#it went and poofed out of existence

[chaostified]

Some mf came in our room and stole my damn shoes and heels. Nothing else (nothing else we've noticed at least), just these two things.

Btw, my mum works at this hotel so she's a semi-permanent resident, which means that the cleaning staff, who are the only ones with access to all rooms aren't allowed in here.

Honestly, I'm not even mad, I'm just amused as to why did someone steal my shoes of all the damn things.

[buttercupshands]

sudden College au... thing... art

some explanation and general stuff down the cut

basically just me talking in ss discord and then boom

what if college au, but Siffrin is still looping in it too, but a full year (or with Loop whatever month they want) because King keeps failing him and all of their Party

... but why don't years of studying and getting full A+ on EVERYTHING max score every thing WHY IS IT THE START OF THE 3RD YEAR AGAIN

and so this au was born with this thing too, because Loop was the one Siffrin that gives up after learning everything and they can't take taking that exam once more, but oh well

Now they're a teacher that has to help Siffrin with that (and maybe some more) classes that somehow change the name everytime you try to remember it! that a guy with long hair keeps asking about and giving them the worst time of their lifes

and maybe, just maybe having your friends and a favorite teacher still so close, in the same lecture classes one more year... is not that bad?

because they will leave and forget you after this year this over

[godofthestupid]

the muse of art(Sensakizsensei) bestowed upon me a blessing(gavis bettel new outfit reveal) and I shall use it(absolut brainrot) wisely(only bettel fanart for the forseeable future)

[lurkiestvoid]

I JUST. SPENT OVER SIX. FUCKING HOURS. METICULOUSLY WRITING, SOURCING, AND EDITING AN ABSOLUTELY MASSIVE POST. ON MOBILE EVEN!!

AND. THE MILLISECOND I CLICKED "POST."

TUMBLR FUCKING ATE IT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[stringsbasement]

ngl i 100% thought peri would be an antagonist

he's the first fairy in thousands of years, born directly under the lineage of what has to be the most powerful fairy family line in current existence

(cosmo is a von strangle, and also the very reason fairies stopped having babies in the first place. he's incredibly powerful and nobody talks about it for some reason. it's clear peri inherited that destructive potential)

the second he was born, entire fairy species (including his own kin) were out to get him to use his volatile magic for their own selfish goals. he's nearly kidnapped thrice, and almost ends the universe on the same day

the threats keep coming, and he's being dragged to countless adventures that put him at risk. he literally ceases to exist more than once

anyway, i wouldn't be surprised if some form of expectations were placed upon him growing up. maybe not by his family, but he's famous (a teacher described him as such once); in fairy world, he's automatically adored and celebrated by adults and peers alike, which foop antagonizes (and tries to kill) him for

cosmo and wanda would, realistically, of course try to shield him from all this, but no matter what they do, he's inevitably isolated

people either want to use him, put him on a pedestal, or is a universally infamous human godchild who will forget all about him in a matter of years

(cosmo and wanda becoming godparents and learning (choosing) to eventually let go of their kids is one thing, but it can be assumed poof was still a young, underdeveloped child by the time timmy (+chloe, for what it's worth) got his memories wiped

and he sees that timmy's able to live his own happy life without him in it. he lost his brother just like that, and there's nothing he can do despite all his godly powers)

there's so, so many ways he could've gone wrong

thus, my initial thought was that peri was going to be a somewhat petty, "spoiled brat," and him becoming a godparent would be the result of spite or rebellion, which cosmo and wanda would feel entirely responsible for. I HATE MY PARENTS!! yada yada yada

it was a pleasant surprise to see all those clips of them loving each other. and it's not even because i doubted for a second that cosmo and wanda are bad parents, it's just what you usually expect when seeing shows from the 2000s, even if it doesn't make sense

all things considered, i'm very glad they went for the lighthearted silly family trope. not every show needs such conflicts, and showing healthy dynamics are better for kids overall

still, i find it interesting to think about if they'd gone down another route instead. i love me a pathetic cringy villain who tries (fails) to hate the people they love the most

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Crowe has been working himself into the ground dealing with the never-ending mountain of student council paperwork, ridiculous club requests, and—worst of all—the ever-demanding student council president. 

You've begged him, time and time again, to get an assistant, but of course, he refuses. Something about ‘not trusting anyone’ and ‘preferring to suffer in silence’ like some kind of tragic protagonist. So, naturally, you took matters into your own hands. if Crowe won’t take care of himself? Well, you’ll just have to do it for him.

Even if it means driving him absolutely insane in the process.

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

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: this was a request from anon! so, of course, my dumbass turned it into a full-blown story. MIND YOU, I’VE BEEN STRUGGLING WITH THIS FOR THREE WEEKS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THE ENDING. And it's not really poof read as I just annoyed looking at it but i haven’t written crowe in a minute, so here we are.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: overworked student council vp!crowe x assistant!reader, afab!reader, chaotic & teasing, reader takes no shit, boss/assistant relationship, mutual pining, secret relationship, possessive behavior, possessive crowe, sassy reader, fluff and smut, slow burn (kinda), soft dom!crowe, playful sub!reader, and mutual obsession  

Soo……

What’s an assistant? you should already know

Well, an assistant can be a person who helps someone else—or a device, or a product designed to make life easier. Something you’d been telling Jericho Ichabod—sorry, Crowe, Prince Charming himself—that he desperately needed.  

The campus was alive with its usual midday bustle. From noon to around two, the student center became a chaotic mess of movement and noise. 

The hallways were clogged with students threading through the crowd, half-zipped backpacks slung over shoulders, their conversations weaving together into a dull roar.  The on-campus market beeped and whirred as it spat out overpriced snacks, and groups of friends hovered near the food court, laughing, talking, and shoving each other playfully before heading to their next class.  

None of it really registered with you.  

While the rest of the student body thrived in the high-energy atmosphere, instead, you moved at a different pace—faster and more worried.

Your thoughts were elsewhere as Crowe had been on your mind since the moment Geo had texted you while you were in the middle of your classes. ‘He's stuck with more student council crap,’ as Geo had so eloquently put it.  

That wasn’t surprising. 

Crowe had a habit of stretching himself too thin, juggling responsibilities like it was some kind of sport. But what bothered you wasn’t just the workload—it was that, for all his charm and effortless control, he never let anyone see when it got to him.

You’d planned to meet him for lunch today, a rare breather in the middle of his overbooked schedule, but now you weren’t even sure if he’d bother to eat.  

Annoying.  

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you made your way upstairs toward the student council room. It was tucked away in a quieter part of the building, hidden beside the upper-level seating area where students went to eat lunch away from the main chaos. You’d come straight here after class—your day was already done, but his, knowing him, was far from over.  

And if he thought he could brush this off like everything else? 

Yeah, no. Not happening.

The second you reached the door, the noise from the hallway seemed to dull, like the chaos of the outside world just couldn’t quite reach this space. The air felt heavier here, still in a way that made you hesitate. Even the fluorescent lights above barely made a sound, their low hum swallowed by the quiet. It was almost eerie—like stepping into a place that existed just slightly out of sync with the rest of reality.   

Through the small window on the other door, you spotted him.  

Crowe was hunched over his desk, his shoulders drawn tight with the kind of tension that looked like it had settled there hours ago. His head was bent low, nearly buried in a mountain of papers that had practically taken over his entire workspace.

 It wasn’t just a mess—it was a battlefield of assignments, reports, and hastily scribbled sticky notes, some half-crumpled, others barely hanging on. His usual easygoing energy was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was only this heavy, rigid focus that clung to him like a weight.   

His fingers drummed against the desk in a steady, repetitive rhythm—soft, but insistent. You’d seen him do it before, a nervous habit, a tell he probably wasn’t even aware of. The sight of him like this, so unlike himself, made something sink in your chest.

The usual spark in his eyes—the one filled with humor, mischief, that unmistakable Crowe charm—was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, he just looked… drained.  

You hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to step inside or leave him be. Before you could decide, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled you from your thoughts.  

Turning your head, you spotted Geo strolling down the hall, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket. His expression was that signature mix of exasperation and indifference he always seemed to wear, like he was perpetually caught between amusement and suffering.

As he reached you, he let out a deep sigh—whether it was for dramatic effect or genuine exhaustion, it was impossible to tell. 

“He’s been at it since, like, forever,” Geo muttered, jerking his chin toward the window without breaking his stride. His boots scuffed lightly against the floor as he came to a stop beside you, one shoulder propped lazily against the doorframe. 

The bad lighting light from inside the office cast long shadows across his face, but the slight furrow in his brow was still obvious. “Pretty sure he hasn’t even looked up once. Council’s been dumping a mountain of work on him lately.”  

You followed his gaze to the desk across the room. Crowe sat hunched over a chaotic spread of papers, ink stains dotting his fingers as he scribbled something with near-frantic precision.

Again, the lighting itself was casting sharp angles against the exhaustion clinging to him. His normally neat braid was barely form together—stray strands falling into his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

Your frown deepened. “He hasn’t even taken a break?”  

Geo let out a short, exasperated scoff, shaking his head. “Please. When does Jericho ever ask for help? He’s as stubborn as a damn mule when it comes to work—worse, even. Dude acts like taking a breather is some kind of mortal sin.” He tilted his head toward the office, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to concern, though he tried to keep it casual. “I mean, just look at him. He’s running on fumes. Won’t be long before he passes out face-first into those papers.”  

Something twisted uncomfortably in your chest as you studied Crowe. He was always the composed one, the one who had everything under control—even when he didn’t.

But right now? Right now, he just looked... weighed down. Buried under the sheer amount of responsibility he refused to share with anyone else.  

Geo nudged you lightly with his elbow, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You should probably go snap him out of it before he actually fuses with that desk,” he said, tone dry but not unkind. “Just... don’t expect him to admit he needs it.”  

You inhaled quietly before stepping forward, your footsteps barely making a sound on the polished floor. Crowe didn’t react, too absorbed in whatever he was working on. Up close, the signs of his exhaustion were even clearer—dark circles under his deep blue eyes, tension carved into his shoulders, the pencil awkwardly tucked behind his ear like some absentminded afterthought.  

You lingered just long enough to take it all in before leaning down and knocking your knuckles lightly against the wooden desk. “Knock, knock,” you said, keeping your tone light. “It’s me—your lunch date-slash-concerned friend, here to drag you out of your impending paper-induced demise.”  

For the first time in what felt like hours, Crowe blinked and finally looked up. His eyes, wide and unfocused for a split second, darted around in mild panic before recognition settled in, dulling the shock. He blinked sluggishly, like he was dragging himself out of some deep, paper-induced trance, before exhaling through his nose and shifting his gaze back to the disaster zone that was his desk.  

“Oh. Hey,” he mumbled, voice scratchy from what was probably hours of silence. “Didn’t see you there.”  

“Yeah, no kidding. You were about five more minutes away from fusing with these papers.” You crossed your arms, tilting your head as you gave him a once-over. His posture was stiff, shoulders hunched in that telltale way that screamed exhaustion, and the dark circles under his eyes looked even worse up close. “Are you even taking a break? Or let me guess—‘I’m fine, I’ll finish soon,’ right?”  

He mustered up something that might’ve been a smile in another life, but now it just looked strained, like his face wasn’t quite up to the task. “I’m fine,” he said—right on cue. “I’m just trying to catch up. There’s a lot to do... I’ll finish soon.”  

You gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Geo ratted you out,” you informed him, watching as his eye twitched just slightly. “Says you’ve been glued to this desk all morning. So unless you’ve suddenly figured out how to cram ten hours of work into two, I’m calling total BS.”  

Crowe opened his mouth, either to deny or argue—probably both—but you were already moving, plopping yourself onto the edge of his desk without waiting for an invitation. Papers crinkled beneath you, but honestly? He had too many to begin with.   

“Alright,” you announced, clapping your hands together. “New plan. I’m your assistant now. Consider me officially hired.”  

His brows furrowed, somewhere between confused and mildly alarmed. “What?”  

