It’s okay to stutter, to look at the descriptions. It’s alright if you have to look up the meaning of this tarot card or that herb. It’s normal to trip over the words of your first long incantation or just your own feet while dancing.
I just have this bad feeling that so many baby witches are embarrassed about the way their first spells and potions go.
So many seem to lose the courage to do their Craft because they can’t get the spells to sound beautiful or because they think they are to clumsy to do this ritual.
Let me tell you something.
Everything comes with time.
The practice, the knowledge, the intuition, the grace.
Oh dear ones especially the Grace! It’s all patience.
Like learning a new recipe, at first it’s just chaos: you and a sizable portion of the kitchen are covered in flour. Nothing seems to work the first time you try it. You’re trying to hold the recipe steady with your elbow so you can read how many eggs you need again and how mutch salt goes WHere!? It’s awful and the results are mediocre at best.
But each time you try again, dare again, you get better. Until one day the recipe is just a distant reminder and everything you do is muscle memory.
We know what this kind of grace looks like from watching our grandmothers cook or knit. From watching our sisters braid hair and our mothers dance.
It’s beautiful and it’s born entirely from patience and practice.
So don’t worry about your failures. Really I mean it, please don’t. As long as you learn from them they were worth making. So go out there and dare to fail, to fall, to have flaws.
And take this to heart: “If you stumble make it part of your dance.”
Y/n never went back home. Instead, she spends winter break in the confines of Harry’s apartment—wrapped up in between his bedsheets to keep warm.
The usually cold and brutal winter that always made their skin numb is now warm to them—skin always accompanied by one another’s and feeling more than ever before. And with the mix of never ending company and the feel of the music that always seems to be playing in his apartment, they couldn’t have asked for a better way to start off their relationship.
They never do anything extravagant—never do anything that could take time away from one another. It’s in their simplicity do they find a sense of comfort throughout the festive season. They feel happiest in their own little world—away from everything and everyone, just focusing on them being together without any distractions.
With being so consumed by one another, they’ve learned more about each other than ever before—spending most days watching their favorite movies and baking new recipes they found in Harry’s favorite Christmas cookbook and spending the nights cuddled up against one another as Y/n somehow finds new things to talk about.
Each day, they fall in love with each other all over again. It’s as if their hearts unravel and trap each other in—giving them no means of escape, but neither of them want to.
Whenever she spends the night at his apartment, Harry has to spend nearly an hour each morning just to fight her from getting out of bed. It’s become a routine, Harry having to pull her from the edge of the bed so that he can cradle her back in his arms while she giggles and mumbles some excuses he doesn’t have the energy to listen to.
He just really, really, really loves the feel of her first thing in the morning, especially when the brutal feel of the blistering winds finds its way to his apartment. She’s much warmer than usual and her eyes are brighter and always glistened against the sun. Her lips, too—they are always so much fuller somehow that even in his mild awareness, he finds himself kissing them before he finally lets her slip away from the comfort of the sheets.
But this morning—this morning is different.
After a Christmas night filled with passion and inexperienced intimacy, Harry really doesn’t want to let her go. He’d much rather feel her uncovered body up against his all morning—soaking each other up and holding one another until the sun sets into the night.
It just sounds so right, to keep each other near and close after giving each other their last bit of innocence. Everything they had to offer one another was taken and used to make them whole, so that’s how they should be—together and whole for as long as they possibly can.
But when Harry feels Y/n begin to stir her way out of his arms, he knows she has very different plans.
And he’s just not having it.
He whimpers in his slumbered state, pulling her back against his chest with eyes half-lidded and breathing still steady. He’s holding onto her like never before, refusing to feel her side of the bed empty. He needs her, her, her, anywhere and everywhere as long as it’s with him. And despite having every bit of her last night, he hasn’t gotten enough and he needs her more.
She giggles softly against his neck, gingerly kissing the exposed skin as her fingers run along his jaw. She can already feel him falling back asleep from her touch, a content sigh leaving his lips at their closeness.
“Love, I gotta get up. Y’know me, can’t stay in bed once I’m awake.”
He groans as he shakes his head, somehow filling up the smallest of empty spaces between them and tucking his head into her shoulder. His nose is right up against her skin and he can smell her usual scent—vanilla and lavender from her usual body wash but much more filthy than usual.
She giggles again when she feels his bottom lip poke at her shoulder, her fingers reaching to his hair as she combs through it.
“Oh, none of that, H.” She tisks, thumbing the very exaggerated pout on his lips. “I’ll be right downstairs, won’t be going anywhere far.”
He rolls his body off of her, his back hitting against the mattress with a whine. His eyes remain closed but there’s a very noticeable furrow between his brows, and Y/n begins to wonder what he’s so worried about.
She frowns down at him, observing the rise of his goosebumps from the morning cold on his bare chest. It looks empty and lifeless without her head upon it, and though his body is no stranger to her, there’s something about it that seems much more inviting and she yearns to keep it closer than ever.
And she gets it—she gets his exaggerated whining and the worry in his eyes. After everything that happened to them the night before, he can’t leave her—he can't—and that’s exactly what she’s doing to him, even if it’s only a floor away.
Almost as if to reassure him, she goes with the feel of her heart and decides to spend the next couple hours of the freezing morning right beside him.
Harry loves watching Y/n in her most natural hours.
Her chest and elbows are leaning against the surface of the kitchen counter, one hand holding a mug of coffee while the other flips the pages of her favorite poetry book. Her upper body is clad with Harry’s favorite sweatshirt—ending right at the end of her underwear—leaving her legs exposed and on full display for all of Harry to see.
Despite her hair fully knotted and having an overall disheveled look to her, Harry decides that she looks best this way—in a way nobody other than him has gotten the chance to see—as if she was made for his eyes only.
And he has never seen such a beautiful sight in his life as she looks at him with the softest and most delicate of eyes, a small smile resting on her lips at his presence. Every bit of her looks inviting—like a place of comfort Harry could forever shield himself in.
She’s become so much more than his girlfriend—so much more than someone to call his own—she’s become his muse and his home, his haven and everything in between.
“You always look at me with longing even when I’m right here with you.”
He blinks at her, watching as her cheeks flush with pink under the watch of his amused eyes, loving how easily tranced he becomes in her.
She’s never been confident in herself. Ever since she was a little girl, she used her friendliness to somehow distract people from what she truly felt on the inside. She never truly touched base with her insecurities and never wanted to, so she always found ways to push the most damaging thoughts in the back of her head.
But Harry changed everything. He made her feel beautiful and loved in every way possible, she almost doesn’t understand how he could have so much of that love in him—especially for her. From the way he holds her all throughout the night to the small kisses and gestures whenever he has the chance, she feels it everywhere and she almost feels it in herself.
His sheepish smile confirms her statement, knowing fully that there will never be a moment he doesn’t want her, no matter where she is.
He walks slowly over to her, the smile never fading from his lips and the blush creeping back to Y/n’s cheeks as she turns her body to stretch her arms out at him. It’s the smallest moments like this that make them grateful for the kind of love they share—together.
