#there's too many thoughts in my head and it's hard to get them all out in a way that makes sense

[lockefanfic]

Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night? 

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly. 

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room. 

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to  Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing. 

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch. 

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body. 

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need. 

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did. 

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed. 

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked. 

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain. 

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire. 

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you. 

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does. 

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation. 

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it. 

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs. 

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take. 

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission. 

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you. 

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain. 

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

[callsign-datura]

a/n: sorry for the long wait! 4.7k words, the result of my last poll, simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, hair-pulling, degradation, talking to the pussy

ghost didn't have many hobbies, but he did have a few he liked the most. His third favorite was being at the shooting range, his second favorite was cleaning his guns, and his first favorite was sparring.

he often sparred to ensure he wasn't getting rusty with certain hand-to-hand techniques. usually with soap, or gaz. late at night when he had energy to expel, or unwanted emotions to get out.

that's why he found himself in the gym, this time off the mat, wrapping his busted knuckles with bandages. he was dressed in gray sweats, a black wife-beater, and the mask. he flexed his fingers as he tucked the edge of the bandage beneath the edge of another at his wrist, bringing both arms above his head. he stretched, grunting quietly before letting his arms drop to his sides, squinting at the way the fluorescent lights made his head ache.

the door creaked open slowly. he tilted his head, watching you enter. you looked up and met his gaze, and he turned his head away and began wrapping his other hand with the same bandages.

you and ghost were cordial at the very least and hostile at the most. it wasn't that you got along-- sometimes his demeanor just pissed you off. so closed off, and for what? working with another person was better than working alone, to you, and you didn't understand why in the hell he was so rude to you.

you huffed under your breath, not expecting him to be in the gym so late. you watched his shoulders flex, the wife-beater a darker shade around his neck with the sweat that dampened it. he looked like he'd been hard at work for a few hours, the bandages around his knuckles tainted with a deep shade of red.

"what's the point of wrapping your hands after you've busted them on the bag?" you call, watching his shoulders shift a bit as he stops wrapping.

"i forgot to do it before." he retorts, not bothering to face you.

"didn't nurse sullivan tell you to do it before?" you put your hands on your hips. your tone is concerned, and partially, you are, but the other part of you is just looking to get on his nerves. you came here to train yourself, but messing with him seemed a bit more fun. "thought you'd remember what a nurse told you to do."

"didn't ask ya to remind me what sullivan said, i know what m'doin'." he finishes wrapping his other hand and goes back to the bag, getting into position and bringing his fists up. he starts throwing punches, the jangle of the chain and the thuds of his fists hitting the bag echoing in the room.

you approach him. "you know, sparring might be better than boxing." you offer, folding your arms behind your back as your gaze flickers over his stature. he's by no means a small man, and it's been a while since you've had the chance to spar with the other guys on base.

ghost's hands shoot out to still the bag, and his head tilts to the left. brown eyes peer at you from beneath the mask, and he huffs through his nose, looking you up and down. "tch. y'got a death wish? i've got a few inches on ya... not to mention pounds."

"i know you do. it'd be good training for me." you hum, looking to the side, then back to him. "for you too, maybe. having an agile opponent might be a bit challenging for someone so... lumbering."

"lumbering?" he asks, tilting his head as he turns to you completely. "and you... agile? got an ego, don't ya?" though he's excited at the prospect of sparring at all, so he's considering it.

you can tell you're piquing his interest, so you push it, ignoring the little jabs. "maybe a small one. sounds fun though, doesn't it? I heard it's been a while since you've got the chance."

he sighs. he feigns resignation, but there's a sparkle in his eye that you don't miss. he considers it for a few moments before he starts skulking in your direction. "you're gonna regret that," he huffs, stopping just short from you. "i've got some rules. one, you lose after i've pinned ya for 10 seconds. two, no dirty shots. i don't pull y'r hair, you don't kick me in the nuts. got it?"

he sounds so serious, you chuckle. "alright," you nod, agreeing to his terms. then you take your position on the furthest end of the mat while he takes position at the other end.

"ya ready?" he gruffs, and you nod, putting your fists up.

"alright then, you get the first shot."

"really?" you tilt your head, taking a few steps forward as you begin circling in the center of the mat.

"mm-hmm." he hums, rubbing his arms before putting his fists up. "wanna see what you can do."

you huff, then you go towards him, side-stepping and reaching out to grab his arm. you yanked on it, and he barely moved. he almost paused, somewhat amused that you even tried that. you let go and move away from him and he follows-- throwing a few punches without expecting them to land.

they don't. one disadvantage of him being so much bigger than you is the speed difference. you're so much faster than him. you can dodge faster, but if he finally gets his hands on you, you're done.

you're moving around the mat, dodging his punches and dodging it when he reaches for you, and he's growing increasingly frustrated.

"godammit, quit fuckin' moving." he hisses, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you in. he lets go to grab you by the shoulders, but before he can, you duck and use most of your strength to kick his shins, trying to debilitate him so you can get away. it doesn't work. you scramble away and he follows, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you close. he turns around to throw you off before shoving you to the ground and pinning you there by your shoulders, his body coming down on yours as his knees cage you in on either side of your hips.

you're squirming, hips lifting and hands clawing at his wrists in an effort to get him to let you go. his eyes narrow, getting some sort of satisfaction at seeing you squirm beneath him.

"one," he begins counting, signaling to you that you only have a few seconds to get away. his grip on you tightens, and you're almost sure he's gonna win when you get an idea. your grip tightens on his wrist before you drag your hand up it, digging your nails into the surface of his skin. you apply enough pressure to cut the skin, and his grip releases at the same time he hisses. he doesn't let go, but you take the opportunity to throw his hands off of you and turn around in his hold, tucking your legs in against yourself and pushing the bottoms of your feet against him to throw him off. then you scramble out from beneath him, getting up and putting distance between the both of you.

"hmm," he says, eyes focusing on you before he gets to his feet. "slippery fuckin' thing." he laughs, looking at the arm you cut up. crimson dribbles from the thin red lines you've left behind, and he rolls his head, cracking his neck as he goes towards you again.

there's something different in his eyes-- he's surprised that you're putting up such a fight.

"never expected a little thing like you to fight so dirty." he says, his voice low and husky as he stops a few feet away from him, intense eyes following you as you circle him. it's obvious to him you have no intention of making the first move again, so he opts to play with you a bit instead.

"y'r crafty too, huh?" he says, his voice mocking somewhat. "didn't expect you to claw me up like that. i mean, it worked..." he turns as you do, and your eyes narrow.

"i'm enjoyin' this one, that's for sure. maybe i should make sure that you're gonna keep comin' back?" he says, his voice husky again. there's a tone in it. it's almost like he's taunting you, or-- no, that isn't it...

"it's a shame they won't scar, though." he takes another step towards you, and you look behind you to gauge how much space you have until you step off the mat. you stay where you are.

"i like having trophies from my fights... reminds me how much i enjoyed it." he keeps rambling, and you're not sure what the point of all this is. it makes you feel fuzzy inside, kind of, like he's complimenting you.

he gets closer, and his eyes narrow further. you know he's smirking beneath the mask. you look meek-- is he flirting with you? is your lieutenant flirting with you? is simon "ghost" riley flirting with you??? he throws a few lazy punches, knowing you'll dodge them.

"not at all. it's a compliment, actually. small, nimble. i bet you rarely get into any sticky situations, huh? like a rabbit," he chuckles, his voice amused as he lets go, then shoves your shoulders hard enough to make you stumble. then, to make you lose your footing, he kicks your feet out from under you.

"ain't very often i get to fight people like you, after all." he hums, not even sounding like he's taking it seriously. you're visibly nervous, and you hold your fists up defensively. he leans forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. the rational part of you is laughing at your idiocy, but the other part of you is melting because-- he is flirting.

"ugh-- people like me? is that an insult?" you say, your chest close to his as he leans down. his face is inches from yours, and you can feel his breath against you.

you yelp, and you fall on your ass. the sudden tone shift is enough to send you spiraling. the way he talks to you makes something heat in your stomach. he gets on top of you again, one of his legs between yours and the other on the outside of you. he puts his hands on the mat between your arms, and he stays leaned over you.

"well... not really fighting back now, are you? that's a shame..." he huffs, his gaze drifting from your face down... your chest is heaving, and your eyes are shut. your hips shift, and he moves his leg up at the same time. the curve of his thigh bumps against your clothed cunt, and it makes you jolt.

"hey!" you hiss, not expecting the contact or the look in his eyes when you finally look at him.

"what?"

"i... i thought you said no dirty shots," you retort, your voice somewhat weak. you look away, your body flooding with some sort of warmth that his closeness produced in you.

he snorts, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "ain't a dirty shot if you're already on the ground and you've already lost. it's just... overkill." but he stays over you, despite the fact he just won. his gaze rakes over you in a hungry manner, and you can hear him suck in a breath when your back arches up off the ground.

"...you can get off me now," you murmur, avoiding eye contact. you feel shy, all of a sudden, and kind of pissed. he just won because he was toying with you on purpose to win. he was messing with your feelings! "get off me." you hiss, trying to get out from under him.

his eyebrows go up, sensing your sudden hostility. his eyes narrow. he lifts a hand and pins your shoulder down. "ah ah ah, the fuck are you doing? did i say you could get up?" he was enjoying this before, but now that you're fighting back like this he's a bit irritated.

your squirming just results in you unintentionally grinding yourself against his thigh. you suck in a breath when it happens, and your eyes narrow.

"you're such an asshole" you grumble. despite your arguing and your resistance, you press yourself against his leg.

he looks down when your hips shift. he watches the way they move, and when you finally relax, he moves above you and intentionally moves his leg to see your reaction.

your face flushes, and you whimper, looking away.

"well... look at that." he murmurs, his voice lilted and knowing. he looks up at you and makes eye contact, pushing it against you again to elicit another noise from you. you moan once again and your lips curl, eyebrows knitting in response to the jolt of pleasure he causes.

"isn't that cute?" he teases. "does that feel good?" he says, his voice almost mocking as he lifts his thigh and presses it against you, gently pushing it against you in an even motion to make you squirm even more.

"g-god, you're such an ass," you moan, body falling limp and losing whatever ounce of fight you had. you still mouth off. "do you do this with everyone you spar with? i-is that why soap is always asking you to spar with him?"

he rolls his eyes. "shut up, girl. i'm surprised you have the audacity t' speak to me that way when you're gettin' off on my fuckin' thigh." his voice is almost scolding, but he doesn't grind his leg against you any harder. just goes slow... it's almost torturous. you can already feel yourself drenching your panties. it's a culmination of this entire thing. the way he smells, how close he is to you, the way he's staring at you so hungrily... all of it is making you salivate, except your mouth isn't the only thing drooling.

your head falls back, and your breathing is already so heavy. he tilts his head forward, and his lips are on your neck. you feel the wetness of his lips, the itching brush of peach fuzz, the fabric of his mask rolled up over his nose against your neck-- all of it makes you shudder beneath him. he nips at the flesh of your neck, pulling gently and kissing at the reddened flesh afterward. he puts his leg down, and places himself between your legs, one hand cupping the back of your thigh and lifting it to press himself against you. you feel the outline of his dick through his sweats, semi-hard but at attention. the girth of it catches your attention, and when he feels your body stiffen he chuckles.

