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floralscented · 3 days ago

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dean winchester x angel!reader — kissing lessons.

or, the defenses are down, the blockades shattered, and you dont know how to kiss. or, let dean help you.

cw, 18+, MDNI! dean talks you through it for real this time. backseat sex LOL. fluffy smut? lowkey subby dean hehehe. no protection yell @ them not me.

word count: 5.6k

notes, dean gets to be his full freak self here hehehe. everyone say ur welcome since i've been being HOUNDED SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIMEMEEEEMEEEE TO POST THIS. unfortunately for all of u this is the planned conclusion to their tale </3 don't crucify me. u legally can't since i'm giving u this.

★ ˚⋆

things were... a little awkward, after you saved dean's life with a kiss. like passion drove you over the edge, a desperate need to save him and to do it any way possible, that was the only time that you managed to kiss him right.

and he didn't — well, he kind of judged you for it. just little laughs, when you'd lean in to try and kiss him and end up flushing and sinking backwards. it was cute. sure, it did mean he wasn't getting any action anytime soon, and every bedtime kiss you promised him ended up becoming a bedtime smack for him laughing at your struggle, but hey, you guys just had a different dynamic.

he still thought you were the prettiest thing to ever grace earth. just because you didn't know how to kiss properly didn't mean he was going to suddenly stop being interested. it just opened doors to getting to teach you.

sam stayed back at the motel while dean volunteered to go on a drink run. it was one of those nights; a roundabout case that the both of them knew was going to keep them up looking for the slightest detail in the research that could alter their investigation for the better. sam needed a beer, dean wanted a beer, and you wanted whiskey.

literally. girl of his dreams, he'd thought. still thinks.

plus, you love car rides. dean had not let you back behind the wheel since the last time, and you didn't seem to want to try again either, more than content to sit and look pretty in the seat next to him.

the nearest liquor tour in whatever small town you guys were camping out in for the night was a good few miles away, and so he got to play all of his cards in one fell swoop. hand on your thigh, fingers trailing up the seams of your jeans, tracing with his nail on the inside of your palm.

you were squirming. he loved when you squirmed.

his fingers are just at the inside of your thigh, long enough to have gently walked their way over like they owned the place ( he did, you didn't know it yet ) and rest easily. that is the moment you speak up, those narrowed eyes locked on his in a glare.

"stop that."

dean's eyebrows flick up. he spares a single glance toward you, the picture of innocence written into the marrow of his sinful bones. "stop what?"

"you're touching me."

he hums to himself for a moment, eyes turned toward the stoplight he'd rolled up to. "could be touching you more."

"no."

dean huffs out a laugh. "are you scared of my hands, dove?" even as he says it, his hand moves again, to the safety of your thigh. "you know they'd never hurt you."

your eyes roll furiously. you grab his wrist and practically throw his hand onto the gearstick. "your hands are not sentient beings and cannot make that choice for you."

dean's gotten really receptive to you, over these past few weeks. what your expressions meant in the rare times that you didn't voice your confusion, what your body language said, and so now he's confident that he knows what you're feeling right now. your hands are clenched tightly in your lap, purposely not touching him, fisted so tightly that they shake a little. your eyes are facing forward without budging, even though he knows that his gaze is burning into the side of your face.

the stoplight illuminates your face in a green glow. "it's a green light," you say without turning to look at him, and that pretty much confirms it for dean. you're afraid. afraid, embarrassed, and not wanting to tell him any of it. "so go."

dean's jaw clenches as he restrains a frown behind the cage of his teeth. the absolute last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to hide away from him, keeping every one of those thoughts locked away in your inexperienced, curious head.

the car rolls into drive again, passing the parking lot for the liquor store. he sees it out of the corner of his eye; the way your head cocks to the side, your lip between your teeth while you try to figure out what he was doing. you could ask. he wanted you to ask. whatever was eating at you was keeping all of his pretty girl's first thoughts from him.

he pulls off on the side of the road and cuts the engine, leaving the both of you in darkness except for the moonlight pouring in through the windshield.

dean nods toward the backseat. "hop on back there, sweet girl," he says with a sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the driver's seat. you don't move. he props himself in the doorway with an unmoved expression. "c'mon. it's late. don't wanna have to tell you twice."

the way your face twists up in annoyance is exactly what he wanted to see. good. anything but that weariness that had marred your features. he slips into the backseat, shuts the door behind him, before your door opens.

seconds later, you're dropping into the seat next to dean. he turns on the leather to face you better, his hand coming up to brush the hair out of your face. "you know you can talk to me, right? i act like an ass all the time, i know, but you don't have to lock yourself away."

your face goes pink at his words. that angry twitch of your nose makes an appearance, and it's all dean can do not to break into a wider grin. knowing that something so delicate could also be so wicked was an enticing thought all in itself.

"it's embarrassing."

"so what?" his lips twist as his shoulders raise in a shrug. "who's gonna judge you? me? be serious, dove."

your nose twitches again, mouth in a tight scowl. "you would definitely judge me."

"that's how i know you're feelin' all insecure up there," dean says, tapping your temple with his finger, "because you know that's not true. i know that's not true."

you growl, actually growl, and dean wants nothing more than to grab you by the hand and tug your mouth onto his. even if you don't kiss him back, he wants to kiss you. your furious frustration was a common occurrence around him, but that didn't mean it got any less attractive.

"when you touch me," you grit out through your clenched teeth, your hands fisted in your lap like you might hit him. hell, he'd have taken the punch right then, if it kept you talking. "i feel things."

dean blinks twice in quick succession. "and?" you do hit him square in the shoulder. your hands carry much more of a punch than he could have predicted. he lets out a little oof, his lips pursing with his lack of amusement. "it's a serious question!"

"i can't say." you look adamant, your frustration so pretty on your features, and dean's a bit dazed. "it's embarrassing," you repeat, and dean gets it. or, he thinks he does.

one corner of his mouth quirks again, his cheek dimpling. the hand on your face falls to your thighs again, fingers lightly dancing on the inner seam of your jeans. "here?"

your hand raises to punch him again, and he knows he's right; catches it just in time before you can bruise that spot on his shoulder. "well, i can't leave you feelin' all hot and bothered, can i?"

"i am not hot," you scoff out almost in disgust at the suggestion, and dean does laugh, then. you were so hot it was ridiculous, but alright. "but i am very bothered."

"lucky for you," dean murmurs, his hand releasing your wrist and moving to your jaw, turning your head to look at him again, "i am very good at handlin' bothered girls." he leans in, brushes his lips against yours. "angels, i should say."

dean can feel you retreating already at the slight touch of his lips, but now he knows that it's not because you don't want to kiss him, or don't want what he's offering. you're afraid of it like the feelings will bite you, nervous to feel the full extent of it. his fingers hold your jaw more firmly.

"now, i'm not gonna ask," he says, driven further by the soft sound of your breath catching, "since you're feeling a little trigger happy right now... but i think it's time my little dove has herself some kissing lessons."

to his surprise, you don't hit him again. you just stare into his eyes with such earnest honesty that it's his turn to lose his breath. you trusted him so much. he wanted to show you just how much it meant to him; let you watch as he cradled your heart in his hands.

the distance closes in a second between your mouths, the brush of his slow and languid against yours, judging your reactions. your kiss is hesitant, and then suddenly you're pressing further into him, the force of it almost bruising when you don't move your lips. he pulls back enough to look into your eyes.

dean's finger comes up to pinch your lips closed, smiling softly as he does. "don't have to try n' bite my face off, honey, i promise," he chides without any malice in his words, taking advantage of the gentle grasp he had on your lips to lean in again. he kisses you slowly again, deliberate in the way his mouth moves, so you could figure it out.

your fingers uncurl in your lap and move to his shirt, twisting the soft cotton lightly. that's when he releases your lips, his hand shifting to cup your cheek in his palm. dean's thumb traces reassuringly on your cheekbone.

when your mouth opens this time, it's less like you're trying to sink your teeth into him and more like an invitation. dean knew you were a quick learner; had from the moment he'd let you behind baby's wheel. seeing it action like this, with your hands in his shirt and your tongue swiping across his, was on another level.

his free hand reaches for your hands one at a time, his touch on your wrist light as he lifts your fingers to his hair. he has to force his mouth away from yours, has to pull away from the taste of your tongue. "i know how much you wanna yank my hair out," dean teases, letting go of your hand to let you take over, "so go ahead n' pull, baby."

you look between his eyes again with that same open look, and he's sure he's melting right there into the leather backseat. "really?"

dean laughs. "yeah, really." he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "matter of fact, touch anywhere you want, baby. this is all for you. so y'can get outta that head of yours."

something flashes in your eyes at that. he doesn't know what it was - the offer or the idea - that caught your attention, but he's intrigued, too. one of your hand drops from his hair to his shirt again, this time at the waist of it.

he's a little dazed, admittedly, as you untuck it from being bunched up in the waist of his jeans. it's intense to have your eyes on him while you pull his shirt up until it catches on his extended arms.

"took the first chance y'could to get me naked, huh?" dean asks, even as his voice comes out more strained than it'd been before, his jeans suddenly feeling just as tight.

you use your elbow to nudge his arms up, and he raises his hands in defense at your sudden act of authority before he lifts them. then, you've got his shirt off, tossing it behind your back. "shut up."

"there's my girl," he murmurs, hooking his finger in your belt loop and tugging you closer. maybe he was moving too fast. maybe he knew you'd adapt quickly.

and you do. he never doubted you for a second. your hand rests on his cheek, guiding him back into a kiss, more confidently than any of your kisses had been so far. your fingers tangle in his hair, and dean has to physically bite back on the groan in his throat.

he takes advantage of his hold on your jeans to start unfastening them. you're so good for him, a perfect match, because you don't even know what you're doing but your hips are lifting so he can start pulling them down.

dean breaks the kiss with a pop of your mouths, and the growl you let out goes straight to the hardening cock trapped in his jeans. he doesn't want to move so fast, but you've always been a little cruel like this, tempting him in ways that he should have been stronger to resist. there was no resistance now.

he hooks his arm under your legs to turn you in the seat, draping them across his lap. he unties your boots for you, pulling them off and setting them on the floor of the backseat. then, he's grabbing the bunched denim on your thighs and tugging until they're off. dean has more care with your clothes than you did with his. he'd always treat everything about you as gently as glass, setting them on the middle console between the front seats.

you look at him for a second, like you're trying to gauge the situation you've both found yourselves in. pulled over on the side of the road like teenagers that couldn't wait, stripping each other naked in the backseat. it'd be laughable if you didn't look so vulnerable. for the second time that night, dean realized how big the trust you had in him was, and he didn't want to do a thing to mess it up.

"lemme get this off of you, yeah?" he asks, his hands moving to the bottom of your shirt. he meets your gaze for confirmation; gets a single nod. "it means a lot, y'know," he continues on, trying to keep you out of the black hole that was your worries, as he pulls your shirt up and over your head, "that you're trusting me with this. all of it."

"don't start," you whine, your hands moving to your eyes, covering your face. dean grabs your wrists and pulls them apart, moving your arms out of the way so he could properly see you. "hey!"

dean's lips pull into a small smile. "hi."

"this is a lot," you say, and his smile softens considerably, "i don't know what to do now."

dean lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "whatever you wanna do. this is all you, baby, i'm just here to provide." he rests his large palm on your kneecap, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. "we can stop. you can kiss me again, or punch me again, if that's what you want. we can get dressed again, get what we actually came for..."

"no." you blink a few times before you shake your head. "i don't want to stop, i..."

dean's not a patient man. he's used to time limits and counting his days. but in this backseat with you, he's certain time has stopped just for the both of you. he feels the world at his disposal, like every bit of time existed like pieces of sand in his palms.

when you realize he is, for once, not going to interrupt you, and not try and put thoughts in place of your feelings, you huff. "i do not know what to do from here."

dean grabs for one of your discarded hands, holding your fingers in his lap. "do you want us to be on equal ground?" he asks, nodding down at himself. you were in nothing but undergarments; he still had his jeans on. "and then we can figure it out from there?"

your smile is beautiful in its hesitance. "okay."

"okay like you want my pants off, or okay like you'd just feel better if we were both freezin' our asses off back here?" dean teases, even as he shifts a little in the cramped space to start taking off his jeans.

your huff is practically a wordless grumble in itself. "why do you want me to spell things out?"

"i want you comfortable, dove," he says, the waistband of his jeans paused at his thighs, "there's no pressure here at all. if there's pressure, then it's not fun anymore."

you think on it for a second. dean watches your expression shift with your feelings and acceptance. "you may continue."

"oh, mama's bossy now, is she?"

you grab a handful of the leg of his jeans and yank. "shut up."

"yes, ma'am."

you wad up his discarded jeans and toss them at him in a ball of denim. "shut up."

"you're so pretty when you're mad, honey," dean mumbles, using his grip on your hand to tug you forward. you stumble a little in the small space, falling into his lap. "come n' make me shut up."

your eyes are narrowed on him as you shift to make yourself comfortable. your leg tosses over his thighs, settling into his lap. his breath hitches in his throat at the feel of your heat through both of the thin undergarments on you, and from the look in your eyes, the evidence of his own arousal has made itself prominent against you, too.

you look like you might say something. you don't. your hands grab him by his face and drag him in for another kiss. he actually chokes on a noise in his throat at the suddenness, and he thinks he might love you. knows he does, but has never felt the intensity of it quite like this before.

dean's mouth opens to let you in, craving the taste of you again. your tongue meets his instantly, lapping against each other's in a languid slow dance. he's content like this. he could stop here, and go back to the motel with or without the alcohol and use this memory here of your tongue in his mouth while you sat all pretty in his lap to get himself off, and be perfectly fine.

but if there was one thing that you were full of, it was surprises. his little whiskey drinking, praise adoring, bossy angel. your fingers fall between the both of your bodies and rest on his hard on through his boxers, and dean looses a shuddering breath.

you pull away from his mouth with his saliva on your lips. dean's head falls back onto the headrest of the backseat with a groan. "you told me i could touch," you say, your innocent voice so out of place with your devilish hands.

"i did," dean says, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. "didn't expect you to go for the gold immediately, though."

your answering smile is the prettiest thing he's ever seen. the moon sits high in the sky outside of the window, glowing and whitecast down onto you.

a halo of your own making.

dean thinks he's going to die.

you raise your hips off of him for the time being, your light touch teasing and electric at once. dean grasps that hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing each of your fingertips. "here," he says quietly, his other hand going to your waist. he traces over your ribcage lightly before he closes his fingers over your side.

he pulls you closer, lets you grind against the swell in his boxers. he groans, your breath hitches with a little whine, and he's sure, then, that he'll die like this.

