs brushing over her hips.

When he pulled back, he started working the buttons on her coat that she'd yet to remove. It was slow and methodical, like every layer he plucked at was something he’d been waiting to see. A pleasure to shed each layer with the utmost care.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a whisper, sliding the coat from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “So fucking beautiful. And so smart. So good for me.”

Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, but he didn’t laugh or tease her, just helped her, undoing each one until she could push it over his broad shoulders. She smoothed her palms over the warm skin of his chest, feeling the way his breath caught when she touched him.

“You make me feel like…” She trailed off, a flush of embarrassment washing over her at the vulnerability of the moment.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like maybe this is real.”

He bent to kiss her jaw, his voice low and rough. “It is real, baby.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her top, before he pulled it over her head. She shivered nervously, and at the cool air as it touched her skin, but he was already smoothing his palms up her arms, steadying her.

He kissed her again, deeply, ravaging, and her knees went weak at the slow slide of his mouth against hers. When she whimpered, he groaned and pressed her back toward the bed.

“Lie down,” he murmured against her lips.

She sat and then lowered down, her breath coming in soft little gasps as he followed her onto the mattress, bracing himself over her on his forearms. His eyes roved over her face as his chest rose and fell heavy.

“So pretty,” he said.

She puffed out a bashful laugh.

He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, taking his time, not hurrying to get her naked all at once. His big hand slid up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

“I want you to know how serious I am about you. Want you to feel it,” he said against her skin.

“You already showed me,” she breathed.

“Not enough.”

He kissed his way down her belly, pausing at the waistband of her skirt, and looked up at her. She watched him move his hands up her thighs, pushing the material up over her hips, revealing her thin underwear. He pressed kisses to every inch of skin he uncovered.

When he settled between her thighs, she gasped, one hand flying to his hair.

“Harry—”

“Shh.” His voice was husky. “Just let me take care of you.”

His mouth found her through her panties, warm and unhurried, his tongue stroking over the damp fabric until she was trembling. He moaned into the soaked cloth and lifted to look up at her.

She clocked that cocky grin on his face as she hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her waistband. "Love getting you messy."

Biting her lip, she watched as he pulled her skirt off and then finally removed her thong, dragging it down her legs slowly. He took his time, kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs, breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough.

He started easy and slow, flicking his tongue over her clit in steady, teasing strokes. When she whimpered, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right until her hips were lifting up off the mattress.

If there were things about Harry that she could brag on (there were many), one of them was that his cunnilingus game was on point. She'd never slept with anyone as good as him in general, but the way he could make her come with his mouth?

“Look at me,” he rasped.

She forced her eyes open, and the moment their gazes locked, the heat that had been building finally broke as he sucked her clit into his mouth and dragged his fingertips into that gooey, mushy spot inside of her that made her brain melt. She came with a soft, broken cry, her body shaking under his mouth.

He didn’t stop until she was squirming, fingers pumping, tongue swirling, and she was too sensitive to take any more. Only then did he kiss his way back up her body, his lips soft and warm against her skin.

She caught his face in her hands when he reached her, kissing him hard, tasting herself on his tongue. Her heart was pounding wildly from everything. Not just the orgasm, but also because of the talk they'd had. They were official. They were real. This was real.

“Need you,” she whispered. “Please.”

His breath shuddered out. “Yeah?

She nodded quickly and watched him as he shifted, removing his pants and then his underwear. He reached over to grab a condom from his nightstand. She sat up and helped him roll it on, her hands shaking with urgency to feel him inside of her.

He grinned at how excited she seemed to be. Yanking her thighs and pulling her against him, he leaned over her and kissed her slowly, only to feel her writhing under him impatiently.

He laughed. "What's the rush? I just made you come and you're already acting like you haven't even been touched?"

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hips. "You're my boyfriend now. Want to feel what it's like to have my boyfriend fucking me."

He moaned, hands dragging down her arms and then over her breasts before he pushed her thighs further apart. He tilted his gaze down between her legs, where his cock was hanging just over her. She felt him slide his thumbs down to her slick labia and then he pulled, opening up her hole to get a good view of where he was about to be buried.

"You drive a hard bargain, honey. You sure you're ready to feel it?" He grinned, eyes moving up over her body, scraping over the tops of her tits and up to her face.

She nodded. "Yes. Right there where your fingers are. Push your big cock in there, Harry."

Y/n was vibrating with need as he massaged just around her entrance, his fingers sliding around her pussylips slowly and pulling them apart again before he finally lined himself up with her.

With his thumb gliding over the pulsing hood of her clit he pressed his tip just past her tight muscle, and she inhaled sharply at the stretch (she always had to brace herself for that initial plunge). Harry cooed softly, halting his thrusts as he rubbed circles into her, watching her pretty bud shift under his thumb and the way her wet pussy was wrapped just around his tip.

When he was satisfied that she was ready for more, he shifted into her again, pressing more of his impressive girth deeper, spreading her open slowly.

"My girlfriend…" he said in a voice that couldn't even be considered a whisper. She almost didn't hear it. Y/n reached out to take his free hand, moving his grip from her thigh to thread their fingers together.

"Yes, your girlfriend."

With their eyes fixed, he buried in until his pelvis was pressed into her clit. Both of them reeling from the intimacy of it. And somehow, it felt different. It wasn't just sex. It was something bigger than just sex.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her free hand bracing his shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, just watching her face.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “So good.”

He groaned and began to move, slow and deep, every thrust measured. It felt so good every time they fucked, but this time was even better. Her insides ached around his cock as he dragged in and out languidly. She felt like he was trying to prove something with every careful slide of his body against hers.

And maybe he was. Maybe he wanted her to understand just how much she meant to him. How committed he was to her and only her. He'd do anything it took to get her to see she wasn't just some phase, some easy girl he could control… It was never that with him.

He rocked into her, lowering his chest enough that she could feel the sweep of his chest hair over her nipples. His lips brushed over hers as he panted. "Y'my girl, Y/n… Gonna make sure you know I mean it."

She moaned, sliding her fingers up against the back of his neck to pull his mouth down against hers. He flexed his fingers against hers, their hands still grasped together as he fucked in deep.

The sound of his length gliding through her was wet and filthy, lined by their moans and the soft plapping of skin together. Her body wrapped around him, little muscles flexing over his cock as he stuffed into her, lips and tongues moving together… it was all bringing them both to their end rapidly.

He felt her tensing under him. Pushing in as deep as he could go, until her body was shuddering and she was gasping, he ground into her when she came. The pulsing of her walls on him had him sucking in a sharp breath and pressing his forehead to hers when her lips were no longer moving with his. Her soft gasps mingled with his low groans, and then it was his turn.

His movements were harsher, faster, as he fucked in. Sweat formed over his chest as he braced himself for his orgasm. He drove into her, hips pumping until finally he was coming, buried in tight and throbbing as he filled his condom.

"Fuck…"

After, he didn’t pull away. Just stayed close, kissing her cheeks and her mouth, his hand stroking her temple until her breathing slowed and she finally opened her eyes. He was smiling down at her. A soft expression, gentle, full of feeling and warmth

“Told you I was serious,” he said.

She smiled, her heart thudding. “I believe you.”

.

The morning sun spilled across the kitchen floor, catching on the steam curling up from her mug. Y/n tugged the hem of Harry’s soft old t-shirt lower over her bare thighs and shifted on her stool, trying not to grin like an idiot but failing miserably.

It was hard not to with him standing across the counter in just a pair of sweats, hair still messy from her fingers not long before.

He poured more coffee into her mug, even though she hadn’t finished the first. “What're you smiling about?” His grin gave away that he already knew.

She shrugged, wrapping her palms around the warm ceramic. “You.”

“Oh yeah? Like that I make you smile so big.” He reached over and tugged gently at the sleeve of her borrowed shirt. “This looks better on you.”

“Better than on you?” she teased.

He leaned over the counter, close enough that she could smell the faint clean musk of his skin. “Much better,” he said, voice low.

He sank over her skin. She was about to say something stupid, something mushy she’d definitely regret admitting out loud, when the doorbell rang.

Harry straightened, brows pulling together in confusion.

“Expecting someone?”

“No.” He glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “I'll find out who it is. Be right back.”

Her pulse ticked up as he walked to the front door. She couldn’t hear what was being said at first, just the low rumble of his voice. Then another voice, higher in pitch, a little sharp, feminine: “—and I just thought I’d drop by since you didn’t answer your phone.”

Y/n’s heart thumped harder. She knew without even seeing who it was. And god, she wasn't ready for this yet. She took another sip of her coffee, ears straining to listen as she moved from the stool and stepped toward the living room mindlessly.

Harry’s reply was quiet, but it didn’t hide the tension. “All right. Everything okay?”

“No. I wanted to talk about Riley. And about next weekend. But—”

The woman’s voice cut off, and Y/n realized too late that she’d stepped halfway into view, mug clutched to her chest like a shield.

Harry’s ex was tall, polished, her hair perfectly done, even this early. She turned her eyes on Y/n and took her in with one slow, measured glance.

“Oh.” Her mouth curved, though it wasn’t exactly a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

Y/n swallowed, acutely aware she wasn’t wearing pants. “Hi,” she managed, her voice embarrassingly small.

Harry’s hand lifted, almost like he was going to reach toward her, but he stopped himself. “This is Y/n. Y/n, this is Colette… the kids' mom.”

“Y/n,” his ex repeated, lips pressing together. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Y/n echoed, trying to ignore the heat climbing her cheeks.

The silence stretched between the three of them, brittle and awkward. She was kicking herself for having stepped toward the living room. She should have just stayed put, but what was done was done, and now she was staring at the woman Harry had once been married to. The mother of his kids.

His ex shifted her gaze back to Harry. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “I wanted to go over Riley’s behavior. Her teacher has said she’s been acting out again, and I don’t want it escalating before next weekend when you get them.”

“Of course,” Harry said, his jaw flexing. “Let’s—”

His ex lifted a brow, flicking her eyes pointedly to Y/n. “Maybe we can talk privately?”

Y/n’s face went hot. “I’ll, um… just—” She gestured vaguely toward the hallway and retreated before she could finish the rest of her sentence.

In the bedroom, she set her mug down on the dresser. God, she felt stupid. She was an intruder in someone else’s life… someone with kids, an ex, responsibilities she couldn’t even begin to understand.

She perched on the edge of the bed, fingers knotting in the hem of the t-shirt, and tried to breathe, to calm herself a little. This was part of the deal; she'd have to get used to the occasional run-in with his ex. She just hadn't been prepared for it.

It felt like forever before the front door finally shut again and Harry's footsteps padded down the hallway. When he stepped into the bedroom, he didn’t look annoyed. He looked tired, but the second his eyes landed on her, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the room.

“Sorry,” she blurted, before she could stop herself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Or interrupt. Or—”

“Stop.” He crouched in front of her, big hands bracketing her knees. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyes darted to the door, then back to him. “She hates me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “She doesn’t even know you.”

“She hates that I’m here,” she insisted, voice cracking as she looked down at the lack of clothing she had on. “That I’m… like this. Prancing around in your t-shirt while she's—”

His thumbs brushed slowly over her thighs. “She can think whatever she wants.”

“She’s the mother of your kids, Harry. I want to make a good impression. I think I just blew it.”

“You're overthinking it. And you’re my girlfriend.” His voice was steady. “You have every right to be here. She'll get used to seeing you around.”

She swallowed. “I just don’t want to make everything harder.”

His hands slid up to her hips, pulling her closer so he could press his forehead to her sternum. “You’re not. You’re not making anything harder. You make everything better, in fact. Don't stress about this, baby.”

She let her fingers drift into his hair, holding him there. “Okay. Promise?”

He tipped his head back, looking up at her. “I promise. I wouldn’t have asked you to be mine if I weren't ready for all of this.”