He presses his lips to hers tenderly when he feels her fingers run across his stomach, his own fingers pushing the material of his sweatshirt up towards her breasts so that he can brush against the swell of them.
“Beautiful.” He whispers, quickly returning back to her lips as they softly release a whimper from the detachment.
She tastes so good—a mix of bitter and sweet from her coffee, leaving his mouth wanting more and more with each passing second. And what was supposed to be innocent turned to lust before they knew it—their movements much more haste and impatient.
In the midst of their desperation, Harry pushes her hips further against the edge of the counter, fingers digging into her skin as his mouth parts open with hers. They both moan into one another, completely consumed by the feeling of their relentless hands and feverish kisses.
Her hands are against his stomach, rubbing along his torso when he hitches her legs around his waist, leaving Harry in control of whatever it is that’s unfolding. Her squeal turns into a moan when his hips collide with hers, the friction making her head spin and body yearn for more.
He feels her hands creep toward the waistband of his sweatpants while his hands bundle up the sweatshirt over her breasts so that they’re fully exposed to him—revealing the most delicate parts of her.
And right as his lips attach to the valley of them, the ringing of the telephone breaks them from their moment.
“H—Harry, the phone.” Y/n gasps.
But he shows no sign of stopping when his teeth sink into an already bruised hickie from the night before, leaving her with shaking fingers between his hair and withering from the soreness. And he really can’t stop, because she feels like no other and she’s so addicting in every way possible. He wants her all to himself.
The answering machine almost dissolves into pure background noise for the both of them, too caught up in the moment.
“Hi, Harry, it’s your mum.”
Only five words and Harry feels the air being knocked right out of his lungs—seizing all his movements and thoughts as Y/n is left completely confused and panting upon the kitchen counter.
"I know it’s been a while and a lot has ended quite messy, but your father does miss you and well—we all miss you, Harry. We would really love for you to come over for dinner tonight as a late Christmas celebration. You don’t have to, but we’ll have an extra seat for you. And—uh—I love you so much. I wish you the best. Please call me soon.”
It’s as if the world around him is spinning faster than ever before—his brain overwhelmed with scrambled thoughts and ears ringing from the anxiety.
There would have been nothing to prepare him for this moment. He never thought he’d ever see his father again—much less be invited back over to his house after everything that’s happened. It’s been so long, he genuinely thought it was over—he thought all of the pain and fear was over, but his biggest nightmare is coming to life and he feels sick to his stomach.
His father is why he’s like this—mute and anxious in social situations. If his dad hadn’t repeatedly torn him down for never being good enough—hadn’t made him believe nobody would ever talk to a little shy boy—he would have probably gained the confidence to speak the more he matured.
But because his father shunned him for being shy and never making any friends, Harry was terrified of what people would think of him if he ever did make friends. Because if his own father didn’t love him, how could anybody else?
Y/n notices the tears in his eyes and his shallow breathing, which she’s quick to mend when her hands reach up to his cheeks. They’re hot and flushed, but all for the wrong reasons.
She frowns, lips peppering small kisses along his face in an attempt to bring him back to her. She doesn’t know much—or really anything—about Harry’s family life; all she knows is that she has never seen a picture of them in his house or any validation that he ever truly had one.
But as she catches the glimpse of fear in his eyes and the small quivering of his lips, he knows very well that there must have been something that went wrong. And even if she doesn’t know what it is that he went through, she knows that if he decides to do this or not, she’ll be right there with him.
“You’re scared.” She whispers, thumbs rubbing against his cheeks softly. “What is it you’re afraid of, baby? Talk to me, please.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, his lips pursing together as loose tears fall from his eyes.
He’s never talked about his family problems and because all of this has happened so quickly, his words get trapped in his throat. To genuinely talk about his family and come to terms with his emotions seems all too much for him, especially when it’s hard for him to speak in the first place.
Y/n clicks her tongue while shaking her head softly, wrapping her around his neck as he nests his cheek into her shoulder. His muscles instantly relax in her arms and has a sense of clarity in her comfort, but there’s still an undeniable thumping in his chest that just can’t seem to go away.
“You don’t have to talk about this, love, but maybe this will be good for you. You know, to test the waters with your family. Maybe this could help you in the long run.”
And he wants to believe her—he really, really fucking wants to believe her—but he knows he can’t. Anywhere in his father’s path is detrimental to Harry’s social anxiety and he knows it’ll only make this worse for him in the long run.
“Y/n.” Harry groans, detaching her arms from his neck so that he can stand properly. His teeth are grit and eyes are distant—looking anywhere but her own and he swallows thickly around his words. “There’s a reason I don’t talk to anybody.”
His words are cracked and desperate—like a plea for Y/n to understand that this is different, that there will never be a day he’ll be able to face his problems. There have been too many times he’s found his way back and he always walks away with a damaged heart.
Y/n watches the way his fingers fiddle around one another and how he can’t stand still, it’s like watching the battle in Harry’s head and watching him fall apart from it.
And no matter how much she loves him now—the way he is now, even without much speaking—she doesn’t want to watch him suffer for the rest of his life. He’s the most undeserving man, he deserves the world and she knows he does.
His heart is nothing but pure and damaged—in need of mending and love. It’s the best part of him, really. It’s what brought them together and she feels the need to protect it at all costs.
He doesn’t feel it, though. He doesn’t feel what his heart has to offer and doesn’t see how it makes him so strong. He only sees himself as a ruin—a lost cause with nothing left to fight for, and he doesn’t deserve it. After what he’s been through, she needs him to understand that he is so much more than he thinks he is.
Because he is—he really is—no matter what he believes.
She holds his head in her hands to distract him from his consuming thoughts. His eyes shift in her gaze as he lets out a small breath.
“I just think it’ll be best to try again. I know—I see how hard it is for you to live the way that you do and I want to be here for you through everything. Things could be different this time—things could actually end well and you might be able to push through this. Because I know you, Harry, more than anybody else right now and I know you can push through this.”
She presses her forehead against his with a sigh leaving her lips, her thumbs running along his knuckles.
“And if there is any point you feel uncomfortable or upset, we can walk right out and leave. Just know that I will be there for you no matter what, okay? Just asking for you to try.”
It’s because she sounds so sure of herself that Harry actually agrees to go to the dinner. He knows that if it were a matter of him going alone, he would never even consider it. But knowing she is going to be right by his side—holding his hand through it all—maybe he doesn’t have to be so scared.
Maybe, it’ll actually be different this time.
It’s not different.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s really not any different than he expected it to be.
Upon their arrival, Harry’s mum and sister nearly fainted from seeing him at the front door. They thought their invitation would go dismissed, like the way Harry’s ignored them for the past three years. But looking at him for the first time in what felt like forever, they were nothing short of thrilled.
And to make it even better, he brought a girl. Harry was holding her hand tightly, keeping her tucked right into his side so that he could feel her with every step he took.
Anne and Gemma swore they had never seen something so heartwarming in their life—to the point where tears sprung from their eyes and arms flinging around their bodies. Y/n didn’t even have to introduce herself properly for them to love and approve of her, anybody who gets Harry to open up—in any way possible—is enough for them.
