#i've got a lot more to do but of course i have to start with my fav baby 🥺❤

[invoncible]

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits. 

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter. 

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald). 

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you. 

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again. 

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away. 

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything. 

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him. 

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day. 

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem. 

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.  

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter. 

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk. 

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you. 

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory. 

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge. 

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind. 

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again. 

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor. 

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.” 

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk. 

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips. 

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest. 

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?” 

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.  

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.” 

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.” 

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously. 

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation. 

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you. 

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process. 

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support. 

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?” 

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him. 

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him. 

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne. 

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.” 

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow. 

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face. 

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside. 

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you. 

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration. 

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

© invoncible

[bjwmastermind-writes]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[evilwetbread]

so i've got a LOT of thoughts about ENA: Dream BBQ, and I mean a lot. Most of them right now pertain to ENA and her two sides, cause I've noticed a lot of interesting things about them. :) wordwall incoming

SPOILERS FOR DREAM BBQ OF COURSE!!!

Starting with Salesperson, I thought it was an intriguing detail how a lot of the characters she interacts with comment on her weird way of saying things. A lot of these comments suggest that ENA is just spouting word salad with no real meaning, some even going as far as to suggest that ENA can’t actually comprehend her own objectives. Salesperson (imo) DOES seem to have a lack of true direction, and an inability to fully comprehend reality- she has a vague way of describing her objectives, frequently uses idioms that make zero sense, and has a general lack of visible emotion beyond advertising and polite/transactional small talk. She takes jobs and missions without questioning their merit. It’s like she has never experienced the world any other way. Meanie, on the other hand, seems to be the opposite. While she really does live up to her name, a lot of her anger seems to root from genuine stress. She’s far more aware.

There were several points in the game where she looked to me like she was at the very end of her rope- and a lot of the moments where things got weird or unnerving seemed to involve her (the weird cuts/flashbacks?? to the Bullet Rain from the trailer during her interaction with that shop machine, the whole post-death segment where we play as a hungover human version of ena who seems to be meanie-dominant, and i mean I can't go w/o mentioning the whole Purge Event). She says things so bluntly not because she's a "meanie" archetype, but because she is genuinely frustrated with both her own job, and how this world seems to mock her constantly. She acts, and reacts, far more lucidly than her counterpart. (Not entirely lucid of course, but she hates all the bullshitting that the entities around her tend to do and tolerates it far less) My assumption about this version of ENA and her two parts before the game released was always that they would function a lot like the original ENA did, with two over exaggerated emotions constantly butting heads. But this dynamic really took me by surprise!! It's like Meanie is ENA's raw thoughts and feelings, and Salesperson is this filtering agent that jumbles things up and mellows her out. Salesperson reminds me a lot of how our own brains process things in dreams most of the time, where we accept utterly ridiculous things as par-for-the-course(we did see a lot of this with Happy ENA in s1 too) and I think there's a LOT more to ENA than meets the eye in that regard. There's a lot more emphasis on Meanie’s feelings and emotional instability than there ever is on Salesperson's. She knows more than she lets on.

It's also really interesting to me that no one ever takes mercy or pity on her- even allegedly all-powerful entities like Theodora(the Lonely Door's Genie) treat her like she's the bottom of the barrel. Is being ENA just a curse? An entity made to labor perpetually, and bear the burden of other people’s mistakes, unable to permanently die and unable to actually succeed without sacrificing herself over and over in the process? Are the two emotional states a buffer to prevent her from truly understanding the reality of her situation???

I have a lot of questions, and something tells me that once the full story is concluded, very few of them will be answered lol. Wouldn’t have it any other way though. This game was worth the wait

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ r/am I the asshole !? ” : 

﹙ multi monsters x gn reader. ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . multi characters x gn reader ( fem on xiyang ) !! 🍓 : ﹙ pasquale: adrenaline addict ˖ racer ˖ inhuman character ˖ seong-jin: grim reaper ˖ detective character ˖ rishen: director ˖ spy ˖ assassin character ˖ xiyang: grim reaper ˖ mercenary leader character ﹚

your lover takes to reddit to ask if they've been an asshole in relation to you recently . . .

