#hammers exploding everywhere

[jazzsequence]

I don't post much on this site. So, I literally came here just to post this. You're welcome. 🚗💥🔨⚒️🔨

[i-reblog-everything44]

“Curly deserved everything that happened to him”

Hey what if I smashed u to death with a thousand lasers

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Look, guys, I know we're all angry right now, but do you know how many people each year are killed by cars covered in hammers that explode more than a few times and make hammers go flying everywhere? How do you think the families of those people who're killed by cars covered in hammers that explode more than a few times and make hammers go flying everywhere feel when you make light of their very real loss?

We can't just assume a threat about a totally real cause of death for almost 0 people is made as a joke, guys, we have to immediately take it seriously and report it to the FBI's cars covered in hammers that explode more than a few times and make hammers go flying everywhere task force (The CCIHTEMTAFTAMHGFETF for short) to be immediately unpersoned and made into the filling for those 2 for 0.99 Jack in the Box tacos.

If we bend the totally existent rules and don't treat a harassed minority as if her every word and action is done out of pure unadulterated malfeasance, what do you think will happen? That's right, everyone else will think that it's just okay to have cars covered in hammers that explode more than a few times and make hammers go everywhere, and the CCIHTEMTAFTAMHGFETF would be overwhelmed.

So, please. Take a moment to think on who's the real victim here, a minority targeted by repeated harassment for years, or the brave CEO who's dealing with the psychological stress of learning that someone wants him to be near a car covered in hammers that explodes more than a few times and makes hammers go flying everywhere?

If we don't stand with this poor man through this, people might think it's okay to be trans I MEAN MAKE TOTALLY REAL THREATS AGAI-

[teslafactory]

we can finally replace john green's cock monologue with something more worthy: car hammers explosion

[ridingthatd]

IT'S GETTIN' STICKY

one cock? how about two cocks? what's better than a threesum.

Pairings.

➨ TOJI x READER x GOJO - satoru walking into his slut of a wife getting fucked by non other then toji fushiguro.

➨ SUKUNA x READER x NANAMI - working at the office at night and you got horny, you start fingering your pussy thinking nobody is at work this late , what happens when sukuna your boss and his secretary nanami catch you.

➨ CHOSO x READER x GETO - being a sugar mommy meaning you can have two boyfriends?

Warning threesum, desperate men, pervert men, whiney men, alooot of cum, creampie, breeding kink, degrading, two cocks one pussy, pet names, masturbating kink, spit kink, rough sex, over simulation, no mercy, riding nose, yk what doja cat said abt big nose, very smutty

TOJI x READER x GOJO - satoru walking into his slut of a wife getting fucked by non other then toji fushiguro.

you liked it- no you loved getting your pussy hammered by the fat girthy cock that belonged to the man, your husband hated the most ; toji fushiguro.

the filthiness of it, the dirty, taboo feeling of your pussy getting stretched, gapped wide open by a thick, heavy cock that doesn't belong to your husband. getting fucked on the same bed you and satoru sleep in while he's away for a mission.

your pussy gushing, spurting on tojis cock that doesn't stop ramming into you, your hot juice flying everywhere- dripping down his heavy balls into your dirty bed sheets.

"you fucking dirty bitch, squirting on another's man cock like that?". toji groans, his bulky figure was coated with sweat dripping down his pinkish perky nipples down to his toned clenched abs as he struggles to not blow a warm load of his cum inside of you.

but the way your filthy pussy was gripping his cock around your sticky gummy walls wasn't helping. toji growl as he gaze at your fucked face through his heavy eyelids, eyes crossed, cheeks flushed as drool spills down your swollen lips that he wanted to suck on.

toji leans in, pushing your legs further into your body, placing both of your legs near your head as he thrust his big cock deeper inside your swollen red pussy.

"ah! ah! ah-! i cant- fuccck just like this!". you sob out, choking on your spit as your eyes roll back, he was hitting the most sensitive part inside your pussy with his fat tip.

"right here? yea?! like that? you like that fucking bitch?". toji growls, leaning in and taking one of your fat sensitive nipples in his mouth, suckling hard on it as he doesn't stop hammering his leaking cock inside of you, his heavy balls were coated with your warm fluid as your dirty pussy sloppily suck his cock in.

toji was so close, so close that he knew he had to pull out or else he'll end up fucking a baby in you. he pulls his rough hands that were pushing your legs next to your head away. he was about to pull out with a grunt but your words make him freeze in place.

"no! no! please-! mmmmmm- inside of me please!". you whine out desperately, your body shakes as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his throbbing cock further into your pussy.

toji eyes darken, he hiss his cock was swelling with cum at your filthy words, his balls felt heavier, needier at the idea of breeding gojo satorus wife, creampieing you.

"you want me to creampie your pussy? hm?". he whimpers out, breathing heavily so close to exploding inside of you.

"yes! yes! yes!". you whine out, hips bulking up, arching your back trying to suck his veiny cock inside your stick slimey hole.

he growls before shoving his fat cock inside of your puffy red pussy in one go, ripping a scream out of you before your mind go blank, passing out from the force of his bulky cock ripping your little hole.

his whole body covers you, as he huffs and grunts next to your ear, his perky nipples were brushing against yours as he fuck into you.

"what a-". thrust.

"fucking-". thrust.

"slut!". he thrust his girthy cock one more time in, hitting the cervix of your pussy before shooting robes of his boiling seeds inside of you. the veins on his cock throb as he creampie you.

he smirks, his ears perking up at the sound of who made it here ; gojo satoru. toji doesn't bother turning around, he casually pulls out his now sensitive cock, admiring the way your pussy was full of his cum, dripping down the bed sheets.

"what a fucking bitch". satoru hiss, pulling on his tie as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing his thick forearms. as he makes his way toward your filthy state. he tsks gazing at your bruised swollen pussy, gushing out tojis cum.

"i think we should teach her a lesson". toji smirks.

"we?". satoru mutters.

your eyes shoot open as you feel heavy pain shooting from your pussy, your eyes water, you're not able to breath.

"ah! look who finally woke up". your husband groans, his long cock was bruising the cervix of your tight pussy, while you were drooling on a mouth choker, not giving you any room to breath. your nipples were on fire, they were pinched hard with a nipple clipper.

"oh you're going to regret this love".

its been an hour, or maybe two? you can't remember how many times satoru creampied your sore pussy, how many times he fucked his hot load inside you. your body was shaking, your pussy was so swollen and sensitive, your hole was gaping, gushing gojos cum out as he fucks another load inside of you.

"no more-! please-! im sorry! ahhhhh-mmmm!". you hiccup, choking on your own tears and drool as you struggle to speak, you can't feel your nipples anymore.

you were fucked out of your mind, your body was trembling shaking as you sob and hiccup over simulated and full. a belly bludge was forming from how much cum was pounded in you.

"aw, what do you think fushiguro? is she sorry enough".

"no, fuck no she needs a better lesson". toji groans as he strokes his leaking cock while staring at you.

SUKUNA x READER x NANAMI - working at the office at night and you got horny, you start fingering your pussy thinking nobody is at work this late , what happens when sukuna your boss and his secretary nanami catch you.

you huff, your breath quickens as you squirm in your office chair uncomfortably, were you ovulating? why was your pussy this fucking horny and wet.

maybe you could just- no, no. but nobody is here anyways, you're pretty sure it's just you who's in the building right now plus the idea of rubbing your pussy like a pervert in the office only made you hornier as you rub your thighs together.

fuck it.

your hot breath quickens as you lift your skirt up, rubbing your pussy through your wet panties. while your your finger trail under your shirt squeezing your sensitive nipples through your bra.

it turned you on so much how filthy the feeling felt, rubbing your pussy like a slut in the middle of your work place. you slowly push your panties to the side before circling your swollen clit gently as you bite your lips trying to supress your moans.

pushing your bra down, you gasp as the cold air hit your sensitive nipples- fuck this is so dirty you thought to yourself as you plug your delicate fingers inside your tight wet pussy, feeling the way it tightly grip your fingers, coating it with warm sticky fluid as you pump them in and out.

while your other hand squeeze your perky nipples hard, your fingers pump faster, chasing your orgasm, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes tightly as your pussy start gushing warm juice down your pussy into your office chair.

your back arch, moaning to the ceiling before your pussy clench hard around your fingers and your juice spray everywhere, gushing down your folds making a mess on the chair. your thighs shaking, your wet pussy was throbbing while your boobs were out, heaving as you huff and puff.

your eyes snap as you hear someone sitting on a chair close to you. you gasp, making eye contact with non other then your boss sukuna. who was gazing at you hungrily like you were his prey.

your eyes shift to the man that stood next to him, starting at you through his glasses, nanami. your eyes switch between both of them your body freezing not knowing what to do or what to say.

