#angst vs fluff

[cloudyluun]

Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

taglist: @oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london @zbaby @harryscherries28 @michellekstyles

[demontouched]

me, reading fluff: this isso c ute 🥹 i might–AAAHHHHH HE SAID IT!!

me, writing fluff: and they held hands or smth idk😐

conversely:

me, reading angst: no! oh no! poor baby! 😭why i am crying? this is fiction??

me, writing angst: Be seen only when necessary, and never heard. It was all that had kept him alive here. 👹

[enhaflixer]

pjs - The Prince's Diaries - TEASER

💌 Synopsis: Jay Jongseong is a prince—refined, disciplined, and expected to marry a woman of his father’s choosing.

You, on the other hand, are just a college student struggling to keep up with rent—until a team of royal advisors shows up on your doorstep and tells you that you’re the lost princess of Genovia.

But royal life isn’t a fairytale, and duty doesn’t care about love.

Because when the clock strikes midnight on the constitutional deadline, you’ll have to choose: your country or your heart.

“If I were just Jay, not a prince, would you still choose me?”

Release Date: TBA

-

The library is vast and silent, moonlight streaming through the tall windows, illuminating the spines of books older than either of you. A faint fire glows in the hearth, casting long shadows across the floor.

Jay locks the door behind you, turning the key slowly, deliberately.

When he turns back, there’s something different in his expression—something darker, something longing, something desperate.

“You locked the door,” he murmurs.

You nod, tilting your chin up as his fingers ghost over your waist. “It means I don’t want to waste a single second of the time we have left.”

Jay lets out a soft, wrecked sound. And then, suddenly—his lips are on yours.

It’s slow at first, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, but when your hands fist into his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, something snaps.

His arms tighten around you, hands gripping your waist, pulling you against him as if he’s trying to imprint this moment into his bones. Because he knows this won’t last.

He presses you against the grand piano, the cool wood biting into your back, but you don’t care. Not when his breath is warm against your lips. Not when his fingers trace reverent lines down your spine.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with restraint.

“I won’t.”

And just like that, he’s yours.

-

Reblog if you’d leave behind your entire life to be a secret princess (or if you’d fall for a prince who calls you “Your Highness” in private). 💌

[imactuallyreallycool]

What a lovely dream

But that what it’ll always be. A dream.

Close ups and stuff lmao

[hcsiqs]

Can I make a request where the reader makes a tiktok prank on Caitlin by calling her a friend, or not saying I love you back or denying her kisses, it's up to you to choose

| wanna plant you in my heart

• pairing: caitlin clark x reader

• summary: you decide to do a tiktok prank where you introduce caitlin as your friend to your followers.

• warnings: sorta angry!caitlin

You set your phone up against the brightly lit mirror before hitting the big pinky-red button on the bottom of your screen to start the TikTok video.

“Ok guys, so I’m gonna do a prank on my girlfriend and call her my friend to see how she reacts,” you whispered to your screen trying to hold back your laugh. You then heard the floor creak, signaling Caitlin was about to walk into the room, “Shh don’t tell her!” you held your finger over your lips while looking at the camera.

You then clicked the red button again to end the video and waited for Caitlin to walk inside your shared room before starting it again. “So, you guys have been asking for my lip combo so here it is!” you beamed into the phone, acting as if it you were just making a regular TikTok.

The brunette looked up from her phone to over where you were sitting, “Whatcha doing?” she asked starting to walk closer.

You removed the lip liner from your lips before looking back at her, “Just a lip combo tutorial,” you smiled before looking back to the camera, “Looks like my friend, Caitlin, wants to join in,” you smiled putting emphasis on the word friend.

This earned a look from your girlfriend before she walked over to your phone and turned the screen off and setting your camera against the desk, cutting the video short. “What?” the basketball player was completely dumbfounded at what you had just called her, she had no idea why you would use that word to describe y’all’s relationship that had been way more than friendly for the past eight months.

“Cait, I was in the middle of a TikTok,” you frowned, putting your phone back up so it was balanced against the mirror again.

“Did I do something?” she asked, pure confusion in her voice, “Cause if I did I wanna know or have us being together for like eight months meant nothin to you?”

“No, no, I was just—,” you started trying to explain yourself before she cut you off.

“I don’t go around doing what we’ve done with my friends,” her hands are on her hips as she looks down at you. “Unless that what just your fuck ass way of breaking up with me,” you could hear the angry tone starting to break through the cracks in her voice, but she was trying to remain calm.

“Baby, no,” you shook your head, standing up from your seat, you then placed your hands on her stomach, “I was just trying to do a prank on you.”

Caitlin tipped her head back as her hands found their place on your hips, “Don’t ever do that again, you had me scared shitless,” she laughed, her green eyes coming down to meet yours.