"you like that?" dean asks you, dipping his head to get a better look at your eyes. you look dazed, a little drunk, and dean wants to see those pretty eyes glimmer and glisten.

he lifts you up again by your thigh, just enough to slide his boxers off of him as gently as he can. the space is cramped, and it's finally starting to feel like it.

dean's done this plenty of times, but there's something about your gaze that makes him feel more vulnerable than he ever has before. he's naked underneath you; you, who has never done anything like this before, and he feels more exposed than you seem to.

it's like a game, now. when he does something, you do it, like you don't want to fall behind in this back and forth. your hips stay up, and it's more awkward for you to tug your panties off, but you manage it with a few lifts of your legs, and a kick that sends them, somehow, into the driver's seat.

you laugh. it's breathtaking.

dean helps you settle back on his thighs, and it's all he can do to not fall apart there. you're warm, you're wet enough that he feels it on his legs, and all he wants to do is make you feel even better than you do now.

"green light?" dean asks, lifting his eyes to look at you again, and not at all of the skin bared to him. he doesn't want to overwhelm you with how intense he must be staring at you, but you're mesmerizing. perfection in the form of a wingless angel sat on his lap.

you blink a couple of times before the realization settles in. "go?"

"i'm askin' you, dove," he says in answer, hand going to the back of your neck to pull you closer, to press a kiss to your forehead. "red light or green light?"

your face is so close to his, but dean can see the melted expression in your eyes. instead of answering, you press a kiss to his mouth again. he's glad you like it, now that you know how to do it. he could handle kissing you over and over, but your lips kissing him back is something he was already getting addicted to.

on his mouth, you whisper, "green light."

dean blinks, now. his teeth drag your bottom lip back lightly until it pops back into place. "yeah?"

at your nod, he sits up a little better, his arms snaking around your waist. once he's got a good grip on you, he moves the both of you so that he's sprawled beneath you in the backseat, fully extended. he doesn't fit, his legs bent a little as his back presses into the door, but it's fine. everything is fine when he has you. plus, his bent knees only draws you closer to him.

"i promise this is the last time i'm gonna do this to you," he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, lifting you off of his thighs again. "just say red light if it's too much, okay?"

"okay."

it's more gentle than he's ever been, the way he spreads your legs open a little more, the way he lines the aching length of his cock up with your waiting entrance. just the brush of the tip against the wetness of your folds could make him crumble.

dean pushes up enough to just barely rest inside of you, giving you the moment to adjust. your gasp is small, breathless. he stops instantly, his hand on your thigh loosening its grip. your face twists into a frown. "i didn't say red light," you grumble through the pout, and he's always been a sucker for that little pout, as much as he is for when you sink your teeth into the puffy lip.

his laugh is warm, free hand raising in surrender again. "sorry, baby, jus' lookin' out for you."

you start to sink down further on him yourself with nothing but his hand in guidance. your eyes are wide, your lips parted in a soundless 'o', but you don't tell him to stop, and he trusts you enough to know that you would, if you needed it. he couldn't helicopter monitor you just because he was afraid of breaking the pretty thing he'd grown so attached to.

it's a tight fit, being inside of you. he can feel every bit of your walls expanding to fit him, and he tries not to groan, tries to not get too ahead of himself, but goddamn. months of fantasizing about this, of denying himself those same fantasies out of fear of ruining the trust you were building between each other, comes nowhere near the reality of how it feels to have you in his arms.

your head drops to press against his, and dean's unable to resist the way he leans up to peck a kiss to your mouth. a quick one, light and easy, that you take as a sign to deepen. your teeth scrape his lip, your tongue explores the expanse of his mouth, and dean takes this distraction from the discomfort he knew you were feeling to push the rest of the way inside of you.

you whine on his lips, and he kisses away the little noises. "i know," dean mumbles on your mouth, "it's okay."

the red light is unspoken, but he's not about to push you, or overstep anyways. you trace shapes with your fingertips on his bare chest, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

"green light," you say after a few moments, and a few more soft kisses from him in the crook of your shoulder.

dean nods, leaving a last lingering kiss on your collarbone before he shifts enough to properly start to move inside of you. the thrusts are shallow and gentle, letting you get a feel for it, letting you adjust to his size.

your forehead drops to rest on his shoulder, each little whimper twisting at his heart, even if the sounds of them were beginning to get louder and less strained.

"feelin' better?" he asks, all of the strain from your voice stolen and bottled up in his. the way that you squeeze around him has all of his rational thought fogging, and it takes a conscious effort to be gentle with you. this wasn't about dean; it was about you.

you nod once, your hair tickling at his chest. he's about to keep up the slow pace, to keep going as gently as possible, until you sit up a little straighter and start to meet each of his thrusts with a grind of your hips. dean's head knocks against the passenger window, his breath leaving his mouth in a shudder.

you must like it, too, because you let out a breathless laugh. you grab his hands and hold his fingers between yours, letting them fall to rest on his stomach. it's that game again; you doing something to keep up with what he's doing.

dean grins as he watches you, the tight expression on your face melding into something a little more wild and free. he's never seen you like this. he'd take a picture if he wasn't absolutely certain that you and him were gonna do this again.

again, he moves your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles this time, his groan reverberating through your fingers. you match him so easily, like you were made for whatever he gave to you. your increasing confidence makes him feel comfortable enough to speed up, his other arm braced on the back of the seats for stability as he rolls his hips deeper into you.

your head tips backwards with the first real moan he's ever heard out of you. your reckless abandon is utterly disarming. he sits up straighter, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist, holding you pressed against him as he buries himself inside of you.

your hands tremble as they lock onto his face, holding it to be nose to nose with him. you're panting on his mouth, and he can't stop staring at your lips, and he's so deep inside of you that he can feel the tip against your cervix, deep enough to make a rough groan slip out of his throat.

there was no need for kissing lessons. you would have figured it out on your own, dean's sure of it, with how you tilt his head back to suck his top lip between yours, tongue languid against his.

it's embarrassing how close he is to coming already. how couldn't he? he was enamored, transfixed, and getting this little taste of you was intoxicating. your fingers move from his cheeks to his jaw, clawing at his lip, tugging the bottom one down as you ride him.

he lets you. he'd let you do anything.

dean's thumb finds it's way between your legs, slipping between your slick folds to rub gentle circles into your clit. your thighs clench around his, grinding your hips down further onto his, against his hand.

his head tilts up to capture your mouth again, wanting to taste each moan that you let out, to swallow your pleasure and keep it to himself, where no one else can ever see it. each of those shuddering moans gets louder, more frantic, and he knows you're close.

"dean," you whisper into his mouth, and dean wants to hear his name said like this every time from you, now. breathless, desperate, and as needy as he felt.

he thumbs more deliberately at the swollen nub, pressing a final kiss to your mouth before he works little hot kisses down your jaw, your neck. "dean, i--"

"it's okay," his voice is as rough as gravel. "that's how it's supposed to feel." he knows your head like his own, knows from the frenzied breath into his shoulder that you're going to come, and that it must be a little much, trying to live through those feelings and try to figure them out. "it's supposed to, okay? jus' let go, i've got you."

dean would always have you. he loved you too much to let go.

that thought is what breaks his resolve. his thrusts become more sloppy, harder than he should probably be with you, but he loves you, and it's ruining him to not show it, or tell you. the car is thick with hot air, the windows are foggy, his skin is sticking to the leather seats, but he loves you.

you come apart on top of him with the moonlight still bathing you in a halo's glow. your hips still, your fingers claw at his face, scratching red marks into his stubble, and you cry out a moan against his lips.

he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. his hips stutter to a stop inside of you, a gasping groan punctuating his pants into the column of your throat, his cock twitching inside of you as his cum fills you. he'd worry about that later. or maybe he wouldn't. he didn't care about anything in the world besides how much he loves you.

dean doesn't realize he's whispering it out loud until he registers that pretty laugh of yours.

your hair is stuck to your forehead, your skin glassy with sweat in the pale moonlight, and the halo of the moon still hangs above your head. you're the most divine thing he's ever seen, the closest to divinity he's ever let himself be.

"you love me?" you ask, your eyes so sweet and so warm as they watch him.

dean leans up to kiss each corner of your mouth. "where'd you get that impression?"

he can never tell when you'll be matter-of-fact or when you'll play around. he forgets sometimes all of the things he's taught you, every bad idea you've got wedged in your mind because of his influence. dean winchester never wanted to corrupt you or your innocence, but he knew he'd always end up pulling you into the dark with him. you were stuck together, after all, now that he'd embedded himself to you for saving his life.

"i had a hunch." your head tilts up pridefully, chin jutted out. the act is cute while it lasts but falls apart instantly when you start to laugh again. dean's never heard you laugh so much since you'd met. how'd he get so lucky?

the car ride back to the motel is peaceful, the frigid air conditioning blasting to try and clear the fog from the windows and cool the sweat on your skin. the entire time, dean's hand is on your thigh, and the entire time, you don't move it. the moon follows his angel out the window the entire drive, like it knows, too, that you were as divine as beings could be.

sam calls two miles from the motel. "everything okay?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice. "it's been at least an hour. i didn't think you could get lost on a beer trip in this town."

beer. liquor store. alcohol run. it all comes back to dean now that his head is a little more clear.

"oh," is all dean can say for a few seconds, gaze flickering over to you in the passenger seat. you pick at the threads on his jacket he'd given to you, head downturned to unsuccessfully hide your laugh, "got sidetracked. we'll be back in twenty or so."

it was sam's turn to be silent. his following laugh is more like a scoff than anything else. "jesus christ, dean."

"blame dove," dean cackles into the speaker, eyes fond as he glances over at you again. he makes a (definitely illegal) u-turn at the same stoplight that acted as the tipping point for the night's event back in the direction of the liquor store. "she's the one who needed taught how to kiss."

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4jackles @deanswidow @deansbite @whisperingwillowxox @bombarda-babe @whyyouegg @loverslantern @bitchykittenconnoisseur @jensenacklesantidote @keira-kaz2y5 @sthefferrete @depressionbarbie2023 @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @bleuatlas @minettacreekk @moonstruksandco @moodyquesadilla @severe-mental-illness @cevansbaby-dove @deansbeer @bluestrd @mccartneyqp @im-bili @chevroletdean @angelblqde @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @momoewn @globetrotter28 @starzify @jackleslvr @ryngzmn @aileenunfiltered @beausling @frosttbitessam @amberlthomas

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slushnubwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Kang Dae Ho/Player 388 SMUT

He’s so fine I had to

NSFW: Smut/Sexual Content, Mommy Kink, “Good boy”, Bondage Kinda

This is really short sorry

——————————————————————————————————

“y/n pl-please” Dae Ho’s whimpers filled the room accompanied by the noise of your ass slapping on his thighs as you bounced on his dick. “No baby you can take it” you softly demanded him only going faster.

He attempted to pull his arms out of the rope only causing his biceps to flex. “Please m-mommy” immediately embarrassment flushed on his face at his words. “Oh baby i’m your mommy”? you teased him slowing down your pace.

He whimpered at your mock looking away, “Look at me” you grip his jaw forcing his eyes to meet yours as you speed up again making his dick go deeper with every bounce. You pull him in kissing him roughly.

He softly groaned at your speed through the kiss still ashamed of his earlier words. You pull away to look at him “answer me” you ordered tightening the grip on his chin. “Y-yes you’re my mommy” at his own words you felt his dick twitch inside you ready for another release.

“Then be a good boy and cum inside me, again” he nods at your words in obedience. His whiny eyes watched you speed up in awe. His dick twitched at how good your pussy clenched on him. He moaned throwing his head back at the overstimulation.

He had already came inside you five times but he looked so fucked out and submissive you needed more. He started to whimper your name thrusting up into your wet pussy. “Be a good boy and cum for me” you grip his neck making him look at you as he struggled to whimper through your choking.

With a few more twitching thrusts he pathetically moans letting his cum fill and mix with yours. He had a teary eyed look and whined as you bounced a few more times on his sensitive dick letting his cum drip out of you gliding all the way down to his balls.

“I’ll let you go now baby, your wrist must be tired” you cooed caressing his cheek.

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crazyvik97rpg · 2 days ago

Text

Honestly, Sebastian was not happy with this at all – while the surgery was very much successful, he was still not out of the woods yet. It made him anxious, having to endure even more stuff he didn’t want to do when there were so much good news already. But apparently this didn’t mean anything. Dr Chalman let them know clearly that there was no way around this if they wanted to beat this. Sebastian felt quite distraught.

She looked at the both of them, giving them the chance to think about this once more, to really make a good decision – gave them more pamphlets to read. Sebastian read most of those already, he knew what they said, she only gave them a few new ones. He couldn’t imagine anything worse, really. He had his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a deep sigh.

„Okay, so then…once…I decided what I will do, I…will call you?“, he asked – feeling anxiety rising. It was baffling how anxious something like that could make him, the thought of losing his hair, his appearance, his beauty… It was similar to his irrational fear of getting grey hair – an absolute nightmare, but it was also just that – irrational. Of course this was rooted far deeper than just ‚I don’t want to lose my hair because I‘d be ugly‘ – it was one of those things that Sebastian simply struggled with, for all kinds of reasons.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes.

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times.

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?”

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.��

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them.

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

#for i have sinned

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sunshineyuyu · 21 hours ago

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princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho.

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out.

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual.

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door.

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan.

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch.

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits.

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap!

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked.

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it.

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it.

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back.

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.”

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

#yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho smut #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #ateez smut #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#sunshineyuyu fic

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woozinhos · 2 days ago

Note

ok but how about something like, giving wonwoo oral and he makes you swallow then the view of you swallowing his cum and a few of it leaking from your lips gets him even more turned on so he fucks you hard after ???? 🫣

stop I’ve wrote this to my best ability I really hope you guys enjoy this one :D also let me know if I should stop these lil notes

Wonwoo's breath catches in his throat as you kneel between his legs, your hands gently caressing his thighs. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire as he anticipates what's about to happen.

You slowly take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his hard length. He lets out a low moan, his head falling back against the pillows as you begin to work him with your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, teasing him before taking him deeper into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, your lips gliding along his shaft as you work him closer to the edge.

He can't help but watch you, his eyes fixed on the sight of your mouth wrapped around him. The feeling of your tongue and lips is overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. As you continue to suck him off, he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He grips the sheets tightly, his knuckles white with tension as he tries to hold back his release.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," he warns you, his voice strained. "You're too good at this."

You take him deeper, your throat working around his cock as you try to swallow as much of him as possible. He lets out a loud groan, his hips bucking up involuntarily as he struggles to hold back.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he gasps, his hands tangling in your hair. "Swallow it all for me, baby."

