#it's like he doesn't dare to make a wrong move

[pompompourrite]

VERSO X DEPRESSED READER HEADCANONS !!

pairing: painted!verso x gn!reader.

contents: fluff, verso tries to help readers when their spirits are low, mentions of depression and stress, just verso being a cutie patootie.

a/n: my depression has dealt me a big blow recently and i've mainly written this to make myself feel better. english is not my first language, so i'm sorry if it's badly written. i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! requests are open ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

He's very good at guessing what's going on in people's heads, he pays a lot of attention to his team-mates, so when there's the slightest change in you, your expression, your attitude or just the way you walk, he knows something's wrong, and believe me when I say that all his attention will be on you all day long.

He won't ask you directly what's bothering you, not when danger could come from anywhere, and he doesn't want to take the risk of everyone knowing that you're not in your right frame of mind, he doesn't know how you might react to receiving everyone's attention all at once.

Also because he wants to be the only person who can comfort you.

He'll wait until the evening, when everyone's doing their little group activities to relax, while you sit on your own. He won't waste any time coming and sitting next to you.

In general, he always asks permission to sit down. But not this time, not when he knows something's bothering you.

Let's be clear: he'll never force you to talk, but he'll stay close to you all the same, to let you know that he's there, that you're not alone, and that you can come to him if you ever change your mind and pour out everything that's on your mind. In the meantime, he doesn't mind sitting silently for hours on end, if it means he can look after you.

Either that, or he'll tell you all about the funniest adventures he's had with Monoco, or even one of the rare moments when he'll let Monoco tell little secrets and anecdotes he's ashamed of, just to cheer you up.

He'd ask Esquie to shower you with hugs. (seriously I think Esquie's hugs could cure anything)

If you're the type of person who doesn't really appreciate physical contact, he'd probably be happy with a pat on the shoulder or back. On the other hand, if physical contact doesn't bother you, he'll put an arm around your shoulder to pull you back against him and gently rub your shoulder.

If you're in love or in a relationship, he won't hesitate to sit behind you and give you a hug, holding you close to him to make you feel safe.

In any case, friends or lovers, as I said, he won't force you to talk, he'll just ask you what's going on. If you remain silent, he'll respect your choice.

But if you talk, he'll listen carefully, he won't cut you off, except when he hears you talking down to yourself. It hurts him to hear you talk so badly about yourself, he feels obliged to stop you and tell you how wrong you are.

Do you feel useless in the team? He'll list every single thing you've done to help the expedition. Do you have a problem with your appearance? He'll drown you in compliments. Do you feel like a bad person? He could spend hours telling you what a wonderful person you are.

No matter what makes you sad, he'll never run out of arguments.

If you ever burst into tears in front of him, he'll take you in his arms and offer you to cry against his chest while he rubs your back to soothe you.

Bonus point if you're lovers: he'll kiss the top of your head and/or your forehead.

If you end up crying yourself to sleep and falling asleep in his arms, he won't dare move for fear of waking you up, and there's a good chance he'll end up falling asleep with you in the same place where you sat together.

If not, he'll suggest you sleep next to him for the night, or in his arms. The choice is yours, he's happy with either. He just wants to keep an eye on you and make sure you sleep well, even if it means he won't be able to sleep all night.

He won't tell anyone about what happened or what you said to him, even if you give him permission. What happens between you stays between you. Unless one of the other members unintentionally says something that makes you feel bad, he'll tell them so they'll be more careful.

He knows that moods don't change overnight, so he'll stay close to you for the next few days to see how you're feeling.

[faithfulpuppy]

I finished and I have nobody to hug the feels out of me 😭😭😭

Jiang Cheng how dare you blame Wuxian. How dare you learn from multiple sources how he gave you his whole life and then ask him doesn't he think he owed you? He did break his promise but the alternative was letting his friends die and after all this time you still think they should have just died and I hate you for that.

The music in this show fucks me up so bad. The OST is obviously incredible (I didn't realise Zhan and Yibo actually sing it 🙏 but it makes sense) but any time that slow violin/piano version starts playing at an emotional moment? I need tissues

I think Zewu Jun is so fucking cool and charming and elegant but he is also dumb as rocks. He was like 'omg I trusted you 😢' like three times after Yao suppressed him!!!

But Cheng was still carrying Chenqing with him after all this time???? 😭

I'm so glad we got pretty all the backstory we could want. My only remaining question is what tf was Yao expecting to find in the sarcophagus?? They were all like "clearly it was swapped out for the body" and then just moved on

Also I really respect Wuxian leaving the Stygian tiger amulet with Mingjue's body but hoo boy his seal was broken very easily and then anyone could have picked up the amulet? And we just don't care? Not their problem anymore?

Dark horse Huaisang???? Good for him tbh 🍸

I don't really know why they were all so concerned about Baxia controlling Ning to attack Yao... Aside from when he pivoted to attacking Ling, why not just let him finish the job? What were they planning to do with Yao, let his ass go??? As I said good for Huaisang

Can we say "cool motive still murder" to Yao and just move on?

Lowkey mad that Cheng wouldn't let Ling go after Wuxian. He's finally found out that he's been blaming the wrong person for his father's death and finally resolved the conflicting feelings he's been developing about Wuxian. I know they'll have other chances to meet and talk. But like stfu Cheng stop being mean to Ling for five seconds

That boy's also gonna have to be clan leader now and that's fucking awful for him

I was getting really nervous that we were going to get all the way to the end without Wuxian ever learning the truth about Yuan but they really made it worth the angst 🙏 oh god I cried so fucking hard and when he hung on his leg like he used to? It's so PURE that's his BOY

The wrap-up with Wuxian and Lan Zhan's will-they-won't-they was so stressful I was literally pacing and chewing my nails. For godsake they've been through so much just let them be happy now 😭😭

If you'd asked me to predict the end state of the show Lan Zhan becoming excellency would not have been in my top 20 guesses he is going to fucking hate it so much. It will probably do the minor clan leaders some good to be called boring every now and then though

The next person to ask Wuxian what's been so hard about his life I swear to god. I'm throwing hands like Lan Zhan.

From Wen Ning kicked puppy when Wuxian told him to stay behind a few episodes ago to now being confident enough to face the next part of his journey alone, we love to see it. I'm so happy there's a movie about his adventures with Yuan!