"hush. we'll make sure it fits, doll." he murmurs, his voice husky and low, sending shudders through you with how close he is to you. he doesn't grind into you from that position. rather, his hands travel up and down your sides as he kisses your neck, sucking small hickeys and trailing them down. his hands shove your shirt up and over your chest, doing the same with your bra. he's intense, and very aware of what he wants-

you.

his eyes focus on your tits. round, perky and the perfect size for him to hold. so he slides one hand up to cup and fondle your tit, his thumb quickly traveling over your nipple. it pebbles and perks beneath his touch and against the cool air, and he hums. he salivates. he wants to taste your skin. drag his tongue over your flesh, feel the goosebumps that raise beneath his tongue. but he can't. he has to make sure you come back for more and that's exactly how he will.

and as always, he'll get what he wants, one way or another. you squirm beneath him, and noises attempt to claw out of your throat but you keep quiet. you don't want to let on how much you're enjoying this, but the subtle rock of your hips gives it away.

"tsk tsk tsk. are you really this impatient? haven't even done anything yet." he snickers, pulling back to look down at you. he pulls his mask back down before you can see anything, and he leans forward with his hips a bit. your legs still hover against his hips, your knees drawing together as a result of your embarrassment. your lips part and you pant, chest heaving once again.

his other hand slips down to your hip, lifting your legs up and together, over his shoulder so he can pull your pants and panties up your thighs.

"such a pretty girl. you know, i've had my eyes on you for a bit..." he starts. once your pants are around your thighs and he has enough access to you, he brings the hand that was on your boob, to your mouth. he eases his pointer and middle finger into it and your eyebrows knit at the taste of sweat. "suck," he instructs. you do, cheeks hollowing briefly as your tongue laves along his fingers, coating them in spit.

"hmm... always wondered whether or not you were the obedient type, but i never got a chance to break you in and find out." he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and bringing that hand between your legs. he drags the tips of his fingers through your folds, humming when he feels how wet you are. you can hear how sloppy it is, and he laughs.

"i guess i wouldn't be breaking you in as much as her," he snickers. your face reddens and you look to the side, panting once again as he starts easing those two fingers into your sopping cunt. you comprehend then that the her was your pussy.

"mm-hm, tight, as i thought. are you that nervous?" he teases, tilting his head as he scissors those two fingers inside you. the feeling knocks the air from your lungs, and you gasp, bringing both hands to your face to hide how embarrassed you are. despite that, your body gives away how excited you are, your hips shifting and your back arching as his thick fingers curl inside you.

if you're moaning, your pussy is screaming. the wet noises of his fingers working you out is embarrassing and brings heat to your face, but you can't really focus on that.

it sounds so lewd, and it is. you let out a gasp as he pushes them deeper, the sheer girth of his fingers causing your gummy walls to strain. your thighs clench and your hands ball into fists. his other hand pulls your pants and panties off completely, humming as your legs fall apart.

"s'it that good, doll?" his voice is husky and low, teasing. he's getting off on your reaction to his touch. "c'mon, girl, look at me..." his fingers stop, and you whine, shifting to look at him. they start moving as soon as your eyes fix on his, and your lips part. you moan again, your lips curling.

"c'mon, talk to me." he encourages, and his touch is downright sinful in comparison to his tone. "does it feel good? this what you wanted when you started grinding yourself on my leg?" he chuckles to himself. "never woulda thought you were this kinda girl if i hadn't of seen it myself..."

his thumb moves, and flattens over your clit once he turned his wrist over. he rolls circles over it slowly, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the outside of your thigh.

you squirm and whimper, and it takes everything in him not to just pounce on you. instead he opts to listen to your moans and the sound of his fingers inside you. he curls his fingers and inches them deeper until your body jolts, and he hums in approval at your reaction.

"s'that the spot...?" he asks, leaning forward as he curls his fingers against that spot again. you jump, the coil in your stomach growing ever tighter as you moan in affirmation. the pleasure is making your head feel light, your eyes fluttering shut again and your head falling back against the mat. you're squirming and shifting again, and you feel sweat on your neck and chest. you whimper a bit, the air feeling sticky and humid between you both. it's hard to tell whether that's just your body heat, or it's him.

and you whimper at him. you can feel your orgasm encroaching, and he can feel it too. your cunt squeezes around his fingers and he can feel you throbbing. your body tenses, and your orgasm is right there--

he removes his fingers. you slump down, tilting your head to the side and huffing in frustration when you feel so suddenly empty.

"...this proves that you're just... an asshole..." you grumble, bringing your legs together.

he's thick. slight upward curve, blushing tip and definitely not lacking in length.

there's silence on his end, and when you look at him, he's pulling his sweats and boxers down.

"can't be much of an asshole if m'gonna dick you down," he purrs. you don't look, but you feel his cock hit the side of your thigh once he takes it out. a hand wrapped around the base, he gives a few lazy pumps, smirking to himself beneath the mask when you lift up to look.

"hmm? s'this good enough for you? such a rude girl, calling me names," his voice is teasing. he shifts forward a bit and then lines himself up with you before he moves both hands to cup the back of your knees and lift them. he moves you just a bit closer. He shifts his hips, then without warning, pushing himself into you up to the hilt.

you gasp. he's big, and you wish he had told you he was going to do it so quickly, because you weren't expecting it. his size takes a bit for you to adjust to, the sting and the stretch causing you to squirm once again. he grips your hips to still you, and he hums. "shh... you can take it, can't you?" you continue to whimper, and he laughs. "so pathetic. s'it too big for you?" he mocks, leaning over you once again.

"so fuckin' messy. look at you, girl. maybe this-" he emphasizes that with another particularly hard thrust that causes his tip to attack your g-spot-- "is what you wanted all along. maybe you asked me to spar cause you wanted me to fuck the shit out of you," he huffs, his voice low and raspy and his movements aggressive. you can barely speak aside from squeaks and squeals, the feeling of his hips slamming into yours causing your vision to go white. you couldn't respond outside of gasps.

god. yes. yes, it was too big-- and it took you a while to adjust to it. he started moving once your hips started shifting into his. he tilted his head forward, tucking it into your neck and grunting quietly. you're still sensitive, so when your lips part in a moan, it all feels so intense. your back arches and your legs push apart, welcoming him. his thrusts are shallow, yet careful, (for now), and he grunts into your ear. you squeeze around him, and your head tilts back as you moan out, hands finding his shoulders and digging your nails into it. Your eyebrows knit and you whine.

"y'r pussy's noisier than you are. listen to her," he goes quiet and fucks into you harder just to emphasize the paps of his hips hitting the back of your thighs and the squelches of your pussy clenching around his cock. your slick dripped down your cunt, getting his sweats damp a bit with it-- he moved one hand up to pull your hair, tilting your head back so he could talk in your ear.

"fuck," he cursed, pulling your hair again and chuckling when you cried out. you were lost in the feeling. the feeling of him, the feeling of his cock and how roughly he fucked you.

"hah!" you mewled, your back arching up off the mat. you grabbed at his shoulders in utter desperation. your eyes crossed and you tilted your head to the side, your body jolting with each thrust he offered you- getting gradually rougher.

"y'sound so slutty, moaning for me like that... keep doin' it, pretty," he hummed, staying close as he rutted into you with a force that might as well have caused you to shriek. he let go of your leg, and both of them closed around his waist, ankles locking at his lower back.

"m'gonna cum," you whimpered, your voice soft and meek. he chuckled, and his movements got a bit more aggressive. he lifted himself up onto his hands, keeping them just over your shoulders and looking down to where your bodies met. his fat cock was pounding into you over and over, the squeezes of your pussy enough to make him moan a little bit himself. he looked up, meeting your gaze.

when he finally came, you were still on cloud nine, wailing and squirming beneath him when his hips slammed into yours and he spilled spurts of hot cum into your pussy. the sensation was almost enough to make you cum again-- especially when he ground his hips into yours, his tip grinding into your g-spot. plus his lovely groans were sending you straight to heaven. the noises he made were mostly groans as he fucked into you, making your entire body shudder from the feeling and the sensations flooding your body.

your eyes were glazed over. visibly lost in the pleasure and focused on nothing but your impending orgasm, he took that as encouragement. he took your legs again, sitting up and pulling them together but pushing them against your front. the angle allowed him to get impossibly deeper. each time he slammed into you, his tip hit your g-spot, applying enough pressure to graze the plug of your womb and create more tingling, burning pleasure.

"oh! oh, fuck--" you gasped, folding a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. your heart was pounding in your ears, and you swore you almost fainted when your orgasm finally fell over you. the feeling of the pressure releasing had you seeing stars, shaky crying moans leaving your mouth. your back arched and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. you were sure you'd be bruised on the inside by the next day.

"that's it baby," he hissed, his grip on your legs tightening. "atta girl..." he purred, his tone tense with his own incoming orgasm. he wanted to help you ride out yours first, so he did. his hips kept that brutal, hungry pace, slamming into your drooling pussy with a fervor he didn't even know he had. he wasn't much of a talker in the midst... you didn't notice that he'd gone quiet, though, too absorbed in the aftermath of your orgasm.

he groaned out, his eyebrows knitting beneath the mask as he tilted his head forward to watch himself pound you. "take it... that's it, fuck..." his tone was still encouraging, but it faded as his pace started to slow. your entire body was still ebbing with pleasure and tingling with the overstimulation of your orgasm, and you were almost struggling to come back to the earth. you were both still panting.

when he pulled out of you and tucked his cock away and fixed his sweats, he looked at you-- his tone was full of pride. "well... fuck... look at you, huh?" he tilted his head, sounding awfully smug. he retrieved your pants and panties and helped you get re-dressed.

"you know... that wasn't the kind of session i was expecting, but damn... i think that was the best i've had in a while." he stood up and helped you to your feet, patting your ass once or twice as he held you up while you regained your bearings.

"...whatever, ghost," you grumbled, still holding onto your stubbornness even after you'd been sent to heaven and brought back.

"you know where to find me. don't be afraid to come get some if you're in need," he hummed, "not like i'm in a position to deny ya."

[starfruitii]

cws & notes. reader is kind of insecure. akaashi keiji x gn!reader. established relationship. slight angst. 600+ words. idk where this came from but enjoy?