Her chest squeezed so tight she thought it might break her ribs. “Okay,” she whispered.

He kissed the underside of her jaw. “You’re staying,” he said simply. “I want you here. Next time, I promise I'll introduce you properly. Was just caught off guard by her showing up like that."

She nodded. "Yeah. Hopefully next time we get a heads up so I can get dressed and make myself look presentable."

He laughed. "You're perfectly presentable just like this."

"I'm not. But thank you." She grinned.

"You good? I don't want you getting in your head about this. There's nothing to worry about."

"I know. You're right. I'm good, Harry."

He smiled, that slow, easy grin she was already addicted to. “Good.”

. .

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[bodhiscurls]

where do we go now? ( clark kent )

cause now i'm half of myself here without you. you're the best in my life and i lost you. it was one-sided hate how i hurt you. (by gracie abrams!) you don't know where he disappears to- there's always excuses: he's caught up at work, stuck in traffic, some stupid alien attack cut him up on his commute. but now more than ever when you need him to show up at a family dinner where you planned to introduce him to your parents, he still comes in pieces and enough is enough.

pairing: clark kent x fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, break up, no happy ending

he's not coming.

you smile sheepishly at your mother who sends you a small smile and she begins to start serving the mains. you've made it past appertisers, skipped out on the drinks and small talk, catching them up on work and laughing over memories- now you're entering dangerous uncertain territory and all you could do is sit and stare at the clock as the minutes passed by.

fourty three minutes have passed by.

your father tried not to shoot you a disapproving glance- it had taken so much work to warm him up to clark. don't trust those journalists, he said with that gruff tone in the same way he had told you to keep playing a sport even after graduating university or when he had changed the tires on your car- you don't blame him for worrying. you've never brought a guy home before so the bar was low.

lower than fourty three minutes late.

"i'm sure, he just got caught up late with work," you try though the words feel stale and your mother reaches out to place a hand on yours in comfort. its eight pm, you think. should the offices be closed by now? you have no idea.

"you are more than welcome to take some back for him," and your heart soars at the kind offer. though a thank you might cement the fact that he's stood you up on your own family dinner.

"he's coming, i'm sure. in fact, i'll just ring and see where he is," you stand shakily, embarrassment creeping up on your neck as you make your way to the stairs. and just as you suspect, he does not answer like he hadn't the past four times. a sigh escapes you and you know that after tonight, you won't have to keep feeling this way.

you and clark have been dating for six months- he occupies the apartment opposite yours and that's how you met. through laundry days and dinner dates, the two of you had started something slow and sweet at the beginning. it was like having sleepovers every single night and when you'd fall asleep in his big strong arms, nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. you probably spend more time in his than you do your own.

then the lies started to creep in; it started as an offhanded excuse for traffic, then he started "forgetting" date nights- being caught up at work. you knew nothing about the journalism world so gave him the grace he needed and it was so easy to fall back into routine, the small comfortable world you built when you weren't pushing an arguement. and the thing with clark was- he never played nasty, never said things he didn't mean in the heat of the moment. he was thoughtful, patient, let you get it all out then apologises- promising you're the centre of his attention, a sad cycle you've trapped yourself in.

the phone is warm in your hand, like a subtle burn to let you know its still there and you close your eyes. this dinner was important to you- its not often you visit your parents and tell them about the supposed love of your life to which they actually return interest. tonight they were supposed to be getting to know him, to love him the same way you had. if only he could show up.

the door knocks with heavy taps you'd know in any lifetime and you open it wearily.

"hey," comes his breathless greeting, a grin laced on his features, stretching his cheeks as he takes a step forward. he lands a kiss on your cheek sloppily and you don't find yourself leaning into it anymore. it comes and it goes as quickly as it did.

"hey," he loops a finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. "i am so sorry, this alien attack thing redirected my route like four times- i tried to get here as soon as possible," the words come out in a hurried breath and you furrow your brows, wondering if he's rehearsed this on the way here.

"doesn't matter, thank you for coming," you speak though theres no bite or tone in your voice, just weariness and fatigue of someone who's been let down too many times.

"wait, honey," and you don't grace him an actual reply, just a faint "not here," before tugging his hand in yours as you make your way to the dining room. you've hardly interlocked his fingers in yours, emptily holding his palm and letting go of it as soo as you meet your parents again.

your parents are mid laughter when they stop and spot clark, instantly rising to their feets to greet him. clark's bigger than most humans, instantly filling up the room with his body and his heart and he charms the pants off your parents.

he talks politics with your father, plays into your mothers gossip, tells jokes like all the times he's ran away it's to play stand up comedian and you hate how it just feels so perfect. "wow" your mother mouths across the room, sending you and exaggerated swoony smile and it does make you laugh softly. as if on reaction, clark's ears perk up at the sound, sending you a gentle smile and wrapping his hand under the table around yours.

you lean into his shoulder after the meal, needing to balance the weight before deciding to help your mother clear the table. the dishes you carry are swiped clear, clark clearly a fan of your mother's voice and when you land them in the sink with a gentle thud, you feel your mother's hands at your shoulders from behind you.

"darling," she murmurs and its ever so gentle that you can feel the tears gloss over your eyes. "i don't mean to judge but he seems incredible and all but," and you knew the but was coming, "what good can come from a man who loves you in pieces," her whisper cracks open your heart and lays it bare bloodied and bruised.

"mom," you whimper softly in her hold and she's instantly shushing you gently, rocking you back and forth in hug that holds you together firmly. it's not something you didn't know, it's just the first time someone has said it aloud to you and it hurts all the same

"i love him," you breathe, "and i know he loves me," you try.

"and sometimes it's not enough," she strokes your back in comfort and you look up to the ceiling, trying to force those tears back down.

"i know," you clear your throat and she lets you stay like that a little longer. when you return to the living room to find clark's heavy eyes on your figure and dinner wrapped up, you don't meet his gaze.

you kiss your mother and father on the cheek as clark shakes their hand firmly, wrapping your mother in a hug. they wave goodbye to you from the doorstep and watch you get into his car as clark shuts the door behind you.

the engine starts with a soft purr before he pulls out and starts the drive home. the quiet of the night entering your car as you both work your way around the elephant in the room.

he tells you about work to which you reply with nods and one liners and clark senses the shift like it's in the air suffocating him. he parks up on the side and you look around in confusion- this isn't the way home. you look over at him and for once in your life you don't actually know what to think about him.

"do you wanna tell me whats on your mind?" he speaks softly. too softly that it blurs the edges of the cuts he's left on you before and you almost faulter.

"nothing," you get out, because you don't actually know where to start.

"its not nothing if it's got you upset like this, baby," and when he sees you flinch at the pet name you used to adore his heart stills, missing a beat thundering in moment.

"it's you," and the beats stop entirely as he's stuck to the seat. you watch his expression, eyes begging him to just anything but he's stunned into a careful silence.

"it's me?" he asks slowly and you nod, the lump in your throat tightening your voice.

"i can't do this anymore, clark," and the first teardrop glistens in the dark as it falls. "there's only so much i can do, i've tried to hard to be patient- i, i, ah," you groan feel the rush of emotions overwhelm you, "i stretch myself to new limite to make room for all your lies and secrets and i'm breaking clark."

you look up from your lap, years wetting your lashes to face him honestly- he needs to know the damage he's done, "you don't even know what you do to me and it's unfair clark, it hurts," you try and wipe away the tears that fall but a new fresh batch that form and drop and before you know it, the mascara streaks a messy river down your face and you can't stop this.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing on the heavy rise and fall of his chest. he should've known that he was breaking you apart, that he hadn't given you the trust that this relationship needs to work but he's harbouring a secret that could put you in so much more danger if you knew.

but still he tries, "honey, we can fix this," comes an honest admission of stern determination and you pull back, recoiling in anger.

"there is no we, clark," you jab a finger at his chest, "we haven't been on the same team for a while, you've left me on a one vs one each time you disappear with some lame excuse and i have to convince myself that you're not lying or hiding that it's all okay- we," you repeat back to him in a scoff, "i've tried to fix this so don't demean me and dog me down with a 'we'." there's no room for clark to carry on before you're ranting again.

"you were late to family dinner," your voice lowers an octave in defeat- letting him know that tonight was the final straw. "you know how important this was to me, you're the first guy i've brought home and you made me look stupid- then you play happy home pretend like it's nothing and you make me feel stupid too- what kind of asshole does that?" you ask him. he gave you a glimpse of what the future could've looked like if he just let you all the way in and you hate him immensely for it.

"i'll cut back on work, we can spend more time together- i can fix this," he pleads but you shake your head softly.

"i'm done, clark. i think it's time we call it," you nod to yourself more than anything.

his reply comes as quick as it is stubborn, laced with firmness and the fear of letting the best thing happen to him go, "i dont want to."

"i need to." comes your desperate whine.

"but i love you-" and you wince because on any other night it's what would've made smile, laugh and melt into his embrace. now it stands outside the cage you're trapped in, molted into the key that's so close within your grip.

"and its not enough," you counteract, "not when its also determined through actions- when it doesnt come whole- when i get bits of you when you decide to show up like youre superman saving the day," you list off your fingers and clark momentarily stumbles at your comparison. you use it ironically and it being the cause of his relationship failing pricks at his heart, he can feel the migraine coming in already- the you sized hole he's unable to fill.

"relationships arent perfect they dont-" he stumbles and its clearly the wrong thing to say when you cackle loudly in irony.

"oh god i know! ours is far from perfect!" your voice grows a little quieter and settles an air of finality, "love isnt always easy clark, but it shouldnt have to be so fucking hard."

"im calling it now, before we lose more time to this and we wake up so miserable one day suddenly i don't know ten years down the line tethering ourselves to a feeling we thought was enough and i hate both you and me for staying. i'm not happy clark and i cant live like that- i refuse to live like that," you beg and he sighs in defeat.

"im sorry," he murmurs, unsure of what he could say. nothing can change your mind. he's fucked this up and there's no way out of this for him.

"thats nice to hear," you accept, unwilling to forgive him just right now when the feelings are still raw, fresh and tug at the seams of your mind. your fingers find your temples to massage the growing aches and you face the window- looking anywhere other than your doomed lover, "please take me home."

no words are spoken for the remainder of the journey back to your apartment complex. the faint murmurs of billy joel's "piano man" hum alongside the engine and for once it feels like the universe is on your side- there's no traffic for miles, green lights ahead and you get home within minutes. clark however, still gets out the car at lightning speed before you, almost knocking you over to open your door and walks a few steps behind your pace to make sure you get up to the level of your apartments okay.

the final nail in his coffin is when you turn the key to your own apartment door instead of his like you would usually do almost every night and shut it without so much as a look behind. he stands there, pressing his forehead to the cool wooden panel of your door and breathes in heavily.

"fuck," he sighs, the feelings of tonight weighing his body down that he stays there for a couple of minutes before heaving himself up and heading into his own. he however does take one look back behind him only to find nothing changed- the door still shut on him and the sounds of light switches clicking off.

he doesn't blame you one ounce for ending things- you're stronger than he is by miles but that doesn't mean he isn't going to miss you any less.

note: REDEEMING MYSELF AFTER THE LAST ONE GUYS ‼️ this one goes out to @velovicy here's a real break up / unhappy ending - no grovelling however because i do fear this one may be unfixable but i love me a bad ending sometimes and hope you liked it too - let me know what you all think! 💘 i love hearing what you guys have to say x

[adaine]

⁸⁴⁾ “are you sure you’re not mad at me?” + landoscar (or dealer's choice, if you're not vibing)

“Are you sure you’re not mad at me?” he hears Lando ask.

Oscar had thought he was alone by now. Silverstone’s over and the team’s gone to celebrate. He figured that if he napped in his driver’s room and waited a bit, he’d be late enough leaving the paddock that the only people he’d run into would be Alpine staff caught up in a late debrief.