I've probably missed a lot and I'm raw in my feelings and I really need a hug about it. But this whole show was so fucking beautiful. Thank you to the people I follow who shared enough stuff from it to get me interested. Media that changes me irreversibly 🙏🙏 I need to read the manga now because I will probably die if I don't get to see them kiss

Anyway I started the untamed last night because at least one person I follow on here posts really cool art of it regularly. Some impressions, keeping in mind this is my first cdrama

I'm going to have to re-watch ep 1 at some point because I had no idea what was going on but I do know I'm having fun

Knowing the source material is explicitly gay and the reason for the censoring in the show is very comforting in a way. And probably makes this hit very different

Do I Want To Do The Femboys Or Be The Femboys

Cloud Recesses reminds me of Rivendell and the white outfits of the elves. Can't believe we've been robbed of this aesthetic by modern corporate trends everyone looks fucking incredible. Like there's nobody ugly in this show but even if there was they'd look good in these costumes.

Idk why there were 3-4 episodes of current day exposition and now we've shifted quite suddenly and seemingly long-term to the events of the past but I'm having a good time

I love all these little weirdos

I can understand why Lan Zhan is so Like That with all the rules and punishments he's grown up with. But then Zewu is so... normal? So idk if it's just him lol

There are 50 EPISODES in a single season?? I thought it was going to be like ten but we're strapping in for a Ride!

I hope we get to see more of Lan Yuan he's so cute

Anyway I'm up to episode seven so no spoilers please but I'm really enjoying this very silly show

[divineandmajesticinone]

KISS X KISS X KISS: Love ii Shower (2023) "Sensei, you're so mean. I only want to be happy, but... It's hurting me. I got it."

[aloeverified]

daring being the equivalent to a pg-13 fuckboy was really funny, but i think it would've been so sad and compelling if he geniuely was in love with apple.

they know they're destined to be together, they grew up together and have talked about their relationship many times. they agreed to not date until their destiny takes its course, as apple is paranoid about messing with their story and doing anything ahead of time.

daring sees how hard she works and how far she goes to strive for perfection; following ever task her mother gives her, always being ontop of her studies, never missing a chance to be kind and help others. she inspires him to do the same; topping his sword-fighting classes, using his strength and athletic skills to help others, always seizing the chance to save the day and protect others.

daring falls more and more in love with her each passing year, whereas apple just keeps waiting for the feeling to come to her. she reasons that she doesn't feel anything for daring because he hasn't awoken her from her coma and swallow her worries.

many people still fall for daring, but he tells them his heart is taken and his destiny is sealed: apple white is the only girl for him, and it's his duty to stay loyal to his future wife.

perhaps apple even visits the charming kingdom often, under the guise of spending time with her future in-laws to get away from the heavy pressure she faces at home. she grows closer with darling during these times, who admires apple and her ability to be satisfied with the royal life and expectations she has as a princess.

i think daring could still have a few small and tender moments with other girls, such as his admiration for cerise — but he does his best to push those feelings aside, maybe even feels guilty for them.

it's only after he fails to awaken apple in dragon games, where he is able to start his process on moving on. he agonizes over not being her prince, as it changes everything he knows: his destiny, his true love, and even the fact that he would participate in an out of destiny romance (something so taboo to a royal such as himself).

when finally given the chance to do so, daring asks apple if she loves him — if she ever had or ever could, in the same way he loves her. they have a long conversation, one that ends with both of them in tears. apple does daring, but she's not in love with him. she's always known there was something different about her when she didn't long for her prince charming like other princesses did, and now thanks to darling, she knows why.

daring learns how to move on. it's a tedious process, and one that hurts, but he moves on. and so does apple. he still loves her, and she still loves him. only now, they also love themselves.

[hsslilly-blog]

i really like claire and sebastian's dynamic where she's really mean to him and he has no reaction whatsoever in fact he almost always ignores whatever it is that she's saying. and it frustrates her a lot because WHY is he not reacting. like ??????????????????????what is his problem

[holeforzenin]

Tw - Dad’s bestfriend Nanami, dark content. Taboo elements. Age gap (21, 43), He doesn't want it but he can't help himself :3

Nanami never thought of you that way.

You were his best friend's daughter. He helped change your diapers and drove you to piano lessons when your dad was too busy. He sat through your school plays with a proud smile and clapped louder than anyone else because of how proud of you he was.

To him, you were sweet, silly, sometimes a handful—but never a woman. Never someone to want or lust over. He's a better man than that. A man with morals.

And he still didn't, at least not until tonight?

The house was quiet and lonely with your parents out of town, so Nanami offered to come over and keep an eye on you—just to make sure you didn’t accidentally burn the place down. It wasn’t anything new; he’d been the only one your parents trusted to babysit you for as long as you could remember. By now, you were used to having him around. He was practically like an uncle to you. A second dad.

You’re curled up next to him on the living room couch, laughing at some dumb comedy movie, dressed in one of those tiny matching tank top and shorts set that left way too much of your pretty thighs exposed against his. He tried not to notice how soft and delicate you felt when you leaned into him, giggling with your cheek brushing his shoulder.

It wasn't sexual. It shouldn't be sexual.

So when you climbed into his lap, giggling and flustered, and warm from one glass of wine—he didn't know what to do. He immediately stiffened under you like your touch had burnt him.

“Sweetheart—” he started in a gentle tone, brows furrowed tight as he held his hands up, hovering in the air like he couldn't dare lay them on you.

“I just missed you so much, Uncle Ken” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nuzzled in close. “You’ve been so far away and busy lately”

“Y—You shouldnt be touching me like this,” he muttered. “You can't sit here, not like this”

But you didn’t move. You just shifted in his lap, slowly rolling your hips just once—almost innocent, like it didn’t mean anything, but you both knew better. That’s when he felt it—your warmth pressing down and grinding directly over his cock, right through the thin layer of your shorts and of his slacks.

His breath caught. His hands shot to your waist—not to push you off, but to stop you from doing it again.

“Don't,” he said sharply with a low hiss. “Don't do that”.

You blinked at him with that innocent look on your face—that soft, bratty smile curving your lips. “Why not?”

“Because it's not right”. His fingers harshly dug into your sides. “Because I'm supposed to be looking out for you, not—”

But then you did it again—rolling your hips even slower this time, letting him feel the full heat of your pussy through the soft stretch of your shorts. And his words caught in his throat.

His cock was getting hard.

It wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't even thinking about it. He didn't want this. He didn't want to feel how warm and soft you were, how easy it would be to slide one hand between your thighs and feel you. He didn't want to imagine how wet you might be—rubbing yourself all over him and marking him with your arousal like that— like you didn't know better.

But you did know better. And you did it again.

“Kento...” you whispered, and his whole body flinched like someone pointed a gun at him. You'd never called him that when you were on top of him before. It felt so wrong.

