#ive gone to him for other problems ive had). they all tell me the same thing

[minglana]

on the one side i think its good that i dont stress myself out too much for exams, especially if i fail. on the other hand, maybe ive normalized failing exams a bit too much, personally.

[jetii]

Promises Made (pt. 1/3)

Part Two | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 5,234 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, this part is at least 50% bickering, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: This is my longest work yet, so I decided to split it up into parts. But if you’re just here for the smut, don’t worry, the emotional edging is worth it! It’s my first time writing Crosshair so please let me know how I’m doing.🤞 Part two will be posted same time next week.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

“I’ll be back before you know it.” You pat Omega’s head, smiling warmly down at the young girl as she clings to you. It hurt to leave her again, but you were going to be gone for a few days at most, not weeks.

Still, her grip doesn’t let up, and her gaze is turned downwards. Things had slowly gone back to normal since you all returned to Pabu from Barton IV, with the exception of Omega’s reluctance to let any of you out of her sight. 

That, and how Crosshair had been acting, which was to say he was avoiding you at all costs.

That was fine with you. The others may have forgiven him, but you weren't so ready to let bygones be bygones. You could tolerate being in the same room as him, but that was as far as you were willing to go. At least until you could figure out why you were still so upset.

And it was frustrating, not being able to put your finger on the cause of your irritation. Crosshair hadn't apologized, but you expected as much. He wasn't the type. You had already forgiven him for betraying the team and refusing to come back, but something was still keeping you from completely letting go.

It was unbecoming of a Jedi, you knew that, but you couldn't shake off your resentment.

It didn't help that his behavior was confusing. The day you got back, the others had gone about their usual routine. But not Crosshair. He was more quiet and standoffish than ever, but it didn't seem directed at anyone. It was almost like he was uncomfortable, and not just in general, but with being around you.

You knew he was spending most of his time by the water, though you never saw him when you went out there yourself. Just his rifle, sitting on the rocks.

The others insisted it was a good sign that he was taking the time to process everything. You didn't have the heart to tell them that you could still sense him through the Force whenever you went out, and his unrest was clear. The tremble of his hand, his uneven breaths, his mind racing, all of it.

The only other time you felt him was when you were alone in your room. You were trying to meditate when he walked past. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel him hesitating at the door, before he ultimately chose to move on.

The thought of confronting him made you anxious. You didn't know what would happen, and you didn't know if you wanted to find out. 

For now, you just wanted to keep your distance and get your anger under control. Leaving for a few days to take care of your own problems will give you the space you need, and hopefully, things will go back to normal once you get back.

"Omega?" you ask, trying to get her attention. She finally looks up at you, and you see the concern in her eyes. Your heart aches, and you kneel down, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I know,” she finally whispers.

She doesn't want you to leave. But you were.

The mission would only take a day or two, and then you'd be back. One of your old contacts had called in, saying that she had some intel you needed. You didn't have the full story, but that wasn't going to stop you from dropping everything to answer. You'd been waiting over a year for a call like this, and you needed to see it through on your own.

So you kneel, meeting Omega eye to eye. You hold out your little finger, and she sighs, unmoving. You wiggle it, drawing a soft laugh from the girl.

You’d taught her how to pinky swear not long after you rejoined the Batch. It was a sort of tradition between you and your Master, and him and his, and so on. 

The promise was more sacred than a verbal one to you, even if it was more juvenile than others. It meant that the person who sealed the deal was obligated to fulfill their promise, or face a lifetime of bad luck. 

Of course, you never believed that part, but you liked the sentiment behind the gesture.

"I promise I'll be back," you whisper, "don't finish Spaceworld without me, okay?"

"Okay," Omega mumbles, a weak smile on her lips. She takes your pinky with hers, and the two of you shake. "You promise you'll be safe?"

"Always," you tell her, low and serious.

Hunter watches the exchange, nodding his approval. He doesn't understand the point of the ritual, but he knows enough to know that Omega feels better. And that you'd keep your word.

Your eyes meet his and he nods, silently telling you to hurry and get going. You straighten and turn toward the Marauder, your bag slung over your shoulder, and start off.

Before you can step foot on the ramp, a voice stops you in your tracks, and your blood runs cold.

“You’re leaving?”

Crosshair steps out from under the shadow of the archway behind you, and you spin around. His eyes narrow when you face him, his hands clenched tightly around his rifle. He stands stiff, as though waiting for a fight.

You're surprised by his presence, surprised he's even talking to you, but your expression doesn't betray the shock. Your brow furrows as you regard him, trying to figure out his angle.

“I’m meeting up with a contact for a mission. I won't be gone long. Two days, maybe less, if everything goes according to plan." 

You don't want to explain further, and your tone leaves no room for argument. But Crosshair has never been one to listen to what you want.

He takes a step forward, his eyes flitting over to Hunter for a brief moment, before looking at you again.

"Who's going with you?"

You frown. "What does it matter?"

"Who's going with you?" he repeats the question, slower, a hint of anger lacing his words.

You're silent for a moment, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. You didn't want to tell him, but if he wasn't going to give up, it might just be easier.

"No one," you answer, the words spilling out. "Just me."

The second the words leave your lips, you know you've said the wrong thing. Crosshair's expression morphs into one of fury, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed.

"You’re letting her go alone?” he asks, turning toward Hunter with an accusatory look. You bristle at the remark, the need to defend yourself growing stronger.

Hunter sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances at you, and you stare back. You were determined to handle this alone, and while Hunter didn't like it, he understood. So you'd made a deal, the same one you made with Omega, that you'd return quickly and come back alive.

He gives a subtle nod, and you return it.

“I’m not ‘letting her’ do anything. She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants," he answers, crossing his arms. Crosshair's head snaps toward him, his mouth open, but Hunter cuts him off, "Besides, she said she could handle it, and I believe her."

Hunter's words should have made you happy, should have filled you with a sense of pride, but instead all you feel is dread.

If Crosshair had looked angry before, he was downright furious now. His expression morphs from shock to frustration, and his glare shifts from Hunter to you.

You're taken aback by the change. Crosshair had never looked at you like that, not even when he left the squad and you behind.

The look is gone before you can question it, replaced by a steely resolve. He stalks past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he climbs the ramp of the ship.

He doesn't say anything else, doesn't even spare a glance in your direction, and you stare after him, mouth agape, until you realize what he's doing.

"Absolutely not," you snarl, stomping up the ramp behind him. You move to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs you off. "You are not coming with me. I don't want or need your help."

Crosshair ignores your protests, dropping into the copilot's seat. He begins going over the controls, his brow furrowed.

"I don't remember inviting you," you snap. "Get out."

"Don't you mean thank you?" He doesn't turn to look at you, doesn't even spare a glance, as he answers.

"I will thank you when you leave," you seethe. You take a step forward, reaching for his shoulder again. You want him out, and if you have to drag him off the ship, you will.

But he's quicker than you, spinning around to catch your wrist. His hand trembles slightly as he holds it, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he releases you.

"You're welcome."

He turns away again, focusing on the control panel, and you growl, frustrated. You can feel your anger bubbling beneath the surface, and you know if you don't calm down, it'll spill over.

"Cross," you start, slowly, trying to keep the venom from your voice, "I don't want you to come with me."

"And I don't want you to leave, but here we are."

He doesn't sound angry anymore, doesn't sound anything, really, but his tone still sets you on edge.

"Look, I know you don't like it, but--"

"Then don't go," he interrupts, his fingers gripping the armrests.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was pointless. He isn’t listening to a word you’re saying, and the longer you argue, the longer it will take for you to get off world. If you don’t get going soon, you’ll be late.

"Fine," you hiss, moving to the pilot's seat. "Do whatever you want."

"Good," he replies, his tone sharp. He leans back in the chair, his arms crossed. 

You buckle in and begin the startup sequence, ignoring him. You try to focus on the task at hand, but his presence is distracting, and it takes you a minute longer than usual to finish prepping the ship.

He's still tense, and so are you, but the tension is different. It's uncomfortable, the atmosphere too quiet and too loud all at once. Neither of you speak, and the only sounds are those of the Marauder starting up and the distant chatter of the others outside.

You focus on getting the ship into the air, and Crosshair stares at the ceiling. When you've cleared the planet, you set the coordinates and the ship jumps into hyperspace.

The silence continues. You hate it. You hate how tense things have been, how awkward, how strained.

You don't like him, not anymore, and he's made it clear he doesn't like you, but you were stuck with each other now. You were on a mission, and you didn't have time to sit and stew in your emotions.

"I have a job to do," you say, finally breaking the silence. "It's nothing major, just an exchange. Intel for credits. If you're going to come, then don't get in my way."

Crosshair says nothing, and you don't turn to look at him, but you hear him shift in his seat, the fabric rustling.

"Fine," he responds after some time, his voice quiet. "So what are they giving you?"

You glance over at him, startled by his sudden interest, and you're not sure how to respond. He stares back, his face blank, his expression carefully neutral. It's hard to read him, and while you can't sense any negative emotion from him, you don't trust it.

You fidget, wringing your hands in your lap. This was a bad idea. You shouldn't have told him. He was going to judge you for it, or worse, mock you.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words don't come out. What were you supposed to tell him? The truth?

No.

"Doesn't matter," you murmur, turning away from him.

You wish he'd let the conversation drop. You weren't ready for him to know. You weren't even sure if he'd understand.

"It obviously does, or you wouldn't be this worked up about it," he counters. His voice is quiet, but his tone is firm.

"I'm not worked up." You cross your arms, staring out the viewport.

"Sure you're not." 

You can practically hear him roll his eyes, and it makes you angrier.

"I'm not!"

"Okay, okay. Just calm down."

"Stop telling me what to do," you growl, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Stop being so stubborn, and I will."

"Why do you even care, anyway?”

He flinches slightly, and you can see his expression soften as you hold his gaze, watching as he searches for a response. It takes him a second, and you observe in real time as the walls go back up, his face morphing into a neutral mask.

"I don't."

"Then stop acting like it," you say, rolling your eyes.

He tenses at your words, and he doesn't respond right away. You think he's finally dropped the subject, but he pushes further, his tone cold. "Why do you need it?"

"It's none of your business."

"You're my business,” he says, quick and sharp.

Then, his eyes widen, and his mouth snaps closed. He's clearly as surprised by his response as you are, and the two of you stare at each other in silence, your heart pounding.

"Oh." 

You're not sure what else to say. The two of you aren't friends, aren't anything, but the weight of his statement doesn't go unnoticed.

You can't figure out if he means it.

You're not sure what to think.

"I mean..." he starts, but doesn't finish. He looks away, clearing his throat. 

"It's fine," you interrupt, not wanting to make things more awkward. The tension is back, and you hate it, but at least you've reached an understanding.

There's nothing between you, not anymore.

Crosshair's quiet, and you're grateful for the silence. You take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly. You'd have time to unpack that later, but right now you had to focus on the mission. You could worry about him when this was over.

After a moment, he turns toward you, his gaze flitting over your face. He doesn't look mad, and his expression is almost pensive.

Finally, he sighs.

"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You shake your head. "You’ll find out when I get it."

He stares at you for a long time, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he huffs, slumping back in his seat. His resignation is a relief, and you breathe a small sigh.

"I have to ask," you begin, eager to change the subject, "what was the point of that little display?"

He raises a brow, glancing over at you. "Display?"

"With Hunter," you elaborate, "back there. I assume it wasn't just to annoy me."

He smirks, the corner of his lips curling upward. He tilts his head, and you try not to think about how it's the first time he's looked at you that way since everything happened.

"I was mostly doing it to annoy you."

"Of course you were." You roll your eyes. You don't believe him, not entirely, but you didn't doubt that he wanted to get under your skin. It felt like that was all he'd done since the beginning, and it was getting tiresome.

"But," he begins, leaning back, "if I can't talk you out of doing this, the least I can do is make sure you have backup."

You stare at him, unsure of how to respond. Your mouth opens, then closes, and you blink several times. What were you supposed to say to that?

"That's... sweet, I guess?" You don't mean for it to come out as a question, but the surprise gets the best of you.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs, and you're reminded of the old Crosshair.

The Crosshair who used to tease you, to rile you up, just because he knew it would make you laugh. The Crosshair who would sit with you while you studied, who would make you food when you were too tired to do it yourself. The one who loved his brothers fiercely, even if he was a pain in the ass. The one that you, despite everything, missed.