With a final, desperate thrust, he comes, his hot release spilling down your throat.

You swallow as much as you can, feeling the warmth of his cum filling your mouth. Some of it leaks out, trickling down your chin and dripping onto your chest. He watches you with a mixture of awe and desire, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. The sight of you swallowing his cum and the few drops that spill from your lips is almost enough to make him hard again. He reaches out and gently cups your chin, his thumb swiping through the drops of cum that have spilled onto your lips.

"You look so pretty like this," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "With my cum all over your face."

He pulls you up into his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he pulls you against his chest.

He captures your lips in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he's trying to taste himself on you. His hands roam over your body, his touch possessive and needy. "I need to be inside you again," he growls against your lips. He lifts you up slightly, positioning you over his cock.

"Your pussy this time," he whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "I want to feel you wrapped around me again."

He lowers you down onto his cock, a low groan escaping his lips as he sinks into your wet heat.

"God, you feel so good," he moans, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So tight and wet for me."

He pulls you down onto him fully, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You let out a gasp, your body adjusting to the sudden fullness. He feels even bigger than before, stretching you in the most delicious way.

He gives you a moment to adjust, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to control himself. He kisses your neck, his lips trailing along your skin as he begins to slowly move his hips. He starts with slow, deep thrusts, savoring the feeling of being inside you again. He takes his time, relishing the sensation of your body wrapped around him.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice possessive and full of desire. "All mine."

He closes his eyes, his head falling back as he remembers the sight of you with his cum on your lips and chin.

"You looked so fucking hot with my cum all over your face," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he continues to thrust up into you. "It was like a claim, marking you as mine."

He throws his head back, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he thrusts up into you with increasing urgency.

"You're my little cumslut," he growls, his hips snapping up against yours. "You're mine to use and mark however I please."

He pulls you down onto him even harder, his cock driving deep inside you with each powerful thrust. He's lost in the moment, consumed by the pleasure of being inside you and the memory of seeing you with his cum on your face.

"You take me so well," he moans, his hands roaming over your body as he continues to pound into you. "Like you were made for my cock."

He grabs your hips, pulling you down to meet his every thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and his grunts of pleasure.

He's getting close again, his breathing ragged and his movements becoming more erratic. He can feel the familiar tension building in his lower belly, his orgasm fast approaching. He opens his eyes, looking up at you with a desperate intensity.

"I'm gonna come again," he gasps, his voice strained. "I'm gonna fill you up, baby."

He pulls you down hard onto his cock, burying himself to the hilt as he finally reaches his peak. He lets out a guttural moan, his body shuddering as he comes deep inside you. You can feel his hot release coating your walls, filling you up even more. He holds you tightly against him, his arms wrapped around you like a vice as he rides out his orgasm.

He collapses back against the pillows, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His hips continue to twitch involuntarily, his cock still buried deep inside you as he comes down from his high. He looks up at you, his eyes hazy with pleasure and a hint of satisfaction. You smile back at him smirking.

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen #svt smut #svt wonu #seventeen wonu #wonwoo svt #svt wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo seventeen #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonu #wonwoo #svt reactions #svt scenarios

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nosferatuv · 4 hours ago

Note

amab sevika making you gag and almost throw up on her dick and making fun of you when you get embarrassed bc of it

cw ! amab sevika. blowjob. emetophobia warning! threats of violence. degradation. this is gross

you were the depiction of filth every time sevika was finished with you. didn't matter the roughness or pace she went at, you would be left ruined and spent by the time she had her fill.

this time was no different. after a shitty day, she dragged you onto the bed and laid you down, your head tilted back off the edge. you looked gross, point blank; spit, tears and snot dribbling down your face and matting in your hair.

sevika was stood above you, one of her hands holding your wrists against your abdomen and the other reaching down to wrap around her thick cock, guiding herself back into your mouth and down your throat.

there was much less resistance from your body now as she fucked your throat raw, slobbering and gagging each time she stuffed your esophagus. she was really testing your limits tonight, not caring about your discomfort if it meant she was able to release the pent up aggression from the demanding chembarons.

you were trying to be good, bless your soul, but you were starting to struggle. your nails dig into your palms as you gag around her again, the force of the action making your body jolt upwards and inevitably take more of her in your mouth.

she easily thrusted in and out, abusing and bruising your airway. you could barely breathe, you were lightheaded from being upside down and yet you don't tap out. you lay there and take it like you know she wants.

your gagging gets more frequent, stomach flexing and tears leaking down your face as her hips continue to slam into you, her pelvis nudging your chin and her balls pressing against your nose forcing you to inhale her scent.

her hand not holding your wrists comes down to your throat as it contracts around her dick, your neck bulging with her imprint. her fingers wrap around your neck, groaning at the sudden tightness.

she watches you start to writhe, your legs kicking a little as you feel a rise in your stomach. sevika knows as well as you do that you're about to throw up, but she debates whether or not to let it happen just to humiliate you further.

"you throw up on my dick, i'll beat your ass."

her voice, no less than a growl, puts the fear of god in you. you swallow as best as you could as she fucks your face, your legs still squirming as you desperately try not to throw up.

sevika tsk's and pulls out, her cock dripping with saliva as it hangs heavy over your face. a flood of spit pours out your mouth as you turn on your side, your now free hand coming up to hold your throat as you cough up.

her gray eyes roll at your dramatics, lazily stroking herself as she watched you struggle. "what'd i tell you, huh?" she huffs, reaching down to nudge your head to rest on the bed, your sticky skin leaving a mess on the sheets.

her knee sinks into the mattress beside your head, bringing her cock down to slap against your cheek before her hips start to draw back and forth, using your face as friction. "you're pathetic, you know that?"

you whimper at the taunt as she rubs against your face, pre-cum leaking from the slit of her dick and dribbling down the side of your face, seeping between your swollen lips.

"then you throw up on me— fuckin' disgusting."

she cuts herself off with a grunt, fucking her cock between the plush of your cheek and the palm of her hand. you were caked in your own fluids, feeling nasty and used just how she wanted.

her other hand keeps your head down against the mattress, her fingers tangling in your hair as she gets closer to cuming. "shit... keep still 'n i'll go easy on you."

╋━ taglist.

@danfelog @fortluocha @ocharavitys @trizxyp @aelizreal @moodient @luxmith @iamastar @uhh-lana @amastarxoxo @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @inui-ii @evabby @graciedollie @starrrcane @frazzledgf @lilyyx0 @gaysevika @444fernz @mybelovedvi @abbysbae @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @lesbodietcoke

#nosferatuv.#sevika #sevika smut #sevika arcane smut #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika arcane x reader #arcane

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formulawolff · 3 days ago

Text

time off — t.w.

pairing -> sick toto x reader

word count -> 1.1k

warnings -> toto is sick, lots of hurt + comfort, slight cursing, mostly fluffy stuff

a/n -> i am finally working through fics that are lined up in the garage. i believe this one was a request from an anon! i hope you guys enjoy! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the blaring of an alarm pulls you from your slumber.

stirring, you wrinkle your nose, fighting a yawn. there's a swath of comforter to your left, the fabric rising and falling. carefully, you nudge the bundle, your voice thick with exhaustion.

"toto, it's time to get up love."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

there's a groan that rises from the comforter, the figure rolling over. he wraps an arm around your frame, bringing you in close.

"f-five more minutes."

you can't help but notice that his voice is deeper. significantly deeper. there's a bit of a rasp to it, almost as if it pained him to speak. he nuzzles his head into your shoulder, coughing ever so slightly.

arching your brow, you purse your lips. this sort of behavior in the morning was unlike toto. he was a man who structured his mornings around a strict routine. each day, without fail, he woke up to his alarm, getting out of bed with ease. typically, you were the one who struggled to get up, as he had to lure you with breakfast.

shifting your body, you turn over, a tender hand connecting with his cheek. almost instantly, you feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"are you feeling okay?"

an eye opens, forming a slit. he exhales, shaking his head, "i'm fine. just want a few more minutes of sleep. that's all."

"are you sure?" your brow furrows, "you feel warm."

letting out a grunt, toto snuggles closer to you, sniffling, "i was just underneath the covers."

almost instantly, it clicked.

he wasn't feeling well. he must have came down with something. after all, it was the start of winter. everyone was spreading around a menagerie of illnesses and viruses. it was just customary with the change of the seasons. due to the nature of his work, he came into close contact with dozens upon dozens of individuals nearly every day.

it could have been anyone who was sick, but he was around them long enough to contract something. what it was, you weren't quite sure. hopefully it wasn't anything too serious.

pressing kiss to his temple, you engulf him in your arms, resting your chin on top of his head. you can feel a smile form against your chest, the team principal murmuring words you can't quite decipher. there were more than likely in german, his native tongue.

"you probably need to get going soon," you murmur, grateful for the coziness of the morning cuddles, "don't you have a presentation to look over?

"mmm," he hums, "probably."

"so why aren't you up yet?"

"not feeling well," he grumbles, "i think one of the interns gave me something."

"those damn interns," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, "what are you going to do with 'em?"

"send a letter to their university filing a complaint," a hoarse chuckle flows from his lips, "i should really get up, though. i do need to look over that presentation."

"maybe you should take the day off," your hand delves into his hair, playing with the soft brunette locks, "you should really get some more rest. i could make you some tea and some soup later on, if you're feeling up to it."

"you make it so damn difficult to leave," he counters, squeezing you in his embrace, "i just can't stay away from that pretty face."

"then why haven't you called in yet?"

"you know why i haven't."

reaching over to the nightstand, you pick up his phone, "i could always do it for you."

raising his head, toto tilts his chin upward, his gaze twinkling with amusement, "i would pay good money to watch that. why don't you go on then, love. call in for me?"

"i will," the words are barely a whisper, "you know i would do anything for you, right?"

licking his lips, the team principal readjusts, scooting up so that your faces were eye-level. he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. fingers grasp your chin, pulling you in even further.

you would more than likely get sick as well, but that was a risk you were more than willing to take.

especially when he was so fucking irresistible, admiring you with those beautiful mocha depths. his lashes flutter as your lips collide with his, a rumble brewing in his chest as your tongue trails along his lower lip.

"c-careful schatzi, i don't want to infect you."

"you can do more than infect me," fingers tug at his roots, "infect me, kiss me, fuck-"

"maybe i do need to take that time off then," his tone is brimmed with lust, and you can't help but feel a firmness pressing against your inner thigh.

"go ahead baby," you cock your head, batting your lashes, "call in. for me."

before you know it, he's out of the bed and on his feet, pecking your forehead, "i'll be right back. give me five minutes, love."

as he strolls out, pressing his phone to your ear, you wait until you hear the steps dissipate. cautiously, you slink out of the space, tiptoeing down the stairs.

your poor, pathetic man.

all riled up over a few kisses.

toto wolff taps his screen, relief rippling as he makes his way back toward the room. he was able to successfully call in, just take a day off and fight whatever illness this was. he could stay with his love, all cuddled up and drunk off bliss.

however, when he pokes his head into the bedroom, his heart skips a beat.

you weren’t there.

yet, a scent wafts into his nostrils. one that he knew all too well.

the aroma of tea. and something else he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

as toto clambers down the stairs, he makes a right, entering the kitchen. once his eyes fall on you, his knees buckle.

you’re at the stove, brow knit with concentration as you flip something in a skillet. there’s a cup of tea waiting for him at the island, steam billowing from the mug. padding over to you, he peers over your shoulder, curious to see what was in the skillet.

“oh hi,” you flinch at first, yet relax as his arms wrap around your waist, “i figured i’d make you a nice breakfast so that you could take some medication.”

so that’s what you were up to.

the team principal presses a swift peck to your temple, “thank you, schatzi. i adore you.”

“of course! i love you.”

“and i love you,” toto’s breath is warm as it fans against your earlobe, the words thready with need as he continues.

“we’re going to make this day off worthwhile. okay schatzi? once we’re finished here, you’re mine.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff imagine

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vibelladonna · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!!! I love your stories, they really make my day better!! I have an idea about Crow×Y/N, if this order is not interesting to you, sorry for the disturbance!!

Is it possible to react to the fact that Y/N began to avoid Crow because of fear of unrequited love and rejection, but in the end Crow catches up with us and interrogates us why we behave so strangely and confess our feelings to him

Sorry if this order is very boring but in any case good luck to you!!

❛ 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You've been avoiding Crow lately, too afraid to face your growing feelings for him. But when he finally catches up with you, he demands to know why you've been acting so strangely, forcing you to confront the truth.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Anonymous asked! I really like the idea of fear of unrequited love and rejection—definitely something I’d feel in that kind of situation. Also, for some reason, the ask box isn’t showing up on my phone, but it’s working fine on my laptop! I’ll be posting a few fics this week—probably no more than three.

Sorry for the absence; I’ve been taking a mental break, catching up on sleep, and getting ready to head back to campus for the spring semester next week. But don’t worry, I’ll still be working on fics during the weekends or whenever I have free time!

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Angst, Unrequited Love, Emotional Tension, Hurt/Comfort, Confession, Avoidance, Self-Doubt, Internal Struggle, Miscommunication, and Fluff (towards the end—I’m not heartless)! Also, some spicy moments to add in!

It had been two weeks since you mentioned the research options for your major—the ones you promised would keep you busy, even distracted. You’d told Crowe that your time would be consumed with textbooks and endless articles, diving into opportunities related to your major. But as the days passed, something felt off. The absence of your usual messages, your familiar presence in the hallways, and the sound of your voice in class slowly began to gnaw at him.

Crowe had reached out several times. Texts, DMs, and even a couple of voicemails. Yet, there was nothing. No replies.

It wasn’t like you to shut him out.

You were always upfront—maybe too upfront at times—but that brutal honesty was something Crowe genuinely admired about you. And now? Silence. Complete, unnerving silence.

His mind kept returning to the same question: What happened?

"Have you heard from them?" Crowe asked his voice tight with concern. Brittney Claire—better known as Brit—had been the first to ask about you, her tall, tan figure framed against the backdrop of the student lounge one evening when she approached him. Her usually narrowed, indifferent eyes were now clouded with worry.

"No," Brit replied, her brow furrowing as she gave him a puzzled look. "Not since they said they were diving into research. You sure you’ve been trying to reach them?"

Crowe’s grip on the strap of his bag tightened, his fingers digging into the material as he suppressed his frustration. "Of course I have. More than once. They haven’t even texted me back, and you know that’s not like them."

Brit raised an eyebrow, her gaze scanning him for a beat before her face morphed into something unreadable. "Weird," she muttered, her voice laced with suspicion. "I thought you were always the one in the know, Crowe. You two are closer than anyone else. You should know where they are."