He was calm when it was just the four of them, Harry watching Y/n hit it off with his family so effortlessly. He noticed the fondness in all their eyes and this was how he wanted it to be forever.
But once they sat down for dinner, Harry knew something was about to happen.
His father didn’t acknowledge neither him nor Y/n in the slightest. Instead, he acted as if they weren’t there and only carried conversations with the rest of his family. And Harry wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way or not—wasn’t sure if he’d rather have his father at least notice him and hate him or have his father neglect him.
Y/n was trying to make the best out of the situation and he could tell. She found her way to the conversations even if his father didn’t respond to her, and still remained her perky self while doing so. She seemed unfazed through it all, almost like she didn’t feel the overwhelming amount of tension that surrounded the room.
She does it for him, though. She knew that if she showed just how uncomfortable his father was making her—he’d never be able to survive this dinner. She had to play strong enough for his sake.
But now that dinner has passed by and all that’s left are empty plates of food and mindless mingling, Harry feels nothing short of uncomfortable and misplaced under his father’s glare. It’s as if he’s waiting for Harry to speak out in the conversation, or do much of anything to make his presence known.
Y/n can see the soft shaking of Harry’s head and can feel the sweat on his palms with each passing second—just waiting for the end of the night so that they can go home and be alone at last.
“You know, Y/n, I never thought Harry would have a girlfriend.”
It’s the first time tonight his father spoke to Y/n directly, making the conversation she was having with Gemma come to a pause as she looked over at him with confusion. There’s a small pout on her lips as she tilts her head in question, almost unsure as to what he was implying. He has no expression on his face, only a small scoff and disapproving look in his eyes.
“How so? He’s lovely, any girl would be very lucky to have him. I’m just happy it’s me who does.”
Her fingers squeeze his thigh under the tablecloth; as if to tell him that there’s nothing to worry about. If his father wants to try hard enough to get to Harry, he has to try to get through her, first.
His father grumbles, his eyes shifting away from hers. The tenseness is his body seems to lighten, though, when an almost sadistic laugh falls from his lips—finding whatever he’s thinking quite amusing and entertaining.
“Isn’t it disheartening? Doesn’t it get boring, to be with a little boy who can’t even get his mouth to open? You seem to be a very intelligent, mature lady—I can tell by the way you talk. Don’t you think it’s a man’s purpose to be with somebody like you?”
Harry squeezes his eyes shut, trying to silence the sudden voices in his head and focus on the feel of Y/n’s tightening hand.
All the childhood fights, all the times Harry had crawled underneath his bed during the night to get away from it all, and all the times Harry almost had the guts to speak up for himself only to be shut down from his father are all replaying in Harry’s head.
The anxiety creeps to his bones and in his muscles, straining him of all that’s left of his strength and leaving him with nothing but a shaking body and lack of control. Every part of him that felt alive before all of this is slowly dying at the seems—ready to be ripped out on his father’s account.
In any other situation, Y/n would have kept her mouth shut if it meant getting the support and approval of Harry’s family. But this—the way he’s talking about Harry as if he’s not right next to her, disrespecting him for something beyond his control is just not okay with her.
She’d rather stand up for the man she loves and believes in instead of watching him suffer in silence—the way his mum and sister are—with fear.
“Harry may not be a man of many words, but he’s the best thing I’ve got. There is so much more to him than his voice. There is so much more to him than you will ever know because you decided to be a shit father and give up on him without giving him a chance. He holds so much more potential than you could ever see, and that’s what’s wrong here. Harry’s not the problem, him being mute is not the problem, it’s you. Because why is it that everybody else can accept him and love him for who he is besides you?!”
The aftermath of her words silences everything around them. Nobody moves, nobody dares makes a sound besides their harsh breathing, because there could be something that makes either one of them snap and nobody wants to be the one to do so.
Y/n’s hands are in fists upon the table, eyes locked with his in fury and jaw so tight she almost doesn’t even look like herself. She’s turned into an entirely different woman with just the thought of Harry getting into harm’s way.
And although Harry really wants to show her appreciation for her words, he’s too panicked that he’s going to die from not being able to fucking breathe.
The silence is overwhelming, but Y/n is not giving up on him—on Harry. He had to live through this for far too long and she’s not allowing it anymore. He deserves better than this treatment—deserves better than to be looked down upon by somebody who’s supposed to be his provider.
“He’s the best thing you’ve got, yeah?”
His father is playing with his bottom lip, eyes narrowed and eyes in the same unpleasant manner as before. His voice is softer, though, more understanding than before and they both don’t know what to expect out of the conversation.
Y/n nods without hesitation, “He is.”
He watches as Y/n looks more determined and positive as ever, not a doubt or a trace of a lie in her features.
She means it—with her whole heart—she means it and she’ll never let anybody make her go back on her word. And she doesn’t have to say it twice, because Harry knows she’s genuine when she says it.
“You must have a very pathetic life, then.”
Harry’s eyes don’t move from their trance on the table—his body doesn’t make a move under his words. This is just how it always ends, and he just don’t know why he still fucking comes back here every goddamn time.
His throat is tight and his eyes are filled with tears. His skin is full of sweat and he swears his heart is beating much faster than it should. And even though he’s experienced this all before, knowing Y/n is being belittled by his father too makes it worse.
Y/n could have stood up for Harry much more, but she knew that if she started an even bigger brawl than what was already unfolding, Harry wouldn’t have been able to handle it.
He’s already drained of color and crying silently within his lost mind, and she’s absolutely terrified for his health.
She’s nearly dragging him out the door, Harry occasionally tripping over his own feet as he’s being drowned with the voices and the thumping in his chest. The world around him seems to be drowning and he can’t keep up with it all.
He just can’t.
“You can’t only keep her around because she’s the only one that’ll fight your battles for you, Harry! It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that you have nothing to offer her! You can’t give her anything with the way you are. You’re worthless!”
Before he could spew any more insults in Harry’s way, Y/n shuts the door in his face.
Harry knows his father was right.
In the long run, he doesn’t have much to offer her. He can’t be the boyfriend that she deserves to have.
He can’t be the boyfriend that can remind her of how much she’s loved or cared for. He can’t be the boyfriend to sing her to sleep whenever she can’t, or be the boyfriend to say his vows at their wedding for all to hear. He can’t be the boyfriend that—God forbid something were to happen to her—can ask for somebody to help her, or be the boyfriend to sway her family’s heart.
He can’t be anything to her besides somebody that she can sleep with at night and wake up to in the morning. Because that’s all it will be, and she’ll get so tired of being the one to be the only one talking to the other.
He’s nothing in her life, and that’s exactly why he can’t look at her anymore.
“Can you please just say something to me, Harry? I need to know why you’re upset with me or else we can never work through this.”
But how can they work through this when he can’t talk to her the way she wants him to?
Instead of answering right away, Harry presses on the gas pedal even harder than before. In the mix of all his emotions—anger, frustration, sad, and absolutely terrified—the only proper thought that can retain in Harry’s mind is dropping Y/n back to her apartment so that she doesn’t have to keep torturing herself with him.