“You heard me.” You grinned, reaching for the nearest folder. “If you won’t take a break, I’m gonna help you power through this so you can. Think of me as your unpaid intern—but better-looking and way more fun to be around.”

Crowe thrust out a hand like a human stop sign, his usual smooth-talking charm dimming under the weight of sheer, soul-crushing exhaustion. “I don’t need an assistant,” he grumbled, voice teetering on the edge of a breakdown. “And definitely not one who thinks ‘alphabetical order’ is a conspiracy theory.”  

You scoffed, waving him off like an irritating fly. “Oh, come on. Filing is just alphabet soup but with extra steps. Besides, it’s either this, or I start making the most obnoxious noises known to mankind until you surrender and flee this room.”  

Crowe stared at you. Hard. You could practically see the internal debate waging behind his tired eyes. He wanted to fight back, to assert some semblance of authority in his own workspace, but let’s be real—he didn’t have the energy for that. 

After what felt like an eternity of silent suffering, he let out a long, suffering sigh, the kind that screamed, ‘I have officially given up on life.’ He dragged a hand down his face. “Fine,” he muttered in defeat. “But don’t touch anything important unless I told you.”  

“Relax,” you chirped, already rifling through a stack of papers with the confidence of someone who absolutely should not be trusted with paperwork. “I’ve got this. What’s the worst that could happen?”  

The worst did happen.  

Many times in fact.

You just didn’t realize it until it was too late.

By the time two weeks had passed, it was like you had unknowingly signed a blood pact with Crowe—minus the actual blood, but definitely with the same level of inescapable obligation. Somehow, without fully realizing how it happened, you had been roped into the prestigious yet completely unpaid role of Crowe’s unofficial official assistant.

Like clockwork, as soon as your classes wrapped up for the day, there you were—reporting for duty like some poor soul enlisted in a student council boot camp, minus the combat training but with twice the paperwork.  

And the workload? 

Oh, it was something else. 

You couldn't make this up if you tried. The sheer volume of tasks dumped on Crowe was enough to make you question whether the entire campus had collectively mistaken him for their personal secretary.

Student club events? His problem. Fraternity and sorority requests? Yup, tossed onto his ever-growing pile. Small-time guest speakers, whose only real compensation was probably free coffee and a handshake? Also somehow his responsibility.  

At one point, you found yourself holding a stack of papers detailing plans for a campus-wide "stress-relief yoga night," and you very nearly asked if Crowe had been secretly elected mayor of the university while you weren’t looking.  

And, because you were clearly a genius with absolutely no impulse control, you had, at some point, volunteered to help him with all of it.

Cleaning up his disaster of a desk? You were on it. Sprinting across campus to drop off forms like some kind of academic carrier pigeon? Already flapping your metaphorical wings. Sitting through excruciating planning meetings for student events? 

Sure, why not? It’s not like watching Crowe argue with five sorority reps over whether they could hold a ‘glow-in-the-dark karaoke night’ in the ‘library’ was a fever dream you ever expected to have—but here you were, living it.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out that Crowe wasn’t just overburdened—he was the burden. A walking, talking monument to suffering.  

“Hey, uh, question,” you said one afternoon, dumping yet another stack of papers onto his already paper-laden desk. You weren’t even sure if there was a desk under there anymore, or if Crowe just sat upon a sacred altar of unfinished paperwork. “How many of these events actually needto go through the student council? Like, for real?”  

“All of them,” Crowe said flatly, not even sparing you a glance as he scribbled furiously on some poor soul’s event approval form.  

“No, no, I mean…” You leaned in, lowering your voice as if you were about to drop some grand revelation. “How many actually need to go through you?”  

Crowe finally paused, pen hovering mid-signature as he slowly—painfully slowly—lifted his gaze to meet yours. His expression was the physical embodiment of ‘I will throw you out of this room myself.’  

“All of them,” he repeated, but this time, slower. Like that somehow made it less absurd.  

Sometime later, while you were valiantly battling yet another stack of event proposals—seriously, why were there so many bake sales?—you dramatically collapsed into the chair across from him.  

“So, uh,” you drawled, tossing a paper into the abyss that was Crowe’s inbox, “is this a student council or a circus? Be honest.”  

Crowe didn’t even look up. Didn’t even hesitate.  

“Yes.”

What.

Anyway, somehow, even with all the chaos, you managed to find a rhythm in it all. Cleaning Crowe’s desk became second nature—so much so that you started questioning if you had become some kind of sentient maid. You even unearthed what could only be described as a historical artifact: a half-eaten sandwich wedged between two stacks of papers. Given its fossilized state, you figured it was either from last semester or from the founding days of the school itself.  

Running errands across campus turned into an unintentional workout program. Who needed a gym membership when you were speed-walking between buildings, dodging rogue club recruiters, and carrying stacks of paperwork heavier than your will to live?  

And attending meetings? That became your personal form of entertainment. You even started timing how long it would take before someone made an absolutely insane request—your record was three minutes. The last champion was some guy from the Gardening Club who tried to get funding for a “therapeutic koi pond.” In the middle of the cafeteria.  

Today, though, you and Crowe were actually making progress, discussing the upcoming club events without any major disturbances. A miracle, honestly.  

Then the door slammed open.  

What waltzed was him—the student council president, looking like he had just stepped off a runway and onto your last nerve. He was an upperclassman with the kind of aura that screamed, ‘I was born better than you, and I will remind you every chance I get.’ 

“Ichabod,” he drawled as if merely saying Crowe’s name was a task beneath him. Then, with all the grace of a medieval tax collector, he dumped another towering stack of paperwork onto Crowe’s desk, causing several precariously balanced forms to slide to the floor. “More approvals. Get them done.”  

Crowe had been hunched over, pen in hand, scribbling out what seemed like his last remaining shred of hope. But as soon as the president stormed in, dropping the latest avalanche of paperwork onto the desk, he froze. His hand hovered in the air for a moment—was he about to launch his pen at the door, or was he just letting the despair wash over him? 

You couldn’t tell, but you knew Crowe had just about hit his limit. He closed his eyes briefly. Was he praying? Meditating? Or was he visualizing the sweet, sweet release of just escaping this nightmare by launching himself through the window?

It was hard to say.

You, on the other hand, were getting mildly entertained by the absurdity of the situation. "Wow," you said, blinking at the fresh chaos that had just descended upon the desk. "I didn’t know you were accepting job applications for ‘Official Paperwork Mule.’"

The president—who had somehow magically entered the room without making a sound, like some kind of overpriced ninja—turned his icy gaze on you. He looked you up and down with all the disdain of someone who had just stepped in a puddle of something they’d prefer not to identify, his eyes narrowing like you’d just insulted his firstborn. "Oh, you're still here?" His voice dripped with condescension. "How quaint."

You couldn’t help but grin. You had been waiting for this. "Yep. Unlike the funding you approved for that haunted house event last week." You paused for effect, casually flipping through the pile of forms as if you weren’t even phased. "I suggest you get to it quick, though, before I let the officials know about your… interesting decisions."

Crowe made a noise. It was an odd noise—something between a strangled laugh and a desperate cough. He tried to cover it up, but the damage was done.

The president, however, either completely oblivious or choosing not to dignify your retort with a response, turned back to Crowe with the practiced air of someone who thought his very presence should be worshipped. "This needs to be finished today."

“Of course it does,” Crowe muttered under his breath, already sinking into the depths of his inevitable paperwork doom. You could practically hear the weight of his soul dragging itself down further into the abyss.

The president gave a tight, self-satisfied smile, like he’d just handed down some sort of royal decree, and turned on his heel to exit the room. His steps were as calculated and ridiculous as his whole existence. You couldn’t help but notice his outfit—tailored suit, perfectly polished shoes, and the kind of cologne that probably cost more than your tuition. 

It was almost as if he thought his appearance alone could somehow make him better than everyone else in the room. It was adorable.

He was halfway out the door when you casually called after him, "Hey, by the way—are you wearing that suit to go rescue puppies or attend a high-society funeral?"

The president paused, looking over his shoulder at you with an expression that could’ve been carved into marble. He said nothing, but his eyes briefly flashed with the kind of ‘I’ll ruin you’ look that only the truly entitled could master. 

You, however, weren’t even remotely phased.

"Yeah, I thought so," you added, pushing another pile of forms onto Crowe’s desk. "You’ve got the whole ‘I’m better than everyone’ look down, but next time, maybe try not looking like you belong in a museum." 

Crowe groaned as the door slammed shut, leaving the two of you alone with the mountain of paperwork once more. You sighed, nudging a piece of paper that had somehow escaped the clutches of the abyss. "So… koi pond in the cafeteria is looking less ridiculous by the minute, huh?" 

Crowe didn’t answer.

He was too busy looking like he might spontaneously combust from exhaustion, or maybe just give up on life entirely. You considered offering him a donut or a bucket of coffee, but really, at this point, nothing was going to save him.

“Crowe? You good?” you asked, leaning in closer. His entire posture screamed ‘I’m about to faceplant into this paperwork and never wake up’. You wondered if he was trying to figure out how to escape into the sweet oblivion of the nearest nap corner or if he was plotting his own demise. At this point, it could go either way.

“I’m... fine,” he muttered, but the way his hand slid across the desk in slow motion, like he was having a mental breakdown in real-time, told you everything you needed to know.  

“You sure? You look like you’re one coffee away from crying on a stack of forms."

Crowe groaned, a sound so filled with despair it could’ve been the opening line to a sad indie movie. “I just want to finish one thing today, ‘just one thing,’ without someone handing me more stupid paperwork. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Probably,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “But, hey, that’s what you signed up for, right? Like, what was your grand plan here? To turn the student council into your own personal administrative hell?”

Crowe shot you a glance that was somewhere between ‘I could kill you’ and ‘Please, for the love of all that’s holy, be quiet.’ You could practically see the little clock in his head ticking down, counting how much longer he could withstand his own existence before he collapsed in the pile of paperwork like some sort of sad, overworked martyr.  

"At least give me a minute to process the chaos." His voice had that exhausted, cracked tone that made you wonder if he’d been functioning on three hours of sleep for the past week.  

You took pity on him. "Alright, alright," you said, grabbing the latest stack of event forms and flipping through them. "Let’s at least start brainstorming for these. I’m guessing half of these are doomed from the start.”

Crowe’s response was a wordless nod, his head still resting on his hand as if that would somehow reboot his brain. It looked like he might pass out at any moment, but somehow, he managed to pull himself back together. Barely.  

"Alright, what's the first one?" you asked, leaning over to get a better look at the next form.  

Crowe’s finger shakily pointed to it. "‘Classical music night... on the roof... with fog machines.’"

You blinked. "I… I don’t even know what to say to that. What, are we trying to summon ghosts now?"

Crowe groaned again. "It’s a real proposal. They want it approved for next week."

"Okay," you said, rubbing your temples. "I think we’re officially past the point of saving this year’s student council. This is just a slow-motion train wreck."

Crowe was too exhausted to even form a proper sentence, his mind clearly whirling through a mental tally of disasters. You could practically see the gears grinding in his head—he was done. It wasn’t clear whether he was about to drop dead or have a full-on emotional meltdown, but either way, the path to recovery was nothing but more paperwork, endless meetings, and a growing sense of doom.

"Here," you said, tossing him a coffee cup with a little too much flair. "You need this more than I do."

Crowe didn’t say a word, just took the cup and stared blankly at his desk. You half expected him to fall asleep standing up, but then he took a long, defeated sip like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. For a moment, you swore you saw him look almost… human again. Though still on the edge of total collapse.  

“Only… five more hours of this shit,” he muttered, voice raw and tired. His words hung in the air like a bad omen, but the way he said it was almost like he was trying to will it into something less awful.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. 

You leaned against the desk—looking over a few documents that Crowe just signed, watching him as he rubbed his temples like he was trying to massage the chaos out of his brain. Then, he took a deep breath and dragged himself to his feet, his movements slow and heavy as if each step took effort.

You stood there, waiting for him to make the move, knowing he was about to drag you both back into the hell that was his office. 