“Stop,” he growled, but his grip on you tightened instead of loosening. “This is—fuck—this is wrong”

You were grinding in earnest now, soft little whines in your throat as you rocked yourself against the thick length straining against his slacks. The outline is his cock denting into your clothed folds and giving your hungry cunt delicious fiction. His cock pulsed with every movement, throbbing painfully. He’s too hard and fucking weak.

His cock is throbbing so meanly beneath the fabric like it’s trying so hard to rip it open and release itself—thick and leaking and twitching with every teasing pass of your hips. “I didn't want this,” he said as if he could still convince himself. “I never wanted this”.

But he wasn’t stopping you. Fuck no—he was letting it happen, making it happen. His hands had settled on your hips in a bruising grip, holding you down firmly and guiding your movements even as he pretended to let you take the lead. His head fell back, eyes clenched shut, lips parted with a strained, choked groan.

You could feel the tremble in his fingertips, the way his breath hitched every time your clothed cunt dragged over the aching bulge again and again.

“I thought of you as my own,” he whispered like it was a confession. “I didn't even see you like this until tonight—until you...”

You moaned softly and ground down just right, and that was it.

He completely snapped.

His hand grabbed your ass hard, fingers digging in the flesh hard enough to bruise as he yanked your body further into him and grinding you against him with a rhythm that was anything but gentle. It was filthy and utterly desperate—like something inside him had snapped like he couldn’t take another second of teasing.

His hips rutted up into you with hard, mean thrusts, chasing more friction like a man starved with his cock still trapped in the confines of his slacks.

He needed it. Needed you. Needed the heat of your cunt dragging over him, the wet spot on your panties growing with every grind. The soft, broken noises spilling from your mouth.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, panting into your neck, breath hot and rough like he hated himself for how badly he was shaking. His cock was leaking through the fabric, a thick stripe of pre-cum that smeared every time he eagerly fucked up into your clothed pussy.

“God, forgive me,” he gasped, voice breaking into a moan, “I can't—I can't stop, fuck—what are you doing to me”

But he didn't stop.

Not even when he came in his slacks with your name on his tongue.

[chocolilies]

( ୨ৎ. husband!nanami kento x wife!reader. . .ᐟ

◟ꪆ୧ nsfw (afab!reader, fingering, teaching a lesson through sex, ditzy reader) - also on ao3!

nanami kento, who wears his wedding ring everywhere.

he never takes it off, he doesn't dare to. why would he? 

it symbolises the promise you two made to each other, the love you have and continue to share— of course he wants to show it off to the whole world.

you’ll never find him without it, golden band always snug around his ring finger when he showers, when he cooks, when he cleans, when he works...

which is why he's so disappointed to find yours teetering on the edge of the bathroom sink.

steam sticks to the mirror, blurrily framing the disappointment on his face as he picks up your ring, turning his head to look at you, watching you ransack your shared wardrobe for clothes to wear tonight.

"darling, are you forgetting something?"

he watches you snap your head around, drops of water still dripping from your recently showered body, mouth forming an 'o' out of shock as you realise what he's holding.

"oh!" you rush towards him, outstretching your left hand once you reach him so he can slip the ring back onto where it belongs, smiling bashfully up at him. "sorry, it must've slipped my mind."

you don't miss the frown that deepens on kento’s face at your careless gesture, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss, your way of apologising for the mistake. "don't be upset, ken. it won't happen again."

oh but it does, and even though kento knows deep down that these are simple mistakes, he can't stop the pit that forms in his stomach whenever he finds your ring abandoned at your work desk, or the kitchen counter, or even slipped forgetfully into your bag.

he tries his best not to let it irk him, instead resorting to reminding you each time he finds your ring somewhere other than on your finger, making sure to slip it back where it's meant to be with as much love and care as the day you first exchanged rings and vows.

his resolve crumbles the moment gojo opens up his stupid mouth.

“woah, trouble in paradise?”

kento’s shoulders stiffen at the light-hearted way your coworker comments on your lack of ring, standing at your doorway holding lunch for the both of you as he watches you laugh it off with a wave of your ring-less hand, explaining your forgetfulness and immediately starting to look for the tiny trinket.

“darling,” kento speaks slowly from the other side of the room, announcing his arrival at the same time he flashes you with the item you were looking for. 

you don't seem to notice his clenched teeth and narrowed gaze as you happily walk over to him, allowing him to slip your ring back on before placing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, the maximum amount of affection you dare to show in your workplace. 

it hadn't dawned on him until then that he wasn't the only one that would notice your missing ring, wondering nervously as he finished up that day’s work just how many of your friends had noticed, whether the girls you normally went out and drank with assumed that he was a terrible husband, that there was indeed some trouble in paradise, that you were stuck in a loveless marriage instead of the obvious: that you were just forgetful.

he tries not to show his upset later that night when he finally arrives home, but as the dutiful and perfect wife you are, you notice immediately. you ask him what's wrong, offer to cook him his favourite dish, hold him in bed like you usually do whenever he feels down, tell him you’re there for whatever he might need and want…

“but… what I need… is to remind you how important this is to me,”

you watch as he catches your left hand in his, bringing it up to his face and pressing a chaste kiss to the warm metal, amber eyes staring deep into yours during his action. 

you smile, moving said hand to cup the side of his face, running your thumb over his sharp cheekbones. “I know how important it is, ken…”

despite your sweet coo and love-filled gaze, kento knows, deep down, that you need a reminder. 

“of course you do, angel,” he sighs, leaning closer into your space as his eyes trace your unforgettable features, drinking in your lovestruck expression. “but I feel that lately, it’s been slipping your mind. don’t you think that, as your husband, it’s my duty to make sure you never forget?”

your husband's ring feels cold against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth his fingers are radiating as they slip through your sopping folds, collecting your dripping essence like a prize as his chapped lips press sloppy kisses all over your neck.

you can't stop the noises that leave you at the teasing, fleeting touches, eyelids drooping closed in pleasure as his other hand plays around with your chest, nimble fingers grabbing and tugging at your nipples in tandem with his other hand’s movements, sending rushes of overstimulating pleasure throughout your tired body. 

you're unaware of how many times he’s made you cum so far, the towel he’d oh so graciously placed beneath you thoroughly soaked thanks to his continuing ministrations, yet all you can focus on is the strange but welcome feeling of his ring pressing against your most intimate parts, bumping against your clit with every movement from his nimble hand and sending jolts of pleasure through your spent self, though you assume that this was your husband’s desired effect all along. 

“you’re doing so, so good, angel,” his voice rasped against your ear, harmonising with the squishing sounds your poor cunt was making, every touch to your clit making your body lurch and quiver, the feeling overwhelming. “c’mon, one more, alright? or have you already learned your lesson?”

lesson? you think as you feel his ring finger slip into you along with his middle and index, cunt loose enough to accommodate all three and hopefully his cock after this “lesson”. 

