#lots of practice 💔

[stupidhany]

Most normal mask salesman activity

[hqbits]

wgat if we jsut smahsed our faces togetehr in a fit of rage.. ,,, . and we were both bouys

[charlotte-family-apologist]

Blackbird = Black Bird = B B = Double B or whatever is going through Johnny's heads

[sleepyeena]

Go to bed...

[squintsintwink]

ea continuously refusing to add bands into their game upon every release that would be perfect for a bands feature makes me clinically insane

[fr-thrice]

yesterday i went to a popcorn festival and one booth had someone selling lots of lil dragon things including some soft little plush dragons and im so RAAAAAAAA i wanna sew my own lil dragons so BADLY but

all my supplies are still packed away til we move into apartment at the end of the month

i cant get my sewing machine to work nicely (its speed goes from 1 to 100 and its too fast), either it's broken or Skill Issue. i can hand-sew fine it's just so tedious

i need to collect more scrap fabric and make a pattern, altho i have a TY Scorch pattern. but altering it to look like a fr dragon sounds so fun!

[ruthytwoshakes]

I just wanted to draw YAOI what the FUCK is this

[french-fryyyy]

Where are you are you sick quote on quote because you have been sick are you finally in bed sick

I was sleepy 😔 I'm not really sick anymore but I stayed home anyways cause I miss home time so I've been cleaning and resting a little. I miss Edie time 😔 but I have Saturday off we could perchance encounter each other outside of school then. Cause I'm still going to practice later today and work tomorrow but SATURDAY I swear

[connormoving]

wait i just realized i dont have to spend my money on a recreational thing if i dont want to . brooo

[delusionalwh6re]

࿐࿔ ⋆ ｡˚ taste

࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ lee myung-gi x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞smut, fem receiving!oral, squirting, fingering, language, dirty talk, and overstimulation

summary: your man loves being between your thighs

authore’s note: A LIL SUM WHILE I WRITE THIS LONG DETAILED ASS SMUT.. it’s taking me foreva im so maddd 💔

i tried so hard not to laugh while making this in PUBLIC.

Your mind was foggy. Head spinning as your mind raced with all types of feelings. The sensation between your legs becoming stronger as you started to shake.

A gasp left your mouth when Myung-gi placed yet another lick onto your slit. He firmly pressed his tongue on your flesh as he dragged it up to suck on your clit.

“Fuck” left your mouth as your back arched causing him to only suck harder as if you were floating away

Your moans only got louder as you grabbed onto his hair which turned him on through the roof. Lifting your hand up with what little strength you had left to try and pry his greedy mouth off of you.

Myung-gi had been doing this for hours. Not letting up until HE was ready to — which would probably be never.

If there was one thing about him it was that this man was a munch. He could spend the rest of his life smuggled between your thighs, hell maybe even a whole day if you let him.

Which there’s been a few times you have — how could you resist him?

“Pleasee” you whined gripping onto the fitted sheets next to you — a desperate plea for all of this to end

His mouth finally popped off of you with a ‘pwah’

“Use your words baby, please what?”

He knew exactly what he was doing. A smug grin forming on his face as he finally caught sight of you.

He did this teasing thing where he would let you cum, then drag another orgasm out of you just to deny you at the very last second, and finally let you gush all over him again. The process being repeated.

But at the end of the day, he always took care of you.

You were completely naked, laying bare in front of him — lips swollen, boobs bouncing with each heavy breath your took, eyes watering, skin sweaty, hair frizzy. The most beautiful sight he ever saw.

Now Myung-gi was a lot of things, a pussy pleaser being one of them. You could even say his greatest gift. No matter what he always put your pleasure first.

It didn’t take long for you to tell him what you wanted. Grabbing him by the back of his head to press him against your pussy. Moans started leaving your mouth as he instantly got to work.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted throwing your head back as his lips sloppily kissed your lower ones — squelching noises being heard through the room.

He grunted, pausing for a second before throwing your shaky legs over his shoulders. Slightly lifting them up to get better access to your sweet center.

The sounds leaving your mouth completely pornagraphic at this point as the man under you devoured you like his last meal.

“Myung-gi” you whimpered feeling his plump lips leave hard suckles onto your swollen bud.

Tears forming in your eyes as the familiar ache in your core started to unravel. Lifting your head up to look at him — making you nearly gush at the sight.

His eyes were low as he never once took them off you, which only kept his motivation going. The fluffy hair he usually kept put together now messy, his face practically covered in your juices, his muscles flexing with each move he made on you.

You reached out for him. You needed something, anything to keep you from feeling like you were gonna explode. His hand met yours, intertwining them gently.

His tongues swirled in ways he knew you liked. Being used to his antics you could tell what he was up to, trying to bring you to your breaking point. Essentially trying to make you tap out.

“So, so good. Tastes so good my love” his voice muffled against your pussy.

He shook his head back and forth making you throb, feeling him get so desperate for you turned him on. The both of you really, bringing out a nasty side of each other nobody else could see.

“Like that” you moaned moving your hips up and down on his face.

“Yeah? You like that?” spelling out his name with his tongue, now using his finger to probe at your entrance.

“Mhm!” you nodded frantically crushing your thighs against his head slightly the closer you got.

A surprised scream leaving your throat when he slid his thick finger into your tight walls. Instantly curling it against your g-spot.

“Don’t stop” a tear flowing down your cheek, all of it being too much. The overstimulation catching up to you.

“You’re almost there” he praised gently. Inserting his middle finger inside of you before curling both of them up at the same time — just the way you liked it.

“I’m cumming!” you squealed closing your eyes as the ecstasy it all consumed you.