The comment hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t about being in the loop, or being ‘close’—it was about making sure you were okay.

Brit took a step back, her expression softening as she saw the tension in Crowe’s shoulders. She sighed, exhaling deeply as if weighing the situation in her mind. "I can tell you're worried," she said, her tone gentler now. "Want me to help you track them down?"

Crowe shook his head immediately, a quiet, unspoken tension hanging in the space between them. "No. I’ll find them myself."

And he would. Crowe was never one to back down, especially when it came to you. He knew better than anyone that you didn’t just vanish without a reason, without something pulling you away.

Something was wrong.

And he was going to find out what it was—no matter what it took.

Crowe didn’t waste any time before setting out for your usual spots—those places where he knew you’d be if you weren’t anywhere else. First, he hit the quiet corner in the library where you both spent hours lost in books, your heads bent low over pages in comfortable silence.

Then, he headed to the small café where late-night study sessions were more the norm than the exception, the place where caffeine-fueled discussions lingered well past midnight.

Lastly, he checked the campus bench you’d both claimed as your own, the one that had become a quiet sanctuary, a place for shared moments and unspoken understanding. But after hours of searching, there was no sign of you. No flicker of movement, no trace of your presence.

The sky was darkening as Crowe made his way back to his dorm, his steps slow and deliberate, each one echoing the frustration he couldn’t shake. His mind replayed every moment, every conversation, trying to find something, anything, that could explain where you were. He pulled his phone from his pocket, a small distraction from the weight of his thoughts. It buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down at the new message from Brittney.

Britt: Still no word from them, huh?

Crowe: Nope. Can’t find them anywhere on campus. It’s like they vanished.

Britt: Wow. I can't help but feel like they're avoiding us.

Crowe’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the phone. He froze in his tracks. The thought of you avoiding him felt wrong, so foreign it stung. The words on the screen replayed in his head, each one sinking deeper into his chest.

Avoiding them? Avoiding him? Was that really what was happening? Was that what this was about?

He wasn’t blind. He could feel it too—the subtle yet undeniable shift between you and him. Maybe it had been slow, so gradual that it had escaped his notice at first, creeping in like a shadow until it had grown large enough to demand attention. Or maybe it had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface, like an undercurrent quietly pulling at the edges of everything.

But whatever it was, it had become a wall. A barrier neither of you could ignore. And the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that it wasn’t some external force—it was a wall *you* had built. It was as if you had crafted it with your own hands, piece by piece, and now it loomed between you two, tall and impenetrable.

He couldn’t understand why it was there, or why you hadn’t said anything about it. The silence only deepened his confusion, turning it into something more tangible, something he couldn’t shake off. Every attempt to breach it seemed futile, like reaching for something just out of his grasp.

With each passing day, the weight of the uncertainty pressed down on him, a burden that grew heavier with every thought, every glance exchanged in passing, every conversation that no longer felt like it used to. It gnawed at him relentlessly, demanding answers he didn’t have. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that nothing had changed.

Something had to happend.

Something had to give. He felt it in his bones, knew it with a certainty he couldn’t ignore. And as much as he tried to deny it, he knew it had to happen the last time he had seen you.

Two weeks ago. The night had started like any other. You and Crowe had settled into your usual study spot in the back corner of the library—your quiet sanctuary, where the world outside felt distant, far away. It was familiar. Comfortable. The soft hum of overhead lights was the only sound, broken only by the occasional rustling of pages as you both worked in your own quiet spaces.

The books were scattered across the table, the glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as you juggled between tabs. Crowe sat across from you, flipping through his notes with the same casual air he always had, the same easygoing demeanor he had perfected over the years.

But there was something different that night.

Even though everything looked the same, and felt the same, there was a tension in the air—a subtle crackling energy, just beneath the surface. It had been there for a while now, but on that night, it had reached a breaking point.

You were buried in your research, absorbing every detail of your thesis like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed when Crowe’s voice broke through your concentration, sounding unusually thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future recently,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that was different from his usual playful tone.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his for a brief second before you quickly looked away. “Oh?” you murmured, distracted as you tried to focus on the data in front of you. You weren’t expecting this turn in the conversation. Crowe didn’t usually get into those heavy ‘future’ talks unless he was in a reflective mood, and even then, it was usually all about abstract goals or vague aspirations.

Nothing serious.

“Yeah,” Crowe continued, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as though bracing himself for something weightier. His voice softened, carrying an introspective tone that felt rare for him. “You know, we’re already in our third year, right? Time’s flying faster than I ever expected. And… I’ve been thinking, by the time I graduate, I want to have things a bit more figured out. Like, I want to be in a solid relationship. Someone to share things with, someone who’s… there.”

His words hit you like an unexpected gust of cold air, leaving you momentarily stunned. You blinked, once, twice, the weight of his admission sinking in slowly but steadily.

A relationship?

Crowe—the same Crowe who treated most connections with a kind of playful fun—is talking about settling down? The concept felt alien, foreign, and yet it lodged itself uncomfortably in your chest.

You cleared your throat, more to buy time than anything else, carefully composing your response. “That’s… ambitious,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt, though there was a sharpness to your words that you couldn’t quite dull. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of you, a half-hearted barrier between the two of you. The flickering light cast an impassive glow over your face, but inside, your emotions churned in a quiet storm of confusion and irritation.

Crowe didn’t seem fazed—or maybe he was just good at masking it. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, searching for something unsaid. Then he shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his expression stayed contemplative. “I don’t know if it’s ambitious,” he said after a pause, his tone lighter but no less sincere.

“I mean, it just feels… right. We spend so much time trying to figure out majors, careers, all the practical stuff, but at the end of the day, I want someone to share the milestones with, you know? Graduating, finding a job, moving somewhere new… I don’t want to do all that alone.”

His words pulled at something deep and unwelcome inside you, a stirring that you couldn’t quite name.

Irritation, yes—but mixed with something softer, more vulnerable, something that whispered of fear and longing.

The idea of Crowe sharing those moments, those significant pieces of his life, with someone else clawed at the carefully constructed walls you’d built around your thoughts.

“Isn’t that kind of distracting?” you asked, keeping your tone deliberately neutral, though there was an edge to your voice you couldn’t fully mask. “I mean, wouldn’t you rather focus on making sure you’ve got everything in place first before worrying about… all that?”

Crowe tilted his head, his expression thoughtful now, as though weighing your words. “Maybe,” he admitted, his gaze softening as he spoke. “But I don’t think it’s about having everything perfect. Life’s always messy, you know? I just think it’d be nice to have someone who gets it, who’s there to celebrate the wins and help carry the weight when things aren’t so great.”

He said it so earnestly, so casually, that it made your chest ache. Crowe—so confident, so carefree—talking about sharing his life with someone as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

And yet, for you, the very idea felt impossible, like a weight pressing down on something fragile inside you.

You forced a small, humorless laugh, hoping it masked the way your pulse quickened. “You make it sound so simple,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “Like finding the right person is just another thing to check off the list.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow at your tone, but his smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. “It’s not simple,” he said quietly. “But I think it’s worth it. Don’t you?”

The question hung between you, heavy and unspoken, as if he were asking something far deeper than his words implied. And for the briefest moment, you wondered if he already knew your answer.

It was like you were looking at something through a window that you couldn’t reach—this whole world of connections, of intimacy, of people who could be close to you in ways that didn’t make sense to you. Maybe that was the problem.

You didn’t really get it.

You didn’t need it.

You let out a breath, trying to steady yourself, and forced your attention back to the work in front of you. “I don’t know about that,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended. “I think I’d rather focus on things that I can actually control.”

There was a brief pause as Crowe looked at you, his gaze shifting. You could see the curiosity flicker across his face, but he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat. “Like your thesis?” he asked, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

You nodded quickly, relieved that the conversation was shifting to familiar ground. “Yeah,” you said, a little more briskly than you meant to. “I’m thinking about neuropsychology—studying the effects of plants on the brain. There’s so much to dive into. I’ll be swamped for a while.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in topic. “Sounds intense. You sure you’re okay with taking on that much work?” He was leaning forward now, his tone lighter but with an edge of concern.

You offered a quick smile, trying to hide the irritation that lingered beneath the surface. “Yeah. I can handle it. Besides, it’s something to keep me occupied, right?” The words came out a little too dismissive, a little too defensive.

But you weren’t about to admit that you were irritated—especially not to him.

Crowe nodded, but there was something unreadable in his expression as he pulled back, falling into a more relaxed posture. He didn’t seem to press the issue further, and the silence between you grew.

It wasn’t the comfortable silence that usually settled over the two of you; instead, it was filled with strange tension. That was the last conversation you’d had. Since then, the silence had stretched on, thick and unyielding.

Crowe stared down at his phone screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He'd sent you another message—another question, another attempt to bridge the gap. The usual routine had gone on for two weeks now: he'd reach out, you’d read it, and leave him on read. No replies. Nothing.

Crowe: We need to talk.

He stared at the text, as the three little dots appeared and disappeared, signaling that you'd seen it but hadn’t bothered to respond.

This time, something felt different.

The pit in his stomach had grown heavier, gnawing at him with each unread message that followed. We need to talk was simple enough. He wasn’t expecting an essay, just a sign of life. He’d gotten used to the silence, but now it was starting to feel like something was seriously wrong.

Each message, each time he saw you’d opened it but not replied, made him worry more. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. What happened? Why weren’t you talking to him?

Crowe: Please, just let me know you’re okay.

That message had been sent hours ago. And yet, still nothing. He stared at his phone in disbelief as his frustration built, a mixture of concern and something else he couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was fear. Fear of whatever was keeping you away from him.

He had tried everything. Texts. Calls. Even showing up at your usual spots: the library, the cafe, your dorm. Every time, nothing. Your absence was unsettling, but the worst part? The silence that surrounded him, like you were intentionally shutting him out.

Crowe sat in the student council room, reviewing papers, His phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t from you. It was from Brittney.

Britt: Still nothing? You’ve been trying for days. You okay?

He rubbed his temples, rereading the message. No. I’m not okay. I need to figure this out.

Crowe’s mind raced as he trudged across campus, his pace uneven, his steps quick and deliberate. The cool evening air bit at his skin, but the sting was nothing compared to the ache of frustration twisting in his chest.

For two weeks now, his messages had gone unanswered—a deafening silence where there used to be light and warmth. Each time he saw that familiar “read” receipt pop up without a reply, it hit him like a sucker punch, leaving him reeling in confusion and hurt.

He couldn’t piece together what had gone wrong. What had he said? What had he done? It felt like you’d vanished behind an invisible wall, one he didn’t know how to break down. He clenched his fists as he replayed the situation over and over, searching for clues he might have missed.

Crowe: I’m worried about you. Please respond.

His messages were a litany of concern, a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to his growing desperation. The most recent ones hadn’t even been opened. That unread status haunted him, the silence stretching out between you like a thick fog, impenetrable and cold.

He left the campus library, his latest attempt to find you failing. His bag felt unnaturally heavy, burdened by more than just books. Instead of heading straight to the bus stop, his feet carried him toward the campus greenhouse—a detour he often took when his mind felt too crowded.

The greenhouse was typically locked this late, reserved only for students with keys. Yet when he tested the handle, it gave way. His pulse quickened as he slipped inside, pausing just long enough to turn the lock behind him.

The quiet click echoed in the humid, earthy air as if sealing him in with the weight of his thoughts.

The rich scent of soil and greenery enveloped him, mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers. Rows of plants stretched before him, neatly arranged under the muted glow of hanging grow lights. Dew clung to leaves, sparkling faintly in the dim light, while vines traced languid patterns along wooden trellises. The indoor greenhouse was alive in its quiet way, untouched by the busy outside world.

He moved cautiously down the tiled paths, the soft rhythm of his footsteps blending with the distant hum of machinery and the occasional drip of water. The tranquility should have been soothing, but tonight it felt oppressive, amplifying the ache that had settled in his chest.

This had been your sanctuary once. He could still picture you here—curled up on a bench, book in hand, the golden light casting a soft glow over your features. You had always seemed at home among the plants, as though the gentle stillness of the greenhouse mirrored something deep within you.

But it had been two weeks now.

Two weeks of searching, of hoping, of finding only emptiness where you used to be. Each familiar corner he passed seemed to taunt him with your absence, the memory of you lingering like the faint, fading scent of flowers.

Crowe sighed, ready to turn back, when a soft sound broke through the stillness. Footsteps. Light, deliberate, almost hesitant.

His heart jumped, a flicker of hope sparking as he turned—and there you were.

You stood near the far wall, surrounded by rows of delicate plants, their green tendrils climbing along lattices like silent witnesses. Your back was to him, your posture slightly hunched as you scribbled something in a small notebook. The sight of you, after weeks of absence, stopped him in his tracks.

You weren’t the picture of confidence he was used to—sharp-eyed and self-assured, quick with a remark or an unshakable glance. Instead, there was a fragility in the way you stood, as if the weight of something unseen pressed heavily on your shoulders. Your usual energy seemed dimmed, your movements slower, your presence quieter.

He froze, his throat tightening. The relief of seeing you mingled with an ache he couldn’t name. He’d imagined this moment so many times, playing out conversations in his mind, planning what he’d say. But now that you were here, just a few steps away, he felt unmoored.

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncertain. He wanted to call out to you, to say your name, but the words lodged in his throat. He wanted to reach out, but something in your demeanor held him back—something almost sacred in your solitude.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, you turned your head slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet his. For a moment, the world stopped.

Your expression was unreadable, but your eyes told him everything. They looked tired, shadowed with a weight you hadn’t shared, a depth of exhaustion that even your usual composure couldn’t mask. There was an emptiness there, a hollow ache that mirrored the one in his chest.

Crowe opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He could only stand there, caught in the stillness of the moment, hoping you wouldn’t disappear again.

Here’s the revised version:

“Crowe…” You called out, your voice tinged with surprise and a hint of weariness. Your widened eyes betrayed a subtle attempt to mask the dark circles beneath them. “Hey! I haven’t seen you in forever…” Your words tapered off as your attention shifted to a nearby potted plant. Lifting it delicately, you turned it in your hands, inspecting its leaves. “I’ve been busy—almost done with my bio project,” you added, a faint glimmer of pride flickering in your tone.

Crowe stepped closer, his gaze narrowing with concern. “What? I thought you were focusing on stuff for your major,” he said, crossing his arms as he watched you.

“I am,” you replied matter-of-factly, not looking at him as you set the plant down and moved to the next one. “If I can show the professor my research and notes, I might have a shot at getting into the advanced program.”

Crowe’s frown deepened as he trailed behind you through the rows of greenery. “So this is what you’ve been up to? Holing yourself up in the greenhouse since the last time we hung out?”