“w- won't take it off again, ken, pr-promise,” you gasp out, arching your back against his chest and pressing your rump against his very hard erection, which he'd been neglecting in order to get you to this point. 

you feel his fingers curl, hitting your g-spot perfectly like they had times before, but he didn't relent like you'd expected him to. 

“k-ken?”

“that's not all.” 

you whine out in confusion, hips moving along with his fingers despite the need to give your body a break, chasing the high that your mind oh so wanted but body couldn't exactly reach. 

“b-but-”

“it's not just about wearing the ring, darling,” kento started to explain, showing off his amazing dexterity by continuing to play with your tits with one hand while still fingering your pussy with his left, pressing a sweet kiss against your tear stained cheek. “no, if it was about that, this would've been over way more quickly.” 

you can feel a different sort of pressure start to build up in the lower parts of your tummy as he paused, legs shaking from the disturbance and in warning of what was to come if kento keeps doing his thing, though by the looks of it, he was nowhere close to stopping. 

he stays silent, allowing you to realise that he was really waiting for you to answer, as if you were both immersed in a casual conversation and he hadn't just melted your brain with just his fingers, and you force yourself to speak despite the mind numbing pleasure. 

“wh- oh god! what's it a-about, ken…?” you mewl, hips raising each time he pumps his fingers inside, almost like you were trying to ride him since his cock was still tucked away inside his slacks, his palm rutting deliciously against your clit with every movement. 

you hear him stifle a groan as your hips start to move, torturing himself as well as you by not bothering to help himself, too focused on your pleasure to act on his own, pressing his lips to the spot under your ear in an attempt to muffle the whimpers that were threatening to escape him. 

“k-ken?” you half-questione, half-moan, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder and focusing your blurry gaze on your husband's flushed face, drinking in the gorgeous expression he was sporting. 

“darling,” he lets out breathlessly, brown eyes darting down to meet your own, hands still not relenting in their attack despite his pause in speech, trying to compose himself before speaking once more. “it's- fuck, I… I want you to remember why you wear it, honey. who put it on your finger, who you belong to...”

he shudderd as one of your moans rings out throughout the dark room, not helping him in the slightest as he tries his best to fight against the urge to flip you over and fuck you like the both of you deserved. 

“who I belong to,” the strokes of his fingers grow deeper and more attentive, attacking your g-spot relentlessly as you writhe in his arms, his loving yet possessive words sending tremors throughout your body. 

“oh, kento…”

he exhales shakily at the moan of his name, letting his head fall forwards to rest on your shoulder in an attempt to ground himself, sinking his teeth into your shoulder with a shudder. 

“you're not going to- fuck, let this go, a-are you?” you manage to whisper out cheekily, hips and body still moving subconsciously on his fingers. 

“not a chance, my love,” 

kento moves slightly, adjusting your body so you're pressed even more impossibly closer to him, ass still perched against his hardened cock, member twitching and spitting out pre against his dampening slacks with each movement from your almost drunk body, high of pleasure and doing whatever it can to reach that high kento had seemed to have promised before. 

“I'll make sure you never want to take this off again—” he starts, and you gasp out in horror as his fingers slide out of you, lifting his soaked hand up to your chest, giving you a few seconds to panic before quickly replacing it with his other hand, nipples softening at the sudden lack of stimulation. 

to accentuate his point, his left hand, the one where he proudly displays his ring, the one that's covered in your juices and almost pruny due to the amount of time spent playing with your wetness, finds your own, carefully intertwining your fingers together and showing off both of your rings. 

“—not because you're afraid of forgetting, no…” 

you shudder as his other hand resumes the work his other had been doing, immediately feeling that intense need of release come back, biting your lip to muffle your sounds in order to listen to your husband better, not wanting to interrupt him, especially when he was like this— disheveled, flushed, with tiny whines escaping his chapped lips with every press of your ass against his crotch. 

“but, because every time you look at it—”

you can feel it building up, your release at the tip of your fingers, but not exactly like all the other times before, so you know what's coming. 

it's not the first time kento's gotten you to this point. he's exceptionally proud of it, obviously. no one before him had ever gotten you to squirt before, and evidenced by the rings that were currently getting dirty in your juices, no one but him ever would. 

his fingers quicken their pace inside you, attacking your g-spot with force before suddenly moving up to give your clit the same treatment, pinching and rubbing the tiny bundle of nerves in an expert manner, knowing exactly what to do to get you to that oh so delicious release. 

you raise your hips in preparation for it, pressure building up in your most intimate parts as you moan and cry out your husband's name, his mind crumbling with every sound you make, trying to stay on track. 

his mouth opens in awe as you grab onto his hand tighter, vision going white as you finally reach your climax, voice getting caught in his throat at the beautiful sigh of you coming undone on his fingers, love-filled eyes drinking in every single inch of your trembling bare body, release-soaked fingers still rubbing at your cunt rapidly.

he chuckles as you try to move away from his touch once it becomes too much, apologising silently for the overstimulation with a kiss to your sweaty temple, before finally finishing his speech. 

“—you’ll think of this.”

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 percy's girl : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Percy would let the world burn if that assured him y/n's happiness. Everyone knows it, except y/n herself.

warnings: jealous n overprotective percy, slight mentions of violence i really don't know if it counts, oblivious reader, no cabin mentioned for reader.

part 2 here

Everybody at camp halfblood knows by now not to mess with percy's girl— except, well, she isn't really percy's girl. At least not that she knew, but for everybody else? yes, she is his girl.

Hard to think about it in any other way when Percy walks around camp glaring at just anyone that even dares to look at her the wrong way. And when it comes to keeping her out of harm's way? He is practically a force of nature.

Percy doesn’t take y/n's happiness lightly, so anything that threatened that is handled by him without her even noticing.

She is probably the only person to come unharmed out of every Stoll prank, and it's definitely not for lack of trying. Connor and Travis like her enough not to pull anything dangerous, but that doesn’t mean they can let her get away without trying.

So everything was planned. A simple, classic, but effective bucket on the door. She only had to come out of her cabin for lunch and they would get her. Hiding in the bushes, Travis and Connor snicker once the door opens.

She is talking to Percy, that is walking behind her, but something makes him pause just when she steps exactly on the mark the Stolls had left. Percy clocks what is happening immediately, as if it was second nature, and he moves y/n out of the way just in time for the bucket to fall directly on him.

He ends up fully covered in chocolate syrup seconds later, but he couldn't care less. His only worry is— "you okay, sunshine?" he asks, wiping chocolate off his face.