“I won’t you,” you laughed. Her hands then trailed up your body, stopping at your jaw before she leaned in to kiss you, “Nuh-uh,” you shook your head dodging her, “I’m still filming that lip combo video.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to start over,” she replied before placing her lips against yours. One of her hands reached to back of your head as she pulled you closer while her other hand moved back down to your waist. And once she pulled back the lip liner you had put on had now found a new home on her lips.

“You gotta a little something,” you giggled pointing at her now swollen lips. She just smiled before placing a quick kiss against your lips.

“Mhm, now go finish your little video,” she laughed, pushing you off her. You went to sit back down and you clicked the button again to start the video.

“I’m gonna have to redo my lips because of my girlfriend,” you giggled, holding up your lip liner once again, “She was not a fan of the prank you guys.”

“Not at all,” Caitlin said from standing in the background as she admired the way you drew the lines against your lips.

[small-mew]

FLUFF vs ANGST - LCF Event

Are you a reliable fluff enjoyer or an angst gremlin? Do you happen to enjoy writing or drawing?

Are you a reliable fluff writer or artist and want to save the fandom from the every present danger of drowning in angst? We need you. (っ °Д °;)っ Or are you the cause of the calamity? Is angst like your life blood, feeding your ideas and making our beloved fandom suffer in the name of entertainment? You shall have your chance to cause havoc as well. ♪(´▽｀)

For two full months, there is going to be "Fluff vs Angst" event. Starting on 1st June and ending on 31st July.

Do not worry, you shall not face the threat alone. Your fellow faction members and you shall battle together against the every present threat of either drowning in angst or getting jump attacked by fluff.

This event is held on LCF Cafe discord and everybody is welcome to participate. (Don't worry, we don't bite~)

There is no mandatory ship nor prompts that you must follow, and yes, crossovers are allowed.

For more information, check out LCF Cafe discord server ~ ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

[sapphicslaylist]

Loved and Loathed. Wonderful and Wretched. As the newfound comforts or home begin to settle in, a venomous creature begins to untether those roots.

Yet again posting a wonderful piece commissioned for On Borrowed Paths; this time by my good pal @justanumber! This covers a cute scene in the fifth chapter which covers the origins of Witch’s mithridatic nature.

(Both Witch & Damsel are teens in this AU! Just keep that in mind.)

[hughjackmansbicep]

Delicate

a/n: hi friends!!!! im hoping to make this into a multi part series, got lots planned for this mini fic :))))) this is kind of the prolouge to the real deal, needed to get the setup for it started before we divulge. expect lots of twists n turns my friends!

Pairing: Logan Howlett X F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: uhhhhh none lol

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: The government has successfully began the eradication of all mutant species in the United States. Lucky for you your dad has taken careful precautions to protect you from the evil that lurks in the streets outside. Tucked away in a concealed basement you sat and rotted away clinging to your old life and dreams. What happens when one day you've got a severe hankering for some ice cream and he ran out of beer the same night? Both finding yourselves in the right place at the right time.

The world as you knew it was slowly coming to an end. Mutants everywhere were dropping like flies after the government slowly started poisoning everyone's food. Unless you were an off-grid loner living off the land, you succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, 6 feet under. Lucky enough for you, your father kept you pretty sheltered. Tucked away in your fully renovated basement, the world is ignorant of your existence. It was safer this way; I mean, sure, you missed going out to bars and seeing your friends; hell, you even missed those 8 a.m. bio classes you used to take. But this was safer; at least that's what your father always preached. “It’s safer down here, away from all those evil people.” He'd remind you every day, “You're to never leave my site, kiddo, and never step outside those doors.” Not like you could anyways, while your mutation allowed you to control the atoms around you and morph them into anything your heart desired, you had one weakness, adamantium. Your house was coated in it; every doorknob, lock, and even the goddamn windows were coated in the shit. 

It was 3:00am, no one was home, and you found yourself craving ice cream. It wasn't uncommon for your dad to leave you to your own vices. He still had a job he'd have to attend to, and that more often than not led you to solidarity on his trips. And here you were in the middle of the night, the light from the fridge illuminating the dimly lit kitchen, tearing your freezer apart hoping to magically find a pint of Ben and Jerry’s buried deep in the frost. You groan, sinking down to your knees, met with disappointment and an ever-growing craving for the sweet, delicious taste of The Tonight Dough. Sure, you could've totally put in an Uber Eats order, but where would the fun in that be? You stood in front of the adamantium-cladded door, using all your strength to melt it to the ground, but to no avail. The only thing between you and your Jimmy Fallon-adorned ice cream was some space metal, and to hell if your dad really thinks that's going to curve the urge.