You followed him out to the coffee area just outside Crowe’s office, the place practically empty except for the hum of a few vending machines in the corner. Most people were in class, living their lives while you and Crowe were stuck in this chaotic little bubble of misery together. But honestly, you didn’t mind. Being stuck with Crowe wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

In fact, you might even go so far as to say you kind of liked it—chaos and all. It was weird, but after all the hours spent with him, this was just your rhythm. He was like a broken record, and you were along for the ride. 

Crowe leaned against the the desk beside you, staring out at the empty room, looking just about as done as any human could be without literally face-planting. “Let’s just…” He paused, running a hand through his unbraided hair as if he were trying to shake the tiredness out of his bones. “Finish this,” he muttered, but there was no real conviction behind the words. 

It was more like he was just going through the motions, a man trying to survive one last round of office hell before he collapsed into a pile of paperwork rubble.

You shrugged, leaning a little closer to him, not caring much about the empty room around you. "Yeah, sure. Let’s just get through this so you can collapse into your desk in peace."

Crowe didn’t laugh, but you saw the corner of his lips twitch. It was the closest thing to a smile you’d get today, and that was enough for you. He took another sip of coffee, staring at the distant empty chairs like they were mocking him. Honestly, the whole situation was ridiculous, but if you had to be stuck in this hellish paperwork vortex, you couldn’t think of anyone better to be stuck with.

Despite the avalanche of paperwork, the never-ending meetings, and the constant chaos that seemed to follow Crowe everywhere, there were small, quiet moments when his gratitude actually managed to slip through the cracks.

It wasn’t loud or obvious—no heartfelt speeches or dramatic declarations of appreciation. No, it was more like a fleeting shadow, there one moment and gone the next, but it still spoke volumes.  

It was one of those afternoons when you were buried under yet another mountain of event proposals, flipping through them with all the enthusiasm of a sloth on a caffeine crash. Your eyes had glazed over, the words on the pages blending together into an unintelligible mess of overly ambitious plans and unreasonable requests.

You were pretty sure you could start a new career as a professional paperweight at this point, considering how often you were parked next to Crowe’s desk. But hey, someonehad to keep the chaos in check, right?  

Instead of fighting for your own desk—because, honestly, that would’ve been a lost cause given the sheer size of Crowe’s desk, which could’ve fit a small army and their gear—you'd just claimed a corner of it. You’d made it your own little nook, the edge of his mountain of papers your personal workspace. 

Sure, it was a little unconventional, but considering Crowe's desk practically looked like the inside of an office supply store exploded on it, it made sense. Plus, it was way more fun to pretend you were part of the madness instead of standing on the sidelines.  

So there you were, half-buried in a fresh pile of event forms that had been hastily shoved into your hands the second you walked into the room, flipping through them with the kind of mindless speed that comes from hours of sheer boredom. 

You didn’t even look up, thinking it was just another stray form that had somehow wandered into your orbit. But then you heard it—a soft clink. And when you glanced over, there it was: a steaming cup of tea, perfectly brewed and a small snack, sitting on the edge of his desk as though it had always been meant to be there. 

Crowe didn’t say anything. He didn’t even speak to you.

He just silently placed it down, then you felt his hand on top of your head, planting what felt like kiss on top. Afterwards, he gave you a brief, exhausted glance, and went back to his own paperwork like nothing had happened. As if that tiny, thoughtful gesture wasn’t quietly shifting the entire atmosphere of the room. It was his way of saying, ‘I see you’—without actually saying a word. 

Then there were the rare occasions when you handed him something that, frankly, could have been labeled as a ‘miracle’—like a perfectly organized event schedule, where the scattered mess of dates and details had somehow been magically turned into something resembling order. His eyes would flicker to it for just a second before he’d mutter a quiet, almost begrudging “thanks.” 

The words were always there, but they came out like he was fighting them every step of the way as if the concept of gratitude wasn’t quite his thing. Still, the small nod that followed—something barely noticeable, but unmistakably there—told you everything you needed to know.  

Those little moments were a rarity, but when they happened, they felt like an entire month’s worth of appreciation crammed into a second. No fanfare, no grand speeches—just Crowe, the overworked, underappreciated student council lifeline, showing his gratitude in the most subtle ways possible.

It was like he didn’t know how to say it out loud, but his actions spoke louder than any words could. 

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to keep you going.  

That, and the sheer comedy gold of watching Crowe try—and fail—every time a club proposed something so ridiculous it could’ve been pulled straight from a fever dream. Like the latest masterpiece—a ‘puppies and pizza’ day in the science building. The look on his face when he read that? Priceless. 

It was like watching someone go from a hopeful puppy to a full-on terrified deer caught in headlights. Half of him expected to ask if it was some kind of prank. It wasn’t.

But today?

Today’s mark a day of early freedom

One of those rare, blessed afternoons where Crowe managed to finish his work before sunset. That alone was enough to make you believe in higher powers—like the universe had decided to give Crowe a break for once. And honestly, you were enjoying it too. 

Crowe seemed... different. Less like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and more like he was just a dude who'd had a good day for once. His hair was actually neat—an anomaly that deserved to be framed and hung in a museum—and his outfit looked like it had been picked out by someone who didn’t live off caffeine and stress. His usual tense, I’m-one-email-away-from-a-breakdown stance was gone, replaced by a more relaxed posture. 

And the best part? That trademark smirk of his wasn’t the usual ‘I’m-exhausted-but-I’ll-pretend-I’m-cool’ look. It was... real. Like he actually meant it. You had to blink a couple of times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. 

"You know," he started, hands stuffed in his pockets, walking a little lighter than usual. He glanced over at you, his face not quite as guarded as usual, like he was letting his walls down just a little. "You've been a such lifesaver."

You raised an eyebrow, figuring he was about to make some sarcastic remark. But instead, he hesitated for a second, exhaled, and with a tiny shake of his head and a soft half-smile, he added, "I don't think I would've survived without you."

Okay, that? That was huge.

For Crowe, the guy who acted like he had the entire universe under control at all times, admitting that he needed help was like watching a robot suddenly develop emotions. You could tell he meant it, too, judging by the way he looked at you. There was no sarcasm, no defensive wall—just a genuinely appreciative look. And yeah, maybe it made your heart do a weird little skip. 

You coughed to cover up your smile, not wanting to get too sappy about it, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through you. 

"I need to wrap up a few things before I can lock up the student council room," he said, voice steady and calm. "After that... we came to meet at my place?”

You couldn’t help it. Your lips twitched into a grin, arms crossed, watching him with an amused glint in your eye. "Wow, Crowe, are you suggesting a private date?"

The reaction was instant.  

His eyes widened, and for the first time, you swore you saw the faintest hint of color dusting his cheeks—a slightly deeper shade against his usual warm brown complexion. Just for a second before his usual playful demeanor slid back into place. He let out a half-laugh, half-grumble. "It’s not a date," he muttered, though you could tell he was trying not to smile. "Just... you know. A thing."

"Uh-huh. Sure, a thing," you teased, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I mean, if ‘things’ include pizza and not having to talk about student council for once, I’ll consider it.” 

He rolled his eyes, but that little real smirk was back again. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah, but you love it," you shot back with a grin.

Crowe let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head at himself. “You’re such a tease.” 

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  

His deadpan stare told you he definitely knew exactly what you were doing. You could practically hear the thoughts running through his mind: I know you’re trying to distract me with that nonsense, but it’s not going to work.

But instead of entertaining your antics, he let out a long exhale, like the weight of the world had just landed on his shoulders, and straightened up. His hands moved quickly to gather the last of his papers, that familiar rhythm of someone who’d been in a constant state of ‘paperwork battle’ for way too long.  

"I’ll be done in a bit,” he muttered, glancing at the clock, looking like he was calculating the exact time when he could finally escape the clutches of his responsibilities. “Shouldn’t take long. Just… come to my place, please.”  

The way he said it was almost a plea, like he was clinging to the last shred of hope that you would save him from his own self-imposed chaos. There was something in the way his voice dropped, that quiet vulnerability that even Crowe couldn’t hide when he was completely overwhelmed. 

He didn’t ask for help. Ever. 

But right now, it seemed like he couldn’t bear to be alone with all that paperwork for even another minute. 

Without even thinking, you stepped forward, about to throw out some joke or tease him, but before you could, his hand shot out, fingers lightly brushing against yours, like he was desperately reaching for something, anything to ground him.  

You froze, blinking at the unexpected contact. Crowe’s hand lingered there for a moment, not quite holding yours, but not pulling away either. His gaze met yours for just a second—there was something there, a flicker of something deeper than just the usual exhausted annoyance.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, his voice a little quieter, a little more raw than you were used to hearing.

Your heart skipped a beat, and it took everything in you to resist the urge to give him the classic ‘it’s fine, we’re cool’ smile. But you could see it—he was yearning for just a little bit of peace, a little bit of support. 

Maybe more than he’d ever admit.

So, you squeezed his hand, just a little, before giving him a half-smirk. "Don't worry, Crowe. You’ll survive. Just don't expect me to help every time you feel like a nervous wreck." You smiled, slowly walking away. “I’ll gonna go change. See you later.” 

His lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything else, only shaking his head as he returned to his work. You turned on your heel, heading out of the student center with an extra pep in your step. Whether he meant it as a date or not, he still invited you over.  

And that was definitely something to work with.  

With that, you made a break for it, finally escaping the chaos of the student council room. You decided to take the scenic route back to your apartment—aka a detour to your place to freshen up a little. Nothing too extravagant, just a little something to feel less like a walking disaster.  

You slipped into your long-flare yoga pants, because, let's be honest, they were basically good thin material and nobody could judge you for that. You paired them with a long tank top and layered it with a cropped graphic tee that you’d definitely cut at the shoulder yourself for that ‘I woke up like this’ off-the-shoulder look. 

Sure, it looked like you couldn’t be bothered to try, but you weren’t heading to a red carpet event—just to Crowe’s place to eat dinner. Who needed to look cute when you were about to inhale your body weight in food, right?  

You kept your hairstyle in check, though—that was the one thing you weren't willing to sacrifice. A little effort to at least pretend you had it together. And the earrings? Oh, the earrings were a must. They hung from your ears like delicate little reminders that you were, in fact, capable of caring about something.

Maybe not your best outfit, but its’s something.  

Before heading back out, you made a pit stop in the kitchen to grab a small blueberry cheesecake from your favorite bakery. The one where the guy behind the counter always slid an extra smile your way whenever you came in, like he was secretly rooting for you to get that slice of dessert joy. 

You grabbed it like a pro, but this wasn’t just any cheesecake. Oh, no. This was the kind of cheesecake that required ID verification because they had to make sure you were worthy of its glory.  

It was rich, creamy, and topped with a glossy layer of blueberry wine reduction that probably had magical properties. Or at least, that’s what you liked to tell yourself. You figured the extra indulgence might help Crowe decompress a little, so, like a good friend, you were willing to go the extra mile.  

“Maybe it’ll help Crowe unwind,” you mumbled to yourself, adjusting the strap of your bag before heading out. “Not that he’d admit to it. He probably thinks ‘relaxing’ is a dirty word.”  

You snorted at the thought. Crowe would probably rather eat a salad than admit he was anything less than an overworked machine. But hey, everyone deserves a little luxury now and then, right? Even if that luxury was blueberry cheesecake and a very reluctant attempt at unwinding.

The walk to Crowe’s place was mercifully short, tucked just on the edge of campus. The air was crisp, carrying the lingering chill of the evening, and the faint glow of his windows stood out against the dimming sky.

It was a modest place—large, practical, the kind of space that was meant for luxury rather than convenience. But the moment you spotted the faint flicker of movement inside, a shuffle of shadow passing by the window, you knew he was home.  

You hesitated for just a second before knocking.  

Part of you hoped—no, expected—that when he answered the door, he’d look at least a little more relaxed than he had earlier. Maybe the stiffness in his shoulders would be gone. Maybe he’d be in something softer, a hoodie instead of that ever-present button-up. Maybe—dare you dream—he’d actually be smiling.  