﹙ cws ﹚: sexual content on xiyang | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: just had to do more of this format 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙pasquale 781. ﹚. . . pretending I don't see the ghost !? 🍒 : "Let's start this off by saying I can see ghosts. Yeah. OoOoOoOoo. Always been able to. Anyway. So just my luck! I landed with a pookie who can do the same. Great right?

Yeah. If I wasn't shit scared of half the fuckers I see. Ghosts aren't little kids standing in nightgowns. FUCK NO. They're demons. Weird lil shits. And that's saying a lot, my brother's satan.

Not so bad you say?? Until pookie decides they wanna mention every time one's in the room! I don't mind them clinging. Course not. But the problem comes in when I pretend I can't see a damn thing. Lowkey gaslighting them that there's nothing there. Is that bad?

Well they got angry at me over it yesterday and for fucks sakes what am I supposed to do man? 'AH! A GHOST!' Do I look like fucking ghostbusters??? I'm italian. This ain't Luigi's Mansion! If I see it ( AND I REGRETABLY FUCKING DO ) - no i don't!

This came off a lot more frantic but how the hell do I tell pookie that their big, strong, kinetic user-punk-racer-boyfriend is afraid of ghosties?

Edit: to everyone calling me a pussy that's so funny cause your mom called me that too when I was ball's deep -"

 

﹙seong-jin 9948e. ﹚. . . being too honest !? 🍓 : "I'm a bit too honest with my partner. Before anyone writes about me being insensitive or being an asshole ( I know ). I would like to preface that my honesty is the reason we are even together. I flat out asked them if they wish to date. They agreed. Now we're two years into a relationship.

I've never hidden this part of me. If it comes to mind, it is out my mouth. That's how it's always been. If I don't like the way they're acting, I say it. If they ask me a question, I answer honestly. It's been this way for years. With everyone. Not only can I not stand bullshit, I simply do not have the energy to sugarcoat anything. They have been fine with this. While we do clash every now and then, I always make it known that I do not come from a place of malice. That is how we have made it work for two years.

How was I supposed to know answering, truthfully, that I did not like their outfit — was not appropriate?

I understand that there can be some sensitivity. I try to compensate for them like they do me. But they asked me a question, what was I supposed to do - lie?

Now I am at work. Feeling as though I really did it this time. I apologised before I left. Sent a text too. What the hell am I supposed to do? I even told them just because I don't like it does not mean they do not have to wear it.

How do I get around this?"

 

﹙rishen 1311. ﹚. . . not inviting them over !? 🍒 : "Get the gist of how this works. I'll be brief. I have been dating this person for about a year or so. 'One whole year' as they prefaced this morning in their frustrated slew.

I simply do not think it has been long enough. I feel as though we are moving too fast. Before anyone goes calling 'commitment issues' or 'what are you hiding?' : a gun. Under my pillow. Every night.

Yes, I denied them access when they showed up by surprise. I led them back to their home and spent the night with them. Yes, I didn't let them walk me home from the bar. Yes, I bled all over my floor from a stab wound and still told them to not show up while they panicked over the phone. Is it so wrong?

I assumed they would understand that it has nothing to do with them. I have my reasons. None of it involves them. But I suppose we simply can't have nice things. Fucking fantastic.

Is it to hard to understand that I'm just shit scared to wake up to someone every morning? Or have them in my kitchen cooking me food?

I'm fine. I don't need their help. I am fine. I just need to know that I'm not losing my mind over this. What do I do?"

 

﹙xiyang 9819. ﹚. . . not telling her I'm infertile !? 🍓 : "This feels a bit more bizarre than the other entries. But guess we're all dealt a different hand. My girlfriend and I have been in a happy relationship for five years now.

I love her to bits. Everything about her. Express that in whatever way I can. Just be honest with her, I'm sure you're typing. Yeah. Cept for one damn thing:

She's got a huge fucking breeding kink.

Don't laugh. I'm constantly fighting for my life. I'm off the hook for now. Told her I just can't commit to a baby with my job and hers. So she's on the contraceptives thinking they'll fucking matter. Bouncing on me like a pogo-stick telling me to breed her!

Hunny! If I could I would! I wouldn't hesitate to just give you every baby you want and more but unfortunately my lil swimmers are fucking defected.

Maybe I should mention that I indulge her. Can I be blamed? She gets so into it. I don't mind the fantasy one bit. I'm just a guy who loves his girl and wants to give her whatever her pretty little heart desires.