You didn't think he was capable of being like that anymore, but here he was, proving you wrong.

"Well," he says, shifting uncomfortably, "It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You can't help but chuckle at his reasoning, though there's a hint of bitterness to the sound, and his scowl returns.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, come on," you reply, crossing your arms, still laughing. "It's a little funny."

"Is not," he argues, but there's no heat to it.

You snicker, shaking your head. It's not funny, but it's nice. Normal, even. It's the most normal conversation you've had in a long time, and the most normal Crosshair has acted, and it's almost like things are the way they were before.

"Whatever you say, dear." 

The pet name slips out without a thought, and you regret it the second it does. You wince, looking over at him. You hope he doesn't take it the wrong way, but he doesn't seem to notice. He just scoffs, a small smile playing on his lips.

You relax in your chair, letting the tension slip from your body. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, how easy things used to be. It felt good, and you wished you could keep that feeling.

"So," you begin, "are you going to be a good boy while we're there, or am I going to have to watch my back?"

"I'm always a good boy," he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh, and his lips twitch upward, a hint of smugness coloring his features. It's an old joke, and it's ridiculous, but it feels good. You didn't think he had it in him, and hearing his sarcasm again was a welcome surprise.

"We both know that's not true."

"You'd be surprised." He stands, stretching his arms over his head. When he lowers them, he looks at you again, a faint smirk on his lips. "I can be very good, when I want to be.”

He brushes his fingers across your shoulder as he walks past, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help the heat that rises to your face, and you're thankful that he's turned away from you.

You're left in a daze, your mind racing. You didn't think he was capable of having a civil conversation with you, let alone flirting. And yet here you were, trying desperately not to think about the implications behind his words.

It reminded you of before, before everything had gone to shit. Back when he could make you laugh in just a few words and make you blush with even less. He’d tease and flirt and push all your buttons, and it drove you crazy.

And you loved it.

You thought maybe you loved him too, at some point.

But he had thrown all that away when he abandoned the team. He had tossed aside every moment of laughter and affection and friendship, and he'd never seemed to care. And maybe that's what hurt the most, knowing he'd so easily let go of whatever it was between the two of you.

You'd tried not to think about him, after he left. You'd thrown yourself into the missions, and you'd tried not to look back. The others had done the same, you thought, but when Crosshair came back into your lives, they had forgiven him.

So why was it so hard for you?

The answer was supposed to be easy. You’d been the one he’d tried to kill, after all. But you knew it wasn’t his fault, knew it was the chip. You wanted to forgive him, and in a way, you had, but it still hurt.

Maybe it was because he had hurt you, not physically, but in another way. A deeper way. He had left you. He had abandoned the team, and he had left you behind, and despite ample opportunities, he'd refused to come back.

Or maybe it was because, after all that, after he'd hurt you and the people you cared about, you still couldn't bring yourself to hate him.

Maybe, deep down, you were worried that part of you still loved him.

Your head was spinning. You needed a drink, or a nap, or a distraction.

"Where are you going?" you call after him.

"To make sure Omega didn't sneak aboard," he calls back.

You can’t help but smile, shaking your head. He'd never admit it, but he cared about her. He'd probably deny it to his dying breath, if asked, but you knew better. And as you watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling blooms in your chest.

It's warm, and light, and familiar.

And for a brief moment, things almost feel right again.

Crosshair is, for lack of a better word, insufferable. He doesn't listen to a word you say, doesn't follow your directions, and has a bad habit of doing the opposite of what you tell him to do.

He also has a knack for making you feel like an idiot. It was something you conveniently forgotten about during your time apart, and now, you were beginning to remember why you'd fought so much in the past.

And the worst part was, he wasn't even trying to piss you off.

He was just...himself.

"That's not how it's done," he sneers, leaning against the wall. His eyes are on your hands, watching you clean your blaster. You know this game, and you don't want to play. So you do the one thing that always seems to get under his skin.

You ignore him.

You pretend like you haven't heard him, and you continue with your task. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don't look up. He sighs and huffs as you wipe around the trigger mechanism, he crosses his arms as you check the power cell, and you know he's getting antsy.

It isn't until you wet a swatch with solvent and push it through the barrel from front to back, and Crosshair makes a noise of disgust, that you snap.

"What?" you bark, your grip on the weapon tightening. You're not angry, not yet, but you can feel it creeping up on you.

“You’re going to damage the rifling,” he says, pushing off the wall. He reaches for the weapon, but you pull it out of his reach.

"I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly." He rolls his eyes. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to to end up with a misfire or a malfunction, and I don’t think either of us want that. Do you?"

You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. "No, but—"

"Then give me the damn blaster," he says, reaching out again.

You consider refusing, just to prove a point, but his tone has caught you off guard. He doesn't sound condescending, or mocking, or even annoyed.

He sounds worried.

So you hand it over, and he takes it, his fingers brushing against yours.

"Just let me do it, alright?" he asks, and the frustration in his voice is gone, replaced by something softer.

You nod, watching as he sits next to you, his attention on the weapon. His movements are confident, practiced, and you can't help but notice the way his fingers move as he cleans.

You watch as he sets the blaster aside, grabbing the canister of solvent and a rag. Crosshair's movements are quick and meticulous, and he doesn't miss a spot. What took you nearly twenty minutes to accomplish, he completes in five, and his technique is far more thorough than yours.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t blown your hand off yet," he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “If this is what the Jedi were teaching you, no wonder the Empire wiped them out."

Any good will you were feeling toward him disappears in an instant. You bristle, your anger returning, and you glare at him.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," he teases, his lips twitching upwards.

You can't decide if his comment was meant to piss you off or annoy you, and you settle for a combination of the two. You're not sure why you expected anything else from him, but the joke hits a sore spot. The fact that he doesn't realize what he's said, that he doesn't understand what he's done, only makes it worse.

Crosshair's smile falls when you continue glaring despite the flush in your cheeks, and you can sense his frustration. He huffs, looking back down at the weapon in his hands.

He's quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice soft.

"Here," he says, holding the reassembled blaster out, its barrel glistening. It’s the cleanest it's been in months, though you won’t admit it out loud.

Crosshair had always taken great pride in the cleanliness and efficiency of his weapons, and seeing his handiwork in front of you reminds you of simpler times. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d passed out from exhaustion after a mission or gotten too distracted, only to find your weapons cleaned and ready to go the next morning.

It had irritated you, at first. You hated having your things touched without permission, but eventually, you got used to it. It was nice, knowing he cared enough about you to do such a thing. Though Crosshair always denied it when you tried to thank him. As if it would be anyone other than him.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and it’s genuine.

He looks at you, and there's a flash of something in his eyes, something softer than the usual indifference. But it's gone before you can decipher its meaning.

“Why do you still use that thing, anyway?" he asks. “It's a piece of junk. Don’t you have a lightsaber?”

You suck in a breath, his words cutting deep. Of course he would bring up the one thing you didn't want to talk about. You should have expected it. You weren't sure why it had never come up, but you should have known it would happen eventually.

He's staring at the blaster, and you know he didn't mean to hurt you, not this time, but the ache is there, nonetheless. The grief sinks in your stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, and your hands shake. You clench them into fists, hoping to hide the movement.

You've gone quiet for too long, and Crosshair knows he's hit a nerve. He turns his attention to you, and his eyes widen when he sees the look on your face.

You're pale, your expression pained. Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw set, and your shoulders are stiff. “No,” you say, your voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

He frowns. He looks confused, and for a second, he almost looks worried. "What happened?"

“I lost it.”

“What?" His voice sounds incredulous, as if the concept is inconceivable. "When?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears. You'd promised yourself you'd never cry over this again, but it was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought. It hurts, talking about it, and a part of you wants to shut him out. 

But another, bigger, part of you wants him to know. Maybe it's a test, of sorts. If he can't handle this, if he doesn't want to hear the truth, then there's no way he'd be able to handle the rest.

“On Kamino," you say, and your voice shakes, despite your best efforts. You pause, taking a deep breath. You close your eyes, and the memories come back, clear as day. "Around the same time I…” 

You can’t continue, but the words are there, lingering in the air. The same time I lost you.

His mouth forms a silent 'oh', and the room falls silent. You look at the floor, avoiding his eyes, and he does the same. You're not sure how much time passes, but it feels like hours.

He clears his throat, and the sound breaks the spell. You look up, and his eyes are on you, intense and dark. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the apology surprises you.

"Don't be." You shrug, but you can't shake the melancholy that's settled over the room.

"You should get a new one," he suggests.

You shake your head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

Crosshair hums, and he turns away from you. He picks up the cleaning kit and places it back on the shelf. You watch him, wondering if that's the end of the conversation, and a part of you hopes it is.

But when he turns to face you again, his expression is pensive, and his tone is somber.

He sighs, and the weight of his words hit you, his voice quiet.

“You’re not the same, either."

You swallow thickly, unsure how to respond. You’ve had the same thought rolling around in your head for months, but to hear it spoken out loud, to hear it from him, suddenly makes it seem real.

Because he's right.

You aren't the same, not anymore. You hadn't been since the fall of the Order, since Crosshair left, since you'd lost everything. And you couldn't deny the changes that had been wrought within you, no matter how hard you tried.

"Yeah," you say, and the word is heavy on your tongue. “I guess not.”

You stare at each other, and a moment passes. It's an unspoken understanding, an admission, and neither of you can find the right words.

It's then that you realize that maybe he's changed, too.

And that, for whatever reason, makes you sad.

The silence drags on, and you're not sure if he's waiting for you to speak, or if he's waiting for something else. His eyes are searching, his mouth slightly parted, and he looks almost nervous.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and there's a pressure behind your eyes. You want to say something, but you can't think of anything. You're not sure if the urge is to comfort him, or comfort yourself.

You're grateful when you can feel the the hair on the back of your next prickle, a sign of something shifting in the Force. It's a distraction, a welcome one, and you take the opportunity to break eye contact. You stand to make your way to the cockpit, holstering your blaster as you go.

When you reach the door, you pause, glancing back. Crosshair is still standing in the middle of the room, his head tilted in your direction. His eyes are fixed on you, and he looks almost sad.

You swallow thickly and force yourself to speak. “We should be there in a second."

“How do you—“ 

He’s interrupted by the subtle lurch of the ship dropping out of hyperspace, and his confused expression turns to one of exasperation.

You smile, just a little, and Crosshair scoffs.

"Show off," he mutters, following behind you.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 18

part 1, prev part

The seat vinyl creaks when Steve sits down next to him. Having come back after dropping Dustin off. Wayne wasn’t expecting him to but here he was. Sitting and playing with the hem of his sweater.

“The kid home?”

Steve nods. Eyes glassy. “How long has Eddie been doing that? Cursing at you.”

Wayne shifts in his seat. “Twice. That I’ve been here at least. Had to take a break after the first time, heard he swore up and down at the nurses. They had to restrain him, so he didn’t pull the IV out.”

Or worse. Eddie’s not a violent person. But in this state, there’s really no telling what he’ll do. He’s still remembering how to be himself again.

Wayne thought that he’d be angrier at them restraining him. He wasn’t though. They had to put their safety first, and he understood that. It was his own hands that have restrained him twice now. Knowing the unusual strength that he has while fighting. All his energy rushing to do so, exhausting him.

Leaving him just like he is now. Sleeping.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to see that,” Steve says softly. “I know it can’t be easy. I barely knew him and I’m upset, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.”

Wayne doesn’t even know what he’s feeling half the time. He can’t even start to care about how other’s think he’s feeling.

“How did you and him end up together over spring break anyway?” he asks to skirt the conversation. Offering the olive branch he should have extended the first time he realized that Steve knew the real truth.

Steve lets out a long sigh. “It was Dustin really. When the news broke that morning, Dustin and Max came into the shop and convinced us to find Eddie. We did, he told us what happened, and we knew that it was true. Then we went looking to try and find the person who did it.”

“Did you?” The question has depth beyond those two words. Wayne searching the way Steve responds to see if this is the same person that put his boy here. If that person is still a threat to them all.

“Yeah,” he nods. With lingering uncertainty. “If everything went the way we planned, he won’t be coming back.”

It shouldn’t have to have come down to kids. This fight, this hunt, whatever it was, Wayne’s not so sure why it was highschoolers chasing after them. Not the police, or the government. Not like Wayne trusted them in the slightest. It just seemed like a better option than children.