The longer he feels her presence next to him, the more he realizes that he can’t love her the way she deserves to be loved—even if he really, really, really does love her with every ounce of his being.
“It was only—“ He swallows thickly, “It was only a matter of time before this was going to happen, Y/n.”
Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she turns her head over to Harry, who has his lips pursed in a straight line while his eyes remain on the road.
There’s something different in him, now—something unreadable in his expressions and it’s something she’s never seen before. He seems broken somehow, like a man who’s been damaged one too many times that he’s become numb—emotionless with nothing left to feel.
“Before what was going to happen, Harry?”
She has an idea about what his words meant, but she doesn’t want to believe it. Not coming from him—not coming from the man who’s shown her nothing but how much love he has for her. There’s no way he could be doing this to her. He can’t do this to her.
“We were never going to last, Y/n. This was over long ago, we’re just on borrowed time.”
The sound of it leaves an unusually disturbing churn in Y/n’s stomach and a foul taste in her mouth. She feels as though Harry is taking his own hand and digging into Y/n’s chest, just so that he can grab ahold of Y/n’s heart and rip it to shreds himself.
Her hand subconsciously grabs onto the handle of the car door, eyes glistening with tears and lungs not daring to breathe. The air—instead of it being filled with their love—is now thicker and colder than ever.
She’s never been so confused—so lead on and so scared as to what is happening to them. They were supposed to make this last, they were supposed to make each other happy for the rest of their lives. He promised her he would, too—promised her nothing but love and trust in him.
But what is happening to them?
“How long have you thought that?”
She was tentative to ask, but she just has to know. She has to know if she’s done everything she’s done for nothing or if it actually held some sort of purpose at the time.
She’s terrified beyond words to find out the answer.
“Before or after you decided to sleep with me?”
Harry doesn’t want to make it seem like he never wanted this—never wanted her. He doesn’t want to make her think that he went through all that he did with her just to expect them to break up so soon. Because he didn’t, he never did. He would have never let her give him her virginity if he knew all of this was going to happen.
He loves her too much to do that to her, but also loves her enough to set her free.
So he decides to not answer her because not saying anything at all is easier for him than saying something he doesn’t mean. And he knows he will if it means letting her go and letting her move onto bigger and better things.
And it’s in his silence and twitch of his eyes does she find his answer.
“So you didn’t mean what you said last night. That we fit perfectly—that it’s like we’re meant to be? Or were they just words to you?”
A sob rips from inside of her when he still gives her nothing. She has never felt so hurt before—has never felt so betrayed. And suddenly, her skin feels dirty—sickened by what he’s done to her and how she could have been so stupid as to let it happen.
She feels it now, too. She feels the way his hands touched her that night, the way his lips kissed her that night, the way his hips rutted against hers and she feels so fucking filthy—used and used and used just for his own personal gain.
“Stop the car.”
It’s a weak demand, but Harry is pained to hear it. He has to hold himself back from comforting her and saying how terribly sorry he is for lying to her the way he is. But it’s just easier this way.
“I said stop the fucking car, Harry!”
Her yelling makes him flinch, and without hesitation makes him pull over to the side of the road. And the second he does so, he knows he shouldn’t have because he’d never be able to live with himself if he let Y/n walk in the cold alone, especially at night.
And right as he’s about to turn back, the sound of her hysteria makes his stop everything he’s doing. Her sobs are relentless in her hands and the thickest of tears fall from Harry’s eyes when he looks at the damage he’s done.
She looks helpless and utterly destroyed—he would have never thought of doing this to her if he’d known this is what would come out of it.
His heart is breaking at the sight of her like this.
As if on instinct, Harry reaches his hand over to her shoulder in an attempt to keep her calm. And even when they’re so close, they have never felt more emotionally distant than they do right now.
“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me again!”
She isn’t sure if she means it or not, but the devastating look Harry gives her at her words proves that he knows she did.
The second his touch leaves hers, he feels them falling apart.
It really is over now.
She’s never felt more pathetic and humiliated in her life. Everything she thought was so real ended up being one of the biggest lies she’s ever lived. He had her fooled for months now and she had not a single clue—but she guesses that’s what happens when she falls in love too quickly.
She feels easy.
She swallows her cries as she opens the car door, not knowing where the hell she is or where the hell she’s going, but knowing that no matter where she ends up, it’ll be much better than being with him.
“I hate you. I never want to see you again, not after this. Not after all that you’ve done to me.”
Harry’s eyes widen at her words, mouth falling open and a gasp falling from his lips. The reality of her words hits him with so much force that he genuinely feels every last bit of him fall apart.
And it’s when she walks away from him—from his life—that he breaks.
He chokes out a sob as his fingers grip the steering wheel, eyes as wide as ever and mouth not daring to shut.
Everything hurts. Every bone in his body feels like it’s breaking and every muscle feels like they’re tearing apart. It hurts so fucking much and Harry can’t stop crying, throwing his head back against the car seat as his hand hits the steering wheel in the midst of his hysteria.
Warnings: Mentions of accidental injuries, angst, swearing, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex
Word Count: 1630
Summary: Bucky accidentally hurts you the night before and you try to keep him from finding out.
Request: Hi I just found your blog and I fell in love, could you write a request where Bucky accidentally hurts Reader during sex, maybe he is thrusts too rough and he mistakes her cries for moans of pleasure and doesn’t realized he hurt her until after his orgasm, but he makes it up to her
A/N: I deviated a little from the request but in essence it’s all still there. Also It’s late, this is unedited. All mistakes are my own so please forgive them.
You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know.
Bucky hadn’t meant to do it and you knew that, but accident or not if he ever found out you were sure he’d never touch you again, hell he would probably stay as far from you as he could get, and that was something you didn’t want to risk. He’d been making so much progress over the last few months, only recently becoming comfortable with you being on his left side.
During the first stages of your relationship Bucky had kept you on his right side at all times, worried that something might happen if you got too close to the gleaming metal plates. It was only after patience and months of showing him he wasn’t about to lose control of himself that he slowly let himself relax. There was no way that you were about to back peddle all of that persistence over a bruise he didn’t mean to make. All you had to do was keep it covered until it healed.
Honestly you hadn’t even felt it to begin with, way too lost in the feeling of Bucky’s sharp breaths and hard thrusts. It was only after you’d come down fully from your high and Bucky had fallen asleep that you felt the dull throbbing around your wrist.
There was no mistaking the perfect outline of Bucky’s fingers in the dark, blotchy skin; the imprint of where metal had met flesh. He had pinned your wrist above your head as he pistoned his hips into yours, and fuck, had it felt amazing. Your orgasm had slammed into you so hard that you felt your eyes tip to the back of your skull, your throat raw from how hard you had chanted his name. You really didn’t want to taint a memory like that.
Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Jon Snow Rating: Explicit Word count: 3,750
Belowdecks, all Jon could hear were the creaks of the boat as they rode the gently rolling waves to White Harbor and his own quick, shaky breaths. He lingered outside the queen’s quarters, shoring up the courage to knock. There were no sounds coming from beyond the door. Perhaps the queen was already asleep. Perhaps, despite the lingering looks, first in her council room then later in the mess hall over dinner, she wasn’t waiting for him at all.