“Do you think you’ll get sick of me, one day?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. In your head, it sounded like a perfectly sound question, but with the way Keiji is looking at you, it’s clear he doesn’t agree. 

“I beg your pardon, dear?” His voice is painfully soft, brows furrowing in concern as he places his book down on the coffee table. Under his gentle gaze, you feel stripped bare, exposed in all your insecurity. You should have swallowed the question down, as sharp as it felt in your throat, anything to avoid the way he’s staring at you now.

“Nevermind,” You say quickly, snatching the TV remote from the table, and busying yourself with choosing a show. The screen flicks between channels, flashing brightly coloured lights across your faces. “That was a dumb question. I’m sorry, just forget it.”

“My love,” Keiji reached out a hand, lightly brushing the side of your face. With a gentle, but firm grip, he grasped your chin and tilted your head to the side to face him. “[Name]. Why are you asking me that?” 

“No reason. Don’t worry about it.” You try to laugh it off, but you can only choke out a quiet sob. Somehow, somewhere between asking the question and now, your eyes started burning, glazing over with unshed tears.

Damn. He’s looking even more concerned now. Why couldn’t you have just kept it to yourself, tucking those doubts far into the dusty corners of your head, where his ears would never reach them?

“Hey,” Keiji brushed his thumb under your eyes, wiping away a stray tear that falls. “You’re getting me worried now. Are you okay? What happened?”

There was a long pause, and something inside you cracks. You let out a sniffle, then a gasp, then the last piece of your self-control breaks, in a mess of tears and snot. Keiji’s face crumples, and he tugs you forward into his chest, rubbing your back soothingly as you continue to cry. 

“Did I do something?” He presses. “Am I not treating you the way you want to be treated? I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, but please tell me what I did–”

“No!” You quickly say, regaining your composure slightly. He’s never done anything, never hurt you, intentionally, or unintentionally, never said the wrong words, never made you feel unloved. That was the problem. Because nothing gold shines forever, and every good thing comes to an end. You were just waiting for the end, the moment he decides he is done with your self-consciousness, your bad habits, your looks. 

There is always a reason for someone to leave; you’ve learnt that the hard way. 

“I-I don’t know,” You mumble, tracing your nail against the couch. “I just–I guess, most people do. Get sick of me, that is. And I d-don’t wanna lose you too.”

Keiji was silent for a moment, and for a moment you worry that you've ruined things. The thought lingers in your mind for only a second, because a second later there are half-a-dozen kisses being pressed to the top of your head.

“I love you,” Keiji whispers between each peck. “I love you, so, so much. I love you, and I love you, and I will say it as many times as it takes you to believe it.”

The feeling of his breath tickles your skin, making you laugh weakly.

“I'm never going to get sick of you,” He continues. “I adore you, and every part of you. No matter what happens, I'm never leaving. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper back.

Keiji kisses your cheek. “Good. Now, why don't you put on a movie for us to watch?”

[halfmoonshines]

marc spector/steven grant/jake lockley x reader

summary: you loved all of your boys equally. most days.

or; they're all amazing in their own ways, but definitely have their strong suits.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were going to strangle Marc Spector, you were sure of it. You were also sure that Steven would forgive you, and Jake probably wouldn't bat an eye.

How many times had you told this man that you had a laundry basket for a reason? Fist of Vengeance or not, his socks still stunk and you were getting tired of padding around the apartment twice a week collecting them all.

You slammed the washer door shut a little too hard just as you heard the front door open and click shut.

"I'm home, love! They had a great deal on your favorite cream cheese at the shops." Steven's honey accent pierces the quiet of your anger and you immediately simmer; his sunny disposition a cold water on your raging fire. You had nearly forgotten that he was the one who went to the store.

"That's great." You said as you rounded the corner, a smile on your face.

Steven paused in his unloading the groceries, a furrow creasing his brow. "Are you alright, sweets? You look tense." He crossed the small kitchen over to you, hands settling lightly on your shoulders. Leave it to Steven to see the slightest bit of tension in you.

You have a loving eye roll, moving closer to wrap your own arms around him. "I'm okay, Steven. Just slightly peeved at Marc for being so messy."

His hold dropped to your waist and he rested his chin on top of your head, a mirthful chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "That he is, love. Right disgusting bugger. Shall we do something about him?"

"I thought you wouldn't take kindly to me choking him with the next dirty sock I find."

"I'm sure I can look the other way."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

"You're being ungrateful, you need to actually listen to me-"

Conversations with your mother never went over well, but this time you were well tired of listening to it.

"I am not being ungrateful, Sharon. I'm being realistic. Don't call me again." You slammed the phone down with a force, shaking the glass of water you had perched on the dining table. You winced, knowing that smart phones weren't made to take that kind of beating but you were far past the point of caring.

She always knew how to rile you up; to upset you and make you feel guilty. You didn't even know why you bothered to pick up her calls anymore. Some sick sense of ownership.

The hands that turned you were warm and familiar, the chest that greeted you smelling of musk and pine.

"You want to talk about it?" Marc's voice made you wince. Steven was the one that left the house this morning, you hadn't been aware that they planned to switch. You hated talking about this stuff with Marc, knowing full well it never compared to the relationship he suffered with his own mother.

You gave a shake of your head and met his dark brown gaze. "It's fine, babe. Same old attitude."

Marc's smirk lacked the usual humor. He raised one of his hands to twirl a loose piece of your hair, tracing the movement with his eyes. "You know you don't have to bottle it up, right? How you feel is important. Don't ignore that just because I have my own issues."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's quite the self aware statement, Mr. Spector. I'm impressed."

Marc's smile morphed into that familiar one and he returned your earlier eye roll. "Don't deflect. I'm here if you want to talk."

You dropped your hand to his and started to pull him towards the kitchen. "We can talk while we cook. I'm starving."

"I can agree with that."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were being followed, you were sure of it. You tried not to hasten your steps too much, knowing full well that the person who had been following you for the last six blocks would give chase.

You wouldn't escape them.

You and the boys had obviously gone through this kind of situation before. Being the fist of Khonshu didn't come with a fan club, but it certainly did build a repertoire of enemies. If they lived, that is.

Your breath was puffing out of you in clouds as you power walked down a road parallel to your own, debating the merits on showing this man where you lived on the off chance that Marc was home.

You could hear the footsteps behind you speed up and you returned it in kind, kicking into a slow jog - all pretense of being unaware going out the window.

You glanced over your shoulder to see the man approaching quickly, and that was the first mistake you made.

The second one was hesitating when another men stepped out of the shadows of a store front. You knocked into him firmly, breath escaping out of your chest while his harsh grip dug into your shoulders.

Oh, you were fucked.

The man who had been following you caught up to you then, hand clasping over your mouth to muffle the strangled scream you had attempted.

Those training sessions in the living room with Jake felt like a distant memory with the blood pumping through your veins. You kicked wildly at the man in front of you, managing to graze that sensitive bit between his legs.

"I'm going to enjoy this so much more now." The accent was Irish, but you were quickly distracted by the large knife he brought up to your throat.

You stopped thrashing, all too aware of the sharp tip of steel biting into the sensitive skin on your neck. A stray tear rolled out of your eye, fate becoming more concrete.

"Hurry it up, Joey. We don't have time to dally."

"Shut yer pipe-" The man holding the knives voice gurgled briefly before he collapsed on the ground in front of you, the tips of crescent moon shaped knives poking out of the front of his chest.

You found him instantly, half masked by the shadows on the street.

"Bloody fuck." The man holding you simply tightened his hold, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. The squeal you gave wasn't by choice but you could see the start that the suited man watching you gave. "Stay over there, white devil, or she will die with me. Do you hear-"

You almost didn't see it, the knife being thrown but it was embedded in the goon's throat before your next breath. He released you all at once and you fell forward from the force, gloved hands catching you before you could hit the pavement.

You were heaving breaths, vaguely aware that you were going into something akin to shock but unable to pull yourself out.

"Breathe, mi corazon. You need to take slow breaths." Jake's own hands were shaking almost imperceptibly, you could tell that he was struggling to keep a lid on his fury.

You dragged in a deep breath through your nose, forcing yourself to sit on it before exhaling. You folded into his embrace, fresh tears springing into your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Jake's scoff was almost offensive. "What the fuck are you sorry about?"

You gestured to yourself haphazardly. "Completely losing my shit the first time that something happens to me."

The suit disappeared then, his bare hand gripping your chin lightly, bringing your gaze to his. There was fire churning there, and you realized you mistook some of his anger. There was fear there too. For you, though. Never himself.

"Don't you ever apologize to me when there's," His hand lowered a bit, ghosting over the line of red that the knife had left on your throat. "Blood dripping down you. Blood that's my fault." You understood then, the hard clench of his jaw. "Mierda, babe. This could've ended so differently."

Your hand wraps around the his wrist, bringing it into your lap, willing him to look at you instead of the wound he was fixated on. "But it wasn't. Because you were here. I'm okay, Jake."

Something flashed in his eyes, and a cloud passed over his face. He was bottling it up, you could tell, but there wasn't much you could do about that right now. "Let's get you home."

You let him help you off the pavement, keeping a grounding hand on his arm. Jake hesitated a moment, question poised on his tongue.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure you're okay? If you want to talk it out, I can step back. It would probably be good to have someone to talk to-"

Your kiss was chaste, but served its purpose of shutting him up. "If I wanted to talk about it, I could do that with you, Jake. You don't need to go anywhere."

"You know I'm not very good at that-"

"You're perfect." You insisted. No room for arguments.

He smiled wryly, arm wrapping around your waist. "How about I run you a bath when we get home and we order some takeout. What are you hungry for?"

"Surprise me."

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 21

word count: 8.8k

sorry for the wait, hope you guys enjoy!

The next day, though Harry had to be cooped up at the shop once more, he made sure to bring Aspen along. The girl sat perched by the front desk, swaying in her chair as Niall and Zayn kept her company while her boyfriend worked on another large last minute walk-in piece.

Aspen hadn't minded tagging along to the shop today. In fact, she liked being around Harry's world, seeing the environment he was so comfortable in. It was different from her own, rougher around the edges, but it fascinated her. The steady hum of the tattoo machines, the scent of antiseptic and ink in the air—it was all so uniquely him.

She sat at the front desk, her legs crossed at the ankle as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the shop's design books. Every now and then, her eyes drifted toward Harry's station where he was focused on a client, sleeves pushed up, forearms tense with concentration. He looked good when he worked, brows drawn together, tongue occasionally swiping across his bottom lip in focus. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks just watching him.

Zayn and Niall were keeping her company in the meantime, the two of them going back and forth in their usual banter, making Aspen giggle behind her hand.