“There you go beautiful” he placed sloppy kisses at your center — licking up the cum that streamed out of you as you seized above him. Smirking at the sight of you letting his mouth pleasure you.

“Bae-babe, oh my gosh!” you squeezed his hand feeling a now different sensation.

“I gotchu” he rubbed your thigh up and down soothingly with his free hand “let go for me my love”

You weren’t able to speak before a loud splash was heard.

“Oh yeah, make that pussy squirt for me” Myung-gi sat up between your legs rubbing your clit back and forth — making sure you finished complete.

Once you broke out of your trance. You leaned up, a pout on your lips telling him all he needed to now — you were happy yet upset with him after all the torture he put you through.

“I love you too” he sarcastically smiled at you before leaning up to place a kiss on your stomach — that was covered in sweat.

“Ew get off of me” you whined trying to push him away as he now tried pressing a kiss against your lips.

“So I can’t have a kiss?” he tilted his head trying to hide his smirk.

“Boy bye, you seemed to be having the time of your life with my other lips. Go away” you faked an attitude knowing you wanted nothing more than him all over you

A gentle smack was laid onto your sensitive pussy causing you to hiss.

“And I enjoyed it” he smirked laying on you, with no care in the world as all his weight was against you.

“I can tell” you grumbled while your cheeks warmed up against your face

WHEWWW CHILE.. i had to take a couple breaks during this 😭 i was lowkey cringing but there was parts where i was like “hol on i nibbled a lil bit!” haha

don’t be afraid to sends reqs 😫 i would love to do more of these while writing longer more plot based smuts/fics! i find these a lot easier to do & they take me less than a day to do

[starryjake]

ok but jay being so loving and taking care of his needy baby that just wants to ride him so bad 💔

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“please jay,” you’d beg weakly, your eyes shiny as you looked up at him from your position on the floor.

you were on your knees between his open legs, and he was sat on the couch, a smile growing on his face at the sight of his baby being so needy.

“please what, sweetheart?” he asked, pretending like he didn’t know what you wanted.

you planted your cheek on his leg, looking up at him through your eyelashes. you looked like you were about to cry, you needed him so bad.

“wanna ride you,” you admitted, embarrassed.

jay had to admit, that was not what he expected you to say. the way you were acting, all pliant and needy, he expected you to say you needed him to fuck you, for you to be his little pillow princess and take what he gave you.

but you wanted to ride him, and that made his dick twitch to life immediately.

“oh yeah?” he said, raising an amused eyebrow. “come here then, sweet girl.”

he pat his thigh, like he was trying to get a cat or puppy to jump into his lap. you sat up and crawled onto his lap, immediately feeling the pressure from between your legs starting to get relived just from sitting on him.

you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, literally moaning just from kissing him. he wasn’t sure what had gotten you so worked up, but he liked seeing you like that. it was turning him on a lot more than it should’ve been, which you could feel as his erection pressed against your inner thigh.

as you kissed, you humped yourself against his lap, breathing heavily into his mouth. he held your hips, guiding you back and forth on him.

he let you have your fun for a bit before unbuckling his jeans and tugging his pants and boxers down just enough for his long cock to come out. he sighed in relief and you fully had to swallow a moan at just the sight of his delicious looking cock. the urge to have it in your mouth was strong, but the urge to have it in your pussy was stronger.

he lifted your hips up and pulled your panties to the side, both of you too needy to waste time taking them off fully.

jay lined his red tip up with your trembling hole and held you, slowly lowering you onto his long length. you whimpered as he slowly began to fill you up. you could feel him all the way in your tummy, which made you lightheaded.

“fuck,” he hissed when he bottomed out inside you. “there you go. how does that feel, my baby?”

“good, daddy,” you exhaled, leaning forward into his chest.

you were so wet, absolutely drenching his cock in your fluids, that it didn’t take long for you to get adjusted and feel the urge to start moving.

you rose up onto your knees ever so slightly before lowering your hips back down, riding him slowly and feeling him deep in your gut, practically.

to be connected with him like that was actually what you needed. you rocked back and forth on him a few more times and came quickly all over his cock, letting him thrust up into you a few more times before he was cumming inside you <33

-

a/n this is longer than i meant for it to be but it’s jay so how can i stop myself 🙂‍↔️

[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE — kim minjeong.

synopsis. winter supposedly hates when you tease her—but she hates it even more when your attention is on someone else.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is a big tease tease, slightly possessive winter, and let me know if there's more!

words. 850 💔

authors note. had to get a req out. im not ignoring them i swear im just lazy & kinda busy. also not a lot of drama im sorry anon :( it was just too cute

navigation. main masterlist. request.

winter was in the middle of a solo live broadcast when you decided to join in through the comments.

at first, you kept it subtle, just sending random emojis and vague messages. but then you saw her sipping on her drink, and you had to say something.

y/n: why do u hold ur cup like that lmao

y/n: so small… like ur hands

winter paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing. “yah,” she muttered, scanning the comments until she found yours. “why are you even here?”

she tried to act unfazed, but the way she adjusted her grip on the cup said otherwise.

y/n: just admiring how cute u look struggling w that big cup

winter choked on her drink. “i am not struggling!” she insisted, wiping her mouth. “this is normal!”

the fans, of course, began eating up the drama. you and winter exchanged quips for a bit, with winter growing more and more flustered each time, much to your entertainment.

y/n: show them ur hands compared to the cup

winter hesitated. “no.”

y/n: pls

she sighed before finally holding up the cup next to her hand.

it was, in fact, way too big for her.

you nearly cackled.

y/n: ohmygod

winter immediately ended the live.

then there was the time during rehearsal when she was trying to focus on a dance move, and you just had to mess with her.

winter is practicing a turn, her expression serious as she concentrates. but the moment she lands and meets your gaze, you give her a slow, exaggerated wink.

she stumbles.