And if that means making her believe I can pop one in her whenever? So be it. We'll just get a puppy or something I don't fucking know. I'm typing this in panic."

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[theredcuyo]

I know i wrote about Sqq wingmaning HuaLian and Wangxian but he's not exactly better than them, he's just good at hiding it

So, here's how his first enconter with Wwx went

After he stopped screaming, Wwx pulled him out of the earth and gave him some spare clothes (Definitely not Binghe's and definitely not on purpose) he was trying to act as if he didn't know what was going on but it didn't last long, stupid reflexes "So... How should i address...?"

"Shen Qinqiu is fine, i'm not exactly a peak lord anym-..."

"... I'm sorry, was your identity being hidden?" Wwx asked, as they started to walk down the mountain, he has drawn a teleportation array in the nearest town

"You must know what happened when i passed, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah... Ge has been very affected by it, that's why i'm here after all"

"Your ge?" As Sy was considering his chances of being able to run away succesfully now, Wwx sighed

"Yes, my ge, you see, he's been really sad since you died, so i've been searching to make my ge happy, and now you're here so!"

Just who the fuck was this man? Someone he knew? Yue Qiyuan? He had a close relationship with the original goods but not sibblings like this definitely, ah, perhaps it was an admirer? Still, how did this person find him? "May i ask... How, exactly?"

"Oh! That's easy, look here" Wwx pulled a the soul compass out of his sleeve, Sy looked at it for a second before staring at the man again "This is a soul compass, it can direct you to someone's soul after certain conditions are met, it's not perfect yet, but nine out of my ten tests have worked, even when someone changes appearence"

"... And it pointed you to me...?"

"Exactly!"

Sy sighed, fine, there was very little chance of him getting away, but- "System?" He mentally asked out of habit

Radio silence, he was met with nothing, so that wouldn't work either "Can i ask how you can be sure you didn't get the wrong person?"

"Well, you said it was you, and also when i searched for Lord Shen Qinqiu, i needed to know what the appearence looked like, so i look a peek at your corpse and-

Sy internally yelled AT MY WHAT?! "Aside from that, you do look quite a lot, even in this uh... Other body?"

"Ah, but surely there's a lot of people who look like me?"

"... Not really actually, my ge made sure of that"

No, really, was there no way for him to scape?, just who was this guy's brother?! "If you really want to know, there's one more thing"

"There is?"

"I initially got two signals, but one was too close to ge for it to be and also, someone came and told me which one was more likely"

Sy didn't like where this was going "Who would that be...?"

"One of my ge's underlings, oh right, he told me to tell you something when i found You"

Sy reapeted the please don't be mantra on his head when Wwx talked again "He said 'Sorry Cucumber-bro, i still want to live'"

He was going to kill that hack author for real this time! First of all, they didn't ask you! Second, a little bit of warning could've been appreciated for such betrayal! And third, even if he was going to be found anyway, he could've liked they help here! Also, this was A-Ying wasn't he?! "... I see"

"I will thank him later, oh, Ge probably also will" Sy is SO dead, he's so, SO dead! A-Ying is taking him to Binghe isn't he?! Was his dead not enough to end with the resentment?! Did he want to be the one to finish him off that badly?!

He laughed nerviously, maybe he could get along with A-Ying and he'd take pity on him? Did this child even know why Binghe wanted him?! "Is that so? Who could've thought he still wanted to see this old man"

Wwx laughed at that, did he know? was he a sadist? "Of course ge wants to see his master, he's barely thought of anything else since he found me and Hong-er"

Binghe, please remember he was good to your little brothers too! "Really? But this old man doesn't have anything else to teach him"

Wwx snickered at that, and Sy was starting to seriously consider he might be a sadist "Oh, no, no, he surely thinks there are a few things"

He might regret it, but- "Do enlighten me please"

At that, Wwx looked at him confused for a second, before an idea apparently clicked on his brain, his ge said his Master wasn't good at taking indirects, was he? Oh, well, maybe he could help a bit "Like... How to kiss!"

Sy froze for a moment "E-excuse me?"

Wwx nodded solemly "And to hold hands, and how to plan dates, ah, but i think ge might already have a few ideas"

"Wouldn't... Shouldn't he have dozens of maidens he can do that with?"

Oh, was that the problem? Was his ge's Master not aware that his ge was a cut-slevee?"Why would he go with someone who he doesn't like?"