She is, in fact, okay. But she's gaping at him, her eyes comically wide. "Oh my gods Percy, how did that happen?"

Oh he definitely knows how that happened, he can turn around right now and find the bush in which the Stoll brothers are hiding just by the sound of them snickering. He is going to kill them.

Still he shrugs. "I don't know, weird bucket placement." He replies casually. "Why don't you go ahead and wait for me in the pavillion? I'll take that bucket down."

"Weird things always seem to be happening around here, huh?" She raises her eyebrows, but happily obliged as she starts walking away.

Percy doesn't take the bucket down, he makes the Stoll brothers do it once he takes them out of their hiding. And the snickering doesn't last them much because as he's leaving, he glares at them. "You two better not try this bullshit with her again."

Listen, Connor and Travis are all about going against direct orders from everyone. But they don't try anything else after that, because Percy is scary when it comes to y/n and they are not about to end in the same position as that Ares son who had tried to flirt with her.

It had been after sword training, some Darren or Dane or something— Percy really did not care about his name, mostly because he was more occupied with glaring at him as he leaned a little bit too close to y/n.

He stood a few feet away from them, knowing that he couldn't intervene without y/n noticing but still fully preparing to do it just in case she got too uncomfortable. He knew her, she wouldn't say anything in fear of being rude. But Percy didn’t have that problem, he would gladly be rude if that meant keeping her safe.

So for now, he only stood with his back against a wall, pretending to sharpen riptide.

"You know, you should train with me sometime. I could teach you a few moves." He told her, smiling smuggly. Percy wished he could erase that smile right away.

And when she started hesitating, the son of Poseidon got ready to intervene. "um- I-" she stammered.

But Percy didn’t really have to do much, because as he was pushing himself off the wall, the Ares guy seemed to notice him, sharpening riptide and sending incredibly hard stares at his way.

Darren-Dane-whatever visibly gulped and took a step back. Percy smirked. Smart move.

As the boy excused himself and basically ran away, y/n blinked at him surprised before she turned to Percy. "Okay, that was weird."

Percy smiled innocently. "Right? so weird."

The next morning due to completely unrelated events, Darren-Dane-whatever ended up waking up in the lake, completely soaked without a single clue how he got there. Percy denied any relation to this weird incident.

Worst part about it all is that Percy swears people don't learn their lesson. While y/n is just walking around in her perfect sunny world, Percy is just following her, trying to maintain her world exactly as it is, free of assholes.

But gods dammit, those assholes don't make it easy for him.

When they're playing capture the flag, they end up on opposite teams and even though Percy is focused on getting that flag, he's also worried for her. He hasn't seen her around, but he knows she should be somewhere close because he has already seen some of her siblings running around.

It's only when he's close to the opposite team's flag that he finds her: she's supposed to be guarding the flag but she's crouched down near the lake, watching a butterfly that's perched on a flower, completely oblivious to the mayhem happening around her.

Percy stops abruptly, his heart racing at the sight. She looks completely at peace, lost in her own little world, the late afternoon sun tracing shadows on her face, it's like she belongs in a painting. So beautiful.

He's mesmerized for a second, flag completely forgotten. Then—

A blur of blue runs past him, pulling him out of trance. His mind barely registers one of his own teammates from cabin nine before the boy is already charging towards y/n at full speed, catching her completely off guard.

She rolls on the mud, almost falling into the lake and Percy is immediately running to her.

"Dude what are you doing? go take the flag!" His teammate yells at him, pinning y/n to the ground. Fuck the flag, Percy couldn't care less about it.

With almost too much strenght, he's pushing the boy out of her, sending him soaring through the air, an indignant yell before he lands with a splash right into the lake.

"Dude what the fuck? i'm on your team!" The Hephaestus boy yells as he clumsily stands on the lake, dripping wet and looking very displeased.

Without looking, Percy flicks his hand and a second later, a wave crashes into the boy's face. He doesn’t care about his protests, he's busy helping y/n up on her feet.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his hands cupping her face to make sure there's absolutely not one scratch on it.

She lets out a small cough, wipping mud from her face. "Yes? it's capture the flag, Perce. This is part of it."

He knows she's right, that doesn’t stop him from scoffing. "Yeah, well, what he did was unnecesary." They both look at the boy once again trying to stand up only to be met with another wave crashing against him.

This time, she realizes this is Percy's doing and gasps. "Percy!"

"What?" he shrugs innocently, wiping some dirt from her nose without any care for the other camper. "He looked like he needed some refreshing."

He ends up being dragged away by her, not that he puts any kind of restraint anyways.

Yes, maybe everyone at camp knows about him being just a little overprotective of her, but so what? he loves her— can't help it if he wants her to be happy and safe. The only one that doesn’t realize this is y/n herself, she's completely oblivious of his actions.

And she remains oblivious through it all; when she's thirsty after training and he's waiting for her with a water bottle, when she's hungry and he has her favorite snack ready, when campers are talking badly about her archery skills and with only one Percy-designated glare they immediately shut up before she can hear them, when he deliberately walks by the side closer to the magical borders just in case something dangerous happens.

It's always there, he's always there. And all it takes is overhearing a conversation for her to realize it.

She's outside of the Aphrodite cabin, waiting for Piper to go have dinner at the pavillion when she overhears some of the girls walking by.

"I mean, come on, Percy is literally the hottest guy at camp, don't you think?" one of them says, and she feels this bubbling jealousy in her chest— something she has never experienced before.

"Agree, but it's a little annoying that y/n is always around him." the other one adds. "I mean she's sweet but he probably finds her annoying how much she clings to him."

Her heart drops, is that what they think? is that what Percy thinks? that she's just this annoying girl clinging to Percy for everything?

Before she can overthink it, the first girl talks again. "I don't think he finds her annoying, he's like totally in love with her, obsessed even."

A third girl sighs dreamily. "Right? he's always so careful and protective with her, Dean from cabin five told me Percy was glaring at him for flirting with her, and the next day he casually woke up on the lake. Listen, he would totally let someone burn if she said she wanted to roast marshmallows."

A chorus of giggles follows, their voices dissipating as they walk away without even noticing y/n was there all along, trying to process their words.

Suddenly everything clicks in her mind. Every time that Percy seemed to just be there. Always at the right moment. Always with a solution to every single problem.

She's not dumb, she has known Percy was protective. But she always thought it was him just trying to be a good friend, surely he was the same with Grover or Annabeth? but now she was sure it was never the same.