“y/n!” she whines, immediately turning back around to avoid your smug face.

“what?” you ask innocently. “did i distract you?”

“obviously!”

you chuckle, walking up to her. “my bad, my bad. here, try again.”

she eyes you suspiciously but sighs before resetting her stance. you nod encouragingly as she prepares to turn again.

just as she moves—

you poke her side.

she yelps, spinning a little too fast and losing her footing. she goes down in an ungraceful tangle of limbs, glaring up at you from the floor.

you grin sheepishly.

winter is furious.

she’s so easy to mess with—it’s practically a sport at this point.

winter sits cross-legged on the couch in the practice room, scrolling through her phone, completely unaware of your approach. you sneak up behind her and suddenly wrap your arms around her shoulders.

she flinches, almost dropping her phone. “yah!”

“just checking if you’re still ticklish,” you tease, resting your chin on her shoulder.

she wriggles in your hold, huffing. “i’m not—”

you squeeze her sides lightly.

she yelps.

the entire room erupts into laughter. giselle and ningning are practically on the floor.

winter twists around to glare at you, cheeks burning. “i hate you.”

“you love me,” you correct, grinning.

she groans, smacking your arm. “go away!”

it’s supposed to be a casual group live—just you, winter, karina, giselle, and ningning, sitting together promoting the new single and chatting with fans.

and for the past few minutes, you’ve been directing all your teasing at giselle.

“eh, why do you always sit like that?” you laugh, nudging giselle’s shoulder.

she raises an eyebrow. “like what?”

“like you own the place,” you joke. “you sit like a ceo in every live.”

the fans flood the chat with laughing emojis, some agreeing, others spamming “giselle ceo era.”

giselle plays along, smirking. “maybe i do own the place.”

“oh?” you lean in, grinning. “should we start calling you boss?”

winter, sitting beside you, shifts slightly. you don’t notice at first—too focused on the banter with giselle. but the chat certainly does.

winter looks mad lol

minjeong is pouting.

she’s jealous.

meanwhile, you continue teasing. “giselle, say something ceo-like.”

giselle dramatically clears her throat. “you’re all fired.”

the group bursts into laughter, but before you can say anything else, you feel a hand tug at your hoodie.

you barely have time to react before you’re pulled back—right into winter’s side.

you blink, glancing at her. she isn’t looking at you, instead focusing on the screen with a suspiciously neutral expression.

but her grip on your hoodie tightens.

winter pulling y/n helppp.

possessive winter omg.

did she just…

you glance at giselle, who is trying not to smile. ningning and karina look equally amused.

you smile.

“stop teasing giselle,” winter muttered under her breath, and though she tried to sound casual, the possessiveness in her tone wasn’t lost on you.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “yeah, okay, fine.”

winter lets go of your hoodie and tries to play it off as nothing, but you know she can still feel the weight of your eyes on her.

you tried your best to stifle your smile, but it was hard not to enjoy the way winter was reacting. she glanced at you from the corner of her eye, but as soon as she saw you looking back, she quickly turned her head away.

she was so cute.

you reach over and take her hand.

she tenses, glancing at you again.

you smile warmly.

the fans in the chat go crazy.

again.

[melanchoire]

hi! can i request a top student karina who helps y/n to get a good grades and became obsessed with her (friendly rivalry plot 🤩). y/n realized she couldn't survive school without her and starts doing what karina wants (to please her 💗), that eventually lead to her bedroom.. can you also add up that the y/n loves boobs like yk she would beg karina to let her suck her and please also add that karina is into face sitting mwehehe.

this seems a lot sorry... THANK YOU ANYWAY!!

i missed writing for rina so much 💔 anyway i still have a couple of aespa stuff in my drafts (aeri stans get ready 🎇🎉🎊)

cw: cunnilingus, face–sitting, thigh riding, titsucking.

karina being a senior at your school who becomes your tutor due to your less than ideal grades 💔 having to meet her every school day at the library starts to make you realize that slacking off in class and taking lazy and messy notes for the sake of joking around and talking with your friends was a very bad idea

you knew something about her, not too much, but you had seen her a couple of times in the school hallways or among the crowds of people at school events. you thought she would be a bit stuck up like some of the other girls in her class given the looks they tend to give younger students, but she wasn’t completely giving off that vibe, and you could tell when she looked up from her phone upon entering the library and dropped the straw of her milkshake from between her lips. “oh hey! you made it. i thought you weren’t coming.” and she approaches you smiling, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek and maintaining a charismatic and friendly attitude

“it’s good to see you here. your teacher told me about your low grades and asked me to help you study and prepare for the upcoming exams so you can pass her subject. i hope you’re okay with that." but you can’t pay much attention to her words because your eyes are on her because she is so much more beautiful up close 😵‍💫 this was definitely the motivation you needed to finally pay attention to your studies

her sharp and pronounced features, the way her silky hair waves gracefully when she walks and a small breeze hits her face, how her uniform accentuates her body, the slight movement of her hips and her confidence when she walks makes you stare at her like an idiot every time you see her. karina even greets you when she sees you in the hallways, no matter if you are with your friends or she is with her group, when she passes by you, she gives you a small nod and a smile, but if she sees you from afar, it’s a wink and a wave of her hand 🫠 you don’t know how she would react if she knew that sometimes you wander around the school on purpose just to find her or memorizing the route she takes to her classroom or during break time