The conversation pauses, both wondering what to say next. Still bridging that gap from acquaintances to friends. If that’s anything close to what they are going to be. Wayne has found friends in unknowing places these last few weeks. People adding him on a roster he never thought he’d be a part of. Supporting him through all of this.

Helping him through the hardest time he’s ever gone through.

“I talked to Dustin, told him to take a break from visiting Eddie for a few days. Told me you said the same.”

“Yeah, I did. The kid pushes himself to do more than he needs to.”

Steve nods, crossing his arms. “I know. I love him to death, but he doesn’t know when to give up. Especially when the people he loves are hurt.”

Another pause.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for him, it’s been helping him a lot.”

There wasn’t a scenario in Wayne’s mind where he would ever not be there for the kid. It was the easiest decision he’s had to make since all of this started.

“It’s no problem. He’s a good kid and I know Eddie cares for him a lot.”

“I do too. He’s like a brother to me and this has been hard for all of us. And, I haven’t been able to be there for him as much as I want to be, with all of the things I’ve gone through since spring break. Your plate hasn’t exactly been empty either. Thank you for taking the time to look out for him. He might not show it, but he’s really grateful that you’re here.”

Wayne can’t help but smile at that.

next part

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

[ceilidho]

Hey! I think youre an amazing writer and i really look up to you. Ive been reading your works since reylo, you inspired me to write my own reylo stuff. I think youre wonderful and could read your works over and over again. I was just wondering if I could ask you advice. I'm trying to get into writing second person pov fanfic, but I'm terrible at it. I can write it from third person or first person no problem. I was wondering if you had any tips.

oh thank you, i really appreciate that!!! and im so glad you're giving writing a shot!! honestly it's so tough to actually make the decision to sit down and write something and then show it to other people (and it's very scary and kind of humbling as you get better and better and look back at your old work haha) so that's so awesome!!

i actually wrote so much beneath this so i needed the "read more" lmaooo

actually, i'll tell you what, when you first transition from writing 1st or 3rd person to writing in 2nd person, it feels weird and abnormal, but i've actually grown to love 2nd pov. i just love the way it sounds in my head when i'm constructing a sentence. and tbh there's actually not a huge difference from writing 1st and 2nd pov in my opinion.

like my general thoughts around 2nd pov are:

obviously since it's an internal dialogue (like the perspective is rooted in the person you're writing from rather than some omniscient 3rd pov), while you can still describe what's happening on the main character's face ("you purse your lips" "you frown, annoyed" etc), it's still coming from their perspective, so there's a level of depth there that other characters around them don't have. like Price in my western fic is a bit more mysterious on account of him not being a narrator figure in the story.

if you're using 2nd pov because you're writing an x reader fic, and you want to keep your reader character quite neutral, ensure that you're avoiding big descriptors like skin colour, hair texture/length, body size (unless you're specifically writing a fat reader or a reader with a specific body type, in which case, go wild!), height, etc. your reader character is never going to be 100% neutral, but just pay attention to any descriptors you add and you can make sure they're as neutral as can be.

this is probably obvious, but you don't have to start every sentence with "you did x" or "you said y" or whatever. you can still be loose and flexible with your sentences like you might be in a 3rd person narration. like, i'll take apart a paragraph from my fic and highlight where i've added the "you/your" pov:

The worry making your body tense and stiff finally releases once you’re alone. You curl up on the bed without pulling down the sheets or taking your dress off. The journey's left you weak, sapped of energy. Worn down to your base elements. Hardly unexpected after what you’ve gone through, after leaving behind a cooling body two states away. The days since have left you sick with worry, nerves shot when you consider how the authorities will look to you first, the maid, and find in your absence all the answers they need. 

notice that i only started one sentence with "you" here. i think some people mistake using 2nd pov for thinking that the entire story/fic has to be a direct narration of what the character is doing (i.e. "you walk to the end of the hall and then you sit down. you notice a silver bullet on the table near you. you pick it up.") but that's not the case.

the narration is coming from this character, yes, but it's also still a story. this is hard to describe, but there's almost a weird, unconscious 3rd pov in the story at the same time, like you're looking down at this narrator and you're speaking through them, but you still have some externality. in order to tell an evocative, interesting story, you HAVE to know and notice at least a bit more than your narrator consciously does.

this kind of mirrors real life in a way actually because your brain picks up a lot of information that you as a person don't consciously absorb. it's why humans are able to have quick reflexes and dodge/duck things or whatever without realizing what they're doing. (look up "unconscious perception"). you can do this with 1st pov as well, but 1st pov is very useful for stream of consciousness stories or really getting into a character's head. 2nd pov is still governed by that narrator character, but it's picking up on other details and information in the surrounding environment.

anyway i hope this is in any way helpful haha - it's how i like to think of writing in 2nd pov!

[ur-local-kiwi]

tell me about your oc's!!

crying sobbing im so happy you asked,,,, ;o;

i have like way too many so im not sure which ones exactly to talk about specifically, but for now ill just ramble about mao and xander because i love them,,,,

so, mao and xander's story is a little complicated and its changed so many times,, ive had them for almost 4 years now, and i had no idea they would be around for so long, especially since i only made mao for a character design class i was taking and nothing more, but now hes evolved into so much more than i anticipated,,, ! i love them :">

anyway, heres their story thus far:

xander is the son of a famous inventor, who has gone off to aid in war, leaving him behind to keep their small repair business running. he struggles a lot, because he doesnt really like inventing or doing the same kind of stuff his father does, but he feels like he has to because his father was such a legend in what he did. xander is clumsy, scatterbrained, and has low self-esteem, but he is always trying his hardest to look on the bright side. however, despite his optimism, he struggles to keep the business going, and he realizes he wants more from life than just living in his father's shadow and failing to meet expectations, but he doesnt know what he wants for himself. searching for answers and at wit's end, he goes to a local abandoned shrine at the edge of town to ask for help,,,,

mao is an ex-deity, once representing great fortune and prosperity. he had a small group of loyal followers, but since then his following has begun to dwindle. he finds himself lonely and isolated, as no other deities really like him all that much, since he often plays pranks to get others' attention but often goes too far. one day, after centuries of slowly losing his influence and power, and after a prank of his went too far and ended in destruction, it is decided that he will be stripped of his deity status and title by the high council ( the council that oversees all otherworldly powers ) and as punishment, he is sent to the mortal realm as a mortal.

he suddenly appears at the shrine after getting a thorough scolding by the high council, right as xander was praying to his shrine. xander looks to him for guidance, not knowing that he is no longer a deity, and mao plays along, hoping that if he can somehow help xander find true prosperity in life by fulfilling his wish, then he can prove to the high council that he has what it takes to become a deity once more.

however, the problem is that neither xander nor mao actually knows what xander's wish actually is,,, xander is still uncertain about what he wants out of life, hoping that mao will guide him, and mao is uncertain of what to do to help him, since he cant help if xander doesnt know what he wants. so, they both go on their journey of self-discovery, developing a very close relationship along the way as they travel from place to place in hopes to find xander's true wish.

i hope i explained it well !! its still a work in progress but its what i have for them so far :> basically its just two silly guys going on their silly guy adventures,,, i love them so much <333

i dont have many good drawings of them sadly, but this is the most recent one i have of the two together ! i need to finish coloring this ;v; ( as the names on the drawing say, xander is the one on the left and mao is the one on the right ! )

i hope this helps, sorry for so much writing !!

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Thank you so much for the Jason review rec list! It motivates me to start reading his comics, tbh. It helps tremendously that you put so many details of his characterization in it, because it prepares me of the way hes written in it! :D I do have a question, which is: in your opinion, which of runs have the most consistent writing/characterization? Ive heard that hes written.. very inconsistently bcs they dont know how to write him (wont let him be an anti-hero or challenge batman, which also brings me to another question on what counts as his true characterization; is it him before the n52 reboot?) Thank you!

I'm really glad to hear that! I hope you have lots of fun exploring Jason comics :D

Wow are both of those questions very difficult to answer! But I shall do my best to under the cut!

Most runs are very internally consistent with regards to his characterization. Jason will stay mostly the same throughout the run, or have an actual character arc that keeps him feeling like the same character throughout.

Batman and Robin (2009) is a notable because Jason is written by two different authors in it, and Grant Morrison's Jason and Judd Winick's Jason have very different vibes.

What people usually mean when they say he's written inconsistently is that every author has a different take on what Jason should be like, and they all have a different idea about what kind of story they want to tell using him.

Judd Winick read Hush and thought something along the lines of "Wow this story would have been so much better if Jason had actually been the one behind everything that happened here!" and so he wrote Under the Red Hood, and made Jason into Evil Batman: someone with all of Batman's methods and techniques, yet without the commitment not to kill and with a serious thirst for vengeance.

Grant Morrison wanted a much more traditional Batman villain. Villains who blame Bruce for all their problems despite Bruce not actually being at fault and then killing people about it are pretty common. Morrison took that idea and used Jason to fit this mold in a new era where Bruce was gone and Dick Grayson took up the Batman mantle.

Scott Lobdell wanted a story about redemption and healing and family. So Jason gets repeatedly paired with other people to care for or to love and shown parallels in his own life that force him to confront his own unwillingness to forgive and become a much, much gentler person.

The authors of The Man Who Stopped Laughing were faced with the challenge of finding a suitable antagonist for the Joker. Jason is a character with enough of a violent streak to actually be menacing to the embodiment of all evil that is the Joker. But that requires bringing out that murderous streak, and thereby countering Lobdell's characterization.

Which of these is the true characterization?

None of them.

All of them.

One True Characterization can't exist in comics. Especially not DC comics which has a policy of almost routinely destroying their entire multiverse and building it back up from scratch.

Every character's personality is an aggregate of all the different stories that have been told about them. Those stories are told by dozens of different people, in a constantly shifting setting, full of characters who are also written by dozens of different people. What is and isn't canon changes constantly. All you can do is read a bunch of comics and get the general vibe of a character from that.

Jason's characterizations in particular have been so widely different that it's hard to figure out what exactly you should count as being true to him.

The reason many people may point to pre-new52 comics as 'true' characterization is that an important part of characterizing is keeping in mind the events the character has gone through and how those might impact their thinking and worldview. During the time span of around 1980-2009 DC comics were written such that it was pretty easy to make a timeline of events for any given character. Post-new52 I and many others find it nearly impossible to tell what history any of the characters have.

In between 2009 and now there have been at least two or three reboots. So, for any comic passed 2009 here is a list of questions about Jason that I can't answer:

Has Jason ever been to prison?

Did Jason fight Tim in Titan's Tower?

Was the Red Robin identity originally held by Jason?

Did Jason ever attempt to be Batman?

Has Jason actually stabbed Tim before?

Did Jason ever shoot Damian and Dick?

Does Jason remember the time he spent multiverse hopping with Donna Troy and Kyle Raynor?

Did he ever have tentacles?

Does he know that Dick has killed people? For that matter: Has Dick killed anyone?? Did Blockbuster ever exist??? Is that time he killed the Joker counted as canon still????

Did Jason ever kidnap Mia Dearden?

How many people has Jason killed? I can't even tell you if he's killed less or more than 100

Did the All-Caste thing happen?? Did Lost Days happen???

Was he involved in Hush?

These are really important questions! The list does not stop there either!

This uncertainty does not invalidate the newer comics, but the nature of the reboots does mean that the already difficult task of getting a 'true Jason' is impossible. You have to take every reboot as a reboot, meaning that new-52 Jason and Rebirth Jason and 2005-2009 Jason are literally alternate universe versions of each other. This is both true on a meta level, and has been written into the canon of the fictional world he lives in. Arguing that one is more real than the other is futile.

(Though it does mean that if you want a stable timeline, starting with 2005-2009 era comics is a good idea. It's easier to follow along with what is supposed to have happened and when. It also contains the majority of the events that fandom likes to play off of.)

The versions I like best reside mostly in the 2005-2009 era, and that's true for most of the other Jason fans that I follow on Tumblr, but I know of a few blogs who much prefer Rebirth Jason and neither of us can definitively prove that one Jason or the other is more valid or canon or true or whatever.

Most arguments about which Jason is the true Jason will just come down to personal preference anyways. Many, many people could write essays, pulling up sources and comic panels, to argue very effectively that I'm wrong about Brothers In Blood and Batman and Robin (2009) #1-#6 being in character for him. That's okay. It's cool even! The fact that he is messy and complicated and can be interpreted so many different ways is great! As you read, you'll find out which versions appeal to you best and they might be very different than mine!