Sy really wanted to ask, why would he go with me then? But instead said "Then shouldn't he go with a young maiden...?"

Alright, he was doing this, Ge was going to owe him a big one here"The only person ge likes- no, loves, is Shen Qinqiu"

Sy didn't really believe him, but the seed planted blossomed when he saw Binghe again

Wwx had taken him to a palace underground, pretty much left him to his devices with someone to keep an eye on him so he wouldn't run into anything dangerous, and went to get his brother

The person watching him was luckily for him, Airplane shooting up towards the sky

The person having to watch over the recently found Shen Qingqiu was, unfortunately for him, Shang Qinghua "Bro i can explain!"

"Explaining My ass! You sold me!" He yelled, running behind him with a newly acquired fan that Wwx bought him in the city, or more exactly, picked out, threw his way, and put into his brothers "tab"

"I wanted to live!"

"You didn't have to say anything!"

"It's for your own good! Listen here, he was already searching for you! Do You know why?!"

"Because Binghe wants to kill me, that's why!"

"What?! No! He actually-"

"... Shizun thought i wanted to kill him...?" Asked a voice that was holding just by a tread, a voice that Shen Yuan recognized in an instant

In the moment it took for him to turn around, Wwx grabbed Sqh and run out of the room, but stayed in close vicinity, he wanted to see how this went "I..."

"Shizun..." Binghe slowly made his way over, and Sy couldn't help but back away "So, Shizun really..."

"This Master..." He sighed, if Binghe really wanted to kill him this might've been easier "This Master knows what he is deserving of, that's all"

----

Basically, Wwx wingmaned and speedran Bingqiu kind of on accident

The only reason Sqq didn't actually run away completely is because he's starting to doubt himself thanks to Wwx, because well- could he be right...?

And Binghe is calmer thanks to him too, yes he's still been grieving for 5 years, but for 3 of them he's had two people who do love him by his side and who are good at dealing with demonic energy overall, so Xin Mo didn't make as much of a mess of him as in canon (It still does, is just kinda delayed)

Anyway, uff, long ass post, really made me consider writting a fic

[sillygoofyqueer]

Ough, I don't have much to offer, but I miss crowyuan (rereading everything in that tag rn)

Do Crows and snakes get along? I wonder how crowyuan will interact with tianlang-jun & his nephew...

Also, the old palace master! With how... creepy his character is, and how strong crowyuan's wifebeam seems to be in this verse (damn peak lord catnip lmao), I can imagine him doing some veeeeery unsavory things, if you wanna have fun with that (that post abt Yuan's wings being crippled was so TT, god damnit old crook)

Anyw, just throwing out some ideas, if you ever wanna come back to it. I see your current hyperfixation seems to be wangxian lol. Not many thoughts on that since I haven't read the novel, but looks fun

This is just so sweet...I'll respond to it ahead of the other ones, just because I was like "AWHHH" as I was reading it. Honestly, my hyperfixation is always wangxian, nothing is as strong as them in my mind - you should totally read MDZS....it's so good....it's the best MXTX series in my humble opinion- *gets shot* ANYWAY!!! First off, I have actually done a post about how Crowyuan would interact with Zhuzhi-Lang and Tianlang-Jun!!! You can find that here, but thinking about it generally (and doing a bit of research), I've got a few things that I'd like to highlight about how crow demons and snake demons would interact generally. Did you know that crows actually eat snakes in real life?? I certainly fucking didn't until I was like "yo how do they interact in real life?" THEY EAT THEM. CASUALLY. Honestly, crows are just out here eating predators like it's NUTHIN'. Anyway, applying this to Crowyuan, I've decided that crow demons and snake demons would have a very...strained relationship. Unlike the underwater demons (because I've decided they're very similar to how I portray them in the Leviathyuan AU), ground demons are all squaring up and ready to fight to the death over a murdered demon, so of course these two groups are very at odds with each other - I mean...crow demons probably feast on snake demons like they're a gourmet meal. However!! I feel like this is probably from before Crowyuan came into the equation, so like the basis of life that he starts with. AFTER he comes along, I like to think he (along with Shang Qinghua who was a *checks notes*..chicken demon?) manages to bring in a new age (generally, because you can't change everyone's views) where crow demons and snake demons have a better way of dealing with this. Snakes are a large source of protein for crows in real life, so I don't think that Crowyuan would be like "stop eating snake demons," I think it'd be more of a "hey why don't you eat the already dead ones, instead of the alive ones?" and, after a lot of talking with snake demons, they manage to bring a lot more of a relaxed relationship between the two groups. HOWEVER!! That doesn't mean that they're chill. Crow demons still find joy in fucking with snake demons - like, in real life, how crows disorient snakes through loud cawing, swooping around near the snake, and just pecking on their tails sometimes. Crow demons have this sort of spiritedness to them when they come across snake demons, and snake demons try to steer clear of snake demons because they're so annoying. AND THE OLD PALACE MASTER!!!! If, if, he wasn't almost instantly killed off or stuck in the lowest levels of the abyss, I feel like he'd see Crowyuan (of all kinds) as a sort of trophy or weapon that he needs to get his hands on so he can use this demon - who everyone seems to love?? He just wants the power and control that comes with owning this demon, he's disgusted by Crowyuan himself. Despite his disgust, of course, he would flounce Crowyuan around to events bedecked in garish gold, but would probably keep him in the Water Prison behind the scenes.....BEFORE, of course, he's killed off or stuck in the lowest levels of the abyss. So, there are some thoughts I came across while reading your ask, I hope that helped out with the drought of Crowyuan upon my blog right now.......READ MDZS SO YOU CAN ENJOY MY OTHER AUS!!! /silly/silly