but karina is just as obsessed as you are! of course she notices the look that your eyes have when you see her, but she always maintains a relaxed attitude, holding back a smirk as she sees how you think you’re being subtle with your gaze when it’s traveling all over her body…

and thanks to karina’s help you manage to go from being the lazy student who is always talking in class to the student who participates in class and does all their homework so they can use the extra class time to complete some other assignment in another subject or study for the exams they got

little by little, the study dates begin to become more… intimate. karina always used to sit next to you while she explained the exercises, placing the notebook between the two of you and looking at you every time she explained a new concept to make sure you were following her lead and understood what he was talking about. now, she was more… closer. continuing to sit next to you but much closer to you, her chest practically at your side and always remembering to make sure to press her breasts against your shoulder, enjoying when you turn your face to the side to look at her as she explains, getting nervous about having her face so close to yours and noticing how your gaze falls directly to her lips

a hand resting on your knee as she explains the formulas and different ways to solve an equation, climbing dangerously up your thigh until it reaches under your skirt. “now we will do a little practice. i’ve already written the results of the equations. you just have to do the math, and if you get the same result as me, it means it’s correct.” as if she wasn’t currently caressing your clit through your panties with her fingertips 🥰 “if you do this well, we can stop studying here and do something more… fun.” and you’ve never been so motivated to do a task before!

karina pushing your panties aside so her fingers could caress your folds… you were thankful that there was no one in the library at this hour, because otherwise, you wouldn’t be having this! or that’s what you think, because if it were up to karina, she would fuck you on the table even with the library full of people 😊

and when you finally finish completing the exercises, you think that she will give you what you want so much, but no! she focuses on correcting the exercises you solved, taking all her time and taking extra time to provoke you ☹️

but a promise is a promise, so karina drags you to her bedroom!

although karina won’t give it to you easily 😣 making you kneel in front of her and beg her to touch you, but not before confessing how much you want to fuck her for a long time and tell her all the twisted ideas that are in that silly little head of yours :( karina enjoys being mean because it’s very easy to break you and make you act like a dumb

making you sit on her lap and ride her thigh while she lets you play with her tits 😵‍💫 pushing your face into her chest with a grip on your hair, grinning as you watch as the more you suck on her tits the more desperate your hips move against her thigh

“so that was it... do you always put effort into your studies when it comes to me because you want to fuck me, (y/n)? all you do is think about me playing with this body when you study?”

“riding my thigh like a dog humping a leg… you're pathetic, (y/n).”

letting karina ride your face because it’s your way of thanking her for helping you improve your grades and be a better student 🫶🏻 she loves to see your vulnerable expression and your eyes looking at her from between her thighs, enjoying it more when you whine against her pussy as she pushes her hips harder against your face just to tease you 🥴 and she is so sweet that she also allows you to touch yourself while you devour her, letting you sneak a hand under your skirt and play with your throbbing clit while she uses you for her own pleasure

[featherspiral]

kind of old animation warm up I did in flipaclip because clip studio paint expired 💔 anybody still fw flipaclip out there

this is like. not at aawwlll how I usually draw toriel I draw her a lot more... aerodynamic. LOL but circles are the easiest shape to animate

PLEAASE hit me with suggestions for warm ups like this I'm very out of practice and I wanna get back into animating often!!

[cloudyluun]

Ruin me, Love me, Lose me| fratboy&playboy!harry

Summary: You hate Harry Styles. Or at least, you really, really want to. He’s the frat house king, the campus playboy, the smug asshole who always has a girl (or three) in his bed. You swear you’ll never be one of them.

And then one night, you kiss him.

And then another night, you sleep with him.

And then suddenly, you’re tangled in his sheets, in his arms, in his world, telling yourself it means nothing.

Until it does.

Wordt Count: 5k

A/N: Ah, yes. Another classic case of let’s make this as toxic as possible but pretend it’s fine because the tension is hot. This was supposed to be a slow burn, and then my brain said, “What if they suffered immediately instead?” Anyway, enjoy the angst, the mess, and the self-inflicted emotional damage. Love you, mean it. 💔 Based on this request! 

Warnings: 

Smut (18+ only)

Toxic relationships

Angst (like, a lot)

Jealousy & possessiveness

Alcohol use

Slight degradation & rough moments

Heartbreak (sorry in advance)

Some emotional whiplash

Questionable life choices

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The party is suffocating.

It reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something obnoxiously expensive, probably the cologne of some guy who thinks dousing himself in Tom Ford will make up for his complete lack of personality. Bodies are packed together like sardines, moving in drunken waves, grinding against each other to the bass-heavy music blasting from the speakers.

You feel completely out of place.

And honestly? You couldn’t give less of a fuck.

The only reason you’re here is because your best friend practically dragged you. Come on, she had pleaded, hands clasped together like she was making a sacred vow. You never go out, you never have fun, and I swear to God, if you don’t start acting like a college student at least once, I’m going to lose my mind.

So, against your better judgment, you let her shove you into a dress and apply a little makeup, hyping you up like this was going to be some life-changing experience. Spoiler alert: it’s not. It’s exactly what you expected: obnoxiously loud, unbearably sweaty, and full of people who are so wrapped up in their own egos that they wouldn’t notice if the house caught fire.

You’ve only been here for an hour, and you already want to leave.

You retreat to the kitchen, seeking some kind of escape. It’s quieter here, if only marginally. The countertops are littered with half-empty cups and sticky spills that no one will bother cleaning up. A couple is making out against the fridge like they’re in a fucking movie, completely unbothered by the fact that people are walking around them.