"i-". you were cut off by sukunas husky voice as he man spread on his chair.

"don't let us interrupt you, continue". he mutter out, his thick legs spreading as he adjust the ragging hard on through his pants.

your eyes widen, your heart beating faster not believing what your boss just said, your eyes follow nanami as he place a chair next to his boss and have a seat, raising his eyebrows at you, giving you a hint to go on.

"im-". this time nanami doesn't let you finish.

"aren't you going to listen to your boss order already you fucking slut?". he growls.

you flinch, you can tell they aren't playing around with you as you gaze at their fat cocks that were pushing against their tight pants. your pussy clench at the size of them.

you can't believe this is happening, you whine rubbing your over sensitive clit staring at the way your boss sukuna was palming his cock as he hazely gaze at you.

"shove a finger in". nanami command you, his gaze never leaving your pussy.

you whimper at his words before slowly pushing your finger in, spreading your thighs wide, placing them on the handle of the chair giving the two man in front of you a full view of how your pussy grip tightly on your finger before sloppily sucking it in.

sukuna curse, his jaw clenched hard as he rub his fat cock harder, you can see the way the tip of his cock was leaking, soaking the fabric of his pants.

your body was on fire, your brain was foggy with pleasure, the office was filled with the sloppy sounds your dirty pussy made as you pounding it with your fingers- filled with the heavy breathing and grunts that came out the two man in front of you.

sukunas wet tongue peaked out to lick his dry lips, before unzipping his pants and freeing his hard huge leaking cock, your throat dried as you stare at the thickness of his cock- fuck it would destroy you.

he hiss as his thumb press on his mushroomy red tip, smearing his precum around his sensitive tip before tugging on the base of his cock. nanami was right next to him not making a move to touch his twitching cock but you can see the pool of cum that was coating his pants- he came in his pants.

your whines got louder, omg you were so close to losing it- you were so close to spraying your hot juice everywhere-

"stop". sukuna groans out, still stroking his thick cock. you whimper, listening to his command.

"crawl over here like a good girl".

here you were on your knees, your ass swaying as you crawl your way to the men in front of you like an obedient dog, their huge figure towering over you.

nanami already has his pink cock out, they were stroking it in front of your face, you rub your thighs together trying to relief the itch and sukuna notice because he place his foot under your skirt.

rubbing the leather fabric of his shoes against your wet pussy, you cry out, grinding it against it like a dog in heat. their cocks were so close to your face yet so far, you can feel the heat of their warm fat cocks throbbing in front of your face, their red tip were getting pumped so hard with their rough hands.

"tongue out". nanami growls out, huffing as he strokes his dick harder. you immediately obey, your wet tongue was out, your hot breath fanning against their sensitive tip throw them to the edge.

robes of hot cum shoot on your face and tongue, heavy grunts and whines were coming out of them as they squeeze the last bit of load into your face.

while some of their cum dripped down the floor, not pleasing your boss because he grabs your hair and push it toward the floor.

"lick it clean you fucking slut".

CHOSO x READER x GETO - being a sugar mommy meaning you can have two boyfriends?

it was 5am in the morning, the birds hasn't chirped yet, lewd wet sounds filled the room, choso was under your meaty pussy lips his flushed face was coated with your hot wetness, dripping from his red swollen lips to his flushed cheeks down to the pillow under him.

he was drowning with the hot fluid your puffy pussy was gushing out as the long bridge of his nose was fucking into your sticky hole, gripping so hard on it not giving him any room to breath.

while he's the cold metal of his tongue piercing was lapping on your swollen clit, suckling on it like a baby suckling on a nipple.

"mmmmm- it's so go-! ahhh". choso slurr on his words not being able to control the way his hips was bukling up, the precum leaking down his clit as he hump the air making his poor cock more sensitive.

cum was coating his cock from how many times he came untouched, the swollen head of his fat cock kept leaking cum, dripping down the veins on his base as they twitch and throb just from the taste of your wet pussy.

you would have told him how much of a good boy he is but your mouth was already full with getos thick cock. his warm seeds were overflowing your mouth from how much cum you sucked out of him.

it was spilling down your swollen bruised lips. "fuck- mmm pleasssse no more-! i can't-". geto whines, his dick was over simulated, so sensitive inside your wet mouth.

you squeeze his balls hard, geto shudders he felt like he's going to piss, his hand immediately flys to your hair gripping hard on it trying to push you away.

"fuck! mommy-ahhhhh! i gotta pee-". he sob out, choking on his drool, trying to supress the huge urge to piss directly down your throat.

his words doesn't stop you, but only make you massage the squishy tip of his cock with your throat, squeezing your throat harder on his cock while you ride chosos nose faster.

slaming your pussy down his nose, causing your juice to splash on his face. suguru couldn't hold it anymore.

your eyes roll back as you feel the hot liquid spraying down your throat, geto was shaking, eyes crossed as you suck the life out of him.

but you don't forget to also reward choso, squirting all over his face, gifting him a spurt of your juice as he doesn't waist a single drop drinking everything you gave him.

[therainformerlyknownaspurple]

probably should get off this website

[comparativelysuperlative]

All those zillion years ago, back in the state of nature If there's no LEVIATHAN, you'll find you must create 'er. How else can you escape this doom, the certainty that it is: To live like Hobbes'es ancestors, life nasty short and British? The types of sovereign to choose comes automattically: A rule by some or all is worse than good old monarchy. And if we disobey our King, to chaos it will damn us. So no dissent's legitimate, nor car-exploding hammers.

Anyway, (Philosopher) Hobbes' deal is that the state of nature sucks, war of all against all etc., and the way you get out of it is have some agreed-upon authority, and then obey that authority unquestioningly. Yes my religion is in the minority, so I'd change even that if the king told me to now please renew my grant Your Majesty.

And this doesn't have that much to do with (Tiger) Hobbes! Aside from having "a dim view of human nature" they're not all that similar.

Hobbes (tiger) is is Just Better than everyone else, but it's innate. It's because tigers are perfect, the epitome of good looks and grace and quite dignity. And yes his intelligence and taste are reasons why his orders should be heeded and his views embraced. But (P) Hobbes doesn't say kings are innately superhuman! He's a social contract guy! Kings become kings because the last king said they would, and it does not depend on his IQ or panache.

Absolutely nothing about (Tiger) Hobbes can be described as deriving power from "everyone." He is not the Leviathan. Of course, (Philosopher) Hobbes isn't the Leviathan either. The Leviathan is depicted as a dude who looks not unlike Charles I. You can't really swap his face with either Hobbes and have it make sense.