But when the door swung open, it was immediately clear that reality had other plans.  

Crowe stood in the doorway, his hair once again was an absolute wreck—not the effortless kind of messy that turned heads, but the kind that screamed, ‘I’ve run my hands through it too many times out of frustration.’ A furrow was etched deep between his brows, and his usual sharp posture was stiff like he was physically bracing against the weight of his responsibilities.

And—oh, fantastic—a folder was tucked under his arm, looking as though it had permanently fused to him at this point.  

You exhaled through your nose. Of course.

Yet, despite the exhaustion written all over him, something in his expression softened when he registered it was you at the door. The tightness in his shoulders didn’t fully disappear, but there was the faintest tug of a smile at the corners of his lips—tired but real.  

“What’s with the face?” you asked dryly, raising an eyebrow as he stepped aside, silently motioning you in.  

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically, the words so robotic and rehearsed that you almost laughed.  

“Right. And I’m the student council president,” you deadpanned, stepping inside and crossing your arms. “You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Again.”  

“Funny thing about the student council president,” Crowe muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he shut the door behind you. “It turns out he can, and will, dump work on me at all hours. Apparently, I’m not allowed to have a life outside any paperwork.”  

Crowe allowed you inside, leading you up the sleek, polished staircase to his bedroom. As he pushed open the door, you were immediately struck by how effortlessly luxurious it felt—like stepping into a five-star suite rather than your living space.  

The room was spacious, barely lit by the warm glow of a single overhead light and a tall, modern floor lamp near his desk. The walls were painted a deep, muted blue, the color rich yet understated. But it was the bed that truly caught your attention—elaborate and inviting, draped in dark blue satin sheets that gleamed subtly under the soft lighting.

The bedding was pristine and neatly arranged with thick pillows and a comforter that looked like it belonged in a high-end catalog rather than a broke college student apartment.  

And yet, despite the undeniable elegance of the space, the desk against the far wall told a completely different story.  

Stacked with an obscene number of papers, open binders, and what you were pretty sure was the same coffee cup from this morning, his desk looked like a war zone of responsibilities. A sleek laptop sat open, its screen casting a faint glow over the scattered documents, and a small, gold-rimmed clock ticked quietly beside a stack of folders. 

The faint scent of ink and paper lingered in the air, mixing with the rich undertones of expensive cologne and the barely-there scent of cedarwood. The place had the distinct feel of someone who had been trapped inside for far too long—like a space meant for relaxation had been forcibly converted into an office.  

And honestly? That pissed you off a little.

You turned back to him with an unimpressed look, arms crossed as he carelessly tossed his folder onto the desk. “You invited me to hang out, and now you’re telling me I’m supposed to just sit here while you work?”  

“I’ll multitask,” he said with a faint smirk, already lowering himself into the sleek, leather chair at his desk like that settled the matter.  

You let out an exaggerated sigh, setting your bag down on the small couch tucked into the corner of the room. Of course, even his couch was high-end—dark velvet with a few neatly arranged cushions, barely touched, like it was there for decoration rather than actual use.  

“Unbelievable,” you muttered. “What a great person you are. Let me guess, next you’re going to ask me to fetch you coffee?”  

Crowe didn’t look up, but you caught the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “If you’re offering.”  

You rolled your eyes before reaching into your bag and pulling out the carefully packed cheesecake you had brought. With deliberate flair, you set it on the small wooden table near the couch, ensuring the movement was just noticeable enough to break Crowe’s focus.  

And to your satisfaction, it worked.  

From his place at the desk, Crowe’s eyes flicked up, momentarily distracted from the mountain of papers in front of him. His gaze landed on the dessert, his brow raising slightly. “Is that… blueberry cheesecake?” 

You shot him a smug grin. “It is. And not just any cheesecake—blueberry wine-glazed cheesecake. Only the best.” 

Crowe’s lips twitched, almost forming a real smile, but as his gaze flicked back to the cheesecake, hesitation crept into his expression. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Wait… you said wine-glazed?”  

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. “Yeah? It’s just a glaze, Crowe. It’s not like I’m trying to get you drunk off dessert.”  

He exhaled, glancing between you and the cheesecake as if debating whether he should risk it. “Still…” His fingers tapped idly against the arm of his chair. “…I don’t know if I should.”  

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face before throwing him an exasperated look. “Crowe. It’s cheesecake. Not a bottle of aged whiskey.”  

His eyes narrowed slightly, but the reluctant amusement in them told you he wasn’t completely opposed. He just wanted to be difficult.  

“You’re seriously overthinking this,” you added, crossing your arms. “One bite won’t turn you into a lawless delinquent, I promise. It’s just something to help you relax for once.”  

Crowe exhaled slowly, glancing at the dessert once more before shaking his head with a smirk. “Sorry but no, I need to work—because if I suddenly start making reckless decisions, it’s your fault.”  

“Oh, please.” With a scoff, you pushed yourself up from the plush velvet couch, smoothing your hands over the soft fabric before stretching lazily. “I’ll be right back.” Crowe barely acknowledged your movement, too focused on whatever tedious task he was drowning in.  

Perfect.  

You slipped out of his bedroom, padding down the sleek hallway and down the grand staircase that led to the main floor. The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint ticking of an ornate grandfather clock positioned near the entrance. Of course, he had something so unnecessarily extravagant in his house. You shook your head, making your way toward the kitchen.  

And, unsurprisingly, even his kitchen looked like it belonged in some high-end interior design magazine—black marble countertops, dark mahogany cabinets, and sleek, modern appliances that gleamed under the warm glow of overhead lighting. The air carried the faintest scent of coffee, no doubt from whatever caffeine-fueled disaster had taken place earlier that morning.  

You pulled open a drawer, rummaging through its neatly arranged contents until you found the gold forks—because, of course, even his utensils were unnecessarily fancy, polished to a pristine shine. You hesitated for a second, eyeing the wine bottle in your other hand. You could technically be a menace and grab another fork just for him, despite his earlier protests, just to see if he’d cave.  

A slow smirk curled at your lips as you picked up another fork and then made your way back upstairs.  

By the time you reentered Crowe’s bedroom, he was exactly as you left him—hunched over his desk, a hand buried in his long brown tousled hair, muttering something under his breath as he scribbled furiously onto a page. His laptop cast a faint glow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, and the way his brows furrowed with quiet frustration.  

You shook your head in fond exasperation, setting the forks onto the small wooden table—top of a paper towel near the couch with deliberate flair. The sound of metal forks against wood was just loud enough to pull his attention away from whatever crisis was currently occupying his mind.  

His gaze flickered to you, then to the newly placed items, and finally, to the bottle of wine you were already uncorking with far too much enthusiasm.  “You don’t take ‘no cake for me’ seriously, do you?” he asked dryly, watching as you handed him a fork, which he took. You raised an eyebrow, swirling the liquid slowly before taking a deliberate sip. “Oh, I heard you,” you mused. “I just chose to ignore it.”  

Crowe exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, but there was no real irritation in his expression—if anything, the corners of his lips twitched upward, like he was fighting off a smile.  

You handed him a fork, gesturing toward the cheesecake. “Now, be a good boy and eat before I start burning your paperwork.”  

That earned you a full, amused huff of laughter. “You wouldn’t.”  

“Oh, I would,” you said smugly, already reaching for the nearest document with mischief glinting in your eyes.  

And just like that, for the first time that evening, Crowe finally relented. With a quiet sigh of defeat, he grabbed his fork, cutting into the cheesecake with a small shake of his head.  

“Happy now?” he muttered, bringing a bite to his lips.  

You grinned, raising your fork in victory. “Ecstatic.”  

Later on, You ended up sitting in Crowe’s bed, which, honestly, wasn’t part of the original plan. You’d offered—very generously, might you add—to just sit on the floor, but Crowe wasn’t having it. And of course, that turned into a whole thing. A full-blown back-and-forth argument that went nowhere because, shocker, Crowe won.

So now here you were, cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone while eating cheesecake like it was just another day.

Meanwhile, Crowe was buried in paperwork, signing off on whatever ridiculous event proposals students had cooked up this time.

Between the scribbling of his pen and the occasional tap of your phone screen, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of conversation—nothing deep, just the usual random nonsense that somehow never failed to keep things interesting. 

You could say literally the most out-of-pocket thing, and Crowe would have an opinion on it. 

“You think pigeons ever feel bad about stealing people’s food?” 

“No. They’re menaces.” 

“What about geese?” 

“Demons in feathered form.” 

It went on like that for a while, but then, out of nowhere, Crowe, still focused on his paperwork, casually muttered, “If you end up drunk, you can stay here.” 

You blinked, glancing up from your phone. “Huh?” 

“I have hangover pills for situations like these,” he added as if that was just normal information to throw out there. 

You squinted at him, completely lost as last time you checked—he didn’t drink. “Crowe, sir, what the hell do you have those for?” 

He didn’t even hesitate. “They’re normally for my mother.” 

Oh. 

…Well damn. That changed the vibe.  

You suddenly found a very interesting spot on the wall to look at, your brain screaming at you to not ask any follow-up questions. Just let it slide, move on, talk about geese again— 

“…How come?” Damn it.

Crowe paused mid-signature, his pen hovering over the paper for a second too long. He didn’t immediately answer, which only made the air feel heavier. You shifted a little on his bed, suddenly regretting asking. But at the same time, you had to know. 

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, setting his pen down and leaning back slightly. “She’s a businesswoman,” he said simply like that explained everything.  

It kind of did.  

You nodded slowly. “Ah. So… business meetings, long nights, expensive wine, and regrettable choices?”  

“Basically,” he said, rubbing his temple. “She doesn’t get wasted often, but when she does, it’s always a mess. It’s better to just have something on hand so she doesn’t call me at two in the morning complaining about a headache and demanding I fix it.” 

You raised an eyebrow, resting your chin in your hand. “So what I’m hearing is… you’re the designated babysitter for your mom when she goes too hard on the fancy liquor.” 

Crowe gave you a flat look. “I wouldn’t call it that.”  

“But I would.” You grinned, taking another bite of your cheesecake. “Imagine that. Big, serious Crowe, the man who runs student council like a military operation, reduced to fetching electrolyte drinks and aspirin for his drunk mom.”  

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly like he was reevaluating all his life choices. “You are so lucky I tolerate you.”  

“Tolerate? Please. You’d be bored out of your mind without me.”  

Crowe rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way the corner of his lips almost twitched up. Almost. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  

You smirked, then gestured toward his desk. “Speaking of you tolerating me, when are you actually gonna stop working? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve been signing papers for the last hour and I’m starting to think you might be stuck in an endless loop.”  

“I’ll be done when I’m done,” he muttered, flipping to the next page.  

You squinted at him. “Liar. You never finish. The work just keeps coming.”  

Crowe didn’t deny it. He just let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple again. You could tell he was exhausted but too damn stubborn to stop.  

So, naturally, you had to push a little.  

“Y’know,” you started, setting your plate aside and stretching out on his bed dramatically, “I’m not a heavy drinker. I won’t get drunk.”

Crowe quickly said, “That’s what you said last time.”

“Blame Britt, she needed someone to take shots with at that club.” You sighed, “But If I look drunk, there’s a chance I might be pretending.” You mentioned. “Why,” Crowe asked. “…I’ll be able to get the tender loving care of a certain man.”

Crowe somewhat blushed, then added. “And If I’m the one who gets drunk, will you look after me? Or will you let me fend for myself?”

“Ehhh, that depends. What kind of drunk are you?” You gave Crowe a pointed look, lazily kicking your legs back and forth. “’Cause remember when Britt got wasted after we passed our exams and threw up in the car?” You grimaced at the memory. “Still sorry about that, by the way.”

Crowe, who had been signing something, paused and flicked his eyes up at you. “There are different types of drunk?”