He hadn’t expected to find Lando, half-asleep on a chair in McLaren hospitality instead of in a club somewhere partying.

“Why are you still here?” he asks. He doesn’t mean for it to come off as snippy, but he can see hurt in Lando’s furrowed brow.

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugs, not quite meeting his eyes. “Wanted to make sure we were good, I guess. You seemed off, after.”

No shit, he was off. The win was meant to be his, and it was torn from him by a stupid fucking penalty. And sure, Lando was the one to benefit off it and he’s nipping at his heels in the driver’s standing, but that doesn’t mean he’s the right target for Oscar’s frustration. He’s mature enough to see that.

“Well, I’m not mad at you,” he tells him.

Lando frowns. “I’m not sure that I believe you.”

He snorts. “It’s not your fault. If I start holding your wins against you, I reckon this whole growing old together thing wouldn’t quite pan out.”

“Romantic,” Lando jokes, reaching over to pat the chair across from him. “I suppose we should have a proper chat then.”

Oscar doesn’t want to talk about the race. He’s spent all night avoiding calls from Mark Webber, Logan, and his mum. That’s how much he does not want to talk about the race.

He finds himself sitting next to Lando anyway. It’s late, and he’s there, and he looks stupidly soft in an oversized team sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his curls.

“If I were going to be mad at anyone, it would be Max,” he tells him, hoping it’ll strike the tension from his shoulders. “He’s the one that can’t stop complaining on the radio.”

Lando perks up in interest. “Are you mad at Max?”

After thinking about it for a second, he shakes his head. “I’m mad at the stewards.”

“Lot of pricks, aren’t they?” Lando nods along.

“I don’t want to talk about the race,” he tells him finally. He can’t hash this out right now. “Except to say congratulations, I guess. It’s your home race. You shouldn’t be holed up in hospitality with me at half ten.”

“Well, I did fall asleep,” he defends. “Wasn’t just wringing my hands all night like a fucking idiot.”

He says it like he was wringing his hands all night like an idiot. Not that Oscar thinks he’s an idiot.

“So you didn’t eat?” Oscar asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Winning your home race at least calls for a nice meal.”

“Snagged a croissant that never made it off the catering cart.” He wrinkles his nose. “It was quite stale, actually. Totally not worth the empty calories.”

Lando won his home race in front of pretty much his entire family, and he’s been stuck here waiting for Oscar all night, while they’re probably waiting on him. He isn’t sure whether he should feel touched or guilty.

“Well, all I’ve had is half a protein bar,” he replies, cautiously chewing at his lip. “If you want to grab a kebab or something, I’m sure somewhere’s still open.”

The idea of the two of them just rolling into a kebab shop completely sober in the middle of the night is fucking hilarious, especially considering it’s bound to be packed with drunk racegoers, but it beats going back to the hotel, he figures, and this way he can at least buy dinner and pay Lando back for the trouble.

“Don’t think that’s what Jon had in mind when he gave me a pass on the meal plan for the night, but that sounds fucking mega right now.”

As they walk off towards the car park, a peace passes over them and it makes Oscar smile. It’s nice that they can be normal, even when it’s like this.

[ak319]

J.M x fem!reader ─ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦

ಇ. one-shot

Syno: The new ranch hand has caught your eye but that ain't escaping from your daddy's eyes. Based on this ask Warnings/MDNI: includes attempted kidnapping and fighting, lots of daddy daughter fluff, reader is underage (15 years old) gets injured, and a bit dramatic nd' spoiled ( idk how that's a warning tho lmao-but i wud be too if he was my dad) +++ wrote this ovulating--my daddy issues peaking bruh-wtf (I need to be cuddled badly)🤧😭 John's pic by Miranda. ✰ 3.8K ┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list

"Aye!? What're you slackin' around here for boy!?"

Eli nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice.

John Marston.

Also your daddy.

Shit.

"What? A man can't stand around pretending to sweep under his girl's window anymore?"- is what Eli would've said, if not for the 6-foot-tall, grumpy-as-hell employer staring him down like he could suck the soul right outta him with just his eyes.

"I-I was just cleaning the-"

"The what? Grass?!" John barks. "Go clean the stables. That's what I asked for."

"Yes, s-sir!"

And off the boy went, damn near sprinting. But John wasn't stupid. He glanced up just in time to catch the curtain swish shut at the last second.

This damn girl of his-

❀˖°

"But I didn't-! You're always angry at me, Daddy!" There you go, weeping again.

No, John. No. Don't let those tears fool you.

"Look---I know what you might be thinkin' at this age of yours, but that doesn't mean it's right! So take those thoughts outta your head! The only things you should be focused on right now are your schoolwork, ranch chores, or whatever your mama tells you!"

"You're never this restrictive with Jack!" you snapped.

From the dining table, your brother threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "Can't even enjoy my coffee in peace here.. Pa's right! It is different!" Jack was more bothered by the noise than anything.

"Jack don't go sneakin' off makin' eyes at some half-brained ranch hand. That's the difference."

You jerked away from Abigail's shoulder and wiped your tears as aggressively as you could.

You whipped around. "Admit it! He gets to stay out late, ride into town, talk to girls!"

John snapped. "He ain't fifteen and moonin' over some slick-haired rat with no respect."

"He has respect!"

"For who? Satan?"

You gasped like he slapped you. "I hate it here! I should run away and live with the goats. They listen to me!"

Abigail, who had been silently folding laundry sitting beside you, sighed heavily. "Oh Lord..."

You flopped dramatically against her, burying your face in her shoulder. "Mamaaa~ This husband of yours is ruining my life! I was finally happy for once! For once!"

John pointed a finger. "Quit your whining! Abigail make her understand! That boy ain't makin' you happy. He's makin' you stupid."

Abigail shot him a look. "John."

"What? She needs to hear it! You are making a fool of yourself and even us! Like in front of other ranch hands?---NEVER! You should be grateful they are decent folks, or otherwise, they would be telling the whole town about how their boss daughter is acting up-"

You sat up, wiped your tears with the grace of a Shakespearean widow, and glared. "FINE! If y'all are so worried about gossip, I'll just tell everyone that you- I don't know-- made someone pregnant!"

Jack choked on his coffee. "WHAT THE-"

Abigail gasped too, her jaw dropping. "(Y/N)! Have you gone insane! Don't you dare! That's your father you're talking about! Go to your room, now! Enough is enough!"

John looked livid. "Girl. You say that in public and I will build you your own barn to sleep in."

"You see?!" you shouted, arms flailing. "I can't even joke without getting exiled!"

Jack wiped his mouth and grumbled, "You made her spoiled. Both of you."

You didn't hear a damn word. You were already halfway to the stairs, stomping up with the fury of a wronged heroine in a dime-store novel. As you slammed the door to your room, John stared after you in silence. The house was finally quiet. "She gets that fire from you," Abigail mumbled, shaking her head.

"She gets the drama from you," John muttered back instantly regretting it.

"Excuse me?! Care to repeat that?"

Jack raised his mug tired as fuck by everything. "Next time y'all fight, can I go stay with Uncle Charles in Canada?."

❀˖°

You peeked out your window like a spy, squinting down at the yard to make sure the coast was clear. Finally. And then you saw him approaching, being cautious with every step. You smiled and waved at him, to which he responded with a flying kiss. That was your cue to commence what you were there for.

Throwing the letter.

Your father was nowhere in sight. Probably fixing something or yelling at Jack again. You took out the note and made sure it was sealed and whispered under your breath, as in a full prayer.

"Please don't land in the chicken coop."

And with that, you flung it out your window like Juliet sending Romeo a lifeline.

It fluttered through the air, graceful as anything, as Eli danced below to catch it perfectly, and he was about to--until it landed.......

.

.

.

.

.

directly at the boots of your father.

How--did he even spawn there?!

John looked up slowly, locking eyes with you through the open window. You tried to duck, but it was too late. You were caught red handed.

Nothing more than dead meat now. A. Dead. Girl. Walking.

He bent down, picked up the note, all the while as Eli struggled to breathe and find an excuse in the chilling silence. The note was unfolded it if he already knew what kind of nonsense lived inside.

His eyes scanned the paper and his jaw clenched. You watched in horror as his mouth moved, reading your words aloud in that low, dangerous voice of his. " I'll sneak out tonight… wait behind the stables when the moon's high'" You shrank back from the window with a squeak.

"Girl," he growled, "you better not be watchin' me read this, because if you are, you best believe you ain't steppin' foot outside this house 'til YOU ARE FIFTY! YOU HEAR ME!? NO, IN FACT, MAKE IT SIXTY!" As a matter of fact, everyone at the ranch did hear him. You slammed your window shut. Below, John crumpled the letter in one fist, muttering something under his breath something that probably wasn't fit for polite ears. Then he turned to...

Eli.

This son of a bitc-

Well, guess who is getting fired. "You were already outta line, boy," he said, voice low and lethal. "But this? Now you're outta chances." John tossed the letter at his chest like a lit match.

Eli tried to speak, stammered something about not meaning any harm, but the look on John's face could've made a grown outlaw drop his gun and run.

"You ever even look toward her again, or I see you 'round here, I'll bury you under the damn stables myself. Get lost! This instant!" By nightfall, the ranch was quiet. Eli was gone. And you?

Grounded, indefinitely. But you couldn't give up that easily-

You didn't even bother walking calmly down the stairs. No.

You stormed.

Each step thundered beneath your feet like you were summoning an earthquake, your fists clenched, eyes ablaze, and your hair wild from pacing in your room like a caged animal.

"YOU FIRED HIM?!"

John didn't even flinch. He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just ripped the one shred of romance from your hopelessly oppressed teenage life.

"Sure did."

"You had no right! That letter wasn't even that bad!"

"You were sneakin' out to meet a boy I already told you not to go near. Don't test me, girl."

You marched up to him, arms flailing."I hate this place! I hate you! You're just a big--grumpy--man-child with control issues-"

Abigail quietly exited the room, being a smart woman. John stood up slowly. "You're done, missy."

"I'm not done! I'm going to the sheriff-"

"You don't even know the sheriff's address."

"I'll find it!"

John didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing, and hoisted you over his shoulder with one arm.

"DADDY NO--NO, PUT ME DOWN!"

"You wanna act like a child, I'll treat you like one."

"I am not five years old! This is illegal! I KNOW MY RIGHTS!"

"You don't even know your lefts."

"MAAAA, TELL HIM THIS IS KIDNAPPING!"

From somewhere down the hallway, Abigail's voice echoed faintly. "You got yourself into this mess, sweetie. I'm sittin' this one out." You beat your fists weakly against John's back.

"This is inhumane! This is tyrannical!"

"This is parenting."

He pushed open your bedroom door with a kick, walked in, and set you down firmly on the bed. You scrambled up, ready to bolt, but the click of the lock on the outside of the door froze you in place.

"NO. DADDY?!"

"Yes."

"You locked me in?! Like an animal?!"

"Like a daughter with no damn sense."

You stood at the door, absolutely scandalized.

"I'm telling Aunt Sadie!."

"She'll say I shoulda done it sooner."

You screamed into your pillow as he walked away, muttering something about "damn boys" and "damn letters" and "damn daughters with too much imagination." And even though you were fuming…

A tiny, very annoying part of you knew you’d pushed it a little too far this time. But you'd never admit it. Not out loud.

❀˖°

The plan was simple. Or so you thought. It was something that Eli had told you in case if things take a turn like this. He told you an address, where you would be able to meet him. You were sure...he meant that just to meet one last time right? What's the harm?

You'd been pacing for hours after the door locked behind you, and when the clock hit eleven, you slipped out of your window like a ghost in a silk nightgown. The sack you carried was small but heavy, a velvet pouch of Mama's old earrings she'd saved for you, a few gold chains, and the emerald brooch you always said you'd wear on your wedding day.

It was romantic, okay?