And then there’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t have to look directly at him to know he’s there, you feel his presence before you even see him. It’s like the air shifts when he walks into a room, demanding attention without even trying. He’s exactly the kind of guy you can’t stand: arrogant, entitled, and so used to getting his way that he probably doesn’t even remember the last time someone told him no.

Everyone here worships him.

It’s disgusting.

You finally glance up, and there he is, standing just a few feet away, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. He’s wearing all black—ripped jeans, an unbuttoned shirt that shows off just enough tattoos to make girls swoon, and a smirk that tells you he knows exactly how good he looks.

His eyes flicker toward you, and in an instant, you know exactly what’s coming.

“Y’look like you hate it here, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, like whiskey on ice, laced with just enough amusement to let you know he finds this entertaining.

You exhale sharply, unimpressed. “That’s because I do.”

Instead of being deterred, his smirk deepens, like he finds your resistance amusing. He steps closer—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make it clear that he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll react.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.

You don’t take the bait.

Instead, you roll your eyes, brushing past him with a dry, “Because some of us actually care about our friends.”

You expect that to be the end of it. Guys like Harry don’t waste time on girls who aren’t immediately fawning over them. He could have any girl in this house—hell, most of them would kill for the chance.

But he doesn’t let it go.

He follows.

And when you turn to glance back at him, you find his green eyes locked onto you like a predator stalking its prey.

It’s a look you’ve seen before—the kind that says he’s intrigued, that you’ve just become a challenge.

And you know, without a doubt, that Harry Styles never walks away from a challenge.

You should have seen it coming.

From that night on, it becomes a game to him—one you never agreed to play.

He makes it his personal mission to get under your skin, to test your patience at every opportunity. It’s not obvious at first, just small things that could almost be coincidental. A glance held for a second too long. A smirk thrown your way when you pass each other on campus. An overheard comment about some girl he hooked up with the night before, loud enough that he knows you’ll hear.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

The second run-in happens at another party, because of course it does.

This time, you arrive more prepared—mentally, at least. You’ve made peace with the fact that these events are unavoidable, that your best friend will always drag you to them, that the college social scene is a relentless cycle of alcohol-fueled chaos. You can survive a couple of hours. You’ll drink just enough to take the edge off, then find a way to slip out before midnight.

It’s a decent plan.

Until you see him.

He’s lounging on the frat house couch like it’s a fucking throne, an arm draped lazily over the backrest, legs spread wide in a way that’s both infuriating and devastatingly attractive. He’s surrounded by girls—of course he is—all of them leaning in, waiting for his attention, laughing too loudly at things he hasn’t even said.

You roll your eyes and turn away.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

You tell yourself you’re imagining it, but you can feel his eyes on you as you move through the party, can sense the smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t call you over, doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. The air shifts when he’s near, gravity bending in his favor.

And then, just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed—

“Y’keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

The words send a sharp, unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You scoff before you even turn around, willing yourself to appear unaffected. “As if.”

His grin deepens, slow and lazy, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

You hate that it works.

You hate that the sharp cut of his jawline and the teasing glint in his eyes make your stomach twist in ways that aren’t entirely rooted in hatred.

You refuse to play his game.

You take a step back, ready to leave, but before you can—

His hand catches your wrist.

It’s not forceful, just firm enough to make you pause.

And then he leans in.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, close enough that his voice drops into something dark and slow, something meant only for you.

“You sure about that?”

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne wraps around you like a noose, tightening around your resolve.

You rip yourself away from him, but it’s too late.

Your body has already betrayed you.

And it will again.

Another night. Another party.

By now, you should have learned your lesson. But somehow, you always end up here—another crowded house, another room filled with drunken laughter and cheap beer, another encounter with him.

It’s inevitable.

You don’t even know how it starts this time. It’s not some grand moment, not some life-altering realization. It’s just him—pushing, teasing, testing. Like he always does.

You’re in the kitchen again, arms crossed, a drink in your hand that you’ve barely touched. You’ve been avoiding him for most of the night, keeping your distance, but it doesn’t matter. He finds you anyway.

He always does.

“Y’gonna keep ignoring me all night?”

You don’t even look up. “That was the plan.”

A low chuckle, the kind that makes your stomach clench. “M’not that easy to ignore, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right.

You take a slow sip of your drink, willing yourself to remain unaffected. “Try me.”

And that’s all it takes. That single challenge.

His eyes spark with something dark and dangerous. His smirk sharpens. And then—

“You act like you hate me,” he murmurs, stepping in closer, “but we both know that’s not true.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“It is.”

“Liar.”

You finally look up at him, glaring. “Go to hell, Harry.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating. “Take me there yourself.”

And then—

It happens.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him. The next, his lips are on yours.

There’s no hesitation, no slow build-up, no moment to think. Just heat.

His hands are in your hair, fingers tangling, tugging. Your back meets the nearest wall, the cold surface a shocking contrast to the fire raging between you.

It’s rough. Desperate.

You should stop.

You should.

But his body is pressed against yours, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.

Your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands slide down, tracing over your hips, pulling you in like he can’t get close enough.

And maybe he can’t.

Maybe you can’t.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says, voice low, wrecked. “And I’ll stop.”

Your lips part.

To say what?

To tell the truth?

But before you can, before you even know what you want to say—

Your hands fist in his shirt.

And you crash into him all over again.

You pull away first, gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. Reality slams into you like a freight train, but Harry doesn’t move. He watches you, his pupils blown, lips parted, his breath warm as it ghosts over your face. His hands are still on you—one firm at your waist, the other curled loosely around the nape of your neck. Holding you in place.

Like he’s afraid you’ll run.

Like he knows you want to.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, something smug and knowing. “Told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, dark, like he’s just swallowed gravel. “You don’t hate me.”