For the next hour, you ran around the house like a lunatic looking for a weak point. Maybe your father missed just one spot—one tiny spot in this prison he calls a home. A small hole fit for the size of a mouse teased you. Sure, you control all the atoms around you but your own? You'd never even attempted to entertain that idea, although the worst that could happen is you turn your body into a permanent pile of slop. That didn't sound too terrible when compared to being a basement dweller for the last 7 years. And it turns out it wasn't as bad as you'd thought; you melted your body down into a pile of liquid, slithering your way through the walls of your house before you were spit out from a hole in the bricks. The air on your skin cascaded goosebumps along your body; you honestly couldn't remember the last time you felt wind grace your skin or the sun illuminating off your shoulders. 

You skipped happily toward the corner store, taking in every sound around you. The sound your feet made when they hit the pavement, the distant chatter of the locals crowding down the sidewalks, even the obnoxious sound of a car horn brought a smile to your face. You finally understood the saying, ‘the city that never sleeps.’ You reached the corner store, swinging the door open and prancing inside as if it were Disney World. Your happy fantasy faded as the man behind the register yelled at you to put some shoes on before walking into his store. You looked down, wiggling your free toes, with all the excitement of liquifying yourself to get a taste of the outside world, common societal rules had slipped your mind. “I um.. Just came to grab a pint of ice cream; I’ll be really quick, I promise.” You pleaded sheepishly, offering him a quick smile to butter him up a bit. He simply rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his back to you, mumbling something under his breath.

You made your way around the convenience store towards the dairy section when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. He looked tall, and even with a leather jacket on, you could tell he was huge. He had some silly-looking facial hair and even sillier-looking cat-ear-like hair, but man, he still looked good. Your eyes slowly traveled down his arms to his pants. Cute butt, you thought to yourself. He stifled a laugh before turning in your direction and saying, “Thank you.” He grumbled, turning back towards the beer cooler. “What?” You ask, heat rising to your cheeks once you realize you'd accidentally said that out loud. He didn't acknowledge you, just went back to scanning the cooler. You took that as a hint to keep moving, finally landing in front of the ice cream section and grabbing the last pint of your favorite ice cream. Carefully looking around to make sure nobody was watching you, you pulled the lid off and used your mutation to pull out all the atoms belonging to the anti-mutant poisons that were mixed in with the delicious sweet treat. Floating above the ice cream, you cautiously manipulated them into a different container of food and made your way back towards the front. What you didn't know was that the unfortunate corner store owner had been watching your freak act on the CCTV cameras the whole time.

Turning around one of the aisles, you had spotted two men in suits talking to the man upfront. You couldn't make out what was being said as they whispered, but watching him point to you using your mutation on the TV screen explained enough to you. You backed up slowly, trying to even your breaths out before you had a panic attack. You felt someone grab your shoulder, spinning you around into them. It was Mr. Cute Butt; he must be working with those suited men too. Your eyes go wide as you focus all your energy on him. You were attempting to melt him, freeing yourself from his grasp, but it wasn't working for some reason. He just stared at your brows laced together, trying to figure out what in the fuck were you doing. “You're going to shit yourself if you keep straining like that.” He whispered a low chuckle, following after.

You froze, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. “Please don't hurt me; I just wanted some ice cream. Please i'll leave right now, sir.” You rushed out searching his face for sympathy or remorse something in hopes he'd release his grasp on you. He looked confused at what you were saying to him as if you were speaking some foreign language, but that didn't last long once you two heard footsteps approaching you. “C’mon kid.” He grumbled out, dragging you by your arm, ducking in between the small isles towards the exit. “They're over here!” The man upfront yelled, and the mystery man beside you just groaned before scooping you up into his arms and rushing you out of the store. You both quickly fell into the crowd, blending into the sea of people that populated the streets of New York. As soon as you two were outside, he'd set you on your feet, his arm still gripping your wrist, dragging you through the city with him.

“I need to go home, sir; please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry.” You cried, tears adorning your cheeks as you pleaded with him; if your father knew what was transpiring at this very moment, you'd be toast. Absolutely never allowed outside your basement ever again; you could kiss the sun goodbye because you'll probably never see it again once he gets home. He ignored your pleas though as he pushed through the crowds to a parked motorcycle on the road. “Oh no, I am not getting on that thing.” You halted your movements, digging your heels into the ground. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” He laughed at you dryly hopping onto the bike, “They'll find you eventually.” He kicked the stand up, revving the bike on. You looked through the crowd behind you, worry etching onto your face. Maybe he's right; maybe I should hop on that bike and ride it into the sunset with this beautiful specimen, or he's no better than those suited men and could ultimately be leading me to my death. “Just get on the fucking bike.” He growled at the sound of sirens roaring closer to you two.

Begrudgingly, you hopped onto the back of the bike, plopping the helmet latched behind you on your head. At this rate, your sure your dad is going to skin you alive and hang you up to dry. “Hang on tight, princess.” He turned around to smirk at you. You snaked your hands around his torso, and he took off, the force causing your face to smash into his back and your grip on him tightening. You were sure if you had been gifted some form of super strength, you would've popped his torso clean off his legs with how tight you were squeezing him. You attempted to give him directions back to your house, but he couldn't hear you and kept heading in the opposite direction. He totally could hear you too, but he was ignoring your requests to return you home.