Hence the hat. (T) Hobbes wears it in his capacity as President and First Tiger of the treehouse club, and Calvin wears the same hat as "king and tyrant." That particular social contract was formed on page: at first nobody had any grandiose titles, then they decided to form the institution, and then they did. That hat is a crown, and it's how (T) Hobbes would depict being the ruler supreme in a way that comes from a social contract.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Bdubs' first attempts with the mace

Transcript under the cut

Skizz: Bdubs, now Grian--(clears throat) I'm curious. Let him do this and then I'm-- Grian: I'm in deep pain. Skizz:--I have an idea for something. (to Bdubs) I won't move buddy, 'member, it's a bucket clutch. Don't go for my head, go for a bucket clutch at my feet. Bdubs: Alr--(clears throat) and this is a right click, or a left click? Skizz: It's a left click- Grian, at the same time: Left click. Skizz: Like, attack. Grian: Bonk! Bdubs: Okay, alright. Skizz: Here we go--(wheezing laughter) Grian: Say a good catchphrase! Bdubs: Are ya ready? Skizz (mimicking Bdubs): I hope you're ready. Tango: (cut off laughter) Bdubs: Stop! It's hamma' time! (misses hitting Skizz) Tango: Awww--(everyone laughing) Bdubs: Dang it! Tango: --minus the hammer. Gem: Not the miss, Bdubs... Bdubs, defensively: He--I'm a little rusty! Gem: Ohhh... Bdubs: Stop! It's hamma' time. Tango, at the same time: (through laughter) it's hammer time... (Bdubs misses again, Skizz begins laughing) Gem, groaning: Bdubs... Tango: It's gonna have to be hammer hour at this rate. Skizz, laughing: It's hammer calendar! Grian: Is it hammer time yet? Tango: It's hammer phase of the moon. Bdubs: It's hammer time! (he misses, Skizz begins laughing harder) Bdubs, frustrated: Ooooohhhhh!! Bdubs: Alright, last one! Skizz: No, you got-- Gem: I wanna see him try a bucket clutch now. Bdubs: This is it--I bucket clutch better than you! I'll bucket ca--clutch competition you right now, okay. (everyone laughing quietly) Skizz: You're left clicking, right? Bdubs, at the time time: Stop. It's hamma--please be quiet during the--my moment. Grian: Can you do a different catchphrase this time? You got-- Tango: It might help, yeah, yeah yeah yeah. Bdubs: Uh--Looks like the hammer just found a nail! (he tries again, and dies, his items exploding everywhere) (everyone begins hysterically laughing) Bdubs: Dang it! (the laughter continues) Bdubs: What an embarrassment. (through laughter) What an absolute embarrassment. (more snickering, Tango sounds like he's crying from laughter) Bdubs: Some chainmail pants-- Skizz: That was one of the greatest things I've ever seen-- Tango, through tears and laughter: I can't stop laugh--(he cuts himself off with laughter) Bdubs: Aghhhhh. I'll--I will not be using a mace, as we have demonstrated here, today. (Tango is still laughing hysterically in the background) Skizz: That was so good--that was too good!

[paw--on--heart]

Ms. Defendant, could you please tell the court whether or not you intended to, uh..."kill the Plaintiff forever in a painful death involving a car covered in hammers that explodes more than a few times and hammers go flying everywhere"

[slutoru1207]

Varient!Invincible x reader part 2

Your breath hitched. Three Marks. Three.

Each of them stared at you like they had been starving for something only you could give them. Like they had found the last piece of a puzzle they never thought they'd complete.

"You don't need him anymore," Scarred Mark—the one with the golden eyes—murmured, stepping closer. His voice was almost soft, as if he were coaxing you. "He's weak. He let you die. Over and over again."

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

"This isn't right," you whispered. "You're not my Mark."

Mohawk Mark—lean, sharp-eyed, his expression like stone—let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Yeah? And what has your Mark done for you?" His lip curled. "Let me guess—he keeps losing. Keeps failing you. Keeps breaking every promise he makes."

You clenched your fists. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sinister Mark chuckled darkly. “It is.”

And then—

BOOM.

The entire street cracked apart. A blur of blue and yellow slammed into the pavement, sending concrete and dust flying everywhere. The force knocked you backward, and you shielded your face—

But before you could even process what had happened—Arms wrapped around you. Familiar. Safe.

"Get away from her!"

Your Mark's voice.

Your Mark’s arms.

Your Mark.

His grip was tight, solid, his chest rising and falling fast. He held you against him, his body shielding yours as the dust settled. You could feel the tension coiled beneath his skin, the way his heart hammered just as hard as yours.

And when he pulled back just enough for you to see his face—

His eyes burned.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, controlled—but barely. Like he was forcing himself to hold it together.

You nodded quickly. "Mark, I—"

"Well, well," Sinister Mark drawled, cracking his neck as he stepped forward. "Look who finally showed up."

Mohawk Mark grinned. "Took you long enough."

Mark’s arms tightened around you. He didn’t let go, even as his breathing deepened, even as his rage built.

“What the hell is this?” he gritted out.

Scarred Mark—Viltrumite Mark—smirked. “This?” He gestured at himself, at the others. “This is what happens when you fail, Mark.”

“Every version of you,” Sinister Mark murmured. “And we all lost her.”

Mark’s grip on you trembled.

Your throat tightened. Oh god.

“But now,” Mohawk Mark continued, tilting his head. “We found one that actually lived.”

Sinister Mark’s golden eyes gleamed. “And we’re not gonna let that go to waste.”

A beat of silence.

And then—

BOOM.

Mark moved first.

One second, he was holding you—the next, he launched himself at Sinister Mark with enough force to crack the air.

The fight exploded.

Sinister Mark dodged the first hit but barely blocked the second, his feet skidding against the concrete.

Mark didn’t stop. He went for Mohawk Mark next, fists flying, rage blazing through him like a wildfire.

Viltrumite Mark caught him mid-swing—their arms locked, muscles straining, teeth bared.

“You don’t deserve her!” Mark snarled, breaking free and landing a punch that shattered the pavement beneath them.

Sinister Mark grinned, blood dripping from his lip. “Now this is fun.”

Mohawk Mark wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I gotta admit,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I was hoping he’d put up a fight.”

Viltrumite Mark barely flinched, his golden eyes locked onto yours.

And that’s when you realized—

They weren’t fighting to kill.

They were fighting to take you.

To win you.

Your stomach dropped.

This wasn’t a battle.

It was a claim.

part 3

[cloudyluun]

London Fever (p2) | neighbour!harry 

Summary: Y/N knew exactly what she was doing when she slipped into his oversized merch. She wanted a reaction, and oh she got one. Harry doesn’t take well to being toyed with, especially not when she’s been pushing his buttons for weeks. One knock at her door is all it takes for things to spiral out of control. But after a night that leaves them both wrecked and wanting more, reality comes crashing in. The world finds out, the headlines explode, and suddenly, it’s not just a game anymore.

A/N: Turns out, playing with fire does get you burned. Who knew? 🥹 Anyway, here’s Harry losing his mind over Y/N in his clothes, an ungodly amount of tension, and a smut scene so intense it should come with a safety warning. Enjoy the chaos, my loves.

Word Count: 5,5k

Warnings: 

Smut (explicit, detailed, and very NSFW)

Power play, dominance, and control (Harry is in charge, let’s be real)

Possessiveness (because of course)

Teasing & sexual tension (this could fuel a power plant)

Rough sex (hair pulling, manhandling, praise + dirty talk)

Aftercare & softness (he may be mean, but he’s also sweet 🥹)

Angst (because life is cruel)

Public fallout & paparazzi drama (oops)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

A line had been crossed.

He moved.

A slow, deliberate step forward.

Then another.

She felt it before she fully registered what was happening—the shift in the air, the heat rolling off his body, the static crackling between them like a wire pulled too tight.

Until her back hit the door.

Until he was so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek.

Warm. Unsteady.

His presence swallowed her whole.

The scent of spice and cedarwood curled around her, intoxicating, familiar. It filled every inch of space between them, sinking into her skin, into her lungs, making it impossible to think clearly.

She swallowed hard, pulse hammering at the base of her throat.

This was new.

Harry had always watched. Always pushed, always teased—a smirk here, a lingering look there. He kept the tension simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken, something electric.

But he had never touched.

Not like this.

Not with his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, knuckles grazing her skin, the tips barely pressing into the delicate hollow of her throat.

Not with his body caging her in, his chest nearly brushing hers, his presence a weight she could feel everywhere.

Not with his lips hovering so, so close.

His emerald gaze flickered over her, slow and dangerous, cataloging every reaction. Every stuttered breath. Every slight part of her lips, every flutter of her lashes, every tiny movement.

Like he was memorizing something.

Like he was committing every single detail to memory.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her hands stayed at her sides, fingers curling against the doorframe, nails pressing into the wood to ground herself.

But it didn’t help.

Not when his thumb brushed against her cheek.

Featherlight.

A whisper of a touch. So delicate, so intimate, it sent a shiver racing down her spine, left a hollow ache in its wake.

Made her knees feel weak.

Made her mind spin.

His gaze dipped lower, lingering at her mouth.