You should.

You should hate him. You should push him away, put an ocean of space between you before this turns into something irreversible. Something you can’t take back.

But your body betrays you before your mind can catch up.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt instead of letting go. Your legs feel weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the way he’s looking at you. His green eyes flicker in the dim lighting, unreadable, but there’s something behind them—something waiting, something burning.

Something dangerous.

“This is a mistake,” you whisper, the words shaky, uncertain. You don’t even know if you believe them.

His thumb drags along your jaw, featherlight, and his lips barely, barely graze yours when he speaks. “Maybe.”

That single word is enough to send your stomach into freefall. Maybe. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe you’re going to regret this the second the sun comes up.

Or maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll regret it more if you stop now.

Maybe that’s what terrifies you the most.

Your body makes the decision for you.

His fingers slide down your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there before his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they belong there.

And you let him take you.

The party behind you becomes a distant blur—flashes of neon lights, the thud of bass vibrating through the floor, drunken laughter echoing from downstairs. It all feels like it’s happening in another universe, detached from this moment. From him. From you.

Each step up the stairs feels heavier than the last, weighted with unspoken words, with history, with everything you’ve been pretending isn’t still there. The heat of his palm against yours sends sparks up your spine, and you squeeze your thighs together, ignoring the ache building in your stomach.

You don’t stop.

Not when you reach the landing.

Not when he leads you down the darkened hallway, past closed doors, past muffled voices, past all the chances you could have taken to turn back.

And not when he pushes open a door, guiding you inside.

Then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

The world disappears.

The second the lock turns, something inside you snaps.

There’s no hesitation this time. No second-guessing. No thinking. Just feeling.

Then he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and insistent, swallowing the gasp that slips from your lips. The kiss is nothing like the ones you’ve shared in the past—those were controlled, careful, measured. This? This is raw. Hungry. Starving.

His hands find your waist, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the way his chest heaves, the way his heartbeat slams against your own. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply, and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he wants to crawl inside you.

You barely have time to process before your back hits the wall.

You gasp at the contact, but he doesn’t let up. His lips trail down your jaw, hot and desperate, and when his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping at your thighs, hitching them around his waist like he can’t stand the thought of any space between you.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your hands push his jacket off his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it without breaking contact. Your fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, but he beats you to it, ripping it open in one swift motion, buttons scattering to the floor.

Then his skin is against yours, and it sends a shockwave through your entire body.

Heat pools low in your stomach, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every ragged breath against your skin.

Clothes disappear—hurried, impatient.

Your dress slips down your shoulders, pooling at your feet. His belt clinks as he unfastens it, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a gunshot.

You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to.

His hands grip your thighs again, lifting you effortlessly, and your legs tighten around him. You can feel him—hard, straining against the fabric still separating you.

There’s a pause, just for a second.

A breath.

His forehead presses against yours, his lips barely touching, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again.

And there’s no turning back now.

His body presses against yours, firm and unrelenting, as he walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t let go. His hands are still gripping your thighs, still holding you against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

Then he lowers you onto the bed.

The world tilts, and the air thickens as he leans over you, his weight bracing against his arms, caging you beneath him. His eyes flicker across your face—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath, every little way you react to him. His fingers trace up your side, slow and teasing, and the way you shudder makes his lips twitch.

“Still think this is a mistake?” he taunts, voice low and rough as his lips brush against your collarbone.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your fingers clutch at his back, the way your hips shift beneath him, the way your body is already arching into his touch—it’s all the answer he needs.

He smirks against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he stops talking.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

It’s messy. Desperate. The kind of passion that comes from months of unresolved tension, from too much history, from too many things left unsaid.

He kisses you like he’s trying to claim you. Like he’s trying to burn himself into your skin. Like if he kisses you hard enough, you’ll never be able to forget this—forget him.

His hands are everywhere. Exploring. Learning. Worshipping.

Every brush of his lips, every drag of his fingers, every slow roll of his hips is deliberate, pulling you apart piece by piece. He takes his time, but not too much time—because patience is a luxury neither of you have tonight.

You feel like you’re unraveling beneath him.

He notices.

He thrives on it.

His mouth moves lower, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. His fingers leave fire in their wake as they trail down your body, mapping out every inch, every soft curve, every sharp gasp he pulls from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way he touches you—like he already knows what you need before you do.

He whispers your name against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your hands are greedy, desperate as they roam over him—his shoulders, his chest, the firm muscles in his back. You want to touch all of him. Feel all of him.

And he lets you.

He lets you pull him closer, lets you tangle your legs around his, lets you drag your nails down his spine, leaving behind faint, red lines that he’ll wear like battle scars tomorrow.

The room is filled with nothing but heavy breathing, quiet moans, the rustle of sheets, the sound of skin against skin.

And when it finally happens—when he finally, finally gives you what you both need—it steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s raw.

It’s rough, desperate, punishing. It’s weeks of tension snapping all at once, a storm breaking, waves crashing, a fire finally given the air it needs to burn.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, like a curse, like something you were never supposed to say out loud.

He groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head. His body moves against yours in perfect rhythm—pushing, pulling, giving, taking.

It’s the kind of night that changes things.

The kind you won’t be able to take back.

The kind that leaves its mark.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between you.

His body is still pressed against yours, warm and solid and grounding. The weight of what just happened settles in, thick and undeniable.

You should get up.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stay.

Just for a little longer.

But "a little longer" turns into something else entirely.

Because it doesn’t stop at one night.

It should have. You tell yourself that over and over again. That night—the way his hands fit so perfectly against your skin, the way he pulled you apart and put you back together, the way his mouth made you forget your own name—it should have been enough. A single mistake. A one-time thing.