The quick 15-minute drive felt like an eternity with how utterly petrified you were. Matter of fact, you were so scared, eyes clenched shut, arms squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs, you hadn't even noticed that you'd arrived at your mystery destination. He pried your arms off him, causing you to open your eyes; you were in complete shock. A gorgeous castle-like building stood before you, surrounded by trees, and a long gravel driveway trailed in front of it. A voice broke you from your thoughts, but this sound didn't come from the man sitting in front of you; no, it appeared like it came straight from inside your head. 'Logan, would you please introduce me to your new friend? The voice sang through you, your head whipping around frantically to find the owner of these words. “C’mon, I got someone for you to meet.” The man in front of you finally spoke, helping you off the bike and placing the helmet back in its spot on the rear. He guided you through the mansion all the way to the back, stopping at two huge double wooden doors.

“Come in, please.” Rang the same voice you heard earlier, the double doors slowly opening before you to reveal a small, bald man sitting in a chair. “And who might this be, Logan?” He questioned, looking towards the big man next to you. Logan, huh, you thought to yourself, cute name and a cute butt. Logan awkwardly shifted beside you, the bald man sending a booming laugh throughout the room. “Oh my God.. Did I say that out loud?” You whispered heat rising to your cheeks once again. Ignoring you, Logan started explaining to the bald guy, whose name you quickly learned was Charles, what happened earlier. Logan had seen what you were doing in that small store—how you made some substance float out of the ice cream and back into another pint. He assumed you were attempting to do something similar to that when he had grabbed you, and you began shaking like a Chihuahua, yet all you could think about during their discussion of the previous events was how you never got to eat the ice cream you risked your whole life for. “So,” Charles spoke, directing his attention to you. “What can you do exactly? What were you doing with that ice cream?” He hummed his eyes, raking you up and down, studying all your features. hoping they might tell him about who you are.

You were fairly normal-looking; I mean, to the average human eye, they couldn't tell you apart from another human. You felt like a deer in headlights right now, though; you'd never been asked or questioned about your mutation. You never dared to speak about it aloud; hell, your dad wouldn't even let you use your powers ever; it's like he was ashamed of you. “I can... manipulate things, i guess.” You spoke quietly; it felt taboo to you to speak about this, like this was some intimate, inappropriate topic to discuss. “And what do you mean by that?” He mused, deeply interested in your mystery. “I’m not exactly sure, sir. I just know I can do this.” You focus your eyes on the pen sat upon his desk, watching it quickly fall into a liquid puddle. “Fascinating.” Charles smiled up at you, “Can you change it back?” You trained your eyes down on the mess you created, quickly blinking as it slowly morphed back into its original shape of a pen.

Charles laughed in amusement before clasping his hands together. “We have much to discuss, little one, but for now Logan will show you to a room you can rest in. We'll talk more tomorrow.” He nodded at you before Logan had turned around out the door. You took this as your sign to follow, doors shutting behind you both. He guided you up the stairs, stopping at a random white door and handing over a towel and toothbrush he'd picked up on the way to your room. “Just try and get some sleep.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just up the hall if you need anything, i guess.” He nodded his head in the direction of his door. You just smiled, turning around into your room and softly closing your door. 

You had no clue where the fuck you were or what these strange men were planning to do with you. You've heard the horror stories from your dad about how the government would poke and prod you if anyone knew what you could do. you'd be a test subject for rich white males to toy and play with. You'd set the towel and toothbrush down on a chair in the room you were assigned and slowly stalked your way to the bed. As you crawled into bed attempting to get some shut eye all that you could think to yourself was, "Man my dad is soo going to fucking kill me when he finds me."

[beloveds-embrace]

The duality

[jasmineoolongtea]

is it cocky to say that gojo satoru isn't used to competition?

well, if you were to ask satoru himself, he would say no. actually, he would insist that this was par for the course for someone his calibre since it would just simply be unfair in almost every imaginable way to compare anyone, regardless of their status or skillset, to him.

a little-known fact about him is that he's all about fairness and playing fair, alongside his sense of humility which puts everyone else's to shame.

that is, until now. even he has to admit (albeit very begrudgingly), that this might be the toughest opponent of his life, nay, of his generation perhaps.

and it all began on that cursed day two weeks ago.

it's a particularly rainy day outside and satoru's sitting idly on the couch eagerly awaiting your return from the local convenience store when, without warning, the door suddenly slams open and he's met with a very curious sight. it's you, standing there in the doorway and slightly drenched from the downpour with a plastic bag hanging from one arm with a mysterious medium-sized lump of something resting precariously on your other.