You ran down the slope of the hill, breathing like you were in a storybook, like you were leaving your old life behind and walking into love. Except what waited for you was not love. Eli was there and you ran to him. He hugged you tightly. But something didn't feel right. You looked back and saw.... two other men marching up.

One was tall, built like a brick wall with a busted lip and a scar down his chin. The other had the twitchy eyes of a snake and kept tapping the handle of a knife on his belt. "E-Eli...who are the-y? I t-thought--" His grip loosened and he immediately snatched your bag, the one with jewels.

You froze and backed away. "Eli…?" your voice cracked. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Told you she'd come," he said, tossing a glance toward his friends. "Girl's soft as butter."

"What is this? Who are they!? And give that back!"

"They're just my friends.... here to make sure you ain't hidin' anything. This ain't personal."

Before you could run, the twitchy one grabbed you by the arm and held you.

"Let me go!" you screamed, clawing and kicking.

"Shut up," the tall one growled, and backhanded you so hard you hit the ground. Dirt scraped your cheek. You gasped, dazed, mouth filled with dust and fear.

"You little rich girls are always the same. Think you're smarter than your daddy. Ain't nothin' in your pretty little head but noise. Eli, what do you think? How much can we get from selling her, hm?"

They loomed over you. Eli didn't move an inch to defend you. "Oh, definitely lots of gold. And y'know what would be more priceless? Her absolute piece of shit daddy's reaction. That arrogant asshole needs to learn some manners."

"Don't you dare slander him! You all are not even worth the dirt on his shoes-" Eli kicked your stomach making you roll away and curl into a ball. You couldn't even cry. Your body was locked in shock, your voice gone hoarse.

And then-

BOOM.

One of the men dropped like a sack of meat, his skull splitting open from the force of the shotgun blast, making everyone freeze. A shadow moved from the trees.

John..

Rifle in hand, jaw locked, eyes dark and full of murder.

"Eli," he said slowly, "You piece of shit." The tall one lunged, and another shot rang out.

Then silence.

Eli tried to run.

John tackled the 17 year old so hard his body hit the ground with a crunch. He didn't speak. Just hit. Over and over. Fists like iron. Years of rage, fear, and fatherhood pouring into every blow.

"YOU-" crack. "TOUCHED-" thud. "MY-" crack. "GIRL." And another one....which signaled he...he ended it.

Killed--your dad just killed three people--

God, you feel like...passing out-

You lay trembling in the dirt, watching through swollen eyes as Eli lay motionless.

Piece of shit nonetheless. John finally stood, panting, face grim and bloody. He turned to you.

His voice broke when he said your name. You didn't answer- just sat there, shaking, covered in bruises, staring at him like he was the last solid thing left in the world. He rushed to you and dropped to his knees, pulling you into his arms.

"You're alright," he whispered, clutching you so tightly it almost hurt. "You're alright now. I got you, my sweet girl." You broke then. Sobs spilled from your chest as you buried your face in his coat, gripping him like a child. "I'm s-sorry," you cried. "I'm sorry, D-daddy…"

"It's alright. Shush. I know, baby. I know." He didn't let go for a long, long time. And when he finally carried you home, he didn’t say I told you so. He just carried you. Because nothing else mattered.

❀˖°

You woke up slowly, like surfacing from underwater. Your whole body ached. Your cheek throbbed but was a bit cold due to earlier ice treatment by John. And your eyes felt like they'd cried out a year's worth of tears.

It was still dark out- just the early blue light of dawn creeping through your bedroom curtains.

But you weren't alone.

John was sitting beside you in the old creaky chair. Arms crossed. Hat tipped forward like he was asleep, except the second you shifted, his head snapped up.

"'Bout time," he muttered.

"...Did you stay here all night?"

"Of course. What'd made you think I will leave you in this condition princess?"

That made your dam break. Your voice wobbled despite you trying it not to. After a minute of calming down, you looked up. "Do I still get g-rounded?" John huffed. "You're alive. That's all I care about."

"…So, like, am I a little un-grounded?" He turned and gave you that look. The one with the raised brow and the subtle "you tryna test me again?" energy.

"Oka-y. No. Not asking......Love you. I'm so grateful....nd'....so grounded."

"Damn right."

You looked at him for a long second. He looked older than usual. Tired and paler. Like he'd aged years in one night. All because of you and your stupid ass. You felt even worse if that was possible. You scooted to the side, lifting the blanket wordlessly. "Please..." you whispered.

John paused , his heart clenching at your vulnerable state and he immediately kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, grumbling under his breath to keep the mood lighter, though inside he was as broken as you at the moment.

"I should be a bit pissed at you---but--damn it. You were always a clingy thing," he muttered, wrapping one arm around you. "Even when you were a baby. Couldn't get a minute's peace without your little hands grabbin' at my shirt like a damn spider monkey."

"Still am," you murmured, already pressing your cheek to his chest with a shaky sigh.

He held you tighter, hand rubbing gently up and down your back, mumbling something about you being a manipulative doll of his and also how you are now safe, like you should be.

You didn't speak for a while. Then- "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm real sorry. I was stupid."

"Yeah, you were, princess. But it's okay. We all do stupid things, that's how we learn. That's the main thing. Learnin'."

He's right. Always is. You hummed softly, but then decided to prod by feigning a pout against his shirt. "Wow.....Kind of rude though. That was your chance to say 'no, baby, you're not stupid, you're just young-"

"You ran off to a backstabbing thief who nearly sold you out for pocket change."

You huffed with a smirk. "Okay, fine, but I still deserve a.....liiiiittle dramatic sympathy. Also...weren't you a criminal yourself, doesn't that make me following a family traditi-"

"Don't you dare complete that sentence."

"I am just kidding, relax." You chuckled. Then suddenly remembered what...had transpired. "Are they--they still there-- I mean what if--he-"

Is still alive and will take revenge or tells the lawmen-

"Nothing for you to be worried about. Jack knows how to clean up proper."

He then looked down at you, kissed the top of your head, and muttered, "You're the biggest damn headache I've ever loved." You smiled, eyes closing in peace. "Love you too, my oldie daddy."

"Watch it. This oldie saved your ass."

You glanced up at him, voice small. "You… really killed him, Daddy?"

John didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to your bookshelf, then over to the dollhouse tucked in the corner, the one he'd built with his own hands when you took your first wobbly steps across the porch. Back when your biggest worry was a scraped knee or a missing ribbon.

God, he'd give anything to go back to that time. Before boys. Before fear. Before he had to remember what kind of man he used to be just to keep you safe. He pulled you closer, arms tightening like they were trying to hold onto every last bit of the little girl who used to fit in the crook of his elbow.

Finally, he spoke. "He laid hands on you. And I'll be damned if he had tried it again...perhaps with someone else's daughter....I jus'....I just lost it.." He turned to you then, his voice low. "But I do know one thing....If I had to do it again, I'd do it twice."

Your lip trembled, and for a second, you didn't know whether to cry or feel safe.

"Sometimes I forget what you used to be...." you whispered.

"And sometimes," John muttered, "I remember exactly why I had to be that man."

"....He deserved that. All of em'. Especially---after what he said bout you." Your menacing voice made him let out a rough chuckle . On one hand, he was ashamed to have you witness that hidden dark side of him, but his heart couldn't stop itself from swelling with pride, too. You defending him was enough to make him feel like a hero, like he had succeeded in life. Has achieved everything. "Damn right, doll. They got what they asked for. But more so for what they did to you. Don't forget that. Nobody gets to even disrespect you on my watch, let alone touch you."

Abigail would kill him if she found out the truth behind what had happened tonight. he had told her a half-baked story anyway and made you promise to not tell her about the killing stuff, which you agreed to. You and your daddy might butt heads a lot, especially with how overprotective he is, but when it comes to forming an alliance against your mother, everyone knows, the two of you are locked tighter than a bank vault.

The room had settled into quiet again. You were half-asleep, tucked against your father's chest like you were five years old again, not fifteen with a broken heart and a bruised ego. His breathing made you feel like the toddler you were once again when you slept like a starfish on his chest, lulled into dreams by the slow, rising rhythm beneath your ear.

His hand hadn't stopped tracing up and down your back, steady, grounding, his rough palm a silent reminder that no matter how mad he got, he'd always come for you.

Then the door creaked open and you blinked.

Abigail stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing her nightgown and a robe, eyes scanning the room, first your swollen cheek, then the protective way John held you like you were still in danger. Her own eyes were clearly swollen from crying in worry.

She exhaled softly. "Y'all made up then?" she asked.

"She's still grounded," John grunted, eyes closed.

"As she should be." Abigail walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing gently over your hair. "You scared us half to death, baby."

"I know," you whispered. "I was stupid."

"You were hopeful," she said gently. "That ain't the same. Just means your heart's still soft." Then her gaze sharpened just a little, the classic look that made every member in this household pee their pants. "But don't ever sneak out on us, you hear?"

You nodded so fast you nearly headbutted your dad. "Never ever. I promise."

"What about when you said you hated me?" John added, smirking slightly.

"I was in crisis," you snapped. "And possibly concussed, daddy. I'm sorry."

Abigail chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I guess it takes a near-death experience for you two to have a cuddle again, huh?"

"Don't call it a cuddle," John muttered, tightening his arm around you protectively like a petulant child holding their toy.

"You're cuddling, John. Accept it."

You giggled weakly, the sound muffled in his shirt. "It's called healing."

"Well, the princess here loves it. Who am I to say no?" He pressed another sweet kiss on your head, pulling the covers closer.

Abigail gave him that look. "You yelled at her all week and locked her in a room, and now you're spooning her like a bear with a baby cub. Make it make sense. Jack's right, you spoil her the most."

" So? Who else will? Tell the rascal to mind his own business..."

Abigail stood up, smiling at the grown ass man's pout. Her heart bursting at the sight. Her man loving her children with all his heart...that's all she wants. "'Course', you. No body's stopping you, alright? Relax." She leaned and pressed a kiss to both of your cheeks. "You rest now. I'll bring some tea for you both and a wet cloth for that cheek."

"And breakfast in bed, please," you added hopefully with best doe eyes you could pull, she rolled her eyes with a fond huff, while John was already planning how he'd feed you himself the moment it arrived.

"Of course, sweetheart."

She gave John one last glance, a soft, knowing look that said thank you for bringing her home without needing words, and then stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.

You shifted under the covers, letting yourself relax again into your father's strong arms. Your heart still felt like it'd been shattered and stomped on.

But for the first time in days, you felt safe.

taglist: @littlebirdgot @captainyeiyei @hyunnjiin @loverssickness @honeybunny75 @sensitivegamergirl

[reijisteacup]

Okay okay, hear me out! I have this very solid headcanon that Shu is into girls who are soft in all the right places, you know?

A face with plush, squishy cheeks, arms soft like fresh bread, a gentle belly, and thick thighs that would make the perfect pillow. And let’s be honest — he’d be living the dream if she had full breasts and a gorgeous ass. The man’s a perv. 🤓☝️

But... imagine a Shu x reader scenario where the girl starts feeling insecure about her body after meeting a gorgeous, slender vampire Shu hooked up with in the past. It was just a one-night stand, nothing serious (but the vampire still taunts the reader like she holds some kind of power over his desires)

The reader tries not to let it get to her, but she can’t help it — she slowly begins to pull away from Shu, doubting whether she’s really enough for him.

And knowing Shu? I picture him shutting the drama down in his usual stoic, emotionally-unavailable way — pulling her into his lap and saying something annoyingly practical like,

'I’m with you, aren’t I?'

But… what if she actually confesses her fears — that maybe he’s not physically attracted to her the way she wishes he was?

Would that push him to show her exactly how much he wants her. . .?