“Pretty much,” you said without missing a beat, brushing your fingers over the delicate leaves of another plant. “It’s amazing in here. Did you know some plants can grow perfectly well without direct sunlight?” The question left your lips effortlessly, your voice infused with an enthusiasm Crowe hadn’t heard in a while.

The greenhouse air was thick and humid, imbued with the earthy scent of soil and vegetation. Rows of plants, thriving in various stages of growth, surrounded you both, their shadows shifting under the soft glow of artificial grow lights. The hum of machinery underscored the space, a quiet reminder of the technology keeping this verdant haven alive.

As you wandered deeper, Crowe’s eyes scanned the surroundings until something caught his attention—a small corner transformed into a makeshift workstation. Papers were strewn across the desk, dense with notes and diagrams. A microscope occupied one corner, and a row of glass beakers filled with vibrant liquids gleamed under the lights.

Nearby, a neatly folded blanket rested and pillow on a couch alongside a half-empty thermos and an open textbook. Crowe stopped in his tracks, realization hitting him. “Wait… have you been sleeping here?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

You paused for a moment, glancing back at him. “Only when I need to finish something urgent, it’s only been one night,” you said defensively, turning back to your work.

Crowe was filled with concern as he watched you move with quiet determination. His voice softened, almost pleading. “You need to take a break, you know. You can’t keep running on fumes like this.”

You didn’t look up, your focus fixed on a delicate orchid in need of pruning. “I’m fine, Crowe,” you replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with the back of your hand. Your voice was calm, but the tightness in your posture betrayed you. “I just need to finish this. The professor trusted me with the key while she was on vacation. She wanted me to keep an eye on the plants, so I need to take advantage of the time.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, glancing around the space. “Really? This room?”

“It’s an indoor greenhouse,” you corrected, leaning over the desk to jot something in a notebook. Your tone was matter-of-fact, but Crowe’s sigh carried the weight of words unsaid.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze mid-sentence, pen hovering over the page. Slowly, you turned to face him, guilt flickering in your eyes like the max-out lamp on the desk beside you. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

Crowe stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his shoes. “Then why does it feel like I did? Did I offend you somehow?”

“No,” you said quickly, your gaze darting away.

He pressed on, his voice firm but not unkind. “Then what is it? What’s going on with you?”

“I told you, nothing,” you snapped, irritation creeping into your tone as you turned back to your open notebook, pretending to be absorbed in its pages.

Crowe’s frown deepened. “Nothing?” he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Right now, it feels like you’d rather talk to these plants than me.”

You straightened, finally meeting his gaze with a sharp look. “I didn’t say that—”

He cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “You’ve been locked away in this room—”

“Indoor greenhouse,” you interrupted a touch of defensiveness in your voice.

“Fine. Indoor greenhouse,” he shot back. “While I’ve been searching for you all over campus, worried out of my mind. Do you have any idea what went through my head? I thought something had happened to you. I was this close to filing a missing person report—hell, I almost called the police.”

His words landed heavily, the rawness in his voice stopping you in your tracks.

“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“What do you mean why?” he countered, his confusion evident.

“Why do you care?” Your voice cracked slightly, though you tried to mask it with a pointed edge. “I’m perfectly fine, Crowe. Or should I say Jericho Ichabod—known for being a pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to leave me alone…”

You trailed off, avoiding his gaze as silence settled between you like a heavy fog. For a moment, all that filled the room was the rhythmic drip of condensation falling onto a metal tray, a haunting reminder of the tension lingering between you both.

Crowe’s jaw tightened, his silhouette imposing against the faint glow of the lamp. Yet his eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, softened with an intensity that made your heartache. “I care,” he said quietly, each word deliberate and weighted with emotion. “Because you matter to me. More than you seem to realize.”

The words hit you like a jolt, your hand instinctively seeking the edge of the desk for support. The rhythm of your hands tending to the plants—the careful snip of pruning shears, the gentle brushing of leaves—had always been your refuge, your shield. Now, it felt paper-thin against the storm of emotions his words unleashed.

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, not yet.

Instead, you turned back to the orchid in front of you, its delicate white petals trembling faintly in the stagnant air. Perhaps its quiet, fragile beauty could offer you the clarity you desperately needed.

"Okay. You found me. Now you can leave. Satisfied?" Your voice was firm, but the undercurrent of vulnerability was unmistakable.

Crowe didn’t flinch at your sharpness. Instead, he took a measured step closer, his gaze never wavering. He could see through you—through the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped the desk’s edge as if it could anchor you, and the faint tremor in your voice. Every detail told him more than your words ever could.

“Don’t push me away,” he said, his tone resolute as he closed the distance between you. There was no room for argument in his voice, no hesitation in his movements.

You let out an exasperated sigh, your free hand rising to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” you muttered, exhaustion creeping into your voice.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” you snapped, the frustration breaking through as your body trembled faintly from a volatile mix of fear, fatigue, and something you didn’t want to name. Your gaze locked on him, irritation sparking in your eyes, but only for a moment. Something softened—just enough for him to catch it.

Crowe’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the change, no matter how subtle. He was used to your fiery tone, your biting words, and the walls you built so meticulously. But this? This was different. There was a crack in your armor, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before—or maybe hadn’t allowed himself to see.

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ve always been good at reading you. I was just too stubborn to notice.”

A scoff escaped your lips, and you tried to glare at him, but the sight of his infuriatingly smug smirk only fueled your irritation. “Oh, spare me that look,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you turned back to the potted plant. “You sound so cocky right now. It’s irritating, you know that, right?”

Crowe let out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly though the tension lingered in his stance. Despite the sharpness of your words, his expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability betraying his resolve. His gaze held yours, unwavering and searching. “What’s irritating,” he began, his voice low and threaded with something almost pleading, “is how you bury yourself in these plants and shut everyone out.”

His eyes flicked toward the sprawling greenery that surrounded you as if accusing them of stealing your attention. “You’d rather lose yourself in them than face what’s right in front of you.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but you refused to let them settle. Your instinct was to flee, to escape the tightening web of emotions he was weaving. Turning slightly, you made a move to step away, your eyes darting toward the shelves of plants that lined the room, hoping for some distraction to anchor you.

But Crowe was quicker.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted into your path, his body a deliberate barrier, solid and immovable. The swiftness of his actions left you no room to maneuver. You took a reflexive step back, only to feel the cold edge of the desk press into your lower back.

Crowe loomed closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity. His hands came down on either side of you, palms flat against the desk, framing you with an authority that made escape impossible. The subtle tension in his arms betrayed his restraint, his effort to control the storm beneath his calm exterior. His proximity brought the faint scent of rain and earth, grounding and disarming all at once. His breath was steady, but the fire in his eyes made your pulse quicken.

“Stop walking away from me,” he said, his voice quiet but unyielding. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat of his presence wrapping around you like a vice.

Your heart pounded as you met his gaze, the storm in his eyes mirroring your own. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

“Because you matter,” he said again, softer this time but no less intense. "And I'm not going anywhere until you believe it."

“I do not want you.” Your voice was sharp, trembling with restrained anger. “Just leave, please.”

You stood firm, glaring at Crowe, yet your body betrayed your nerves—hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. He remained rooted in place, his tall frame looming over you, the dim light casting sharp angles across his face. His presence was suffocating, an immovable barrier that trapped you against the desk behind you.

“No. I will not. Please, just talk to me,” Crowe’s voice was low but resolute, carrying the weight of someone who wasn’t going to let this moment slip away. His tone was steady, like a calm storm brewing beneath the surface. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch, your carefully built walls trembling under the force of his presence. You took a shaky breath, your resolve faltering. “Jericho—”

He cut you off, moving closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can’t just force me away,” he said firmly, his tone unwavering. The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant, and his proximity felt suffocating, but not in the way you expected. It wasn’t fear or frustration—it was the sharp, overwhelming realization that he saw through you.

Your lips parted, searching for words that refused to come. “Please, Jericho,” you murmured, your voice breaking as the tension between you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

He leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate and careful, as though he knew he was treading on fragile ground. His head dipped until his face was only inches from yours. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and his gaze burned with a fierce determination that left you feeling utterly exposed, as though every unspoken thought and hidden feeling you harbored was now laid bare before him.

“I won’t let you push me away,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with steel. His hand rose, hesitating for a moment before brushing against your cheek, his touch featherlight. His fingers trailed along your jawline with a gentleness that sent a shiver through you. It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you like he was piecing together something he had only just started to understand.

Your instinct was to retreat, to shut him out like you always had, but you couldn’t move. You were caught, your body betraying you as your heart raced and your mind screamed at you to say something.

“I’m far too busy for this—” you stammered, grasping at the only excuse you could find. But even as the words left your lips, you knew how weak they sounded, how unconvincing. They were a shield made of glass, and Crowe saw straight through it.

His expression softened, but his determination remained unshaken. “Do you love me?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting through the air like a knife. The question left you frozen, your chest tightening as if the world had stopped spinning.

You stared at him, your mind racing, but there was nowhere to hide. His gaze held yours, unyielding, and in that moment, you knew he had already figured it out.

He wasn’t asking because he didn’t know—he was asking because he wanted you to say it.

“Jericho…” you whispered, his name barely audible as it escaped your lips. You tried to look away, but his hand cupped your cheek gently, guiding you back to face him.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said softly, his tone impossibly tender, but there was a gravity to his words that made your throat tighten. “I need to hear it. From you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of his question suffocating yet electrifying. And as you stared into his eyes, so full of quiet intensity, you realized there was no way out—only through.

He was so close, too close.

The warmth of his touch sent an involuntary shiver coursing through your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His voice, low and edged with a weight you couldn’t quite place, wrapped around you, constricting your thoughts. The question hung in the air like a thunderclap, reverberating in the space between you and him, stealing the breath from your lungs.

The indoor greenhouse seemed to shrink, the walls pressing inward as the gravity of his words settled over you. Your heart stuttered, then raced, pounding against your ribs with a force that made your chest ache. The air grew dense, thick with the kind of tension that threatened to pull you under, to drown you in its unrelenting grasp.

"That's—why would—How—" The words stumbled out of you, clumsy and fractured, like they were trying to claw their way past the rising storm inside your mind. But they faltered, leaving you grasping at nothing, caught in a silence that felt deafening.

You stared up at him, eyes wide and searching, your mind blank and racing all at once. You were frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, powerless under the weight of his gaze.

“Jericho—” you started, but your voice faltered, barely a whisper, your plea cut short as his own words sliced through the air.

“Do you love me?” he asked again, this time softer, yet somehow more insistent, like he was peeling back a layer of armor you didn’t realize you were wearing.

The world seemed to tilt, the ground beneath you unsteady as his question echoed in your ears. Your breath hitched, catching somewhere in your throat as the air in your lungs grew impossibly thin. Your heart hammered wildly, a chaotic rhythm that you were certain he could feel in the charged space between you.

You wanted to look away, to break free from the intensity of his gaze, but you couldn’t. His eyes held you captive, locking you in place, stripping you bare of pretense, and leaving you exposed. The words trembled on the edge of your lips, aching to escape, but you pressed them back, swallowing them down with a trembling resolve.

Not yet. Not now.

Not when you weren’t even sure yourself.

"Jericho, please stop." The words fell from your lips, fragile and unsteady, betraying the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to keep hidden. You hated how your voice trembled, how it quaked under the weight of your emotions.

His expression shifted, the faintest flicker of hurt flashing across his features before his voice came, steady yet raw, cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Is it because you don’t believe I can love you?” Crowe asked, his tone carrying quiet desperation, as though the question itself cost him something to voice. The words hit you like a blow, unraveling the fragile threads of composure you’d clung to. His presence was suffocating, his question heavy with a truth you weren’t ready to confront.

“Because I love you,” Crowe began, his voice trembling slightly, raw with sincerity. “I love you so much that I’ll do as you wish. If you don’t love me, all you have to do is say it. Say the words, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll go home and pretend this never happened—for your sake, not mine. I will do that for you.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “But first, you have to say it. You have to tell me you don’t love me.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, pressing against your chest like an unbearable burden.

“You have to tell me I’m a horrible friend,” Crowe continued, his tone growing more desperate. “Call me out of my name, say anything to show you don’t love me. Please—just say it.”

His plea echoed in the silence, raw and unfiltered. The two of you stood frozen, your eyes locked in an exchange that said more than words ever could.

For a mere second, your gaze locked onto Crowe’s, your mind spiraling into chaos. Thoughts crashed and tangled in your head, an unrelenting storm you couldn’t silence. Your heart clenched, each agonizing beat echoing through your chest like a dull, relentless ache. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill, blurring your vision. But they couldn’t obscure the pain carved into his face—the rawness, the unguarded ache that mirrored your own.

Your throat tightened as emotions warred within you. You wanted to shout at him—to scream that he was a fool, reckless and naïve for loving you, for entrusting his heart so willingly into hands you weren’t sure could hold it. A bitter part of you itched to turn and walk away, to put an insurmountable distance between you, to bury this moment so deeply in your memory that it would never have the power to resurface.

And yet... his face. That look.

It stopped you cold.

His dark skin seemed to glow under the dim light, his deep blue eyes shimmering with an unspoken plea. The loose braid draped over his right shoulder swayed slightly as he shifted, and a few wayward strands framed his face, carelessly tucked behind his ear but now slipping free to shadow his gaze. He stood just inches from you, head tilted downward, his presence overwhelming in its intimacy.

It shattered you.

The vulnerability in his expression, the quiet desperation painted across his features, and the faint tremor in his breath pulled at you, unraveling every thought of escape. His hope, fragile yet unyielding, clung to you like a lifeline, binding your feet to the ground.

Your hand rose instinctively, trembling as it hovered in the space between you. Hesitation held you captive for a moment longer before you closed the gap, your palm pressing gently against his chest.

Beneath your touch, you felt it—his heart.

It beat unevenly, a raw and unsteady rhythm, a testament to the weight of the moment. That rhythm echoed the truth of what he had laid bare before you, fragile and precious as if daring you to break it.

And you, stood there, caught in a fragile silence, suspended between everything you wanted to say and everything you feared to admit. Your voice, when it came, was soft, fractured, barely more than a whisper. “...I can’t.”

The words slipped from your lips, fragile and small, but they carried the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Crowe’s breath hitched, his entire frame trembling under your touch. The silence between you deepened, heavy with the unspoken truth, and the tears that finally spilled down your cheeks mirrored the storm raging inside you.

He took your trembling hand in his, his thumb brushing delicately over your knuckles in slow, comforting circles. The warmth of his touch was steady, but his heart hammered in his chest, betraying the calm façade he was trying to maintain. The words you had spoken hung heavy in the air, their weight pressing down on him.