"You know, I think I'd look real good with a full sleeve," Niall mused, stretching his arm out in front of him and squinting as if he were already picturing it.

Zayn snorted, shaking his head. "You're too indecisive. You'd get halfway through and regret it."

Aspen giggled as Niall shot Zayn an exaggerated glare. "Oi! I could pull it off." He turned to Aspen for backup. "Don't you think I'd look good with a sleeve?"

Aspen tilted her head, feigning deep thought before giving a shy little shrug. "I think it would suit you... maybe."

Zayn barked out a laugh, pointing at Niall. "Even Aspen doesn't sound convinced."

Niall groaned, slumping back dramatically in his seat, which only made Aspen giggle more. The conversation carried on lightheartedly, small jokes exchanged between them as she grew more comfortable with their dynamic.

"Okay, fine," Niall huffed. "No sleeve. But what about, like, a single bold piece? Something cool and mysterious. Maybe a dagger? A wolf? A dragon?"

Zayn raised a brow. "You sound like every dude who walks in here asking for their 'first ink' and then chickens out when the needle actually touches their skin."

Aspen covered her mouth as she laughed, her shoulders shaking. "Do people really do that?"

"More often than you'd think," Zayn smirked, leaning against the counter. "You should see some of the excuses we get. 'Oh, I forgot I had a meeting.' 'Oh, my girlfriend doesn't like tattoos.' 'Oh, I think I left my oven on at home.'"

Aspen giggled harder, imagining the scene unfolding.

Niall pointed at Zayn accusingly. "Listen, I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them. If I commit, I commit."

Zayn gave him a skeptical look. "That so?"

"Absolutely."

Aspen, still smiling, tapped a finger against the open design book in front of her. "Well... if you had to pick one right now, what would it be?"

Niall leaned over, scanning the page, before pointing to a classic anchor design. "That. Timeless. Rugged. Manly."

Zayn snorted. "Basic."

"Oh, come on!" Niall groaned. "I thought we were past judging people for classic ink choices!"

Aspen bit her lip to keep from laughing too hard, enjoying the easy back-and-forth between them. She liked this—being included, feeling like she belonged in their little world.

Her eyes flickered over to Harry again, watching the way he moved, the way he gently tilted his client's arm to get a better angle, the way he was so deeply focused. It still amazed her, how skilled he was, how much he cared about his craft. He made everything seem effortless.

She didn't even realize she was staring until Niall leaned closer and whispered, "You're drooling."

Aspen's face burned as she snapped her gaze back to him. "I—I am not!"

Niall grinned, nudging her arm. "S'fine, love, we get it. Your boyfriend's hot."

Zayn smirked, adding, "At least you're subtle about it."

Aspen groaned, burying her face in her hands as they both chuckled at her expense.

"Fine, fine," she muttered, shaking her head with a shy smile. "Let's change the subject."

"Aw, but this was getting good," Niall teased, but he relented when she shot him a playful glare.

Aspen took a sip from her water bottle, settling herself again before her curiosity got the better of her.

Aspen absentmindedly traced patterns along the condensation of her water bottle, the soft hum of tattoo machines filling the shop as she let the words roll off her tongue without much thought. "So... where were you guys the other day?"

She wasn't asking with suspicion—just curiosity. It was normal for them all to be busy, especially Harry and Zayn, but with both of them disappearing on the same day, she had assumed they had been working at the shop together.

Zayn, who had been scrolling on his phone, stilled almost imperceptibly. It was brief, barely noticeable, before he smoothly resumed, tapping his thumb against the screen in thought.

Niall, however, was as easygoing as ever, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Dunno. They weren't at the shop, I—"

Before he could finish, Zayn subtly nudged him under the counter, just enough to make Niall pause. The interruption was swift, casual, and Aspen didn't catch on to its meaning.

Niall, never one to be easily flustered, let out an easy chuckle. "Oh, wait, nah. I got my days mixed up," he corrected smoothly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Yeah, they were definitely here. You know how it is—busy day, tons of walk-ins. I wasn't here much, though. Just popped in for a bit."

Aspen nodded, easily accepting the answer. It made sense. Niall was always in and out, never one to stay planted in one place unless he had a reason to.

Zayn leaned back against the counter, arms crossed as he picked up the explanation. "Yeah, long ass day. Harry and I had some big pieces to do, so we were stuck here forever. Back-to-back appointments. Barely had time to eat, let alone breathe." His voice was smooth, perfectly composed, and it wasn't unusual for him and Harry to take on big projects.

Aspen didn't even think to question it further. In fact, she felt a little guilty for asking—if they'd had such a long day, she didn't want to seem like she was prying.

She stole a glance at Harry across the room. He was still deep in his work, head tilted in concentration, jaw set as he dragged the tattoo machine carefully over his client's skin. He looked so at home in his element.

She smiled softly to herself, brushing away any lingering thoughts. Harry had never given her a reason to doubt him, and besides, if something was wrong, he would tell her.

"Well, as long as you weren't getting into trouble," she teased lightly, taking a sip of her water.

Niall grinned, dramatically clutching his chest. "Me? Trouble? Never."

Zayn smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink, the picture of amusement but offering no further comment.

Aspen giggled at their antics, letting the conversation drift into something else, not noticing the fleeting glance Zayn and Niall exchanged. If she had, maybe she would've realized there was more to the story than they were letting on.

Aspen leaned forward slightly in her chair, resting her elbow on the desk as she idly twirled the cap of her water bottle between her fingers. The conversation had shifted naturally, moving from their usual banter to something a little more personal.

"So, what's the plan for you two, then?" Niall grinned, wiggling his brows between her and Zayn. "Aspen, you finally got yourself a big, brooding tattoo artist. What's next?"

Aspen blushed, the warmth creeping up her neck. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I don't know... we're just taking things as they come."

"Boring answer," Niall teased, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, give me something. Future plans? Marriage? White picket fence? Maybe some tattooed babies running around?"

Aspen nearly choked on her water, her face burning even hotter. "Niall!" she squeaked, eyes wide.

Zayn barked out a laugh, slapping a hand against the counter. "Too soon, man," he smirked. "Let 'em breathe."

"I'm just saying! You two are disgustingly cute." Niall stretched his arms behind his head. "If Harry wasn't already obsessed with you, I'd be worried."

Aspen tried to play off her embarrassment, but she couldn't stop the way her lips curled into a soft smile. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of her bottle again, and when she stole another glance across the room, she caught Harry's gaze.

He was already looking at her.

It was brief, just a flicker of his eyes before he turned his attention back to his work, but it was enough to send a pleasant warmth blooming in Aspen's chest.

Niall was still talking, something about how he was destined to be the world's best godfather whenever Harry and Aspen decided to have kids (which, in Aspen's opinion, was way too early to even think about), but she was only half-listening.

Because every time she glanced toward Harry, she caught him doing the same.

And every time their eyes met, it sent little flutters through her stomach.

"So what about you guys?" she asked, eager to shift the conversation away from herself. "What's your plan for the future?"

Zayn shrugged, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Haven't thought about it much. Business is good. I don't see myself doing anything else anytime soon."

"Fair," Aspen nodded. "And you, Niall?"

"Oh, I'm gonna be rich," Niall declared, pointing at himself with full confidence. "But like, stupid rich. Don't ask me how yet. Maybe I'll invent something. Or marry into money. Either way, I'll be set."

Aspen laughed, shaking her head. "Solid plan."

"Exactly," Niall grinned. "And speaking of plans... Aspen, be real with me—are you gonna stay with this guy forever, or what?"

Aspen opened her mouth to respond, but she didn't have an answer.

Forever?

Her gaze flickered back toward Harry. She wasn't even sure if he was listening to their conversation, but she knew that if she was being honest with herself... the idea of forever with him didn't seem so scary.

She just smiled, a little shy, a little uncertain.

"We'll see," she murmured.

And from across the room, Harry glanced up once more—just in time to catch her looking at him again.

Aspen shifted in her seat, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the cap of her water bottle as she debated whether or not to ask the question sitting at the tip of her tongue. She wasn't usually the type to pry, but curiosity had a way of gnawing at her when it came to Harry—especially when it came to the parts of his life he didn't bring up often.

"Can I ask you guys something?" she finally murmured, glancing between Niall and Zayn.

Zayn quirked a brow, while Niall leaned in like she was about to spill the most interesting gossip he'd ever heard. "Course you can, sweetheart," Niall grinned. "What's on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment before voicing what she'd been wondering. "Has Harry ever talked about... past relationships? Like, has he ever been in love before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged a look, one Aspen couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't amusement, nor was it discomfort—it was something in between, like they were deciding how much they should say.

"Depends on what you mean by 'in love,'" Zayn finally said, tapping his fingers against the counter. "If you're asking if he's had girlfriends before, then yeah, he's had a few. If you're asking if he's ever been in love? That's a different question entirely."

Aspen frowned slightly. "So... has he?"

Zayn sighed, tilting his head as he considered his answer. "I don't think so," he admitted. "Not the way you mean. Harry's had flings, some more serious than others, but he's never been the type to settle down. Not because he couldn't, just... he never found anyone he wanted to."

Aspen processed that quietly, her fingers still tracing idle patterns on her bottle. It wasn't a bad answer. If anything, it only made her feel more special—like she was different.

Still, she wasn't quite done with her questions.

"What about the way he talks about me?" she asked softly, suddenly feeling a little shy about the inquiry. "Does he... ever bring me up?"

Niall let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back. "God, Aspen, you have no idea," he whined. "The man does not shut up about you."

Aspen's eyes widened. "He does?"

"Constantly," Zayn smirked. "It's almost embarrassing, really. We could be talking about literally anything, and he'll find a way to bring you into the conversation. 'Aspen would love this.' 'Aspen was reading this book the other day.' 'Aspen said the funniest thing.' It's ridiculous."

Aspen's face heated instantly, her heart swelling at the revelation. She'd known Harry cared about her—he wasn't shy in the way he showed his affection—but hearing that he talked about her so often when she wasn't around made her feel warm in a way she couldn't quite describe.

"Yeah," Niall added, grinning. "And don't even get me started on the way he talks about you when he's drunk."

Aspen's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, he gets all sappy," Niall said, waving a hand. "Like, real soft. Talks about how much he likes you, how you make him feel different than anyone else ever has. It's kinda sweet, actually, if you ignore the fact that he sounds like a lovesick idiot."

Aspen's heart did a little flip in her chest. "He really says that?"

"Every damn time," Zayn confirmed, shaking his head. "And if you ask me, that's saying a lot. Harry doesn't open up easily. But with you? I think he's completely gone."

Aspen chewed on her bottom lip, trying to suppress the giddy smile threatening to take over her face. She'd known Harry felt something strong for her, but hearing it from his friends, from the people who knew him best, made it feel even more real.