It could be NSFW or not, I’ll leave that to you, dear author (*≧з��)

Okay my darling velvet but I made this kind of long because I LIVE for chubby s/o headcanons/scenarios for all the diaboys <33 Lmk if you want a series for all of them <33

================================================================================================

The manor felt colder than usual. Maybe it was just her. Maybe it was the chill that crept in after that sleek, dark-haired vampire sauntered in like she owned the place—giggling into Shu’s ear, whispering “I didn’t know you’d go for something so… different.” Different. The word echoed like a curse. Not beautiful. Not elegant. Just—different That night, she pulled away when Shu tried to hold her. Shrugged off his lazy hand from her thigh. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. Just sighed, rolled over, and let her pretend she wasn’t crying into the pillow long after he’d drifted to sleep. But days passed. She smiled less. Touched him less. Changed in the bathroom instead of in front of him.

Until finally—

“Are you seriously gonna keep acting like this?” His voice broke the quiet, gruff and annoyed from behind the sofa. He wasn’t even looking at her—eyes half-lidded, one arm draped over the back like he hadn’t just dropped a conversational bomb. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied softly, folding laundry with trembling hands. He sat up. Slowly. Like a lion stretching from a nap. “I’m not an idiot,” Shu muttered. “You think I didn’t notice you’ve been avoiding me? You won’t even let me touch you.” Her throat burned. She didn’t mean to pull away. She just… couldn’t stand letting him touch her while she imagined how perfect that vampire’s waist was. How her thighs probably didn’t jiggle. How Shu probably didn’t need two hands just to grab one breast. She clenched her fists in the cotton of his T-shirt. Her voice cracked. “Why me?” Shu blinked. “What?” “Why are you with me, Shu?” she whispered. “You’ve been with… girls like her. Slender, beautiful. The kind of girl people actually stare at.” She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Her eyes stung. “I see you look at me and I just—I keep thinking maybe you’re not attracted to me the way I wish you were.”

Silence.

For a moment she thought he fell asleep. Or tuned her out. She felt stupid. Why had she even said anything— But then: The couch creaked. And a firm hand grabbed her wrist. “Come here.” His voice was low. Flat. Dangerous. She resisted. “Shu, I didn’t mean—” “I said. Come here.” He pulled her into his lap, effortlessly—one leg over his, her thighs squished between his. His hand slipped under her shirt, warm fingers pressing into the softness of her hip. “I don’t give a shit about that vampire,” he muttered against her neck. “That was a one-night stand. She didn’t mean anything. You think I remember what she looked like?” She shivered. “But she—she made it seem like—” “I don’t care what she said.” His fingers squeezed her waist. His mouth hovered near her ear now, breath warm and steady. “You’re soft in all the right places. That’s what makes you mine.” Her heart pounded. “Your thighs?” He moved a hand down, gripping the plush curve and pulling her tighter against his lap. “Perfect.” “Your belly?” He leaned forward, kissing just below her ribs. “Warm. Real.” “Your chest?” His palm moved higher, cupping a breast like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever held. “Fucking heaven.” “Your ass?” He smirked. “Don’t even get me started.” She whimpered as he licked a stripe up her neck, grinding his hips subtly up against her. “Why are you with me?” he murmured mockingly. “I’ll tell you why—because I want you so badly it makes me angry.” Another grind of his hips, this time harder. She gasped. “You’re soft, and sweet, and mine. And if you ever think I don’t want you again…” His mouth found hers—slow, deep, possessive. “…I’ll prove it. As many times as it takes.”

She barely had time to catch her breath. One second, she was still teary-eyed in his lap, the next, Shu had laid her back on the couch, crawling over her like a beast too tired to hunt—so he’d just devour the feast in front of him. “You really don’t get it, huh?” he muttered, dragging her shirt up to her chest. “You think I see your body and don’t want to sink into it and lose myself?” His mouth was already moving. Kisses to her belly, lips dragging down over her softness with reverence. “You’re fucking soft everywhere, and you think that’s a flaw?” He bit gently at her skin, lips warm and wet, tongue dipping into the dip of her waist. “I love this. The way you squirm when I touch your stomach like it’s something I shouldn’t love.” Her fingers curled into the couch cushions as Shu slipped his hands down between her thighs, spreading them with no resistance—not from her, and definitely not from him. “Look at these fucking thighs,” he growled. “You know how many times I’ve jerked off just thinking about fucking them?” “Sh-Shu—!” “Nah. You’re gonna listen.” He grinded down against her clothed heat, his cock hard and thick against her core, teasing. “You think I look at you and see someone I settled for? I’m with you because I want to be—because you’re my type. You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel full.” Her breath stuttered as he leaned up, dragging his tongue over the underside of her breast, groaning softly.

“Perfect tits. Just the right size. Soft. Heavy. Mine.” He slipped one into his mouth, sucking hard—leaving her whimpering, back arching into him. His hand came up to knead the other. "Bet she couldn't even fill my palm," he muttered darkly against her skin. "But you? I could stay buried in these all night." She writhed underneath him, thighs instinctively closing—but he forced them open again. “Uh-uh,” he murmured. “Let me see all of you.” His kisses trailed downward again, lower, until he was kneeling between her legs. She could feel his breath over her soaked panties, and her thighs trembled with embarrassment. But he just… stared. For too long. “God, look at this mess,” he breathed. “You’re dripping and I haven’t even touched you properly.” His fingers hooked the fabric aside. “And you’re worried about some bitch I don’t even remember?” Then: his tongue. Long and slow and obscene. His nose buried against her mound, lips pulling her apart so he could really taste her. “Fuck, you taste sweet. You always do.” She cried out when his tongue swirled around her clit, lazy but focused, the same way he did everything—like it was his job to be worshipped by worshipping her. His fingers dipped inside next, curling expertly. “You think I’d rather have some skinny little thing with sharp hips and no thighs to hold onto?” Curl. Drag. “No fuckin’ way.” Curl. Stroke. Suck. “I wanna bury my face in you until I forget my name.” She shook beneath him, gasping—her orgasm building, hot and thick in her belly. “You’re all I want,” he murmured against her, voice rasping with need. “All of you. The softness. The curves. The way you moan when I tell you how fucking good you feel.” He growled, voice dropping. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel how perfect you are.” And when she finally broke—legs clenching around his shoulders, thighs trembling—he didn’t stop. He held her through it. Let her sob out every insecurity as he kissed the tears from her inner thighs and murmured, “You’re mine. You’re always enough.”

That’s all he said before he gently pushed you onto your back, body sinking over yours like he belonged there. Because he did. The room was quiet. Just the rustle of the sheets, the thump of your racing heart, and Shu’s fingers softly brushing your face—tucking your hair behind your ear. He looked at you. Just… looked. And you couldn’t look away. His gaze was heavy. Heated. Like he was drinking you in inch by inch and getting drunk from how you looked laid out beneath him. “…God, you’re beautiful.” You blinked. “Wh-What…?” He leaned down. Kissed your cheek. Then your jaw. Then just under your eye. “I mean it.” His voice was low, rough with sleep and lust. “I look at you and I forget what the hell I was doing.” You flushed. Tried to turn your face—but he grabbed your chin gently and pulled you back to look at him. “No hiding.” His thumb ran along your lip. “I want you to see what I see.” “You feel that?” Another slow grind. “I woke up like this. Because of you.” Then, he lined himself up—bare and hard, his cock pressing into you inch by slow, pulsing inch—and didn’t look away for a second. “That face right there…” he groaned, eyes fluttering at the way you clenched around him. “That’s the face I think about when I touch myself.” Your legs wrapped around him. He rocked into you, slow and deep, mouth parted as he drank in every sound you made. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I don’t just love your body. I need it. I need you.” His hand slid to your waist, caressing the curve of your belly, pressing soft kisses to your flushed skin. “Softest thing I’ve ever touched,” he murmured.

His lips moved down to your chest, kissing the swell, then pulling one nipple into his mouth while still moving inside you—slow, deep strokes, like he wanted to feel your soul cling to his. You moaned, hands tangling in his hair. He came back up, pressing his forehead to yours. “Your cheeks,” he whispered, “the way they get red when I touch you like this…” Another deep thrust. “So cute I could lose my mind.” He kissed you then. Soft. Reverent. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Your eyes teared up. You whispered, “You really think that?” He slowed, rolling his hips so the head of his cock rubbed right where you were most sensitive—dragging pleasure and heat from the deepest parts of you. “I don’t think it.” He kissed your lips. “I know it.” Another kiss. “And if anyone says different again, I’ll fucking kill them.” You gasped—eyes glassy, lips trembling. He smiled against your cheek, sweat glistening on his forehead as he fucked you deeper, pace increasing just slightly as your walls fluttered around him. “You gonna come for me?” he whispered. “Let me see that pretty face when you fall apart?” You nodded, barely coherent—hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Show me how beautiful you are when you’re mine.” And when you came, face flushed, mouth open, eyes locked with his? He followed, hard and deep, moaning your name like a prayer only his soft girl deserved to hear. Later, you lay in his arms, still trembling, his hand tracing over your cheek with infinite care. “You’re never allowed to hate the body I worship,” he whispered. “Got it?” You nodded. You believed him. Because Shu never looked at anyone the way he looked at you.

[sholiofic]

A Murderbot prompt: Gurathin's immediate reaction to Bharadwaj being attacked the monster? Or more of his extremely awkward comforting attempts?

I love the Gurathin-Bharadwaj friendship, so this was delightful <3

--

He'd known it. He even told everyone so. He knew something terrible was going to happen on this stupid, cursed survey. Terrible was simply business as usual when the Company was involved. And the five people in the universe that he couldn't stand the idea of anything happening to were all here (well, okay, Ayda's kids too, but they were irrelevant to the current problem). And now Bharadwaj was badly hurt, and their SecUnit aka killer spyware-bot was malfunctioning, and absolutely nobody seemed to understand how serious that was. 

He paced in the medbay, checking on Bharadwaj's vitals now and then. She lay very still on the medbed, breathing slowly and evenly. If she was awake, she would have told him to calm down, probably shared some breathing exercises and soothing tea -- and the insane thing was, it would probably have helped. Instead, he went on pacing and poking around in the stupidly slow feed from the satellite, combing through what documentation he could find on SecUnits, which wasn't much; of course the Company didn't want anyone to know what its proprietary hardware was capable of.

He had to stay busy. If he allowed himself to stop thinking long enough, he could still find himself caught once again in the frozen moment of absolute horror when the distress signal came in from the field team. The ice that went down his spine, the cold terror of knowing that Bharadwaj was hurt (nobody knew how badly) and Arada's condition was unknown and everyone else was about to go out there to get them. And he remembered thinking, <I>This is it,</i> this was the moment when it all began to spiral out of control.

Anyone else on the team would have told him he was being needlessly pessimistic. Bharadwaj would definitely have told him that. But she couldn't tell him anything because she was laying there on a medbed. Her vitals looked good right now, but how much did that even mean? If things went bad, really bad, for her or any of the rest of them, they were weeks away from help and he couldn't start over again, he just couldn't --

A soft sound drew his attention. Bharadwaj inhaled, her lashes fluttered, and he said her name before he was conscious of it.

"Hi, Gura," she whispered, and smiled a little.

He was momentarily frozen. What did you do. Hand. Yes. He fumbled for her hand. She wrapped her weak, cold fingers tremulously around his, and he gripped back.

"Is Arada okay?" she whispered, looking up at him. He could see her eyes focusing more, swimming up from sleep and drugs.

"Yes. She's fine. She's good. You're also fine," he said, groping around for the reassuring words, the ones they would say to him, under similar circumstances. "I mean, you're going to be."

And those must have been the right words to say, because he felt her relax a little, and her smile was less tense and more genuine, and maybe for that moment, holding her hand, he could believe those words too. That she was going to be okay, that they were all going to be.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Well done Labour party for finally lowering the voting age to 16. Tories and Reform are throwing a hissy fit about it, saying stupid things like "16 year olds arent old enough to stand for parliament so they shouldn't be able to vote". My response to that is 16 year olds should be able to stand for parliament.