Because neither of them has Percy following them around, treating them like they're the most precious thing in the word. That's only reserved for her, and it has taken her this long to understand it, realization crashing over her like one of those waves Percy used to almost waterboard the boy that almost hurt her during capture the flag.

Piper finally steps out of her cabin, apologizing with y/n for taking too long. But she's not even listening, she's already made up her mind.

Without even stopping to take some time to think it through, she turns around and ignores Piper's questions as she sprints towards his cabin.

She arrives just when he's stepping out of the front door, and she's running so fast that she can't stop herself in time before she crashes into him. Thankfully, Percy's senses are better than hers so he catches her by the waist before they both end up on the floor.

"Woah there." he says, and even through his confusion he still finds it in him to be concerned. "Did something happen, sunshine?"

He barely has any time to finish his question before she's grabbing his face and pulling him down to kiss him. He makes a startled noise, completely caught off guard because honestly that was the last thing he was expecting to happen. A couple of long seconds pass with him completely frozen but then— oh, then he's kissing her back, his hands finding her waist like they've always belonged there.

He can taste the strawberry chapstick he has always seen her put on, but the kiss also tastes like stolen glances and endless afternoons spent together, like a love that's always been there, just waiting to get noticed.

When she finally pulls back, too soon on Percy's opinion, he blinks at her. "Not that i'm complaining, but what was that for?"

Her heart is stammering against her chest as she offers him a small smile. "Some girl said you were in love with me?"

"Took you long enough to realize." he replies simply before pulling her close again, his lips finding hers as if this was something he had been born to do.

And she can feel it, in the kiss, in the way he holds her— Percy Jackson loves her. And the best part? She loves him too.

[twisted-broth]

Their Favorite Place to Kiss You

Characters: Cater, Trey, Leona, Rook, Vil, Idia, Lilia, Malleus, Rollo, Chenya

Genre: fluff, suggestive (Minors DNI)

Happy Valentines Day!

Cater loves a quick peck on the cheek! It always makes for the best pic when he can catch off guard and capture your expression of delighted surprise. Every time he can manage to draw a joyful giggle from your lips, he swears he can die a happy man. And it's really your own fault for having such a photogenic reaction

Trey likes to kiss you on the jaw, just below your ear. He argues that it's the best position for him to experience every aspect of your reaction. He can feel the heat on his lips from your blush, see your eyes widen, and hear your soft gasp all at once. His favorite thing to do is to hug you from behind and lean down to kiss your jaw then. This way gives him the added joy of feeling all of you against him

Leona will kiss you on the neck so much you would think he's trying to eat you. Actually with the amount of hickeys he leaves behind, maybe you're not wrong. The feeling of your pulse beneath his lips gives him a high unlike any other. But you should really stop moving so much. Those fangs aren't just for looking pretty, you know

Rook, ever the gentleman, prefers to kiss you on the back of the hand. It's how he says hello, goodbye, and everything in between. When he's particularly excited to see you (which is most of the time), his kisses will make their way up your arm until he's peppering them all over your face and anywhere else he can reach.

Vil doesn't want to mess up his makeup, so when he needs to be quick he'll go in for a nose kiss. His days are fast paced, but he'll always spare a second to give you a nose kiss in passing. He adores the way your face scrunches up when you laugh and squeeze his hand.

Idia will kiss you any spot where he doesn't have to meet your eyes, especially your shoulder blade. His happy place is when you're in his lap, playing video games with your back against his chest. The only thing that distracts him from gaming is nuzzling into your back and pressing his lips against your shoulder.

Lilia is always trying to make you squirm and the easiest way is by kissing your inner thighs. His lips and teeth graze your most sensitive skin until you're trembling beneath him. Even more than your whines of frustration, he revels in your cries when he sinks his teeth in. But if you wanted to grab his head and put his mouth to use somewhere else, he wouldn't mind that either

Malleus would accept nothing less than to kiss your lips. He is a prince after all, so of course he would deserve to lay claim in a spot no one else would even dare touch. Even though his lips are cold, his breath is always burning hot as it fans across your face. Even in the most passionate moments, his kisses are always gentle. Of course he'll still kiss you enough to make your lips chapped and sore by the time you're done

Rollo is always quiet in his affection, which is why he likes to kiss your wrist. Kissing you anywhere more intimate makes him too nervous to really enjoy the moment, but pressing his lips to your pulse point while you cradle his face brings him back to earth.

Chenya lives for a surprise forehead kiss. His face will pop up out of nowhere, inches from your own. Before you can even get a word in, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead and disappears again, leaving you blinking in confusion.

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[dilfdicks]

cw: infidelity

gojo just can't bring himself to care that you're dating his best friend. he's had all the late night guy-talk sessions with suguru and he knows that the man doesn't treat you good enough in bed. suguru is always confiding in satoru about how you seem to fake your orgasms, and how long it takes him on the rare occasion he is able to make you cum. it's not like his friend is bad at sex, he just hasn't taken the time to learn your body.

you're so pretty, satoru knows you'd look so good wrapped around his cock. he can't believe your godly presence is wasted on a man that doesnt care to earn the ins-and-outs of your body.

so when you and suguru fight one day, satoru is the first to step in and offer you his comforts. a hand on your shoulder that aches to trickle down and squeeze at your tits. god you're so pretty when you're all teary eyed and vulnerable.

"he can't even make me finish," is a sentence that leaves your lips before you can stop it and god is satoru thankful for your slip up because otherwise he'd have no opportunity to move in.

you're taken aback when he kisses you, gentle and loving and not at all mean and hungry like he wants to. you pull back, shaking your head and mumbling about how this is wrong but your thighs are squeezing together and you chase his lips when gojo pulls back entirely.

you realise with a tearing guilt in your chest that you want this, to taste what the strongest is willing to give you. and whatever bad feelings pool in your heart are numbed for the time being when satoru hauls you onto your back and parts your knees with his hands.

he's a horrible friend, and you're a horrible partner, but he makes you cum twice on his tongue before even daring to push his dick into you. your orgasms are full bodied and eye-opening and a testament to your guilt because when satoru reaches over for a condom you stop him. you never took suguru raw, always made him wear a condom and pull out just to be safe: but in that moment you think you'd die if you weren't pumped full of his best friends cum.

and you might die, because the stretch of gojos girth is a shock to your system and you think the afterlife might not be so bad if it tastes like him. you take him fully after a few minutes to adjust and the rest is history: you're infatuated with the first stroke and in love with the second.

satoru fills you up with his cum after only a few minutes, though you don't mind his quick climax because you're at heel and cumming on his cock in the same minute. and he pulls out, lets his cum leak out of you onto the sheets beneath you before ramming his length into you again. and again. and again.

and all he can think about as he fucks you for the second (but not last) time of the night is how much better he is for you than suguru. and, if you're awful like he hopes you are and keep him around, how the next time you let suguru fuck you it's 'satoru' thats going to fall from your lips.