He wet his lips, eyes boring into the finely carved Targaryen sigil in her door. It was foolish to be nervous. He could face down the White Walkers and their dead with all the grit of a true Northern-born son, lead the Night’s Watch and thousands of Wildlings as Lord Commander, and protect the people of Winterfell as King in the North–but all that went to shit when Daenerys so much as looked at him, that violet-hued gaze as sharp as Valyrian steel.
And yet, whatever misgiving he had about being here, he knew she wouldn’t turn him away. It was inevitable he’d end up here. He knew that much.
Gods be good. One more deep, fortifying breath, and he rapped a sharp knock on her door. He didn’t wait long for her to answer. Hazy lighting from candles and a crackling fire illuminated her silhouette from behind as she opened the door, staying her movements at the sight of him. There was surprise in that normally impassive, steely-eyed stare. And–acknowledgement, he thought. A shared understanding.
(an almost certainly incomplete list, in no particular order, because there will almost certainly be lots of nickpicky complaining posts from me in the days to come, so I wanted to get some positivity out there first)
Belle being a tinkerer like her dad was cute
Honestly, for the most part the changes to LeFou’s character/arc worked for me, and Josh Gad did a great job with the part
Luke Evans also gave a great performance as Gaston. And the new take on the song “Gaston” really worked for me.
While I have more to say about the larger choices in general and how they could have been improved, the moment where Maurice sees the talking cup and then just… calmly… runs the fuck away was hilarious
Belle planning to escape from the very beginning was a great character choice
The addition of the Harpsichord character was one I was really worried about before the move, and actually 1) he was a great character and 2) the added subplot of him and the Wardrobe being married and not having seen each other in years because they’re both large furniture trapped on different floors was fucking great added color and fleshing out of the world and the nature of the curse. It was done basically exactly right and only added to the story.
The addition to the curse that everyone in the castle was erased from everyone’s memories was a great fucking addition (more on this later. more on a lot of these points later, lolol)
That part where Babette is holding up the serving dish to create the spotlight to shine on Lumiere, but she couldn’t hold it steady, so he kept having to move into the spotlight, was so fucking cute??? What a cute gag?? I love it???
While I still roll my eyes hard at the inclusion of Romeo and Juliet in the film, and have thoughts about how the Beast’s literacy and other changes to the character affected the story, the part where he rolls his eyes at Belle and sticks out his tongue at the yucky idea of romance was fucking adorable
Mrs. Potts explaining that “They did nothing” while the Beast grew up to be who he was is exactly why they’re part of the curse was a good addition
As was Belle’s righteous indignation on their behalf, and general curiosity about the curse and desire to to something about it
(And I appreciate that, despite that, they didn’t tell her the nature of the curse, because to me that would feel really emotionally… coercive? manipulative? unfair? It’s unfair to put that kind of burden on someone. I appreciate them avoiding it)
Adding the “slowly becoming more inanimate” plot into the story from the musicals was a good call. It’s a good addition. It adds stakes. I liked that each small change was timed with a falling petal and the whole castle felt it. It really was a great way to flesh out the curse and increase the stakes of the ticking clock.
Belle’s dress at the final dance was rlllly pretty
If you were honest, it was all your
fault. You had made a comment to Steve
just before he’d left for the mission on the Lemurian Star about the stealth
suit. Something about the deep blue of
it and how it sat just right across his broad shoulders. He’d laughed it off at the time, but you’d
seen the look in his eye. And to be
fair, you were the one that suggested a way to relieve some stress and get back
at Fury at the same time. Which is how
you wound up here, pinned against the inside of Fury’s office door, legs
wrapped around Steve’s trim waist and hands in his perfect hair.
Author: @dumbass-stilinski Rating: NSFW 18+ Pairing: Dylan O’Brien/Reader Words: 3,330 AN: Okay I’m late I’m sorry! This fic was to celebrate my favorite little nugget’s 26th birthday. It would have been here sooner but they just wouldn’t stop having sex? Sorry, not sorry.
You woke up, your boyfriend’s firm body pressed against your back, and you sighed in delight. You were so glad he was home, finally, after being away for so long with his hectic schedule. His nose was pressed against your shoulder, his deep, even breaths tickling along your skin. You pulled his arm tighter around your waist, and settled back, your eyes sliding shut as you tried to go back to sleep.
Creative Content Contributor:@baebae-goodnight (her mood boards are amazing - like all the damn time)
Rating: M - explicit sex, cursing, drinking
Word Count: 6k
Married by obligation, weighed down by circumstance. Except for those nights when you’re both drunk, falling into bed with one another and realizing you’re human. Occasionally this happens, occasionally you fuck. Until your life changes and you realize Namjoon, the very man you’re obligated to, might just be the very man that you crave.
was a lovely, crisp day, and Sherlock—in an uncommonly good mood—left the
window open behind him after forcing it open to gain entry to the suspect’s
curtains fluttered in the breeze, carrying a myriad of vivid city smells,
unmistakable London air, sharp and sweet and sour all at once.
breathed in deep, then turned away, clapping his hands together as he surveyed
the cluttered room.
dust everywhere, and that was wonderful, he could read years’
worth of history in dust, he could trace his way backwards through every book
the man had read, every single move he’d made in the flat right up until the
John wheezed from the window, grasping the sill and dragging himself inside.
“A little help—” he dropped onto the ground, back against the wall, breathing
hard. “—would have been nice.”
managed just fine,“ Sherlock said, smiling a little bit.
you were going to go around back and unlock the door.”
have gotten there eventually.“
made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, stood up. Moved to shut the
window behind him.
paused, gloved hands on the window frame. “Someone might see.”
out of the ordinary about an open window on a nice day.“
are aware that breaking and entering is not actually
legal?” But John stepped away from the window without shutting it.
smiled again, an almost involuntary pull at the corner of his mouth. He liked
John like this, sharp-tongued yet indulgent.
right,“ John said, letting his hands drop to his sides. "What are we
Plenty of that to go around.”
could not seem to stop smiling. Perhaps it was the weather. “Exactly.”
any dust do, or are you looking for something in particular? Clogged ceiling
vent, perhaps? Maybe some dryer lint?“ John was looking at him, his brows
raised, something approaching amusement in his face. Ah. Teasing, then.
suspect has a rather extensive personal library,” Sherlock said, tearing
his gaze away to look at the shelves that stretched floor to ceiling along the
wall. He scanned the rows of books, eyes flitting across faded, dusty spines.
“Including several volumes on rare poisons.”
kettle,“ John said.
turned to look at him, narrowed his eyes. John offered up a shrug and a small
smirking twist of his lips.
more of a collector than a reader,” Sherlock said, turning back towards
the books. “You can see from the dust that most of these haven’t been
touched in years.”
does seem to lack a certain standard of cleanliness,“ John agreed mildly.