And then—his lips parted, voice dropping into something low and lethal.

"Because, sweetheart," he murmured, the words slow, deliberate, dripping with something dark.

Something possessive.

Something that curled tight in her stomach, hot and consuming.

His fingers tilted her chin up.

Forcing her to look at him.

To really see the heat in his gaze.

The warning.

"I don’t like sharing."

Silence stretched between them.

Thick. Heavy.

Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

She wanted to say something. Anything.

But she couldn’t.

No words came.

Just the heavy pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.

His fingers lingered; thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, tracing the delicate curve.

A test. A tease.

And then—

He pulled away.

Abrupt. Sharp.

Like the snap of a rubber band pulled too tight.

The loss of his touch was instant.

A cold rush of air in his absence.

A hollow ache in the pit of her stomach.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look back as he turned and walked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Leaving her there.

Pressed against the front door.

Heart slamming against her ribs.

Every nerve ending burning.

She made a choice the next morning.

A deliberate decision.

The oversized shirt slipped over her frame easily, the fabric soft against her skin, hanging loose, dipping just enough to expose the curve of her collarbone.

It was his merch.

A bold logo stretched across the front, his name, his design.

It wasn’t actually his. Not something borrowed, not something stolen.

But that didn’t matter.

It was the implication that counted.

It was the game.

She saw him before he saw her.

He was leaning against the front desk in the lobby, scrolling through his phone, fingers tapping idly against the polished marble surface.

Dressed down. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. A hoodie pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms.

Casual. Unassuming.

But then, he looked up.

And everything changed.

His entire body went rigid.

She saw it all.

The flicker of realization. The quick inhale through his nose. The sharp clench of his jaw.

His eyes darkened.

Dragging down. Over the loose neckline exposing her collarbones. Over the way the fabric swallowed her whole.

Over the fact that his name—his brand—was stamped across her chest like a mark.

Then lower.

To the bare stretch of her thighs.

His nostrils flared.

His grip tightened around his phone.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

Just stared.

Just looked at her like he was trying to figure out if this was real. If she was really doing this.

If she was really taunting him.

Then—

"I thought you weren’t really a fan."

His voice was rougher than usual. Low and sharp.

She tilted her head, lips curling into something dangerous.

"What can I say? Opinions change, I guess."

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t smirk the way he usually would.

His jaw ticked. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to do something.

To touch.

To grab.

To undo this tension that was so close to snapping.

But instead—

He exhaled.

A slow, measured breath.

And then, he walked away.

Not a word.

Not a glance back.

But the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides—

It told her everything.

This wasn’t over.

It happened late that night.

Three knocks.

Deliberate. Heavy.

The kind that demanded attention.

The kind that made her breath catch before she even opened her eyes fully.

She stirred beneath the sheets, her heartbeat slamming in her ears.

It was late.

Too late for neighbors.

Too late for casual visits.

And she knew.

She knew who it was before she even reached the door.

Fingers trembling slightly, she curled them around the handle.

She exhaled—slow, steadying—before she unlocked it.

Before she pulled it open.

And when she did—

There he was.

Harry.

Standing in the dim hallway.

His hoodie was gone.

Just a white T-shirt, clinging to his frame. His curls were messy, like he’d been running his fingers through them.

His eyes—

Dark. Blazing.

And when he finally spoke—

His voice was hoarse. Low.

"Open the door wider."

For a second, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her fingers curled tighter around the handle, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. But then she did—slowly, cautiously—stepping back just enough to let the door swing open. Just enough to let him inside.

The second he crossed the threshold, she knew she had made a mistake.

The air shifted.

His presence sucked the oxygen from the room, leaving behind something thick, something stifling. The hallway light behind him cast his features in sharp relief—the sculpted lines of his jaw, the tension coiled in his shoulders, the unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

He looked at her then.

Really looked at her.

His gaze swept down, dragging over every inch of her, drinking her in like he was committing her to memory. Her bare legs. The way the oversized shirt swallowed her frame. The way the fabric dipped past her collarbones, slipping from one shoulder, exposing the delicate skin there. It wasn’t his shirt—but it might as well have been.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

He reached out.

A slow, deliberate movement.

Fingers curling around the hem of the fabric, thumb barely grazing her thigh as he tugged it between his fingers. Testing. Teasing.

"You think this is funny?"

His voice was rough, like it had been scraped raw. A warning. A challenge.

Y/N swallowed, her pulse hammering, her skin prickling beneath his touch. "I don’t know what you mean."

Harry huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. Then he stepped closer.

Too close.

His body heat was suffocating. His scent—spice and cedarwood and something purely him—wrapped around her, invading her senses, making her head feel light.

"You’ve been teasing me for weeks." His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, the calloused tips ghosting up, up, up, barely touching, barely there.

A shiver raced down her spine.

His breath was hot against her temple, his words slow, measured, dangerous. "Is this what you wanted?"

Her knees felt weak. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Every nerve ending in her body was on high alert, every muscle coiled tight, waiting—

She barely heard her own voice. Barely recognized it when she whispered—

"Yes."

That’s all it took.

The snap.

A fraction of a second and his mouth was on hers.

Hard. Desperate. Bruising.

A collision of lips and teeth and frustration. His hands gripped her waist, firm and unyielding, pressing her back against the door. She gasped, the sound swallowed between them, lost in the mess of it all. He kissed like he was trying to punish her, like he had been holding back for too long and was finally snapping.

His hands slid up—fingers tangling in her hair, gripping just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to let him take more. Take everything.

His knee parted her legs, pressing up, pressing against her. She let out a small, choked sound, one she barely recognized as her own, and his grip tightened in response.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t give her a second to breathe.

And she didn’t want him to.

His hands moved lower, fingers skimming the bare skin beneath the fabric, tracing the soft curve of her waist. Teasing. Exploring. Making her squirm.

Then—

He pulled away.

Just enough to let her feel the loss.

To make her chase after him.

His mouth hovered just above hers, his breath unsteady. His eyes, dark and blown, flicked down—to her lips, her throat, the way her chest rose and fell in rapid succession.

He smirked. Barely.

Then, he whispered—

"Told you, sweetheart."

His hands found the hem of the shirt again.

"You like playing with fire."

He peeled the shirt up.

Slow. Torturous.

His fingers traced every inch of newly exposed skin, dragging up the sides of her ribs, feeling the way her body shuddered beneath his touch. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her stomach as he lifted the fabric higher, higher, his tongue grazing over sensitive spots, inhaling the way her body reacted to him.

When the fabric lifted past her breasts, he paused.

Pulled back.

Just enough to look at her.

His thumb brushed over a peaked nipple—a featherlight touch, teasing, testing—watching the way she gasped at the contact, watching the way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something.

But before she could, he leaned in—

And wrapped his mouth around her.

A gasp ripped from her throat.

He took his time.

His tongue flicked, slow, deliberate. His teeth grazed, just enough. He worked her up, dragging out every tiny sound, every sharp intake of breath, every shiver that wracked her body.

Then, he switched.

Repeating the same sweet torture on the other side.

By the time he finally pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, she was trembling.

And they had only just begun.

His hands skimmed down her waist, slow and deliberate, his palms branding heat into her bare skin. She barely had time to process the loss of the shirt before his grip tightened—firm, commanding—as he caught the backs of her thighs and lifted her with effortless strength.

A startled gasp left her lips, her fingers scrambling against his shoulders, nails digging in for balance as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

The air felt thick, electric.

Her back pressed against the door, the hard surface grounding her as he held her up, his body locked against hers, caging her in.

And then—he rolled his hips.

Just once.

A slow, deliberate grind that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight through her core.

A strangled moan slipped past her lips.

His reaction was immediate.

A low, deep groan rumbled from his chest, his grip on her thighs tightening like he needed to steady himself. His forehead dropped against the side of her face, his breath warm against her cheek, his voice rough.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?"

He did it again, slower this time, pressing himself against her just enough to make sure she felt him.

Felt how hard he was.

How much he wanted her.

The friction sent another shudder rolling through her, her body betraying her, her head tipping back against the door with a sharp gasp.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, catching the sensitive skin before he sucked lightly, just enough to make her whimper.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice dark, smug. "That’s what I thought."