[illbegottenfaith]

the one where you make theo cry (an ain’t that love inspired drabble)

Theodore Nott was hardly the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had spent years perfecting his signature air of indifference, the one that captivated most others, what compelled them to make an impression on him. Of course, all that fell away when it came to you.

It started subtly. A sigh escaping your lips after a long day would leave him restless, make his bones a little weary. When you rubbed your temples in frustration, he found himself getting agitated with you - whatever was vexing you so undoubtedly deserved his irritation too. And when you laughed - loud, unabashed - it felt like a breath of fresh air.

Not that he'd admit it to anyone. No, he'd promised himself a long time ago, he wouldn't tell a soul - not his friends, not his family, and certainly not you. Little did he know he had yet to see a moment of yours that would truly unravel him at the seams.

It happened on an ordinary Tuesday whilst tracking down Mattheo. He had checked their dorm, the Great Hall, the Quidditch pitch, everywhere - which left solely your dorm. Theo vaguely remembered him mentioning something about fixing one of the pipes in the bathroom, which was really just a ploy to impress one of your roommates more than anything.

But as he passed through the Slytherin common room on his way there, your droopy, teary eyes peering up at him for a split second, Theo swore he felt something inside of him crack open. You weren’t crying, not quite, but you were close. And Merlin, he hated it. Hated how his throat constricted, how his chest tightened, how his own stomach twisted with the bitterness of your misery.

He looked almost comically stricken briefly before straightening his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice low.

"It’s nothing." You shook your head, brushing it off with a tight, superficial smile as you moved up to make room for him. "Mattheo’s almost done, he’ll be down in a second."

Still taken aback, Theo accepted the seat beside you 

"It doesn't look like nothing," he prompted. You laughed weakly, dabbing at your eyes.

"Don't worry. It is, really. I'm just feeling a little…hormonal today." Your gaze fell back to the book and almost immediately, your emotions betrayed you once again.

You sniffled as your face screwed up in your effort to choke back your sobs. Theo felt a lump in his throat and an unfamiliar stinging sensation at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s just - “ you forced out, “he’s so small. Look at him, Theo. He’s tiny. He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know about taxes. He doesn’t even know about taxes.”

Theo finally caught sight of the page of your book. It had a picture of a baby niffler, no bigger than the size of your thumb - tiny, soft, with big, round, trusting (if only slightly mischievous) eyes.

As you dissolved into more stifled sobs, Theo blinked, caught completely off guard. Then, to everyone’s horror - including his own - his eyes misted over too.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," Blaise muttered from across the room, watching the scene unfold. "Are you actually crying?"

“It’s fucking tiny.”

Theo scowled at him, aggressively wiping his face. He wasn’t sure what was worse—the sound of your quiet, shuddering breaths, or the way your shoulders trembled under his hands as he pulled you close.

You hiccupped between sobs. "I just love it so much."

Theo swallowed thickly, nodding. "Yeah. Me too." He glanced at the book in your lap again. He hugged you closer, deciding you were right - how dare a Niffler be that tiny, baby or otherwise?

Blaise sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. I’ve seen enough."

Theo’s tears dried as quickly as they came, but the two of you stayed pressed together for a long time after Blaise left, even after your breathing had slowed into something more measured once again. You pressed your cool check against his shoulder, half-dozing.

Unthinkingly, Theo pried your clenched fist open. Surprisingly, you let him thread his fingers through your own. He glanced down at you, at the soft locks of hair curling around your tearstained face. He resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked up at him questioning. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Just - just let me, alright?”

A playful smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous, Teddy.” Your smile turned teasing. “Wait till Mattheo hears you cried over a baby niffler.”

Theo took on a wounded look. “So did you.”

As the two of you curled up again, Theo decided that this emotional telepathy wasn’t the worst thing in the world. When you sighed, he sighed. When you laughed, he laughed. When you hurt, he hurt. When you cried over a baby niffler… apparently, he did, too.

He hardly dared to think it, but he did it all the same.

Wasn’t that love?

[darkbluekies]

Small Otto drabbles: Watch duty, "Otto, protect" & Hide and Seek

Warnings: yandere mafia man, darling trying to escape and being captured

Watch duty:

Silas watches how you pull out your towel on the grass, eyes narrowed with lust and darker than normal.

"I don't know how I feel about you being out here alone", he mutters. "Especially in practically nothing."

"I haven't felt the sun in months", you pout.

"That's a lie, but fine, I'll buy it, if it makes you feel better."

He turns and whistles at Otto to come over. He does. Silas eyes flicker between you and the Doberman.

"Otto, watch", he orders, nodding at you. "Make sure no filthy creeps come close. The house is full of them, so be on guard."

Otto barks.

"Good boy."

"Who?" you ask. "You or him?"

Silas chckles and shakes his head as he walks over to you, bending down to give you one last kiss before he leaves. You lay down, facing upwards. Otto stands alert by your head, body turned towards the house. You hold out a hand and gently pat him on the back.

"Quite evil of him to make you work in this heat", you mumble and stand to go get him some water.

Otto growls as one of Silas men comes over. You hush and pet his head, whispering how it's fine. The man returns with a bottle of water. It hasn't been opened. You're not allowed to take anything else, in risk of someone poisoning you. You cup your hand and pour water into it, letting him lick from your hand.

"That's a good boy."

"Otto, protect"

You're walking hand in hand toward the dog playground. You can see SIC a mile away, shirtless and with a dog toy in his hands.

"Let's see how focused he can be while we're there", Silas says.

"Who?" you ask. "SIC or Otto?"

Silas scoffs out a laugh. They walk closer to the dog park and Otto notices the two of you.

"Nuh uh, keep your eyes on me", SIC smirks, waving the chew toy. "Don't get distracted."

Sweat runs down his chest. Silas nudges you, eyes dark.

"Where are your eyes wandering, little thing?" he asks, voice tight. "Maybe you should stay focused before I decide to beat my best friend to a bloody pulp."

Suddenly, Otto stops. His ears perk, head turn. Silas and SIC follow.

"What?" you ask.

"Be quiet, darling, Otto's noticed something", Silas whispers.

SIC looks at him. Silas lets go of your hand and signals for Otto to move closer.

"I want you to stay here with Otto", he tells you. "We'll go see what's going on. Otto, protect."

He barks once, as if to show he understands. Silas and SIC walks away, leaving him in work mode.

"You're scaring me, Otto", you mumble. "If you got both Silas's and SIC's attention like that ..."