Sherlock smiled at a smear on a lower shelf, a small half-moon pattern where
clean wood gleamed through. He framed it with his hands, measuring. The perfect
size for a rested knee. He allowed his gaze to climb upward, catching the
imprint of fingertips in the thick dust, and there, there,
the place where a book had been pulled free, dislodging cobwebs and ancient
little light reading?“
rummaged around in his coat, withdrew a crinkling evidence bag, a bloodstained
book resting within.
groaned. "Did you steal that?”
wanted to be sure,“ Sherlock said, and he grinned, a quick flash of teeth,
the kind of dangerous grin that John usually responded favorably to. He leaned back and
looked at the gap on the shelf, looked at the book in his hand.
like it fits,” John said.
Sherlock said, and he moved carefully, delicately, resting his knee in the
smooth clean space left behind, pressing the very tips of his gloved fingers
where they would not disturb fresh trails of dust. He lifted himself slowly,
with utmost caution, climbing until he was eye to eye with the gap.
John said. His voice was muffled, slightly. As if he was speaking through
Sherlock said, distracted, scanning the shelf for anything else, anything he
might have missed in his first assessment. It was beautiful, eloquent, the way that
history was written into dust.
shelf under his foot creaked, an alarming, sharp sound, and Sherlock’s pulse
were hands on his waist, strong hands, sure hands, John’s
hands, steadying him, holding him still.
John said, his voice low. “Or you’ll bring the whole thing down with
opened his mouth to retort but found he could not speak, not with John leaning back,
taking his weight, easing him off of the shelves and back down towards the
stood facing the books, mind blank, pulse racing, John breathing close at his
right?“ John asked, when the moment had stretched too long.
turned, slowly, straightening up. Meaning to say: My weight was
perfectly balanced. There was no danger of the shelf breaking and
instead clearing his throat and meeting John’s eyes and saying nothing,
nothing, because John was very close and had not yet moved to step away.
John said, and he was so close his breath puffed against Sherlock’s face. The
window was open behind him, letting in that sharp-sweet-sour dangerous air, and John was close, he was so close, so close
and so utterly beloved and just like that, after years and years of careful restraint, all of Sherlock’s self-control
simply fluttered away on a gentle breeze.
only needed to tilt his head slightly to bring his lips against John’s, to
slide his nose along John’s cheek, to catch John’s warm surprised breath in his
stood like that for a moment, lips ghosting together, just breathing.
Sherlock’s back brushed against the shelf and he spared a brief thought for the
dust, and then John made a noise in the back of his throat, a noise that was
pained and joyful all at once, and his hands came up to cup Sherlock’s face, to
press against the heat rising in his cheeks, and Sherlock thought quite clearly: sod the dust and then on the heels of that came: this moment has been written in dust, scrawled here on the shelves for anyone to see.
let the evidence bag drop, the book hitting the ground with a muffled thud.
hands on his face, cradling him, thumbs moving against his cheeks. John’s mouth
on his, soft and warm and wondering, their breaths mingling.
realized that he had, at some point, tangled his hands up in John’s coat, had
grasped at the collar of it and had wound the edges around his fingers, pulling
him closer, locking him in place.
he said, mumbling against John’s lips, because each gentle slide, each damp
press, each tug and pull and nibble and rasp of chapped skin was a revelation.
laughed, not a cruel or mocking sound, but a soft huff that seemed to come from
somewhere deep in his chest. He laughed and Sherlock could taste it, sweet against his lips.
John said, nudging Sherlock’s nose with his own.
just realized—” Sherlock said, and his voice was alarmingly unsteady.
“Well. No. That’s not quite accurate. I’ve known for some time. That I—well.
But. It hadn’t seemed—”
John said, and there was a surprised light in his eyes, a dancing mischief that
Sherlock hadn’t seen in a very long time. He looked younger, somehow.
that—?” Sherlock hesitated, feeling uncertain and clumsy and much too slow.
His pulse skittered under his skin, joyful, ebullient bursts.
don’t know how you didn’t know,“ John said. He shook his head, shut his
looked at that smiling mouth and thought: I’ve kissed those
too,“ John said. He slipped one of his hands back, running it through
Sherlock’s hair, settling it on the back of Sherlock’s neck, skin warm and
slightly sweat-damp. He leaned up and Sherlock let himself be kissed.
Sherlock said again, and it was all forgotten for a moment, the dust, the
books, the crisp air and the sharp-sweet-sour London smell. He was smiling. He couldn’t
seem to stop. He thought perhaps it had never been the weather at all. He
thought perhaps it had always been John.
They’re still awkward as ever, even after dating for several months. It’s mainly because they’re still wondering what the hell happened.
It was like, at one moment, Bakugou hated Izuku’s guts, then the next he was like: “FUCKING GO OUT WITH ME YOU FUCKING SHITTY ASS NERD MOTHER FUCKER!!”
To this day, it still makes Izuku laugh his ass off and Bakugou embarrassed as hell just remembering it.
Just being touchy-feely makes them incredibly embarrassed too, considering that they’re taking quite a big step into being in a relationship. It’s mostly poor Izuku whose more affected by this as Bakugou, considering how he’s still kind of scared of him.
Every time Bakugou touches him, he’ll flinch out of reflex and waits for him to burn his shoulder or anywhere he touches, but is always surprised to find his touch being gentle.
It did take a while for the poor guy to get used to it.
But he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t used to the gentleness. Bakugou had several occasions himself where he was rough with Izuku since he didn’t have much of an understanding of what you’re supposed to do in a relationship…or how to act for that matter. It wasn’t until Bakugou went for advice (more like got an intervention) and began to try his best to be gentle with Izuku. He still had a couple slip ups, but they became less often.
Their first date went surprisingly smooth, but it was still awkward.
It involved lots of blushing, slow but steady finger holding that grew to hand holding by the end, and a quick peck on the cheek when Izuku was taken home.
During the movies, Bakugou was the one who tried to pull the first move, but Izuku moved his hand before he could even try to hold it. It kinda made Bakugou feel ridiculous and that alone pissed him off. Of course, that went away when Izuku suddenly wrapped his index finger around his when they left the theater.
It actually took them a week or two before they finally had the guts to walk into school holding hands. It’s not that they wanted to keep it a secret or anything, they were just badly embarrassed and neither of them wanted to die from it.
They later found that their day started off as normal despite their morning routine being different, so they grew more confident to come to school with small hints of PDA.
Izuku later found out that Bakugou is extremely possessive and gets easily jealous.
The way he found out was kinda funny actually. Izuku was only talking to a couple of friends who were guys outside of his class during lunch. He noticed Bakugou glaring at his friends, but thought nothing of it, thinking he was just being the usual blasty mcsplode. It wasn’t until he got a hug from Denki did Bakugou get real pissed off and started cussing the living shit outta poor Denki who was confused as all hell. He seriously had no idea why Bakugou was yelling at him all of a sudden, but Izuku instantly knew why.
It actually makes Izuku feel a little special knowing this.
It now makes him laugh a little whenever Bakugou would hold him close and be like “Hey babe what’s up?!” out of nowhere as if asserting his dominance.
Though he doesn’t want to admit it, Bakugou enjoys making Izuku laugh. The very sound of it makes his heart go ‘Doki Doki’ and it pisses him off a little, but it mostly makes him feel giddy.