The Labour party said that 16 year olds can get jobs and "pay in" so should get a say, which is correct. But personally I think the voting age should be lowered to 12, which is about the age you become aware of the impact government policies have on your life.

I mean. There are millions of misinformed old people who are allowed to vote. Why should young people be excluded?

[pooks]

haven't posted anything Percy-related in ages, but i got this idea at 3am and it lives rentfree in my head, so it's only fair everyone else should suffer as well

imagine that Percy comes out as gay post-DH. his family is very cool and supportive with this

(they all knew, but said nothing because he needs to discover it himself)

but the only downside? they keep nitpicking every single guy he dates. no one is good enough and there is always something to complain about.

one was lisping. the other one kept cracking his knuckles. another one kept psycho-analyzing them (Percy didn't even last a week with him), etc. the Weasleys just decided that if Percy's gonna date a man, then he better be good enough for him and unfortunately, no one is good enough.

and then, Percy stumbles onto Oliver and they start dating. lo and behold, his family FOR ONCE have nothing bad to say. in fact, they're all too excited and supportive about this.

George, Ron and Ginny are a little too invested in their relationship.

Percy: so this whole time when i dated men from left to right and you guys kept complaining about them, you were just comparing them to Oliver Wood? Ginny, unashamed: yup. George: also you dated assholes. i mean, what the hell. Ron: and i thought my self esteem was bad. you seemed to just date guys to make yourself miserable. Charlie: and we know it's bad when not even Dad can stand the guy. Bill: if looks could kill, the last guy would've been a big pile of ash.

as you might expect it, Percy can't believe he's in a situation where the greatest thing he had ever done in his family's opinion is to date Oliver Wood.

background bonus: Harry is just bewildered and slightly amused while Hermione is annoyed by the stupidity of the situation.

[sunliights]

“so that’s why you keep me around?” rowan teases, knowing that of course her ‘stupidity’ had little to do with it. it was probably more to do with the sweetness that they liked to highlight and it made her soft to have them mention it for no real reason. she’s not really the kind of person who goes out of her way to receive compliments. she likes them, sure, nothing makes her feel better than knowing someone likes her. it just makes her feel bashful to be on the receiving end of any sort of positivity. “sounds like we’re watching something scary then…” as if she needs some sort of excuse to be cute, or to be any closer to grey than she already is. of course it doesn’t feel close enough given their time apart but she knows they’ll rectify it. curling up together watching movies followed by a night in one another’s arms? it sounds like everything that she needs and from the sounds of it, exactly what they need too. she never wants to be without this embrace again. if that means being patient and having hard conversations then she’ll do it. she isn't sure that she's the kind of person that people think capable of the serious, hard stuff. most people wouldn't probably associate her with any of the big, bad because she doesn't tell them about her own. grey knows though. clearly that hadn't been enough to prompt their opening up the first time around and she can't blame them for that. she just hopes how she reacted today and everything else that they know might be enough to reassure them that she's ready to stand the weather. no matter what storms that they might have to face. rowan wants to be there. "mmm, sure. you say that until the winter comes around and i'm leeching off you in bed and you're wondering just why you ever agreed to let me stay because how are you ever going to be able to stretch out again?" her light-hearted dramatic monologue is mainly for the benefit of stopping things becoming too heavy just yet. things feel good; the best that they have in a long time in fact and she doesn't want do or say anything that could ruin it. after weeks of feeling like she's been carrying weights around on her shoulders she's finally experiencing a reprieve. not naïve to the fact that the following day might be a challenging one. it isn't the following day yet, though. it's now. so, she heaves out an exaggerated sigh and reaches for the controller. "i always have to do everything myself, hm? wear a sweater for your attention, pick the movie..." she's muttering to herself but not at all actually complaining as she flicks through and decides what to put on for the two of them. this seems like a more natural state anyway. grey as the perfect place for her to longue on and her finally picking something out. "here we go. stupid-scary, i hope you're ready." her head turns a little bit so that she can let her lips graze their cheek. she feels an overwhelming wash of contentment. this is what rowan has been yearning for so badly and now that she has it, she'll do anything to keep it.

grey can't help themself when it comes to rowan. being apart felt so WRONG like they were missing something foundational. the walk to the clinic had become a routine, and calling rowan on the walk had become part of it. it had become one of many things they did that kept them grounded. and sure, they never told her what they were doing. oh, i'm just going for a walk, you know how it is. i'm gonna pick up some coffee, i'll call you back later babe. the lies had been so easy. but disrupting all of that routine felt like it put them on shaky ground. and the home they had built in her embrace had come crashing down around them. "i LOVE stupid." they laugh, "i think you're so sweet, y'know." sure, it was unprompted. and sure, their head was starting to pound from their earlier mental breakdown. but who were they to stop the joy that they could feel coming off of rowan. she was always such a light, and these last few weeks had felt so dark without her. “but if we watch something scary—“ a light pause, “you’re always so fuckin’ cute when you’re scared.” they’re sure it’s self serving to want that, but something in them felt like they couldn’t let go. they needed her pressed up against them, needing them for something. they knew it was selfish, but after baring all their wounds for the world to see (or at least some of the big ones) they felt like such a BURDEN. being needed for something, even if only to hold rowan through the scariest parts of some thriller, felt so incredibly enticing. when they’ve settled down into their usual seat on the couch, and they’ve pulled rowan as close as she can get without being uncomfortable, they lean forward to rest their chin on her shoulder. grey loves the closeness, the proximity. they felt so broken, and slowly this contact could the the thing that puts them totally back together. after all, without rowan they had spiraled. they weren’t even sure which way was up anymore, their sense of stability crushed under the weight of their dishonesty. they were glad to be getting some semblance, no matter how small, of that back. you don’t have to anymore. just a few words but they held everything that greyson was hoping for. because they didn’t want to have to wait any longer. they didn’t want to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, to have her realize that there was so much happening; so much turmoil and strife, within them. her delicate fingers running through their hair hits them with the exact right combination of comfort and intimacy, like it was the most romantic thing she had ever done; even if there were a million other things that she'd done in their time together. "i wouldn't complain if you did, y'know. you could stay as long as you wanted and i'd probably still be shocked i got lucky enough to see you." it's just another statement drenched in their sincerity, and they're not sure which is worse. how much time they spent not telling her things, or just how incapable they feel of ever hiding something again. the threat of honesty– of being SEEN – always feels so deeply terrifying. like they're always going to have to wait until she decides it's too much. and right now, despite that looming threat, they can't imagine choosing to be alone again. "ugh–" they laugh, "i'm TERRIBLE at picking movies." it feels so easy. and in about six hours they're sure it won't, the closer the day draws to mickey's birthday, the more they expect themself to fall apart. but maybe now that rowan's here, it won't be a rerun of last year. because sitting under the spray of their shower in all of their clothes sobbing sounds just as unappealing as it has been grounding.

[nithica]

Just Like Heaven

ੈ♡˳ Just a stupid little selfship fic to celebrate Kashima’s 29th birthday (if my calculations of this fuckass timeline are correct 🫩). What an old man <3

Summary: His birthday has never mattered to him, but he learns what it’s like to be loved by you one day at a time. And that means he can cross another off his list of “firsts with Nini”: his first birthday party together.

WC: 2,887

Genre: sickening fluff

“What’s this?”

A pair of empty eyes stare back at you, even though you know his head is tilted downwards, staring into the thing you’re holding up. He’s still only halfway through the door and a gust of wind comes in and blows your hair partly into your face. Irritatedly, you huff and blow it out of your sight. “What does it look like? It’s a cake, dummy.”

“I can see that,” he nods, and gently closes the door behind him. He turns back to you when he hears the soft ‘click’ the lock mechanism makes. Ever the thorough man, you think with fondness. He raises a stitched hand and pulls his mask up just enough for you to see his face clearly. “But what for?”

Your arms are starting to tire and thus, you nudge the cake in his direction again to make a point. “For your birthday, silly. What else? Come on. My arms are getting tired. Make a wish!”

He looks unsure still, chewing on his inner cheek. It shouldn’t be such a big deal to blow out a few candles, but being ambushed like this with a cake has him feeling unlike himself.

No one has ever made him a cake before.

He’s pretty certain, in fact, that no one remembered his birthday. And though, as a young child, he had felt envious of his peers who got birthday parties and gifts at times, he had come to not pay this day any attention himself. Over the years, he’d even managed to forget about it entirely. Birthdays, was his conclusion, were pointless. He was a day older every day. What difference did this day make?

But, despite that thought running through the mill, he sees the sparkle in your eye and the candles burning on top of the cake that, given how messily it was made, was definitely handmade by you; and there’s a spark of something running through his system that makes him bite his lip and try his best to keep his eyes dry.

“Fine,” he says eventually, though in reality it took much less time than he thought, “but can’t we skip the wishing? That stuff is bullshit.”

He regrets what he said right away when he sees your face fall—but it was only there for a brief moment, so fast that he even questioned if it happened at all, and you hold the cake closer to him again, as if to remind him it was waiting. “No, we will not. You are going to have a most ordinary birthday party today. Now, come on, humour me and make a wish!”

He wondered why you were so adamant on the wishing when you yourself had mentioned before you didn't believe in any of this stuff, but playing along couldn’t hurt, right?

You positively beamed when he finally conceded. He closed his eyes, made his wish and blew out the two candles you’d stuck into the icing. Together, it read “twenty-nine”, and for a moment he felt strangely out of body—had he been around that long? Age was a strange concept, and not one he usually put much thought into.

“Finally!” you cheered when he was done and quickly ran to leave the cake on the counter. Your footsteps made little sliding noises on the floor with your slippers clacking against your heels. Flicking your fingers a few times, you tried to get the feeling back into your digits.

Just as fast as you’d left to put the cake down, you were back again too. Kashima was still standing where you left him, looking unsure of what to do next.

You’d figured he hadn’t celebrated his birthday in a long time. If only you’d met him sooner; maybe both of you wouldn’t have needed to feel lonely. Maybe you could have healed from the scars society other people left on you together. Birthdays would have been more meaningful spending it with those who mattered. You’d made sure he knew he mattered.

With a warm smile, you made sure to take his mask off and hang it on the coat rack for now. Then, as if you were freed from your shackles, you jumped and hooked your arms and legs around him like a baby koala clinging to a tree. The cyborg yelped and stumbled, just barely managing to recover in time to hold you steady with a strong arm around your waist, his free hand balancing himself on the wall.

“What’s that for?!” he shrieks.

You giggle gleefully, nuzzling your face in his neck. “Happy birthday!” you say, holding him just a fraction tighter. You lean back and loosen your grip on him just enough to grab his cheeks with both hands.

He looked like he would be bursting any second now, his brows furrowed and cheeks coloured red.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this, you know.” He doesn’t know why that did something to him, but he can feel a flutter course through his system and it made him shiver. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant, leaving a kiss on his features one by one after every exclamation.

You were always affectionate, but Kashima is still not used to it. He was never one for physical affection; or affection at all, if he was honest with himself — it had taken him a long time to even admit his feelings for you out loud. Yet, here you were, no sign of hesitation. It was genuine, full of warmth, just like how he always viewed you; the same reason as why he had you saved as a sunflower in his phone.

“Stop,” he uttered between your featherlight kisses, though he didn't truly mean it. Really, he was embarrassed, feeling the tips of his ears burn a shade of tomato at your unabashed display of affection. “You’re being too much.”

Carefully, he moves to set you down. The height difference and his unnatural strength always made him worry if he was being unintentionally rough with you; you, on the other hand, usually chastised him for being too gentle. As he changed out of his shoes, into his slippers, he mumbled: “You didn’t have to… I mean, I don’t really celebrate my birthday, so…”

You make a strangled noise coming from your throat—one from frustration—and drag him towards the dining room by his hand. No matter how much you try to show him an ordinary life, when it came to accepting his role as the main character in his own life, he was frustratingly stubborn and slow to learn. Things had gotten much better over time, but you were still reminded now and then what a cruel life he’d lived.