And then, he let her down—just barely.

Lowering her just enough that her toes skimmed the floor, his fingers still digging into her thighs, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

And then—he dropped.

Sank to his knees in front of her, his hands still gripping her thighs, fingers spreading over the soft skin, holding her open.

His gaze flickered up.

Dark. Intense.

Watching her as he pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh.

Slow.

Lingering.

She exhaled shakily, her entire body tensed, caught in that unbearable space between anticipation and desperation.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t move too fast.

Instead, he took his time, his lips trailing a slow path higher, the heat of his breath searing against her already-sensitive skin.

A soft gasp escaped her lips when he nipped lightly, just above her knee, his tongue flicking out to soothe the spot.

He hummed against her skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice full of wicked amusement.

She bit her lip, fingers curling into fists at her sides as he kept going.

Higher.

His mouth moved up the inside of her thigh, his tongue dragging in slow, torturous strokes.

When he reached the curve where her thigh met her hip, he paused.

She could feel his breath there.

So close.

Right where she needed him.

Her hips shifted instinctively, a small, unconscious movement. A plea without words.

And instead of giving in—

He pulled back.

A small, teasing chuckle rumbled from his throat.

"Impatient?"

She made a small, frustrated noise, her hands twitching at her sides.

And then—

His fingers curled into the waistband of her underwear.

A small tug.

Not enough to pull them down.

Just enough to snap the elastic against her skin.

The sharp little sting made her jolt, made her breath catch.

Harry grinned.

"So eager," he murmured, voice dark, teasing. "Look at you—already soaked for me."

She whimpered.

His fingertips traced just above the fabric.

Not touching her where she needed him.

Just hovering.

Letting her feel how close he was.

Letting her ache for it.

"Tell me," he murmured, voice rough, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh.

"Do you want my fingers or my tongue first?"

Her breath hitched, fingers clenching into fists at her sides. The heat of his breath against her skin sent a shiver rippling up her spine, and she felt like she might go mad if he didn’t touch her properly.

She swallowed hard, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. She knew what he was doing—pushing her, making her beg for it.

But her pride could only hold out for so long.

"Your mouth," she whispered, voice unsteady.

A pleased hum vibrated against her skin. "Good girl."

And then—he snapped.

In one sharp motion, he hooked his fingers into her underwear and ripped them down her thighs. A gasp caught in her throat at the sudden movement, at the way the fabric barely had time to glide over her skin before he was shoving it aside like it was a useless scrap in his way.

The cold air barely had time to meet her exposed skin before his mouth was on her.

Her whole body jerked against the door, a strangled sound escaping her lips as his tongue flicked out, slow at first.

Testing.

Tasting.

He took his time, dragging the tip of his tongue in a long, deliberate stroke, savoring the way she trembled, the way she exhaled in stuttered little gasps.

His grip on her thighs tightened, thumbs pressing into the soft skin as he held her open for him.

"Fuck," she breathed, already struggling to stay upright, nails clawing at the wooden door behind her.

His tongue moved again, flicking over her in a lazy, teasing rhythm that made her hips stutter forward���chasing the feeling, chasing him.

That seemed to amuse him.

"So desperate," he murmured against her, lips curving before he dipped his tongue deeper.

Her whole body jolted. A strangled moan caught in her throat, her knees nearly giving out.

Harry groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her, making her stomach tighten, her pulse race. His grip tightened on her thighs, holding her steady, keeping her exactly where he wanted her as he worked her open with his mouth.

And then—he got impatient.

The slow teasing disappeared in a snap.

His tongue pressed deeper, flicking faster, rougher, his lips sealing over her in a way that sent electricity shooting through her limbs.

She gasped, back arching, hands slamming against the door as her whole body clenched.

He didn’t let up.

Didn’t give her time to breathe, to process, to do anything but take it.

Her hips tried to jerk away, the pleasure rolling through her so intense it was almost too much.

But Harry wasn’t having it.

His hands pinned her in place.

"Stay still," he ordered, voice muffled against her. His lips brushed over her slick, sensitive skin, a promise, a warning. "Take what I give you."

And then—his fingers slid inside her.

She nearly sobbed.

His fingers curled inside her just right, pressing into that spot that made her see white behind her eyelids.

She was already unraveling, already falling apart in his hands.

And he loved it.

His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing her higher, pushing her toward the edge so fast she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but let him wreck her.

Her hands clawed at the door, her head falling back, a sharp cry slipping from her lips.

So close.

So close it was torturous.

Her body clenched around his fingers, legs trembling, the pleasure building, burning, threatening to consume her whole.

She was right there.

Right on the edge of breaking.

And then—

He pulled away.

Completely.

Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching, her head spinning in a dazed, wrecked, frantic haze.

"Harry—"

Her voice came out shattered, her body desperate, aching, ready to fall apart.

But he just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips red and glistening, his eyes dark and burning as he stared up at her.

"Turn around," he ordered, voice low, rough, firm.

She didn’t move at first, still gasping for breath, her mind slow to catch up, still clinging to the pleasure he had just ripped away from her.

But Harry—

Harry didn’t wait.

He grabbed her.

Spun her in one swift motion, pressing her face-first against the door.

Her hands braced against the wood as she sucked in a shaky breath, her body still trembling from what he had done to her.

But she barely had time to recover before she felt it.

Him.

His cock, thick and hard, dragging over her slick folds.

Not pushing in.

Not yet.

Just teasing, letting her feel how ready he was, how desperate he had become.

His breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, pressing his chest against her back.

"You like playing with fire?" he murmured, his voice low, taunting. His lips brushed over the shell of her ear, the words a dark promise.

"Now you get to burn."

Her body shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. There was nothing cold about the way he held her, about the way his hands framed her hips, keeping her pinned between his body and the door. Nothing cold about the weight of him pressing into her, the hard line of his chest against her back, his thighs bracketing hers as his grip tightened—possessive, unrelenting.

His fingertips dug into her skin, marking her before he’d even properly touched her. A slow, dark thrill curled in her stomach, anticipation pooling low, thick and hot, making her legs tremble beneath her.

Harry tilted his head, letting his lips graze the curve of her jaw before trailing lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of her neck. He hummed against her skin, his voice nothing but a rasp. "You were teasing me all night. Now look at you."

She bit her lip, swallowing down the sound that threatened to escape. It was pathetic, how easily he unraveled her, how effortlessly he wound her up. He hadn’t even touched her properly, and already she was teetering on the edge of something reckless, something that stole the breath from her lungs.

His fingers skimmed down her stomach, deliberate and slow, until they settled on the waistband of her underwear. He played with the fabric, tugging it just enough to make her gasp, before dragging his hand back up.

She whimpered.

"You hear that?" he murmured, pressing his lips to the hinge of her jaw. "You’re already desperate for me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down the response on the tip of her tongue. He knew it was true. He knew exactly what he did to her.

And still, he made her wait.

Seconds stretched between them, thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of what was coming. His fingers flexed against her waist, his breathing uneven, his restraint razor-thin.

And then, finally—finally—he pushed inside.

There was no hesitation, no teasing. No gentle buildup.

The moment he entered her, it was deep and hard, stealing the breath from her lungs in one sharp thrust.

Her fingers flew to the door, pressing against it for support, her body arching in response to the sudden fullness, the delicious stretch of him inside her. A broken moan tumbled from her lips, her forehead falling forward, her body tensing around him.

"Fuck." The word was a ragged groan from behind her, his voice thick, strained. His grip on her waist tightened, his nails pressing crescents into her skin. "So tight, sweetheart. Always so fucking tight for me."

She barely heard him. Barely registered anything beyond the way he felt, the way he filled her completely, the way his hips pulled back—just enough to make her whimper—before snapping forward again.

It was punishing. Relentless.

There was no slow build, no tenderness. Just pure, raw need.

His other hand slid up, fingers tracing the path between her ribs before curving around her breast. He squeezed, rough and possessive, his thumb swiping over the peak. She gasped, her knees nearly giving out beneath her.

She couldn’t think.

Couldn’t focus on anything beyond the way he moved, the way he took her—deep and desperate, like he needed this as much as she did.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" His voice was nothing but a rasp, wrecked and breathless. "To be fucked like this?"