He secretly tries to make Izuku laugh, but he’s pretty sure he’s figured that out already.
Summary: The next morning (after the events of “Beard Burn”), Steve’s girlfriend returns the favor ;)))
A/N: this is intended as the sequel to Beard Burn! Yay! Look i finished something that i promised i would do! Thanks again all you beautiful people for getting “Beard Burn” over 1k notes. That’s crazy,,,
Warnings: all smut, some fluff. oral sex (mr), language
(I should have used this gif for the first one dammit)
The next morning, you wake before Steve, eyes fluttering open against the annoying morning sun; you’d forgotten to close the blinds last night. You groan and roll over onto your back, hitting Steve, who immediately wraps an arm around your stomach. You glance up at him, expecting to find him awake, but he’s still fast asleep on his side, one arm bunched under his pillow, the other now lazily thrown across your stomach. You smile and reach a hand up to run through his beard. He looked so cute like this, his mouth open, lightly snoring, eyes squeezed shut against the sun.
Pulling out your white blade, you twirled it around your fingers. “You are the one that has situated yourself in the middle of my mission demon.”
His eyes turned black, “I don’t take kindly to you halo bitches killing my kind.”
You pointed to your head with the tip of the blade, “Do you see a halo anywhere?” You walked toward the tall demon, “That’s a horrible stereotype. And I haven’t killed him… yet.”
“You’re a mouthy little thing,” he said, bringing out his own knife. “Don’t you have any idea who I am?”
You shook your head, running the tip of your blade over his cheek, “I don’t care who you are.”
With that, you moved to sink the knife in his neck. He was faster. He ducked away and knocked you off of your feet with his leg. You landed flat on your back, the wind knocked from your lungs. His black boot came down to press on your chest.
“Oh little angel,” he said as he leaned down over you. “You have to be smarter than that. And actually, a bit faster.” Placing the tip of his knife under your chin, he tipped your face up, “Does the name Bucky ring a bell?”
Palming your knife, you slung your arm up with all your might and plugged it in his thigh. He yelled in pain. When his foot moved off your chest, you scrambled to your feet. Facing him, you knew you had screwed up.
“Fucking bitch!” he said as he grabbed for you.
You closed your eyes and willed yourself back up to heaven.
What greeted you was even scarier than what you had left on earth…
A = Aftercare: He’s a total sweetheart. If
you were feeling sore he’d give you a massage and place soft kisses all over
B = Body part: For him, it has to
be your waist. Tom always grabbed you by your waist to pull you close to his
body. And for you, it had to be his hands. You really liked how rough they felt
against your skin, how skilled he was with them. C = Cum: He would cum literally
anywhere. If you let him, he would cum inside you, not wanting to waste a
single drop. But if not, he would cum in your mouth. D = Dirty Secret: He had naughty things
of you on his phone. Pictures, videos, recordings. E = Experience: You and Tom didn’t
have much experience and you didn’t dare to ask anyone else for help. If you
were curious about something, you would look it up online or on a porn site. F = Favorite Position (credit to @dominant-edge)
G = Goofy: Tom was a total dork,
he would always be laughing and cracking jokes. And he was very cocky too. H = Hair: His hair always
looked good. You also didn’t like when he went for a haircut, because sometime
he cut it way too short. He would moan so loud when you pulled on it. I = Intimacy: He’s very attentive,
he cares more about how you’re feeling than himself. He liked giving it a
romantic vibe to the room, but it didn’t always happen. J = Jack Off: With those naughty
things he had of you on his phone, it wasn’t hard for him to jack off a lot. And
if he needed more, he would call you or make a video chat immediately. K = Kink: Dress up kink. Costumes.
Anything and everything. One day, he managed to find a good Spider-Man suit and
that was definitely one of the best nights you had together. L = Location: In the trailer he
had on set. It was a tight squeeze, but that was better because you could be
even closer to each other. M = Motivation: He was under
constant stress. All the filming, training and being under the public eye
really got to him and Tom knew that you would make him feel better. N = NO: He would never tease you
in public, like ever. He obviously wanted to, but he knew there were people
looking from afar and he didn’t want to risk it. O = Oral: Both were great but he
loved receiving. His hands would be on your head, holding you steady while he
fucked your mouth. P = Pace: Sharp and deep thrusts,
he could tear you in half. You were totally wrecked. Q = Quickie: Always. Before
he went to set, before a red carpet, before an interview. If you two didn’t have
a quickie he would be restless all day, he wouldn’t be himself. R = Risk: You wanted to try new
things but one thing that he was really scared off was tying you up. He was
really scared of hurting you. S = Stamina: He’s a dancer and he
was in gymnastics. He could go for literally hours. It was insane. T = Toy: You two weren’t into
toys, and he wouldn’t let you buy one even if you wanted to. He wanted to be
the one giving you pleasure. U = Unfair: When you were too busy
to go out with him, you would send him text messages when he was on set or
something. Tom would have to hide his boner from everyone. V = Volume: You tried your
best to stay quiet, so you would bite you lip to avoid being loud. Tom would
bite your shoulder when he wanted to scream. If you were having sex in his flat
at London, you were loud and you didn’t care at all. W = Wild Card: read Dirty Secret X = X-Ray: Tom was still growing,
and now he was average. Y = Yearning: He was a 21 year old.
His hormones were off the rails and so were yours. You couldn’t keep your hands
to yourself. Z = ZZZ: You fell asleep immediately,
all those orgasms drained you. Tom would be next to you, holding you and
rubbing soft circles on your back.
Warnings: Mostly smut, pissed off reader at first, then just smut, fingering, pussy eating, Daddy Kink, Alpha/Beta kink(not the A/B/O kind), more smut, anal, rough sex, unprotected sex, added sickening fluff at the end, cos why the hell not?
Word count: 2300
Summary: You finally get sick of Derek’s constant need to train. But when you decide you’ve had enough, he decides he’s not about to let you leave so easily.
A/N: Ok, so…requested fic by anon-hi. could you do a derek hale smut (female y/n) where she’s a new beta in his pack+ derek and her are sparring together. y/n gets tired, tells derek that she doesn’t want to train anymore bc its frustrated how he keeps beating her, starting to shout and swear. derek gets mad at her before pinning her down by her wrists and basically telling her off which she finds sexy. he smells her arousal and he starts teasing her about it and they have rough sex where derek is being really dominant ???? Ok, so it’s basically sticking to the request, but I added some more stuff. Also, sorry this took sooo long!! Hope u like it!!
BTS Reaction | Begging them to choke you during sex
Trails of soft kisses were left down your jawline and neck, hips fluidly rolling against your own while Seokjin hit your deepest spots. Your arms flew around his neck, pulling him even closer to you, if possible. He looked completely sinful ー his hair messy, forehead damp with perspiration while his hot breath fanned against your collarbone. Between your uneven moans, you whispered your request. Jin came to a slow halt of his thrusts, and looked at you rather skeptically. He was afraid that you’ve got a little carried away because of the heat of the moment, but after you reassured him lovingly that it’s something you’ve been wanting to try for a while, he gave you a smile while rolling his eyes playfully. He planted a soft kiss against your lips and told you that when it starts to hurt too much, you must tell him to stop.