You snorted. “Uh, yeah. There are levels to this, Crowe.” You started counting on your fingers. “Tipsy, somewhat affectionate—y’know, the giggly, slightly dumb but still functioning stage. Then there’s a buzz, which is what I usually am. A nice little warm feeling, maybe a little too honest, but still got control.”

Crowe raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

“Oh, it just gets worse from there.” You grinned. “There’s sloshed, where your words start slurring, and you start thinking you can dance when, in reality, you cannot.” You pointed at him. “Britt was sloshed. Then there’s blacked out, which—self-explanatory. Bad decisions are made. Regret is guaranteed.”

Crowe hummed, going back to his papers. “Lovely.”

“Oh, we’re not done,” you continued, thoroughly enjoying this. “Then you got aggressive drunks—you know, the ones who suddenly wanna fight everyone, including their own reflection. Confident drunks, which are honestly my favorite ‘cause they act like they own the place and think they’re hot shit. Sad drunks—kinda self-explanatory. They cry about their ex, their childhood, or how the bartender didn’t smile at them enough.”

Crowe sighed like he already regretted indulging this conversation. “And?”

“The two everyone really looks out for are lightweights and heavyweights.” You leaned forward a little, smirking. “I used to be somewhere in the middle, but, uh… college happened. And Britt happened. So now I’m lowkey more of a heavyweight.”

Crowe set his pen down and gave you that look. The one that was half disappointed professor, half exasperated parent. “Really.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I build tolerance fast.”

Crowe pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is not something to be proud of.”

You waved him off. “Anyway, what about you? Heavyweight or lightweight?” You already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it.

Crowe let out a slow breath, glancing at you like he was debating whether to humor you or just ignore you entirely. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, “I have work to do.”

You gasped dramatically. “Avoiding the question? That means you’re a lightweight, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t respond.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, grinning. “Crowe, do you get tipsy off one drink? Is that why you don’t go out? Are you—”

He gave you a look. A very pointed, very shut up before I actually throw you out look.

You just cackled. “Yeah, alright. Go back to work, lightweight.”

Soon after, it didn’t take long for Crowe to start feeling something—not that he’d ever admit it. You had finished your slice—even had another one without issue, enjoying every bite while Crowe had been more hesitant, taking small, slow bites as if waiting for some dramatic effect to kick in. And, to your delight, it did.   

He shifted in his chair, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the odd sensation creeping up on him. His usually sharp gaze had softened just a bit, and though he kept his expression neutral, you didn’t miss the way his fingers drummed against the desk a little too loosely or the way he exhaled through his nose, slower than usual.  

You smirked. “Feeling okay over there?” 

Crowe shot you a flat look, but there was something off about it—like his focus wasn’t entirely there. “I’m fine.” You tilted your head, scrutinizing him. His dark brown skin had taken on a noticeable flush, heat blooming over his cheekbones and creeping down his neck.

 You knew that look.  

“Oh my god,” you gasped, leaning forward with barely contained laughter. “You’re lightweight, aren’t you?” Crowe blinked, frowning slightly before scoffing. “No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated. “It’s just warm in here.”  

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your amusement. “Crowe, this is embarrassing. I ate the same cheesecake on my third slice, and I feel fine.” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening for a second before he muttered, “You have an unfair advantage.”  

You grinned. “No wonder you avoid alcohol like the plague. You can’t hold your liquor.” Crowe furrowed his brows at your mocking tone, his face turning into a bit of a pout.

"I can hold my liquor," he grumbled, though the faint tinge in his face betrayed his words. He shifted in his seat slightly, crossing his arms defensively. "I just don't see the appeal of losing my inhibitions and making a fool of myself. Unlike some people."

Your expression turned into a smirk, tone still just as condescending.

"Ah, the classic excuse." Your gaze remained fixed on him with a hint of judgment. "Inhibitions are what make us human, you know. Or perhaps you fear the idea of letting go and having a little fun."

Crowe bristled at your words, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

"I'm not afraid of having fun," he retorted, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness. "I simply prefer to maintain control over my actions. I see no need for losing myself to something as shallow as alcohol."

He let out a scoff. 

"Besides, true fun can be had without the need for impairment."

You let out a short, derisive laugh. "Ah, yes. The need to control everything around you, even your fun. How incredibly dull of you." She leaned closer, her expression a mix of mockery and superiority.

"But tell me, Princess, do you ever truly feel alive, or is your life merely an endless cycle of monotony and self-imposed discipline?"

"Oh, please." Crowe rolled his eyes at your mockery. "Just because I don't partake in mind-numbing substances doesn't mean my life lacks excitement. I simply find joy in more meaningful pursuits." He crossed his arms, his expression hardening. "Unlike some, I don't rely on alcohol or other substances to feel alive. My life is filled with purpose and discipline, and I take pride in that."

You tilted your head, the smirk still dancing on your lips.

"Purpose and discipline…?” she drawled. "I bet you take pride in your ability to follow routines like a well-trained dog, too."

“Excuse me?” Crowe frowned, his voice sharp as he watched you lean closer, sensing the shift in the air.

You didn’t back down. “Jericho,” you said, using his real name with a seriousness that seemed to catch him off guard. “I’ve been your assistant for the past two weeks now, and I’m starting to notice something. You let the student council—and even the president—treat you like a dog, and I see the expression on your face every time. Pure irritation.” 

You shifted and hopped onto his desk, sitting beside him, your legs casually swinging back and forth as you watched him try to suppress his usual annoyance. 

Crowe’s frown deepened, his hand tightening on the paperwork as he visibly tried to keep his composure. You could almost see the gears grinding behind his eyes, a mix of irritation and something else, something less guarded. 

"I’m aware of the circumstances," he said, voice tight but still trying to assert some control, "and I can handle the student council just fine. I… I’m fine with it. Really." He trailed off, and his words faltered. You could tell he was trying to convince himself more than you. The bravado was fading as his frustration bled into something more vulnerable, something he didn’t want to admit out loud.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little closer. “Oh, I don’t doubt that you can handle things, Jericho. But here’s the thing—you’ve been avoiding something for a while. And it’s not just the paperwork.”

He didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes flicking away as he shifted uneasily in his chair. He didn’t like where this conversation was going, that much was obvious.

“Look, I get it. You’re used to doing everything by yourself, keeping things together, and letting everyone walk all over you if it means getting things done. But that doesn’t mean you have to take it. And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re okay with it,” you said, leaning forward, voice low but firm. You saw the way he struggled to keep his walls up, the cracks widening. 

“I appreciate your concern,” he muttered, barely audible, “but I can handle everything. I really don’t mind being treated like a dog.”

Your smirk faltered just a bit, and a hint of seriousness crept into your tone. “Hm, now I know you’re not the buzzed type…” you murmured, thoughtfully. “You say you don’t mind… but I can sense there’s more to it than just handling things. You’re avoiding my gaze for a reason, after all.”

Crowe didn’t respond right away, his eyes avoiding yours, but the tension in the air was palpable. You could feel his discomfort growing, but there was something else, too—a sense of reluctance mixed with a desire for something else, something you both knew he wasn’t willing to admit yet.

You sighed heavily, making sure to add some extra dramatic flair before stepping closer. His desk, though structured, had a certain worn-in look, the wood slightly dulled from constant use, with scattered notes and open folders sprawled across its surface. The lamp at the corner cast long, soft shadows, adding a golden warmth to the otherwise sterile, paper-filled workspace.  

You crouched beside his chair and gestured toward his feet. “Move.” 

Crowe blinked down at you, finally breaking his focus. His brows furrowed. “What—?”  

You didn’t give him a chance to retreat into his shell. Instead, you were now kneeling down in front of him, slipping under the desk with the kind of confidence that said ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ “I’m going to see if you’ll actually let me help,” you said, your voice light but insistent, “because right now? You think you don’t need anything from anyone. But I’m betting you’ll let me assist you. And I’m going to find out just how much you really don’t mind.”  

The air between you shifted, thick with unspoken tension, as Crowe’s jaw tightened. You could almost see the internal battle raging within him—the need to keep control, to not rely on anyone, fighting against the small, desperate part of him that did need help, that did want something different. Something softer, something less exhausting.

“Stop acting like you can do everything by yourself, Jericho," you said gently, yet firmly. “Let me help. Please.”

His eyes flicked down to where you were kneeling in front of him, his throat working as if he were trying to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t move, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to feel the weight of your presence. You were here, offering, and this time, you weren’t going to back off.

“I’m not going to bite, I promise.” You smiled, though it was a soft, knowing grin—one that suggested you could see right through the mask he wore.

For a moment, he said nothing, just staring at you like you’d asked him to do the impossible. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, His deep blue eyes flickered with something unreadable—something between exasperation and tiredness.  

Then, finally, his shoulders and arms sagged, just a little, and he let out a quiet, resigned sigh. “Fine. Okay. You win. Help me, then.”

Still kneeling on the floor, you tilted your head slightly, your eyes locked onto his with a mischievous glint that told him you weren’t backing down anytime soon. You let your gaze linger a little longer than necessary, unwavering and unblinking, before slowly shifting closer, inching just enough to make your presence impossible to ignore.

You could feel the tension building between you two, a palpable electricity in the air, and you were loving every second of it.

“Y’know, as your assistant,” you began, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “all I’ve done is watch you mistreat me, running errands, picking up the slack... I mean, I barely get a ‘thank you’ for anything.” You leaned in just a little more, making sure he could feel the weight of your words.

It was a total lie, of course. He doesn’t actually mistreat you, but you loved getting under his skin, watching the way he reacted to your teasing. The slight furrow of his brow, the tension that flickered in his jaw—he was trying so hard not to take the bait.

Before he could respond, you lightly placed a hand on his thigh, just above the knee, your fingers barely grazing his skin. You could practically feel the sharp intake of breath he took, his body going rigid under your touch.

“You really should show your assistant some gratitude,” you added, your voice low, almost a whisper. “Or... maybe I’ll start taking advantage of the fact that I know exactly how much you don’t want help.”  

His eyes flickered to your hand, then back up to your face, but he didn’t move. His lips pressed into a thin line, clearly debating whether to stay stoic or snap at you. But you could tell that you were getting to him—just a little. 

You were testing him. And so far? You were winning.

You felt it instantly—the way his muscles tensed beneath the fabric of his pants, his entire body going rigid for just a fraction of a second. His smirk, always so confident, faltered—just barely. Instead, he regarded you with something sharper now, something closer to curiosity than irritation. “Oh?” he mused, his voice dipping into a lower register, sending a slow ripple of heat down your spine.  

"I don't treat you badly," he protested, though his voice had an edge to it—strained, like he was trying very hard not to focus on the placement of your hand. “I always make sure to take care of you, even when I’m busy…”  

You chuckled slyly, inching closer so that you were practically hovering over him now. Your fingers traced absentmindedly along his thigh, feather-light but deliberate, as you tilted your head and gave him a teasing, knowing look.  

"Oh, Crowe," you crooned, drawing out his name, savoring the way his jaw clenched in response. “That’s not enough. And you don’t reward me ‘nearly’ enough."  

His breath hitched for the smallest moment, but he recovered quickly, exhaling sharply through his nose. Almost a laugh—almost. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something restrained, but the corners of his lips twitched upward in spite of himself.  

"Rewards, huh?" he murmured, the words slow, measured. He leaned back slightly in his chair, though his gaze never left yours, locked in a silent battle of wills.

You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the papers he had been holding—forgotten now, unimportant. 

You had his attention. Completely.

"And what exactly do you think you deserve as a reward, huh?" Crowe asked, tilting his head slightly, his tone deceptively casual, but his body language betraying him. You paused, considering his question, letting the moment between you.

What could you ask for?

What did you want from him?

Your fingers, still resting on his thigh, tapped once—thoughtful, teasing. "Well," you mused, lips curling at the edges as you leaned in just a fraction closer. "That depends. Are you finally done with work?"

Crowe exhaled sharply, the sound unmistakable as he shook his head—a familiar gesture that meant he was about to endure something he definitely wasn’t looking forward to. You could see the frustration in the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if bracing for the inevitable storm that was coming his way. But before he could even open his mouth to express his exasperation—

His phone rang.