A strangled moan was all she could manage, her hands scrabbling against the door, nails scraping against the wood.

His pace quickened, hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the dimly lit room. The dresser beside them rattled with every thrust, the sharp edge of the door biting into her palms as she braced herself.

She could feel herself slipping, unraveling beneath his touch. The pleasure built rapidly, winding tight in her stomach, threatening to snap.

But just as she reached for it—just as she started to fall—he pulled away.

She gasped at the sudden loss, her body protesting immediately, but before she could even form a coherent thought, he spun her around.

Her back barely hit the dresser before his hands were on her thighs, lifting her easily, placing her exactly where he wanted. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, gripping his shoulders, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he aligned himself again.

His mouth crashed against hers—desperate, bruising.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, heat and hunger. He nipped at her bottom lip before swallowing the breathy moan that slipped out, his hands digging into the flesh of her thighs as he held her still.

And then, without warning, he slammed back into her.

Her head tipped back, a strangled sound escaping as her fingers clawed at his back.

He didn’t give her time to adjust. Didn’t give her time to catch her breath.

He set a brutal pace from the start, each thrust deep and deliberate, dragging pleasure through her like fire licking at dry wood.

"Look at me."

His voice was commanding, his grip tightening as his fingers tangled in her hair.

She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, dazed, as she met the intense green of his.

His pupils were blown, his jaw tight, sweat dampening the curls at his temples. He looked wrecked, desperate, and completely in control all at once.

The way he was looking at her—like he wanted to watch every second of her unraveling, like he wanted to imprint this moment in his memory forever—sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.

The dresser rocked beneath them, the force of his movements sending jolts of pleasure through her, her body trembling from the sheer intensity of it.

She was close.

So close she could taste it, could feel it creeping up her spine, threatening to pull her under.

And then he did something devastating.

He slowed.

His thrusts dragged out, the pace shifting—not easing in intensity, but stretching the moment, prolonging it, making her suffer.

She whimpered, her nails digging into his skin, frustration making her eyes sting.

"Harry," she pleaded, voice wrecked, shaking.

His smirk was slow, teasing, even as his own restraint wavered. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, "Come on, sweetheart. Let go."

The words shattered her.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, dragging her under, burning through every nerve ending. She gasped, her whole body tensing, thighs squeezing around him, fingers gripping him so tightly she was sure she’d leave marks.

The sound that left her—somewhere between a sob and a scream—sent him spiraling after her.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he buried himself deep, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing filled the silence, ragged and uneven, the scent of sweat and sex lingering between them.

Then, Harry let out a breathless, hoarse chuckle against her shoulder.

"Fuck," he muttered, forehead dropping to hers.

She exhaled shakily, still floating somewhere between reality and oblivion.

And when she finally laughed—soft, dazed—he smirked, shaking his head.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her jaw. "Real funny."

Her body still hummed from the aftershocks, her skin dewy, her limbs heavy and languid. The dresser was cool against her back, contrasting the overwhelming warmth of him—his body still pressed to hers, his breath warm against her temple.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself exist in this space, in the remnants of what they’d just done. Her fingers trailed absentmindedly along his shoulder, nails scraping lightly against damp skin.

He sighed, a slow exhale that ghosted across her collarbone. "You okay?"

It was soft. Barely more than a murmur, but the concern in his voice made something pull tight in her chest.

She swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You?"

His lips brushed over her throat, lingering there for a beat before he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Always."

She huffed out a tired laugh, shaking her head. But she didn’t argue.

Because for now, she’d let herself believe it.

The first thing Y/N registers is warmth.

It surrounds her, presses against her back, blankets her in something heavy and solid and safe.

A slow, steady breath ghosts over her shoulder, warm lips barely grazing her skin in sleep.

Harry.

Reality creeps in slowly, threading through the fog of exhaustion. The sheets are tangled around her legs, twisted in the aftermath of limbs and desperate touches. His arm is draped over her waist, his fingers relaxed against her stomach, but even in sleep, his hold is possessive—like even now, he doesn’t want her to leave.

She blinks, adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the window, to the weight of his body curled around hers.

This is real.

The thought hits her with startling clarity. The heat of him against her, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath.

His fingers twitch against her stomach, flexing slightly—like he’s making sure she’s still there.

For a moment, she lets herself sink into it.

She stays still, breathing him in, memorizing the feeling of his skin against hers. She closes her eyes, reveling in the warmth, the intimacy of it, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressed against her back.

But then, the second thought comes.

She needs to go.

Carefully, she shifts, trying to untangle herself without disturbing him, but the moment she moves, his grip tightens.

"Where you going, trouble?"

His voice is low, thick with sleep, rough in a way that makes something clench deep in her stomach.

She swallows. "I should leave before—"

His arm tightens around her, pulling her back into him.

"Stay."

The word is soft. Barely a whisper.

But it steals the breath from her lungs.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Because this? This isn’t supposed to happen.

She bites her lip, staring at the ceiling.

"Harry, this—" she hesitates, her voice quieter now, less certain. "This wasn’t supposed to happen."

His fingers move slowly, tracing small circles against her hip, his breath steadying.

"Maybe not." He presses a lazy kiss to her shoulder. "But it did."

She doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know how.

So, for now, neither of them moves.

For a while, they exist in a bubble.

The tension is still there—always—but now it’s laced with something heavier.

Something neither of them speaks about.

They steal moments.

Quick touches in the elevator. Lingering glances across the lobby. The brush of his fingers against her wrist in passing. A hand on her lower back when no one’s looking.

The silence between them is thick with unspoken words, with things they should say but don’t.

Because saying them makes this real.

And if it’s real, it can break.

But then, the bubble bursts.

A paparazzi photo leaks.

"Harry Styles spotted leaving neighbor’s apartment in the early hours."

Her phone is vibrating before she even opens her eyes.

A constant buzz against her nightstand, insistent and relentless.

She groans, squinting against the early morning light as she reaches for it.

Calls. Messages. Notifications blowing up.

Her stomach tightens.

With shaking fingers, she swipes through the alerts.

People found her Instagram. They’re digging through her posts. Speculating.

Her heart pounds as she scrolls through the headlines. The invasive comments. The messages flooding her inbox—some curious, some vicious.

Her stomach twists.

Her hands shake.

She doesn’t even hesitate before grabbing her keys and heading to Harry’s apartment.

By the time she gets there, the door is already unlocked.

She steps inside cautiously, closing the door behind her, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Harry is pacing.

His back is to her, his hands tangled in his hair, his shoulders rigid.

He turns sharply at the sound of the door clicking shut.

His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are dark, stormy.

"Harry—"

"We can’t do this."

The words hit like a slap.

Her breath catches, her stomach twisting so violently she thinks she might be sick.

"So that’s it?"

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t answer.

Because he doesn’t know.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the photo. Not the headlines. Not the fact that the world is picking apart something she doesn’t even understand herself.

It’s this.

The hesitation in his voice. The conflict in his eyes. The way he looks at her like he wants to pull her close but knows he shouldn’t.

She waits.

Waits for him to take it back.

To say something, anything, that makes this hurt less.

But he doesn’t.

His throat bobs, his fingers twitch at his sides, his mouth parts slightly—like he might speak.

But he doesn’t.

She exhales shakily, her vision blurring.

And when she finally turns, when she finally walks away—

He doesn’t stop her.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

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

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

[jazzsequence]

Okay, I lied, I made another one. I like this totally real illustration even better than the last one because it's dumb.

🚗💥🔨⚒️🔨

[niniwritesxo]

‘and it’s not just the water bottle is it?

kang daeho x fem reader

tags: part two of ‘you thirsty?’ , fluff

——————————————————————————

You should’ve known Daeho wasn’t going to let you off the hook. He’d been relentless since the water bottle incident, and now it felt like he was everywhere. Always watching you, always smirking, and always looking infuriatingly good while doing it.

It didn’t help that every time he was near, your thoughts spiraled into a mess of irritation and something much harder to ignore.

You were sitting on your bunk, doing your best to focus on patching up your torn tracksuit, when his voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart.”