After a moment, she gathered her thoughts enough to ask her next question. "Has he ever told you guys why he never got serious with anyone before?"

Niall and Zayn exchanged another glance before Zayn answered. "He's never given us a straightforward reason," he admitted. "But I think it has to do with trust. Harry's not the kind of guy who lets people in easily. He's seen too many people turn their backs when things got hard, so he stopped letting them get close in the first place."

Aspen frowned slightly, her heart aching at the thought. She knew Harry had his walls, knew he carried burdens he didn't always talk about. But the idea that he'd spent so much of his life keeping people at arm's length made her want to hold onto him even tighter.

"Well," she said softly, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter, "I hope he knows he doesn't have to worry about that with me."

Zayn studied her for a moment before nodding, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think he does," he murmured. "And I think that's why you're different."

Aspen exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth spread through her chest. Maybe she was different. Maybe, despite everything, Harry had finally found someone he was willing to let in.

And maybe—just maybe—she was willing to let him in, too.

As Harry worked, the rhythmic hum of the tattoo machine filled the space around him, the buzz familiar and grounding. His hand was steady, movements precise as he filled in the last bit of shading on his client’s forearm. It was muscle memory by now, the way he worked—careful, methodical, ensuring every line was perfect. But despite how deep he was in his craft, his attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Aspen.

Every now and then, between dipping his needle into ink and wiping away excess, his gaze would flicker toward the front of the shop where she sat. She was perched on the chair, her legs tucked under her, absently twirling the cap of her water bottle between her fingers as she listened to whatever nonsense Niall and Zayn were spewing. She was smiling, her cheeks soft with warmth, and fuck—Harry swore he could feel that smile in his damn chest.

It was different, having her here. Not in a bad way—quite the opposite, really. It was grounding, a quiet reassurance that she was becoming a part of this life of his. A life he never thought he’d want to share so openly with someone.

His fingers tightened around the tattoo machine slightly. That thought—it was dangerous. Because there were parts of his life she couldn’t know. Not yet.

He swallowed, forcing his focus back on the piece he was working on. The secrecy—it wasn’t about not trusting her. He did. More than he cared to admit. But there were things in his world that were better left in the dark. Things that weren’t meant for someone like her—soft, kind, untouched by the shit he and Zayn were tangled up in.

Maybe one day, he’d tell her. But not now. Not when he could still shield her from it.

He exhaled, shaking off the heaviness pressing against his ribs, and refocused on finishing up.

Fifteen minutes later, he wiped down the tattoo one last time, nodding in satisfaction before wrapping it up. “Alright, man,” he said to his client, standing and stretching out his arms. “You’re all set. Just follow the aftercare instructions, and you’ll be golden.”

After handling payment and bidding the guy goodbye, Harry finally took a breath. His break had been long overdue.

As he walked over to the front of the shop, the scent of food hit him first. His brows lifted slightly in surprise as he spotted Aspen setting out plates in front of Niall and Zayn, her movements careful and deliberate as she made sure everyone had what they needed. His own plate was set aside for him, waiting.

His heart clenched at the sight.

She had cooked for them?

Something about that simple act of care made something deep in him ache.

Before he made his way over to grab his plate, he veered slightly, walking past Niall and—without hesitation—snagging a bite right off his plate.

“Oi!” Niall protested, pulling his plate away. “What the hell, mate? You've got your own!”

Harry chewed, smirking as he handed Niall back his fork. “I know,” he said easily with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “but if m'lady made it, I want it all.”

Aspen, who had just taken a seat, turned a deep shade of red at his words, her fingers curling in her lap as she ducked her head slightly.

Niall groaned, rolling his eyes as he snatched his plate back. “Christ, you two are disgusting.”

Harry grinned, but didn’t respond, instead making his way over to his own plate. Before sitting down, he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against Aspen’s cheek from behind.

She stilled for a second, then exhaled, shoulders loosening as a shy little smile played on her lips.

Harry took his seat next to her, grabbing his fork as he dug in. The second he took his first bite, he let out a hum of approval. “Fuck, baby. This is good.”

“She’s got skills,” Zayn agreed, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “Could open up a restaurant or some shit.”

Aspen’s cheeks were still pink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s really not that big of a deal…”

“It is when all we usually eat is takeout,” Niall chimed in. “This is the best thing I’ve had all week.”

Harry chewed thoughtfully, tapping his fork against his plate before swallowing. “Dunno,” he mused, his lips curling into a slow, cheeky smirk. “I’ve had somethin’ better this week.”

Niall snorted. “Mate, there’s no way you’ve eaten anything better than this. We’ve all been living off gas station snacks and whatever the hell Zayn throws together when he remembers food exists.”

Harry simply leaned back in his chair, draping his arm over the back of Aspen’s. His smirk deepened as he tilted his head slightly toward her, voice dropping just enough to make her stomach twist. “Wasn’t talkin’ about the food.”

Aspen nearly choked on her bite of rice.

Her wide eyes snapped up to him, cheeks instantly burning as she realized exactly what he was implying. Her fingers curled against the napkin in her lap as she shot him a scandalized look, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.

Zayn, always one to catch on quickly, just chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Niall, on the other hand, took an extra second before groaning in exaggerated disgust. “Christ, Harry. I did not need that mental image while I’m eating.”

Harry only grinned, winking at Aspen before casually picking his fork back up like he hadn’t just made her want to shrink into the floor.

Aspen, flustered beyond belief, pressed her lips together, glancing down at her plate as if it might save her from the warmth spreading all the way to her ears. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, nudging his knee with hers beneath the table.

Harry let out a low chuckle, nudging her back. “But you like me anyway.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer—mostly because it was true. And he damn well knew it.

Harry smirked, nudging Aspen lightly with his knee under the table. “Guess that means you’ll have to start cooking for us more often, yeah?”

Aspen rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t argue. Instead, she focused on eating her own food, her lips twitching slightly as the conversation between them carried on.

The energy was easy, lighthearted. They talked about everything and nothing—Niall complaining about a client who wouldn’t stop moving while getting tattooed, Zayn discussing the new pieces he and Harry had lined up, Aspen giggling at their banter.

As the laughter settled, the four of them fell into easy conversation, the clinking of utensils against plates filling the quiet lulls between their words. Harry sat comfortably next to Aspen, his arm draped lazily along the back of her chair, occasionally letting his fingers brush the ends of her hair. It was subtle—so subtle that if someone wasn’t looking, they wouldn’t notice—but Aspen felt every touch, every slight movement of his fingers, and it made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

Zayn was the first to steer the conversation into something deeper, leaning back in his chair as he chewed. “So, what’s the plan for the future?” He raised a brow, glancing between them. “Y’know, since we’re all clearly on different paths here. You lot got it all figured out?”

Niall snorted. “Figure out what? That I’ll probably be covered head to toe in ink before I turn thirty and still be eating this girl’s cooking?” He gestured to Aspen with his fork, grinning. “Because if that’s the future, I’m pretty happy with it.”

Aspen smiled, warmth spreading in her chest at the compliment. “You act like I’ll be cooking for you forever,” she teased.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, don’t do me like that. You’d miss me if I stopped showing up to steal your food.”

Harry rolled his eyes, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. “You’re like a stray cat. Feed you once, and you never leave.”

Zayn chuckled. “That explains why he practically lives at the shop.”

Niall threw up his hands in mock offense. “You lot love having me around, don’t even try to deny it.”

Aspen giggled, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the question Zayn had asked. “But, um, I don’t really know yet,” she admitted softly. “I mean, I have ideas. I love books, so maybe something with that… but it’s hard to say.”

Harry glanced at her, taking in the slight uncertainty in her voice. He could tell she thought about it—probably more than she let on—but she wasn’t one to be loud about her ambitions. She kept them tucked away, only revealing them in small doses, and for some reason, that made him want to hear them even more.

“What about you?” Aspen nudged Harry’s arm lightly.

He took a slow bite, chewing as he considered his answer. “Dunno,” he said finally. “Tattooin’ is what I love. Keeps me steady, keeps me busy. But…” He paused, swirling his fork against his plate. “I guess I wouldn’t mind somethin’ more down the road.”

“More?” Aspen tilted her head, intrigued.

Harry glanced at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “What? You think I wanna be slingin’ ink forever?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re really good at it.”

His chest swelled slightly at the compliment, but he only shrugged. “Yeah, but sometimes… I think about what it’d be like to settle down a bit.”

That made Aspen pause, her fork hovering mid-air. “Settle down?”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fade, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Someday.”

Aspen lowered her gaze, heat crawling up her neck. The thought of Harry—this inked-up, reckless, sometimes smug but always caring man—talking about settling down was almost impossible to picture. But at the same time… it wasn’t.

“What about you?” Harry’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

She blinked up at him, then quickly shook her head. “I—I don’t know,” she murmured. “I never really thought about it.”

Harry hummed, studying her carefully before offering her a teasing grin. “Guess I’ll have to change that, then.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest, and before she could even process his words, Niall groaned dramatically.

“Christ, you two are disgustingly cute. Can we eat in peace without watchin’ you make heart eyes at each other?”

Zayn chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous.”

Niall scoffed. “Jealous my ass. I like my peace. Not my fault these two make it impossible.”

Zayn smirked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speaking of impossible,” he started, glancing over at Niall with a knowing glint in his eye. “Didn’t you go on that date the other week? The one with that girl you wouldn’t shut up about?”

Aspen perked up immediately, turning her attention to Niall, who suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here. She had never heard anything about Niall dating, and now she was curious.

“Oh?” Aspen tilted her head, eyes bright with interest. “Who’s this mystery girl?”

Niall groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why do you always have to bring shit up, man?” he grumbled at Zayn before exhaling dramatically. “It was just a date. Nothin’ serious.”

“That’s not what you were saying last week,” Zayn shot back smugly.

Aspen turned fully in her chair, leaning in closer with excitement. “Come on, tell me! I need details.”

Harry snorted beside her, clearly enjoying Niall’s misery as he took another bite of his food.

Niall gave them all an exasperated look before slumping back in his seat. “Her name’s Elena. Met her at a café—well, more like she bumped into me and spilled coffee all over my jeans.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “She was all flustered and apologetic, tryin’ to clean me up, and I was just standin’ there like an idiot. But we got talkin’, and I don’t know… she was easy to talk to.”

Aspen smiled at the way his voice softened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to sound so fond but couldn’t help it. “That sounds cute,” she mused. “So? How was the date?”

Niall shrugged. “It was good. Took her to dinner, talked a lot. She’s studying psychology, so she’s always analyzin’ people. Pretty sure she was psychoanalyzin’ me the whole time.”

Zayn chuckled. “That’s probably not hard.”