But it isn’t.

It’s never just once.

It happens again. And again. And again.

It’s always late. Always secret.

Always a text, a glance across the room, a lingering touch when no one is watching. Always a whispered come here against the shell of your ear, a door clicking shut behind you, a tangle of limbs in the dark.

It’s never soft. Never sweet.

It’s fast, desperate, all-consuming.

It’s hands fisting sheets, breathless moans swallowed into pillows. His body pressed against yours, heavy and unrelenting, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And he knows what he’s doing to you.

He’s filthy, cocky, teasing—he draws it out just to make you beg.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin’ sweet for me, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, wicked, smug.

His rings feel cold against your burning skin as his fingers trail down your stomach, between your thighs, spreading you open like a secret. Like something meant only for him.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

He chuckles, dark and knowing.

“This what you hate me for? Hm?” His lips brush against your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot and taunting. “’Cause I make you come harder than anyone else ever could?”

You hate him.

(You don’t.)

You hate that he’s right. That he knows he’s right. That he’s so good at this—at ruining you, at making you fall apart over and over again until you can’t think straight, until all you know is him. His name. His touch. His body moving against yours.

And every time, you tell yourself it’s the last.

That this is it. That you’re done.

That this means nothing.

And every time, you end up back in his bed.

But then you see him with someone else.

It’s late, the party is loud, and the music thrums through your body, drowning out everything else. You’re just stepping out for air when you spot him across the street. A girl is clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’s said, and his hand is low on her back as he leads her toward a car.

He doesn’t even look at you.

Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to care that you’re standing right there, watching him disappear into the night with someone else.

And it shouldn’t hurt.

Because you knew he wasn’t yours. You never asked him to be. Never wanted him to be.

Right?

So why does it feel like the ground just cracked open beneath you? Why does it feel like something inside you just snapped?

You go back inside, down a drink, let someone else pull you onto the dance floor. You lose yourself in the crowd, in the music, in the way someone’s hands settle on your waist—too light, too unfamiliar.

It doesn’t work.

Because when he finds you later, when he corners you in a dark hallway, there’s still fire burning in your chest, in your throat, in the way your hands clench at your sides.

He smirks, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just walk out of here with someone else a few hours ago. Like he knew you’d still be here.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is low, amused. “Jealous?”

The word makes you snap.

“You’re disgusting.”

His smirk widens, but there’s something behind his eyes now—something sharper, more dangerous.

“Funny,” he murmurs, stepping closer, eyes dark, predatory. “Wasn’t what y’said last night.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist, but you yank yourself away like he burns.

“We’re done.” Your voice is ice, your eyes colder.

And his smirk falters.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for you to see something else flicker across his face—confusion, disbelief, something dangerously close to panic.

Then it’s gone.

And he laughs. Soft. Low. Infuriating.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, tilting his head. “Think y’can just walk away from me.”

You meet his gaze head-on, jaw clenched, shoulders squared.

“Watch me.”

Then you turn.

And this time—this time—you don’t look back.

-- 

Weeks pass.

You don’t speak.

Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance when you’re in the same room.

And it’s fine.

It has to be.

You throw yourself into distractions—work, friends, nights out where the music is too loud and the drinks burn too much. You let other people flirt with you. Let hands that aren’t his touch you. Let lips that don’t taste like him press against yours in dimly lit corners.

You pretend you don’t miss him.

(You do.)

But you tell yourself this is better. Cleaner. Easier.

Until you start hearing things.

He’s been drinking more.

Fighting more.

Losing his temper over nothing.

You overhear his name in conversations, whispered between mutual friends. You see his face in the back of a blurry Instagram story, bottle in hand, eyes dark and unfocused.

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself he’s not your problem anymore.

Until he shows up at your door.

It’s late. Too late for him to be here.

The knock is sharp, impatient. Like he already knows you’re home. Like he already knows you’re going to answer.

You shouldn’t.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

And then—

“Just let me in.”

His voice is quiet. Rough.

You open the door.

And he looks wrecked.

Tired. Haunted. Something’s different.

There’s none of the usual arrogance, none of the teasing smirk, none of the sharp-edged confidence that he wears like armor.

Just him.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable as they drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Your throat tightens. “Harry—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I know, just—”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes flicker over your face again, and for a second—just a second—you swear you see something crack.

And then he looks at you like that.

Like you’re his last fucking breath.

Like if you tell him to leave, it’ll break him.

And you cave.

You step aside.

You let him in.

And maybe that should be enough.

Maybe the way he holds you like you’re something fragile, the way his breath stutters when you touch him, the way his lips tremble against yours—that should be enough.

But it’s not.

Because fear is still there. Lurking. Poisoning everything it touches.

And you should’ve known.

You should’ve known that no matter how much he wants this, no matter how much he means it in the moment—

He’s still him.

And you’re still you.

And happy endings don’t exist for people like you.

So of course, he fucks up again.

Not with another girl. Not with whispered names and lipstick stains and the kind of betrayal that you could at least understand.

No.

This time, he betrays you with his own fear.

It happens fast. A conversation that turns into an argument, an argument that turns into something worse.

Maybe it starts because you ask too much. Maybe it starts because he’s never learned how to let himself have something good.

But all you know is that suddenly—he’s cold.

Detached.

Suddenly, his walls are back up.

“I don’t do relationships,” he says.

Flat. Emotionless.

Like none of it meant anything.

Like you don’t mean anything.

And it hits you harder than any slap ever could.

You flinch, like you’ve been physically wounded, like he’s just driven a knife between your ribs and twisted it.

Your voice shakes. “Then why did you tell me you loved me?”