“…you can’t?” His voice was soft, and gentle, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you. Yet, there was a quiet desperation in his tone, an unspoken plea for clarity, for something to hold on to amidst the confusion.

Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. It burned with a mixture of pain, hope, and an emotion you couldn’t name—something you couldn’t allow yourself to name. Your entire body trembled, caught in a storm of emotions too overwhelming to contain.

A shaky breath slipped past your lips, your chest rising and falling unevenly. Your free hand curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching it as though it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. The weight of your unsaid words felt unbearable, pressing against your throat, yet when you finally spoke, your voice was no more than a whisper.

“I’m not what you want,” you admitted, each word laced with anguish. “You don’t wish for a life with me. I see it in the way you look past me... in the things you don’t say.”

His brows furrowed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the unsteady rhythm of your breathing.

“I didn’t care to tell you,” you continued, your voice trembling with raw emotion. “Where we were... what we’ve shared... it’s enough to show. Isn’t it?”

Your grip on his shirt tightened as if holding on might keep your heart from breaking apart. “I don’t...” The words caught in your throat, suffocating you with their weight. You faltered, unable to finish. Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall, as the vulnerability you’d fought so hard to suppress came pouring through the cracks in your resolve.

Crowe’s heart clenched painfully with every word you spoke, each syllable carving deep into his soul. The sight of you so conflicted, so hurt, was unbearable. It was as if the weight of your pain had reached out and wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing tightly until he could scarcely breathe.

“That’s not true…” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. The gentle firmness of his tone carried a quiet desperation, a plea hidden beneath his words. His fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly, as he cupped your chin. His touch was tender like he feared you might shatter under his hand. Slowly, he guided your gaze to meet his, needing you to see the depth of his sincerity. His own eyes, usually so steady, now brimmed with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

“I do want a future with you,” he said, his voice cracking ever so faintly, betraying the storm of emotions swirling just beneath his carefully composed exterior. His hands trembled slightly, fingers curling into fists at his sides as if bracing himself against an unseen force. “I don’t care where we are, as long as it’s with you.”

His gaze faltered for a heartbeat, his lashes lowering as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The weight of the words he was about to utter seemed to press down on him like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the vulnerability he had tried so hard to avoid. Lifting his eyes again, he locked onto yours with a piercing intensity, the oceanic blue depths searching your face for a flicker of reassurance, of hope, anything that might ease the ache of uncertainty in his chest.

“But I need to know…” His voice cracked, trembling as if it might break under the weight of the question. “Do you want a future with me?”

The air between you thickened, heavy with the tension of unspoken fears and fragile truths. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Even the faint rustle of the wind outside stilled, as though the universe itself held its breath, waiting for your answer. His eyes—vulnerable, pleading—bore into yours, searching desperately for something he couldn’t bring himself to articulate. His jaw tightened as he swallowed hard, a muscle feathering in his cheek, betraying the storm within.

And then it broke.

“I do! I love you!” The words tore from you, raw and unrestrained, your voice shaking with the force of emotions you could no longer contain. Your hands flew to your face, trembling as tears spilled over your cheeks in hot, stinging rivers. Each tear carried the weight of all you had suppressed—the love too overwhelming to admit, the fear of losing him, the doubts you had wrestled with in the quiet hours of the night.

Your chest heaved with each breath, a desperate attempt to steady yourself as you took a trembling step closer. “I’ve always wanted to be with…” you sobbed, your voice cracking with the vulnerability you had fought so hard to keep hidden. The admission felt like tearing down walls you had spent years building, leaving you exposed, bare, and utterly honest.

Crowe’s breath caught, his chest tightening at the sight of you unraveling. He gently cradled your face, his thumb brushing away the hot tears as they fell, his heart torn between elation and heartbreak. He’d longed to hear those words, but seeing you like this—so broken, so unsure—left him feeling utterly helpless.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His arms wrapped around you like a shield, as if he could hold you together with sheer will alone. His lips pressed softly against your hair as he murmured, “I’m yours,” his voice steady now, “Always.”

But your body stiffened against him, and you pushed him away, your touch hesitant, almost apologetic. The distance you forced between you felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. The word was small and quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm. “I don’t want you here with me.” Your voice wavered, each word like glass splintering in your throat. “I… I’m not worth it, Jericho. I never was, and I never will be.”

You looked away, your hands trembling as you struggled to explain. “You and I… we’re too different. Your life—it’s so full of light. And me? I’m just… I’m a shadow. A burden. Every day, you’re so kind, and so patient, and I don’t know why. What do you even see in me? What do you want from me?”

Crowe’s heart broke into pieces at your words, the cracks spreading like ice on a frozen lake. His hands shot out to grip your arms firmly but gently, grounding you as he fought to steady his voice.

“How can you say that?!” he exclaimed, his tone carrying a sharp edge of pain. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he searched your face, desperate to make you see what he saw. “You are worth everything to me! Everything.”

His grip tightened, not to restrain, but to hold you steady, as if he feared you might slip away entirely. “I don’t want anything from you. I never have. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath, trying to push down the swell of frustration and sadness that threatened to consume him. “Why do you think you’re a burden to me? Don’t you see? You’re not. You never were. You’re my world. And if I have to spend every single day proving that to you, I will. But please…” His voice softened, his forehead resting against yours. “Please don’t push me away.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by his words, by the intensity of his gaze, by the unwavering devotion in his voice.

For the first time, you let yourself feel the enormity of his love—a love that terrified you as much as it comforted you. "Stop it," you whispered, but your voice trembled, barely a breath against the thick air that seemed to surround you both.

The tears came fast, hot, and uncontrollable, burning as they streaked down your face. You tried to pull away, to escape the overwhelming rush of emotions flooding you—emotions you couldn’t bear to face.

Why was this happening? Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

You didn’t want to look at him anymore. The pain in your chest tightened, a suffocating weight that threatened to drown you. You didn't want to hear him confess how he felt, didn't want to let yourself believe for even a second that it could be real. You couldn’t afford to give yourself any false hope, not now.

“It’s... I—” Your voice cracked, faltering as the words tangled in your throat. It was as if everything inside you was shattering, and no matter how hard you tried to hold it together, it all slipped through your fingers.

You couldn’t think.

You couldn’t breathe.

And you couldn’t say what needed to be said, not when every part of you screamed to get away from him, to make him leave. Make him stop looking at you like that, as if you mattered as if you weren't just a burden.

He could see it in your eyes—the desperation, the fear, the overwhelming need to push him away. And yet, despite every effort you made, he didn’t understand.

Why couldn’t you see?

He refused to let go of your arms, his grip tightening with a gentle yet unyielding force that pulled you closer until your bodies were pressed together in the most intimate way possible. He refused to let you turn away, refusing to let you hide from him.

“No,” he murmured, his voice soft but unwavering, searching your face, his eyes piercing through the walls you’d built around yourself. “Tell me, why do you think you’re a burden to me...?” His voice softened, yet there was a quiet strength in it as if he needed you to hear this, to understand that this wasn’t just about him—this was about you, too.

You fought desperately to keep the sobs from breaking free, but with each word he spoke, your resolve unraveled, crumbling into a thousand fragile pieces. It felt unfair—the rawness of what he was making you confront, the painful truths he was forcing you to voice, truths you’d hidden deep inside, locked away where no one could see them.

The weight of everything pressing down on you became too much, and the tears finally fell, unbidden and unchecked. They streaked down your face, each one like a silent confession, and the words that followed were sharp, jagged, and full of the hurt you’d buried for so long.

"I...I’m always too much. I’m...I’m not enough... That’s all I’ve ever been."

He couldn’t understand why you believed it—why you thought you were too much when all he saw was someone who was everything. But the anguish in your voice told him this was no simple admission; this was a revelation, raw and real. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his arms unyielding, encircling you in a protective embrace. His chest pressed against your trembling body, his warmth a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside.

"You’re never too much," he said, his voice thick with conviction, with a fire that burned through the pain. "You’re always more than enough."

He rested his chin on your head, the words settling between you both like a fragile promise, as he felt the weight of your tears soaking into his shirt, your body shaking with the intensity of your emotions.

In his arms, you felt exposed, your vulnerability laid bare in a way that terrified you. Every tremor in your body was a reminder of how small and helpless you felt, and it made you want to pull away. But Crowe held you tight, his embrace a lifeline that both soothed and shattered your heart.

You buried your face against his chest, unable to stop the flood of emotion, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke through your tears.

"You’re an idiot," you choked out, your words soaked in sorrow, self-doubt, and shame.

Crowe let out a soft, almost tender chuckle, his fingers gently threading through your hair as he held you even closer. "Maybe I am an idiot," he murmured, the weight of your pain heavy in his words. "But I’m an idiot in love with you."

His confession hung in the air, and your heart skipped, the words reverberating in your mind like a distant echo, soft and haunting.

In love with you...

It was a truth that seemed too unreal to accept, but your heart fluttered painfully in your chest, trapped by the weight of it. It felt as though it were desperately trying to break free, like a bird clawing at the bars of its cage, yearning to take flight but held back by everything you’d ever believed about yourself.

And yet, in his arms, something shifted. The ache didn’t vanish, but it softened, mingling with a strange, bittersweet warmth—hope and despair tangled together, impossible to untangle.

With a shuddering breath, you clung to Crowe, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for some tangible connection that would ground you, that would prove the words he spoke were more than just fleeting assurances. You needed to believe them, to feel the truth in them like a lifeline, even if every part of you doubted your worth.

"Why…?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as the vulnerability in your tone betrayed the fortress you’d built around your emotions. It quivered, heavy with a question you had long tried to suppress. "Why are you even in love with me...?"

The air seemed to hold its breath.

He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. His response wasn’t in words—at least, not at first. Instead, it was in the way his hands slid with unspoken reverence along your thighs, warm and deliberate, his touch leaving a trail of electricity that ignited every nerve in its path. His fingers curled slightly, anchoring you to him, as if you might disappear if he let go.

He leaned in closer—closer than you thought possible, his movements smooth and deliberate, as though every inch he bridged between you had been planned in his mind a thousand times before. The faintest brush of his breath ghosted against your cheek, and then your lips, leaving you breathless before he even touched you.

With a soft but insistent motion, he lifted you onto the edge of the desk, the cool surface grounding you amidst the rising storm inside. His hands remained steady, one firm at the curve of your waist, the other lingering on your thigh, his thumb tracing gentle circles that felt almost reverent. The act wasn’t rushed, nor hesitant—it was as though he were grounding himself, tethering both of you in this shared moment.

Your faces aligned, the closeness so profound you could see every detail in his expression—the way his eyes held yours, unwavering, filled with something raw and consuming. That intensity rooted you in place, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the weight of his longing.

"Because," he finally murmured, his voice low and full of conviction, "loving you isn’t a choice. It’s like breathing—unconscious, instinctual, something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to."

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and as his lips hovered millimeters from yours, “There are so many reasons I love you..." His voice was soft, a low murmur that seemed to echo in the silence between you.

His sincerity cut through the space, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "You're so kind, so gentle... even the parts of you try to hide from everyone else."

Your chest tightened, every word he spoke seemed to reach deeper, stripping away the layers of doubt and fear you had built up over the years. But there was more—there was so much more that you weren’t prepared to hear.

He paused, his breath catching, and for a moment, it seemed like the weight of his emotions almost took him off guard. He exhaled slowly, his words coming out, "You're beautiful, smart, strong... and," he hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heartache. "From the moment I saw you trying to protect yourself, even when it looked like everything was going against you... when those guys tried to hurt you, and I ran in, only to get beat up myself—but the way you smiled after... after you had avoided me for so long... I realized then that I had fallen for you. Desperately. I love you more than I can say."

His confession knocked the breath from your lungs. Your heart stuttered in your chest, your mind reeling with the intensity of his words. He had seen that moment—the one you thought you could bury forever. The moment when you’d been cornered, vulnerable, and yet, somehow, you found the courage to stand your ground.

He had seen it all, no matter how long you avoid him, and still, he loves you.

Tears welled in your eyes, but they fell freely now, no longer hidden behind the walls you’d spent so long building. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, the emotional tidal wave crashing through you, leaving you breathless. Your hands remained clutching his shirt as if letting go would mean losing this feeling, this unspoken truth you didn’t know you needed.

"And my heart calls for your name. Every day…" you mumbled, your voice trembling under the weight of emotions you’d tried to suppress for what felt like forever. "No matter how many times I tried to stop it, it didn’t listen to me."

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it met yours, though worry flickered at the edges. His lips curled into that familiar, dumb smile, the one that always seemed to deflect his deeper emotions. But his voice betrayed him, low and tinged with a concern that sent your stomach into knots. "If that's true, then why have you been avoiding me?"

The space between you was electric, the kind of silence that pulled at your chest, threatening to unravel you completely. You bit your lip, hesitating as your fingers brushed against the leaves of a nearby plant—something to ground you amidst the chaos inside. When you finally spoke, the words barely rose above the suffocating warmth of the greenhouse. "I didn’t know what to say."

His brows drew together, his smile faltering into something more genuine, more raw. "What do you mean? You’ve never had trouble talking to me before," he said, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

You shook your head slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze this time, even though it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. "It’s different now," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly.

Crowe’s eyes searched yours, desperate to understand. "What’s different?"

You took a shaky breath, the humid air thick in your lungs as though the weight of the moment mirrored the dense foliage surrounding you. His presence was overwhelming—the faint scent of his cologne, the way his fingers fidgeted as if resisting the urge to reach out to you.

It all only made it harder to speak, but you forced the words out anyway, your voice fragile, each syllable trembling with the weight of unspoken truths.

"Because I…" you began, swallowing hard. "I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel like you owe me something. You’ve always been so… you. Full of ambition, full of drive, building these milestones for yourself that are so much bigger than anything I could ever imagine for me. I don’t want to… I don’t want to be something you’re burdened by." The confession tumbled out like rocks, sharp and heavy, scraping against your throat.

Crowe’s eyes softened, his dumb smile fading into something far more sincere. "A burden?" he echoed, as though the very thought was absurd. Slowly, he reached out, his hand hovering for just a moment before brushing against yours. "You think… that’s what you are to me?"

You shook your head quickly, even as your eyes burned with the threat of tears. "I’m scared, Crowe. Scared that one day, you’ll look at me and realize you deserve someone who doesn’t second-guess everything. Someone who can keep up with you."

He leaned even closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. "You don’t get it, do you?" he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "Every time I look at you, I don’t see a burden. I see someone I want to protect, someone I want to be around. Even when you overwork yourself, even when you’re too hard on yourself—hell, especially then."

His words made your chest tighten, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "But why? Why do you care so much? I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that."