[misaneeragoni]

Gamer Doflamingo

I don't know what exactly it was that possessed me that went like TOXIC ASSHOLE GAMER DOFLAMINGO. DRAW; DRAW, DRAWWWWWW!!!! but it was a thing and so as you do, I listened to the voices.

Once I was done drawing it, more and more ideas kept popping into my head about it, please enjoy this Gamer Doflamingo AU:

(Content warning: Very toxic, sexist, derogatory, your average league of legends experience)

Since this guy discovered multiplayer games, countless hundreds to thousands of individuals have suffered to him. Companies tried to shadow ban him multiple times but he keeps popping up with new VPNs (his stream viewers want to see just how toxic he'll get, after all.)

He knows every slur in the book and boy does he use them frequently.

He's the sort of creep that will address every female gamer in the room as "baby girl" and will demand to be called "daddy" in turn.

He does elo boosting in return for nudes. Which he then sells on the black market (without anyone's consent, of course). This is how his black market empire started.

When he was younger he was mostly into the "your mom" flame, but he's evolved to be so much worse ever since then.

If somebody pisses him off sufficiently he'll ddox them and host a livestream where he burns the house of the respective person down. His catchphrase for this is "taking flame seriously"

His first channel was called 69xXDonquixoteFamilyXx69 on DofTube (his own platform, none other would be good enough for somebody as incredibly as him) but after he killed his father he changed to "ReformedJoker"

He does consider himself "reformed" and has a few account names referencing tyler1 and L9

When playing games with his associates / "friends", he won't hold back on being toxic towards them either. Vergo's totally into it (Doflamingo being aware of this) and I don't even want to disturb you with the details on how freaky those two get with that.

Every time he goes a bit too far out of line in insulting his "friends" while gaming, he'll apologize afterwards. Neither them nor him believe even for a split second that he truly means his apology, but they think it's a sign that he means well. Really he just wants them to keep playing with him so he can flame them some more.

Being the owner of DofTube, noone can take his stream down.

He has some dirt on the government (and some very effective death threats going around) so even though he's constantly burning houses down and ocassionally killing people for views, nobody really stops him. Not that they could, this man's freaking STRONG.

He's really not that good at gaming but his ego is absolutely through the roof. If you try to tell him that he sucks or even just give him advice on how to get better, you WILL be killed immediately (or hunted down if you're not in his immediate vicinity).

His stream viewers organize flash mobs that attack his critics.

In return, barely anyone is even brave enough to say anything negative about Doflamingo / his stream / the Donquixote Family

Sometimes the Donquixote Family members stream together.

Giolla has a lot of simps, which Baby 5 is quite jealous of

Baby 5 had / gets a lot of simps too but Doflamingo keeps killing them, that's his little girl to protect and god beware anyone so much as make one of the sexist remarks he himself constantly makes directed towards Baby 5

Favourite sayings:

- "go back to the kitchen"

- "hope your family dies of [disease]" (caesar is always happy to try and cook something up for Doflamingo)

- "in my country we stake these lobotomized apes"

- "sys" (string yourself - devil fruit reference, eh, could be more imaginative)

Phew! This got a little out of hand. I'm drawing on 10+ years of dealing with toxic internet strangers here, so I have a lot of resources to back this up on. Frankly some of the things I've heard I'd rather not repeat and disturb others with, even!