Silence.

His jaw clenches.

But he doesn’t answer.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the fight. Not the distance.

The silence.

The fact that he has nothing to say.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when you realize—

This is it.

This is the moment he chooses to let you go.

You shake your head, chest heaving, eyes burning, throat closing up around the words you don’t know how to say.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

But he already has.

And this time, you don’t give him the chance to stop you.

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

And he lets you.

--

Weeks pass.

You try to move on.

You tell yourself that you’re better off. That you should hate him. That you do hate him.

But then, one night—he shows up.

At your dorm.

At your fucking door, looking like he hasn’t slept, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw is tense, his eyes are desperate.

And you—

You want to slam the door in his face.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t get to do this.

That he doesn’t get to come back.

But you don’t.

Because you need to hear what he has to say.

So you glare at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What do you want, Harry?”

He exhales sharply. “I lied.”

Your stomach twists.

You swallow. “About what?”

He hesitates. Shifts his weight. But then—he steps closer.

“About not doing relationships.”

And suddenly, the air is too thick, too heavy.

Your head shakes. Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I know, I just—” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to—”

A pause. A beat of silence.

He looks at you, eyes searching, pleading.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips part. But you don’t say anything.

Because after everything—after all of it—how do you know?

How do you know if this time will be different?

So you stare at him, pulse hammering in your throat, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

And then—

“So prove it.”

The challenge hangs between you.

And for the first time in his life—

He doesn’t run.

He doesn’t push you away.

He doesn’t fuck it up.

Instead, he nods.

And he does. --

It’s not instant.

There’s no cinematic moment, no dramatic declaration in the rain, no sudden, sweeping realization that makes everything fall into place.

It’s slow. It’s awkward. It’s frustrating.

But it’s real.

The first time you see him after that night at your dorm, it’s different. He’s different.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t act like he already has you figured out.

Instead, he waits.

You’re the one who has to break the silence.

“You really think you can change?”

His jaw clenches, hands flexing like he wants to reach for you but knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I know I can.”

And for the first time, you almost believe him.

--

It starts with the little things.

Like how he texts first. Every morning. Every night. Even when there’s nothing to say. Even when it’s just, Hey, eat something. Or, Are you sleeping? Or, I know you’re still awake, don’t lie.

Like how he shows up. Actually shows up.

Not just for the easy moments. Not just for the nights when he’s desperate for you.

But for the moments when you’re exhausted, when you’re in a bad mood, when you’re not the version of yourself that’s easy to love.

And he stays anyway.

--

The first time you test him, it’s almost accidental.

He calls, asks if you want to come over.

And for the first time, you tell him no.

A few months ago, that would’ve been the end of it.

A few months ago, he would’ve gone out, found someone else, let his frustration morph into recklessness.

But this time, he just exhales. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

A pause.

Then, softly— “Yeah, baby. That’s okay.”

And that’s when you realize—this isn’t the same boy who let you walk away.

He’s trying.

For the first time in his life, he’s trying.

--

It takes time.

Weeks. Months.

You make him work for it.

Because love shouldn’t be easy—not after everything.

Not after the hurt, the late nights spent waiting for him to choose you, the months wasted pretending it was nothing.

He should prove it.

And he does.

--

The first time he holds your hand in public, it’s instinctive. Thoughtless.

You’re walking down the street, talking about something unimportant, when suddenly—his fingers brush against yours.

And instead of pulling away, he just…takes your hand.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s not even thinking about it.

Like he’s not the same man who once made you feel like a secret.

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t let go, either.

And neither does he.

--

One night, he’s driving you home when he suddenly pulls over.

You blink at him. “Uh. What are we doing?”

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He won’t look at you.

“D’you know the last time I did this?”

You frown. “Did what?”

“Took you home.” He swallows, finally turning to face you. “Last time, I let you walk away.”

Your stomach twists. You remember. Of course, you remember.

He inhales sharply. “Not this time.”

And then, he says it.

“I love you.”

Not because he’s scared. Not because he thinks you’re slipping away.

Just because he does.

And for the first time, you don’t have to question if he means it.

Because this time, he’s not running.

This time, he stays.

And this time—so do you.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

current 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

@watarmelon212

@georgiarose94

@mypolicemanharryyy

[osamam2]

Trapped Family in Gaza Appeals for Help to Survive😢🍉

Hello, I am Osama Majed. I am 30 years old, I live in Palestine, in Gaza. My wife, Sondos, and my daughters (Lana, Amal),Our life before the war was full of joy and happiness. I was working hard to provide a decent life for my daughter, but the war came and destroyed everything. We now lived in a tent and struggled to obtain the simplest necessities of life.🙏🍉

lost my job and source of income in Gaza as a result of the occupation bombing of the clothing store I owned.I also lost my home and now I live in shelter camps in a tent and I suffer a lot in providing the necessities of life for my family and milk and food for my children.😭💔🍉

I suffer from a severe disability in my right hand that prevents me from practicing my normal life

I have lost my ability to continue to live and provide for my young family. Help me so that I can leave the Gaza Strip to complete treatment so that I can work again. Find a safe place for my family. 🇵🇸🇵🇸🙏

Your donation, no matter how small, will make a difference in my early life🙏🙏🙏🍉

@sayruq @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @nabulsi @commissions4aid-international @kibumkim @wellwaterhysteria @deepspaceboytoy @neechees @kyri45 @mangocheesecakes @marnota @7biases @tortiefrancis @fromjannah@dirhwangdaseul @mahoushojoe @schoolhater @pcktknife @transmutationisms @khanger @vague-humanoid @lacecap @yugiohz @nibeul