Crowe chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief, and that dumb, lopsided smile returned. "You don’t have to do anything to deserve it. It’s just you. And you’re worth every second of it."

You swallowed hard, his words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into deep water. His gaze never wavered, holding you captive in its intensity. Slowly, he stepped closer, each movement deliberate, as if he were drawn by an unseen force he could no longer resist. His hand, strong and steady, found yours, his fingers curling fully around your own in a gesture so simple yet so profound.

“And for the record,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air between you, “you’re the reason I’ve been able to keep going. So stop thinking I’m looking out for you because I feel like I have to. I’m looking out for you because…” His words trailed off for a heartbeat, his breath brushing your skin, before he finished with a raw vulnerability that left no room for doubt. “...you’re my reason.”

The world seemed to pause, the weight of his confession pressing against you like the tide before it crashed to shore.

You barely had time to process it before he closed the remaining distance. His lips met yours in a rush of fervent need and quiet tenderness, a perfect contradiction that stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was a confession in itself, fierce in its certainty yet impossibly gentle, as though he feared you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

His hands moved, one sliding up to cup the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, the other resting firmly at the small of your back, pulling you closer still. His touch was unyielding yet reverent like a vow made flesh. In that instant, all the doubts and fears you’d carried crumbled, falling away like ash in the wind.

His kiss whispered truths your heart had longed to believe: that you were wanted, needed—not out of duty or pity, but for exactly who you were.

When the kiss finally broke, it wasn’t an ending but a breath—a moment to steady the hurricane of emotions swirling between you. Your lips tingled, your skin alight with the memory of his touch, and your heart felt as if it might burst from the sheer intensity of it all. A laugh bubbled up unbidden, light, and full of wonder, even as tears clung to your lashes, threatening to spill. This time, they weren’t born of sadness but of something brighter, fuller, more beautiful than words could hold.

Crowe’s forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space you now shared. His eyes searched yours, unguarded, their depths brimming with affection so profound it made your chest ache.

You closed your eyes, allowing the warmth of his presence to wash over you, grounding you, anchoring you. “I wanted to tell you that I was afraid... afraid of being rejected,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaky but full of truth. “But I still wanted you to know." The words felt like a release, as though admitting them was finally freeing you from the weight that had been so familiar.

“This... this burden, of never feeling perfect enough... it’s been with me my whole life.” The words escaped in a near whisper, barely audible, but Crowe caught them. He stood so close that his presence felt like a storm, powerful and inescapable, the intensity in his gaze pinning you in place.

His hand lifted with deliberate slowness as if savoring the space between you before his fingers brushed against your cheek. The warmth of his touch was gentle but firm, commanding your attention in a way that made your heart stutter.

He tilted your chin upward, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw as his eyes locked with yours.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, vibrating with an emotion that reached into your very core. You couldn’t look away, trapped by the sincerity and hunger that burned in his deep blue eyes. “You’re perfect to me. All of you—the fears, the flaws, the cracks you think make you weak. They’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

Your lips parted, the protest forming on your tongue—words meant to warn him, to remind him of the risks of being with you—but they never found the air. He leaned in, his forehead just brushing yours, his breath warm and intoxicating as his lips hovered over yours.

“…The door’s locked,” he whispered, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth, “and there aren’t any cameras in here. No one’s going to interrupt us.”

The promise in his words hung heavy, a shield against the world outside. But his nearness, his unrelenting presence, stole the air from your lungs. His lips found your neck with an aching tenderness, trailing a line of fire across your skin that left you trembling. His hands slid to your waist, unyielding, guiding you backward until the desk’s edge pressed against the backs of your thighs.

“Crowe,” you breathed, your hands resting against his chest, trembling in the heat of the moment, a last, fragile barrier against the pull between you. “We can’t—”

He cut you off with a kiss, gentle at first, teasing, as if tasting the hesitation in your words. His lips were soft, coaxing, but with a hunger that grew the instant your resistance faltered. The kiss deepened, and the world seemed to tilt, the gravity of him drawing you in with an undeniable force.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing against yours with each word, his voice was a low, quiet storm, vibrating through your senses.

“We can,” he whispered, his breath warm and intoxicating against your skin. His hands moved to your hips, firm and confident, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. His movements were fluid, a control that felt almost predatory, but also purposeful, as if he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

"Just this once, please—let me show you," he murmured, his words a promise, a challenge. His tone was unwavering, leaving no room for doubt.

He carried you, each step deliberate, each movement smooth and unhurried, like a predator securing its prey—except this felt different. This wasn’t a conquest; it was an invitation, of surrender and longing. As he set you down on the couch, the soft cushion beneath you was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the tension that radiated off him like an electric charge.

You leaned back into the plush fabric, the weight of his presence pressing against your senses, his fingers moving with practiced precision, undoing the buttons of his vest one by one, each motion slow, deliberate. He let the clothing fall to the floor, the sound of it landing barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

The air between you thickened with anticipation, the pull between you undeniable, each movement a promise, a slow unraveling of everything you had thought was impossible. And yet, here you were, caught in the storm of him, your breath quickening, the crowd of your desires finally, relentlessly, yearning for his touch.

The sound of his long-sleeved shirt buttons coming undone echoed in the stillness of the greenhouse, each one a deliberate step toward vulnerability. His shirt hung open, revealing the faint lines of muscle and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He stood before you, unguarded, his raw vulnerability on display.

His gaze bore into yours, dark and intense, as if every unspoken word between you had finally come to life. "You don't know how long I've dreamed of this," Crowe murmured, his voice thick with yearning, each syllable laced with a deep hunger for the moment that had been building between you both. "To be here with you, to love you without restraint—no games, no walls, just this, just us."

The weight of his words washed over you, the raw emotion in his voice striking a chord deep within. You could feel the air crackling with something undeniable, something that had been brewing for longer than either of you had admitted. His proximity, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, made it hard to breathe. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, every beat erratic, every second stretching between the two of you.

His lips crashed against yours once more, but this time it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release. Each movement, every brush of his lips against yours, was a confession, a surrender of everything he had kept locked away. His mouth moved with a fervor that left you breathless, as though he was desperate to pour out everything he had been holding inside.

His hand slid slowly up your thigh, warm and sure, sending an electric shock through your body. The touch was both possessive and gentle as if he was claiming you yet cherishing you all at once. He shifted slightly, tilting you back with an ease that made your pulse spike, deepening the kiss further, and pushing you to the edge of your control.

A sharp breath left your lips, your hands trembling as you placed them against his chest, trying to regain some semblance of space. "Crowe, we can't do this here," you whispered urgently, voice barely audible, but filled with a tension that threatened to break. You attempted to pull his hand away, but his grip only tightened, firm and unwavering, pulling you closer.

His eyes locked onto yours darkened with desire, yet there was something else there—a rawness, a vulnerability that you hadn't seen before.

"Don’t move," he commanded softly, yet there was a quiet power in his voice that made your heart race even more. His touch never faltered, never wavered. "Not now. Not when I’ve waited so long for you to say the truth.”

The weight of his words, coupled with the heat of his body against yours, held you in place—trapped, but not unwilling. Every inch of you ached with the yearning he had revealed, the long-suppressed need to be close to you, to love you, to finally let go of everything that had kept him distant.

His forehead rested softly against yours, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine as it brushed against your lips. Your senses were overwhelmed by the moment, your gaze drifting downward as the dim, ethereal light of the indoor greenhouse wrapped around him like a cloak.

Shadows danced across his dark brown skin, accentuating the depth of his features, and his deep blue eyes held you in an almost hypnotic gaze. His hair had come loose from its braid, falling around his face with a carefree messiness that made his presence feel all the more magnetic.

The undone buttons of his shirt revealed just enough of his toned chest, the closeness between you thick with an unspoken intensity.

His eyes briefly flicked down to your legs, lingering for a moment before he returned to meet your gaze. Without a word, he moved closer, gently parting your legs with a subtle gesture that spoke volumes of his intention.

"For you to not feel like a burden," he whispered, his voice a soft blend of desire and reassurance, "I need to show you, don't I?"

The words lingered between you, charged with emotion as he moved even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that made your heart race.

"After tonight," he continued, his voice steady yet tender, "you'll never feel like that again." His words, though simple, held a weight that made your breath catch, a quiet vow to erase every doubt and every insecurity that had ever haunted you.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

#the kid at the back x reader #tkatb crowe #tkatb #the kid at the back crowe #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #the kid at the back vn #jericho crowe ichabod #crowe x mc #tkatb angst #tkatb vn #jericho ichabod #the kid at the back jericho

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forestshadow-wolf · 1 day ago

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"I'm telling you, Gaz, I did talk to him."

"Yeah, I know you talked to him. He's even worse now. What the hell did you say, man?"

"Nothing. Just said hi. Asked if he was healing."

"And."

"And what? He said he was. And then.." soap trailed off

"And then what?"

"I don't know, he just wouldn't say anything... it just-" it was weird that saying it outloud some how made it all the more real. "I make him uncomfortable. So I just- hung up."

"You- Tav, you hung up on him?" Gaz asked incredulously, though not in the good way. "Why? Would you do that." He asked like he couldn't believe he was even having to ask.

"Why- because I told him, Kyle! I-" the words caught in his throat, "I told him, and he doesn't feel the same way. And now I make him uncomfortable. So I hung up."

"John." Gaz was still processing. Soap held the silence. "You know that's not true."

"Isn't it, Gaz?" He scoffed, "god, and I was so-" he struggled, for a moment, trying to find the words, "so dumb. I mean why would he ever even look at me if it wasn't for the job." A bitter huff left him, "it's not like I'm particularly pleasant to- he probably already has a bird back home anyway." He couldn't help but laugh at his own stupidity.

"Soap."

"It's not that important. Not as much as news that Price hasn't brought anyone new in yet is. What's up with that?" He really just wanted to move on.

"Tav." But Gaz was never a merciful one to him.

"Just drop it, man."

"John."

"I never should have picked up, okay? He doesn't even want to talk to me. He's probably just mad a team decision was made without him, he'll be fine."

Soap confesses to ghost one late night (maybe at a bar), and Ghost rejecting him because he thinks soap just wants to wet his dick and he can't have JUST that. And then they're sent on a mission, all while soap is still reeling. But Ghost gets captured while on the mission, and soap goes AWOL to find him, and saves him. And then as soon as they get back and Ghost gies to medical, Soap hands Price transfer papers because the Captain can't have a soldier who goes awol, and Ghost can't have a sergeant yearning after him, and soap can't let himself make Ghost uncomfortable. So even before Ghost wakes up in the hospital, soap is packing his bags so he can be ready for his transport the following morning.

#ok I'll do the other part of this later #el reblogs #el rambles #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod #cod mw2

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slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

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Rating: excplict

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea- if people like this I might make it into a fun little series

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings: reader is crazy, joel is a non willing participant-- at first. heavy on the non-con/dub-con. Eventual punishment, cockwarming, snuggling, pet names (for joel) unprotected p in v. so many more if I keep going with this.

This is just a little drabble I wrote to go along with that stupid thing I made in canva.

Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair by ropes that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists.

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna be nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot scream, his voice muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth. Clad in only boxer shorts, a thin t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It's so fucking sexy.

He's still really mad; which sucked!

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, honey," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around your neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

To be continued...?

tagging people that showed interest--- @lilac-boo @gothcsz @sp00kymulderr @xdaddysprincessxx @pedrospookie @almostempty @creepycorbeaux

tell me if I should go on??

thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

#joel miller tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #crazy reader #kidnapped Joel #maybe dead dove #so #don't eat it #joel is angry about this yall

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hellfirenacht · 2 days ago

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No One Mourns The Wicked

Fic Summary: Years after the upside down, you and Eddie return to Hawkins for a small visit.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, angst, established relationship,

Word Count: 1140

Master List

You liked the sound of the crunching leaves under your feet as you and Eddie walked the graveyard outside of Hawkins. It had been years since the two of you returned, not that you two really had much of a choice in that. After the events of Vecna and the Upside Down, being in Hawkins was... complicated.

The two of you had parked a few streets away and snuck into the cemetery. It technically closed when the sun went down, but you couldn’t come during the day. It was too risky for Eddie to be seen. Even years later, the town still had signs up about Eddie the “satanic cult leader” that destroyed Hawkins. Even with his name cleared, the town still blamed him for the murders.

You swear the town got worse in the past few years.

It was a full moon, fitting for the cool October night. You almost didn’t need the flashlight you were carrying, as the moon illuminated your path down endless rows of headstones. You still kept it on for safety, and because Eddie was busy carrying the blanket and the picnic basket and you didn’t want either of you to fall.

The grave the two of you were looking for was tucked at the end of the cemetery, in a plot by a hill that not many people wandered to. You assumed because no one would want to be buried next to the man who supposedly cursed the town with his dying breath.

There were a few graves you needed to pass by before making it to your final destination. Fred’s grave had been the first one, as he’d been buried next to his grandpa near the front of the cemetery. The two of you had been silent as you laid a lily on his grave. Neither of you had known him well, but his contributions to the school paper had been entertaining at least.

Patrick’s plot was next. Even years later, people were leaving basketballs near his grave. A Hawkin’s Tigers flag was stuck in the ground next to the headstone. Neither of you knew him very well either, which only added to the complicated feelings of tonight.

“I just don’t get it.” Eddie muttered under his breath, and you reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. He squeezed back, tighter, reminding himself that you were there. You set a lily on the grave and then you two kept moving. There wasn’t a lot of time to loiter.

The penultimate grave was the nicest in the graveyard. Fred and Patrick’s seemed like an afterthought compared to Chrissy Cunningham’s. Being the face of tragedy, the town had pulled together and bought her a literal angel statue that looked over the graveyard. Her plot was spotless, and there were already fresh flowers laid at the feet of the angel. You set your lily down, while Eddie stared up at the angel that was too good and pure to even look at him.

Of the three victims of Vecna, Chrissy was the one Eddie struggled with most. How could he not? He had seen her murdered, just as the two had formed the most tentative friendship. The two of you stood under the unblinking gaze of the cold stone for a long while. You could see the ghosts of that night in his eyes, the pain and guilt eating him alive. You took his hand again, and he held onto it like a lifeline for a long while.

Eddie finally tore his gaze away from the statue, and looked at his hands as if they were the reason she was dead, and not the reason why everyone had been able to stop Vecna. He pulled off one of his rings, the cross with the skulls, and set it at the foot of the angel before turning back to you.

The normally chatty Eddie was quiet for the rest of the walk, and stopped when he saw the grave marker of your final destination. He’d seen the headstone twice now, once when the two of you were given the new paperwork, and once the night you two left Hawkins.