You froze, your fingers fumbling with the needle. Slowly, you looked up to see him leaning against the bunk across from you, arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

He looked effortlessly good, his tracksuit jacket unzipped slightly, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied, looking back down at your sewing.

“Sure you haven’t,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I’ve been busy,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Busy pretending I don’t exist?” he asked, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step toward you. “Come on, just admit it. I make you nervous.”

“You don’t,” you said quickly, though your voice wavered.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You glared at him, your cheeks heating. “What do you want, Daeho?”

“I want to know what’s got you so flustered,” he said, stopping just a few feet away. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Because every time I get near you, you act like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m not flustered,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

He smirked, leaning down slightly so you had no choice but to look at him. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And it’s not just the water bottle, is it?”

Your breath caught, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. His presence was overwhelming, the heat radiating off him making it impossible to think straight.

“Daeho, just—”

“Admit it,” he said, his tone softer now but no less commanding. “Admit that I get to you.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he asked, his smirk widening. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you clenched your fists, refusing to let him win. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, leaning in just enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. His voice dropped lower, his tone turning almost playful. “Tell me, sweetheart, do I make you nervous? Or is it something else?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. His gaze was too intense, his smirk too smug, and the space between you too small.

“I hate you,” you muttered finally, though the heat in your voice betrayed you.

“No, you don’t,” he said, his smirk softening into something almost dangerous. “You just hate that you can’t stop thinking about me.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and charged, until finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re right.”

His smirk faltered, replaced by something darker, something hungrier. He leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe, but his gaze never left yours.

“Was that so hard?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, your cheeks still burning.

“And yet,” he said, his smirk returning, “you can’t seem to stay away.”

He leaned down and gave you a slight kiss on your forehead, with that he walked back to his bunk with the proudest smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse betrayed you, pounding loudly in your ears. As much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t deny the pull between you, the tension that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

And the worst part? He knew it, too.

[httpvomitello]

Okay how about, a George x F!reader where we're dating Fred to make George jealous 🤭

Hello hellooo, i hope you like it! ♡♡

Playing With Fire .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You had been hopelessly in love with George Weasley for years, but he never seemed to notice. And when you finally got tired of waiting, Fred—your equally mischievous best friend—came up with a plan: fake dating.

george weasley x f!reader

You had made a lot of bad decisions in your life.

But agreeing to fake date Fred Weasley?

That was possibly the worst.

"You’re absolutely insane," you muttered, standing beside him at the Gryffindor table.

Fred only grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders dramatically. "Love, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me."

Across the table, George was watching with an unreadable expression.

"Alright," Fred announced loudly, clearly putting on a show. "How about a kiss for your dear boyfriend, hmm?"

Your face turned scarlet. "Fred—"

But before you could protest, he planted a quick kiss on your forehead.

You groaned, shoving him. "I hate you."

Fred just smirked. "No, you love me. That’s the problem."

George suddenly stood up.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Library," George muttered. "Too much nonsense here."

And then, without another word, he stormed off.

You stared after him, heart hammering.

Fred, meanwhile, was beaming. "Well, that was interesting."

The next week was a nightmare.

Fred was having the time of his life, playing the role of overdramatic fake boyfriend.

George?

George was losing his mind.

It started with glares.

Then, passive-aggressive remarks.

And finally, full-blown jealousy-fueled chaos.

The worst moment happened in Potions.

Snape had just paired you with Fred—again—when George slammed his textbook onto the desk next to you.

"Partner switch," he declared.

Snape raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "No."

George gritted his teeth. "Why not?"

Snape looked bored. "Because I don’t take requests from lovesick schoolboys."

The class erupted in whispers.

Your soul left your body.

George turned bright red. "I am not—"

Snape gave him a look. "Do you wish to continue embarrassing yourself, or shall I continue my lesson?"

George shut up immediately.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said.

You, on the other hand, were fighting for your life trying not to laugh.

Fred, of course, was enjoying every second of it.

"You know, mate," he whispered to George, leaning closer. "If you like her so much, you could just ask her out instead of glaring at me like you want me dead."

George went rigid.

You nearly dropped your cauldron.

Fred winked at you before turning back to his work, humming cheerfully.

It all exploded at the next Gryffindor party.

The common room was packed, music blasting, laughter filling the air.

You were standing near the fireplace, talking to Fred, when George marched up to you.

"Enough," he muttered, grabbing your wrist and pulling you aside.

Your eyes widened. "George?"

He stopped in a quieter corner, running a hand through his hair, looking completely wrecked.

"What is this?" he demanded.

You swallowed. "What is what?"

He let out a frustrated sigh. "You and Fred. This—" He motioned between you. "Are you actually dating?"

You hesitated. "Would it matter if we were?"

His jaw clenched. "Yes."

Your heart pounded. "Why?"

George exhaled sharply, looking everywhere but you.

And then, in a voice so quiet you barely heard it—

"Because it’s supposed to be me."

The world tilted.

You stared at him, completely stunned.

"What?"

He swallowed hard. "It was always supposed to be me."

Your breath caught.

"George—"

But before you could finish, he kissed you.

It was desperate, needy—like he had been holding it in for years.

And the moment you kissed him back, everything clicked into place.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy.

"Please tell me I didn’t just ruin everything," he whispered.

You let out a soft laugh. "You’re an idiot, Weasley."

And then, you kissed him again.

From across the room, Fred watched with a victorious grin.

"Fucking finally!"

[teslafactory]

broke: john green's cock monologue

bespoke: a car made of hammers that explode and the hammers go everywhere

[youngsadlesbian]

THREADS OF FATE | chapter 02

chapter summary: during the battle against loki, you unexpectedly heals natasha romanoff, catching the attention of the avengers and shield. despite their repeated attempts to recruit you, you resist, uncertain of your place in their world.

a/n: hope you like it!

word count: 2,3k

warnings: none.

New York City had always been loud.

Ever since you moved here for college, you'd grown used to the constant hum of life—taxi horns blaring, people shouting into their phones, the rhythmic clatter of subway cars below your feet. The city never stopped.

It had a heartbeat, a rhythm that pulsed through the streets, something chaotic yet comforting.

And today had been no different.

You had spent the morning working your shift at a coffee shop near Grand Central, serving overpriced lattes to businessmen in expensive suits and tourists who marveled at the station’s architecture. Then, after finishing a long afternoon lecture at Columbia, you took the subway back downtown, planning to grab some food before heading to your apartment.

You never got that far.

The first explosion hit just as you stepped out of the station.

The ground shook beneath your feet, car alarms wailed, and suddenly, the world around you erupted into screams.

You turned toward the source of the sound—just in time to see the sky rip open.

You stood frozen, staring upward as the air itself seemed to split apart, like someone had taken a knife to the fabric of reality. And from that gaping wound in the sky, creatures began to spill out.

Metallic, grotesque things with gleaming eyes and snarling faces, their long limbs ending in weapons. They swarmed the buildings, diving down into the streets, opening fire without hesitation.

People ran.

People screamed.

And still, you stood there, paralyzed, your breath caught in your throat.

Your mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. Was this a terrorist attack? An invasion? Some kind of apocalyptic nightmare?

Then, the building next to you exploded.

Glass and concrete rained down like deadly hail, snapping you out of your daze.

Move. You need to move.

Your feet obeyed before your brain did, sprinting down the street as debris crashed behind you. Everywhere you looked, chaos reigned. Cars flipped over, storefronts shattered, smoke billowed into the air.

And above it all, the creatures—aliens, you realized with growing horror—descended upon the city like a swarm of locusts.

Then, a streak of red and gold flashed past you.

You turned just in time to see Iron Man soaring through the sky, repulsors blazing as he took down several of the creatures in quick succession.

You barely had time to process the fact that Iron Man was real before a massive, hammer-wielding figure landed in the street a few yards away, the very ground shaking beneath him.

Thor.

Another explosion rocked the street, and suddenly, there was a man in a star-spangled suit, ushering civilians to safety with a commanding presence that left no room for hesitation.

Captain America.

This was no terrorist attack.

This was a full-blown war.

You weren’t a fighter.

You had no weapons, no combat training. The only thing you had was an ability you barely understood, one that had always felt more like an inconvenience than a gift.

But as the battle raged on, as people screamed and bled and died around you, you knew you couldn’t just stand there.