My biggest advice is to read each author's rendition of Jason with an open mind, and an open heart, and just see if you like it!

Don't worry about searching out the real Jason. Just vibe with the stories that have been made about him and think about how each appeals or doesn't appeal to you. If you start reading, you'll develop an understanding of him. Your personal interactions with the art/stories will always be more valuable than figuring out the fan or authorial consensus about him.

[phippeet]

this is a rant about bbc ghosts s5, there is slight spoilers and also mentions of homophobia so if you dont want to read those things scroll away :)

i loved the captains story but one thing that really really bothers me is the way his whole story was executed and handled. It makes me upset to see even in 2023 that we still have the problem of queer characters not given as much time as straight characters with their stories. like, in five years and five seasons we had to wait till the end of the second to last episode to find out how he died, and then it was not gone into depth about. it was definitely rushed, and it didnt really even have anything to do with the overarching plot of the episode like how most of the other characters stories did. and then you could also arguably even dismiss it because its so vague. and after the captain tells everyone how he died, theres no real acknowledgement about his queerness, or real acceptance. even though all of the ghosts definitely already knew, they could have said something about his queerness specifically. honestly he doesnt actually 'come out.' and then with the last line of the last episode being the captain being arguably the most outwardly gay hes ever been makes it worse. it makes me sad when a show that i love so dearly and that has such beautiful writing and characters falls into this homophobic trope of not giving the queer characters the time they deserve. because of what the creators said, i thought it would delve deeper into him. it would be a good story. but it was just dissapointing honestly. and honestly i could brush it off. but ive seen SO MANY shows and movies and books do this same thing. for some reason specifically with gay men. it just makes me upset to see this over and over and over and over and every single time the creators say it will be a good story and live up to expectations, but then it falls flat. i hate living in a world where the stories about me and the stories i want to see are sidelined.

like i said, i really did love the season, or series, i guess, and i liked the captains story, i dont think it matters how sad it was because that aspect fits within the world and the character and his time period. but what really hurts is seeing the shows and creators you love so much seemingly not care enough about you to actually show stories about people like you. it really really sucks.

[angst-and-fajitas]

I posted 2,414 times in 2022

That's 605 more posts than 2021!

411 posts created (17%)

2,003 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@angst-and-fajitas

@totallynotpuri

@flyingfish1234

@pipulp

@foryouthegays

I tagged 2,334 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#mcyt - 378 posts

#pokemon - 272 posts

#emma talks - 214 posts

#technoblade - 130 posts

#hermitcraft - 127 posts

#dream smp - 105 posts

#asks - 87 posts

#save - 85 posts

#video - 78 posts

#philza - 72 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#ive been slowly compiling a bunch of screenshot snips of articles cause i wanna eventually make a piece of wikipedia poetry about this post

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

While musing on that post about Minecraft and the constant presence of portals and themes of escape, I found that I had come to an entirely different conclusion from the same information.

When I picture those unknown, long-gone ancient inhabitants of the Minecraft world that the game implies to have once populated the overworld, I don't get a sense of fear and the need to escape. Mostly, I get a sense of hunger and hubris.

Think about it. As the player, why do you build portals? Why do you go through them? Why do you burrow to the bottom of the world? Is it to get away from the creatures of the overworld, when the monsters and dangers you encounter once you leave that grassy surface are far worse? No. Every time you dig deeper into the universe, it becomes more dangerous. When you make that step, you make it from a need and longing to know what lies beyond. Assuming that those ancient people were beings like the player, why would they have been any different?

Why else would you plunge into fire or into void, if not to find what lies on the other side at any cost?

And yet, the dangers that the ancients found on the other side of every door they built were likely their undoing: netherrack and lava creep like a fungus out from the ruined remains of nether portals. Those who traveled to the End never came back to tell the tale, judging from the lack of loot and the cobwebs in the stronghold. And the Deep Dark..... Is that unknown portal in those ruined cities really an escape route from the skulk and the Warden, or yet another door greedily opened to a new plane, accidentally freeing new horrors that leech out and consume? Like the dwarves of Moria, did they delve too greedily and too deep?

As the player, if you could open that portal too, would it be to escape the Warden? Or would you brave the dark in spite of the Warden, just for the chance to see what lies beyond?

What calls to you? Is it fear of the world above, or is it the siren song of the abyss, drawing you ever deeper?

I think the game speaks for itself, after all:

2,473 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#4

He was one of my heroes tbh, despite the fact that I've always told myself to "have no heroes" because idolizing people is dangerous business. But he was never my hero because I idolized him, or thought he was perfect, unbeatable, or had a perfect moral compass. It was because I saw so much of myself in him in the sort of way that made me believe in myself.

His dry, deadpanned humor, his big dreams, his struggles with adhd and social anxiety, the English major background and jokes...... He was so much like me, and yet so much brighter, and stronger, and even more determined, that he made me want to do even better. When I was struggling and wondering if I should give up and drop out of college, he was the person I thought of. In his silly videos and the personal bits he told us, he reassured me that it would be ok even if I did have to stop, but also gave me faith that I could succeed despite my problems and failures, and that I should never give up on my dreams.

I hope he knew how much he meant to us. I hope he knew that every time we lamented his absences and teased him for his upload schedules, it was because he brought genuine value to our lives. We will keep missing him, and even more than us will the people who knew and loved him irl. All the work he did for good will live on and keep helping people.

Technoblade never dies💜

2,842 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

#3

HE!!!!!!!!

2,937 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#2

I wanted to give him ~fancy hair~

2,953 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fun new activities to do with your Blorbos!

Put them in a snowglobe and shake it

Bake on high until crispy at the edges

Stretch them like saltwater taffy

Hang them from your rearview mirror like fuzzy dice

12,315 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[papirouge]

Papi, sorry but I do think the Karen meme has gone too far...

I was literally just reading about this case about a "Karen" who tried to steal a bike from a group of young black men. She even cried at some points while trying to hold onto the bike, saying she was scared for her fetus. Everyone in the comments on YouTube, Reddit, etc. were calling her an entitled Karen, said she was weaponizing her tears, calling her mysogynistic things and made fun of the fetus comment. They doxxed her, sent her death threats, got her fired from her job and left horrible reviews on her husbands business.

Turns out later when more info came out that it was in fact the black teens that were robing her bike, and when she refused to give it, they decided to film her to paint her on social media as a racist and a robber. She is also six months pregnant, and came from a 12 hours long shift, thus probably why she was so emotional when she confronted them.

But everyone was eager for another racist Karen being shamed and ridiculed. And this is the thing: many people literally use the Karen thing as a excuse for being mysogynistic. There were comments by men saying how women, no matter the race, weaponize their tears against men all the time, even in court, and how men never did it because nobody cares about men. There were talks about female privilege, and how too many women grew up entitled and never being told 'no'. There were others making fun of the fetus comment, how she cared too much about a 'clump of cells' or an unborn fetus. A man who stated he was overweight even said he was going to start telling people he was pregnant as a way to get out of bad situations like women do, with many upvotes.

Like, i'm not saying there shouldn't be a term for racist white women, but why a name?? There are many nice women named Karen, hell, i know a black one whos so kind and smart yet she feels embarrassed by it nowadays.

Anyways, it scares me a little how much some men hate women. Like, this made me find out about a story where an 11 year old little girl was punched in the face by a grown man after she pushed him. Everyone on Reddit was defending the man, saying how she deserved it because she pushed him first,making jokes about "pussy pass denied" and calling her a bitch. Turns out the man actually had harrassed her first, and only uploaded the video from the part she pushed him (out of self defence). But everyone was celebrating, because apparently a lot of Reddit men love videos were women (and girls) are beaten?

Anyways, one thing I find weird is how a lot of black women cape for black men. I saw some on the comments of the first case, a black lady talking about how the white woman was weaponizing her tears and all, framing innocent black boys, and then when confronted with the truth, she just defended herself saying she was scared for her little brother and thats why she jumped to conclusions. But ive never seen black men care much for black women, in fact, i see them criticizing black women a lot and blaming them for the failings of the black community.

I mean, when the Meghan Thee Stallion case was going on, I saw both black men AND women defend the guy that shot her, and how she shouldn't let a brother go to jail. But black men never have the same energy for black women.

I'm not gonna pretend like the men from my racial group aren't super sexist, they are, but at least they do defend 'their women'.

Well, sorry for the wall of text and for being all over the place, could be the fucking autismo.

What you really need to understand anon, is that there's a difference between the viral Karen meme, and crusty scrote who jumped on the last bandwagon and started using it left and right for the worst.

(White people did the exact same with "woke" btw).

My problem is Whitefem and their mule acting like they were one and the same and that the OG Karen meme at the same mean spirited/misogynist intent as the second wave.. i HATE how Whitefem want to control the narrative and pretend knowing better than the actual people who made Karen viral what it truly meant. By brushing the whole karen meme as misogynist/racist they conveniently swipe under the rug the VALID criticism of the (Black) community that made that meme viral in the first place. This maliciousness hidden behind fake empathy is what disgusts me the most. White women will NEVER accept accountability. Never. Look at them girl bossify literal serial killer, murderers and abusers just because they're White women (interestingly you never see them doing so for non White female criminals 🤔). And when they do evil shit, oh it's their bIoLogY or "reactive vIolEncE"..... BYE

Look at yourself, anon. You bring this story of that poor women unfairly treated....but could you reflect WHY you'd never have the energy to remind "anti Karen Whitefem" stories of Black people who got as much unfairly treated on their shitty "anti Karen" think piece?? How unfair it is to lump legitimately frustrated people of color to misogynist scrotes just bc they vented against a manipulative White woman? Why would White women facing injustice somehow override the plentiful of other people who's only crlme is giving a funny nickname to racist White women? Why would the collectivity of people who experienced the direct threat of racist White women appease the handful of cranky White women by policing their own slang? Think about that.

Tell the scrote to shut up about Karen as much as you want, but leave those who knew how to use it with actual purpose alone. Men will always find ways/words to mock and abuse women. Karen is just a tool for them. Acting like the medium was the problem is ridiculous.

Like, i'm not saying there shouldn't be a term for racist white women, but why a name?? There are many nice women named Karen, hell, i know a black one whos so kind and smart yet she feels embarrassed by it nowadays.

Why not? Black women being named "Karen" are definitely a thing but interestingly, those aren't the one whining crying throwing up about how aKtcHualLy the Karen meme is misogynist and that "I'm the biggest victim" self-pity party

Anyways, one thing I find weird is how a lot of black women cape for black men. I saw some on the comments of the first case, a black lady talking about how the white woman was weaponizing her tears and all, framing innocent black boys, and then when confronted with the truth, she just defended herself saying she was scared for her little brother and thats why she jumped to conclusions. But ive never seen black men care much for black women, in fact, i see them criticizing black women a lot and blaming them for the failings of the black community.

One should never side that hard against anyone over a viral video. But could we stop acting like White women weren't out there siding with their racist male counterpart everyday ? I lost count of all the white women simping haaaard for White men exposed for killing Black men. But since you see Black women closer to "masculinity", you point that out only for us 🙃

I mean, when the Meghan Thee Stallion case was going on, I saw both black men AND women defend the guy that shot her, and how she shouldn't let a brother go to jail. But black men never have the same energy for black women.

I'm not gonna pretend like the men from my racial group aren't super sexist, they are, but at least they do defend 'their women'.

That's totally true. Black men are fucked up. I will never try to find them excuses, but no other race had to bear with centuries of slavery and colonization where the only come up was elevating or being related to whiteness. It entirely reverted the male/female dynamics in the Black community, where men, instead of providing for women, started to seek to elevate themselves with the closest thing they had to whiteness = white women. Average Black men are fundamentally hypergamist and "female" in their behavior.

Black women naturally still cling to 'their' men but it's hardly reciprocated. Hence the frustration of many Black women of feeling rejected by their own. Their equivalent on the dating pool are Asian men. Issa Rae was right in saying they should date each other lmao but this statement made Black men freak out bc they still claim ownership over Black women (while still saying we're ugly undesirable etc). That's highkey fucked up, but so are most Black men, that's why smart Black women are open to interracial dating 💁🏾‍♀️

There's no one to defend Black women. BLM was a pro Black man movement, that's why I lowkey didn't give a shit about it. I'm pro black women and Black women can only count on themselves. Fake intersectional White feminist shown their butt big time with their tantrum about the Karen meme, and most Black men are dusties.