"look at what i found just outside, tour!" there's an edge of excitement to your voice like a kid on christmas day. you quickly slip off your shoes and unceremoniously dump the plastic bag on the floor as you scramble towards satoru, clearly very eager to show off your newfound spoil.

in your eagerness however, you almost trip over your own two feet but lucky for you, he has fast reflexes and is there in the blink of an eye to steady you. his eyes roam around your figure, searching for any other possible injury you might have sustained from your near fall when they land on the object you've been seemingly holding on to for dear life.

squinting his eyes in an attempt to further scrutinise it, he notices that it's all curled up in your arms and that what might once have been snowy white fur is now an off-white that is much closer to beige thanks to the amount of dirt and dust that it has probably racked up from being outside.

"why do you have a bundle of dirty fur in your arms?" he asks doubtfully.

you gasp at his words.

"don't be rude!" you chide, bringing the object closer to you as you nuzzle your cheek into it. "it's a cat. i found it shivering in the rain and of course, i couldn't just leave it there." true to your words, and seemingly on cue, there's movement coming from the furry object and soon a cat's head pops out from who knows where which takes him by surprise as he jumps back in shock.

"he even looks like you in a way. you know, with the white fur and blue eyes." as if to emphasise your point, you pick up the cat and showcase it to him like an auctioneer would do with the item they're auctioning off, trying to display it in its best light.

too bad for you, your tactics aren't working on him and his face scrunches up in an expression of disdain.

"it's a he?" the thing- no, the cat blinks owlishly at him with its freakishly bright blue eyes staring into his soul. he shudders at the sight of it. "and if you love me babe you wouldn't compare me to that wet furball." he quips back, a comically large pout on his face as he appears to almost be insulted by your recent comparison.

"you're being dramatic, toru." you roll your eyes at him, bringing the cat back into your arms to cuddle with it once again which earns you a content purr from it. he's fighting off the urge to glare at it right now. "he's probably not going to stay here that long anyways since it seems he likes to be outside."

yeah, famous last words right there.

what was supposed to be a few hours where the cat could wait out the rain in the safety and comfort of your shared apartment soon turned into a few days and then into several weeks and before satoru knew it, your home now had a new (and unwelcomed in satoru's opinion) inhabitant.

not only that but the cat, who now apparently had the name of daifuku on account of your insistence that you needed to give the cat a name since you couldn't go on calling the cat 'cat' forever, was living absolutely rent-free on his part and had essentially claimed the entire space as his own.

to top it all off, this also meant that a new challenger was entering the arena to compete for the most coveted prize of them all; your affection.

and unfortunately for satoru, he had finally met his match.

whenever he was feeling particularly affectionate during the day or just wanted to spend some precious time with you in each other's arms, he would almost always find himself late to the party when there was someone else, or more specifically something, already waiting there as if to lord his victory over him.

logically, he knows that cats can't smile or emote like humans do but he's pretty sure if they could, this one would be smugly smirking and looking down at him from its gilded throne.

as if to further rub salt on the wound, the cat was stretched out in a boneless mass on your lap aka his favourite spot to lie down on. that was prime real estate right there if you asked him! and now what should have been satoru's right as your boyfriend to rest there was thrown out the window for someone new and apparently cuter, judging by how much you coo at it daily much to his chagrin.

when he puts on his best puppy dog eyes (the ones he knows that you're weak in the knees too) and does his best to convince you to push the cat off in favour of him, he's met with another punch to the metaphorical gut when you go against all odds and deny him of his simple wish. instead, you just motion to the cat resting on your lap and press a consolation kiss to his cheek before pulling away and redirecting your attention back to it.

stubborn as he always is, satoru refuses to budge and although his ego is severely wounded by this point, he takes the second-best option and rests his head against your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, earning him a soft melodious giggle from you as you shiver slightly from the ticklish sensation.

when you're not looking, he takes the opportunity to glare jealously at the cat and the cat, ever so proud in its high castle, smugly glares right back at him as if daring him to try and dethrone him now. he huffs

satoru may have lost the battle for now but he swears that he won't lose the war.

[glitchxavier]

what if xavier alters this timeline so much that philos never comes into existence? if that happens, he never exists at all.

if xavier never exists (existed?) in the first place, he can't be reincarnated. he won't find mc in another life, because he won't have another life to live.

inspired by this post by @manikas-whims

[hye5nly]

rent a boyfriend! - chapter 6

— 06 belieber vs jungkooker

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KAIA'S NOTE hmmm....

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copyright © jayujus 2024 all rights reserved

[odasantiago]

Newly found tears

Demondoctor (Albus and Mahatma) M/M, crying, emotions, small mention of death, angst, fluff

The night was young, but Albus sure wasn’t feeling any younger.

How was he supposed to? It’s been a couple days since he was basically killed by Karmor, everyone except his coworkers completely forgot about him.