Shit maybe you don’t have his attention like you thought 

You didn’t need to check the screen to know who was calling. The ringtone had become so ingrained in your memory, it was practically a soundtrack to your time spent in the student council room. You could’ve recognized it in the dead of night, half-asleep and groggy.

But you still raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “Who is it?”

“The student President…” Crowe muttered, barely a glance at the phone before he visibly grimaced.

Without skipping a beat, you leaned over his thigh and nudged him, giving him that determined look that meant ‘this was happening whether he liked it or not.’ “Pick it up.”

He shot you a look of disbelief. “What now?”

“Yes. Pick it up.”

Crowe hesitated for just a second, clearly torn between his usual aversion to the student council President’s calls and the sense of duty that always seemed to take over.

You could practically feel the battle within him: to pick up and face whatever nonsense was about to unfold or to pretend he hadn’t heard it ringing and hoped it went away. But, of course, he didn’t choose the latter. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Crowe picked up the phone, his fingers brushing over the screen like it was a ticking bomb. 

Above you, Crowe cleared his throat, the sound sharp and professional—the tone he always used when he was in full ‘I-have-to-do-this’ mode. It was crisp and controlled, but there was a thin thread of tension that clung to the edges of his voice, betraying the fact that he was anything but relaxed.

“President,” Crowe greeted, his voice polite but tight, like he was holding back the urge to snap. "Didn’t realize you were gonna call so late."

You could practically feel the irritation dripping off him, but he kept it buried under that forced professional tone. If the student council president had any clue how much Crowe was dreading this call, they sure weren’t showing it. Crowe shifted in his seat, like he was bracing for whatever nonsense the student council president was about to throw his way.

You almost felt bad for him—almost—but let’s be real, he was the one who willingly signed up for this madness.

Still, you had a feeling this call was gonna drag on a lot longer than either of you wanted. Your heart was hammering as you pressed your head flat against Crowe’s lap, barely breathing, just waiting—again for this stupid call to be over.

Every inch of you was aware of how close you were, and it was making it hard to focus on anything else. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it was way too hard when Crowe’s leg was right there, brushing against you. 

On the other end, the student president’s voice—sharp and already full of annoyance—came through loud and clear. "It’s about the upcoming budget meeting. You didn’t submit the finalized report yet."

Crowe let out an exaggerated sigh from above, and you could feel the shift in his chair like it was trying to rattle your very bones. You clenched your jaw, trying not to squirm as you felt the brush of his knee against your shoulder. It definitely felt deliberate, like he was trying to mess with you, making it impossible for you to get comfortable. 

You swallowed down the discomfort and forced yourself to stay still, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you react. 

"It’s almost done," Crowe said, smooth as butter, his voice way too casual for how much of a lie it was. "I was just in the middle of… reviewing it."

Such a liar. You rolled your eyes internally. 

"Good," the student president replied, clearly distracted by whatever papers they were rifling through. “I need it by tonight. No excuses.”

Your stomach dropped. You held your breath, teetering on the edge of panic as Crowe leaned forward, his lower body inching closer to yours. He reached for something on his desk, and suddenly, the space between you felt way too small. 

Like, way too small. It was suffocating, but you didn’t move. 

You couldn’t. 

…Right?

“Noted,” Crowe said, his voice only slightly strained. You could hear the tension in it, though, and it made your pulse spike. 

The student president sighed on the other end of the phone call, oblivious to the chaos unfolding in Crowe’s office. “I don’t know how you manage all this paperwork, Ichabod. You’d think with your assistant, things would be more efficient.”

You nearly choked. Excuse me?

Crowe let out an amused huff, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, well. Sometimes, they can be a handful.” 

Your eye twitched. Oh, he did not just say that. That smug little—oh, he was so not getting away with this. 

From under the desk, you moved quickly, your fingers darting to his pants. You undid the buttons with practiced ease, then unzipped them, pulling them down to his thighs. And then—oh. 

Oh~

The first thing you saw was the massive tent in his briefs, and you almost choked on your own saliva. How was he even walking like that?

“Hey—what are you—what are you doing—?” Crowe hissed, his voice low and frantic. You glanced up at him, and the look on his face was priceless. His jaw was tight, his dark blue eyes wide, and there was this desperate, pleading expression that screamed, ‘Don’t you dare.’ 

But oh, you dared. 

You brought a hand to him hesitantly, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his briefs. The second you started palming him, Crowe let out this low, shaky sigh that he barely managed to stifle. How the hell was he already this hard? And why did that make your stomach flip in the best way possible?

You could feel him twitch under your touch, and you bit your lip to keep from grinning. This was payback, plain and simple. He wanted to call you a ‘handful’? 

Fine. You’d show him exactly what that meant.

Crowe’s voice was strained as he tried to keep his composure on the phone. “Yes. I’ll—uh—make sure to follow up on that.” 

You smirked, your fingers slipping under the waistband of his briefs. Crowe’s breath hitched, and he shot you a look that was equal parts warning and begging. But you weren’t about to stop now. Not when he was squirming like this, not when you had him right where you wanted him.

“Crowe?” the student president’s voice crackled through the phone. “Are you still there?”

“Y-yes,” Crowe stammered, his voice tight. “Just—uh—just dealing with something. Urgently.”

You stifled a laugh, your hand wrapping around him fully now. Crowe’s head tipped back slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but you could see the cracks forming. His free hand gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white, and you could feel the way his body tensed under your touch.

Crowe was trying to focus. 

Keyword: trying. 

But you were making it impossible.

You had one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, your fingers teasing the sensitive skin there, while your other hand cupped his balls, gently massaging them in a way that made his leg twitch under the desk. You kissed the tip of him, soft and teasing, and when you glanced up at him, his jaw was clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

“Yes, President,” Crowe said, his voice strained but impressively steady. “I’ll make sure the budget report is finalized by—” He cut off with a sharp inhale as you dragged your tongue along the length of him, slow and deliberate. His free hand slammed down on the desk, and you could see his fingers trembling.

You smirked, your lips curling around him as you took him deeper, your tongue flicking against the underside of his cock. Crowe’s breath hitched, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to cover the sound. “Apologies,” he said, his voice tight. “Just—uh—just a bit of a cough.”

You almost laughed at that, but you were too busy enjoying the way his thighs tensed under your hands. You pulled back, letting him slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and then—because you were feeling extra mean—you slapped his cock against your cheek a couple of times, the sound muffled but still way too loud in the quiet space.

Crowe’s eyes snapped down to you, wide and panicked, and you gave him your best innocent look before leaning in to lick a slow stripe up his length. His hand shot out, tangling in your hair, but he didn’t push you away. No, he just held on, his grip tightening as you took him into your mouth again, deeper this time.

“Ichabod?” the student president’s voice came through the phone, sharp and impatient. “Are you even listening?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Crowe managed, though his voice was definitely higher-pitched than usual. “Just—uh—just reviewing the numbers.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips jerk involuntarily. He bit down on his lip to stifle a groan, but you could still hear it, low and desperate. You pulled back again, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and innocent.

“You’re doing so good,” you mouthed, your voice silent but your meaning crystal clear. Crowe’s face flushed a deep red, and he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried—and failed—to focus on the phone call. His free hand, the one not clutching the phone, gripped the edge of his desk so hard you thought the wood might splinter.

You didn’t let up.

Instead, you ducked your head again, taking him deeper this time, your throat relaxing around him as you swallowed him down. Crowe’s hand tangled in your hair, his fingers tightening almost reflexively, and you could feel the way his body tensed, the way he fought to keep his hips still. 

He was a losing battle, and you knew it. 

You could feel the subtle shift in his muscles, the way his control was slipping with every flick of your tongue, every slow, deliberate movement of your lips.

“President,” Crowe said, his voice strained, “I think we might need to—ah—to reschedule this call.”

You smirked around him, your tongue flicking against that sensitive spot just under the head of his cock. Crowe’s breath hitched, and he let out a shaky exhale that he barely managed to stifle. You could feel the way his thighs trembled under your hands, the way his entire body was teetering on the edge.

“Reschedule?” the president snapped, his tone incredulous. “Ichabod, this is important. We don’t have time for—”

But Crowe wasn’t listening anymore.

His hips bucked forward involuntarily, his cock hitting the back of your throat, and you could feel the way his body shuddered, the way he lost control for just a second. 

It was all you needed. 

You hummed softly, the vibration making him twitch in your mouth, and you could feel the way his resolve was crumbling. His hand in your hair tightened, pulling just enough to make your scalp tingle, and you could hear the way his breathing grew ragged, uneven.

“I—uh—apologize, sir,” Crowe managed to choke out, his voice tight and unsteady. “Something… urgent has come up.”

You didn’t let him finish. 

Instead, you pulled back slightly, just enough to swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock before taking him deep again, your throat working around him. Crowe’s head tipped back, a low groan escaping his lips before he could stop it, and you could feel the way his body was trembling, the way he was barely holding it together.

The student president was still talking, his voice sharp and impatient, but Crowe wasn’t hearing a word of it. His focus was entirely on you, on the way your mouth felt around him, on the way you were driving him absolutely insane. His hips bucked again, this time more deliberately, and you could feel the way his control was slipping, the way he was losing himself in the sensation.

“I’ll—ah—call you back,” Crowe said abruptly, his voice rough and strained. He didn’t even wait for a response before he ended the call, tossing the phone onto his desk with a clatter.

The second the call was over, his hand in your hair tightened, and he pulled you off him just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and blazing with need. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, his voice low and rough.

You just smirked up at him, your lips still wrapped around him, and then you took him deep again, your throat relaxing as you swallowed him down. Crowe’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, and his hips jerked forward, his control completely gone now.

“Fuck,” Crowe muttered, his voice rough and strained, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrust into your mouth. His movements were desperate, almost frantic, like he was losing control and couldn’t stop himself.

You could feel the way his body trembled, the way his thighs tensed under your hands, and you knew he was teetering on the edge. 

You kept your pace steady, your lips wrapped tight around him, your tongue working against him in ways that made his breath hitch and his grip on your hair tighten almost painfully.

"Here I—"

Crowe didn’t get to finish his words.

His hips stuttered, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he came with a low, guttural groan. You swallowed half of it, the taste warm and salty, before pulling back just enough to let the rest spill across your lower face. A few streaks of white painted your chin and the corner of your mouth, and you looked up at him, your eyes never leaving his.

“I’m so sorry,” Crowe said, his voice hoarse, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His hand loosened in your hair, his fingers brushing gently against your scalp as if to soothe the sting. But you just smirked, your tongue darting out to catch the cum at the edge of your face.

“It’s all good,” you said, your voice low and teasing, as you licked the last traces of him away. The way his eyes darkened at the sight, the way his jaw tightened like he was fighting the urge to pull you back in, only made your smirk widen.

When he finally stilled, his body limp and spent, you pulled back slowly, a satisfied smirk on your lips. Crowe slumped back in his chair, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked completely wrecked—his hair disheveled, his shirt rumpled and half-unbuttoned, his face still flushed with the aftermath of his release. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the faint tremble in his forearms.

“You’re lucky we didn’t get caught,” Crowe muttered, his voice low and gruff as he leaned back in his chair. He was trying to sound stern, but the way his eyes lingered on you—dark and hungry—gave him away. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if the student president had figured out what you were doing under my desk?”

You just shrugged, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, a sly grin spreading across your face. “At least I had your back, so he didn’t really hear anything. Besides, he sounded more pissed that you hung up on him than anything else.”

Crowe groaned, running a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe away the memory of the entire ordeal. But you could see the corner of his mouth twitch like he was fighting a smile. “You’re such a menace,” he said, though there was no real heat behind his words. His voice was soft, almost fond, and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the room that mattered—made your stomach flip.

You stood, leaning against his desk, your grin widening. “You love it,” you shot back, your voice dripping with playful defiance. 

Crowe let out a low laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “I really do,” he admitted, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. 