Niall shot him a look before continuing. “Anyway, she’s nice. Sweet. Smart as hell. But I dunno, she’s busy with school, and I’m always at the shop. We haven’t really talked much since.”

Aspen frowned slightly, sensing that there was more to it than just being busy. “Do you like her?”

Niall hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… yeah, I guess.”

Zayn scoffed. “You more than ‘guess.’ You texted her three days straight after the date.”

Aspen gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, Niall!”

Niall groaned again, dropping his head against the table. “I hate you all.”

Harry, who had been relatively quiet, finally smirked and chimed in. “So, what’s stoppin’ you? If you like her, ask her out again.”

Niall lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “You make it sound so easy.”

Aspen tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully before an idea struck her. “Wait! What if I helped?”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “Help how?”

“Well,” Aspen began, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “you said she’s in psychology, right? I actually have a class with her. We’re not super close or anything, but I could… I don’t know, maybe put in a good word for you?”

Zayn barked out a laugh. “Oh, this is gold.”

Niall groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time, dragging his hands down his face. “Jesus. This is humiliatin’.”

“It’s not humiliating!” Aspen argued. “Think of it as… giving you a little push in the right direction.”

Harry chuckled beside her, shaking his head. “That’s dangerous, mate. Aspen’s got a way of getting what she wants.”

Aspen elbowed him playfully but turned back to Niall with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be subtle, I promise. Just casual, ‘Oh, Niall’s such a great guy’ kind of stuff.”

Niall sighed dramatically. “If this backfires, I’m blamin’ you.”

Aspen grinned. “Deal.”

Zayn smirked. “This is the most entertaining lunch I’ve had in weeks.”

As they continued eating, the conversation naturally flowed into playful teasing and joking, but Aspen made a mental note to follow through on her promise. If there was a chance she could help Niall get the push he needed, she’d gladly take it.

Aspen, still burning from Harry’s words, buried her face in her hands. Harry only grinned wider, reaching over to steal another bite from Niall’s plate, completely unbothered.

As the conversation carried on, Aspen couldn’t help but steal glances at Harry—at the way he fit so easily into the dynamic, at the way he teased and laughed and looked at her like she was something he wanted to keep close.

And for a little while, Harry let himself sink into it.

No stress, no secrets.

Just this. Her.

He’d hold onto it for as long as he could.

Harry sat back in his chair, absently twirling his fork between his fingers as conversation carried on around him. The food was good—great, actually, because Aspen had made it—but if he was being honest, he wasn’t fully present. His mind kept slipping, getting caught up in memories that were much more intoxicating than anything else in the room.

He’d been doing his best to keep himself engaged, nodding along when Niall teased Zayn about something, adding in a comment here and there, but all it took was one glance at Aspen, one moment of catching the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, or the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and he was gone again.

His grip tightened slightly on his fork as his mind drifted back to that night in his office. He could still feel her, taste her, the phantom sensation of her lips and tongue making his stomach coil with heat. The way she had looked at him—wide-eyed, eager, completely wrapped up in him—had nearly ruined him. He’d had plenty of hookups before, but none of them stuck in his head like this, none of them made him crave more than just the physical. But Aspen? She was burned into his mind, into his fucking soul.

And the bathroom. Christ.

He swallowed hard, taking a sip of his drink to keep himself grounded, but it didn’t help much. He could still see the way she’d knelt for him, how shy she had been but how determined, how she’d hesitated but only for a moment before she found her rhythm. The contrast between her softness and the way she had wrecked him had his head spinning even now. He’d never been so completely fucking whipped for someone, never felt this all-consuming urge to take and give all at once. The way she’d looked up at him through her lashes, her fingers barely able to wrap around him, her lips stretched as far as they could go—it had been enough to make him lose all control.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself subtly as he forced himself to refocus. He had to get a grip. It wouldn’t do him any favors to sit there getting lost in his own head while they were all supposed to be enjoying a meal. He glanced over at Aspen, catching the way she was laughing at something Niall said, completely unaware of the way she had him tied in knots.

She had no idea what she did to him.

Harry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before speaking up, his voice deliberately casual. “Hey, babe,” he said, shifting his attention to Aspen. “Think you could help me move a few things around in my office?”

Aspen blinked, surprised by the sudden request. “Oh,” she said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, of course.”

Harry smirked, pleased with her easy agreement. Truthfully, there wasn’t much that needed moving, but with Niall and Zayn getting caught up with clients, he had a perfect excuse to steal her away for a few moments. He needed a break, and more than that, he wanted to be alone with her—just her.

“Tryin’ to get her alone, are we?” Niall teased, wiggling his brows as he stood from the table to grab his supplies.

Zayn chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Smooth, mate.”

Harry rolled his eyes, standing as well before placing a firm hand at Aspen’s lower back, guiding her toward the hall leading to his office. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

Aspen followed quietly, her heart picking up its pace just from the warmth of his palm against her. There was something about the way he touched her—casual yet possessive, like he was always reminding her that she was his. She tried not to overthink it, but the way her stomach fluttered made it impossible.

The moment they stepped into his office, Harry shut the door behind them, leaning against it for a second as he took her in. She looked soft under the dim lighting, her features gentle but curious, and for a split second, he forgot why he even made up the excuse in the first place.

“So… what are we moving?” Aspen asked, glancing around the office.

Harry tilted his head slightly, dragging his lip ring between his teeth as he considered her. Then, with a slow grin, he shrugged. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Might’ve just wanted to get you alone.”

Aspen’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Harry,” she scolded, but there was no real bite to it.

“What?” He smirked, stepping closer, his hands finding her hips with ease. “Can’t a man want some time with his girl?”

Aspen’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest to create the smallest bit of distance, but Harry only squeezed her hips gently, pulling her in just enough to make her heart race.

“You—” She swallowed, trying to compose herself. “You could’ve just said that instead of pretending you needed help moving things.”

Harry hummed, dipping his head to brush his nose against hers. “Mm. Could’ve,” he mused. “But this way was more fun.”

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her resolve slipping just from the heat of his proximity. He had this effect on her—one look, one touch, and she was undone.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” she murmured.

Harry grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Good,” he said simply. “Because you do the same to me.”

Aspen barely had a second to process his words before Harry closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. His hands moved from her hips to her waist, fingers pressing firmly against the fabric of her top as he pulled her even closer. She melted into him instantly, her own hands slipping up to cup his face, thumbs grazing along his jawline as she sighed softly against his lips.

It started slow, sweet, like they had all the time in the world to explore each other. Harry kissed her with an intensity that sent warmth spilling through her veins, his lips moving over hers with a tenderness that contradicted the way his fingers flexed against her waist. It had been a long day, a long week, and this was what they needed—just the two of them, no distractions, no rushed moments stolen between the chaos of their lives.

But as much as Harry wanted to savor this, his self-control started slipping the second Aspen let out the softest whimper against his mouth. His grip tightened, his lips parting to deepen the kiss, tongue swiping against hers in a way that had her knees weakening beneath her. Aspen clung to him, her fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as she let herself drown in him.

Harry groaned softly, one hand leaving her waist to tangle in her hair, angling her head just how he wanted as he took his time tasting her. The soft scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body pressed against his—it was overwhelming in the best way. He could stay like this forever, but then Aspen pressed just a bit closer, her body molding against his like she was meant to be there, and Harry nearly lost it.

His lips moved from hers, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down to the soft skin of her neck. Aspen gasped, tilting her head to give him more access as his teeth scraped lightly against her pulse point. He smiled against her skin when he felt her shiver, his other hand gripping her waist even tighter.

“Harry,” she whispered, voice breathy, and it sent a shudder down his spine.

It took everything in him to pull back, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. His chest rose and fell heavily, his grip on her tightening before he forced himself to let go completely.

Aspen blinked up at him, lips swollen and eyes dazed. “Why’d you stop?” she asked softly, her voice laced with curiosity and the faintest hint of disappointment.

Harry chuckled, his hands finding her hips once more as he gave her a gentle squeeze. “Because, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her mouth, “if I keep going, I’m gonna start something I can’t finish.”

Aspen’s face turned a deep shade of red at his words, and she quickly dropped her gaze. “Oh,” she squeaked out in a breath, suddenly very interested in the buttons on his shirt.

Harry grinned, loving the way she got all shy on him. “Cute,” he mused, nudging her chin up with his fingers so she’d look at him again. “C’mon, little mouse. Have a seat.”

Aspen obeyed, settling onto the small sofa against the wall, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she tried to recover from the heat still lingering in her veins.

Harry grabbed his sketchbook from the desk before sitting beside her, his arm draped along the back of the couch as he flipped to a fresh page. “I needed a break anyway,” he murmured, tapping his pencil against the paper.

Aspen peeked at him, still feeling a little breathless. “What are you gonna draw?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Harry smirked, eyes flicking to hers before looking back at the blank page. “Dunno yet,” he admitted. “Maybe you.”

Aspen’s heart skipped at that, but she only tilted her head slightly, a confused smile pulling at her lips. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

Harry stilled for a moment, debating whether he should keep it to himself or let her in on the little secret he had been holding onto for months. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips as he exhaled, deciding that maybe it was time.

Instead of answering right away, he flipped through his sketchbook, fingers dragging over the edges of the pages as he searched for something specific. Aspen watched curiously, her brows knitting together when she noticed how careful he was being, almost hesitant.

And then he turned the book toward her.

Aspen blinked. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze landed on the first drawing—a sketch of her, sitting beneath a tree, completely lost in her book. The details were so precise, so tenderly drawn, she could almost feel the sunlight filtering through the leaves above her, just like it had been that day during their camping trip.

Her throat tightened. “Is this…?”

“The first time I sketched you,” Harry finished for her, voice softer than usual. “Back at the campsite.”

Aspen reached out, her fingers barely grazing the page as she stared at it, taking in every detail. “You… you drew this back then?” Her voice was breathy, almost disbelieving.

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. You just… I dunno, you looked so peaceful sitting there. I couldn’t help it.”

Aspen’s chest ached in the best way possible. She turned the page, revealing another sketch of her—this one of her standing by Zayn’s car, arms crossed, deep in thought. And then another of her sitting at the tattoo shop, nose buried in a book, oblivious to everything around her. There were so many.

Page after page, she found herself staring at different versions of herself through Harry’s eyes. Some were quick, rough sketches, as if he had drawn them in a hurry before the image slipped from his mind. Others were detailed, shaded with such care that they looked almost lifelike.

She swallowed thickly, emotions swelling in her chest as she reached another drawing—one that looked fresher, the graphite still bold and untouched by time. It was her, curled up on the couch, wearing the oversized hoodie she had stolen from Harry the other night.

“I drew that one a couple nights ago,” Harry admitted, watching her reaction closely. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Aspen’s fingers trembled slightly as she turned to face him. “You never told me,” she whispered.