In summary, he’s completely separated himself from the group after the incident, he can’t remember the last time he’s had a drink—if he ever wanted to drink again, in fact he never wants to touch alcohol again. He’s forgotten his pills, becoming weaker with each day, mostly living off his demonic powers in order not to pass out.

He can’t stay like this forever, however he didn’t want to see that man’s face again. (Karmor)

So, on a warm evening, he walked to mahatmas office.

He knocked on the big metal door, he knew Mahatma was always in his office by 8pm, if not earlier.

You could hear the doctors voice through the doors,

“Who is it?”

Albus sighed, and responded back, “Doc, I thought I’d pay a visit.”

Mahatma realized that Albus finally came back, and he immediately answered the door, visible worry on his face.

“Albus! Where were you?! You were gone for 12 days! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I was so worried!”

Albus winced, he felt guilty. He asked, “Sorry.. things happen.. y’know?”

Mahatma’s eyes were a beautiful brown, which were worried due to the fact that he hadn't seen Albus in almost half a month, and Albus wasn’t quite acting the way that he usually does.

Mahatma sat closely by Albus on the hospital bed, he asked gently, understanding that Albus is in pain, physically and emotionally.

“Albus, you don’t look very good, could you tell me what happened?”

Albus stared at the floor, his brain was foggy, he tried his best to answer.

“I uhm… just.. I’ll tell you later, it’s really fuckin’ deep.”

Maybe it was his hunger, or his headache, or something. He just didn’t feel well, the demon wrapped his arms around his stomach—almost looking sick.

Mahatma scooted closer, and asked, “Is it okay if I stay with you, here? I can get you anything you need, just tell me.”

Albus looked at Mahatma, “I came here to see you, doc, I’ll take a stupid pill later, but I needed somewhere to stay.” “Say, uhm.. the whelp isn’t here, right?”

Mahatma replied, “No he’s not, why do you ask?”

“Good, I don’t want him here.”

Mahatma didn’t want to question, “I-I see, is it alright if I..?”

He gestured to put his arm around albus’ shoulder, Albus nodded, too tired to speak.

Mahatma comforted him in silence for a bit, until he spoke up,

“Look Albus, whatever happened, I’m just glad you’re here and in one piece, I was so worried. I tried asking Karmor to help but he didn’t want to. I don’t know what’s going on—but I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Albus winced once again, he asked, “Doc, why do you have to be so kind?”

The doctor looked at Albus, “Because I care, you mean a lot to me, Albus.”

Albus and Mahatma stared at each other for a bit, the demon's eyes were glossy, and red. He said, “Doc… no, Mahatma… you… I..” He said under his breath, “fuck this..”

His lips crashed into the doctors, mahatma stopped in awe—starstruck. He was genuine, all the feelings had built up the past two weeks, he had nothing to lose—why is he scared now?

They separated, Mahatma said, gasping, “Albus?? What was that?! Have you felt this way?”

Albus looked right into Mahatma's gorgeous eyes, he sighed, and nodded, “Please, Mahatma.”

Mahatma smiled and quietly mumbled, “Thank goodness.” The doctor pulled Albus in for another kiss,

Albus felt.. different. There was no lust, there was no urgency, if anything it felt like the opposite to what a kiss felt like. (To him, at least.) It was full of care, slow movements, gentle touches.

Mahatma ran his fingers through Albus’ hair, the demon didn’t care at that point, he just wanted to be with Mahatma. Mid kiss, all the feelings built up from the past few days, experiences, just everything in general. Crashing into one another all at the same time..

His feelings for Mahatma,

Losing his family,

Losing Faithful,

Drinking,

Angst,

Unanswered questions…

Albus started to cry. Tears fell down his face, they broke from the kiss, Albus was silently crying, looking at Mahatma, he didn’t know if he should feel sad, angry, or happy.

But he did feel one thing that night—love. He felt love, for the first time in so, so long. He was in love with a lost cause for so long that he forgot what a gentle touch felt like.

The two men didn’t know what they were, but it was a love that neither of them ever wanted to let go.

[serxinns]

Hello :3 👋

Could you do a Yandere pro hero’s (The reader is like 29) with a chubby reader and chubby reader gets like made fun of by some group of men

:3 ty and have a good day

My pleasure

TW: blood, violent against both the reader and the guys, cussing, obsessive unhealthy behavior, and implied blackmailing and prob death (not towards reader

So let's just say you were walking down the street all dressed up and pretty, you were feeling confident thanks to Mount Lady giving you make-up tips and skincare recommendations a few days ago, you were looking more younger and beautiful heck even Hawks, Mirko, and Fatgum started drooling when they saw you all dressed up just for them, they praised you head to toe falling more in love and desire for you the ever!