I'm SUPER tempted to turn this into a fanfiction, will see how that goes. So sorry that I haven't updated / written anything in a hot minute, I keep being sick and tired all the time so I'm not getting anything done :(

[geddy-leesbian]

and perhaps I should not be trying to promote a fic I haven't updated in 6+ months but... the primary reason I haven't updated it is just the drop in engagement and the fact it's the highest effort thing I've ever written. First few chapters got comments, enough that I was feeling encouraged. But they dropped off. Even when I was posting a chapter I wholeheartedly believed was better than any of the previous chapters, 10k word fucking illustrated chapter, it doesn't get anything close to the reception the previous chapters got. So yeah I lost a lot of motivation. Yes, I write for myself and enjoy it, but this particular fic is my most challenging to work on. It's brain intensive. I have plot threads and mysteries I have to keep track of. I have to keep track of what characters do and don't know at any given moment constantly. (eg "does Leon know X about Luis's past at this point? no, he doesn't yet, I need to remember to come up with a way for him to learn that and include it.") It's a whole lot more complicated and harder than anything else I write.

Of course I get sad when anything I write doesn't get comments, but for that fic I found it especially discouraging. I mean it just makes me question what I'm even doing I guess? Why bother writing a difficult fic with very long chapters, mysteries, a shit load of screenshots/edits/illustrations when shorter, lower effort stuff is going to get me more validation? So I sort of went from seeing that fic as my baby, my magnum opus, to just forgetting it exists most of the time and choosing to care about other things more to get myself out of the cycle of hoping maybe this chapter will finally be the one that gets recognition! every time I update, only to feel disappointed. Just detaching from it and not caring anymore felt like the best option.

I'm really not trying to make this into a whiny vent post. I'm just trying to establish that I am very much a vending machine that will spit out fic if you insert emotional validation. I still have the whole overall plot of Any Killer mapped out, I have a good chunk of the next chapter written, as well as a handful of scenes that will happen a lot later. If more people start caring and want to see an update, I'll get back on that horse. It's just very difficult for me to feel motivated enough to do so right now.

Again, i have a tendency of making stupid whiny vent posts about my fics going underappreciated, that's not what I'm doing right now. I actually feel pretty good and secure right now and recognize my fics are generally appreciated. (And like I said, the earlier chapters of this one were also appreciated.) I'm just trying to establish that this fic in particular was extremely high effort and that's why there's a high bar to get me updating again. Even if, say, my rockstar Luis AU stuff had a sudden drop in engagement, I'd keep updating because it's not that difficult for me. But for something as challenging as this fic in particular, I need to know that there's more than a couple people that care before I'm willing to put my blood, sweat and tears into updating it again. I'm not going to feel bitter or even disappointed if this post doesn't result in the fic getting any new comments because I've just checked out emotionally and no longer expect anyone will get emotionally invested in it and wonder where it's going. But if it does get any, then I might start caring again, a little bit.

🔍

[egginfroggin]

Shooting Star

(Frantically telling myself that I'm not going to do this with every member of the zodiac, I'm not gonna do a monochrome portrait of each of them with their symbol in gold haloing their head, I'm not gonna do that I'm not I'm not gonna - *thinks about how to pose Dipper and the grunkles* frickign dang it)

[shiryawashere]

you ever miss your comfort character so bad you gotta go outside about it

[lilydvoratrelundar]

dc is doing a little mini relaunch after the current crossover finishes and honestly thank god because literally only two of their current ongoings interest me but there's a bunch of fun looking stuff happening in november that i might actually look at. and also it's starting series for several guys who should have had ongoings this whole time like the fucking JUSTICE LEAGUE

[quatregats]

Current Situation would actually probably be solved if I stopped looking to Projects for all my satisfaction in life

[todayisafridaynight]

CANNOT BELIEVE IT'S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO REPLY YOU'VE ALREADY FINISHED THE SECOND MOVIE LOL BUT

I LOVE showing The Mole Song to people because it's like, love it or hate it, you can't possibly have a lukewarm reaction to it. I'm thrilled you liked it so much!!! Hong Kong Capriccio definitely has its moments and I'm glad you enjoyed it too; on that note, I haven't seen Final yet, and it doesn't seem to be hardsubbed online, but I was able to find a raw and subs separately. They seem okay from the scene I skipped to twenty minutes in but not positive lol

It really does set the tone early! I love the cutaway gags too The manga has a lot of absurd non-sequiturs and it was a fun way to adapt that to a new medium. As an adaptation as a whole, Undercover Agent Reiji in particular definitely has the tone down and I appreciate that it kept a lot of the Moments I liked.