[lokisprettygirl]

Oooooohhhhh sweetie, ive missed you!

The latest chapter was heartbreaking. After all these years, she suffered while her "parents" are out there in the world enjoying there lives.

Frankly i dont really give a damn if her mother and bruce is hurt because i choose to believe her pains in last few years are incomparable to whatever rocky and his lassies done to the mother. what ever excuse they give will be nothing but rubbish to me. it just wont be enought

and with loki, her not pushing him away and keeping her promise is heart warming and her last statement is true. Im sorry about everything she's been through but if it had not happened, they would have never found each other.

though i do worry that her trust in him falters just a bit, maybe not at all but the gravity of all thats happened would be a heavy burden.

i love him for just being there but theres just something in me that makes (if this were me) me worry about something i just cant explain.

I love you darling, i really do. and i thank you for being there for her after everything.

in another note, the whole steve and rocky lot problem is still... a problem and im nearly certain we havent seen the last of them

God, I really have missed you sweetie. Ive seen that this place hasnt been the kindest but know there will always be those who will cheer you on. may it be few or one, i will be in either or the last. may there be none, i will be gone but i will keep cheering you on from the beyond.

I know i havent been the most active besides the likes and i do apologize for that.

words havent been a friend of mine and i dont trust myself to not to be repetitive and i give the best feedback with my truest feeling of the piece, so again i apologize for the lack of notes

this isnt much and sorry for that. i really just missed you dear. like an old friend reunited after long apart (dramatic, im aware)

this chapter is brilliant. may your doubts vanish and and i hope you have a wonderful day ahead

from your lovely 😊❤️💜💙💚💛🖤😊

Hmmm I think her mother needed to run away too so I can't take that away from her but she needed to have a conversation with her own daughter. She was an adult at the time, not a kid anymore and she would have understood her mother's situation, but her mother failed there, maybe they feared that their plan would fail or get exposed but there's no denying that their decision has made her life turn for worse.

Her trust is intact in him, she will be upset a little because he didn't tell her for so long but she understands why he chose to do that especially during the time when they were in the middle of such a complicated situation. There would be conflicting feelings regarding it though as she would fear about her loved ones keeping her in dark or hiding things from her.

We have definitely not seen the last of Rocky palooza ;)

Thank you my dear, that means the world to me and I have missed hearing from you too but I consider you one of my most favorites here and I'm always eager to hear from you, repetitive or not. I wish the same for you and I' hope everything is well in your life .. sending only love and hugs and so much of good vibes your way my lovely 😍💚

[racingtoaredlight]

If you don't hate John Lennon already, you really should...

Nothing new or groundbreaking here. John Lennon being one of history's greatest pieces of shit is hardly a breaking story...whether it's his legendary hypocrisy or his physically and mentally abusive behavior, the guy was just a gigantic piece of shit from top to bottom. A walking, festering turd of a human being.

So him blatantly stealing a song from one of my all-time idols, Frank Zappa, doesn't move my meter too much. Shit, people give Elvis a ton of grief for creating a faithful homage to African Amerian music...which is as silly and shallow as criticizing Lang Lang for playing Rachmaninoff.

Because, despite that legendary hypocrisy and physically and mentally abusive behavior, the most significant reason I absolutely, vehemently loathe John Lennon is because he was a non-playing assclown who set musicianship back by centuries.

That is not fair at all, but he was the engine and face of the greatest popular music movement in history. People across the globe were inspired by him to create music...because John Lennon moved the musicianship bar so low that any swinging dick could get up to that speed in the matter of weeks. John Lennon made it ok for professional music to be amateur.

That is as grave a sin as it gets in my book.

After the jump I go way off track.

***

I like the Elvis comparison to the Beatles from both a popularity standpoint and a musicianship one. Their popularity is relatively equal. Their musicianship is absolutely not.

Beatles fans like to use Elvis in this debate, pointing to things that were stolen...which is quite fitting for Beatles fans, as it's as hypocritical as everything John Lennon did. Yea Elvis stole a bunch of shit. So did the Beatles. So did Led Zeppelin. So did Mozart, and Beethoven, and Miles Davis, and Keith Jarrett...

So lets compare some raw musicianship between Elvis' incredible original band led by Scotty Moore...and the Beatles amatuerism run amok. PS...I dont know why the Strawberry Fields vid has Paul as the image, when it was John and George on the awful guitar work (spoiler alert).

That groove on Mystery Train is as deep and solid as a groove gets. 2 minutes in the fucking pocket. I included two versions because Moore does some more advetrous stuff in his, but there's no fireworks, no virtuosity here...just straight up in the pocket.

Tap your foot and try to count along with Mystery Train...if you listened, you probably already were there without thinking about it. That's the hallmark of a great groove, regardless of genre.

Now try that with the Beatles' examples. It'll be there for a second...then gone...then awkwardly back again...then gone again.

Ignore the (admittedly) interesting lead parts in the last example. That's George starting to assert himself...that's got nothing to do with John Lennon. Those incredibly boring rhythm parts? That's John.

Again, George is lead guitar here...listen to the rhythm. Lol. Rhyhtm. It's just fucking AMATEUR.

All these Beatles songs have essentially the same form...an American I-IV-V blues. This is a standard form for rock...one that got Elvis a lot those criticisms of theft. It's incredibly basic, something you learn in your first few months of playing guitar. It's something that all guitarists should have on autopilot a year in.

How is "the greatest band ever" incapable of simply playing in time? Something that Scotty Moore and Elvis had ZERO problems with? This isn't all on Ringo...time is the responsibility of the entire band. And let me tell you, while he's not my favorite bassist, Paul had good time.

How is the "greatest band ever" incapable of PLAYING IN TUNE? In every example...every one of those examples...the guitars aren't in tune. Forget "in tune with each other"...the guitars are just straight up not tuned. Again, it's just fucking AMATEUR.

***

Because I suddenly realized that I could post more than 5 videos, I'm gonna keep going...

Give this like 90 seconds of a listen.

This is a goddamned clinic by one of the greatest rhyhtm guitarists of all time. Rhythm guitar is supposed to be glue. It's supposed to tie in the drums and bass with the melodic voices in a band.

Nobody did this better than Jim Hall. Eschewing the "four to the floor" style that's totally fine and acceptable (and welcomed by soloists), Hall did more to the band than a typical pianist would. The solid groove is there from the get go, he's tying in the harmony with the bassist and playing counterpoint with Paul Desmond's melody, he's literally doing everything. In perfect time, in perfect tune, at an incredibly complex level.

This album was recorded two years before the Beatles broke up. How was he able to play in perfect time and in perfect tune...but John Lennon couldn't? Again, because John Lennon was an amateur hack as a guitarist.

But again this is important, rhythm guitar isn't a contest of skill, it's a contest of consistency. I'm not slagging on John Lennon for not being a virtuoso...I'm slagging on him for not doing the very basic things that the music requires, while somehow being a part of "the greatest band ever."

Here's a great example...

Listen, I'm using jazz examples because rhythm guitar in rock is extremely basic and so unsubtle, you can't really get a sense of how this shit works.

The first 20 seconds of this you might be thinking..."what?" But when the piano comes in at 0:45, the whole thing comes together like a braise that's been simmering for hours. Then again at 1:00 when the drummer comes in.

I don't care if this isn't your taste or not...that's not the point. The point is, can you steadily tap your foot along with the music? It's all symbiotic...the parts work together. But if one part is...say, not in time at all and horribly out of tune (let alone saddled with a liability like Ringo Starr)...everything suffers.

There's nothing complicated or intellectual about the above example. It's seriously as basic as a groove can possibly get. But you can see how it all works together and why it's put together that way in the first place.

These are the ABSOLUTE BASICS. First grade. Ground floor. These are things, again, you learn in your first lessons. Spare me the "they were the hardest working band in Liverpool before they got big," the ABSOLUTE BASICS were not there with what John Lennon was bringing to the table.

No amount of status or billions or records sold makes up for this. Those are things that have very little to do with the quality of a piece of music. There can be incredibly great albums that sold billions of copies across the globe, and there can be incredibly great albums that sold a few thousand copies...the music is what's important.

And in no way did John Lennon devote himself to the music. He simply didn't. He might have acted like it, his mythology might suggest it, his biography might be curated to make people believe this but...

If someone can't play a) in tune and b) in time, how can someone say they've devoted themselves to music when this shit is the absolute basic part? It's like saying you're a mechanic without actually owning a wrench.

***

Anyways...

[thedevilshere]

Disclaimer: I got the inspiration for this from a song I've listened to on loop for the past 30 days, during every waking hour of the last month, yet I wasn't sick of it.

a very strong feeling of liking and caring for somebody/something, especially a member of your family or a friend -

is the definition of love, says oxford dictionary

the urban dictionary defines love as - the act of caring and giving to someone else. Having someone's best interest and wellbeing as a priority in your life. To truly love is a very selfless act.

and i,

i cant even begin to define love,

i attach myself to anybody who shows me even an ounce of affection,

which im told isnt the best way to find the right match.

i dont know what love really means,

what i do know is how heartbreak feels like,

after all, mine breaks every day,

and let me tell you, it isnt the best feeling in the world.

my heart breaks when i see the dam holding the ocean back in HER eyes break,

my heart breaks when i cant afford my favorite coffee.

my heart breaks when the stray dog follows me home but my home isnt even able to keep me contained,

my heart breaks when i cant seem to hold onto dear life,

my heart breaks when waking up seems like a chore id rather not indulge in,

my heart breaks when i recall all the great loves ive lost in this lifetime.

dont misunderstand me when i say i cant define love,

ive experienced many.

and isnt it true that a great love will have its ups and downs,

the problem is,

some days i was too scared to stand my ground and uncover all the beauties of the great loves ive had,

and on others, they couldnt hold on.

when i try to sleep after a long day,

my thoughts are haunted by one of those great loves,

and this story, im sure isnt just mine,

most of you here, today must have lost this special one too,

and those who havent, i beg of you - dont ever let it go.

there was a boy who loved me so,

he could single handedly melt my heart one second and push me off a cliff the other,

yet our love was one of a kind.

that was a great love.

how do i know that?

i know that because,

even back then i could tell that i was gonna lose him one day,

yet i couldnt care less about the day i lost him,

the only thing i cared for was to love him as beautifully, and with the same force as his.

so when he asked me one day out of the blue,

after being friends for the longest time -

"hey a! i wanna ask you something. do you feel anything for me?"

i didnt miss a beat,

i gave into my weakness and responded with the most enthusiastic "yes z, i do"

after which he proceeded to say - "i want to know that you cried for me. that hasnt ever happened in my 30 years of existence."

and folks, that was when i knew,

ours was a great love that id lose some day,

but i had to see it through,

i had to love him just as much,

i had to give him everything he's ever longed for like - being loved and living, not just breathing.

ours was a great love and i can tell you that today,

because now that he is gone, i do miss him, i do sob in silence so no one in my life now can know,

but i also recall our conversations sometimes and laugh,

i smile thinking of the days we spent together,

and i cherish them.

he was my great love and i dont know if ill ever find any like ours,

so when i say i cant define love,

i dont mean that i havent ever been in love,

i mean that it cant be explained in words - no matter how much the writers of these dictionaries try to dictate it,

love is a feeling, you cant call it anything else but that.

so now when SHE asks me to write about love,

i write what i know best -

to give in to your weaknesses is not always the worst thing you could do.