Jin started to move his hips again as his hands stroked your stomach, then went up to your chest, carefully landing on your throat. You placed your hand on his wrist reassuringly, beginning to feel the pressure making its effect while your pleasure doubled.
“God, babygirl, you look so hot with my hands around your neck..”, he huffed as he pressed further, earning a naughty smile from you.
Yoongi was taking you from behind. You felt every hard thrust he made around your pulsing nerves, his hands gripping tightly on your hips, promising more bruises for the next days. You couldn’t help but trace your hand above his, placing it softly and giving him a loving glance. He licked his lips as he made eye contact with you and his thrusts became harder and deeper inside your wet core. You couldn’t hold your uneven moans from spilling and with your free hand you held yourself from falling on the headboard. Your request for him to choke you left your lips unconsciously as your head was clouded with pleasure. Yoongi hissed at the thought and chuckled quietly at your naughtiness, making you sweat a little more.
He suddenly pulled your hair roughly for better access and crept his hand from your chest up to your throat, gripping rather tightly. You couldn’t help but moan in anticipation, your voice vibrating in your throat as Yoongi picked up his pace. His fingertips carved into your sensitive skin, while his grip began to tighten, blocking your respiration. With his deep thrusts and pressure on your throat, you felt your climax getting nearer and nearer.
“Shit, such a naughty girl you are..”, he mumbled against your shoulder, holding you close to his sweaty body.
His lips were pressed against yours, moving passionately as he held your thighs apart to hit your deepest spots. Your hands wandered to his waist, making him move faster and harder against you. He placed a hand at the back of your head, deepening the kiss as he started to pound a little faster, leaving you a moaning mess underneath him. Slowly, you placed your own hand over his larger one, guiding it lower until it reached your neck, dampened with sweat. Hoseok got the hint, but hesitated a little bit at first, wanting to make sure if you really want to initiate this act, since he was a little afraid of hurting you. But when you told him that you are 100% sure and that you trust him entirely, he placed a loving kiss on your neck, his thrusts into you never slowing.
You felt his warm hands wander from your jawline, down to your neck again, slowly starting to grip on it. Hoseok’s moves began picking up pace, leaving you shuddering slightly under him. The sloppy sound of skin on skin began echoing the room, along with your choked moans and pants.
“Fuck, Y/N.. I don’t think I can last any longer..”, Hoseok grunted from above you, as you gripped his wrists, pushing him a little deeper on your burning throat and adding more pleasure to the both of you.
You felt Namjoon’s hard cock stretching out your walls with every motion he’d make. He went roughly in and out of you as you held yourself steady on his shoulders. Your moans were music to his ears everytime he hit that sweet spot of yours. His expression was entirely messed up, eyebrows scrunched together as he bit his lip. It was a great view, you could say. And you couldn’t help your naughty hands to grip for him and pull him closer to you. After you managed to choke out a breathy ‘choke me, daddy’, he grunted and smirked lightly in response, seeming to like your request, and the way you asked for it. His hands greedily traveled up your chest, arriving at your throat and, without warning, he began adding pressure.
You gripped his wrists tightly, wanting to double the pleasure. Parting your thighs even more for him to thrust deeper, you let out choked breaths and moans. His fingernails began sinking into your sensitive flesh, mixing it all with a little pain. But you wouldn’t mind. You enjoyed this moment entirely.
“Let me hear you, babygirl..”, Namjoon teased and gripped a little harder on your vibrating throat. You couldn’t help but choke out several high-pitched moans.
You felt Jimin’s warmth radiate as you shuddered under him with pleasure. His cock smoothly sliding in and out of you, as he intertwined your fingers with his. It felt heavenly, but tonight, you wanted to spice things up a bit. Jimin pressed his sticky forehead against yours, whispering your name repeatedly, moving to leave some hickeys down your neck afterwards. You took this chance and suddenly called his name, breathlessly asking for him to choke you. It was quite sudden, indeed. He began slowing down his motions, as he eyed you carefully, seeing that you were very serious about this, since you began saying it repeatedly. He carefully told you that he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way, even though he couldn’t hold back the naughty grin that crept up his gorgeous face. You reassured him with a soft kiss that everything is just fine, and that you wanted to try it this once.
You earned a shy smile from him, as he unlaced his fingers from yours. His hands were making their way up to your collarbone, caressing it gently. He then seductively made his way directly to your throat, as his movements began picking up again. Jimin gently encircled his hands securely around your neck, pressuring it further. You couldn’t help but get goosebumps at the mixture.
“You’re so naughty, princess, I can’t believe you..”, he smiled teasingly as he moved hard against your hips, making you choke out a high-pitched moan.
Your legs were swung around Taehyung’s hips, as they rolled languidly against yours. He was a sweaty mess above you while he held your thighs apart, wanting to reach your deepest spots. His grip was tight, moving to your hips to pull you even closer to him. Loud grunts and pants left his lips, combined with your mewls of pleasure. Your hands cupped his own, moving them to your throat. As you told him to choke you, barely audible because of your sounds of pleasure, he gave you a surprised look, wondering if you were serious right then. His motions came to a slow halt as he mouthed a breathless ‘are you crazy?’, to which you shook your head and huffed. You began moving your hips against his, recreating the previous friction, and guided his palms to your throat. You could see Tae was a little unsure, but when you pressed his sweaty hands against your neck, all his insecurities vanished away and a new layer of lust made its way into his pupils.
Taehyung was gentle, he let himself guided by you and added pressure everytime you moved his hands further. You watched his fucked up expression as he licked his lips every now and then. He knew that he might have discovered a new kink now.
“Y/N.. Y/N.. God, you look so good like this”, he breathed and smirked as he listened to your choked out moans everytime he’d thrust deep into you.
You were on top of Jeongguk, holding yourself steady on his sculpted chest as he pounded deep into you from underneath. His face was partly hidden beneath the soft cushions, but you could still manage to see his flustered face, sweat dripping from his temples. You slowly traced your fingers over the veins on his arms, gripping his wrists. He eyed you cautiously from between the coverings as you guided his hands from your tummy, up to your breasts when he started groping softly on them. You left out a quiet mewl and drew his hands more in the upper area, arriving at the crook of your neck. Kookie bit his lip and grunted as he started to move his hips faster. You breathed out your wish about him choking you, and you felt him shift beneath you.
After giving Jeongguk a reassuring smile, telling him that you’re entirely sure about this, he slipped from underneath you, pinning you to the bed. His hands instantly flew around your neck as his hips picked up pace again, thrusting deep into you. You felt your whole body overcoming with pleasure and choked moans erupted from your lips. Kookie’s biceps strained everytime he pounded into you, since he added more and more pressure to your throat, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.
“Such a kinky slut you are, Y/N..”, he muttered as he studied your fucked up state and slid his hard cock in and out of you, feeling your walls slowly clenching around him.
A very kinky request from a very kinky person 😉💖 Love you, boo ~ Also, I kindly apologise for any mistakes, misinterpretations and/or OOCness. Love you all!!💞🏹 • Min-Seo