Hiura had me from the blood oath… one of the guys of all time… despite how I sound from what I just said, I actually didn't even know there was a manga or a sequel when I first watched it, so I was SO relieved he survived the explosion. I was honestly 100% convinced he'd crash the plane at the end though lol, but I guess that ended up happening in Hong Kong Capriccio anyway?

BUT YEAH LIKE THE GUY JUST HAS A HYPERFIXATION AND I HAVE TO RESPECT THAT. Which, you know, in-universe, to have the whole butterfly motif and then dress your man up in florals… I repeat, Reiji was slaying in that dress… I love everyone's costuming in these movies. SPEAKING OF THE AUCTION, the PSP segment onward was insanely RGGcore wasn't it… good god……

It's kind of funny how little Reiji changes--I guess that's how you keep a manga going for like 900 or whatever chapters so far--because he'll pretty much Always have things he needs to figure out. Still very much fun to watch, though!

ALSO the drugs reminded me (I was expecting them to be In The Dogs too lol), shoutout to manga Tsukihara for having the exact same character arc as Mine and ending up an invaluable ally. Also getting to beat up Ryuji Leo (sorry my boy but Mine is overall the stronger combatant to me and I am tired of the Reddit-y discussions on the wiki saying otherwise </3). Living vicariously while Mine's status is still uncertain lol

P.S. I Too Treat Your Blog Like The Morning Paper and it means a lot to me to have the opportunity to write in and talk! I would also love to join a stream if you ever go for it!

P.P.S. NOOOOOOO PLEASE THE SLOW DANCING…….. UNWELL. I've imagined the same thing but at home… in the light of the refrigator… Jo is still tense as hell both because of the situation and it's such a waste of electricity and they really should close the door as soon as possible… but Arakawa insists if it's only for the duration of the song, it's fine……

YEAH THE MOLE SONG MOVIES WERE REALLY FUN thanks again for recommending it to me (I found out it had a manga series the moment I went to look it up, but I haven't read a lick of it. I'd say I'm surprised it's still running but I mean... manga like One Piece have over a thousand chapters at this point, so I shouldn't be too surprised. Maybe I'll give it a read sometime just to check out how the movies and manga compare-and-contrast with each other)!

1.) BIGGEST HONOR I'm glad my blog can entertain a lot of people (and a big part of that is due in part to people writing in and giving me a chance to chat a bit, so of course I always have to thank you and everyone else for sending me asks as frequently as you all do. They're absolutely the highlight of my day whenever I get the time to answer them ^^)!! I've always liked the idea of streaming (I've attempted to years back but I never tried again afterwards), though I always end up getting too anxious about it (plus I tend to get performance anxiety and I end up taking a lot longer to draw whenever people are watching me). I hope to get over that anxiety one day though- I bet it'd be fun to respond to people in real time or take quick doodle requests mid-stream :)

2.) AW THEM DANCING IN THE KITCHEN THOUGH I CAN SEE IT..... Jo being worried about the electric bill though that's so accurate..... I'll definitely think on the concept of Slow Dancing AraSawa with all the apparent enthusiasm around it.. I promise..

YAYA my friend (who made the post) told me a moment after I told her (also PLEASE I was so heinous reading the name- first thing I said to her aside from 'new movie night plan' was 'how many times does this man play a dude named 'Jo' ☠️☠️)! I wasn't able to find any recordings of the actual play (I know a trailer was posted last year so I don't know if they've actually performed live since then) but here's to hoping one day there's a recording of it posted somewhere...

[sysig]

Feeling and looking good 🌈 (Patreon)

[strohller27]

.

[youremyonlyhope]

There is a nonzero chance that I have COVID.

Yayyyyyyyy.

Let's hope it's just a cold...