[sflksjlksflksj]

personal diary

day 3 of remembering to write. things at home seem to be doing better. I tell my husband alot of whats on my mind when i am struggling and he always does his best to help me. He’s a huge workaholic. If he doesnt have work he is doing things around the house, doing yard work or helping me clean and upkeep the house. He only gets like at most 2 days off a week and his past 3 days off he has spent it mostly with me and just being there for me instead of doing stuff and it has helped me alot. Sometimes i need days where we are just cuddling and going with the flow. I think alot of my issues with newer/younger couples is that i feel like me and him will never have those same moments again and that makes me envious and feel like we arent soulmates. I know we are soulmates. i just lose myself in family life sometimes and need him to breathe fresh air into me so i can focus on myslef and not my surroundings. I hate his brother and i wish i didnt as much as i do. I hate him so much that seeing him be a 19 year old drop out isnt good enough for me. I hate that his mother got him a car. i hate that he has never held down a job longer than a few weeks. I hate that he dates around like crazy and brings these girls home for days to even weeks at a time. it feels like for me at least, me and his brother got the shit end of the stick when it comes to when we first started dating. His mother was always shaming us or critisizing us and we had jobs and were doing shit. But his brother is smoking weed and ditching school and she is buying him dinner everynight and...well at least thats how i feel. i know my feelings are exaggerated more than 86 percent of the time so i need to get over it. talking things out with my husband helps a load but it helps alot to write it down too and see how far ive matured and far ive come. I have kept multiple diarys before on laptops and computers but it was always private and i always lost them when i sold/broke the computers so itll be nice to have sometjhing thatll be online forever and i can look back on. i know i have matured alot but i also have gone downhill in some other aspects. for instance i have been drinking alot more, like 4-5 days out of the week i mix vodka into juice and drink like 7-10 cups. Not good at all. i have never gotten drunk and thats what started this drinking was that i wanted to get drunk once and it didnt work so every night ive been drinking here and there and now its becoming a destress thing and i hate it. i dont need alchohol but im feeling like i am starting down that road and i dont know how to stop exactly. Ill set out not to buy any and then ill just ask my husband to pick some up and he always is up for it. i dont know. when i drink i do care alot less about those thoughts in my head. I was able to acutally sit on the couch and talk and vibe with my mother in law while i was drunk. i know i am being stupid. my mother in laws ex husband was a alchohlic and i am sure she can see any signs of someone intoxicated. she hasnt said anything to me and we have been getting along great since then. i love my kids so much and i am so unhealthy currently. the worst i have ever been. and not only am i the fattest i have ever been but now i am drinking and i am so scared of now being able to do better. ive been talking for weeks about going on a diet but i have no fucking self control or discipline to do it and i hate so much how good i am at dissasociating with my problems. i hope i can get better with time man. i am hoping that as i grow and mature ill get some fucking self control. ive been able to reign myself in mentally sometimes when i find myself going off on unhealthy tangents in my head but again, it doesnt work for long and i always end up thinking the same way within minutes. i am going for a week to visit my dad and my step mum and let them see the boys and i am hoping there i can quit this drinking and possibly not binge eat shit and that can be my little taste of being the responsible adult i hope to be soon.

[collecting-stories]

Jellyfish - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey! I was wondering or you could do an outer banks imagine where like in season one the pogues leave kie, Sarah and reader on a boat, and the reader is the one getting stung by a jellyfish. The night goes on and she starts having an allergic reaction the jellyfish sting and her breathing starts to go bad and all dizzy. The girls have to call a mayday. And the sherif/ambulance boat? Comes and gets her or the pogues come back the next morning and she is not well at all. Then hospital. The pogues feel really badx Maybe reader x jj?  

A/N: I just started a rewatch of s1 tonight so I can finally watch s2...also I googled allergic reactions to a jellyfish sting for this. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Sarah stood beside you, practically holding you up, as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the marsh for the fifth time in so many minutes. The boys plan to strand Sarah and Kiara on the boat hadn’t been a very clever one and when you had protested JJ had jokingly pushed you over the edge of the HMS, claiming that now you too were stranded with them. 

It wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend your night, especially with everyone on each other’s nerves as severely as they were, you’d been looking forward to taking advantage of that and spending the night back at your house with JJ. Instead, you were stranded on Heyward’s boat with Kiara and Sarah bitching at each other. Not to mention the angry red mark blossoming over your stomach from the jellyfish that had stung you as you’d tread water earlier.  

“I thought you said you could fix this stupid piece of shit!” Sarah shouted to Kiara as she rubbed her hand along your back. The juxaposition of her kindness to you and her edgyness with Kiara wasn’t lost on you...even as you felt your head swimming.  

“I gotta lay down,” you urged, hands gripping the edge of the boat as you rested your chin against the cool side, staring into the murky water. It was starting to get darker outside but you weren’t paying attention to that anymore. You felt like you were going to throw up again though this time it felt prompted by the dizzy feeling when you moved your head and not the pain shooting through your abdomen.  

“Okay, let’s lay down...do you want a blanket or something?” Sarah asked, eyes darting around the boat to check for any spare blankets or sweatshirts.

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as your vision blurred. “No...no, it’s so hot.” When you struggled to get JJ’s shirt over your head without moving too much, Sarah grabbed the hem of the shirt and eased it up.  

“She doesn’t need your help!” Kiara yelled from the hatch, looking out at you with concern. You’d been fine earlier, before you’d boarded the boat with them, before the jellyfish stung you, but now you were doing worse and worse. She was trying to fix the boat but it was obvious that JJ and John B’s genius plan had included purposely sabotaging any chance they had of getting the boat back to shore.  

“Obviously, she does!” Sarah shouted back, “she’s puking over the side of the fucking boat! What was in that shit you rolled anyway?”

Kiara looked incredulous at the suggestion that it was the weed they’d smoked that made you like this, “oh cause I poisoned my best friend with weed? Is that it?”  

“Maybe!” Sarah shrugged, “how should I know.”

“Not helping,” you groaned, rolling to the side and pressing your hand against your stomach. “Kie...my stomach is killing me.”  

“What can I do?” She asked, coming back over to you and Sarah.  

“Call for the coast guard or something?” Sarah suggested, looking out over the marsh as if someone would just happen to be driving through. It was pitch black now, the night falling completely. It wasn’t too late yet, close to 9:30p Sarah supposed, but she wasn’t confident that this could last until morning. Who knew when the boys would come back?

“With what phone Sarah? The tower is down.”  

“Swim to shore or something then!” She snapped.

“Sure, no problem...why didn’t I think of that? I’ll jump in the fucking marsh in the pitch black and swim toward what I think might be land!” Kiara shouted.

“Guys,” you snapped, pulling yourself up to the edge of the ship again. You felt like you were going to throw up again but there wasn’t anything left in your stomach, “shut the fuck up! You aren’t helping...I know they messed with the boat, is the radio working?”

“Let me check.” Kiara stood up from your side and headed back to the controls, checking the radio. “I’ve got a signal!”  

You weren’t sure how long it took between Kiara signaling a mayday and the police boat actually coming out on the marsh because you passed out soon after she’d gotten the signal, slumped against Sarah, the pain in your side and abdomen too much for you to bear. Neither of the girls wanted to leave you overnight in the hospital, worried something would happen the second they left your side, so Kiara scribbled a note and left it taped to the window of the boat.  

Gone to the hospital – was all it said. Not very descriptive but extremely alarming, the boys had arrived at the emergency room frantic.  

“What the fuck kind of scare tactic was that Kie!” JJ had shouted down the hallway when he saw his friend outside one of the rooms. A nurse down the same hall shushed him as he passed her and he turned around to flip her off.  

“Excuse me but you three deserve it after the shit you pulled! Leaving us stranded out there with no communication? You’re lucky the radio worked.” Sarah hissed, shoving JJ when he tried to get passed her into the room.  

The second he’d seen her it had been clear the person who was missing, the one who was undoubtedly in the hospital bed in the room he was standing outside of. You’d gotten hurt, seriously if you were here, if they’d had to mayday a police boat.

“What happened?” Pope asked, quieter than his best friend had been able to muster.

“She’s allergic to jellyfish.” Sarah replied, turning a glare on JJ, “when this moron pushed her in the water she got stung and had a reaction.”  

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll be alright...she’s dehydrated though, so she’s on fluids for the rest of the – JJ!” Kiara snapped when he pushed passed her to get into the room. He moved the curtain aside to see you there, still a little out of it from the exhaustion of the night before but you smiled when you saw him.  

“Hey,” he dropped his voice down to a whisper, a contrast to the sharp scrap of the chair that he dragged to your bedside, “I’m so sorry.”

“Guess I’m allergic to something after all.” You managed to tease, recalling the conversation you’d had a few weeks earlier when JJ had begrudgingly given up the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he was trying to make at John B’s when you reminded him that he was highly allergic to peanuts.

He’d claimed that “maybe it went away”, a possibility you both knew to be impossible while you told him that you weren’t stabbing him with an epi-pen if he had an allergic reaction. “I would stab you, if you were allergic to anything,” JJ had replied, settling for jelly on toast instead. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” JJ said now, eyeing the bag of fluids that was connected to you via IV. “I would’ve been fine thinking you didn’t have any allergies.” 

“It’s not your fault JJ, it was an accident...I could’ve been stung a million times before this, we literally live on the coast.” You tried to laugh and coughed; throat still sore. JJ grabbed for the pitcher of water at your bedside and poured you a glass, leaning over to help you swallow.  

“Yeah but you didn't get stung a million times before this...you got stung after I pushed you in!”

“We should let you get some rest,” Pope’s voice sounded over JJ’s shoulder and you both looked over to where he was standing at the curtain. He smiled at you, a silent ‘glad you’re okay’ and ‘sorry’ rolled into one.  

You nodded, more than aware that you were on the verge of falling asleep again. Still, you reached for your boyfriend’s hand, settling for his wrist instead as he was still holding the plastic cup. “Will you stay?” you asked, eyes meeting JJ’s.  

“Yeah, of course.” He promised, sitting back down, “I’m not going anywhere.” He didn’t mention the absolute panic that had racked through him when he saw Kiara’s note or realized you were the one that was injured and he definitely didn’t tell you how severely he blamed himself for you getting stung in the first place, instead he just sat there holding your hand and promising that he would stay there with you until you were discharged. “Everything’s okay, you’re okay.”  

[alliewritesthings]

Papers - pt 4

Pairing: Dad!Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of divorce, mentions of cheating. if ive missed anything please let me know!

A/N: this really has taken me so long to write and to post, but i hope this isn’t a let down 🥺

series masterlist   |   main masterlist

“Be a good girl. Goodnight.” You spoke gently to your five-year-old, tucking in the duvet around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead as you stepped away from the bed to allow Chris to do the same.

“Don’t rush back. You know she’ll be fine.” Scott mumbled to you; you were both waiting in the adjoining room.

“We’ll see what happens.” You sighed softly, offering a small smile to Scott.

“Please just talk things out. It’s about time you air all your problems.” He confirmed, pulling you into a gentle hug. “You’ve got this.” He mumbled, squeezing you gently before stepping away.

“Ready?” You turned to Chris as he joined you from the other bedroom. You nodded at him, glancing back to Scott who offered you a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay staying here with Liv?” You chewed nervously on your bottom lip.

“Yes. Go.” He laughed, pushing you both towards the door to the hotel room.

“Okay. Won’t be gone long.” You confirmed, stepping out into the hallway with Chris close behind. The walk along the hallways were silent, the tension building between you both as you made your way to the hotel bar. You were seated at a small table in the corner within minutes, both staring at the drinks menu to avoid conversation.

“So…” you started as soon as your drinks had been ordered, you a cocktail and Chris a whisky on the rocks.

“You haven’t signed the papers?” Chris broke the further silence, his brows furrowed as his gaze remained on you. You could tell it had been on his mind all day, Chris was never abrupt unless something bothered him.

“No. I haven’t.” You confirmed, awkwardly fidgeting in your seat.

“Why? Why- if you were so adamant on me signing them, why haven’t you?” The silence fell over you both again as the waiter brought your drinks over. Small mumbles of ‘thank you’ shared before you were left alone again.

“I thought maybe you’d fight it more.” You confirmed with a raise of your shoulders. You eagerly downed half your drink, hoping the alcohol will take the edge of your nerves.

“Fight it… more?” He scoffed. “I fought so hard for you to even talk to me. But you weren’t having it, you ignored every chance I took!” You could hear the irritation in his voice, though both of you spoke in hushed tones as not to alert anyone else in the bar.

“You never demanded I listen. You never fought for your family. You never stopped us leaving!” Your voice rose slightly, shaking your head at yourself as you took a deep breath to compose yourself. “You just let us go! You never gave a reason. You just let us go!” You could feel your eyes get wet and glassy.

Chris opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

“If you had fought for us, your daughter and I wouldn’t be living on the other side of the Atlantic.” You whispered; your emotions were starting to get the better of you.

You both sat in silence, staring at each other briefly before Chris broke the silence.

“Do you really think I’d cheat on you?” He whispered, his voice staying quiet as he downed the rest of his whisky. You paused as he stopped the waiter for another drink, waiting until the drink was placed firmly on the table before you spoke again.