It was just as numbing to look at as it was that first time.

Eddie’s grave was the least kept of all of the plots in the cemetery. You were surprised that it was even still there. You’d heard that there had been protests about having his grave in the same cemetery as the others. That thought alone made your chest tight and your eyes sting.

Despite the anger inside of you, Eddie seemed more at ease now that you two were at his grave. He laid out the blanket over where his non-existent body would be buried and took the basket from you as you continued to stare at the headstone.

It was covered in graffiti, damning the man who was allegedly six feet under. Satanic symbols of sharpie and spray paint covered the headstone, and you felt your eyes start to sting with tears.

EDDIE MUNSON BURNS IN HELL.

If that was true, then your heart burned there, too.

“Hey.” His voice pulled you out of your head and you looked down at him. Eddie motioned for you to sit down and you did. Somehow he seemed less bothered by the words than you did. He pulled out the bottle of cheap wine from the basket and you watched as he uncorked it. The sound echoed through the still graveyard, and you froze for a moment, worried that someone would hear.

The night remained silent though, and Eddie took a drink directly from the bottle. No need for glasses or cups when drinking next to your own grave.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the bottle to you. His attention was now back on his grave.

“Where are you?” Eddie asked, leaning back against the headstone, looking over the barren plots around you.

You were right next to him, but felt like a million miles away. That’s not what he was asking though.

“Cremated.” you said simply, taking your own drink from the bottle. “Disappeared. Probably fell into one of the cracks when the earthquake hit. I don’t know. My body was never found.”

Eddie nodded. The two of you didn’t talk much about what you had left behind that night. “You’d think they’d at least give people a place to visit you.”

You leaned against Eddie, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You took another drink from the bottle and looked up at the stars. Despite being shoved in a corner, you think that maybe Eddie had the nicest view of the sky.

“If anyone wanted to visit my resting place, they’d visit you.” you said after a moment. “Because I’ll always be wherever you are.”

Author Notes: This was originally going to be longer but I couldn't be assed with how bad my writers block has been.

Tag List: @wheels-of-despair @ihaventgotaclue-really @crocwork-clockodile @hellfiredarling @cyanfairywren

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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kyunniebuns · 2 days ago

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˗ˏˋ Entry : 055 - Big Brother! Sylus x Little Sister! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ tw: contains some spoilers for his myth except i dont fully understand but all ik is waw dragon man ayeeee. Child abuse mentioned as well as human trafficking. Murder and body horror. pure fluff ending btw....]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Hush Little Bird, Brother is Here to Keep You Safe ] ¡! ❞

Sylus had finally awaken from a long and tiring slumber that felt like he would be asleep for an eternity. But somehow he had awaken... In a body of a child.

His tall and proud body reduced to a bunch of stick and bones. He's wearing an oversized white shirt. He takes a deep sigh and decides to look at his reflection on a puddle.

Surely enough, he still has the bloody crimson eyes and the same silver hair except his masculine body is that of an 12-year old's.

Great.

Just great.

He died a miserable death in the arms of his beloved and yet here he is in the body of a child.

How the hell is he supposed to survive in this case?

"...."

Sylus takes a deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He needs to figure out what the hell to do before setting off to look for his dearest.

He'll figure it out.

He has to.

꒰ .... ꒱

Sylus managed to figure out how the world works through some snooping and watching other mortals go about their days. He figures out that the 'city' he resides in is known as the n109 zone. It's an underground city similar to the slums of his time full of crime and well... Danger.

Not that he's afraid of course.

Sylus had already managed to make a living through street fights and occasionally stealing from oblivious passerbys.

What else can he do for now anyway?

It's demeaning in his honor as a proud dragon who once guarded a cave of luxuries but he needs to live.

This city he's in leaves everyone struggling in it's murky alleys.

It was either he succumbs to it's mercy or he overcomes everything as the topdog.

Survival is his priority if he wants to find that person again. He needs to make a name for himself and secure money in order to live in this brutal world where anything and everything is after his throat.

Cough... Cough....

He hears small sounds coming from behind a slanted signboard abandoned on the side of the alleyway. It sounded like it comes from a little girl.

Against his logic to leave it alone incase it might be a catfish pretending to be a helpless child— Sylus cautiously approaches the sign board and peers underneath it.

And there, he finds a little girl all ruffled up with her hair sticking everywhere, dressed in a makeshift adult shirt covered in grime and dirt.

Sensing his snooping, she lifts her tiny little face and looks up at him with her wide and tired beady eyes.

"...." Sylus stares back at her for a while before reaching behind him and handing her a pack of crackers.

After that, he just gets up and leaves her be.

What good is there to bring deadweight on you? She's a child, she'll be a hindrance to him. Giving her some food should sustain her enough to survive a few more days.

꒰ .... ꒱

Maybe he shouldn't have helped the little girl back then.

It's been three days since she started following him around whenever he's out to pickpocket or get into street fights to make some money.

She's a stubborn one.

But a clever little girl too.

She knows how to utilize her small body well to hide herself from the adults and everyone else. She never once got him into a tricky situation.

Oddly enough, Sylus had a feeling she knew more of the city than he did since she always manages to pop up anywhere he is and disappear just as fast whenever she senses danger.

At least he doesn't have to worry about her getting mixed up into the mess he gets himself into.

... Why is he worried about her anyway?

Ugh.

Anyway.

Sylus just finished one of his matches and secured a hefty sum as well as some food to sustain himself with.

Humans in this age are really fragile bastards. How come they're shitty at even the most basic fight? Their fighting forms are all over the place and it's pure bullshit they call themselves proud fighters!

They mind as well frolic in the arena waving their stupid delusions of being top fighters.

It irritates him to no end that they are no match eve a twelve-year-old's body but atleast he has it easier in building himself a name in this shitty place.

"You're here again, sweetie" Sylus said coolly as he lifted a cardboard box where the little girl was hiding herself in while watching him fight. "Aren't you scared someone might sit down on this wobbly box and crush your cute little body?"

"..." She starts giggling as she shows him a toothy smile with a missing front tooth.

'Does she think I'm playing with her?' Sylus thought as he watched her jump in her steps when she stood up and took his hand with her smaller ones.

The little girl started dragging him by his hand and leading him somewhere.

"You..." Sylus sighs and lets himself be dragged by her.

He followed her through winding alleyways and even went so far as entering a pipe just hanging in the backside of the tall buiding of n109 zone. When they came out of the dripping and dark pipe, they arrives at a makeshift base made in a withered and empty building.

It's lightsource is nothing more than a flickering light bulb and the contents of the little fort held up by sticks is a small blanket serving as a bed and a ruined bunny plush that is covered in dirt and dust.

"!!!!" She rummages on a box she had stashed under the blankets and pulls out a piece of bread then offers it to Sylus with twinkling eyes. "Brother... Eat!!!"

He was quite for a little while, scrunching his nose at her little action.

Regardless, he takes it and takes a small bite out of it before shoving the bread to her little mouth.

"Much appreciated, sweetheart" He said, glancing at her with less hostile crimson orbs. "But I'd rather you eat this."

Sylus made sure she finished the food before laying down on the makeshift bed, crossing his arms behind his bed.

He didn't have shelter yet, and since the little girl was so kind and naive enough to lead him to her hideout— What else should he do but rest? He has a lot to do tomorrow and he cant go around sleeping on the streets like he usually did.

So mind as well, right?

꒰ .... ꒱

In contrary to his previous thoughts, he ended up taking care of the little girl who always followed him around quietly or running behind him calling him "Brother, brother!" with that awfully cute voice of hers.

She's just like a stray kitten that he can't shake off no matter what he did.

Does he push her away? A few days back he would have, but now?

Yeah. No.

Absolutely Not.

It's another day of pickpocketing and petty street fights.

Sylus knew his shenanigans are going to catch up to him, but does it have to be so soon?

"Ack!" Sylus groans as he was hit with a pipe straight to his stomach.

He curls himself on the floor, panting heavily as he tries to school himself.

'These... Bastards!' He curses at them repeatedly in his head.

The fuckers followed him all the way to the back alley and ganged up on him in revenge for humiliating them in the previous fights.

"Fucking little shit" One of the men scowls, inhaling his smoke then stomping it out on the floor after blowing it out while his face is black and blue from being hit by Sylus earlier. "That son of a bitch put up a fight despite already being tired. What the fuck is he anyway? A fucking monster?"

"Shit, that must be it" Another sneers, kicking Sylus's stomach when he was already down. "What should we do with the bitch anyway?"

"Break his fucking legs, maybe even cut off his arms"

They laugh wickedly at that, making Sylus feel more pissed off at them.

"B-brother!" He hears a familiar voice crying out for him.

"What the hell?!" Another one of the group grabs the girl by yanking her back by her hair. "Why is there another rat here?"

"She's young?" The main perpetrator moves forward, ignoring Sylus's hand that grabbed his ankle to try and stop him.

"Don't touch her!" Sylus yells desperately, coughing out blood when his head was slammed down on the pavement.

"Must be his sister?" The one holding his head down laughs.

"Nah, I see no resemblance, this bitch looks like trash" The head man yanks the little girl's face. "She's around 5 or six? Maybe even younger? Either way, she'd fetch a good price at the black market"

"!!!!" She wriggles out of his hand and bites it, causing the fucker to pulls his hand out and hiss at the sharp pain.

"Fucking dipshit! She's just like that brother of hers!"

Sylus's eyes widened when he saw the same hand raise itself— About to hit her.

'Wake up.'

'WAKE UP'

'I'M TELLING YOU TO FUCKING WAKE UP!'

Boom.

An explosion suddenly resounded in the otherwise decrepit alleyway.

The hand that was holding Sylus down exploded, blood splatter painting the walls and falling onto his dirty silver hair.

He stands up, breathing heavily as crimson black wisps covered himfrom head to toe. Blood dribbles from his mouth to his chin, creating a wicked image with his bloodshot eyes.

The men attempt to scatter and call for help, but they only ended up having heads either severed or their limbs exploding.

He raises a hand towards the fucker that tried to hurt his dearest little sister.

"You..." He snarls, his red eyes overflowing with absolute malice. "I don't give a fuck even if you kidnap me to beat the living shit out of me, but involving my little sister who has nothing to do with anything crosses the line."

And with that, the man's head with suddenly explode into nothingness and his body would flop on the floor with a thump.

Blood puddles beneath him as the dead men spill out what they had in them from the injuries he gave them.

Sylus was in great pain.

Regardless, he stumbles towards the little girl he calls his family and tugs her to his chest.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Oh I'm so sorry" Sylus breathes heavily, stroking her head lovingly and placing kisses on her hair. "Brother is sorry, I should've awakened earlier. I'm so sorry."

"Brother... Wahhh!!..." Her loud sobs pierces at his heart, opting Sylus to hold her even tighther.

"Sshh..." He hushes her lovingly. "Brother is here, baby bird. It's alright"

He can't continue on like this.

He needs to be stronger and better.

Not just for the sake of the beloved he is looking for, but for this little girl who clings onto him so weakly.

This sweet little thing who still calls him her family despite the monster that he is.

He isn't really human even, but this girl loves him as a little sibling would for an older brother.

What can he do but to pamper her and shield her away from everything?

And so, he holds her against him, soothing the sweet little thing he calls his beloved sister.

꒰ .... ꒱

Through the years, Sylus rose in the ranks and soon enough was crowned as the Onychinus leader. He became the rightful leader that he should be with all the wealth and power he can flaunt as much as he pleased.

He raised his little sister along with the struggles he went through.

She didn't have to be involved in the bloody things he does, so it's alright that she herself is just hiding away in his home safe from the dangers of the n109 zone.

He is comforted as long as he knows she is safe and sound.

Sylus made sure no one touches her or even aware of her existence as his family.

So, he managed to live a peaceful life with his little sister who often banters with him for fun.

If there's anyone who can be outright shameless and call him insulting names— It's his baby sister who can do it without fearing for her head to be flying.

"Bastard Santa"

"Old man onychinus"

"Walmart edgelord santa claus"

"If only everyone knew that the leader they all fear is shit at singing"

... Yep, totally shameless.

But does he do anything? Nope.

He just teases her back and pinch her cheek as a form of revenge for each insult she throws out to him.

Right now, he was accompanying his little sister in linkon city for their weekly outings. She was quite sickly and fresh air is a need for someone like her with a weak body.

And what better way to do that than to take her out to Linkon since the air here is much more cleaner?

The colors in the city are also brighter, lifting anyone's mood despite the fact he absolutely detests the sunlight.

"So I managed to pull a new five star in the game yester...day." Her voice drifts off as she passes by a tall man.

She turns her little head to the stranger, glancing back at the tall back wearing a black coat over his broad shoulders. His hair is neat and the ebony black locks made him captivating, underneath those black locks are a pair sharp and charming hazel-green eyes behind rectangular glasses that gave him an air of sophistication and maturity.

His features are sharp and extremely handsome, not as intense as her brother's but still giving off this ethereal air to him. He's beautiful with the small bump on his nose, but not as prominent as Sylus's nose bump.

The stranger's gaze is cold but alluring, almost captivating even.

So captivating that she doesn't realize the fact that she is holding her breath.

Sensing her gaze, the man politely nods at her— Causing her to be a bit flustered and nod back before turning back to Sylus.

"Something catch your eye, sweetheart?" Sylus cocks an eyebrow up as his sister suddenly clung onto his arm.

"No, no!" She shakes her head, bashfully hiding her expression with her hair.

"... Is it a handsome man?" He teases, nudging her gently causing a pout on her lips to form. "What? You always tease your brother when it comes to his girlfriend, why can't I have a bit of fun when my baby sister finds someone attractive?"

"...I'm telling Rei-unnie about this!" She spites at Sylus who always chuckles, amused at her little tantrum and then ruffles her hair up with his free hand up.

"Don't grow up too fast, baby sister. Brother isn't willing to walk you down the aisle and hand you off to someone else" Sylus said affectionately, earning him a soft punch from her.

"Oh don't be so dramatic! If you're so upset about the idea then go and propose to Rei-unnie!"

"Help me pick up a ring then?"

"Buy me plushies after~"

꒰ 🪼 A/N: //Gasp!!!. Kyunnie posted twice for a day???!!! Omgg!!!!! Hahah jk x3!!! I was hit with inspiration because I've been daydreaming about being Sylus's baby sister for quite a while now!!!~~~ I'm always rambling to my mootie about this idea because I like the idea of being Sysy's baby sis who roasts him everyday heheh!!! I even sneaked in Zaynie//giggles. My hubbyyy~~~~ Should I make a fic where the other three lads men date sysy's lil sis 🤔🤔🤔. Maybe? Heheh٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡. Soon, one day>:3!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

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