You had to help.

Ducking into the ruins of a crumbling café, you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. You spotted a group of civilians huddled behind an overturned car, trapped as one of the metal creatures advanced on them.

Without thinking, you grabbed a loose brick and hurled it at the creature’s head.

It didn’t do much—barely even made a sound against its armor—but it was enough to get its attention.

The thing turned toward you, eyes glowing.

Shit.

You braced yourself for death, but before it could strike, a gunshot rang out.

The alien jerked back, a hole blasted through its skull.

Then, out of nowhere, a woman in black came barreling into view, flipping onto the creature’s back and twisting its head with a sickening snap.

It crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

And that’s when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff.

Even with blood streaked across her face, hair tangled and wild from battle, she looked impossibly in control.

"Get out of here!" she barked at you, already turning toward her next target.

But you didn’t run.

Because as she moved, you saw it—the deep gash along her side, crimson staining her suit.

She was hurt.

And before you could think better of it, you were moving.

"Wait!" you called out.

She barely spared you a glance. "Go, now!"

"You’re injured!"

"I’m fine."

She wasn’t.

You could feel it—the pain radiating off her in waves, the sluggish way she was moving, the way she favored one side. She was bleeding out.

You didn’t think.

You simply acted.

Closing the distance between you, you reached out—placing your hands over the wound before she could shove you away.

And then, it happened.

The warmth, the golden glow, the pulse of life pouring from you into her.

You barely registered Natasha’s sharp inhale, the way her muscles tensed beneath your touch. You just focused, willing the torn flesh to mend, the wound to seal.

It took only seconds.

But when you pulled away, Natasha’s eyes were wide.

Her breathing was steady.

And her wound was gone.

"What the hell," she whispered.

You swallowed hard. "I—"

Before you could explain, before she could even process what had just happened, a voice crackled in her earpiece.

"Romanoff? You still alive?"

Natasha exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to where the wound had been just moments ago. Then, in a perfectly even voice, she responded:

"Yeah. I’m here."

Her gaze flickered back to you, something unreadable in her expression.

"Stay here," she ordered.

And then she was gone.

You didn’t stay put.

How could you?

The battle raged on around you, the city falling apart piece by piece, and the Avengers were the only ones standing between humanity and complete annihilation.

So you kept moving, dodging debris, helping whoever you could. You didn’t use your powers again—not until a man was crushed beneath a fallen beam, his breaths ragged. You healed him in a heartbeat.

And in doing so, you sealed your fate.

Because the moment he stumbled to his feet, still dazed from what had just happened, another figure landed near you.

A man in blue and red.

Steve Rogers.

Captain America.

His sharp, assessing eyes locked onto yours, then drifted down to the man you had just healed. Understanding dawned in them almost instantly.

You swallowed.

"…Hi?"

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he pressed two fingers to his comm.

"Stark, I need you to see something."

And just like that, you were no longer just a civilian caught in the crossfire.

You were something else.

Something they weren’t going to let walk away.

The moment Captain America took notice of you, everything changed.

One minute, you were just a bystander trying to survive an alien invasion, and the next, you were in the midst of the most elite force the world had ever seen.

You barely had time to process what was happening as Captain America placed a firm hand on your shoulder. "You need to come with us." His voice was calm, but his gaze was intense, assessing every inch of you.

There was no room for argument.

Before you could say anything, another figure appeared beside him—Black Widow. Natasha’s expression was still unreadable, but you could see the curiosity in her eyes as she took in the strange, golden glow still lingering faintly around your hands.

"We’ve got things covered here," Natasha said, glancing over her shoulder at the battle raging in the distance. "Get her to Stark."

"Understood," Steve replied, motioning for you to follow him.

You barely had time to question what was happening as they led you through the chaotic streets of New York, pushing through crowds of survivors, emergency responders, and Avengers.

Your mind raced.

What had you just done? You had healed Natasha—one of the most skilled agents the world had ever known—and now, you were being whisked away by two of the most powerful people on Earth.

For a moment, you considered running. It was instinct, something deep inside you urging you to escape before things escalated. But you knew that wasn’t an option. There was no going back.

The streets seemed to stretch endlessly as you followed them through the destruction. Finally, they led you to a narrow alley, where a sleek, high-tech van awaited. The SHIELD insignia was emblazoned on its side.

SHIELD.

The name had always been more of a myth to you, a whispered legend you had heard about in passing. Now, it was a reality—a reality that was about to swallow you whole.

You were ushered inside, and the doors shut behind you with an ominous hiss. The van took off at a speed that made your stomach flip.

"Keep your head down," Steve said, sitting across from you with Natasha beside him. "You’re coming with us to a secure location. We have questions."

You nodded, but your mind was still spinning.

As you sped through the streets of New York, the chaos of the battle felt like a distant memory. The city’s skyline blurred as you were taken farther and farther away from the carnage. The air inside the van felt thick, and the quiet was almost unbearable after everything you had witnessed.

Finally, the van came to a stop. The doors opened, revealing a sleek, underground facility with white walls, sleek metallic surfaces, and the hum of advanced technology. The air smelled sterile.

"Welcome to SHIELD," Natasha said, her tone still unreadable. "This is where we work."

It was the most intimidating place you had ever seen, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were about to step into something much bigger than yourself.

The moment you stepped out of the van, a team of SHIELD agents rushed forward to escort you inside, and you were taken into a small, sterile room with only a table and a few chairs. Natasha and Steve flanked you on either side.

"Do you know why you’re here?" Steve asked, his voice firm yet measured.

You swallowed hard. "No."

"We’ve seen your abilities," Natasha spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You healed me in the middle of the battle. That’s not something you can just do."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "I—I don’t really know how it works. It just… happens."

"And that’s what we need to understand." Steve leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. "You’ve been trained, haven’t you? You have to be. A power like that doesn’t manifest without purpose."

"No, I’ve never been trained. I just… I’ve always had this ability. I can heal. I don’t know how, but I can."

"How long have you had it?" Natasha pressed.

You hesitated, a brief flash of your childhood crossing your mind—how your parents had always told you that your gifts were part of a greater plan, that everything you did was in the hands of destiny. But you knew now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. "Since I was a little girl," you said quietly. "I just thought it was normal."

Steve and Natasha exchanged a glance. The tension between them was palpable, but neither of them spoke right away.

After a long pause, Steve leaned back in his chair. "You’ve been living in New York for a while now. You’re a civilian—no training, no connections. Yet you just healed one of our best agents in the middle of a battlefield. That’s no small feat."

Natasha continued, "We need people like you, people who have abilities that could turn the tide of a fight. People who could make a difference."

You stiffened. You understood the implication, but it didn’t sit well with you. "I’m not a soldier. I’m not a fighter. I just… I just want to help people."

"Which is why you’re exactly what we need," Natasha said. "You have no idea the kinds of threats we’re facing, threats that require… people like you."

Steve’s tone shifted, becoming more insistent. "We want you to join us. To be part of SHIELD."

You blinked, stunned. The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

Finally, you found your voice. "I’m not a soldier," you repeated, this time more firmly. "I don’t think I can help in that way. I don’t want to be part of your… war."

Steve’s expression softened slightly, but Natasha’s didn’t. "We’re not asking you to be a soldier," she said, her voice almost coaxing now. "We’re asking you to help us protect people—innocent people, the ones who can’t defend themselves."

You shook your head. "I can’t. I won’t."

There was a long silence. You could feel the weight of their disappointment, but you stood firm in your decision. You weren’t ready to give up your life and be thrust into a world of espionage, violence, and endless conflict.

And no matter how much they wanted you, you weren’t going to be the hero they hoped you would be.

After a long moment of quiet, Steve finally stood. "We understand," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But we’re not going to stop trying to convince you. You have a gift, and the world is full of people who need it."

Natasha stood as well, her eyes never leaving you. "We’ll be in touch," she said, her tone colder now.

You didn’t say anything else as they left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, you exhaled in relief.

You weren’t ready for this world. You weren’t ready for the responsibility that came with it. And no matter how much the SHIELD agents tried to convince you, you knew deep down that you weren’t meant to be a part of their mission.

At least, not yet.

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