“I have proof, Chris.” Your eyes fell to your phone that lay on the table between you. “If I didn’t have proof then maybe I could have just palmed it off as another obsessive fan.” You shrugged; you didn’t realise how shaky you were until you went to lift your drink to your lips again.

“This happened before, you know they manipulate old pictures to try and make their ideal fantasy.” A sigh left his lips as he slumped back in his seat, his glass in his hand as he gently tapped his wedding ring against the glass in thought. Your eyes dropped to watch the movement of his fingers; your eyes fixed on the ring on his finger. You shifted anxiously in your seat, clenching your hand almost trying to hide the fact you’d taken your ring off. Chris cleared his throat before sitting up slightly, leaning forward in his seat to look at you. “Can- can I see the pictures again... please?” He asked, his voice quiet as his glance shifted to your phone on the table.

“Okay.” You shrugged, reaching for the device and opening your camera roll. You had to scroll quite a way, the pictures getting lost amongst pictures of your daughter and the adventures you’d had since living in London. A small smile spread on your lips at all the pictures of the small girl, her grin lighting up your phone before you landed on the dreaded photos; some might question why you’d keep them, but they were all the evidence you needed if anything was to go south with the divorce.

You handed the phone over and watched Chris swipe through the photos on the phone, shaking his head as he looked at the photos.

“This one...” He turned the phone to show you the picture of him ice skating. “...that photo was taken by my sister when we took all the kids ice skating one time.” He raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure it was on her Instagram story at one point.” He glanced from you back to the phone, you fidgeted in your seat at his words. “This one-” he showed you the picture of himself and ‘Sarah’ having an ice cream in the park. “-I can understand where you’d get the idea with this one, but its literally a cropped photo of me and my ex which has been edited slightly.” He mumbled, his eyes lifting from the phone to you. “And the camping photo was one Scott took and had on Instagram once.” You swallowed thickly as he explained each photo, you never really used social media much so it wasn’t much of a surprise if you’d missed any of these photos being shared to people's stories.

“This one here, is the only picture I don’t recognise. But it literally looks like a photo taken with a fan when I’ve been out.” He showed you a final photo of him and a brunette female, which you assumed to be ‘Sarah’ stood in a club together. Chris had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, she was basically curled into his side with a giant, beaming smile on her face and her arms wrapped around his waist; not a standard ‘fan photo’ pose, but it wasn’t a complete rarity.

A silence fell over you both as your phone was placed onto the table between you, the device locked so no passers-by could see any of the evidence which broke your marriage down.

“Can I have a moment, please?” You didn’t wait for an answer, pushing yourself to your feet as you approached the hotel bar. For a moment you forgot you were at Disney and your sweet little daughter was asleep in a room a few floors up. You leant against the bar and ordered a few shots of various spirits, drinking each one within a few seconds before paying for them and returning back to the table where Chris was waiting.

“I should have let you explain, and I'm sorry.” Your words were slurred slightly as you spoke, the alcohol taking over your system.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave. I’m sorry. I should have fought for Liv and you.” A sigh slipped through his lips as he watched you shift in your seat.

“It’s okay. We’re here now.” You mumbled. “The papers aren’t fully signed or processed yet; we can sort things.” Chris’s eyebrows were raised in amusement as he watched your drunken state shuffle your chair closer to his. “I’m sorry.” You sighed, leaning in closer to the man and pressing multiple kisses to his bearded cheek.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.” Chris sighed softly, bringing his hand up to caress gently at your cheek. “Please don’t be sorry.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

“I’m so sorry.” You drunkenly whined against his lips before pressing a more forceful kiss to the man's lips.

You’d missed him, and no matter how wrong this whole situation was; you’d missed his touch.

“Hey...” He pulled away from the kiss, taking your hand gently in his. “You’re drunk and I really don’t want you to regret any of this in the morning.” Any glimmer of hope that was alive in Chris’s eyes had now vanished.

“I won’t.” You mumbled, a pout tugging at your lips.

“Come on, let's go back up to the room and talk about the rest of this tomorrow. After you’re rested.” He stood up, pulling you with him as he gently guided you back through the hallways to your hotel room. You stumbled into the room, staying close to Chris for balance. The room was quiet, the adjoining room door was closed meaning Scott had gone to bed for the night. A silence fell over the room as Chris helped you change into your pyjamas, forgetting that your pyjamas of choice was an old shirt of Chris’s and a pair of shorts.

“Into bed, come on.” Chris approached one of the beds and pulled the duvet back as he waited for you to climb into it. He quickly left you as soon as you were under the covers, disappearing to the bathroom to change into his own pyjamas before retreating back to the main bedroom to climb into the second bed.

“Chris?” You broke the silence as you both lay in the separate beds.

“Yeah?” You could hear the yawn slip from his lips.

“I love you.” You mumbled, your words slurring as you turned in the bed to glance over at the bed that he lay in. “Can I get a cuddle?” You questioned.

“You’re drunk. I’m not taking advantage of that when things aren't right.” He sighed a reply. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Fine, if you won’t come here-” You shuffled out your sheets before stumbling over to Chris’s bed “-then I’ll come to you.” You grumbled, lifting the sheets before climbing into the bed and curling up to the man still claiming the title of ‘husband’. With a sigh the man gave in to you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

You both lay in silence as you pressed multiple kisses to the man's bare shoulder, gently tracing your fingers over the patterns of his tattoos. Chris tensed at your touch, holding his breath as if this was all a dream and if he moved then it would all disappear.

“Hey-” Chris turned his head to speak to you, but you silenced him by pressing your lips gently to his. He reciprocated the kiss, pulling you even closer to him as he leant into the kiss. Time felt like it stopped as you both shared a passionate kiss; lips locking and hands wandering. “No- we should stop.” Chris pulled away from the kiss, gazing into your lustful eyes.

“Please Chris.” You almost begged, pressing your lips back to his as you moved to straddle his waist. “I want you. I’ve missed you.” Your slurred words fell between kisses, running your fingers through his messy hair. No more words were shared as you were rolled onto your back with Chris above you.

part 5 

i no longer have a taglist - for updates, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications.

[havin-a-wee]

If Only She Knew

pairing: dad!harry x cheerleader!reader

word count: 4.2k

warnings: smut (fingering + unprotected sex), cheerleading position implies readers weight, 20 year age gap

hi! ive been having some really bad writers block but i wrote this and even though its def not my best work i like it enough to post it :) also, i totally didn't mean to imply the readers weight, i only realized afterwards, so im really sorry about that. also the age gap is kinda big, so if ur uncomfy with that you shouldn't read this <3

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

“Geez watch where you’re going!”

You don’t even look up at the girl, recognizing her nasally voice easily from how annoying it is. You were nose deep in a book while walking down the school hallway, and of course your worst enemy had to be walking down the same hallway, at the same time, in the opposite direction. You are both at fault for the collision, considering Ella had her eyes locked on her instagram feed. But knowing the girl, there is no way in hell that she will take any responsibility, even though you are the one who has coffee dripping down the front of your white blouse.

Since middle school, Ella Styles has always hated you. You have never known why, but she seems to have a vendetta against you, and tries her best to make your life miserable. You never let her, always refraining from giving her the explosive reaction that she was looking for. And that makes her hate you even more.

High school is over in 2 months, and although you are going to miss the freedom of being a child, you most definitely won’t miss the people from the tiny town you’ve lived in since you were young. You’ve always been the type of person to have a small friend group, only 4 people in your circle. But that’s how you like it, because crippling social anxiety makes it difficult for you to meet new people.

“I- sorry.” You still don’t look at her, instead peeling the soaking wet top off of your stomach.

“You better be sorry.” She flips her blonde hair, ensuring that the fluffy locks hit you right in the face. You are lucky this time seeing as she didn’t take it further, because sometimes she would purposely embarrass you after small incidents such as this one.

Tears well at your waterline and you run into the nearest bathroom, pushing open the blue door and locking yourself in a stall.

After all these years of torment, Ella rarely was able to get to you. But sometimes, she does something that pushes you off the edge, leaving you with red, tear-stained cheeks. The final straw this time was her ruining your brand new shirt, the one you were anxiously waiting to debut at school.

But now there was coffee dripping down your chest and staining the bright white fabric. Your only saving grace is the cheerleading uniform in your backpack. In fact, you were walking to the locker room to change for practice, and then for the game at 6 tonight.

You had been excited for the game, knowing that Friday night games always led to parties and fun afterwards. You rarely go to parties of course, but the buzzing energy never fails to rub off on you. But now that stupid Ella had to go and mess up your day, you’re dreading seeing her smug face while she asserts her dominance as cheer captain.

You untie your top and rip it off in a haste, frustrated tears running down your face periodically. You could’ve put a jacket on and gone to the locker room, but Ella would be going there soon, and the last thing you want to do is run into her with teary eyes. She can’t know that you let her get to you.

You brush your hands down your uniform, pulling down the skimpy costume and stuffing your old clothes in your backpack. Once out of the stall, you pull your hair up into a high ponytail, reapply your lip gloss and walk back into the hallway, having already done your makeup that morning. You’re happy that it’s a home game today, because the home game uniforms are two pieces and the skirts are smaller than the ones on the away game uniforms. There is a certain someone you are looking to impress, and the way your tits spill out from the top of the outfit will most certainly help you in your mission.

It’s not like you need to impress him, because he’s shown time and time again that he finds you sexy no matter what you wear. And when he doesn’t tell you, he shows you, by pressing his hard on up against your ass after you just woke up, despite your messy hair and bare face.

However, he also loves when you tease him. And that’s exactly what you’re planning to do.

You sling your heavy backpack over one shoulder and trudge down the hallway, the old fluorescent lights practically blinding you on your journey. The locker room is dingy, smelling of cheap soap and Victoria’s Secret perfume. At least it doesn’t smell like the boys locker room, which smells like sweat and more sweat.

It's already bustling with people, your teammates scrambling to get ready in time as to not get yelled at by the coach.

“Y/N!” The familiar shout of your best friend Rose is like a breath of fresh air, and you bound over to her. She’s standing in front of your lockers, the two of you obviously picking ones next to each other. “Wait, why are you already changed?”

“The bitch spilled her coffee all over me,” you grumbled, your eyes shifting over to where Ella and her little goons are giggling.

“I keep telling you, anytime you want me to beat her up I will gladly do it.”

“Not that I doubt your abilities Rose, because I know you would have her on the ground in a heartbeat, but I can’t let you do that. She can’t know that she upsets me.” You lower your voice for the second sentence, irrationally fearing that she can hear you over the loud chatter echoing through the room.

“I still think you should let me beat her up, but you do you I guess.” Rose shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her locker, bursting out into laughter with you after a beat of silence.

The rest of the getting ready process goes smoothly, Rose distracting you from the girl side-eyeing you in the corner. Soon enough, the whole squad was in formation outside, and you have your hands on the shoulders of Rose and another girl named Bethany. You are a flyer, meaning that you’re the one who the bases support while you pose and flip in the air. Its a hard job, but you are one of only three girls on the team who is advanced enough at flying to be safe doing it in routines. One of the other three girls is Ella.

Ella is the flyer for the middle group, seeing as she is the captain. You are on the right and the other group is on the left. Luckily, Rose is a base in your group, so you feel a lot better putting your safety in the hands of someone you already trust with your life.

“ELLA! YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!” Coach Habbiths voice is piercing, her angry shrieks bouncing off your ear drums. Ella audibly huffs, displaying her frustration with the critiques she has been receiving since we learned the routine weeks ago. That’s one of the biggest problems with Ella, she believes that she's always right.

Every single practice she has done a needle instead of a scale at the end of the routine. It's aggravating for everyone, and that frustration is amplified everytime she makes the same mistake over and over. “Alright, everyone down. group 1 and group 3 take five, Ella and group 2 stay on the field.

The team obliged to her instructions, and you are brought down from the air.

“Okay Ella, I want you to watch how Y/N does the last move, because she’s actually doing it correctly.” Coach is standing in front of you now, and she emphasized the word ‘correctly’. This is much to Ella’s dismay, and much to your excitement.

Nothing brings you more joy than seeing Ella’s face when you one up her, and this time is no exception.

Aside from a few eye rolls and nasty looks, Ella corrects the move without much fuss. By now there's 15 minutes until the game, and the players have been warming up on the field for about half an hour.

“Did you see her face!” Rose tugs on your arm while you walk back to the locker room, water bottles in hand.