Harry held her gaze, his usual cocky demeanor slipping into something more vulnerable. “Didn’t think I needed to,” he murmured. “You’re just… always on my mind, I guess.”

Aspen’s heart stuttered in her chest. The weight of his words settled deep in her bones, making it hard to breathe for a moment. She didn’t know what to say, so instead, she reached out and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand in silent understanding.

Harry let out a breath and flipped to the back of the sketchbook. “That’s not the only thing I’ve been working on,” he admitted, flipping past a few blank pages before stopping at something else entirely.

Aspen frowned slightly, eyes narrowing as she realized it wasn’t another sketch—it was handwriting. Lyrics.

She tilted her head, reading the words on the page.

"Sweet creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong… but we’re still young, we don’t know where we’re going, but we know where we belong…”

Aspen’s breath hitched. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Harry… this is—”

Harry cut her off with a nervous chuckle, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, I’ve been dabbling with the guitar,” he admitted. “Words just kinda… flow sometimes.”

Aspen traced the title with her fingertips, her heart swelling at the sight of it. Sweet Creature.

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Harry smirked, but there was a softness behind it. “Who else would it be about?”

Aspen bit her lip, a deep warmth spreading through her chest. She wanted to ask him to play it for her, but something about the way he was looking at her—like he wasn’t quite ready to share it completely—made her hold back.

Instead, she turned the page, revealing another song title scribbled onto the next sheet.

"Meet Me in the Hallway."

Aspen’s brows knitted together as she read through the lyrics, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. There was something haunting about them, something aching, as if each line bled with regret. The melody was absent, but she could feel it in the rhythm of the syllables, in the spaces between the words where silence spoke just as loudly.

Her fingers traced over the ink, eyes scanning over the phrase again and again.

"Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out..."

She swallowed thickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. “This one feels…” she trailed off, trying to pinpoint the exact emotion clawing at her chest.

Harry, who had been watching her reaction closely, answered before she could. His voice was quiet, low. “Guilty?”

Aspen’s head snapped up, and when their eyes met, she understood immediately. This wasn’t just a song. It was them.

It was all the nights she had spent wondering what she had done wrong, why he had looked at her like she was both too much and not enough all at once. It was every moment he had pushed her away despite the way his body betrayed him, lingering too close, brushing against her like he couldn't help himself.

It was the space he had put between them, and the silence that had suffocated her when she hadn't understood why.

Aspen’s chest tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the sketchbook. She had never asked him about those days, about why he had acted the way he had. Some part of her had been too afraid of the answer.

And yet, here it was—laid bare in ink and paper, more honest than he had ever been aloud.

“Harry…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose as he ran a hand through his curls. “I know,” he murmured, his eyes flickering away for a second before coming back to her. “I fucked up back then.”

Aspen sucked in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Harry cut in, firmer this time. His jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans. “I need to. Because I know how I treated you before, and I don’t ever want you t'think for a second that it was because of you.”

Aspen’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She searched his face, her own emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She had spent so long convincing herself that she had imagined the tension, that she had misread the way his eyes had lingered on her, the way he had always seemed to fight against something when he was near her.

And now, hearing him say it outright, the confirmation was almost too much.

“I don’t think that anymore,” she admitted, her voice soft, reassuring. “Not now.”

Harry let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping as if he had been holding onto something heavy for too long. His fingers inched toward hers, hesitant at first, until Aspen reached for him on her own, closing the distance.

His skin was warm, rough at the fingertips, and yet he held her hand with a gentleness that made her chest ache.

Aspen studied him for a long moment, taking in the little signs of his discomfort—the way his knee bounced slightly, the way his thumb rubbed absentmindedly over her knuckles, as if grounding himself. She could see the vulnerability in his face, the unspoken weight behind his words.

Slowly, a small smile pulled at her lips. “I think it’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Both of them.”

Harry’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, searching for any trace of dishonesty. “Yeah?”

Aspen nodded. “Yeah.”

For a second, he just stared at her, and then something in him seemed to settle. His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, and a small, genuine smile spread across his lips.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t plan on showing you these t'day,” he admitted, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his tone.

Aspen squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with something deep and warm. “I’m glad you did.”

They sat there, fingers intertwined, the sketchbook still resting between them like a silent bridge to all the things they had never said. And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt the need to fill the silence.

Because for once, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating.

It was simply them.

A quiet stillness settled between them, warm and familiar, as Aspen gently traced the edges of the sketchbook with her fingertips. The weight of everything they had just shared lingered in the air, unspoken yet understood. Harry, still holding her hand, let his thumb lazily graze over her knuckles, grounding himself in the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of her learning about his songs, or if it was simply the way she looked at him—like he was something good, something worth knowing—but a sense of peace washed over him.

Without thinking, he shifted closer, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. Aspen let out a quiet breath of surprise but didn’t resist, instinctively tucking herself against him. Her cheek pressed softly against his shoulder, and Harry relished the feeling of her fitting so perfectly against him.

For a moment, they sat like that, just breathing in each other’s presence.

Then, Harry tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her temple. It was slow, lingering, like he wanted to imprint himself into her skin. “Didn’t know how much I needed this,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something tender.

Aspen smiled, her fingers finding the hem of his sleeve and lightly toying with the fabric. “Needed what?” she asked softly.

Harry pressed another kiss against her hair, his lips barely leaving her skin as he whispered, “You. Just you, sugar.”

Aspen felt her chest tighten in the best way, a warmth spreading through her limbs at his words. She turned slightly in his hold, looking up at him with those soft, doe-like eyes of hers. The affection in them made something deep in his chest clench, a feeling so strong it nearly stole his breath.

Without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed or filled with desperation—it was something deeper, something sweeter. His lips moved against hers with a careful kind of reverence, as if every kiss was meant to tell her all the things he struggled to put into words.

Aspen sighed against his mouth, her hand sliding up to rest against his chest, fingers curling slightly into his shirt. She felt his heartbeat beneath her palm—steady, strong, real.

Harry couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. “God, you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered between kisses, voice hushed like he was speaking a secret only for her.

Aspen’s cheeks warmed, and she buried her face against his neck, a quiet giggle escaping her lips. “You always say that.”

Harry chuckled, nuzzling against her. “’Cause it’s true.”

She hummed in response, her fingers drawing small patterns against his chest. The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t awkward or uncertain. It was filled with the quiet kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

But then Harry, feeling the way she melted into him, feeling the way her presence made everything better, suddenly had the overwhelming urge to say it out loud.

The words formed on his tongue before he could second-guess himself.

“I love you.”

Aspen stiffened slightly against him, her breath catching.

Harry felt his heart stutter, a rare flicker of nervousness crawling up his spine. He hadn’t planned on saying it—not yet, not now—but the moment had felt too right to hold it back. And now, waiting for her response, he felt completely, utterly exposed.

Aspen slowly pulled back just enough to look up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if trying to determine if she had heard him correctly.

Harry held her gaze, unwavering. He didn’t regret saying it. Harry was more so nervous if he had said it too soon, or if it was too much right now.

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her throat working as she swallowed. She looked so soft—so pure in the way she was taking in his words, like she wanted to tuck them away somewhere safe.

Then, almost shyly, she ducked her head, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that made Harry’s chest tighten. Her fingers played with the hem of his sleeve again, fidgeting. And then, in the quietest, sweetest voice, she whispered, “I love you too.”

Harry swore his heart stopped for a second.

A slow, breathy chuckle left his lips, pure relief flooding through him. “Yeah?” he murmured, tipping her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him again.

Aspen nodded, still impossibly shy, but her eyes held no hesitation. “Yeah.”

Harry felt something shift inside him, something settle. He leaned down, pressing another lingering kiss to her lips, his grip around her tightening like he never wanted to let go.

“Sweetest thing,” he whispered against her mouth.

Aspen smiled against his lips, and when they pulled away, she nestled back into his side, her fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his arm.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, hearts steady and full.

And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[rei-ismyname]

Kitty leaves Xavier's part 1

One fine day at Xavier's, Chuck gets a letter from Kitty's parents informing him they're withdrawing her from the school. The primary reason is due to there being no students her own age (fair.)

Kitty is devastated, of course. I've been writing a bit about this very subject recently, but upon rereading I realised that I was in Kitty's position once. I was a 'gifted child' and didn't have much use for kids my own age. Whether that was a healthy thing for me is hard to say, but I do understand where she's coming from. Nevertheless, this should have been a wake up call for Xavier. He has the resources to take on as many students as he wishes - even if Kitty leaves for good the next child mutant will have the same issue. Ororo tries to comfort her but she's inconsolable.

Kitty is the one who figures out she's being sent to a school where The White Queen is headmistress. Ororo definitely remembers her and is concerned. Kitty displays both perceptiveness and a childish aversion to change. If nothing else, she needs more support than she's getting.

After saying her farewells to the X-Men, some more appropriate than others (what the fuck Pete?) she's ready to go. Ororo is going to drive her up there. It's nice to see how close Kitty and Ororo are, but their dynamic highlights just how young she is. It feels more like a parental relationship than that of siblings.

The two discuss how evil Emma is, and while Kitty receives orientation Emma reminds us.

'Ororo' says her goodbyes and after driving a few miles from the school drops a classic Emma Frost/Hellfire line - 'in this, as in all things, my pleasure will not be denied.' Emma body swapped with Ororo. WTF!

Emma is loving using Ororo's powers while quoting Shakespeare but goes a little too far. She realises how much concentration and control is required to not cause ecological disasters.

She calls 19th century Robber Baron and complete shithead, Sebastian Shaw, for some mutual gloating. Meanwhile, Ororo wakes up back at the Massachusetts Academy and feels super weird. She looks in the mirror and sees Emma's mug staring back at her.

For some reason Shaw sends Sentinels to attack Xavier's just as Emma is arriving. I always thought that one poking its head in at Chuck was cute. The fight isn't going too well so Kurt teleports to the armory and grabs some C4. He does a pretty damn good job of blowing up the Sentinels with it.

Just as everyone is recovering from the battle, Emma electrocutes TF out of them. Ororo is having difficulty adjusting to Emma's body and the onslaught of telepathic chatter, but she still manages to escape some Hellfire Club goons.

Next time - what TF is this plan? What's the creepiest thing Emma can do in Ororo's body? Will Kitty ever return to Xavier's? (Yes, obviously, but how soon?)

This arc is so messed up.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Cia's Wonderful Day Out, part 3

Part 1, Part 2 (Also, if you liked this, you can check out Convenience Store Vampire, featuring some familiar faces!)

****

It was hard to decipher the emotions of an insectoid Fae, but there was a glimmer of fascination in their multifaceted eyes. “A bank robbery, you say? What happened?”