You were just heading back from a mall hangout with Nemuri, your hands were full of perfumes she preferred and some snacks you were listening to music on your headphones not noticing a group of guys chatting, laughing, and drinking, they spotted you walking towards them and stared at you passing by them they looked at each other and smirked deviously, one of the guys picked up a half drunken beer can and threw it directly at of your head

"Hey!" You looked back angrily to see a group of men snickering and whispering something under their breath which seemed to piss you off "What gives asshole!? Ths trash was over there" "Well I threw it at the trash didn't I?" The other men snickered as the other men threw their drunken cans at you which luckily you dodged them "Dance piggy dance!" They all laughed like middle schoolers, saying such crude words like "whale" or "Cow legs"

You were glaring daggers at the men wanting to punch them or heck kick them right in their tiny dicks but you didn't wanna deal with their bullshit plus arguing with guys like those wouldn't be worth it so you flipped them off and began walking off the men glared at you dissatisfied that you were walking away from them so they quickly surrounded you causing you to bump into them

"Why going so soon today? To stuff your face with greasy foods" They all laughed as they started pushing you around pointing at your body and calling it every name that has to do with your body "JUST GO AWAY" you said slicing one of the men close up to you on the stomach causing him to let go and you booked it not caring if you injuries him or not

the men yelled something in anger and started chasing you down, using their quirks to atleast get a hit on you, one of the men's quirk was a laser and when he was forming his finger as a gun aiming it at you, a red feather stabbed the man's hand deep making him howl in agony while the others stared, stunned and confused untill keigo slowly flew down infront of you spreading his left wing out as of we was protecting you

"Keigo!" You happily said hugging him from behind he looked at you and smiled "Hey chickadee heard you needed help" he said as he glared at the group as they stumbled back in fear "O-oh shit... ITS HAWKS!" One of the men stuttered and ran away fearing they'll get arrested or worse except one who seemed to be the leader "WHERE YOU ASSHOLES GOING!?" he said watching how his gang running away with their tails between their legs

He was then met with a harsh punch by hawks he flew back into the street light face bodying aching while his face formed a bruise and drops of blood coming from his nose he grunted in pain clutching his sides and looking up at a menacing Keigo, his golden eyes piercing to the man's soul the man stumbled back a big spat out some cuss words and quickly stumbled off looking for his gang

"Tsk coward.." Keigo sneered under his breath he quickly calmed down when he saw you broke down crying in relief, he ran up to you and hugged you tightly confronting you the best way he could picking you up princess style and flying you to your house "Hey.." Keigo looked over to you "If it's not a bother can you and Mirko stay the night please.." his heart fluttered when you asked that but realized mirko was also wanna spend the night so he agreed and you called mirko up

The 3 of you had the best night ever it was full of cuddles competitiveness, chaos, and games as you soundly went to sleep Mirko and Keigo were the only ones awake staring endlessly at your sleeping figure until the rabbit hero spoke up, "You still got that feather on them kei?" Keigo looked up to him and nodded "Yep it seems like they threw it in the trash such a big mistake.."

he smirked deviously thinking about what torture method he was gonna do with them while Mirko was typing away on her phone to the pro hero group chat the photo of the men who attacked you, Aizawa later on pull up a picture of their address and crimmal history while him and mic smiled deviously

Oh how this will be fun~

[pawcastra]

i would give anything, to hold her hand just one last time. i'm scared that i won't ever change, i think about her everyday. /lyr

the song where the lyrics came from, by the way

[hcsiqs]

| love me like a sailor

• pairing: kate martin x fem!oc

• summary: kate shows up to andi’s house unannounced wanting to know if there will be any future with her

• warnings: homophobic family, religious trauma (?), and angst without a happy ending

“I just don’t think it’s right,” my grandfather chimed into the discussion, “Two men together,” he shook his head a look of disgust evident on his features, “Or two women!”

I sat quietly, my fork picking at the food as I bit my tongue to not say anything back. To not yell at him and tell him he’s stupid.

“It’s just unnatural,” my mom replied, I could feel my heart literally drop into my stomach. The people who raised me and told me they would love me no matter what are sitting here talk down upon the one thing that makes me different from them. And that one thing would be the end of them ever speaking to me again. And just as my mom goes to say something a loud sound is heard through the house, the ring of the front doorbell.

“I’ll get it,” I smiled, quickly standing up to get away from the conversation. I practically sped walked to the door and when I swung it open there stood Kate. “What—What are you doing here?” my body stilled as I looked at her before turning my head back to the dining room.

“Who is it sweetie?” my mom called as she walked up behind me, “Kate!” she beamed, “I didn’t know you were coming over!”

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” I muttered, stepping to the side as my mom embraced her in a tight hug.

“Are you staying for long? I can make you a plate,” she smiled, letting go of the blonde.

“No it’s all good, I just gotta talk to Andi,” Kate nodded her head as she shoved her hands in her pockets.