All the more reason to celebrate him.

“And that’s going to change, starting today,” you declare.

He no longer needed food to survive, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it regardless. “You may have won last year, but this time I was prepared,” you tell him proudly when you’ve sat him down at the dinner table later, a bowl of freshly made noodle soup and several side dishes neatly laid out.

It’s true that you’d tried to pry his birthday out of him the year prior; before you were officially an item, which had cost you a lot of effort in itself—but you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t even more bull-headed than he was.

You sat down across from him, clearly more giddy than he was about it all, but he wouldn’t complain. He enjoyed your cooking and if he was going to be honest with himself, he felt moved by the fact you put in effort to do something for him, even if he had forgotten about it himself. It was worth celebrating if it meant he could see the sparkle in your eyes. Though he was only half-heartedly playing along at first… maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.

The two of you dug in—well, Kashima dug in, that was, for as usual, you were busy chatting away. “I was going to make a reservation at some restaurant, Shin told me it’s really good… But I thought you might be uncomfortable taking off your mask to eat, and well, I thought you liked my home cooking so—”

Despite your rambling, he listened attentively. He always did. Over time, you found Kashima was surprisingly considerate. He was looking down at his plate as he ate, but you could tell from his expression he was hanging onto your every word. It was only when you fell silent he looked up. “Is something wrong?”

Sighing softly, you rest your chin on your hands and tilt your head. “Nope.”

And though he looks at you with uncertainty, he doesn’t push it. The only thing he’s comforted by, is seeing the soft expression you're wearing as you watch him. He takes note of how little you’ve touched your own food, sighs and taps your bowl.

He doesn’t need to say anything. The two of you have grown attuned to one another in the time he’s been here; something that, when he thinks about it too deeply, makes him feel strange and complete. A feeling he may have never felt before, and he comes to understand then that there’s been a lot of those.

Just as he’d meant, you perk up and begin eating. In between bites, you tell him a little bit about your birthdays as you grew up yourself—they were nothing special, either, but he still felt that old envy tug at him because at least you were remembered.

It’s all fine, because you remember him now.

“Oh,” you say when he’s halfway and you’ve been chatting away again, even without his input, “I forgot to mention! You should finish up quickly, because we have somewhere to be.”

“We do?”

“Mhm! Anyway I’m off to get changed, be ready in fifteen.”

Either you don’t take note of his confusion or you simply ignore it, but you get up and leave the room regardless, and he can only stare at the soft green wall in bewilderment as he hears you stumble around the bedroom.

Kashima is painfully aware that he can never keep up with you, and he never will; he will always be several steps behind, and that’s fine to him, so long as you keep looking back to see if he’s still there.

As long as you won’t forget him.

It’s almost dark by the time you have reached your destination. You dragged him out in a casual outfit bringing little to nothing with you. Nothing to help him with clues there, as—surprisingly—you wouldn’t let up for once.

You were, in most cases, awful at keeping surprises and secrets. As an observant man who paid close attention to those he considered important, he had quickly seen through your patterns and learned to read your expressions like a book.

Even that was unsuccessful tonight, and after asking for the tenth time where you were going, he’d finally given up.

Staring at the building in front of him, he tries to suppress the excitement he feels coursing through him. If he were a dog, he’d be wagging his tail by now—and by the look of it, you know it, too.

“Karaoke?”

“I heard from my sources that you like going to karaoke, so I booked us a room to sing to our heart’s content.”

The cyborg scrapes his throat and straightens himself up, doing his best to look nonchalant. “Yeah, sure…”

He doesn’t get the time to say anything else, because you’re skipping up the steps, disappearing through the door. “…I like karaoke…?”

Now who on earth have you been talking to?

Despite his efforts to come off as nonchalant as possible, one of the first things that happened when you two were getting comfortable in your reserved room, in true you fashion, was bickering.

Apparently, your music tastes during karaoke just didn’t quite align.

It’s not like you weren’t aware of his choice of music; you’d caught him many times in his workshop, singing along to music you’d expect your grandfather to listen to, and every road trip turned into a back and forth because you hogged the aux and Kashima couldn’t stand the metal he thought was just noise.

It took him longer than he’d like to admit before he figured you were riling him up on purpose. Under the dim, tacky disco light, he saw your face contort into several awkward expressions before you finally cracked, the mischief spilling out. “I thought you didn’t want to sing?”

He grumbled and turned his attention to the wall. It was probably once white, but the paint had turned yellow with time and cracked in several spots. “I don’t. I just don't want to hear you sing noise…”

“Fiiiiiine, I’ll pick something soft but only if you sing a duet with me!”

“No…”

But he looks up, his own mistake, because you know he’s weak. If there was anything about him, it was that he loved to make those he dedicated his time to happy, and you knew that very well.

Too well.

Though he knows you're deliberately looking as sadly as possible, it works. “Just one song, then...”

You decide on “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure, and for once he has nothing to remark on your music taste.

One song turns into ten, and without realising he’s let his guard down, you find him singing passionately to his heart’s content. Laughing when he misses a beat, he doesn’t even notice. You sing an array of different songs, from older city pop to globally popular rock songs.

It’s not often that you see Kashima this carefree, as uptight and shy as he can be, and even when he’s loose for his terms, there’s still that opera kid aura around him. He looks terribly misplaced in this rundown karaoke building, in his perfectly neat suit and tie, singing with his pinkie up. But you’re glad to see him make an attempt at relaxing; that was one half of your goal for today.

It’s your turn next, but you convince him to sing a duet to “The Time of My Life”. Your mother was to blame for this, given how often she had rewatched the move when you were little.

Halfway through the song, the music cuts out. Awkwardly, Kashima lowers his mic, but the lack of background music doesn’t stop you. Unlike your partner, you feel no shame, going out of your way to sing his parts as out of tune as you could possibly get.

And he watches, part of him feeling embarrassed (surely other guests have heard it by now) and the other part pure adoration.

It was just a silly thing, making reservations for karaoke with the two of you.

But this was perhaps his first birthday party, and you’d cared enough to even remember.

Strangely, he feels a rather out of body experience at that fact. He'd never been interested in any of this stuff, let alone a serious relationship with a woman as chaotic as you. His polar opposite.

Deep in thought, he’s slow to react when you climb on a chair, laughing like there’s not a care in the world. “What are you doing? Get down, dear. You’re going to fall.”

Well, at least you kept him on his toes.

It’s almost the end of the nineteenth when you’re on the way back home, slowly trudging up the slope with an arm hooked through his. You’ve used up most of your energy already, and so the pace back home is terribly slow, but Kashima doesn’t mind.

“You know, the cats got you some birthday gifts,” you inform him suddenly after a couple minutes of silence. “You should open them when we get back.”

“…The cats? Really now.”

“What? You question me? I gave them a budget, you know.”

He snorts, a sound you still haven’t gotten used to and maybe never will. You hope you won’t, because if you get used to it, it will become normal; and if it becomes normal, you’re more likely to take it for granted. There is nothing about this man you’d want to take for granted.

That’s what you think, anyway.

It’s peaceful at night like this, especially in the summer, with the neighbourhood rather quiet and empty.

“You didn’t have to throw me a birthday party, you know. It’s just another day.”

Frowning, you turn and step in front of him, walking along backwards. His first instinct is to reach out, thinking you’ll end up hurt that way (and he’s probably right about that, for he knows you too well).

“It's not just another day. Without that day, I would’ve never known you. So shut it and let me celebrate you.”

It’s a good thing he wears his mask in public, so you can’t see how he rapidly blinks the watery eyes away. What good could there possibly come from knowing him?

“Oh, by the way, the kids have planned a surprise birthday party for you tomorrow,” you change the topic abruptly, oblivious to his shift in demeanour. “But you didn’t hear that from me, so act surprised, ok?”

Perhaps birthdays weren’t so bad after all.

Ok so I was kind of nervous and panicking so I hope you didn’t expect too much in terms of quality or whatever but YAY 🥳 it’s Kashima’s birthday I hope he gets the best birthday present from his new family 💗 also a big thank you to @/ivescide and @/vividly-vermillion for (proof)reading and input and listening to my silly rambling 🥹 love you guys

[paucubarsisimp]

Hii if you’re still looking for wags x reader story, maybe Alexandra x driver reader ? Like Charles fucked up or something and reader just happened to be there at the right time for Alex, and reader have been crushing on her for quite some time now

always you

pairing: alexandra saint mleux x reader

summary: in which your best friend's girlfriend finds comfort in you when he messes up

warnings: none!

you didn’t mean to find her.

it was late — the rooftop party buzzing below, full of press people and sponsors, drivers in suits and girls in backless dresses. but you’d needed air. too much noise, too many lights. and when you stepped out, onto the quieter stretch of balcony, she was already there.

alexandra.

her arms were crossed over her chest, jacket slipping off one shoulder, face turned away from the skyline like it couldn’t offer her anything tonight.

you hesitated. then quietly: “alex?”

she turned her head, just a little. and when she saw you, she didn’t fake a smile. didn’t pretend to be okay. her expression crumpled like paper folding in on itself.

“hey,” she said, and her voice cracked right down the middle.

that was all it took.

you walked over slowly, not rushing her, and opened your arms.

“c’mere, love.”

she didn’t answer — just stepped into you, her whole body trembling like she’d been holding herself together too long. her face tucked into your shoulder. you held her. tight.

it was quiet for a while. just the sound of traffic below and the way she breathed — shallow at first, then a little deeper.

“he said i embarrassed him,” she whispered eventually. “because i didn’t post him this weekend. or smile enough at dinner. or stand close enough during the grid walk.”

your stomach turned, but you stayed still.

“he wasn’t yelling,” she added quickly, like that made it better. “he just gets this tone. like i’m disappointing him and i don’t even know how.”

you were quiet for a second. then, soft:

“you’re not disappointing. you never have been.”

she let out a little laugh — tired and sharp.

“you’re his best friend,” she said. “you’re not supposed to say that.”

“i’m your best friend too,” you said gently. “remember?”

she didn’t say anything at first. then she pulled back a little, just enough to look at you. her eyes were red-rimmed, but open.

“are you?” she asked. “still?”

you nodded. “yeah. always.”

her gaze dropped to your lips for a half-second before flicking away. she didn’t mean to do it, you could tell. but it happened.

and your heart, stupid thing that it was, noticed.

you both sat down on a bench in the corner. she leaned against you — not in a romantic way, not yet — just in the way someone leans when they’re exhausted and safe and not pretending anymore.

“you don’t have to talk about it,” you said after a while.

she nodded. “i know. i just... needed someone to see me tonight.”

you tilted your head, looking at her. “i always see you.”

her breath caught. not dramatically — just a pause. a little break in rhythm.

then, quietly:

“sometimes i wonder what it would feel like… if it had been you.”

you turned to her, pulse jumping. “me?”

she gave this soft, shaky smile. “you’ve always been there. i just didn’t let myself think about what that meant.”

you didn’t move, didn’t say the wrong thing. you let her speak.

“i don’t know if this is right, or if the timing is terrible,” she said, “but i feel safe with you in a way i don’t with anyone else. even him.”

“i’ve been in love with you for a while now,” you said. it just slipped out — calm, sure, like it had been waiting its turn.

she blinked. swallowed.

“you have?”

you nodded. “i didn’t want to mess anything up. or make you choose.”

a pause.

“but tonight… when you looked at me like that… i think part of me hoped.”

she reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. slowly. gently. like she was still figuring out how to touch you like this.

“can i kiss you?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

you smiled. “yeah. please.”

and she leaned in.

it was soft. hesitant. like both of you were trying to say something you didn’t know how to say with words.

her lips pressed to yours once, then again — a little deeper the second time. and when she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.

you both smiled. just a little.