You couldn’t help but notice how flushed Crowe’s face was, the deep red hue spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

Was it from the way you’d just had him unraveling under your touch?

Or maybe it was the spiked cheesecake that you convinced him to indulge in earlier, the alcohol warming his veins and loosening his usual tight control. Honestly, it could’ve been both, and the thought made a smug little smile tug at your lips. 

Either way, you wanted him to relax, to let go of whatever tension was still coiled in his body.

“Do you need the hangover pills from your bathroom?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing as you tilted your head, studying him. You were half-turned toward the door, ready to fetch them if he said yes, but Crowe shook his head almost immediately.

“No,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I don’t need pills. I just need you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and loaded, and before you could respond—before you could even process what he’d said—he reached for you. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that sent a shiver up your spine.

In one swift motion, he was on his feet, pulling you toward him with a force that made you stumble. You let out a surprised laugh, but it was cut short as you collided with his chest, his other arm snaking around your waist to steady you.

And then his lips were on yours, crashing into you with a hunger that left you breathless. The kiss was deep, demanding, almost possessive, and you melted into it without hesitation. His tongue slid against yours, and you could still taste him on your lips—a faint, lingering reminder of what you’d just done to him. It seemed to drive him wilder, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you’d pull away.

His hands roamed over your body like he needed to touch every inch of you, to remind himself that you were real, that you were his. One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he cradled your head, holding you in place like he never wanted to let you go. The other hand stayed firmly on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

You could feel the heat of him through his clothes, the way his body thrummed with restless energy like he was still riding the high of what had just happened. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breathing ragged, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart where your hand rested against him. 

It was intoxicating, the way he wanted you, the way he needed you, and you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands sliding into his long, soft brown hair. His hair was silky between your fingers, and you tugged gently, earning a low groan from him that vibrated against your lips. 

The sound sent a thrill through you, and you deepened the kiss, your tongue sliding against his as you poured every ounce of your own desire into it. Crowe’s grip on you tightened, his body pressing into yours like he was trying to fuse the two of you together, and you could feel the evidence of his want pressing against your hip, hard and insistent.

The kiss was everything—hot, desperate, and full of unspoken promises. 

It was a collision of need and longing, a silent conversation that neither of you could put into words. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless, his hands gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And when he finally broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath came in short, uneven gasps. You could see it in his eyes—the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, like you were his entire world.

Crowe laughed, the sound low and warm, and then he was kissing you again, softer this time but no less hungry. You let yourself get lost in him, your body leaning back until the edge of his desk stopped you from moving any further. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, his body pressing you firmly against the desk.

One hand braced on the surface beside you, trapping you in place, while the other stayed on your waist, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

When he finally released you, you could see the redness of his face, the flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. It was almost enough to make you laugh, and you couldn’t resist tapping your finger lightly on his nose. He blinked, taken aback by the playful gesture, and then a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face.

“It’s time to reward beloved assistant,” he said, his voice low and rough, before kissing you again. This time, it was fiercer, more demanding, and you barely had time to react before he was roughly pushing all the papers off his desk with one sweeping motion.

The sound of them scattering to the floor barely registered as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the now-clear desk. His hands stayed on your thighs, his grip firm as he leaned over you, trapping you once again.

Crowe’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling as he hovered over you, his eyes dark with want. He was about to kiss you again, but you stopped him, placing a hand on his chest to hold him back.

“Crowe, you’re still drunk,” you said, your voice soft but firm. You cupped his face in your hands, your fingertips brushing over the soft skin of his cheeks. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were now clouded with a mix of desire and something deeper, something raw and vulnerable. “One slice of spiked cheesecake is all it takes for you to be someone else?” you teased, your fingertips grazing over his soft, parted lips.

As much as you adored Crowe, you didn’t want to take advantage of him in this state. He was always so composed, so in control, and seeing him like this—unraveled and needy—was both intoxicating and a little unsettling. 

Crowe’s breath hitched as he leaned into your touch, his lips pressing a kiss to your palm. “I wonder if you fed me that cake on purpose, you to take a break.” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Did you want to see me like this?”

You almost laughed. 

Yeah, maybe you did. 

But you wouldn’t tell him that to his face.

“Who could’ve guessed a small amount of alcohol would get you this drunk?” you said instead, looking down as his hands traveled up your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch was electric, and you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping.

“I never allowed myself touch alcohol,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands stopped at your waist, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. “But for you, I broke that rule.”

“Crowe…” you mumbled, your arms wrapping around his neck as you tried to steady yourself. His proximity, his touch, the way he looked at you—it was all too much, and yet not enough.

“You said you wanted a reward,” he said, his eyes pleading as he leaned his head down into the crook of your shoulder. “Fuck, you’re so warm. You smell like you, and I can’t imagine anything more beautiful than the stars in the sky.”

Confident, may you add, needy drunk definitely.

You felt your breath catch as his lips brushed against your neck, his kisses soft and lingering. His hands moved back to your thighs, sliding up to your waist, and then under your shirt again, his fingers exploring the plush curve of your hips. Everywhere he touched, it felt like he was leaving a mark, branding you as his.

“You’ve been such a wonderful assistant,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “As your so-called boss, let me reward you, starlight.” His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help the windchime laugh that escaped you, muffled against his chest. It made his heart flip-flop like a fish in the cavern of his ribs. 

“Crowe, please…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“If you want me, you can have me,” he said, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “In whichever way you want.”

In whichever way you want?

That was a dangerous offer, especially from someone like him. And you knew you’d take him up on it, again and again and again. But not like this. Not when he was drunk, his inhibitions lowered, his control slipping. 

You sighed, gently pushing against his chest to create some distance. “Jericho, you’re really drunk,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I’ll get the hangover pills.”

But before you could slide off the desk, Crowe grabbed your arms, pulling you back onto the surface with a force that surprised you. “Are you trying to escape?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “You keep saying I’m drunk. So, must I always stay sober?” He rested his head on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. “Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control. How can you pretend you’re not affected?”

Your eyes flickered away for a moment, your hand resting on his chest as you thought about his words. It was hard to say no to him, especially when he looked at you like that, when his touch set your skin on fire. But you didn’t want to push him into something he might regret later.

“Jericho…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. You were torn, your resolve wavering under the weight of his need and your own desire. 

Fuck it. 

You were a little tipsy too.

Just a bit better at hiding it than him.

You kiss him with a softness that he thinks must come naturally to you, a tenderness that makes his chest ache in the best way. Crowe adores it, even as he feels a twinge of guilt for the way he wants to devour it, to take that softness and turn it into something wild and untamed. 

But for now, he lets himself sink into it, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm that quickly deepens. Lips give way to tongue, and then to teeth, his mouth nipping at your lower lip in a way that makes you gasp softly, your fingers tightening in his hair.

His hands know your skin like they’ve mapped it a thousand times before, and yet every touch feels new, electric. They’re everywhere at once, hot and aching as they slide under your clothes, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that makes your breath hitch.

One hand slips up to your breast, cupping it gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your top. The sensation is enough to make you arch into him, a gasp escaping your lips that he swallows down with another kiss.

Crowe takes his time with your layered tops—first the crop top, then the tank top—peeling them off you carefully, like he’s unveiling something sacred. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes dark and hungry as he drinks in the sight of you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then he’s leaning in, his mouth finding the spot right above your sternum, where he can feel the rapid flutter of your heartbeat beneath his lip as he removes your bra.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles into your skin, his voice low and rough with desire. His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles.

“The brightest star in my life,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, like he’s confessing something he’s held onto for too long. He tilts his head, capturing one nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it as his hand slides under your back, fingers pressing into the dip of your spine. 

You arch into him instinctively, a soft moan escaping your lips as he takes his time, lavishing attention on your body despite the way his cock throbs painfully in his boxers—once again a bulge as pants were still unbutton. “Such a pretty star,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot. “So hot to the touch.”

His hands move to your hips, gripping you firmly as he lifts you by your ass, pulling your flared yoga pants down and off in one smooth motion. His eyes follow every movement, every inch of exposed skin, and you’re grateful for the dim lighting of the standing lamp near his desk.

It casts a warm glow over you, highlighting the curves of your body as you sit on top of his desk, completely at his mercy. His gaze is intense, almost reverent, as he takes you in, his hands sliding up your thighs with a touch that’s both possessive and tender. 

“Stay still, dearest,” he murmurs, his voice a low command that sends a shiver down your spine. His hands continue their exploration, fingers lacing through yours as they move over your hips, down to the waistband of your panties. He hooks his fingers into the fabric, pulling them down slowly, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his breath coming a little faster now.

But of course, you can’t let him have all the fun.

“No,” you say suddenly, your voice firm but playful, pushing Crowe away with your foot on his lower chest, slowly rubbing.

Crowe freezes, his head snapping up to look at you, his cheeks still flushed with desire. “No?” he asks, his voice tinged with surprise and a hint of amusement.

“Isn’t this my reward for being your assistant?” you ask, tilting your head as you give him a sly smile. “Shouldn’t I have a say in how this goes?”

His eyes widen for a moment, and then a smirk plays on his lips, his expression shifting from surprise to ‘of course, whatever you say.’

“My apologies, dearest,” he says, his voice soft but laced with teasing. “How selfish of me. Of course, it’s only fair that you have a say in this.” He steps closer, his hands resting on either side of you on the desk as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “So, what is it that you desire, my sweet star? You have my full attention. Just tell me what you want.”

There was one or maybe two things.

You were sprawled back on Crowe’s desk, the cool surface pressing into your skin as your legs fell open for him. 

The edge of the desk dug into your lower back, but the discomfort was a distant thought—completely overshadowed by the way Crowe was looking at you. His deep blue eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze raking over your body like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. His long brown hair was undone,messy, falling into his face as he leaned over you, and you couldn’t help but reach up to brush a strand away. He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before letting it go, his lips curving into a smirk that made your stomach flip.

His hands slid up your thighs, his grip firm but not rough, like he was savoring the feel of you. He pushed your legs wider, settling himself between them, and you shivered as his fingers traced patterns on your skin, teasing and deliberate. His touch was electric, sending little shocks of pleasure through you, and you bit your lip to keep from begging him to hurry up.

But Crowe wasn’t one to rush. He took his time, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips soft and warm against your sensitive skin. You gasped, your hands flying to his hair as he kissed his way up, his breath hot and uneven. Each kiss was slow, and deliberate, like he was mapping out every inch of you, and by the time he reached where you needed him most, you were already trembling.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, the words sending a thrill through you. And then his tongue flicked against clit, and you let out a strangled cry, your fingers tightening in his hair. He didn’t hold back, his mouth working you over with a skill that had you seeing stars, your hips lifting off the desk as you tried to get closer, to feel more.

But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate. You whined, your hands tugging at his hair, but he only chuckled, the sound dark and full of promise. “Not yet,” he said, his voice dripping with mischief. “You missed the best part.”

You groaned, your head falling back against the desk as you tried to catch your breath. Crowe straightened, you can heard him unbuttoning his shirt, then pulled down his boxers along with his pants.

Soon you felt his hands sliding up to grip your hips, and you could feel the heat of him as he positioned his cock at your entrance—which he slap his cock against your pussy, enough to make you jump little bit as you tried to mentally prepare yourself.

Crowe laugh softly, holding you, "Don’t worry," He started before opening your pussy with two fingers, "Just relax, right?"

That little cheeky asshole

Suddenly, he pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. He felt so good, stretching you, filling you completely, and when he finally bottomed out, you both let out a shaky breath.

“Fuck,” Crowe muttered, his head dropping forward as he tried to steady himself. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs brushing against your skin in a way that was almost soothing. “You feel so fucking incredible.”

You could only nod, your hands sliding up his arms to grip his shoulders as he started to move. His pace was slow at first, almost torturous, each thrust deep and deliberate. But then he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Just you.”

Crowe groaned, his pace quickening as he gave you exactly what you asked for—a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he kissed you, deep and hungry.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting your legs higher as he thrust into you, each movement deep and deliberate. You could feel the tension building in your body, your nails digging into his back—enough to almost leave marks as you tried to hold on.