“Oh ok! Well don’t be shy! We have plenty of food,” my mom told her before walking back to the dining room and I stepped outside into the warm evening.

“What are you doing here?” I asked again as I closed the door behind me.

“I needed to see you,” her voice dropped off at the end of her sentence.

“Well coming here wasn’t a good idea. My grandparents are in there and if-if they find out anything I’ll be cut off of everything,” I could feel my breathing stacking as I spoke to the girl who holds the entirety of my heart.

“You still haven’t told your family about us?” she asked, and I could see her face completely drop.

“I will, ok? Just give me time,” I pleaded, and I could feel my eyes starting to burn from tears starting to appear.

“I’ve given you three years Andi,” I watched her run her hands down her face in frustration, frustration that I was causing. She opened her mouth and then shut it back again, looking like she was trying to find words but couldn’t.

“You don’t get it Kate,” I shook my head, my eyes avoiding her blue ones.

“Then fucking help me get it!” Kate’s voice raised as she spoke to me, something that was such a rarity from her that it felt so foreign to hear.

“M-my family. They’ll literally kick me out if they find out,” I felt a hot tear fall down my cheek as my emotions got the best of me. “I won’t be able to finish college…everything-everything will be gone!” my voice cracked as I spoke to her, my body not able to keep my emotions at bay as they spilled out of me.

“Then move in with me,” Kate’s hands came to mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. And suddenly her touch felt like a fire against my skin, like she was burning me and I had to move away so I didn’t turn to ash.

“You know I can’t do that,” I whispered, retracting my hands and crossing my arms against my chest.

“But you can,” she moved a step closer to me, and I stepped back the same amount to keep the distance, “Andi, please.”

“No,” I shook my head as more tears streamed down my face, “I won’t have money to pay for the rest of college. I’ll be stuck and left out to die. I can’t.”

“I love you,” she whispered, and I felt my heart break in half at her words. The words she had said so many times in so many different circumstances.

“I love you too, but that’s not going to be me out of this house,” I reached my hand back to the doorknob, “Please go. I have to back inside before they get worried.”

“Andi, baby,” her voice was soft and it was something I wish I could have play on repeat. And then I felt her hands rest against my hips and all I wanted to do was lean into her touch and never let her go. But instead, I shook my head and removed her hands from my body, already missing the warmth that they provided. “What about after? After college?”

“Maybe,” I replied letting out a breath, “But what happens when you get drafted?”

“That might not even happen,” she shakes her head, but I know she’s wrong, she’s too good to not at least be given a chance.

“It will. And when it does I’ll be happy for you, but I just can’t be there with you for right now,” I tell her, my breath shaky.

“I’ll have you back one day, ok? I promise,” and I see the tears that have stained her face through our entire conversation.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I tell her, a small smile on my lips before I turn around and enter back into my house. And as soon as the door closed my mom came walking over to me.

“What did she—Oh sweetie what’s wrong?” she wrapped her arms around me and I felt the sobs come out of me uncontrollably. I just had ended it with the only person that I’ve ever loved and who loved me back, unconditionally. But it wasn’t like I could tell her that, or this hug would turn into an argument extremely fast.

I couldn’t even respond to her as the tears gushed down my cheeks and my entire body felt hot. Like there was a fire inside my stomach, setting aflame to the rest of my skin.

“Is it boy problems?” my mom asked, and it felt like a stab to the heart. I could feel her hand rake through my dark hair as she held me closer to her. “I remember when my best friend started dating my ex boyfriend. I thought I was going to die, but you’ll get through it baby,” she squeezed me tighter before I removed my body from hers.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I think I’m gonna head to my room.”

“Ok baby,” she smiled and placed a kiss on my forehead before I went straight to the stairs. All the crosses that adorned the walls and the bible scriptures felt like they were burning into my back. 1 Peter 4:8 decorating the walls, even thought my family didn’t actually believe that love covers a multitude of sins.

The words of their hate echoing my ears as my eyes took in the verses about loving everyone. It was like a sick dream until I finally made it to my bedroom and I completely broke down against the door. It felt like my heart wasn’t even inside my chest and that all the air had been taken out of my lungs because I couldn’t tell my family that I’m in love with Kate Martin.

As I sat there with my legs clinging against my body, I heard a soft knock on my door before hearing my older sisters voice, “Can I come in?”

I got up from the floor and opened the door to be immediately met with a hug. “We broke up,” I whispered to Sofia, who only squeezed me tighter. “I love her so much, but I’m so scared.”

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” she hushed me, running her hand against my hair to comfort me. “You’ll get past this and you’ll be back together.”

“What if she doesn’t want me after college? What if she finds someone else? I don’t know if I can do that,” I cried into her shoulder, my tears soaking her shirt.

“It’s Kate. She’ll always want you.”

allie’s corner.

idk felt silly

might make a part two where they’re happy who knows