“I know! I should’ve taken a picture!”

“We can only hope that it knocked her ego down a peg.”

“I doubt it” Rose nodded in agreement and you continued your chatter, talking about the random things that best friends talk about.

“It’s go time ladies!” You jumped in surprise when Coach Habbiths yelling booms through the locker room, the hefty amount of metal in the room enhancing the echo.

In a blur, your entire team rushed out onto the field, the crisp air cooling your warmed skin. There was a huge crowd. probably the biggest the teams ever had. But that makes sense, because this game was against your school's biggest rival. Luckily, despite the huge crowd you were able to lock eyes with those piercing green irises you have gotten to know so well over the past couple months. Everytime you see him he gets more and more attractive, and this time is no exception.

At this point, the teams routine is muscle memory and you’re done with it before you can blink. Most people would think that being thrown in the air is memorable, but your main concern is the growing wet patch on your panties that spreads each time you squeeze your thighs together. Just the thought of the man is enough to turn you on, and now that you’re sitting on the cold metal bench your imagination has time to go wild.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was the eruption of appaulause from the audience, and the realization that the other cheerleaders were standing up and running towards the players. You breath out a sigh of relief, recognizing the cheering as a signal that the game has ended.

“Hey, you coming?” Rose tugs on your arm, looking down at you still on the bench.

“Um, actually I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going to go home.”

“I should’ve known. You know, one day you’re going to have to go to a party.” Rose places her hands on her hips, giving you a sarcastically annoyed stare.

“And today is not that day.” You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, turning back to Rose for a second. “Have fun and be safe.”

“I always do.” Rose places a chaste kiss on your cheek before turning back to the gathering crowd on the turf.

Instead of heading to the sidewalk and walking home, you duck under the bleachers and walk down the gravel path, pushing open the fence that separates the field and the school. The contents of your backpack slosh around while you sway your hips as you walk. Finally, you make it to the back wall of the school, leaning your back against it and plopping your heavy backpack down by your feet.

And now you wait.

Much to your convenience, the wait this time isn’t long, only five minutes passing before you see the familiar man following the same path you did earlier.

He has a pair of brown slacks on, pressing against his waist courtesy of his black belt. A button up white shirt hides the tattoos on his stomach, but he's rolling up his sleeves as he walks over to you. He's walking with intention, hungry eyes zeroed in on you.

When he’s only steps away, you cheekily bite your lip and use your finger to push up your skirt a little bit more.

Your actions have the intended effect, his eyes blowing wide and hands grasping at your waist.

“Y’can’t do that.”

Before you have a chance to ask what he means, his lips collide with yours, his tongue slipping in only moments after the initial kiss. But as soon as he started, he pulls away.

“Y’can’t be teasing me on the field like tha’, had me hard next t’my friends.” His hand is on the wall above your head, and his other arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest. He’s panting, and you are too.

“Sorry Mr. Styles,” you push your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the most innocent look possible. “Just wanted to wear it cause I know how much you like it.”

“Aw, my babygirl wore this f’me? Well I guess y’can be forgiven. Now let’s get t’my house before I fuck yeh right on this wall.” He places a soft kiss to your lips picking up your backpack from the floor and turning to the direction of his car.

“But it hurts!” He turns around again, giving you a sympathetic look and caressing your cheek. The rings on his fingers are cold, but you’re used to the feeling.

“I know sweet girl, but I can’t take care of yeh here, s’too risky.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of a solution to your not so little problem. “How bout I give y’my fingers in the car? Hows that sound hm?” You nod eagerly, pulling his hand down from your cheek and holding it. He takes the signal and begins walking to his car while you follow him.

You never planned to sleep with your bullies dad. But a few months ago your parents dragged you to a family friends housewarming party, and that friend happened to be a friend of Harry’s too. There were no other teenagers there, so your focus was on the attractive older man who had been checking you out since you first locked eyes, and after ending up in the upstairs bathroom together the two of you have been fucking at least twice a week. You only learned that he’s a dad when you saw him for the first time outside the party. He didn’t look the part, and you actually thought he was in his 20s until he corrected you. He’s 38, having become a parent at only 20 years old. Your relationship is a bit taboo, but you’re a mature 18 year old and you and Harry get along well. So well that your time together has developed from casual sex to a mutually exclusive relationship. (Neither of you like labels, but you’re basically boyfriend and girlfriend).

He makes you really happy, and when you have to face off against Ella, it helps knowing that you have power over her, even though she doesn’t know it.

“Did she do anything today?” Harry is walking beside you, hands still intertwined.

“Besides spilling coffee on my shirt, nothing much.” Harry sighs in frustration and squeezes your hand as a show of affection.

“M’so sorry, I wish y’didn’t ‘ave to deal with her.”

The thing about Harry and Ella is they can barely be considered family. Ella’s mom is, for lack of a better word, a bitch. She’s snobby, conceited, and rude, and those behaviors have rubbed off on Ella. Another thing that rubbed off on her was her mom’s hatred for Harry. Being young parents put strain on their already struggling relationship, and they split before Ella’s first birthday. Harry said he tried his best to make it work for Ella’s sake, but her mom was looking for someone to pay for her life, and Harry had just started working his way up as a businessman.

Now, he’s a CEO, but luckily Ella’s mom already found a new beau with plenty of money, so she didn’t come crawling back to him. However, the success Harry achieved only a few years after their breakup made her jealous, and so she instilled that anger in their daughter. So currently Ella spends most of her time with her mother, and when she is with Harry she doesn’t treat him kindly.

“It’s not your fault Harry, you don’t have to apologize for her actions.”

“I know, I jus’ hate tha’ she treats yeh like that.” He sighs again, reaching into his pocket to grab his keys. In a few more steps you’re standing outside the sleek black suv, walking around to the passenger seat and sliding in once you hear the click of the door unlocking.

You both take a few seconds to breathe, an unspoken gesture to prepare for the night's events. Harry turns to you, a sexy smirk plastered on his face. “What d’ya think about fixin’ that ache darlin?” You nod eagerly, sliding down a bit in your seat to give your legs room to spread. “Think yeh can take off y’skirt fo’me?” Your head bobs once again as you nod, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband and shimmying out of the skirt. While you’re doing that, Harry turns the car into the deserted street, using only one hand to steer.

You toss the tiny skirt into his lap, giving him a signal without distracting his eyes from the road. He reacts immediately, his free hand coming down to squeeze your thigh. You mewl at the contact and bite down on your lip, trying to stop your hips from bucking up in search of relief. His squeezes move up your thigh, and finally his fingers press against your weeping cunt. Swiftly, he pushes your soiled panties to the side, swiping his fingers up your folds collecting your juices. You shriek and buck your hips up into his hand, but much to your dismay he removes it from between your thighs. The car comes to a stop at a red light, and Harry takes the moment to look at you, his eyes wandering your squirming body. He’s practically drooling when he places his fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet wetness.

“Sorry pup, jus’ needed t’taste yeh.” He chuckles again, and you whine softly in desperation. In one quick motion, he dives his hand back to your pussy, pressing his thumb on your swollen clit.

“Fuck!” The pleasure shoots up your spine, goosebumps raising across your body as he rubs circles on the puffy button. “Harry- please,”

“What d’ya want puppy? Want m’fingers?”

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, words barely comprehensible through your panting.

“Alright, alright, I gotcha.” And with that his two fingers press into you, filling your tight hole perfectly. There is no hesitation before he begins pumping the digits in and out of you and his thumb never lets up on your bundle of nerves. “Such a needy puppy, got yeh soaking f’me from out in the stands hm?” His eyes are still on the road, but you can picture the lust filled eyes that are undoubtedly on his face.

“Get so wet jus- just thinkin’ about you,” you gasp, writhing as his fingers slam in and out of you.

“Yeah? This is my cunt, m’the only one who can make yeh this wet, isn’t tha’ right?”

“Only Harry.” At your confirmation he speeds his hand up, your vision clouding with white spots as the knot building in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

All of a sudden, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. “Wha-” You begin to question him but you realize that he’s pulling into his driveway. Instead of complaining, you sit up quickly and unbuckle your seatbelt, pulling your skirt back up your legs to avoid being nude on his front lawn.

As soon as you feel the little jolt your hand yanks on the handle and you hop out of the car. Your brain is fuzzy with need and all you are focused on is alleviating the aching between your thighs. You hear Harry lock the car while you're on the steps, and you turn back to ensure that he’s behind you. And sure enough, he’s hot on your trail, just as eager as you to get inside and onto his bed. Your foot is tapping on the ground anxiously, waiting for Harry to unlock the front door. After what seems like an hour, he is next to you again, fumbling with the silver keychain in his hand, eventually unlocking and pushing open the door. You both practically run inside, hands roaming each other's bodies and lips locking as you shuffle through the hall.

You disconnect breathlessly when you reach the stairs, subconsciously wrapping your hands around Harry’s neck so he can pick you up bridal style. He does so hastily, barely a second passing before he’s plopping you onto the fluffy mattress. “Finally,” he pants, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. There’s a prominent bulge in his trousers, and although you’ve seen it plenty, you are always in awe at how thick and big he is. While he’s busy removing his clothes, you are practically drooling at the sight of his bare cock, full, heavy, and dripping precome.

“Harry?”

He looks back down at you with his emerald green eyes, simultaneously dropping his recently-removed shirt on the floor. “Can I ride you?” The look he gives you is indescribable, a mixture of need, lust, cockiness, and beauty all rolled up into one.

“Whatever y’want puppy,” His hands scoop under your ass, and he lifts you up and switches your positions. Now it’s your turn to undress, and Harry makes himself busy by running his hands up and down your torso. “So gorgeous, y’know that?” You nod quickly then pull your shirt off of your head. “Most beautiful girl in the world I reckon.” You blush at the compliment, butterflies being added to the many sensations occuring in your body. You straddle his thighs, wrapping your hand around his length and tugging a few times. A loud groan rumbles through his throat, and you smile knowing you’re the one who made him feel like that. “Thought- thought yeh said y’wanted to ride me pup.”

“I do.” You keep your hand on his cock, sitting up on your knees and lining him up with your weeping cunt. All at once, your body is put at ease as his cock fills you up perfectly. He bottoms out inside of you, both of you moaning and groaning while you adjust. “So big-” Your words come out in choppy pants, the syllables being cut off by your heaves. You suck in one deep breath and move upwards, sinking back down onto him quickly. His large hands hold a tight grip on your waist, guiding you up and down his member. His lips attach to your neck, suckling on the supple skin just enough so that it doesn’t bruise.

“What a dirty little puppy you are,” he growls, eyes focusing heavily on where your bodies connect, watching himself disappear inside of you as you bounce up and down on his cock.

“Feel so full-” Tingles ricochet down every part of your body, and your legs are becoming weaker with each movement. Harry can feel your movement faltering, so his hips thrust upwards to meet yours, fucking you from underneath. “Harry!”

“I know pup, I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek and he leans in for another kiss, devouring your plump lips and swirling his tongue around yours. “So fuckin tight,” The words tumble from his mouth in a low growl, which sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His cock twitches inside of you, encouraging you to muster all your energy and finish both of you off. Adrenaline kicks in and your strength returns, riding him faster and harder than before. “Let go f’me Y/N.” It only takes a few more thrusts for you to come undone, Harry’s orgasm following suit. The waves of pleasure roll through your body, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as you allow the feeling to overcome your body. Spurts of his hot cum cover your velvety walls and you ride out your orgasms together, resting your foreheads against one another.

You end up sleeping at his house, feeling safe knowing that Ella is staying with her mom today. It’s normal for you to sleep at his place, seeing as both of you are usually so tired that you pass out before you can leave. What isn’t normal is for you to be woken up in the morning by Harry’s phone ringing. Harry is a deep sleeper, and you laugh at the sight of him conked out while his ringtone blares on the nightstand just a few inches away. Carefully, you reach over his sleeping body and grab the phone, planning on hanging it up and going back to bed. However, when you saw that it was Ella calling, you changed your mind. Making a split second decision, you slide the icon to the right, holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?” Her whiney voice rings through your eardrum and you wince. Not the nicest thing to be woken up to.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice not reflecting the cocky grin that spread across your face.

“Who the hell is this!” she shrieks, and you make a mental note that she must not be a morning person.

“A friend of your dads.” Your response is once again calm and monotone, trying to stifle the laugh that is bubbling in your throat.

“Ugh! What’s your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N”