Ciaran shook his head. “Damned if I know. Cops pulled me over, showed me a video of my evil twin pulling a flame-wand on some poor bank teller, and claimed it was me. Twelve hours I spent telling them that I wasn't a fucking bank robber, Anise. Twelve. Accursed. Hours.”

“An evil twin? That sounds like the work of a shifter,” Dave said, pulling up a chair. He was the quintessential vampire, something Ciaran always envied. Black hair slicked back, his Smiley-Mart uniform covered up by a long trench coat, red eyes rimmed with slight eye bags. Balancing right between tradition and modernity. “Hey, Cia.”

Ciaran did not bother correcting him this time. “Hey Dave,” he muttered. “You think it was Hash who decided to pull that crap?” 

“Not Hash, but perhaps someone she knows? The shifter community is tiny, or so I've heard. Haven't even met another one of her kind,” he replied. “Besides, Hash isn't that mean.”

Ciaran narrowed his eyes. “Yes, she is. You go ask her if she knows anyone who went on a thieving spree recently, shall you? I'm not in a mood to talk to that crazy man right now.”

“What am I, your pageboy?” Nonetheless, Dave got up and walked away. Benefits of being an elder vampire, Ciaran supposed. All the littles listened to him.

He looked glumly into his glass, listening with one ear to the conversation that ensued. 

“Say, have any of your kindred run around robbing banks recently? Asking for a friend.” That was Dave, ever the eloquent spy.

“Mah what-now?” Hash, her words more slurred than usual.

“Your kind. You know, shifters?”

“Yeah. What about them?” Her accent dropped suddenly. Ciaran had always suspected that she was faking it.

“Did any of them rob a bank? Maybe wearing Ciaran's face?”

Hash choked on her drink and spun around. “Are you accusing me of impersonating you, Ciaran Kerall?” It was the first show of anger he'd ever seen in her, and through the shock of the accusation, Ciaran found it in himself to take some joy in being the source of her upset.

Perhaps this day wasn't wasted, after all.

She stormed over, slowly growing taller as she did so. By the time she was at his side, the tiny little elf had been replaced by a lean, menacing man. “Care to say it to my face, instead of sending little Davie to do your job?”

“I’ve got many things to accuse you of, Hash, most of them true. Impersonation isn't one of them. I sent Dave to ask you a question. Or are you too stupid to understand that?” He punctuated his words with a sharp tap on her skull.

She slapped his hands away. “Go fuck yourself, Ciaran. Are you trying to pick a fight? Because if a fight's what you want, I assure you that you're going to regret it.”

“A fight's not what anyone wants.” Unknown to either of them, Anise had crossed the bar and was suddenly inserting themself between the would-be fighters. “I don't serve children in this house, so act like adults, will you? Let's try this from the top. Ciaran, what did you want to ask?”

Ciaran gave them a dirty look. “I got pulled in by the exorcists this morning. They claimed someone identical to me robbed a bank, and their proof was that I was on the cameras doing… Well, whatever it is bank robbers do.”

“But that evidence is obviously invalid, ‘cos vamps like you don't show up on cams or mirrors,” Hash interjected like the irritating little interloper she was.

“Yes, if you'd just let me get to that part,” he snapped back. “As I was saying, this led me-”

“That was me, actually,” Dave said, interjecting again. He was picking up all these bad habits from that horrible little shifter, Ciaran thought. “I said that it might be a shape shifter, and we ought to ask you. I swear, nobody meant any harm.”

Hash looked to him, and immediately softened. “I'm sorry,” she said. “That was uncharitable of me, ah guess. My bad.”

“Please don't slip into that accent again,” Ciaran responded.

Once again, she ignored him. “No’ that we've resolved this little squabble, ah guess I oughta break the news to ya. Couldn't ‘ave been a shifter, cos there ain't any in this city. Apart from me, that is.”

“What?”

Tagging: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr,

@possiblyeldritch @tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn,

@ramwritblr @vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west,

@differentnighttale @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms,

@abiteofhoney @drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3, @bookwormclover, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @aalinaaaaaa

@the-letterbox-archives, @gioiaalbanoart (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[chihuahuawashere]

I watched MLP as a kid and sadly was one of the victims that got scared out of their minds when watching it on YouTube and clicked baited into watching those scary trauma inducing MLP videos.

But i blocked those out of my mind for the longest of time until i want back into it more years later reading all of the infected aus and it kinda me wondering. What if instead of infected MLP aus it was MLB?

Now stay with me, what if HawkMoths akumas infected the akumatized victims into slowing becoming monsters? Like at first okay you get akumatized and that’s okay because ladybug and chat noir will fix you in a day and yes that’s true but after that your mood feels different like you can never /truly/ be happy it’s like there’s a cloud or fog in your mind and you think your just obviously just going through the motions of what just happened.

But then you start to feel a little different, the primal instincts in your gut is telling you that something is going to happen and all your mental alarms are ringing like crazy but at this point it’s been a couple of weeks after your “accident” and nothing bad really happened aside from the normal akumazited victims that’s came after you.

So you feel like you shouldn’t be /too/ worried but after awhile it truly feels like your not in your own skin on top of that your intrusive thoughts become more and more louder. They’re so /loud/ and different from your other thoughts that you think someone else is in your head it feels so out of place that it genuinely scares you.

It’s not just that “oh f**k it let’s shave your head” no it’s so horrid and gruesome that your scared of even leaving your house in fears of hurting someone at that point it might be a month in since the “accident” and again nothing really changed in the world so you really think your going crazy but no.

Because now your body is literally physically changing. -like for example let’s use Nino since (after looking it up) he was the first akumatized victim. After going through the mood swings body aches and paranoia thoughts his skin is starting to change, he’s eyes are getting sucken and with black rings around it, (he thought it was because of the lack of sleep) but he also sees his face is a tab bit blue? But his chest looks red? And he’s hands and feet are turning black he chalks it up to his paranoia and locks himself completely in his room, he has alittle brother and doesn’t want to hurt him with aggressive his thought are getting.

The next time he looks into the mirror he’s arms and legs and stomach are swollen like they’ve been stung by a thousand bees and the different colors of blues yellows reds and blacks all more apparent now his body aches all the time and feels like it’s on fire even breathing feels like there’s fire in his lungs at this point it’s just straight up body horror. His skin is trying to recreate his akumatized body. And at this points It’s hard to even strung thoughts together to even come up with that conclusion on his own now all he feels is rage. And for what? What’s the reason for all this aggression?

He doesn’t know it’s just pure white hate in his mind and thought and at this point he’s to far gone. He can’t go to anyone for help.

(I honestly don’t know how he’ll get find out maybe by his parents worried why there sun hasn’t left his room or his little brother being curious of where his big bro went or many even Adrien checking up on how is friend is doing)

But I know that with all the other akumtized victims designs they’re body horror will go crazy and more and more of Marinette and Adrian’s classmates will going missing after their akumatized moments and the rest of the class plus the school PLUS everyone in Paris will be paranoid and making conspiracy theories on where they went and who’ll be next as tension rises in Paris (which ironically lead to more akumas) while even more pressure lies on Ladybug and chat noirs shoulders and the citizens of Paris are now aggressive towards them wondering what happened to their kids/loved ones and why is this happening.

Either way I’m gonna end it here I wanna hear your thought and ideas and expand further on this becuase I think it’ll be really fun to talk about it might even turn into the apocalypse they also went to china and New York. Sorry if there’s misspelling or bad grammar and I made all of this in a rush but hopefully you all like this idea! I don’t really know what to call this au other than infected MLB au so please interact/talk to me so we can all have fun and expand this AU further !

♥️

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 4 - Nuthin' but Boothill Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[actuallykyogai]

9 and 12 for the jjk ask meme!

Of course!! :3

9. My favourite fight scene...there's a lot of options to choose from, but if I had to choose one, it'd be Reggie vs Megumi's fight in the gymnasium.

Although I'm not a huge fan of Megumi, it's probably my second favourite fight behind Takaba vs Kenjaku. However I did choose this one because Reggie's my favourite character besides Pinchan + Hazenoki, but I just enjoyed it overall. I like how it wasn't just two dudes throwing hands; strategies and general intelligence played a big part in the outcome of the fight. The stakes were high, there were times where I thought the fight would go either way. Ultimately, Megumi won, which despite not liking him much, I was fine with. I liked Reggie's conclusion and his last words, he served his purpose well.

(Also gotta give a shout out to the Sendai Colony deadlock, more specifically Ryu vs Yuuta ☆)

12. Again, there's a lot to unpack here, I might not be able to state all my thoughts in a particularly logical or cohesive way. But it's all good!! For me, one thing I'd like to change is the lack of information regarding Yuji and his family. Considering that his mother and uncle are quite literally the main antagonists of the series as a whole, it feels like a waste to know so little about them.

Although I don't have any ideas pertaining to how Yuji would find out about his family (more specifically, Jin and Kaori | Kenjaku) I'd guess Choso would be the one to inform him. It wouldn't necessarily be what I would prefer (A Kenjaku and Yuji reunion would work more in my opinion) it'd relay some information that could possibly have been crucial to the plot and everything surrounding Sukuna's past as well.

A little additional opinion is that I think Kenjaku died too quickly. Another fight before what happened in Lake Gosho colony would have been nice. Hey, not even a fight, even a conversation with Yuji would suffice for me. I'd like to know more about Kaori's cursed technique and, like, anything about Jin and him being the reincarnation of Sukuna's twin.

The Itadori family + Sukuna and the Death Paintings are all very interesting characters and concepts to me ☆

[ragnars-tooth]

One of my big compulsions is taking a fuck ton of screenshots Just In Case a piece of information is important in like 4 years and I can't remember it (sometimes the information is an instagram post that I might not remember later and of course needs to be recorded everywhere (I will Not be looking at that again)) so today is my transfer 16000 images off my phone admin day (woo)

Like yeah I never looked at any of them and they were completely irrelevant to my daily life, But what if I need them ✨️ later ✨️ (you'll see that the idea of Later is doing a lot of heavy lifting here) OR what if there's a vital piece of information in the mix somewhere that I'll lose forever if I delete them? So: onto the external hard drive they go

This is one of those cases where. Yeah. Ideally I wouldn't take 16000 screenshots in half a year. And YEAH ideally I'd just delete them and not transfer them somewhere else to never look at again. BUT at least I get a clean slate and I can maybe not mindlessly save everything for 2 seconds. It's like. Small wins? Progress. Yknow.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[girlivealwaysbean]

hey god if you've created someone for me can you introduce me to them sooner? i kinda need them now

[lzrdprsn]

It's really weird when you know someone in a context different from how everybody else knows them so you look at them and you still kind of see that person they used to be

[peapod20001]

I actually do have very complex thoughts about many different things, it’s just a bit challenging to connect the inner voice to the outer voice sometimes </3