“that felt like the first real thing all weekend,” she whispered.

you nodded, heart full and calm. “same.”

and there — with the city stretched out below, and the night finally quiet — she kissed you again.

not rushed. not confused.

just right.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @freyathehuntress, @dakotapaigelove lmk if you want to be added or removed!

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Went on an awesome date today. I tried a bit of dating in late 2024/early 2025, it went all right, I met a few cool people, but to be honest, no one who was cool enough to be worth going out of my way to spend time with around my exhausting job. That’s what it comes down to – my fulltime job leaves me very tired and needing lots of alone/quiet time to recover, I have hobbies that I love (yes, Mom, listening to and meticulously cataloguing thousands of hours of comedy recordings does count as a hobby, actually), I have friends I try to see at least sometimes, I try to go out to local comedy nights when I can, and fitting in a whole new person is hard. I’d have to really like someone to be willing to do that.

So I stopped bothering for a while. But I recently got in touch with a woman who seemed really cool, from the text conversations, and I told her that I’m leaving soon and won’t be back in town until the end of August, and we agreed to go for lunch once before I leave, then either leave it at that, or if we like each other enough, plan to meet again when I get back. Having met today, I believe we’re settling on the latter. At the end we both said we’d love to do this again sometime, and I actually meant it.

We went for sushi, where we compared notes on the processes of our autism diagnoses, discussed our favourite Canadian folk singers, and she asked me so many questions about comedy that I had to keep reminding myself that I need to manually cut off my infodumping or it’ll go forever, and sometimes ask questions about herself too. But they ended up all converging on the same topics, as she has a history of interest in theatre so she told me about that, and I ended up explaining the nature of the club comedy vs. Edinburgh comedy divide in British stand-up, over miso soup.

After lunch we went next door to this cool, feminist, queer-friendly bookstore where I like to hang out sometimes, and of course it turns out she hangs out there too, as we both live in the neighbourhood and that’s the sort of place that people like us go. People with blue hair and pronouns (neither of us have blue hair and we’re both cis women with she/her pronouns, but you know, I spiritually identify as a person with blue hair and pronouns). This bookstore refuses to stock Harry Potter books, and they do a lot of fundraisers for the trans library down the road.

We browsed around, and ended up looking at the gender section, where they have good stuff. Ivan Coyote, who’s been one of my favourite queer writers since I was a teenager. Judith Butler. There was a Julia Serano book in there. Which is why I was surprised to see one book right in the middle of the section, with a title that I recognized as a TERF dogwhistle. I wasn’t familiar with the specific book, but I do… and I don’t think I’ve admitted this on Tumblr before because it’s a fucking bad idea and I do not recommend this… have a bad habit of hate reading Mumsnet. Just lurking on there, intentionally reading things to make myself furious. It’s a stupid thing to do, but it does mean I am very familiar with TERF terminology, including the dogwhistle-y stuff that, at first glance, can just sound like feminism.

I recognized some red flags in that book’s title, so I picked it up and read the back. The summary on the back made it immediately clear to me that this was a TERF book – not just a feminist book written by someone with shitty opinions on trans people (and I don’t think a book like that belongs in a store like this either), but specifically a manifesto about why trans people are bad and a threat to women’s rights.

I pointed this out to the woman I was with, and she didn’t get it right away, because apparently she doesn’t have a maladaptive hate reading habit like I do. I told her to read the back cover, and even then it took her a little while, because it uses language that might not be obvious to people who are unfamiliar with TERF-world English. Stuff about how women are being silenced, feminists are being oppressed and no-platformed by a misogynistic ideology, we need to fight back against this. You have to get quite a ways into the paragraph before they’re really explicit about what they mean.

The woman I was with finally got to the part where they explicitly name trans people as the enemy, and she said “Oh… oh this isn’t a TERF book, is it?” I said it definitely is, and we stood there looking at the shelves for a bit, commenting on how that’s very disappointing and surprising and has caused us to sour on this store we really like. I said I can only think of two ways this could have happened – one is that they got complaints from TERFs and capitulated by putting that in for “balance” so they’re not targeted, and the other is that they just saw a book that mentions feminism, and didn’t look any closer before stocking it on their shelves. I said I really want it to be the second thing, but I feel like the first thing’s more likely.

If I’d been on my own, I would definitely have left it there, walked out of the store, and never gone back in there. But my date picked up the book, walked it to the cash register, and very politely said she’d like to ask why they’re stocking this. The people behind the counter seemed confused, and a bit defensive, saying the store’s owner decides what items get stocked, we can take it up with her if we have an issue. I finally joined my date at the front of the store, as I’d been hiding behind the bookshelves not wanting to make a scene, and she pointed at me and told the employees that I know about stuff like this, and I’ve found an issue with the book’s content that the owner should know about it. They all looked at me, I stuttered awkwardly as I tried to find professional-sounding euphemism, explained that they might use the word “feminist” in there but it’s a co-option of feminism that isn’t in line with the ethos of most of this store’s catalogue… or I tried to explain that, couldn’t think of the words in the moment, sighed and just said, “It’s a TERF book.”

The employees immediately changed demanour, being much less defensive and more cooperative, and one started flipping through the book. She asked me if I was sure, and I said yes, that I could see how she might be unsure from a quick glance at the title and the back cover, but if she reads the full summary, it does become clear. She read the full summary in front of us, and then told us she was very sorry that this ever got on the shelves, that the owner isn’t here right now but they will take this book off the shelves right now, and know that the owner will agree with that choice.

Then my date and I went into the children’s section and spent a lovely half hour or so going through the beautifully illustrated books, as we’ve both worked with children and discussed our shared passion for seeing kids get good-quality literature regardless of their income level. Then we get on the bus home, where we discussed kd lang for the whole ride and agreed to meet again when I’m back in town.

So that was pretty good. I guess the main lesson here is that old chestnut, never attribute to malice what can be attributed to ignorance. Sometimes it’s worth speaking up, not because you’re likely to change the mind of a malicious actor, but because there’s a chance that you’re only dealing with an ignorant actor whose mind would be immediately changed by new information, and it’s worth at least checking to see whether that’s the case. I suppose the other lesson is that occasionally, hate reading websites for terrible people pays off.

Also, sometimes dating is nice. And if I do end up seeing more of this woman from today, it's a pretty good story if we can say we spent our first date getting a transphobic book removed from a bookstore. Real blue hair and pronouns energy.

[andy-15-07]

Hi! Could you do a Bella Ramsey x gf!reader where she visits them on set of tlous season 2 please?

Set Visit, Heart Full

paring ✦ Bella Ramsey x fem!reader

word count ✦ 1011 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

You adjust your backpack for the fifth time, trying to calm your racing heart as you follow the production assistant through the maze of trailers and makeshift sets. The faint smell of fake moss and damp earth clings to everything, mixing with the sound of distant generators and muted laughter.

“Are you sure she doesn’t know I’m coming?” you whisper to the PA, who just grins.

“She thinks she’s doing some behind-the-scenes interview. Just wait here, yeah? She’ll come out in a sec.”

You nod, biting back a smile as you stand awkwardly behind a trailer labeled “ELLIE” in big, bold letters. A couple crew members pass by and give you curious looks, but you barely notice. Your palms are sweaty and your cheeks already hurt from smiling.

A few seconds later, the door swings open. Bella steps out, squinting against the light, head tilted in that way she does when she’s confused. She’s wearing Ellie’s battered jeans and a grey Henley, fake blood spattered across her elbow.

“What the— Y/N?!”

You practically launch yourself forward, arms wrapping around her waist as she lets out a surprised laugh.

“Hi, Ellie,” you tease, burying your face in her neck.

“Shut u...oh my God!” Bella pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, eyes wide and bright. “What are you doing here? You said you had work this week!”

“I lied,” you say, grinning. “I missed you too much. Figured I’d come see if this apocalypse thing is really worth losing my girlfriend to.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You are ridiculous. How did you get here? Did you bribe Craig?”

“Maybe,” you shrug dramatically. “Or maybe I promised the costume department free coffee for a week.”

Bella groans but hugs you tighter, practically lifting you off the ground. “I cannot believe you’re here. Wait,how long are you staying?”

“Three days,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “If you’re not sick of me by then.”

“Not possible.”

A crew member clears his throat politely a few feet away, and Bella blushes, untangling herself from you just enough to glance over. “Uh ten minutes?” she calls out.

“Take fifteen,” the crew member says with a grin. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. We’ve heard a lot.”

“Oh God,” Bella mutters under her breath as he walks away. “Ignore them. They’re nosy.”

“So they’ve heard about me, huh?” you tease, poking her side. “What’d you say? That I’m annoying? Clingy?”

“Perfect,” Bella says firmly, rolling her eyes when you giggle. “Come on. There’s this corner by the catering tent,no one ever goes there. We can hide for a bit.”

She grabs your hand and pulls you along the muddy path. The set is a patchwork of ruined cars, broken fences, and fake snow piled up in shady corners. You pass a few extras dressed as infected, who wave at Bella before doing double takes at you.

“You’re like royalty here,” you whisper. “I feel like I should bow or something.”

“Stop,” Bella says, laughing. “I’m serious—being here is so much better now. I’ve been losing my mind all week. It’s so heavy this season, Y/N. I can’t switch it off sometimes.”

You squeeze her hand. “Hey. I’m here to help you switch it off, okay? Even if that means I have to bribe you with gummy bears and forehead kisses.”

“You do know me so well,” she says, grinning as she pulls you behind a fake brick wall near the catering tent. She sits on an overturned crate and tugs you down onto her lap. “God, I missed your face.”

“I missed your face,” you echo, brushing a smudge of dirt off her cheek. “And your grumpy morning voice. And the way you steal all the blankets.”

Bella laughs, burying her face in your shoulder. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry. I swear, I’m so soft today. Pedro made me cry earlier too,he gave me this stupid pep talk about being proud of myself. I hate him.”

You giggle, running your fingers through her hair. “You love him.”

“Unfortunately,” she mumbles. She tilts her head up and kisses you,soft, warm, lingering. You melt into her, the distant hum of set noise disappearing for a moment. When she pulls back, she sighs. “Promise you’ll stay close? You can sit by the monitors or whatever. I just… I feel better when you’re here.”

“Always,” you whisper. “I’ll be your emotional support girlfriend slash snack mule. I brought you the sour gummies you like.”

Bella gasps. “You did not.”

“Check my bag.”

She slides the backpack off your shoulder and rummages through it, eyes lighting up when she pulls out a big bag of candy. “You’re my hero.”

“I know.”

She pops one in her mouth and leans her head on your shoulder again, chewing thoughtfully. “Do you think I’m doing okay? With this season?”

You pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Bels. You’re incredible. You always are. You make Ellie real,you make her hurt and laugh and fight and love. I’m so proud of you I could explode. And so are they. You know that, right?”

Bella’s eyes go glossy again. “God, stop” She laughs wetly, brushing her nose against yours. “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone has to be,” you say, kissing her softly again. “And besides,who else is gonna make sure you don’t get lost in the woods out here?”

“Fair point.”

A voice calls her name from somewhere behind the wall, and Bella groans dramatically. “They’re gonna drag me back now.”

“You’ll survive,” you tease. “I’ll be right here when you’re done. And tonight, you can complain to me for hours.”

“You promise?” she asks, eyes wide and playful.

“Cross my heart.”

She stands, reluctantly, and pulls you up with her. “Okay. One more kiss. For luck.”

You kiss her again, smiling against her mouth. “Go save the world, Ramsey.”

She grins, squeezing your hand one last time before she jogs back toward set, fake blood glinting in the sun. You watch her go, your heart so full it almost hurts.

[mariamariquinha]

Imagine believing that female characters can't be well written in sci-fi material when we have these women in a single TV show:

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible