#But like I said. wanted to draw something different

[4linos]

they call you clingy.

ot8 x gn!reader

warning: really angsty, feeling insecure/unworthy, no happy endings. (sorry)

wc: 8708

bang chan

You and Chan had been together for a while, and things were generally great between you two. You had your own lives, your own routines, but there was always a sense of closeness between you that you both cherished. Lately, though, you’d found yourself tagging along with him more often, especially when he had dinner plans with the members.

At first, he didn’t mind. In fact, he enjoyed having you around, and the other members seemed to appreciate it too. Some of their girlfriends were there as well, so it felt natural, like a group gathering. But after a while, you started coming along more frequently, not wanting to spend evenings apart. You thought it was a way to spend more time with him, but you could tell it was starting to weigh on Chan, though you weren’t sure why.

Chan said nothing at first, but you could tell he became quieter and more distant throughout these dinners. He looked at his phone more frequently, and his smile seemed forced when you spoke with him or the others. Still, you tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was just your imagination. You weren't doing anything wrong by wanting to be with him, right? You had every right to join him on nights when he was with the other members. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

One evening, as you all gathered for a casual dinner at a restaurant, the atmosphere was different. You were laughing, eating, and talking with some of the other girls when you realized Chan was particularly quiet. He was nibbling at his food and not really participating in the conversation. You leaned over to him, laying your hand on his arm, attempting to draw him into the moment.

"Chan, is everything okay?" You asked, your voice gentle and anxious.

He shuddered slightly at the contact and gave you a fake smile. "Yeah, everything's fine," he said, but the tiredness in his voice was clear. The others didn’t seem to notice, but you did. It felt like he was pushing away from you just a little. Your stomach twisted as you tried to ignore the unease creeping in. Then, the conversation shifted. As the dinner continued, someone brought up how often you came along with Chan to these meals. You didn’t think much of it at first, but you could feel his discomfort growing.

“Honestly, though,” Chan suddenly chimed in, his voice a little more sharp than usual, “it’s getting a bit much. She’s always tagging along. It’s like she can’t ever be away from me. It's kind of suffocating.”

The words hit you like a smack in the face. You froze, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. The table fell silent for a moment, the tension in the air evident. You could feel everyone's gaze on you, and your cheeks reddened with shame. You tried to shrug it off, believing it was a joke, but the expression in Chan's eyes revealed his disinterest. He was not joking. Time seemed to slow down, and you could feel the sting of his words settling deep within you. Without thinking, you excused yourself from the table and went to the restroom, your chest tight and your eyes welling with tears. You locked yourself in a stall and tried to calm your pounding heart, but the words replayed in your mind over and over again. “Clingy,” “suffocating.” You felt small, insignificant, and utterly hurt.

Meanwhile, at the table, the other members exchanged glances, seemingly uneasy about what had just happened. After a minute, Hyunjin spoke up, his tone surprisingly soft. "Chan, that wasn't cool, man. Why would you say anything like that? She isn't clinging at all. She's just trying to spend time with you."

Felix nodded in line, his tone quiet yet forceful. "Yeah, we really like having her around. She makes things more fun, you know? I don't understand why you'd say something like that.”

Chan wasn't sure how to answer. He had meant it as a joke, something to relieve the stress he'd been experiencing lately, but now that he'd heard the other responses from the others, a rush of shame swept over him. He felt he'd crossed a boundary, but it wasn't until they spoke out that he recognized how serious the situation was. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered, but his apologies seemed hollow even for him.

His thoughts was muddled by remorse, and for the first time in a long time, he felt completely embarrassed. "I think you should go talk to her," Minho said softly. "She is probably really hurt right now. You have to make it right."

Chan’s stomach churned. He didn’t want to think about how badly he’d hurt you. His usual confident self was gone, replaced by a knot of regret.

lee know

It was one of those days. The sort where everything you touched seemed to fall apart, and every corner you turned revealed another disaster ready to happen. The day began with your boss screaming at you for something you didn't even do, his anger pouring out on you as if it were your responsibility that the world was collapsing. You hardly had time to calm yourself before spilling your coffee all over your blouse at lunch. The entire day had been an upsurge of humiliating incidents, missed deadlines, and biting your tongue to resist snapping at everyone who gave you the wrong look.

You were physically and emotionally drained when you arrived home. You just wanted the day to end, to close your eyes and forget everything. However, when you walked through the door, you were welcomed by a familiar, comfortable smell.

Minho was in the kitchen, wearing an apron and humming softly to himself while making something. Your heart lifted a little because he was here, cooking for you. The simple gesture of kindness was a welcome breath of fresh air after a long day of drowning.

You stood by the door, hesitant whether to interrupt, but then he turned toward you with a gentle smile. "Hey, how was your day?"

You forced a smile, despite the weight of the day pressing on you. “It was... fine. I’m just glad to be home.”

He noticed the weariness in your eyes and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. It was the kind of comfort you needed, even if you didn’t know it until he offered it. “Relax. I’ve got dinner covered. Why don’t you just sit down and take it easy?”

You nodded, thankful for his concern, but something inside you refused to just sit back and do nothing. It felt awful to be passive while he was so busy. "Let me help," you volunteered, heading near the counter, attempting to gather yourself after a stressful day. Minho gently shook his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes. "There's no need. "Please relax, okay?" You couldn't help but feel a sense of dissatisfaction. He was always so selfless and compassionate, and you didn't want to be someone who just sat by. Instead of disputing, you nodded and gave in to his desire. He was right, after all; you could use a break. “Alright. But give me something small to do.”

Minho paused for a moment to contemplate, then assigned you a tiny task. "Okay, could you please tidy up a little while I finish the soup? Just wipe down the countertops." It seemed simple enough.

You took a rag and followed his instructions while he worked on the soup. The house was peaceful, almost serene, and you hadn't felt that type of peace all day. It was good to be here with him and feel like you weren't confronting the world alone.

But in the middle of cleaning, your eyes darted to the pot of soup on the stove. It smelled incredible like something he had poured his heart into. You felt a surge of gratitude, the kind that made you want to help him, to show him how much you appreciated everything he did for you.

Without thinking, you decided to move the pot, to give him a little more space so he could focus on finishing everything. You gently lifted the heavy pot, but as you tried to shift it, your grip faltered. The edge of the pot slipped from your hand, and in an instant, it tilted, the boiling liquid splashing violently all over the kitchen floor and onto your leg.

You screamed out in shock, the searing heat of the soup burning into your skin, but the pain on your leg was nothing compared to the way everything seemed to shatter around you. The kitchen became chaos. The pot had fallen, splattered everywhere, and the delicious smell was suddenly replaced with the pungent scent of spilled soup. You tried to gather yourself, but the kitchen was now a disaster, and so were you on the verge of tears, overwhelmed, hurt, and defeated.

Minho turned when he heard the accident. His expression shifted from worry to annoyance in an instant. You looked up, and his eyes were filled with anger. The following words he said struck you harder than the burn on your leg. "Why are you always so clingy? I spent hours making that! "If you had just stayed out of the way for once, this could have been avoided!" His voice was harsh and slashed through the air like a razor. You stared at him, frozen in shock.

Was this actually happening?

His words felt like a punch to your chest. They were not what you expected, not from him, not when you were already dealing with the weight of the world. Your mind scrambled to make sense of it. How had it come to this? How had you gone from being the person he always tried to comfort to someone he now seemed to resent?

He stayed there, hands clenched at his sides. "God, I can't believe this," he said quietly, shaking his head. You always do this. You always get in the way. "Why can't you just relax and let me do it?"

You couldn't react because your heart was hammering painfully in your chest. You had spilled more than simply the soup. It was not only the mess. It was the sting of being accused of something you never wanted to do, like being too much. You did not want to be a burden for him. You never intended to make things more difficult, yet everything you did seemed to make things worse.

Minho sighed, looking at the mess with frustration. “Just… go to the room or something,” he snapped, turning away from you.

You stood there, unsure of what to do, feeling smaller than you ever had before. You knew he was angry, but the way he dismissed you, the way he acted like you were just an inconvenience, was something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t usually like this. But right now, it felt like you had done something unforgivable. It felt like everything you had ever tried to do for him had been wrong, every gesture of kindness or help misplaced.

Your legs gave way, and you sank to the floor, trying to steady yourself, but your hands trembled with the weight of his words. Hot tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t bother wiping them away. The physical pain in your leg from the burns was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. You had wanted to help, to make things better for him. But now, all you could do was try to tend to your own wounds both physical and emotional alone.

You pulled yourself up slowly, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling, trying to find the strength to move. Minho was still in the kitchen, silent now, cleaning up the mess you had made, but his anger still hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

You left him there, retreating to your bedroom, feeling more isolated than you had in a long time. The night was quiet, but the silence between you and Minho felt louder than ever. And in that silence, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep trying to be the person he wanted you to be when everything you did seemed to push him further away.

changbin

The evening started out like any other. You and Changbin were going to go to the gym together after a long day. You were excited to spend more time with him, especially since you had been trying to join him at the gym more often recently. At first, it seemed like a fun bonding activity. You'd go to encourage him, attempt to keep up with some of the exercises, and simply enjoy being with him. Changbin had always been a bit of a lone wolf, preferring his own time to recuperate, but he'd been nice enough to let you tag along at first.

You didn’t realize that things had slowly started to change. What had initially felt like an innocent way to spend more time together had started to weigh on him. Maybe it was because you’d started following him around everywhere always just a few steps behind, trying to do what he was doing, lingering around him during his sets. Maybe it was because he didn’t have his usual space anymore. But whatever the reason, Changbin was beginning to feel the pressure, and he didn’t know how to tell you.

You had no idea how much your presence at the gym was bothering him. He wasn't trying to hurt you or make you feel bad about wanting to spend time with him, but tonight was different. He could feel his patience fading and his irritation growing the more you wanted to incorporate yourself into his routine. It was supposed to be his time to escape. He needed the gym to be his sanctuary, a place to unwind and clear his mind. But tonight, as you followed him from machine to machine, everything came to a head.

The air in the gym seemed heavier than usual. Changbin could feel his patience fraying as you followed him for what seemed like the umpteenth time. You weren't doing anything wrong, yet he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense that you were constantly present. His gaze shifted to the clock on the wall; he'd been here for nearly an hour. And it wasn't that you were clingy in an obnoxious way; it was simply that you were always with him, which was enough to frustrate him.

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't clear his mind as he used to. You were always there, following his every move, asking questions about his setups, and attempting to get in the way of his routine. His thoughts were clouded, his mind no longer able to concentrate on the iron and his own movements. He couldn’t unwind. He couldn’t breathe.

When you followed him to the weights area once again, his frustration bubbled over.

“Y/N, can you just stop?” he snapped, his voice harsh and sharp, completely different from the usual warmth you were used to. His words cut through the air like a slap. “Can you just let me have this one thing? The gym isn’t supposed to be some place where you follow me around all the time. I need it to be my own. I need my space. You’re always here, and it’s... it’s too much.”

You froze, a cold shiver of confusion running through your body. Your eyes flickered from his irritated face to the ground, unsure of what to say. You had always been so excited to share things with him, and this was the last place you thought something like this would happen.

“B-Bin... I didn’t—" you started, your voice faltering, but he cut you off, his frustration spilling over.

“You’re always clinging to me, Y/N. And at first, I thought it was cute. But now? It’s just too much. The gym is supposed to be my alone time, somewhere I can relax, somewhere I can focus. But you’re here, and I can’t even do that anymore,” he said, each word feeling like a weight crashing down on you.

Your chest tightened and you found yourself unable to breathe for a little while. It felt as if the world had stopped moving around you, and all you could hear was the flow of blood in your ears. You weren't expecting to hear those words from him. Changbin had always been supportive and loving, even if he was a little protective of his space. What about now? Now it felt like he was pushing you away. And the way he avoided your gaze while he spoke, as if he couldn't stand to witness the pain he was causing, you could feel your heart breaking piece by piece.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat was too big, and the pain was too overwhelming. You weren’t clingy. You just wanted to be close to him. You didn’t realize that your presence, something you thought was innocent, had been smothering him. But hearing it from him so bluntly… it felt like a punch to the gut.

You said nothing at first. Your body was stiff, your eyes filled with unshed tears. You wanted to say something, but the words would not come out. Instead, you simply turned slowly and began to walk away. "I'll go," you said softly, your voice barely audible. Your steps were wobbly as you approached the exit. Changbin turned around, his heart sinking into his chest. It hit him, followed by the look in your eyes. Your lips quivered. He realized what he had just said. The frustration and fury had been misplaced. He didn't mean to hurt you. He wasn't trying to make you feel unwanted. But it was too late now. The damage was done.

“Y/N—wait!” he called after you, but it was no use. You didn’t even turn around. You just kept walking, your back stiff, your steps hurried.

hyunjin

(a/n: you and hyunjin aren’t a couple here, you’re childhood best friends)

The after-party had been buzzing with energy all night, full of celebration and the kind of chaotic, joyful atmosphere that followed every successful concert. It was supposed to be a moment of relief, a chance to let go of the weight of the stage and just relax with friends. You, however, couldn’t seem to shake off the knot of tension that had been growing inside you for weeks.

It hadn’t been an abrupt change, not really. Hyunjin, your best friend, had slowly started to become distant. At first, it was subtle, a shift in the way he looked at you, the way he barely seemed to notice when you were around. But now, it had become glaringly obvious, especially in moments like this, when you found yourself desperately trying to keep the connection you two had built over the years.

You’d always been there for him, supporting him through everything the highs and the lows. But lately, whenever you tried to lean on him, he pulled away. The distance between you had begun to feel insurmountable, and tonight, surrounded by the group at the after-party, it felt like the final straw.

You felt an odd, uncomfortable pull as soon as you walked inside the party. The sight of Hyunjin laughing with the rest of the group should have made you happy, but instead it made your chest tighten with anxiety. He looked... unusual. His eyes, the way they avoided yours, made it clear that something had changed between you two. You despised the sense of being on the outside, like you didn't belong anymore.

You had tried to give him his space during the last few weeks, respecting the growing distance between you. But tonight, you were determined to be present. To pretend as if everything was still fine.

After all, you were his best friend, right?

You moved over to where he was sitting, talking with Seungmin and Jeongin. When they saw you approaching, Jeongin's face lit up with that warm, welcome smile that always put you at at ease. He gave you a warm nod and motioned for you to join them, which you immediately did, thinking that the familiarity of the situation could help the uneasiness that had begun to settle over you. But once you sat down, Hyunjin's tone changed. His eyes flicked across to you for a quick, unreadable look before returning to the others. You tried not to take it personally, but it hurt. Jeongin was chatting animatedly about something, but you couldn't pay attention. All you could think about was how Hyunjin had practically turned his back on you.

After a few moments, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You leaned closer to Hyunjin, trying to keep your tone light, as if everything were normal. “Hey, Hyunjin... you good? You’ve seemed off lately.”

He looked at you, his expression suddenly sharp. “I’m fine,” he replied quickly, and there was a coldness to his voice that cut through you like ice.

You didn’t know what to say. You had always been able to talk through things before, but now it seemed like he didn’t even want to acknowledge you. You tried again, your voice trembling just slightly, “I’m just checking in... I’ve noticed you’ve been a little distant.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, as if he were irritated with you asking. “You’re always around,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance. “I don’t need you following me everywhere. It’s annoying.”

The words hit you like a slap. You froze, the weight of his comment sinking deep into your chest. You had no idea where this was coming from. You had always been there for him, not because you needed to be, but because you cared about him. You wanted to be there. But now, suddenly, it felt like you were an inconvenience.

The room felt suffocating, the noise of the party growing distant as you tried to process what he had just said. You had always been careful not to smother him, always tried to give him space. But now he was telling you that your presence, your very existence, was too much for him.

It was too much.

The lump in your throat grew, but you weren’t going to let him see you falter. You tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over, but you couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that came flooding to the surface. You had tried so hard to be understanding, to be patient, but this was too much to handle.

Before you could say anything more, you snapped. “You know what, Hyunjin? I’m not following you around,” your voice trembling with a mix of hurt and frustration. “I’m only here because Felix invited me. As his date.”

The words hung in the air, sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. You could feel the sting of betrayal, the way Hyunjin had made you feel small, and the anger bubbled up inside you. The room grew quiet for a moment, everyone’s attention now focused on the exchange.

You didn’t look at Hyunjin. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned on your heel, your pulse pounding in your ears, and walked straight to Felix, who was standing nearby. He gave you a surprised glance, but he didn’t ask questions. He simply wrapped an arm around you as you sat next to him, offering you a comforting presence in the midst of your emotional storm.

You didn't speak for a time, your thoughts racing from the argument, but Felix didn't press you to explain. He just let you sit there in peace, his arm resting comfortably on your shoulder. You leaned into him, attempting to center yourself and escape the overpowering pain that threatened to consume you whole. Felix did not deserve to bear the burden of your wounded heart, but in that time, his comfort was the only thing that made sense.

Hyunjin's gaze stayed fixed on you as the party went on. But you refused to look his direction. He'd already made it apparent that your presence no longer mattered to him. He had driven you away with his hurtful words, and as much as it pained you to admit it, you knew deep down that it was too late to fix things.

The rest of the night was a blur. You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, about how he had made you feel so small, so insignificant. The person who had once been your best friend, who had always been there for you, was now the one who had cast you aside. And the worst part was that you didn’t even know why.

As the party wound down and everyone began to leave, you stayed close to Felix, not looking back, not wanting to face Hyunjin. You didn’t know what had changed between you two, or why he had suddenly decided that your friendship wasn’t worth his time. All you knew was that the person who had once been your closest confidant, the one who knew all your secrets and fears, had just torn your heart apart.

And you didn’t know how to fix it.

HAN

The evening began like any other, or so it was supposed to be. But Jisung felt as if the world was pushing down on him with every step he made into the apartment. The intensity of the day still clung to him, like a physical weight of frustration, disappointment, and tiredness. He had spent hours in the meeting with the company staff, only to hear criticism for the smallest mistakes and missteps. It wasn't the first time, but it always hurt. This time, however, it seemed different; he couldn't shake the nagging sense of inadequacy.

The door clicked behind him, and the familiar aroma of home didn't bring much comfort. Instead, it was almost smothering. His limbs ached, his mind raced, and all he needed was peace, time to unwind.

But you were there.

You always were.

As soon as he walked through the door, your eyes searched his face, and he could see the concern etched over your features. He could tell you'd sensed something was wrong. He attempted to disguise it when he saw you earlier that day, brushing off your "are you okay?" with a quick "yeah, I'm fine," but now, as you stood there with that sweet look in your eyes, he couldn't help but see it. You could look right through him, like glass.

"Jisung," you said quietly, your voice carrying the gentle tone you always used when you knew he was struggling, "are you sure you're okay? You don’t look okay."

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked. You'd been asking since the moment he came home, like you always did when you saw him worn down, like you always did when he looked like he was holding a little too much in. But no matter how well you meant it, no matter how much you truly cared about him, he just didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. Not tonight.

"I’m fine," he muttered, his tone dismissive, but you could hear the edge in his voice.

You hesitated, eyes scanning him again, sensing the distance between his words and the tension in his body.

"Jisung… I know you’re not fine," you said softly, a frown pulling at your lips. You reached toward him, wanting to bridge the gap that was widening between you, but he stepped back before you could touch him.

"I’m fine," he repeated, louder this time, irritation lacing his voice. "Just stop asking."

Your heart twisted, but you tried to swallow the hurt, not wanting to push him further. But you couldn’t stop yourself from trying again, desperate to get him to open up. "Please, I can tell something’s wrong. If you need to talk, I’m here."

He froze at that, hands clenched at his sides, jaw clenched. His frustration, the irritation that had been building inside him all day, finally cracked open.

"I said I'm fine!" He snapped, his voice sharp, his eyes burning with anger, not at you, but at the world that had worn him down. "Why are you always so clingy? It's annoying. I do not need you hovering over me like this. I don't need you constantly keeping tabs on me!" The words were biting and nasty. You trembled, a flood of hurt smashing over you, but you tried to stay calm.

You couldn't help but feel the sting of dismissal and the weight of his harshness. "I'm just trying to help you," you said softly, your voice quivering slightly. "I just want to make sure that you're okay. Why don't you let me help?"

He glanced at you, the spark of guilt in his eyes swiftly drowned out by the a flood of frustration within him. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He wanted to apologize. He knew he hurt you. But the words did not come, and he had no idea how to make it right. He didn't know how to ask for what he wanted when everything inside him felt like it was about to come apart.

You did not wait for him to say anything. The anger, bewilderment, and hurt welled up in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and marched out, your footsteps loud and strong as you made your way to the bedroom.

The door slammed behind you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. You sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of the frustration both his and yours press down on your chest like a suffocating blanket.

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to feel this way. You had only wanted to help him. To be there for him when he was struggling. But all he had done was push you away.

You heard no footsteps, no soft knock on the door. Normally, when something like this happened, he would come after you. He would apologize, his voice soft and regretful, and you’d make up. He’d say something about how it wasn’t you, how he was just having a hard time. But this time, the silence stretched on. The door stayed closed.

It wasn’t long before you realized he wasn’t coming.

The silence felt so loud, so suffocating, and it only made everything hurt more. He wasn’t here to apologize. He wasn’t here to soothe you like he always did.

And maybe this time it wasn't all about him. Maybe it was more than simply his tiredness and irritation. Maybe it was about something deeper, something more than just a bad day at work. Your heart broke at the thought that he might have pushed you away because he didn't know how to accept you. Maybe he'd been hiding his pain for so long because he was frightened to show you the parts of himself he thought were too shattered. Maybe he was just too stressed to recognize that you weren't a burden, but rather someone who wanted to help him shoulder the weight.

But right now, none of that mattered. What mattered was that he had called you clingy, had pushed you away when all you wanted was to hold him close.

You curled up in bed, hugging your knees to your chest, and tried not to cry.

You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt the weight of the bed shift beside you. Jisung’s presence was always so familiar, so warm, but tonight it felt distant. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, in the darkness, as the minutes dragged on.

And you, as much as it hurt, didn’t know if you could ask him again if he was okay. Not yet. Not until he was ready to admit that he wasn’t.

felix

It had been one of those days where everything seemed strange, as if a thin film of tension had been applied to the edges of everything you did. The kind of day where even the most basic tasks felt significant, and no matter how hard you tried to make things feel normal, you couldn't escape the growing distance. Maybe you chalked it up to stress. Maybe it was just a phase. Everyone goes through a hard stretch, right? But when you woke in the middle of the night, your hand instinctively going for the warm spot beside you, only to find it empty, that emotion became too strong to ignore. Felix had always been the one to stay close, even in sleep. He was always so attentive to your needs, so present. But now, the space between you was cold, and the bed felt too large without him there.

You sat up, the quiet of the room pressing in on you, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you swung your legs off the side of the bed. The soft glow of the TV in the living room flickered across the hallway, casting long shadows.

As you made your way down the hall, you saw him there, slumped on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen but unseeing, staring at it like it held some answer that he couldn’t quite grasp. You could see the strain in his posture, the weight of something pressing on him, but he didn't acknowledge you as you approached.

You stopped a few feet away, unsure what to say. The silence between you two felt like a wall, immovable and unbreakable. This wasn't the Felix you knew, the one who would always offer a comforting smile or an encouraging word when you needed it. This version of him was remote and frigid, as if he built a fortress and did not plan to let anyone in.

"Felix," you whispered slowly, trying not to shock him, your voice trembling with emotion. "What's wrong?"

He didn’t respond at first, as if he hadn’t heard you, or maybe he just didn’t want to answer. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like it added more distance between you two. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and strained, and it hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Nothing,” he muttered, though it was clear that wasn’t true. His words didn’t match the heaviness in the air, the emptiness that had settled between you two. “Just… leave me alone, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Leave him alone? You didn’t understand. Since when had he ever asked you for space, especially like this? Felix had always been the one to reach out, to comfort you, to be the one you could lean on when things got tough. But now, he was shutting you out, pushing you away.

You stood there, paralyzed, staring at the back of his head as the emptiness in the room seemed to swallow you whole. His posture was stiff, almost defensive, like he was trying to make himself smaller, trying to hide from you, and it hurt more than you ever expected.

"You don't have to be so clingy all the time," he said, his voice more clipped and distant than you'd ever heard. It was as if the words were spoken by someone else, a stranger in the body of the person you loved.

Clingy? The word resonated in your thoughts, sending you reeling. You'd never considered yourself clingy. Have you really gotten so annoying? Was your affection and presence too much for him? You couldn't understand it. The connection, the intimacy that had once been so natural between you two now seemed so far away, as if it were a dream you couldn't fathom.

“I just…” Your voice faltered, and you took a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry, not to show him just how much his words had wounded you. “I just wanted to know what’s wrong. You’re… you’re not like this, Felix. Not with me.”

You took a tentative step forward, hoping that your proximity would reach him, that your presence would somehow break through the wall he had built around himself. But he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge you, and that hurt more than anything else. It was the silence, the refusal to face you, that felt like a betrayal.

"Please talk to me," you whispered, your heart breaking as you watched him remain motionless on the couch, his eyes still fixed on the television, as though he could pretend you weren’t even there.

But Felix didn’t respond. Instead, he kept his focus on the screen, the distant expression on his face more painful than any argument. You could feel the distance between you growing, spreading like a chasm, and it felt like you were standing at the edge, about to fall into the void.

It wasn't always this way, you thought, recalling times when simply being in the same room was enough to make you feel connected. It seemed as if you blinked and everything had changed. He wasn't the same Felix who would stay up with you when you were feeling sad, holding you and whispering comfort in the darkness. The man who had once looked at you with warmth and love now seemed so distant, like a stranger you didn't recognize.

Your heart ached; the anguish of losing him, feeling him slide through your fingers, was almost excruciating. You could not tolerate the deafening stillness between you any longer.

With a last, desperate glance at him, you whispered, “I’m here, Felix. I’m always here for you. If you need space, if you need time, I’ll give it to you. But I just… I just need to know you’re okay.”

But he didn't respond and didn't move. His silence hurt worse than words could, and you realized, with a sickening feeling, that you had no idea where you stood in his life. The Felix you knew, the Felix who would always reach out to you, seemed like a memory you could no longer grasp onto. You turned away, your feet feeling heavy as you walked back to the bedroom, the distance between you two becoming more than just physical.

The weight of his disinterest crushed against your chest, smothering you, and you wondered whether things would ever be the same again. Will he come to you eventually? Would he tell you about what was bothering him, or had you already lost him in ways you couldn’t fix?

You climbed back into bed, the sheets cold where he should have been beside you. And as the night stretched on in silence, you tried not to feel the unbearable emptiness that had settled in your heart, wondering if Felix would ever look at you the same way again.

seungmin

The front door creaked open, and you could hear Seungmin's footsteps in the hallway, dragging slightly, indicating how exhausted he must have been after a long day of practice and vocal lessons. You'd been waiting for him, possibly too eagerly, though you tried not to admit it. You had planned to talk, the conversation you'd been putting off for days because the silence had gotten unbearable. The subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he became more distant and engaged in his own world, weighed heavy on your chest.

You knew how busy he was, how much work he put into his training and craft. But it didn't take away the sting of feeling like an afterthought, as if you were no longer a part of his life. You had tried to keep it together, to give him his space when he needed it, but the continual feeling of being neglected was gradually pulling you apart. You needed him to see you. You needed him to care the way he used to, to put forth the same effort that you did.

So, as the door clicked shut and you heard him move toward the kitchen, you braced yourself and entered the hallway to greet him.

"Seungmin," you called softly, but there was no immediate response. He didn’t even look up, didn’t even glance in your direction.

You took a breath, trying to keep the anxiety from choking you. "Can we talk?" Your voice was steady, though you could feel the tremor beneath it. "It feels like we’re not the same anymore."

His footsteps faltered for half a second, and you thought maybe you had caught his attention. But instead of stopping, he just continued walking past you, brushing past your shoulder so closely you could feel the coldness radiating off him. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

"Seungmin," you said again, but this time there was a little crack in your voice, a vulnerability you didn't want to express. You needed him to hear and see you, even if just for a moment. But he did not stop. Finally, he gave a low, exasperated groan that hung between you like a wall. He turned halfway, his eyes flickering to you with an enigmatic expression. "Why do you always make things so dramatic?" His comments were harsh, cutting through the silence and making you flinch. "You're really clingy. Just leave me alone for once."

The words were like a punch to the gut. The force of them knocked the wind out of you, and your heart seemed to stop for just a moment, trapped somewhere in the space between your chest and throat. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him to say something so cold, so dismissive. All you had wanted was to talk, to bridge the distance that had formed between you, but now it felt like you were drowning in it.

Your body went still. You opened your mouth to respond, to explain how unfair that was, but no words came. How could you even argue against that? How could you explain that all you wanted was his attention, his care? You weren’t clingy you were hurt.

"Seungmin, I’m not—" The words tumbled out weakly, but they didn’t seem to matter.

"You are," he interrupted, his tone now flat, distant. "I don’t have the energy for this right now."

He turned away from you, heading toward the kitchen without another glance, leaving you standing in the hallway, shattered.

You stood there for a long moment, frozen in the aftermath of his words. Everything you had been holding back, all the frustration, the confusion, the loneliness that had built up over the last few weeks, was suddenly crashing down on you like a wave. Was that it? Was that all you were to him now? Someone who was too much to deal with?

You had never felt so small. So invisible.

You had tried to keep it together. You had told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that he was just stressed, that he didn’t mean it. But now, standing there in the hallway with nothing but the echo of his dismissal ringing in your ears, you realized that maybe this was the problem the distance. The lack of communication. The feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you could never reach him, never get him to understand what you needed, what you were hurting from.

You wanted to chase after him, to try again, to make him see how much his words had stung. But something inside of you had broken. There was a voice inside you now that said, "It’s too late. You’ve tried. He doesn’t want to listen." And that was more painful than anything else knowing that, deep down, he didn’t even want to meet you halfway anymore.

You had hoped, and even prayed, that things would return to normal, that the love you once shared would reemerge. But standing there, you couldn't help but feel as if you were fighting a losing war. You didn't ask for much: simply his time, presence, and devotion. You never expected this level of coldness in return.

The silence in the home became intolerable, and each second felt like a weight on your chest. You wanted to yell at him and urge him to care, but all you could do was stand there, feeling the barriers between you two grow higher and higher.

You turned away slowly, your legs heavy, your head spinning with everything you had just heard. You didn’t know what hurt more: his words or the fact that he had walked past you like you were nothing.

You needed him to care, but right now, it felt like the person you needed was already gone.

I.N

The evening had been everything you hoped it would be: thrilling, warm, and full of laughing. You'd been dating Jeongin for about a year, and he was finally introducing you to his members. It seemed like an important milestone in your relationship. You'd heard so much about them, and now you'd get to meet the people he cared about the most. The anticipation had you beaming all evening as you helped Jeongin in cooking dinner, your heart filled with delight at the prospect of cooking together and spending time with the people who were such an important part of his life.

The dinner had gone smoothly. The atmosphere was cozy, filled with the sound of happy chatter and the clinking of silverware. The members were friendly, teasing each other and joking around. You could see why Jeongin was so close with them they were like brothers, comfortable and at ease with each other. You had felt so welcomed by them, their laughter contagious, and the food you had helped prepare had been met with praises.

As the night wore on, everyone settled into the living room, enjoying sweet treats and wine. It was the perfect end to a perfect evening, or so you had thought.

But as the evening wore on, you noticed something that made your stomach churn. Jeongin was distant. He had been quieter than normal, with his focus wandering. Normally, he would be the first to steal a kiss from you or press his hand on yours if you were close. But tonight? Tonight, it felt as if he was purposefully keeping distance between the two of you.

You brushed it off at first, believing he was just weary or stressed after introducing you to everyone. After all, meeting his members was a major step, and maybe he was just concerned with making sure things went smoothly.

But it wasn’t just that.

When you leaned in to rest your head on his shoulder, like you had done numerous times before without thinking twice, he pulled away almost immediately. The action was swift and sharp, as if you had done something wrong. You blinked in surprise, a frown tugging on your lips, but before you could ask what was wrong, he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, "Stop being so clingy." The words struck you like a physical punch. You froze, the warmth of your feelings for him vanished, replaced by a frigid knot of perplexity and embarrassment. Did he mean it? You could feel the weight of the members' gazes as you looked around the room, though no one said anything. But you could tell they had heard, the awkward silence that followed making it painfully clear.

You felt heat rising up your cheeks, humiliated. Had you overstepped? You had never been clingy before and had never thought of yourself in that way. But his comments, which were cutting and contemptuous, hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. The casual tenderness you had always shared seemed like a distant memory today, a bitter reminder of how things had changed without warning.

Jeongin had always been so warm and tactile with you. Kisses on your cheek while cooking, his arm slung over your shoulder while watching TV, all the little things that made you feel safe and cherished. But tonight? Tonight he was a different person.

You tried to ignore it, thinking maybe it was a bad moment. Perhaps he was just tired, or maybe something had happened at work or with the members that was weighing on him. But as the night continued, the distance between you only seemed to grow. When you tried to brush your hand against his, he pulled it away, a small frown on his face. When you tried to rest your head on his shoulder again, he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your touch with a small sigh.

It was as if you were a stranger to him, someone he couldn’t stand to be close to.

Your heart dropped. It was a feeling you never expected to have with him, the type of coldness that made you question everything, including the entire foundation of your relationship. You had no idea what was going on in his mind, but the way he was treating you now felt so different from the Jeongin you had fell for.

You excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to collect your thoughts and prevent yourself from entirely disintegrating. The quiet hum of the talk in the living room followed you as you walked back, the members' voices merging into the background as your thoughts occupied you.

Was he angry with you? Had you done something wrong? Maybe he was embarrassed by you, by your clinginess. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen as the guy who couldn’t control his girlfriend. Maybe you were being too needy, too dependent, and he just couldn’t handle it anymore. Maybe he had changed, and you were the one who had failed to notice.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm the tightness in your chest. When you returned to the living room, you tried to smile, to pretend like everything was fine. But the look on Jeongin’s face when you came back made your stomach twist even further. He didn’t smile at you like he usually did. He didn’t reach for you. He just sat there, a distance between you that felt like an ocean.

You sat down again, feeling smaller than you had with him before. You did not want to confront him in front of the other members. Not when things were going so well. You didn't want to ruin the evening or make things uncomfortable for everyone. But the awkwardness was already there. It seemed like a thick cloud suffocating you, and you knew he felt the same way.

Eventually, the evening came to an end. The group began saying their goodbyes, laughing and conversing, although their voices were scarcely audible. You were too consumed by the subtle tension between you and Jeongin, who hadn't spoken anything to you since your previous conversation. You gently grabbed your stuff, not quite meeting his eyes.

When you reached the door, Jeongin still hadn’t moved. He was standing by the couch, talking to one of the members, completely ignoring you. It wasn’t how you thought it would go. This wasn’t how you imagined the night would end.

It wasn’t until you were halfway out the door that he finally spoke, his voice distant, flat. "You okay?" he asked, as if the tension between you hadn’t been there all evening.

You stood frozen, looking back at him, your chest tight. You wanted to say so many things. You wanted to ask why he was acting this way, to demand an explanation, to tell him how hurt you were by the way he had dismissed you. But you didn’t. Instead, you forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

"Yeah," you replied softly, your voice quiet, strained. "I’m fine."

And then you stepped out, leaving the apartment behind, the discomfort and uncertainty lingering in the air like a thick cloud. You had no idea what had happened or what had caused this abrupt change, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something in your relationship had just broken. Something that might not be fixable.

And as the door clicked shut behind you, you weren't sure if Jeongin noticed.

//

(proofread ❌)

masterlist

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[xthedevilscircusx]

Of course Alastor wanted to jump back into something more his style despite looking like a SNACK in his current outfit. Well, all in all, it's nice to see Alastor in something different, even if only for a little while. "Sure think, big fella." He flopped back onto the bed feeling himself space out after tonight's events.

"I guess I should get out of this outfit too..." He said to himself once Alastor left. A nice bubble bath will be great with some wine. May as well enjoy being in Envy until they can take their boat trip tomorrow.

With that, Lucifer gave a big stretch before hopping off the bed. He didn't really think about Alastor walking back in since he'll be taking his shower, so he stripped down to his boxers and went to the second bathroom in order to draw a bath, bubbles and all.

His thoughts start to linger back to that kiss and how nice it was to do what he wanted to do without dancing around it. He didn't need to hide anything here really. No fear of Charlie or the media taking pictures. He can just grab Alastor and make out with him....the buck really knows how to kiss.

Lucifer finally stripped out of his boxers and slowly sank into the tub with a soft groan. Is it wrong to think about him? Well, not like he'd ever know right? He's done it before---which Alastor had walked in on him; neither talked about it again.

Ugh, he really needs to get laid. Lucifer pressed his head against the tub and closed his eyes hoping to get his thoughts back in order.

"Good, the more we wait, the harder it's going to get to track down the source." He held one of the pills between his finger and raised it up to the light. "This wasn't made topsoil. This is a pure hellborn drugs. All that other stuff you see? It comes from the human world, and if not that, the stuff it's made out of are products that were brought down here by hellborn." Lucifer explained. "Our eco system here isn't the same as earth, hence why making drugs can be difficult if you want it exactly how the living world does it."

"All of hell has a foundation of magic. Old magic. Long before me even. Being here as long as I have, it becomes a part of you---this world. With that, I am connected to it. I can sniff out the source of it since everything that is created down here leaves a trail behind. All we do is follow the trail."

[the-amber-raven]

Snippet Sunday

I don't usually post snippets for fics that I'm already in the process of posting, but I'm aware it's been an age since I updated it feels like home to me (writing has been a struggle but it's coming this week, I promise - most likely on Tuesday) so I thought I might as well post a fun fire-fam snippet from the wedding in this story!

--

“Oh, no, please do feel free to spill, baby brother,” Maddie said. “I want to hear all about the pigtails that were pulled to make this happen.” 

“There were no pigtails,” Evan groused. 

“Uh, excuse me,” Eddie said, raising his hand to interrupt. “But as the person who almost ended up with a broken ankle for the high crime of having Tommy’s attention, I beg to differ about the lack of pigtails.” 

“What?!” Hen asked, looking torn between concern and delight.

“You realise you just called yourself a pigtail?” Evan sniped at Eddie, pouting at him. 

“Wait,” Nash said, frowning, his brows furrowed.

Tommy froze, willing his brain to come up with something to distract Nash away from the conclusion he was inevitably drawing, wanting to spare Evan from being on the receiving end of his captain’s wrath on his birthday. While Nash was never anywhere near as harsh as Gerrard, Tommy knew that he was no slouch in the discipline department. 

He was somewhat surprised that Eddie had even brought this incident up in front of him but Tommy knew that he was also operating on very little sleep (he’d gotten some hilarious messages and videos from the failed bachelor party) so he likely hadn’t thought the comment through. 

“That was how you injured your ankle and had to call out of work for a week?” Taking the silence as confirmation, Nash sighed exasperatedly and turned to give Evan a disappointed look. “Buck.” 

“I ended up going over to Evan’s house and kissing him,” Tommy blurted out, flushing when all the attention immediately diverted to him.

“Really?” Eddie said, staring at him. "That was how it happened?"

“So, what, he opened the door and you just laid one on him?” Karen asked, confused. 

“No, we were inside,” Tommy corrected. “And we spoke about – things –” 

“Buck going Full Buck and maiming Eddie because he couldn’t just ask to go to a basketball game,” Chimney supplied helpfully. 

“I asked you,” Evan retorted. 

“Kid, do you remember the conversations we’ve had about talking to the wom – the people you’re dating?” Nash asked. To Tommy’s surprise, he didn’t look upset – more resignedly amused. “You realise that applies to the w – people you want to date as well.”

“See, it’s not my fault that you didn’t make that clear,” Evan said, slinging an arm around Nash’s shoulders and giving him an innocent smile. 

[zerocoded]

summary: the view of linkon city from above is really different than what you're accostumed to, but you can't help but love every second of it when caleb is by your side.

authors note: can't believe i'm posting a caleb work here on this account before a sylus one LOL, anyways i'll treat our dragon fine later, now this colonel has been eating my brain the past two days and i need to get this out. this is pretty lame honestly, just trying to figure out what caleb i want to write among ALL of the ideas his one minute trailer gave me geez. i hope you like his soft side here because i plan to write a more obsessive caleb next time hehe. (GUYS I CAN'T FIND THE AUTHOR OF THIS BEAUTIFUL DRAWING I FOUND ON PINTEREST HELP).

warnings: soft!caleb lol he is just our boynextdoor here • idk where this would fit in the og story so just enjoy the reading and pretend it makes sense pls • sfw content

word count: 0.6k

the neon glow of skyhaven's artificial skyline reflected off the polished surfaces of the floating colony, bathing everything in shades of blue and violet. caleb leaned casually against his fighter jet, the sharp angles of the aircraft framing his silhouette. his black jacket, emblazoned with the deepspace aviation administration emblem, caught the faint light, making him seem larger than life.

“thought you’d chicken out,” caleb said, his voice laced with mock disappointment as you approached. “figured you’d be too scared to race the great colonel caleb.”

“scared? of you?” you shot back, folding your arms. “last i checked, you scraped the hull of your jet in the last drill. hardly inspiring confidence, colonel.”

he chuckled, the sound low and warm, and pushed off the jet with an easy grace. “ouch. remind me to never let you near the observation deck again. you’ve got a real knack for holding grudges, don’t you?”

your banter was familiar, a shield against the weight of the world outside skyhaven. but tonight, there was a strange tension in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

caleb stepped closer, his usual teasing smirk softening into something more genuine. “you know,” he began, his tone quieter now, “all jokes aside, it’s good to see you up here. the city looks... different from above. easier to pretend it’s not falling apart for a while.”

you glanced past him, your gaze settling on the twinkling lights of linkon city far below. “it’s not falling apart,” you said firmly. “not while we’re still here to fight for it.”

“always the optimist,” caleb murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you make it sound so easy.”

“it’s not. but what’s the alternative?”

silence stretched between you two, broken only by the hum of distant machinery. caleb looked at you, his purple eyes searching yours for something unspoken. when he spoke again, his voice was softer, rawer.

“do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t lived through the chronorift?” he asked. “if we’d just... had normal lives? no wanderers, no aether cores, no missions?”

you blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. caleb rarely let his guard down, always the jokester, always the soldier.

“sometimes,” you admitted. “but then i remember how much we’ve done—how much we’ve survived. i wouldn’t trade that. not if it means losing you.”

his gaze sharpened, and for a moment, caleb seemed to forget the world around them. he took a step closer, the space between you shrinking.

“Y/N,” he said, your name heavy with meaning. “you know i’d do anything to keep you safe, right? even if it means...” he trailed off, looking away, his jaw tightening.

“even if it means what?” you pressed gently.

he exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. “even if it means putting the whole world in danger. you’re the one thing I can’t lose.”

for once, you didn’t have a comeback. instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. “you won’t lose me, caleb. not as long as you don’t give up on yourself.”

the tension between you softened, replaced by something warmer, quieter. caleb’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with something deeper this time.

“guess i’ll have to stick around then,” he said, his voice lighter now. “wouldn’t want to miss out on you finally admitting i’m the better pilot.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “keep dreaming, colonel.”

and as the two stood there, beneath the artificial stars of skyhaven, it felt, for a moment, like the weight of their world was a little easier to bear.

author's note: look how sweet we can be, see? anyways next time i'll be writing about how he fucks probably, xx. CHECK OUT MY NEW POST ABOUT CALEB. send me a request • my masterpost

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 9: The Van Drawing . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

This is yet another piece of evidence that can probably be argued against with the phrase: 'Not everything is intention!!!' UHHHH maybe not everything but this definitely fucking is. Positioning shots in film is literally a language, it's there to tell viewers things that can't be said with words like books can. If byler is not endgame I will personally write to the directors like WHAT IS THIS???

As you can see here, this is an obvious attempt at showcasing what the characters are thinking without them being able to say it. It's right in front of our eyes and is very literal.

El is placed in front of the girl drawing, and Mike and Will are placed exactly where the thought bubble is. So she's thinking about them. DUH. ITS SO THERE ITS RIGHTTHEREGUYS....

They extend this even further, emphasising that it's El who is in the place of the girl, by having this shot with the thought bubble literally coming out of her head:

A face-on shot like this isn't very common, especially when a character is talking to another person. Also, the thought bubble looks like the one that Millie drew herself while the one with the very long extended shot (the first pic) looks different. They cut back to this shot three more times (a total of FOUR):

So when El originally draws on the van, she's doing it describe Max (who is represented by the girl in the middle) and the fact she will go inside her mind as well as Vecna (both represented by similar looking stick figures on the right). When she draws on it first, it looks like this:

The camera here is zooming in. If the camera kept zooming in, the thought bubble of the two men would not be right of Mike and Will so they literally had to redraw it so that it would be, clearly meaning that it's very intentional.

Already, this shot had indicated that byler would be together, but paired with the fact that they put this much effort into emphasising it to the audience. They just wanted this little hint that badly.

What does this drawing suggest? It could suggest that El knows something about them, maybe, she might have noticed them changing after her time in the lab, who knows. All I know is that there is no reason to place them in this shot in this way without it hinting at the outcome of the show.

Now it really makes sense why she didn't talk to Mike after the love monologue. Either because she knows he's lying (she's slammed the same door after being lied to before) or because she's realised she never needed him to say I love you.

[bluvay]

Breaking my own DNI for a moment here-

I thought I would jump in here and maybe give you the perspective of somebody on the opposite side? Although, I’m late to it-

People who establish these boundaries or rules of their own characters are aware the characters aren’t real. It’s not that these people are anti-NSFW, “puritanical”, or want NSFW wiped to begin with. It’s that they’re literally uncomfortable with it on a personal level.

They aren’t stopping you from drawing NSFW altogether. They’re just asking that you respect their boundaries and not use their characters they have attachments to.

There’s many reasons people may not want it to happen. From being uncomfortable with the idea, to being a minor themself.

The characters aren’t real, but the creator is. And if you’re making them uncomfortable by doing something they said no to, you’re the problem, not them.

They know something like this might happen, but they’re also allowed to say no to it, too.

It really just boils down to human decency, honestly-

I’m sorry if this post comes across as rude and that it’s late, but I thought I would give you a different perspective on it.

FOUND THIS AND ERM.....

These hilarious images made by an anti fall FLAT with three sentences:

"i drew YOU as the soyjack and ME as the CHAD!!!"

"whining and harrassment" and its fucking facts n truths,like the internet NOT caring n r34.

the "harrasers" being actual twitter assholes n porn addicts and not even proshippers.

God its so fucking funny,on the same topic,ya know trying to hunt/take down every "bad" fan content of your FICTIONAL characters to keep your fanbase/their image "pure" is just extreme chronically online behavior?

GOOD AND BAD THINGS ALWAYS AND MUST CO EXIST WITH EACHOTHERS,IN EVERY FORM IMAGINABLE,so trying to take down one of the two sides creates more issues,it also kils a fanbase since you're limiting the creativity of your fans.

After all,fiction and its fan content comes in every form,right?

I mean E V E R Y form,with that said.

Have a nice day :).

[razorblade180]

Actor AU6

Ruby:You know what’s funny about filming a movie where you’re aged up? *steps aside*

Summer:*in DC costume* Sup.

Ruby:I wonder how many people are going to notice the difference.

Summer:They’ll know it’s me when the acting improves.

Ruby:Wow!

xxxxxxx

Blake:Excuse me ma’am. Where’s the bathroom?

Yang:Oh it’s just…*flexes bicep* That way to the left.

Blake:Haha, why thank you.

Yang:There’s also one to the…*flexes tricep* right over here.

Nora:Stop it before you pull something you dork.

xxxxxx

Interviewer: So, Yang Xiao Long, fans have noticed you got a few gains for this movie.

Yang:Yep! Never again haha!

Interviewer:What? Why not.

Weiss:She was such a baby off set.

Yang:Mad respect for personal trainers and gym enthusiasts. I like to feel a burn but I missed my arms not being sore. Adam would literally be nice enough to make me oatmeal and I’d just look at sadly because I don’t want to lift the spoon.

Interviewer:Was it as painful for the rest of you?

Blake:I actually think I like protein shakes now and that’s deeply upsetting.

Weiss:I’ve always lived the gym life. They wanted more squats so I gave them more squats.

xxxxxx

Ruby:*sitting sadly*

Superman:*sits beside her* It seems you have a lot on your mind?

Ruby:A lot has changed since we last met; big changes. Atlas fell, my sister and I got into a fight, now we’re here and…Jessica keeps asking about Jaune.

Superman:*tucks lips in* Mmhmm..

Ruby:Like…damn bitch, it was adventure. Let it go.

Crew laughing in the background

Ruby:I got dozens with this guy. Get in line!

xxxxxx

Ozpin:*swinging cane*

Ruby:*getting beaten*

Jessica:*off screen*…I’m actually the director on this episode.

Ruby:*having a panic attack*

Jessica:I wish I was joking. I needed the experience.

xxxxxx

Blake:Guys, I think I know where we are.

Beautiful wide panning shot

Blake:…I think we’re in Candy Land~

Weiss:Fuck ooooffff. *covers face* That was so random! Ahaha!

Yang:Honestly falling from your world into Candy Land sounds more terrifying than a place like Wonderland.

Bloop!

Blake:I think we’re in Wonderland.

Director Roman:Ever After…

Blake:*nods*…I said that so confidently to. Holy hell…

xxxxxx

Jaune:Today I met a little girl who was a RWBY fan. She asked me if there was any way to come back stage to pet Juniper. *bites muffin* I couldn’t tell her that Juniper was a prop.

Neo:So what did you say?

Jaune:I told her I actually don’t get to see him either. Now both of our days are ruined. This job is cruel.

xxxxxx

Pyrrha:Sup guys. It’s me, here to traumatize you again. *flips camera*

Penny:I’m here for the kill assist.

Pyrrha:You think we’ll be in final episode somehow?

Penny:Oh absolutely. I signed up for the role of “Ruby’s friend” and somehow landed “ghost of the narrative” by mistake.

Pyrrha:Saaame! Funny how that works out.

xxxxxx

Weiss:Where are Blake and Yang?

Jaune:Must’ve had bigger things to work out.

Meanwhile on storming bridge

Yang:Bl- what the!?

Adam:*draws sword* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!!

Blake:Sorry! The more I tried to not of the worst situation, the harder it got!

Yang:…*looks at camera* Can we keep this?

Roman:No.

Yang:But I want another cool fight!

xxxxxx

Oscar:*getting makeup done*

Penny:Ready to die on screen?

Oscar:Yeah. I took notes from the best.

Penny:So you’ve been looking at me?

Oscar:Whenever I can.

Penny:*giggles*

Coco:Hold still and stop flirting!

xxxxxx

Jabberwok:*crumbles into Neo*

Neo:*finger guns*…..*makes Adam*

Blake:Oh my gooood!

Yang:*grinning* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!

Adam:JUST WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR! FACE MEEEEE!

Ruby:At this point you should just put him at the tea party.

Nora:You don’t even canonically know him!

Ruby:But it would be hilarious!

Weiss:What kills me is an army of Adams would probably be more effective than the Jabberwoks.

xxxxx

Ruby:*in a bat suit* This is the secret life option the blacksmith didn’t want to reveal.

Weiss:Ruby calls on quits and chooses Gotham over Remnant.

Blake:Willingly going to Gotham City is crazy. Life is not that bad.

Ruby:I don’t wanna take this off.

[staryscorner]

Comfortable

Paring: Ex Thanos x reader x In-ho

Since the very beginning of these games it’s just been hell the entire ride. You just wanted these games to end, but that’s not even the worst part. It's the fact that your ex boyfriend Thanos was here. It ended badly between you too and you never wanted to see him again. So you would always hide behind your friend In-ho. He was completely different from Thanos. He was kind,respectful, and would never push himself on to you. You might even say you think of him as more than just a friend … and he knew that. That’s why he’s been trying so hard to kill Thano in these games so that you could finally feel comfortable.

And this was his chance.

After surviving Mingle and having the votes turn into a draw he knew that there was a lot of tension between the two teams and that was perfect for him to start his plan. He was obviously not going to get his hands dirty so the best things he could think of was giving the players forks and since Myung-Gi (player 333) had already had issues with Thanos it was set up perfectly.

“Myung Gi, right?”

“Yea do you need something” He looked at the man with a weird expression 

“I was wondering if you could go check up with Min-Su since you know purple hair and his friend over there are trying to force him on their side” In-ho said trying to act considered 

“Oh sure I could go check” Myung-Gi said not giving it a second thought 

“But make sure you take a couple of people with you just to make sure nothing happened and this” In-ho gives him the fork making sure he understood what he meant by it.

He just watched him walk away and gather some others to go with him and it was just a matter of time before things got messy. He asked the guards before to not intervene until they saw that Thanos was dead.

.

.

.

“Isn't it weird that money is going into the piggy bank, we aren't even playing games!?” you asked the whole group.

Everyone just looked up and watched the money pig start to fill then a burst of noise came from both side doors.

“Can you all believe these guys attacked us” yelled team O

“He’s lying it was them who started the fight they were trying to get one of our members to join them”

“THEY EVEN KILLED MY FRIEND THANOS!” yelled Nam-gyu (player 124)

After you heard that he died felt a weight that was lifted off your shoulders you know you should feel sad but it was thanos he deserted everything that he got 

In-ho just looked over at you as he saw you breathe a sigh of relief. He walked over placing his hand over your shoulder

“Are you ok” He said sounding concerned 

“He’s was just history so there was not really nothing of that relationship left” 

He just smirked and grabbed your hand. Now all he had to do was protect you.

AY got this done in like a hour ^>^ Hope you all enjoy!!!!!!

[scarletemeterio]

Hello!! Can i request for ekko with an reader who likes to draw him a lot and he finds her Sketches on accident? Thank you!!

Secret Sketches (Ekko x Reader)

Warnings: slightly suggestive, like just a tiny little bit

Genre: fluff i guess

Word Count: 1k

Reader has no set pronouns

You loved sharing your art with people, especially with the Firelights' leader, but there was a secret sketchbook no one had ever seen, and you wanted to keep it that way. The fact that it was a secret wasn't a secret, pretty much everyone knew it, but no one dared touch it, mostly out of respect but also out of fear for your reaction.

However, every now and then Ekko insisted on seeing it, filled with curiosity.

"Come on, I'm sure that whatever's in it is amazing," he said.

"It's not that, it's just that it's a private thing, Ekko," you reminded him. "No matter how much you insist, I won't show you," you said, giggling.

"Well, it was worth trying," he messed with your hair and you let out a grumpy grunt.

Your relationship with him was the nicest thing you had, and even though you always teased and even flirted with one another, you didn't want to mess things. Things were good, there was no reason to change them. Nothing had actually ever happened between the two of you, but the tension was there all the time. With everything going on in Zaun, you both had other things to worry about.

Still, it was nice to dream sometimes. Nice to dream about you lying on his arms at night, legs wrapped around each other while he played with your hair. Or nice to dream about the mundane things, like cooking together and giving each other massages at the end of a long and tiring day.

Sometimes you shared small moments of peace. This was one of them, both of you in his office just talking about whatever, forgetting about all the horrible things for a while. You enjoyed being with him while he worked, not needing to fill the silence every single time and just took pleasure in his company. It was a good deal too, he worked on whatever it was that got his attention lately, and you could draw in peace. Draw him, specifically. Occasionally, Ekko would ask you what you were working on, but you simply brushed him off.

It was late now, every one else was asleep, but you two were still up, and it was beginning to get a bit chilly.

"I think I'm gonna go find a jacket or something," you told him. "I'll be back in a minute, don't set the place on fire," you teased.

"No promises."

He decided to clean up his desk a bit while you were gone because it was a mess, and in doing so he accidentally spilled some water when he hit a glass. Panic filled him quickly, because some of the water had reached your sketchbook. He grabbed it so it wouldn't keep getting wet and in doing so, some sheets of paper fell to the ground. The boy cursed himself for making such a mess in a matter of seconds and went to pick up the papers. Once he actually saw what he was holding, he paused. It was him in different settings, different angles but always him. He should've stopped himself but couldn't fight his curiosity and actually opened the book, seeing that every single page was filled with his features. Before he could continue going through it, you came back and you saw him.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" You instantly recognized your sketchbook and soon had a mix of emotions inside of you, anger and fear being the most prominent ones.

"I'm sorry I- It was an accident."

"How could going through my private things be an accident?"

"I spilled some water and then some sheets fell on the floor and I'm sorry I just couldn't help myself," he blabbered. The silence was awkward for the first time between you two until he broke it again. "Why me?"

You immediately knew what he was talking about, and there was no way you could evade the question or lie to him. "Ekko...," you said and looked at him. "Please, I don't want to embarrass myself again."

It was like you'd said everything without actually saying anything at all. He knew, and you knew he knew, and there was no going back now.

"So what, you think I'm that good-looking?" He teased and chuckled before getting closer to you. "Can't get me off your head?"

You looked into his eyes and then nervously swallowed. "To be honest, no, I can't," you said, "but only because you're a big dumbass."

He smirked and cut the distance between the both of you, placing his lips against yours. Your arms immediately wrapped around his neck while his were on your waist, pulling you even closer to him. "You wanna draw me naked next?" He said against your lips. You chuckled and lightly hit his shoulder before kissing him again, thinking that the jacket you'd brought minutes before was completely useless by now, Ekko could keep you warm for now.

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the third part to our long fic rec list! These fics are all 100k words or more. You can check out the first part to this rec list here and the second part to this rec list here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word.

1) There’s No Way Out (But Down) | Mature | 100,210 words 

When Harry had woken up that first day with a light tingling in his fingers, maybe he should have known something was going to go wrong. Now, sat in an empty field in fucking nowhere America, covered in blood, he realises he couldn’t save everyone. He knows his limits, has had them drilled into his head from the moment he was old enough to retain words. He knows he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things. He knows that what will happen will happen one way or another either way. And yet, he can’t control himself. For the third time, he settles his hands on Louis Tomlinson’s still heart and wills it to beat once more.

2) Invisible Strings | Explicit | 102,431 words

Louis has been struggling with his social anxiety for years now and is completely content with not leaving the house and having no social contacts. It gives him peace and safety. But when his new delivery guy, Harry, wants to get to know him Louis just can’t resist. Together, they find new, creative ways to communicate despite his anxiety. Soon their connection deepens and Louis doesn’t want his protected life anymore and instead tries to fight his social anxiety for the first time in years. But how can you change what became your personality over the years? And how can you feel safe again in a world that showed you exactly how dangerous it is outside? A story about finding your inner strength, healing and love that fights all odds.

3) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Mature | 102,505 words

Another roadtrip au featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

4) Halfway Home | Mature | 103,158 words

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were improbable childhood friends, much to Harry’s dismay. They were thrown together each summer when Harry was forced to visit Louis’ grandfathers’ ranch in Black Hills, South Dakota. With each passing year, their friendship blossomed into something more. When trail rides turned to stolen kisses, and tragedies turned to confessions until they could no longer deny the inevitable draw they felt for one another. Though life and their future plans soon set them on different paths. Ten years later, Louis is the proud owner of Halfway Home Wildlife Refuge. Harry returns to the ranch to escape the perils of his past in London, and though their memories still haunt Louis, he won’t let that deter him from his goals. However, someone has been keeping a close eye on the refuge, and possibly Louis specifically, and Harry’s return may have unleashed more than just old passions. There’s a hunter lurking in the Hills, someone who’s decided they’ve bided their time long enough.

5) If I Cannot Bend Heaven, I’ll Rise Hell| Explicit | 109,110 words

It blooms: In 1807, a boy falls for the wrong monster. It eats: In 1969, omegas began to disappear as rumors of the rising of a cannibalistic cult spread like wildfire. It grins: Now, one of the most powerful vampires of the West sits down for an interview to reveal all his sins. “Exodus 7:14-11:10, right before he sent the plagues, he said to Moses; ‘By this you will know that I am the Lord.’.” The vampire said with the ghost of a smile, small, almost intimate. “How can you annihilate something that you cannot touch, something you cannot see? How can you fight against a hungry God?“

6) Darling | Mature | 110,147 words

“Why do you call him darling?” I looked at Liam and felt my features soften. “Because he’s a darling. He’s absolutely the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. He’s a darling boy and I just want all of him and only him.”

7) The Healing Song | Mature | 111,851 words

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old. Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything. Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

8) (But) Baby We’re Everything  | Explicit | 117,618 words 

Harry and Louis broke up almost four years ago when their career paths took them different directions. Louis was hired at a primary school on the outskirts of London, and Harry went on to Cambridge to finish his degree and get his doctorate in education. But now, years later, Louis is a year two teacher at the same school he’s been employed at since the end of University, and Harry just so happens to be hired onto staff after finishing his postgraduate degree. Now that they’re back in each other’s lives, Louis has to face the secret Harry never discovered when he left years prior. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?

9) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120,815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other��s warm skin. “Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek. A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about. Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek. He couldn’t. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

10) Streetlights In The Dark Blue | Mature | 120,867 words

Louis Tomlinson is an investigative journalist. He’s spent the better part of his life researching the psyches of serial killers, and publishing articles to provide a deeper understanding into their methodologies. His pen-name, Orion, is well known around the globe. An alter-ego that keeps his pockets lined, and his identity private. That is, until a letter arrives at his home address. A letter containing a symbol. One dubbed by a serial killer who’d vanished three years prior. The postage stamp? Bainbridge Island. He’d spent so long peering into the darkness, it should be no surprise to discover that something had been looking back. The island presents a host of mysteries. It also houses a nosy witch, determined to break down his walls. And an FBI agent hellbent on shattering his carefully constructed world.

11) Three Men And A Baby | Explicit | 122,978 words

Note: There is a BH mention.

Louis’ life had been going along just fine. Until one morning when his entire world changes when he steps on a piece of lego belonging to a young boy who has randomly appeared in his flat. And with that boy comes his gorgeous father. His flatmate Zayn has some explaining to do but he’s definitely not complaining, instantly feeling connected to these new additions. Over the span of a year, life gets crazy, frustrating, surprising and most importantly…filled with love.

12) Siren Calls Me Home | Explicit | 133,762 words

Harry’s father had warned him. King Edward of Erendor had whispered his suspicions that Prince Louis of Blackmont was descended from the sirens, monsters from cautionary tales Harry was told as a child. A cruel, cold-hearted, and vicious nature wreathed in a breathtaking exterior, with coy smirks and slow blinks used to bend everyone to his will. His beauty was as well known as his cunning, his greed, and his ruthless grab for power. Time only proved the rumors to be true, and Harry made sure to keep his distance from the prince, never once speaking to him, and doing his best not to even meet his eye. Unfortunately, the ghosts of whispered warnings are powerless when one is up against the very tangible experience of being in Prince Louis’ presence.

13) The Compulsion to Find Love | Teen & Up | 140,138 words

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

14) Prisoner | Explicit | 140,445 words

When Louis Tomlinson heard the jury’s verdict, the world crumbled before his glassy blue eyes. Sentenced to five years in prison for a medical malpractice he did not commit, he was transferred to a maximum security prison. His days were numbered, he knew. Harry Styles, his cellmate and the monarch of the prison. Sadist like no other. The fumes coming out of his mouth were pure, bitter, flaming poison. Louis swallowed, certain it would be the last time he would ever do so. His body convulsed and his legs felt tremulous. He could have peed himself from the fear. “When I asked for a cellmate to have fun with, I didn’t imagine they’d bring me a little lamb.” If God had created Adam, the devil had created Harry.

15) No Hello Just Goodbye | Mature | 142,502 words

Louis had 9 months to try and convince himself out of it, but he knew from the very moment he saw the dreaded 2 lines that he couldn’t raise the baby. Not when the conception took place against his own will. Adoption was the only answer. He had no problems handing over his child nor did he endure any sort of regret. Or did he? 4 years after giving birth Louis sets out to search for his baby but what he finds instead is something he totally didn’t expect…… Love.

16) Where I Burn To Be | Explicit | 143,346 words

There were very few people who managed to get under Louis’ skin as effortlessly as Harry had, and even fewer who had done it in only a day and a half. It was quite an accomplishment, really. They’d only interacted a handful of times and yet Louis had the insatiable desire to slam the locker into that frustratingly well-defined face that never seemed to hold any expressions other than contempt and arrogance. “That’s right. I do own the skies. And you wanna know why?” he sneered. Without his boots on, Louis was a fair bit shorter than Harry, his eyes pretty much level with Harry’s chin and his socked toes bumping into the boots of the other man, close enough that Louis could make out the tiny scar on Harry’s brow and the individual shades of emerald in his irises. He was handsome, but that only made Louis hate him more. Heart thumping heavily against his sternum and his hands balled into fists, Louis lifted his chin defiantly and plastered a coldhearted smirk across his lips. “Because I’m the best goddamn pilot here.”

17) Your Eyes Are Tired But Keep Them Open Cause You Wouldn’t Wanna Miss A Thing | Explicit | 144,281 words

Louis is an omega in an abusive relationship everyone forced him into; he’s miserable until he meets his favorite student’s uncle, Harry, a gentle alpha with a big heart.

18) Give Me A Way To Breathe (If You Can) | Explicit | 152,100 words

“By decree of the Five Tribes of England, all omegas aged eighteen (18) to twenty-five (25) shall be bred annually at the age of eighteen warranted that they have had one (1) fertile heat. During these years, all omegas must remain unmated and fertile in time for their scheduled breeding session. Alphas between the age of sixteen (16) and thirty (30) will be selected based on physical strengths and medically exceptional sperm quality to breed the omegas. All viable children will be given to selected families. No parental rights will be given to the alpha whose sperm is donated or the omega who bears them. Those who do not serve their tribe by this law will face exile.” Louis’ eyes scanned the breeding letter. Written in a beautiful, careful cursive was the name of the alpha who would impregnate him, and it couldn’t have been more pretentious: Harry Styles.

19) Life And Love Finds A Way | Explicit | 165,244 words

Post-apocalyptic world after a plague had taken out more than half of the world’s population. In the midst of the pandemonium caused by so many people passing away, the population that was left had turned greedy and started attacking each other for food and resources now that there weren’t enough people to farm or work essential jobs. After being shot by a looter while he was on patrol, Harry had decided to leave the police department and move away to find somewhere remote to live. What he didn’t expect was for an omega to weasel his way into Harry’s heart.

20) Inevitable | Mature | 185,917 words

AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

21) I Thought We Were Forever | Mature | 235,556 words

“I need time alone from you.” Louis’ heart skipped a beat. That he had not seen coming. “From me?” his voice shook. Harry nodded, another tear rolling down his cheek. “I don’t understand, H.” “It’s-” “You want to go on holidays on your own or something?” frowned Louis, so very confused. A long silence settled. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this.” murmured Harry and he looked so in pain. “I like someone else. Like Like like. At least I think I do. I’m not sure. That’s why I need time alone.”

22) Boss Bitch | Explicit | 386,901 words

Harry had always wanted to work for this successful mafia; the mafia that everyone knew, everyone feared. Led by none other than the pahntom “L'eue Courante”, whom everyone knew existed, but had no other clues who this person could be. The only thing known was a high heel the phantom once left. So this person had to be woman, Harry assumend. And man, was he wrong.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fic. (Part Four)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes so not intended for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Four: Y/N knows how much it means to Cillian to see his sons, and she feels for him when the day doesn't entirely go as he'd wanted it to. Something he says stirs yet another concern in her mind, but she's keen to do as he says and not focus on her anxiety. Not only that, but she's desperate to ensure he knows he's got her support. By the time her birthday arrives, he shows her in a sweeping gesture just what she means to him. [Bonding/domestic chapter, nothing sexual]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @lavender-haze-01

.....

“Back!” From the kitchen you have a clear view to the front door further down the large space, and you look up from the hob as Cillian closes the front door with Aran trailing beside him.

“Hiya,” you call out. “How's it going, Aran?” You ask as he walks slowly towards you.

“Yeah, alright,” Aran replies with a slow nod. God, he's getting like his father more and more each time you see him, you think. He stands at the edge of the kitchen island with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Your Dad said Malachy’s at his girlfriend's?” You raise your eyebrows, looking for anything to make conversation with the lad. He'll take his time warming up to being here - he always does.

“Barely leaves her these days,” Aran says quietly but there's an amused smirk on his lips.

Cillian laughs as he reappears, having been throwing his coat and shoes into the under stairs cupboard. “What's her name?” he asks, standing beside Aran in an almost identical stance.

“Aoife,” Aran says.

“What happened to Laura?” Cillian raises one eyebrow and Aran cracks a genuine smile.

“They only went on a few dates,” he says. “Anyway, I know Aoife. She's alright. Her sister's in my year at school.”

“Youse didn't fancy double dating?” Cillian teases and you can see the slight awkwardness that takes over his son's face.

“You've plenty of time for girls, Aran.” You say gently. “Do you want a drink?” You offer, “Help yourself in the fridge.” You gesture behind you. “We got those water things you like.” You always feel awkward for the first little while when the boys come around, and you know they do too, but by the time it came for Cillian to be driving them home again, you were all usually slagging and teasing like the best of friends. “Cill, where's the gravy jug?” You ask, peering around in the cupboard above your head. Before you've even turned to look at him, Cillian draws up behind you with his hands on your hips, and his head on your shoulder, and he stares into the cupboard along with you. “Two heads are only better than one if the other one looks elsewhere.” You joke, tapping against his cheek with the flat of your hand. “It isn't in there.” You nod towards the cupboard.

“Must've gone into a different press last weekend.” Cillian suggests. He turns to kiss your cheek before releasing you. He wanders the kitchen, opening doors and searching for the aforementioned jug.

As you close the cupboard door you catch Aran's expression and feel bad - he looks out of place, somewhat disgusted even, and you know it's because Cillian had been affectionate with you. You take a deep breath and turn to lean on the island countertop, smiling as you catch Aran's eye. “How is Malachy, and your mother?”

Aran's shoulders twitch up slightly, “Fine,” he says. He's not sharp or rude, but just very blunt.

“And Adam?” You press on in trying to dispel the awkwardness.

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, fine.”

He doesn't make it easy for you, even after all this time, but you remind yourself he's a teenager, too. You smile, false though it is. “That's good.” You turn your eyes to Cillian, who is crouched down at the cupboard beside the oven, digging around for the jug still. With his back to you, he doesn't know your eyes are silently begging him for help. “Don't stand on ceremony, Aran.” You say gently as you look back at him, “You're as at home here as you are with your mother, you know that.” You smile. “Help yourself to anything, go and put the TV on if you want, just make yourself at home. I think your Dad left his iPod on the speaker in there, too.” You nod towards the living room space.

He looks back at you blankly. He's a quieter lad, you know, but he's bordering on rude and standoffish at this point. “Dad?” He calls, and Cillian rises to his feet, brandishing the lost jug, and raises his eyebrows towards his son. “Can we do this next week, or during the week or something?” He asks and you look at Cillian instantly.

Cillian's face is a mix of confusion and disappointment. “What's wrong?” He asks, walking towards the island. He sets the jug down and keeps his eyes on his son.

Aran shrugs his shoulders, “Please, Dad?”

“Did I say something wrong, Aran?” You ask nervously. “If I did, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” You feel Cillian's arm around your back and his hand cups against your hip.

“Dad?” Aran's eyes are fixed on his father and you get the sense you've put your foot in it, even though you don't know how.

“If you want to go, I'll take you home, but I'd like to know why first.” Cillian says. His voice is calm - a more gentle form of parenting had been his style from the start - but it is still authoritative enough to command respect. “Sure you were grand in the car.” He pointed out. “Just explain what's going on, will ya?”

“Mam told me she talked to you this week.” Aran says slowly, and Cillian nods his head.

“She did, yeah.” He says.

Aran looks at you for a moment, then back at his father. “She said you two were looking at houses back over in London.”

You frown instantly, “Aran, we're not looking at houses in London.”

“I told your mother I've to go over to England for a while, for work. I think I said it would have been handy to have our old place, maybe, but I didn't say we were going to be moving over there or anything.” Cillian refutes the claim immediately. “Son, why didn't you mention this before? Have you been stewing over this all weekend?”

Aran shrugs his shoulders, “She said you were looking at places there. And she said that youse are talking about having kids.”

“Aran, why didn't you ring me? Or send a fucking text? Why sit going over all this and worrying your head over it?” Cillian removes his arm from around your back. He leans his arms on the island countertop and looks at his son with a gentleness in his entire expression. “We're not moving to London, I couldn't do that. I'll be there for work, but this is home. I wouldn't move a plane ride away from you two, you should know that.” He turns his head and glances at you, then looks back at Aran. “And Y/N and I talked a bit about things, yeah, but there's been no plans made to have more kids. I have you and Malachy, and Y/N knows how important our relationship is to me.”

You appreciate the diplomatic way he words his replies, and you smile softly when Aran looks at you, and you notice how much more comfortable he looks having been given his Dad's explanation. “So you're not pregnant?” Aran asks you, eyebrows wrinkled between his nose.

You laugh as you shake your head, “I am not pregnant.” You reassure him.

Cillian stands straight again and holds his hands out at his sides, “So are you staying, or what?” Aran nods his head. “Good,” you watch as he smiles brightly at his son and part of you wonders why he wouldn't want that same feeling again with a child with you. You remind yourself that children aren't everything, but does that mean you're doomed to be on the outside of something that clearly means a lot to him as a father?

It is almost seven pm when Cillian returns from dropping Aran back at Yvonne's house. He comes through the door with less gusto than he had earlier on and you know he's feeling the distance between himself and his kids. From the sofa, you call out to him as he rustles around by the front door. “Cill?”

“Hmm?” He hums back.

“You okay?” You ask.

He appears around the wall, hands in his pockets and face a little firm. “Yeah,” he nods.

“Aran get off okay?” You ask, swinging your legs down from your lounged position. You sit up, and open your arms out to welcome him in for a cuddle. He walks slowly towards you and drops onto the sofa dramatically, instantly resting against your shoulder. You wrap your arm around him and place your cheek on the top of his head.

“Yeah, flew in. Adam was there, Malachy was back but, um, he didn't come out.” Cillian says quietly and you feel your heart drop a little.

“Oh, love, I'm sorry.” You say softly, and you move your fingers up and down his arm lightly. “They're teenagers, they're supposed to be avoiding their parents and locking themselves in their rooms.” You say, “Go and call him - Malachy - and just talk on the phone. Just touch base with him. Especially if he's got the same worries in his head as Aran had.”

Cillian scoffs. “Why would she say we were looking at moving to London?” He tuts and sighs loudly. “I didn't say anything like that. It just feels out of character for her to even lie like that, but there's no way that Aran would be in that mood if she hadn't, nor would he make it up.”

“She probably just misinterpreted what you said to her.” You rationalise his fears like he so often does for you. “It's easy to mix up conversations at times.”

“I want to…” Cillian trails off and you frown.

“You want to what?” You press, encouraging him to speak up.

He shakes his head, “Ah, nothing.” He sighs and extracts himself from your arms. “Drink?” He offers as he gets to his feet.

“No, thanks,” you smile softly as he stands at the edge of the sofa, looking at you. You can see he feels lost, sad, and you know it's something he has to work through, but you hate it. “Unless you want to open a bottle of wine, early birthday celebrations?” You suggest, raising your eyebrows playfully, hoping he takes your lightness not a disregard for his feelings but as a way of being sweet.

“You've work tomorrow,” he reminds you, but there's a smile tugging at the left side of his mouth, pushing in a dimple on his cheek.

“It's just one bottle!” You laugh, “Between the two of us. Go on!” You coax and then, pushing on your best imitation of his softened Cork accent you add, “Sure it'll be fun!”

He scoffs, but it's a genuine smile that takes over his face afterwards. He rolls his eyes and sighs, the smile still there, and when he nods his head you know you've at least lightened his mood a little. “Red or white?” He asks as he walks towards the kitchen.

“You choose,” you say, picking up the remote control to the TV. “What are we watching?” You call back to him. “Film or series?”

“Can we not just put on some music?” He asks, his voice raised slightly as he digs in the cupboard in the corner of the kitchen for wine glasses.

“Music and wine,” you tease, “What are you proposing, Mister Murphy?” You giggle.

“Not marriage,” he mutters, but you hear it clearly.

You take a moment to work out if you're offended or not, if there's true intention behind his words or if it's another of his satirically delivered lines. You can't hear him shuffling about in the kitchen and you know that he's waiting to see how his words have landed. You let it fly, but you file it away in your mind bank, vowing to bring it up should you need to. To let him off the hook of tension you know he's poised on, you say, “I'd say no if you asked, anyway. Sloppy seconds husband? No thanks.” When he laughs, you know his intentions clearly. Flippant and silly, that's all it was. Don't take it to heart, you tell yourself. It's just your mind. You look around as he returns with two glasses of red wine in his hands. You take the one he offers you and hold it tightly to prevent it spilling as he flops onto the sofa beside you. Without a word, you hand him the remote control to the TV before you reposition yourself on the sofa, turning so that you're lounging comfortably and are able to throw your legs across Cillian's thighs. Instantly, he places his free hand out across your limbs. It's comfortable, loving, and exactly what you want. But he's quiet again and you feel the tension without even searching for it. “Go and ring Malachy,” you say, moving your legs from his lap. “Cill?” You raise your eyebrows when he doesn't move.

He sips his wine and when he draws the glass from his lips, he turns his head to look at you. “I was outside the house and he didn't come out.”

“You didn't go in,” you counter.

He sighs, “No.” He concedes.

“So go and ring him, ask about his dinner with his girlfriend and see if he got the same story as Aran. If he did, put him right.” You look at him seriously for a moment, then give him a gentle smile. You sit forwards and set your glass down onto the floor carefully, tucked in by the sofa to avoid a spillage. “I'm going to hop in the shower. Ring him, and then when you've made sure he's okay and you feel better, you can come upstairs and you can take me to bed. If you're lucky I'll let you you fuck me into my birthday.”

You watch his cheeks flush slightly, and he fights a smile but cannot hold it off. He looks at you, shaking his head, then stretches closer to you and presses his lips to yours. As he sits back, he swipes his tongue over his lips and nods his head. “G’on up and get your shower,” he says with his eyebrows raised. “I'll call this lad and then I'll come up.”

……..

It's your alarm ringing loudly that wakes you at seven am on Monday morning. The bed is empty, but isn't it always when he's close to working again? Cillian will be out running, or hunched over a mug of coffee in the kitchen. You groan as you reach over to the nightstand to silence the buzzing and singing phone, and begrudgingly you sit up on the edge of the bed. The room feels cold in contrast to the duvet and you groan again as you search for your slippers and hoodie to pull on over your pyjamas. Yawning, you make your way down the stairs with heavy, sleepy steps, and the sound of the TV playing gets louder as you reach the bottom. So, he's home at least. You shuffle your feet across the floor as you approach the kitchen island and smile softly. With his back to you, even if he was paying attention, Cillian's full attention is on whatever it is he's doing at the cooker and you know that when you speak you'll make him jump. But he does turn, clearly he's heard your movement, and his hair is mussed and his face is sleepy but he smiles at you sweetly and holds out his hands, offering a plate of buttered toast and a mug of coffee.

“Morning,” he says, huskily, and you realise he's only been awake a few minutes before you. “Happy Birthday.”

You smile back softly, “Thank you,” and walk towards him. He sets your breakfast items onto the island and instead wraps his arms around you. He kisses you softly, first on the lips, then on the forehead as he hugs you close. You keep your head against his chest, and while he initially goes to draw his arms away, he tightens them around you again when he realises you're searching out affection.

“You want your present?” He asks, his chin resting on the top of your head until you move a little, looking up at him.

You smile, like an excited child, “What is it?” You allow him to extract himself from your warm cuddle and watch as he disappears into the laundry room at the back of the kitchen. You reach for the coffee and gratefully sip at it, watching the doorway for his return. When he reappears, he's carrying an envelope, a small wrapped gift, and a pale blue helium balloon. You smile at the cute offering - he's such a romantic. He places everything in front of you on the island, and the balloon immediately floats slowly up towards the light. You set your coffee back down and reach first for the envelope, you feel awkward as he stands staring at you, his own mug of coffee beside him. Drawing the card out from inside of the red envelope, your eyes scan over the front. It's clearly been made to order, with a photograph of yourself and Cillian on a trip in Rome the previous year. You feel your stomach twisting at the nostalgia of the trip, and you open the card to read the inside.

“Mo ghrá, you've been everything I never thought would come in these last few years and I cannot thank nor celebrate you enough for everything you've brought to my life. I love you, you deserve the happiest of birthdays. - Cill. X”

“Oh, you big softy,” you look at him, sticking out your bottom lip. “Thank you.” You lean forwards and gently kiss him, your right hand cupping his cheek. He looks a little embarrassed, but smiles at you lovingly. “I love that photo,” you say, looking back at the front of the card. “That was such a lovely week.”

“It was,” he nods his head. “Open your present there.” He points at the small, wrapped box before you.

For a moment your mind runs over the possibility of it being an engagement ring - it's the right size, the right shape, but surely not? You smile at him as you reach out for it, and you carefully remove the wrapping paper from around it. Discarding the wrapping, your heartbeat quickens in your chest. It's definitely jewellery of some kind. You look up at him, frowning slightly, then slowly lift the lid on the small box. Inside, sitting on a navy velvet base, is a silver ring with a crystal blue stone set in the centre. Your eyes dart back up to him again. “Is…this…,” you stammer.

“It's not an engagement ring,” he says, softly and gently, “But it is…I don't know, a promise ring? I had it bought before Friday, but especially since the weekend I want you to know I love you, and whatever happens or doesn't happen, or whatever plans we have or change, I need you to know that I love you and I don't want to find any reason, ever, for us to change who we are, what we have, what we've been building these years.” He sounds nervous, timid, and like he might be scared he's saying the wrong thing but every word lands with love and gentle reassurance against your heart.

“Oh, love…” you feel the heat begin to rise in your eyes as tears start to pool in your lower lids. You set the box down and open your arms, moving towards him. “Thank you,” you whisper against the crook of his neck as you hold one another tightly. “It's beautiful, you're beautiful. Thank you.” for a moment, the back-burning resentment of the weekend falls away almost entirely. Almost.

[seraphimankh]

Alright this is going to be a very long post, but I’m going to make it here because I have to place down some ✨boundaries✨ because y’all can’t seem to behave on this damn app.

Last night was not okay. Period. I hope you all know that I do this for fun. I work 8 hours a day, and when I get home and want to have fun here. And when I get messages harassing me because of many things, it takes the fun out of it and makes me absolutely not want to be here.

I do apologize if I sound defensive and mean. I have a very hard time reading tone through text, so sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or being absolutely genuine. I’ve had a really bad history of harassment on here so I really take no shit when it comes rudeness.

That being said we’re gonna have some discussion about things that were said last night.

1. Asks. Anon will not be on until further notice. It seems because you can hide yourself you can come in and yell at me, be rude, etc. Nope not anymore. If I do not answer your ask immediately it could be many different things. I could want to draw something in response so it might take a bit, I could be at work, I could not have the right response at the moment and need to think about it, or I just don’t want to answer. I am not entitled to reply. I am only human, and I don’t know why some of you don’t have the empathy to think that, and send things that make me upset.

2. The Story. I’m sorry, but in the ao3 tags it does say ‘retelling’ aka a retelling of the Wizard of Oz in MY own way. It’s not anything new, so if you’re upset that I might have it end the same way the movie/the musical/ the book ends, then maybe this fic isn’t for you. I made this because I wanted to share my own twist on things, and don’t get me wrong I love each and every comment. It makes my day, but at the end of the day it’s my writing. It’s my choices. And if you don’t like it, simply don’t read. I’ve backed out on many good fics just because I didn’t like certain aspects. Doesn’t mean they’re suddenly terrible. It’s just not my cup of tea.

3. Characters. Certain characters will have certain endings. It’s really sad when I say I only have 3 chapters left of this fic and everyone already thinks they know the characters fate. I had a plan, a tentative one to make a sequel where everything is new and doesn’t go by the formula of the the movie, but at this rate if you all just want to yell and whine at me because things don’t go the way you want them to, I probably won’t write it. That being said, if a characters fate goes one way, let it be. It’s fiction. Not real. I have this happen for a reason, and arguing with me won’t change it. It will just frustrate me. So please respect that.

That’s pretty much all I can think to say. Just remember to be kind here. I’m a person, not a machine who just pumps out writing. I’m not getting paid to do this, I am doing this for fun and want to HAVE fun on here. I won’t delete this blog but if it ever gets like that again, I might.

My mental health is far more important than some silly blog on here that was meant to just post my art and talk about things that I love.

I appreciate all the nice comments and replies being said, and I hope everyone does have a good day. I’m sorry I had to put the adult pants on, but things really needed to be said here.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam signed the last paper and sighed, fuck that was a lot. He swore Ozzie left it just for him until he comes back sometimes.

Adam: Okay! Time for some fun stuff.~ Like shopping!

Lucifer smiled and took Adam's hand when he offered it to him, he has always been short but being in a realm where everyone was at least 6 feet tall made him feel even smaller.

They went to a clothing store and there was so much to choose from. There were some things that Lucifer wondered how the fuck you'd even wear it in the first place, he's seen napkins bigger.

Adam: Okay, pick out anything you want and I'll pick out a few surprises for you too.~

Lucifer flushed, he could only imagine what Adam would pick out. It was hard not picking something that didn't at least show some skin. He had always been made to cover up, it was wonder his father didn't make him wear gloves.

Lucifer: So, can I ask you something?

Adam: Of course.~

Lucifer: You said I was going to change, you know because I'm down here, when will that happen?

Because it hasn't happened yet.

Adam: Hmmm, well everyone is different and you didn't die when you came here so it could take a while. Anywhere from a week to a year. Why do you ask?

Lucifer shifted as he pulled a shirt off the rack: I kind of stand out.

Yeah a human among demons does draw attention. Adam looked over and there were some life-like horns on a hairband. He reached over and placed them on Lucifer's head.

Adam: There, until your real ones grow in.~

Lucifer turned to look at them, they did look real. They were black at the base and faded into a deep red shade to the tip. They curved outward and weren't too big for his head.

Not bad.

I am CRAVING some demon nun!Adam right now!

Help me, Things! 😫😫😫

Okay, I can help you.

*Cracks knuckles*

What about Demon Nun Adam x Human Priest Lucifer. Like maybe he's losing his faith a bit but is sticking with it for his father.

And Adam is the new "nun"

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 22 *

word count: 8.1k

smutsmutsmut! this is me saying sorry for the wait 😞 ermm pls ignore any grammar issues im not readin allat!! 🗣️ (luv u guys)

Still snuggled into his side, Aspen took a content breath. Her heart happily fluttered in her chest as his words repeated themselves in her head. She couldn't believe she was loved by him, him of all people, and he always had a way of showing it to her. She only hoped she could give him that same satisfaction as well. 

To her right, Harry was using his right hand to hold his sketch pencil, dabbling the granite over the sheet of paper in his notebook that was balanced on his knee. The girl took in the sight before her, how his tattoos grazed up his neck past his shirt collar and how his rings danced around his fingers in different directions (which she made a mental note of to twist back properly), how his nails were always painted a sheen black, never matte but somehow always chipped. She wondered if he'd ever try doing something like a topcoat.

Her brown eyes skimmed over his office, spotting the two ceramic pieces sitting on a shelf from their date, which was also when Aspen had asked Harry to be her boyfriend.

"You kept those?"

Aspen's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as she tilted her head toward the shelf where their two ceramic pieces sat side by side. The soft afternoon light filtering through the window illuminated the edges of the figures—the small, imperfectly painted conversation heart she had made and the abstract, green and gold swirled mug Harry had crafted. Seeing them there, carefully placed amongst his things, made something in her chest tighten.

Harry followed her gaze, then let out a low chuckle, his pencil pausing against the sketchbook. "'Course I did," he said easily, as if the thought of getting rid of them had never crossed his mind. He glanced down at her, his arm tightening around her waist. "Why wouldn't I?"

Aspen shrugged slightly, ducking her head. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't think—"

"Didn't think I'd keep somethin' we made together?" Harry cut in, his voice teasing but warm. He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Asp, I love what we made. I wanted to have it here, where I spend most of my time. Where I can look at it and be reminded of you."

Aspen's breath caught in her throat, and her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt. Reminded of her.

She didn't know why those words hit her so hard, but they did. It wasn't just about the ceramics—it was about everything.The way he drew her, the way he sang for her, the way he kept little pieces of her woven into his life. He loved her, and he made sure she knew it, not just in words but in all the little ways he held onto her presence.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her eyes burned slightly. "That's... really sweet," she whispered, almost shyly.

Harry hummed, smirking as he resumed the sketch in his lap. "I can be sweet," he murmured. "For you, anyway."

Aspen rolled her eyes at his playfulness, but she smiled, letting herself sink further into him. She watched as his pencil glided across the paper, forming soft, delicate strokes.

"What are you drawing?" she asked curiously, her head tilting to get a better look.

Harry hesitated for half a second, but then, with a small smirk, he tilted the notebook so she could see. Aspen's breath hitched when she realized what it was.

Her.

Her sitting just like this, curled into his side, her face tucked into his chest with that peaceful little expression she knew she had when she felt safe. The details were soft but unmistakable—the slope of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the way her hair spilled over his arm. It was just his side and his arm, a small section of the sofa where they sat, but he had captured her in a way that was exact, as if he took a photo and printed it onto the paper. 

Aspen stared, lips parting slightly. "Harry..."

"I told you, sugar," he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious. "I like keepin' you with me. Even when you're not here."

Aspen's throat tightened, her chest swelling with something too big to name. She had no words—nothing that could possibly match the way this felt. Instead, she lifted her hand, fingers grazing over the lines of the sketch as if touching them would make it feel more real.

Harry watched her, his green eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He wasn't always good with words—not when it came to things like this—but he could show her. He could give her proof of what she meant to him, of how much space she took up in his mind.

After a moment, Aspen turned to him, her brown eyes deep and searching. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this," she admitted softly. "The way you... see me."

Harry smiled, tilting his head slightly. "How's that?"

Aspen's cheeks warmed. "Like I'm something worth capturing."

His expression softened. He reached up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before cupping the side of her face. "That's 'cause you are," he murmured. "Every damn time I look at you, I see somethin' I wanna keep."

Aspen sucked in a quiet breath, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them.

Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in the softest, most reverent kiss. Harry sighed into it, his fingers slipping into her hair as he deepened the kiss just slightly, savoring her. It wasn't heated, wasn't rushed—it was slow, warm, and full of something that settled deep in both of them.

When they pulled away, Aspen rested her forehead against his, her lips curling into a small, shy smile. "I love you," she whispered.

Harry grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of her nose. "I know, little mouse. I love you."

Aspen laughed softly, the warmth of his voice settling deep into her chest like a secret only she was meant to hear. The words lingered between them, wrapping around her heart, sinking in slowly. She still couldn't quite believe it sometimes—that someone like Harry, with his rough hands and soft heart, loved her.

Harry pulled her closer, tucking her against him like he never wanted to let go before leaning down to capture her lips in another sweet kiss. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, like he was savoring the moment, like he was trying to tell her things he couldn't put into words. Aspen sighed against his mouth, the familiar warmth of him sending tiny sparks through her veins.

"You know," Harry murmured against her lips, voice thick with affection, "I don't think I'll ever get over kissin' you."

Aspen blinked up at him, still caught in the haze of his touch. His gaze flickered between her eyes, down to her nose, then to her lips, before coming back up again, taking in every part of her like he was trying to memorize the way she looked beneath him. She tilted her head just slightly, her silent way of asking for more, and Harry smiled.

"I used to be... light on kisses," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if he were confessing something important. "Never was my forte, but then you came along, and it was the only thing I could think about. Amongst other things, of course."

A slow, teasing smirk crept onto his lips, his tone laced with playful insinuation.

Aspen let out a breathy laugh, rolling her eyes even as heat crawled up her neck. Harry had a way of saying things—of looking at her—that made her feel entirely too flustered. "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. "But I like kissing you, too."

Her voice came out in a shy squeak, and Harry lived for it.

"You've got the mouth of an angel," he mused, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. "Quite literally. Guess that practice paid off, eh?"

Aspen's eyes widened as the realization of what he meant hit her like a freight train. "Harry!"

She smacked his arm lightly, but the damage was already done. His grin stretched wide, shameless and absolutely unrepentant.

"What?" He chuckled, rubbing his arm dramatically, though they both knew she hadn't hit him hard.

Aspen narrowed her eyes, her face practically burning now. "Says you!"

Harry quirked a brow, his teeth catching the metallic ring of his lip piercing, playing with it before releasing the jewelry again. He always did that when he was amused, when he knew he was getting under her skin in the best way possible. "Says me what?"

Aspen huffed, crossing her arms as if she could shield herself from his relentless teasing. "You've had multiple... practices before," she muttered, her tone shy but her eyes still locked onto his.

Harry let out a deep chuckle, one that rumbled through his chest and sent a pleasant shiver down Aspen's spine. He reached for his notebook, setting it aside with an easy motion before focusing all his attention on her.

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice dropping just enough to make her breath catch. "But none of them compare to you."

Aspen swallowed, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt.

Harry leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he added, "Especially not the way you taste."

Aspen let out a tiny, involuntary squeak before promptly burying her face against his chest again, utterly defeated.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, his arms wrapping around her securely, holding her tight as she tried (and failed) to escape his teasing. "Ah, sugar, don't hide from me now," he mused, running his hand up and down her back.

Aspen groaned. "You're so..."

The man hummed in amusement, his hand carding through the soft strands of her hair. The cherry vanilla scent hit his nose through the motions. "I'm so what? So handsome?"

The girl only groaned again and kept her flaming face buried in Harry's chest. A soft rumble of laughter fell from his lips again as he shook his head. "Hey, don't get me wrong. I love that you practiced f'me."

When she didn't respond, and Harry could feel the warmth of her face through his shirt, he continued with a smirk. 

"The thought 'f you even thinking of something like that does somethin' to me. But come to find out my sweet, little girl was on her knees and putting her sweet throat t'work jus' t'please me." Harry sighed, heavy with his accent. His tongue came out to run over his own lips before his fingers tucked under the girls chin, tilting her head up to look up at him. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as her face wore that deep red once more, yet she kept her eyes on his. 

"And when you had actually got down to your knees in front of me? Fucking hell, Aspen..." He muttered, a slight furrow forming in his brows while the image flashed in his mind again. "You looked so lost down there, hm? Your small hands and these pretty lips," the mans thumb pushed passed the barrier of her parted lips, resting his pad of his thumb on her tongue, hooking her mouth open slightly more, "these pretty lips that could barely wrap around my cock."

Harry sucked his teeth slowly and sighed once more, his eyes ripping from her mouth to her eyes again. "Don't worry, hm? 'M going to make sure I train this gorgeous mouth of yours."

Aspen's eyes fluttered shyly, her cheeks hot as her breathing slowed and got heavier. With the words that spilled from his mouth, the girl's stomach couldn't help but coil in embarrassment but also satisfaction. She wanted that just as much as Harry.

She nodded hesitantly, closing her lips around the mans thumb. Aspen hollowed her cheeks around the digit as she kept her eyes locked on his green ones, now a glint of something deeper than his usual shine.

Her tongue pressed up against his thumb as she slowly and carefully moved it side to side. Her eyes grew shy, the burning desire to shut them or turn away, but she couldn't look away from Harry's parted lips and furrowed brows as he looked down at her in what seemed to be awe.

Harry slowly pulled his thumb out, her teeth grazing along. His thumb pulled down her bottom lip as he did so, his lips immediately pressing onto hers before his thumb could fully remove from her bottom lip. Aspen's hands came to rest on his chest as his large hands came to grip her hips, pulling her to a seat on his lap. 

His tongue glided along the girls bottom lip, taking her parted lips as a quick invitation. A groan fell from his mouth and tumbled into hers. His head was swarming with everything Aspen. The man would have never expected her to be the way she was, expected her to shy away from his finger in her mouth or swat him away. His tongue ventured through her warmth, tangling along with her own as she let out a breathy whine against his lips. 

Harry tilted her hips down with a firm grip as he shifted his hips under her. Aspen let out a small gasp as she felt the familiar bulge press up against her clothed clit before it disappeared just as fast as it came. Her hands slid up towards his broad shoulders and took ahold of the fabric there as she let out another sound against Harry's open mouth.

Harry’s breath was heavy, warm as it fanned against her cheek before he tilted his head and pressed his lips just beneath her jaw. The sharp inhale Aspen took didn’t go unnoticed by him, nor did the way her grip on his shirt tightened, fingers curling into the fabric as if she needed to ground herself. He liked that— liked knowing that he was the one making her feel this way, making her shiver beneath his touch.

His lips trailed lower, slow and deliberate, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. He lingered when he reached the delicate spot just beneath her ear, where he knew she was sensitive, and when he dragged his tongue lightly over her skin, she let out the sweetest little sound, barely more than a breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against her skin, his voice gravelly, strained. He could already feel himself slipping, getting lost in the way she felt, the way she reacted to him like she was made for this, for him. His hands flexed at her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he guided her just how he wanted, feeling the way her body molded against his own.

Aspen whimpered as Harry kissed lower, his lips brushing against her collarbone before he nipped lightly at her skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make her tremble. “Harry...” she whispered, her voice breathy, filled with something between desperation and awe.

The sound of his name on her lips, so soft, so needy, sent a deep warmth curling in his stomach, and he knew he was toeing a dangerous line. He was getting too carried away, too caught up in the way she moved against him, in the way her fingers dug into his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

And God, neither did he.

He swallowed between kisses, his hips pressing up against her for a longer moment, keeping her there. With furrowed brows and wet lips, he moaned against her sweet skin as she whined out above him, wiggling her hips a small bit as to tell him to keep it going. And truly, her wish was absolutely his command.

He continued to guide her hips in slow rolls to meet his, grazing his teeth along her neck between soft pants. Aspen, the way she squirmed above him and how his name came out between her gentle whimpers, drove him crazy.

The girl slid her hands from his gripped shirt to cup his jaw, pulling his face from her neck to look up at her. It was only for a second until his lips came crashing up to meet hers. He swallowed every little sound she made, though he knew her well enough to know she was aiming to keep herself quiet. His hips met hers in a particularly hard roll, his breath faltering in a gasp that matched hers. 

"Let me hear you, pretty," He muttered against her lips before it was her turn to navigate down his jaw and to his neck. Harry groaned, his head falling back against the couch for a brief moment as he tried to rein himself in. His hands smoothed over her hips, slipping under the flowy material of her top while moving up the sides of her waist before settling at her lower back. She was so warm beneath his touch, so intoxicating.

To Harry's surprise, even without his hands guiding her hips, she continued the movements. And who was he to stop? The way she moved against him, he was sure he couldn't stop anyways. The way her warm thighs swarmed his lap and just the mere thought that she was getting off to this? He felt like a stupid teenager again, but he was pleased to be here with her. 

Aspens hips faltered as she whined out a moan, a bit louder now, resting her head in the crook of Harry's neck. Her stomach coiled with need for Harry, for him to just touch her, but she couldn't stop the movements of her hips. If she did, she was sure she'd have to shoot herself from the loss of contact. 

Even she couldn't believe what was happening. With every drag of his firm cock along her clit, the girl's panties bunched between her folds with ease. She gasped softly at the wet feeling pooling between her thighs, a red rushing over her cheeks. She lifted her head once more and latched her mouth in wet kisses over Harrys neck, which had his own head spinning. 

Aspen's lips were soft, warm, and hesitant at first as they brushed against Harry's skin. She had never done this before—at least, not in the way she wanted to now. But she had seen it, knew the basics of what it was supposed to be, and she had the overwhelming urge to mark him, to leave something behind that said he's mine.

Her kisses trailed along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, and she felt him swallow thickly beneath her lips. Harry’s breathing had gone uneven, his chest rising and falling with a little more force now as her mouth explored his neck.

"Shit, baby," Harry muttered, his voice rough, strained. His hands squeezed at her hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shorts, and Aspen felt a rush of pride at the way he reacted to her. He liked this. She was making him feel this way.

So, emboldened by the way his grip tightened on her, by the way his head tilted back to give her more access, she decided to take it a step further.

Aspen let her lips part against the warm skin of his throat, sucking lightly, testing the waters. She wasn’t sure how much pressure to apply, wasn’t sure if she was even doing it right, but when she grazed her teeth ever so slightly over the spot she had just sucked on, Harry let out the most guttural sound she had ever heard from him.

His hands clamped down on her hips, his fingers digging in as a deep groan rumbled from his chest. His reaction sent a thrill straight through her, and she felt something hot and needy coil in her stomach. That had worked. That had sent him spiraling.

"Jesus Christ, Aspen," he gritted out, his voice hoarse, wrecked. His head fell back against the couch, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up into her reflexively. Aspen whimpered, guiding her hips down once more.

She smirked against his skin, her chest swelling with a newfound confidence, and she did it again—this time, sucking just a little harder, letting her tongue swirl over the spot before nipping at it lightly.

Harry growled.

"You're gonna kill me," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly at the end. His ring clad fingers twitched at her sides, gripping and releasing as if he was trying to control himself, trying not to flip her over and take what she was so teasingly offering.

Aspen pulled back just enough to admire her work, her lips tingling from the effort. There, on the side of Harry’s neck, was a deep, blooming mark, proof of what she had done to him. She felt a flicker of satisfaction curl in her chest. She had done that. It was small, nothing too extreme, but the feeling of pride swelled her chest.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her growing smile, but Harry caught the gleam in her eyes. His own gaze, dark and hooded, met hers as he smirked lazily, his hands shifting from her hips to slide up her back, holding her close.

"Proud of y'self, are you?" he murmured, his lips twitching.

Aspen shrugged, feigning innocence, though her cheeks were flushed and her heart was racing. "Maybe a little."

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, his fingers threading into the hair at the nape of her neck as he tugged her down just enough so their noses brushed. "You should be," he admitted. "That was fuckin’ cruel, baby. Doin’ me like that when I can't do a damn thing about it."

Aspen swallowed, her lips parting slightly as she realized exactly what he meant. He was still at work. They couldn’t do anything more right now.

But God, the way he was looking at her, the way his hands held her close like he was barely keeping himself together—it made her want to push him just a little further.

So she leaned in, her voice soft and teasing as she whispered, "Guess you'll just have to wait, then."

Harry groaned, letting his head fall back again, his hands sliding back up to her bare waist as he exhaled a shaky breath. "You're evil, you know that?"

Aspen giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw, feeling entirely too pleased with herself. "You love it."

Harry let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do."

Harry’s grip on Aspen tightened as he let out a slow, controlled exhale. His girl—his sweet, shy Aspen—had just marked him, left a deep, dark bruise on his skin like a quiet claim of possession, and fuck if that didn’t send him spiraling. He had never seen this side of her before, at least, not fully. It was hesitant, still laced with that same softness that made her her, but there was a growing confidence in the way she moved, in the way she touched him, and he was absolutely, completely gone for it.

Not that he wouldn’t have loved her the same if she never changed at all. Harry was in too deep already, too consumed by everything she was. He would’ve happily spent the rest of his days kissing her through her shyness, easing her into his arms as she stumbled through her words, adoring the way she still blushed at his teasing. But this? This was something else entirely, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of watching her come undone like this—watching her bloom for him.

And if she thought she could get away with teasing him like that without consequence? Oh, she had another thing coming.

Harry smirked, tilting his head back up, his green eyes dark and full of something wicked as he met her gaze. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” he murmured, his voice deep and slow, dragging over her skin like a caress.

Aspen blinked at him, her lips still curved in the smallest, most innocent smirk, but he could see the way she swallowed, the way her breath hitched just slightly at the tone of his voice. Good.

Before she could respond, he moved. His hands slid up her back, gathering her closer, until his lips were hovering just over her ear. “My turn,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise.

Aspen barely had a second to react before his mouth was on her.

He didn’t go for the obvious spot—no, he had learned her far too well to be predictable. He aimed just below her ear, right against the pulse point where he knew she was most sensitive. The second his lips met her skin, Aspen gasped, her fingers clenching at the fabric of his shirt, her entire body shuddering in response.

Harry smirked against her, pleased with himself as he latched his lips around the delicate skin, sucking lightly at first, testing the waters, before he increased the pressure.

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her fingers sliding up to tangle into his curls. “H-Harry—”

“Mmm?” he hummed, not letting up, his tongue flicking against the mark he was making before his teeth grazed the spot ever so slightly.

Her breath hitched, and then—God above—she let out the softest, neediest whimper against his shoulder, and Harry damn near lost his mind.

He groaned, his grip on her hips flexing as he pulled her just a little tighter against him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips dragging to a new spot, just a little lower, just to hear her make that sound again.

Aspen was melting against him now, her head tilting to give him more access, her breathing uneven as he worked at her skin. And he wasn’t holding back—if she was going to mark him, he was going to make damn sure everyone knew she was his. The spot under her ear was already darkening, but he sucked just a little harder, his tongue soothing over it before he pulled back, admiring his work.

The mark was bigger than the one she had left on him. That wasn’t even intentional—he had just gotten too carried away, too lost in the way she responded to him, the way she let him do this to her.

Aspen shuddered against him, her fingers still clinging to his shirt as she exhaled a trembling breath. And then, after a beat, he felt it—her smile.

"You’re smug, aren’t you?" she muttered, her voice breathless, but there was a small, proud lilt to it that had Harry grinning against her skin.

"Damn right, I am." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to the mark before pulling back to look at her. “Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he took in her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted, swollen from their earlier kisses. “My sweet girl’s not so sweet anymore, huh?”

Aspen huffed out a small laugh, but she ducked her head, still shy despite everything, which only made Harry’s heart throb harder in his chest. He loved that about her—how she could switch between this confident, teasing version of herself and the soft, timid girl he had fallen for. She was both, and he adored every side of her.

“I… I liked that,” she admitted quietly, still playing with the hem of his shirt, not quite meeting his eyes.

Harry felt something warm and achingly fond settle deep in his chest. He tilted her chin up with his knuckle, waiting until her brown eyes met his. "Yeah?" he murmured, his voice softer now.

She nodded, still bashful. "Mhm."

Harry smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, slow and tender. "Good," he whispered against her mouth. "Because I’ll be doin’ that a lot more from now on."

Their mouths met again, urgency laced in every touch as Harry’s hands roamed her body, mapping out every curve as if he hadn’t already committed her to memory. His fingers trailed down her sides, brushing over the thin fabric of her top before gripping onto her waist, steadying her as she shifted against him. A low groan rumbled from his chest at the feeling, the soft, deliberate roll of her hips against his cock making it nearly impossible to think straight.

Aspen’s fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened their kiss. The reaction it pulled from Harry sent a thrill down her spine. She was beginning to realize just how much power she had over him, and that knowledge sent a rush of warmth through her. He had always been the one in control, always the one guiding her, teasing her, unraveling her—but now, she could feel the way he was unraveling beneath her, just from her touch.

Harry’s lips trailed down her jaw, slow and deliberate, before finding the sensitive skin just behind her ear. He pressed a lingering kiss there, his breath warm against her skin before his mouth traveled lower, just beneath her pulse point. His lips parted, his tongue flicking out before he sucked lightly at the delicate spot.

Aspen gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders as her body instinctively melted into his. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt—hot, dizzying, intoxicating. A soft whimper escaped her lips when she felt him smirk against her skin.

"That’s better," Harry murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he pulled back slightly to admire the mark he’d left behind. It was hidden, just beneath her ear, but it was there. His.

His fingers traced over it gently before his hands wandered lower, gripping at her thighs. One of his hands slid inward, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her inner thigh, dangerously close to where she ached for him most. He squeezed gently, teasing, reveling in the way her breath hitched, the way her body tensed with anticipation.

"Can I touch you, love?" His voice was hoarse, thick with need as his fingers danced just shy of where she wanted him. He didn’t push—he would never push—but the question was there, hanging between them, heavy and full of promise.

Aspen swallowed thickly, her lips parting slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. She had never felt this kind of anticipation before, never known what it was like to want something so badly and feel it just within reach.

Her heart pounded as she looked at him, as she took in the warmth in his green eyes, the way he was holding himself back, waiting—always waiting—for her. The care he had for her, the patience, the devotion, it was enough to send her head spinning.

Still catching her breath, she nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, pleased smile.

"Good girl," he murmured before pressing another searing kiss to her lips.

Harry hummed in satisfaction at her breathy response, his lips pressing once more to the tender skin beneath her ear before he let his fingers resume their slow, torturous exploration. He didn’t rush—not yet. He wanted to savor this, to let Aspen feel every bit of what he was doing to her without ever truly giving in just yet.

His palm smoothed over the inside of her thigh, warm and firm, fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh before giving a slow, deliberate squeeze. Aspen shivered, her body reacting instinctively to his touch. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as he did it again—squeezing, then releasing, then squeezing just a bit higher, inching closer to where she needed him most.

Her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as she sucked in a slow breath, but before she could even fully exhale, Harry’s fingers traced up, skimming along the crease of her thigh.

Aspen’s entire body tensed, her stomach clenching with need as his fingers flirted with the edge of her underwear through her thin shorts, barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath. She let out a soft, shaky moan, and that sound alone was nearly enough to undo him.

Harry groaned lowly, his free hand gripping onto her hip to keep her still as she instinctively shifted forward, silently begging for more. "Easy, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her jaw, his lips curling against her skin. "We’ve got all the time in the world."

Aspen let out a frustrated whimper, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as he continued his agonizing pace—fingertips trailing, teasing, dipping between the soft skin of her thighs but never quite touching where she ached for him.

"You’re so sensitive," he mused, his voice deep and laced with amusement. His fingers ghosted over her one more time, and when she let out another needy sound, he chuckled softly. "So needy, aren’t you?"

Aspen bit her lip, hiding her face against his neck in embarrassment. She didn’t know how he could reduce her to this with such minimal touches, but she knew it wasn’t fair. He was enjoying this—he was reveling in her reactions, in the way she melted into him, in the way she chased after his touch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

His hands traveled lower again, massaging the backs of her thighs before coming around to her ass, kneading the soft flesh there with a firm grip before sliding forward again, fingers dipping teasingly over the thin fabric of her shorts.

Aspen let out a gasp, her hips bucking slightly at the sensation, only for Harry to pull back at the last second.

A whine of protest left her lips, and Harry grinned against her shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

"Patience, angel," he murmured, dragging his lips back up to her mouth, capturing her in another slow, languid kiss. "You’re makin’ the prettiest sounds for me already, yeah?"

Aspen huffed softly, knowing full well he was taking his time on purpose, that he was enjoying this as much as she was suffering from it.

"You’re mean," she whispered against his lips, her voice a breathy little thing.

Harry only smirked, his hand slowly traveling back up her thigh, tracing the same path as before. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, fingers pressing firmly into the soft crease of her thigh once more. "You’ve no idea."

His fingers danced their way back to where she needed it most, over her clit. This time, however, he didn't pull back. He pressed his fingers up against her, in slow circles at first as he kept his eyes on her expression. 

The mans fingers slid down to press over her entrance, the gentle give of squish giving away how wet she way. A satisfied smirk crawled over his lips. "All f'me, huh?"

The girl let out a breathy moan with a nod, swallowing around air as she rolled her hips down against his fingers while they pressed and slid back over her clit. He worked his hand with ease to match her needy pace, his gaze dropping down to where he touched her and flickered back up to her expression of need. 

Harry's cock throbbed under the material of his jeans. It didn't go unnoticed, twitching against Aspen's thigh which made her lips fall open in another moan. As her eyes closed, the image of his cock, heavy and thick, resting in her hand and on her tongue filled her mind. She'd do anything to have him in her mouth once more. 

The newfound feeling coiled in her stomach. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a needy whimper, her hands resting on the curve of his neck now with her thumbs pressing into his warm flesh as she ground her hips down to meet the feeling of his fingers. Her hole fluttered around the open air, desperate for his thick fingers to slide into her like they did before and draw out another orgasm.

Harry could tell she was close, that she needed that final push. Her breathing became more shallow and her moans became higher in pitch, her eyes closed and her head pushed back. His eyes gleamed over the mark he left which made his cock twitch once more.

And just as she thought he might finally give in—just as her breath caught in her throat in anticipation—he pulled back again, leaning away slightly as his hands came to rest innocently on her waist.

Aspen groaned in frustration, her head dropping to his shoulder as her whole body trembled from the teasing. "Harry," she whined, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt in protest.

Harry chuckled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. "That’s enough for now, little mouse," he murmured, his voice teasing but firm. "Don’t wanna start something I can’t finish, yeah?"

Aspen pouted, peeking up at him through her lashes, but she knew he was right. The last thing they needed was to get carried away in his office when anyone could come knocking.

Still, the fire in her veins refused to die down, and the way he looked at her—eyes dark with something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in them before—made it clear that this was far from over.

"Please?," she mumbled under her breath. Her thumbs ran small circles into the skin on his neck, her nail catching skin lightly which made him groan softly, nodding. 

With fumbling and quick hands that moved in need and desperation, his fingers slid under the band of her shorts and quickly met with the warmth of her clit. Even over her underwear, which she completely soaked through, Harry could feel the pulse of her clit against his fingers.

He wasted no time in drawing circles over the sensitive bud. Her lips parted and a broken moan, louder than the others, fell from her lips. The sound shot down to Harry's dick, which he took one of her hands and placed it over. He gave an encouraging squeeze, guiding her hand to move to the pace of his. 

Aspen's hand merely covered the outline of his cock. Dizziness filled her head as she swiped her thumb over where his tip would be, with more pressure than she would've used if he was bare. Harry dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan, his fingers busily working over her clit. They peeled back her panties, tucking them into the curve of her thigh, before his middle finger ran through her slick folds. 

"Fuck," he muttered into her skin, collecting her arousal on both of his fingers now before dragging it back up to her clit. The feeling sent a shudder down her spine, eliciting another sweet moan of his name. 

"One day," Harry grunted, his hand still guiding hers as he swirled his fingers over her clit with ease, a sense of professionalism, before dipping down between her folds, "I'm going to fill you up with my cock, so, so good." He licked his lips and pushed his middle finger past the woman's tight entrance. 

Aspen arched into the feeling with a gasp, his words sending both a raging blush to her cheeks and a pleasant coil to her stomach. 

"I don't know if I'd be able to stop," Harry moaned into her shoulder at a particular squeeze, pumping his finger slowly. Deciding she was wet enough, practically pooling in his palm, he pushed another finger in alongside. 

The girl whimpered at the burning stretch but quickly found comfort when he began to move his fingers. 

"Hell, I don't even know if I'd be able to start. You're so fuckin' tight," he grunted once more, guiding his fingers at a pleasing pace. Her thighs quivered every few seconds from the feeling and she couldn't stop the flow of moans and whimpers from her mouth anymore. She raised her free hand to cover her mouth with the back of it as her brows furrowed, his fingers curling inside her now.

Aspen's back arched as she ground her hips down to push his fingers deeper into her. Harry raised his head from its place on her shoulder, his own look of awe on his face as he beamed up at her.

"Don't do that," Harry grumbled, using his nose to nudge her hand off her face. "This is my fucking shop, and if I want to have my girl— to touch my girl— I'll do jus' that," he growled out, lips latching wet kisses back onto her neck.

"Oh, God," she quivered, her hips jerking as her stomach coiled. She felt like a stupid virgin, and technically, she was. Her orgasm grew closer with each word he muttered. The gruff edge of his voice only added to the feeling, shooting through her and straight to her core. She did her best to work her hand over Harry's twitching cock still in his pants.

Harry only chuckled, fading into a small groan. "Shit—," He gasped, his abdomen tightening as he felt his own orgasm creeping up. 

"My innocent little virgin, huh? Need to come already?" Harry swallowed the groan in his throat as she let out a moan of her own, her eyes finally opening to meet his. And fuck, she looked a mess. She clenched around his fingers and nodded desperately. 

"Please, please, please," She gasped in her small voice and trailed off in another moan, dropping her head back once more as the movement in her hips grew sloppy. Harry was right behind her with his movements, his hips after chasing its own high in her hand. 

With last minute thinking, Aspen reached both hands to the mans belt, undoing it with clinks and slips of leather to unbutton and unzip the material before reaching to tug his cock out. 

She whined softly, pleased now that the weight of his cock was finally in her hand. She licked her lips as she stared at how she couldn't even wrap her own hand around it fully, her thumb gliding over his glistening tip. 

A dribble of spit left her red lips as she tilted her head down and looked up at him, her gaze broken when he curled his fingers in a way that had her fall into his chest slightly. Harry, with surprised eyes and a racing mind, couldn't help but let out another guttural moan at the sight.

Fuck.

The girls hand slid over the slick spit, rubbing it all over his heavy shaft to the pace of his fingers. "Please, H..." She whimpered, thumbing over his slit as she ground her hips into his fingers messily again, clenching around his thick fingers once more. She wasn't sure what she was begging for, for his come or for her to come, but she needed both. 

"Please, Daddy?"

Harry groaned, his fingers pressing impossibly further into her as his jaw fell slack, nodding. Where the fuck was this side of her coming from? 

"Come for me, baby. All over m'hand, get Daddy's hand all messy."

His words shot straight to her pussy. She clenched around his fingers sloppily while shifting her hips until it finally hit her. Aspen cried out a moan of Harry's name, her thumb sliding over his tip once more before stuttering in its motions. 

Harry came right after her. The feeling of her flooding around his fingers, her thighs buzzing, chest rising and falling, her words, he was bound to lose it. His come, hot and loaded, spurted over the girl's small fist, groaning strings of curses and her name thrown in the mix, as well as praises.

Harry's free hand came to snake up the back of her neck and card between the strands of her hair as he brought her head down to capture her lips in another kiss. He swallowed every moan and whimper of hers, returning some of his own with his fingers pumping and curling through her orgasm while his thumb slowed their circles on her clit. When she whimpered and her hips started to shy away, he carefully slowed his fingers and slid them out in a way they didn't get her messy.

When they pulled away for a breath, he licked over his lips and swallowed, falling back against the sofa cushions as he looked up at her, his hand leaving her hair to rest on her thigh. He caressed up and down in soothing motions, catching his own breath while she caught her own. 

Without any hesitation, Harry raised his two fingers to his lips, resting them on his tongue and wrapping his lips around them with a smirk. Aspen looked down at him with her doe eyes and flushes cheeks, lips parted as she drew in breaths. She watched his hand meet his mouth intently and a thought flickered in her mind.

Mimicking his motions, she lifted her hand carefully from his cock to her lips. Before she could pull her tongue out and lick her hand clean, Harry's hand caught her wrist.

"Don't."

Aspen tilted her head, feeling herself flutter and clench around the open air. His eyes still carried that same dark tone, his curls falling over his forehead and his lip ring. Fuck, his lip ring.

"I can't see you do that. 'm not gonna be able to control myself, Asp."

His voice came off with a warning edge. Aspen only huffed softly and pulled her wrist from his gentle grasp, raising her palm back to her mouth. She kept her eyes on his as her hand slowly inched forward, her tongue poking out to lick up some of his mess on her hand. With a content hum, she took her bottom lip between her teeth as she bit back a teasing smile. Aspen leaned forward, her other hand on his shoulder and sliding down to his chest as she took another small taste.

"Then don't."

Just as Harry let out a low, nearly desperate groan at Aspen’s teasing, a sudden knock sounded against the door, making them both freeze.

"Oi, mate," Niall's voice rang through the wood, laced with amusement. "Hate to break up whatever moment you two are havin’ in there, but Justin is here, your client."

Aspen's eyes widened in mortification, her entire body tensing against Harry’s. Her face burned as she let out a soft, embarrassed squeak, immediately burying her face against his shoulder.

Harry, on the other hand, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose, his fingers pressing firmly into Aspen’s waist as he closed his eyes for a second, clearly trying to gather himself. He knew they were cutting it close, but he really hadn’t wanted this moment to end just yet.

"Yeah, yeah, be out in a sec," he finally called back, his voice slightly hoarse from restraint.

A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the door before Niall's footsteps retreated down the hall, but not before calling back something about how he at least let them get one round in.

Aspen groaned softly, still hiding her face against him. "That was so embarrassing," she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin.

Harry huffed out a laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before tilting her chin up so he could look at her. His eyes softened instantly at her flustered expression, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

"Could’ve been worse," he teased, trailing his fingers along her side before reluctantly shifting beneath her.

Aspen let out a little huff as she sat back, her hands clutching at his shirt as she watched him fix himself—pulling his pants back up properly and adjusting his belt. He worked quickly, but before he stood, he leaned forward, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to her forehead.

"You should go freshen up, yeah?" he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed the soft skin of her cheek. "Bathroom’s just around the hall. I'd do it myself, work my magic with my mouth," he grinned, licking his lips, "but Justin is waiting f'me. You'll be okay, yeah? Stick around after, too. In here or out there, I'll take y'home."

Aspen nodded, still feeling flustered but completely wrapped up in the way he looked at her—soft, affectionate, like she was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

She reached up, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before sliding off his lap, smoothing down her clothes as best as she could.

Harry smirked as he watched her, his head tilting slightly. "You’re cute when you’re all shy like that, y’know?"

Aspen shot him a playful glare before rolling her eyes. "Shut up," she muttered, though her lips twitched at the corners as she turned for the door.

Before she could open it, Harry caught her wrist, tugging her back for one more kiss—a slow, lingering press of his lips against hers.

"Go on, little mouse," he murmured against her mouth. "I’ll see you in a bit."

Aspen exhaled softly, nodding before slipping out of the office, her heart still racing in her chest as she made her way down the hall.

And as Harry watched her go, he couldn’t help but grin to himself, already counting down the minutes until he could have her all to himself again.

[jollmaster]

Speaking of the difference between treating someone like you, but more powerful and treating someone like a deity, what's your opinion on Vivziepop's interpretation of Beelzebub? You've said that nobles in the Helluvaverse feel like "mean teenagers", were you (partially) referring to her?

While I think she doesn't feel like a divine being, the justification used is that unlike the stuffy and upright Goetia, Bee is a partygirl who doesn't care about status and just wants her guests to have fun, which benefits her because it will make them indulge in gluttony more.

including her, haha

okay I'll leave out the issue of Beelzebub being a partygirl who hangs out with regular dudes (maybe that can still be considered an author's interpretation, so I won't be picky)

but Beelzebub's parties don't feel like something dangerous, especially since the hostess is worried about the guests' condition, and she's still, I dunno, sin (which means excessiveness); Vivienne visibly sympathizes with some sins and seems to consider them less harmful, and I wouldn't have a problem with the "sin can also be beneficial in a small dose" approach if we didn't have Mammon, who's shown mostly on the negative side of greed

also why furry hellhound? or did Vivienne just not have balls to draw a sexy fly/bee if she wanted to draw her beautiful? god have mercy, we have great amount of Hollow Knight art lul, and okay she's slim (this could be used as an eating disorder if she didn't have such thighs), but why do we have to find out information about food being burned in her stomach on another sites and not in the work itself?

this is Kesha's fursona but not a sin; I'm done