Otto changed position, standing between your legs, as if daring someone to come close. Only a fool would come up to you now.

Hide and seek:

He only looks away for a second and you are gone, disappearing between the trees. Silas groans loudly and marches back to the car.

"What?" one of his men asks. "What's wrong, boss?"

"I didn't know I married a fucking marathon runner", Silas mutters and opens the trunk where Otto is deliberately chewing on a bone. "Out, boy."

Otto obeys, jumping out on the ground, waiting for instructions.

"Find Y/N."

Otto is off, shooting away like a bullet. Silas walks calmly behind him. It doesn't take many minutes until he's circled around you like a shephard's dog.

"Traitor", you hiss at him. "You're supposed to me on my side!"

"Your side?" Silas scoffs and walks over, grabbing your hand tightly. "He's my dog. Listens to me. He might like you, but in the end, he always returns to me, where his rightous place is. Sounds familiar?"

"You're so annoying, let my hand go."

"Not a chance."

"It's not fair!"

"You figured that out just now?" He gives Otto a nod. "Good boy. Always going to return my naive spouse to me, aren't you? Even when they don't know what's best for themselves."

You glare at Otto, but he just wags his tail and sticks out his tongue, panting, happier than ever to see his favorite humans in front of him. He doesn't know, bless him. You sigh.

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) not wearing any underwear ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 라이즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ riize's reaction to you not wearing panties on a date ヾ

OT7!라이즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎ public stuff , no actual penetration , under the table stuff wc ・ ‎0.9k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. riize finding out your not wearing any panties on a date 🙈

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3 !!!

﹙ 𐙚 : shotaro ﹚ .ᐟ

the smile on his face is nothing compared to the thoughts running through his mind , looking down at his phone , a text from you telling him to check his pocket , stuffing his hand in pocket only to realize your lacy panties in his coat pocket. “really baby?” you nodded , he bit his lip. “so cute baby , when did you take them off?” he asked. “before we left the house.” he was hard as a rock now. “should we leave now?” he asked , it wasn't really a question , more like a request. stepping out of the both , he walked behind you , so if you made the wrong move you wouldn't flash the restaurant. “just because im smiling doesn't mean I'm happy baby girl.” he whispered in your ear.

“i'm gonna ruin your pretty pussy when we get home.”

﹙ 𐙚 : eunseok ﹚ .ᐟ

notices it as you step out the car , you skirt so fucking tiny he can see your ass. “fucking hell.” he gets out the car behind you , pulling your skirt down , kissing your temple an old couple passing by you , smiling at how cute you two were. “fucking slut why aren't you wearing underwear.” he whispered in your ear. “you're trying to piss me off right now and im trying to do something nice for you.” he said , you smirked , making him scoff. “keep laughing now.” he said.

“i wanna see you laugh when im stuffing my cock inside of you later and you're begging to let you cum.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sungchan ﹚ .ᐟ

sungchan is a little slow with it; he doesn't even notice that before your date, when you gave him a supposed innocent hug, that you stuffed your panties inside his back pocket. it's just a matter of waiting , and waiting , until he reaches into back pocket to grab his wallet at the end of the date , he feels the fabric in his hand , he pulls it out only to stuff it back in looking at you with wide eyes. “baby?” he leans in. “are you not wearing…” he looks under the table , where your legs are spread open , your bare cunt on display for him. “oh fuck.” he's quickly paying that bill , not even caring about to go boxes or dessert , he's got something sweeter eat right between your legs.

“fuck get in the back seat , i’m not not waiting to wait to take your sweet cunt.”

﹙ 𐙚 : wonbin ﹚ .ᐟ

thinks you're joking when you lean over the table , whispering to him you don't have any panties on; certainly you wouldn't actually dare to not wear panties out in public — his thoughts proven wrong when he looks under the table and your legs are spread open for him to see , your cute pussy already dripping for him , so you know what he does … pays for the bill , grabbing your hand. “come on.” you two don't even make it to the car , before he's pulling you into an alleyway. “bin , let's wait until we get home , this is too open.” he's not listening , thinking with his cock only.

“no baby , you weren't thinking about the public when you were showing me your pussy.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seunghan﹚ .ᐟ

he was just being a good boyfriend; you dropped your fork , he was just going under the table to fetch it for you; only to see your legs spread open — the only thing you hear is his head hitting the table , you let out a giggle , his head resurfacing , smiling as he calmly places the fork on the table. “princess , you being naughty hm? not wearing any panties?” as much as he wants to jump across the table and ravish you , he's so calm; luckily the dinner is finished and he can pay the bills and you two can leave. “what about dessert hannie?”

“we can get it to go baby , i need to feel you around me now.”

﹙ 𐙚 : sohee ﹚ .ᐟ

both of you are on the same freak scale; you knew he'd try and tease you in public , so you wanted to get back at him , you could feel his hand creeping up your skirt , but you had a surprise waiting for him , so you didn't stop him , feeling his hand on your mound , his eyebrows furrowing. “are you?” he ran his finger up your slit. “you're not wearing any panties.” he gasped. “you wouldn't know if your hand wasn't up my skirt you little perv.” he pinched your clit with made you bite down on your fist to conceal a moan. “i bet you you're hard right now.” and you would be correct his cock was begging to be freed. “fuck let's go.” you decided to tease him a little more. “but i want dessert.” you pout.

“fine get your desert , i'm just gonna go under the table and eat mines , i bet she's real sweet for me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : anton﹚ .ᐟ

didn't understand why you would text him; you were right across from him , he answers it anyway , immediately wishing he didn't. “you-you're joking right?” he said looking up at you, his face red. “you're just gonna have to look.” you shrugged , sitting his phone down , lifting up the table cloth , looking under. “son of a bitch.” he whispered to himself. “why don't you have panties on?” his cock hard in his slacks. “baby fuck , i'm so hard right now, we got to leave right now.” you've your boyfriend so eager to leave somewhere so fast. “what about dessert?”

“i will literally order you something as soon as im done fucking you i don't care , we need to leave.”

©LUVYENI translations to other sites prohibited, reblogs are appreciated but not forced !

[alohajix]

𝐍𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Description: friends don’t kiss like that… and they definitely don’t spend the night tangled up in each other, learning what it sounds like when years of tension finally snap. But here you are. In his bed. Breathless. Wrecked. His hands shaking on your skin like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And you both know—there’s no going back now.

Warnings: smut, pining, begging, creampie mention, friends to lovers, feelings finally surfacing.

Word count: 6,090.

author note: hopefully you’ll love this one; I had a writer’s block trying to finish this one up 🥺

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***

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