And then, just as you were about to lose yourself completely, his phone rang.

The sound was jarring, pulling you both out of the moment, and Crowe let out a frustrated groan, stop completely. “Shit,” he muttered, glancing at the phone where it sat on the desk beside your head. He reached for it, his movements jerky and impatient, but when he saw the name on the screen—Student Council President—he hesitated.

“Answer it,” you moaned, your voice breathless and teasing. Your eyes met his, and you could see the conflict in his gaze—the way he wanted to ignore the call but knew he probably shouldn’t. “You know I can’t,” he said, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure. 

But you didn’t care. 

You reached for the phone, your fingers brushing against his as you answered the call and handed it to him. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it’s something important?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful innocence.

Crowe shot you a look that was equal parts ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this to me’ and ‘I’m so into you it’s ridiculous.’ He sighed, running a hand through his hair before reluctantly bringing the phone to his ear, standing up straight. “What?” he snapped, his voice sharp and impatient, like he was already done with this conversation before it even started.

The student council president’s voice crackled through the phone, loud and unmistakably pissed. “Ichabod! What the hell was that earlier? You can’t just hang up on me like that! Do you have any idea how unprofessional—” 

Then, out of nowhere. With a playful annoyed sigh, your body to move, slamming yourself hard against Crowe.

He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning into the phone, however, your warm pussy clenching around cock—deep inside you, so warm, so fucking wet and bare— he wonders if he stretching you out in all of the right places.

You could feel the way his body tensed, the way he was trying to keep his voice steady while you were doing your absolute best to ruin him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Unprofessional. Got it. Can we move on?”

“Move on?!” the student president screeched, his voice so loud you were pretty sure the neighbors could hear it. “You hung up on me in the middle of a very important discussion! Do you know how much paperwork I have to deal with because of you?!”

You couldn’t help it—you smirked, your fingers digging into Crowe’s arms as you rocked against him. He shot you a glare, but it was half-hearted at best, and you could see the way his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Look,” he said, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, “I’ll… uh… I’ll get you the forms tomorrow, okay? Can we just—ah—drop this for now?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could practically hear the president’s brain short-circuiting. “Are you… are you breathing weirdly? What’s wrong with you?”

Crowe’s eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked genuinely panicked—like a deer caught in headlights. His grip on your hips tightened, his body freezing as the president’s voice blared through the phone, sharp and accusatory.

But then, just as quickly as the panic had set in, it was gone. His expression shifted, an unfamiliar mask of cool composure sliding back into place. 

His voice dropped into that low, dangerous tone he used when he was about to shut someone down, the one that sent shivers down your spine even when it wasn’t directed at you.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, though you could feel the way his body tensed beneath you. “I’m just… busy. Very busy. So if you’ll excuse me—”

“Busy doing what?!” the president yelled, their voice reaching a pitch that could probably shatter glass. “You’re supposed to be working, not—what are you even doing right now?!”

Crowe’s lips twitched, and you could see the exact moment the mischief sparked in his eyes. He looked down at you, his gaze dark and heated, and then he smirked. 

Uh oh. 

“Jericho—” you started, your voice a warning, but he cut you off with a deep, hungry kiss. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin. The kiss was demanding, almost possessive, and you couldn’t help but melt into it, your hands tangling in his hair as he muffled your sounds. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged, and he gave you a wicked grin that made your stomach flip.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I need you to be loud for this.”

Before you could respond, he turned his attention back to the phone, his smirk widening as he brought it to his ear. “What am I doing?” he repeated, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Oh, you know. Just… multitasking.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and then the president’s voice came through, louder and more incredulous than before. “Multitasking?! What does that even mean?!”

Crowe’s grin turned downright devilish, and you could feel the way his body vibrated with suppressed laughter. “This,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, and then he thrust deep inside you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur and your breath catch. 

You couldn’t help it—you moaned, loud and unrestrained, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure shot through you like a lightning bolt.

“Jericho!” you cried out, your voice breaking on his name, and he smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he turned his attention back to the phone.

“You hear that?” he said, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm. “I’m busy fucking at the moment. Raw and deep. Something you’ll never get with those ugly-ass clothes of yours.”

Your eyes widened in shock, your mouth falling open as you stared at him. 

Did he really just say that? 

To the student council president? 

Your Crowe??

But before you could say anything, Crowe hung up and tossed the phone onto the desk, the device skidding across the surface before coming to a stop near the edge. “Jericho!” you hissed, your voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You did not just say that!” 

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and then he was kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. “What?” he said, pulling back just enough to grin at you. 

“It’s true, plus you wanted this,” Crowe murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned down to capture your nipple between his teeth. He bit down gently, just enough to make you gasp, before soothing the sting with his tongue, sucking and teasing until you were squirming beneath him.

His deep blue eyes locked onto yours, “There’s something undeniably addictive about stepping out of line,” he admitted, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “Maybe getting drunk was worth it. Especially fucking you at the end.”

You laughed breathlessly, the sound catching in your throat as he thrust into you again, his cock hitting that deep, sensitive spot that made your toes curl. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he fucked you with a relentless intensity that left you breathless. 

Every movement was deliberate, every stroke designed to drive you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building in your body, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer, desperate for more. “Crowe,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you tried to hold on. “I’m close—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, and it was all you needed to tip over the edge. Your body trembled as pleasure washed over you in waves, your walls clenching around his cock as you fell apart. Crowe didn’t let up, continuing ramming his hips into yours as he chased his own release, his breath hot against your neck as he let out a low, guttural groan.

When he finally came, it was with a force that left you both shaking. His hips stuttered, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled himself deep, his body collapsing against yours as he rode out the waves of pleasure. His breath was ragged, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath, and you could feel the way his heart raced against your chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved. 

The room was quiet, save for the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing, the sound of your hearts still racing in sync. Crowe’s body was warm and heavy against yours, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. You could feel the way his fingers absently traced patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and lingering like he was memorizing every inch of you.

And then he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and the look he gave you—God, it made your chest ache. His gaze was dark, full of something raw and unguarded, a mix of affection and possessiveness that made your stomach flip. It was the kind of look that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered, like you were his entire world.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice rough but tender, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“But what a way to go, right?” you teased, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, feeling the way his muscles shifted under your touch.

Crowe laughed, the sound low and warm, and then he was kissing you again, his lips soft and lingering. It wasn’t the hungry, desperate kiss from before—this was something slower, sweeter, like he was savoring the taste of you. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, my assistant wanted attention, and as the boss, I’m happy to provide.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice fond.

“Maybe,” he said, his lips brushing against yours in a way that made your breath hitch. “But I’m your idiot.”

And then he was kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he traced every curve, every dip like he was trying to commit you to memory. “Forever yours,” he murmured against your lips, the words so soft they were almost lost in the space between you.

You laughed as you kissed him back, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. “So, what are you going to do now that you’ve probably been fired from the student council?” you asked, your tone light and teasing.

Crowe shrugged, a smirk spreading across his face. 

“Whatever my new boss tells me to do,” he said, his lips brushing against your palm as he kissed it. His eyes met yours, and the look he gave you was pure mischief. “And right now, you’re telling me to stay right here.” You grinned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in for another kiss. 

Good answer, assistant.

[bbgsaja]

⳽ωɩtᥴᖾ ᥙρ (ᙖᥲᑲყ ᔑᥲʝᥲ x ᖴ!ᕼᥙᥒtᥱɾ!ᖇᥱᥲᑯᥱɾ) ρt ꧵

summary - Gwi-Ma's never been the greatest at planning to kill you huntresses, so he sends one single demon in retaliation to the Saja Boys' betrayal. but this demon isn't like anything you've seen before

warnings - none

a/n - i am not Korean, so i had to look up a name. 'Kwan' means 'handsome, strong, talented' according to the source i used, but feel free to correct me if it's wrong!

part one • part two • part three • part four • part five • part six • part seven • part eight • part nine

"Who is that?"

The Idol Awards was just a week away, and everything was looking good. The song, the choreography, the chemistry between both groups. You even teased the new song, and fans already loved it.

But now you were staring at something that threatened that.

"More importantly, where did he come from?"

In the middle of the mall, a boy around your age was slinking from group to group, singing some sad song that seemed to make the people in those groups slouch over in exhaustion, depression, dejection. Your eyes widened, you and the girls watching this in horror.

And then he locked eyes with you.

You looked around, next to you and behind you, thinking maybe he was looking at someone else. But then he started walking, and his path was leading him in your direction. You backed away, your friends frozen in shock beside you, but he persisted and for every step you took back he took two forward.

Until your back hit the glass railing behind you.

So much for shopping in peace.

The newcomer grabbed your hand and pulled you close, making you unwittingly join his little performance. As soon as he touched you, though, you felt your bones turn to jelly and your body was immediately drained of energy.

You tried pulling away, even using your free hand to press against his chest urgently - to push him back - to no avail. You were enervated.

"What are you doing?" You hissed.

"Nothing," he grinned, though it was sharp and malicious. Not at all like Baby's sweet, mischievous grin. "Just giving everyone a new...perspective."

"What?" Your eyes widened, the narrowed into a glare, "Who are you?"

"I'm your biggest fan, (Name)," he smirked, leaning in and whispering those words directly in your ear, making you shiver unpleasantly. "The name's Kwan. You like it?"

Your entire body went rigid, before you growled and tried to shove him again, your eyes blazing with fury, "No!"

But he caught your wrist because your movements were still sluggish, and gestured to the fans who were watching, "Come now, let's not ruin your perfect reputation. You'll see me again."

And then he was gone.

Mira, Zoey and Rumi ran up to you, "(Name)! Where did you go? What happened? Who was he?" Rumi caught you before you fell over.

You groaned, legs shaking, "Gwi-Ma's new puppet."

When you got back to the Huntrix building, Mira guided you to the couch and laid you down. Then she rushed to go get you something sugary to drink, and Zoey went to find Baby.

"I'm fine," you mumbled, voice shaky.

You blinked slowly, seeing through a haze of sudden and inexplicable exhaustion. You felt like you had just woken up from sedation. Your muscles were as heavy as lead, your bones still feeling frail.

"What did he do to you?" Rumi asked, worry clear in her voice as she put her hand on your arm.

Baby poofed into existence before you in a cloud of purple smoke, about to make a sarcastic comment about you being too needy until he saw the state you were in. The words died in his throat, his eyes widening in shock.

"(Name)?"

"He touched me," you finally got out, "That's it."

"He hurt you?" Rumi frowned.

"Who did what now?" Baby asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"No, not hurt," you shook your head, "He...makes you weak."

"Oh, that's nice to hear," Baby grumbled, growling lowly.

"No!" You protested, "He drains your energy when he sings. He makes you feel despair, or exhaustion, or...both."

Baby sat down on the couch, listening intently. He pulled you onto his lap, about to wrap his arms around you when you jerked upright like you'd been shocked.

Rumi yelped and fell over backwards at the sudden movement.

"Baby," you looked at him, your eyes wide. "What did you do?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then got an idea and grinned like the little gremlin he was, "I charged you."

"You...charged me?" You stared at him incredulously.

"Yep," he leaned back against the couch, sinking down into it with his arms laid across the back, "You're welcome."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, "You didn't-"

Rumi gasped loudly and dramatically, "He charged you!"

"Rumi, don't encourage him!"

Baby grinned even more, "See? I'm a human charger."

"...What."

"Specifically for (Name)," Rumi agreed, "No, listen...he might not be far off. Ridiculous, yes, but not wrong."

"I'll take it," Baby shrugged. "Ridiculous is better than wrong."

You both dismissed him as Rumi carried on, "This guy makes people feel depressed and tired with his songs, right? And we have the opposite effect."

"Yeah...?" You weren't sure where she was going with this.

"So maybe Baby did "charge" you," she explained, "Because he loves you, and you love him, so he's an obvious source of comfort and a pillar of strength for you! Reversing this guy's effects!"

"That...actually makes sense," you nodded thoughtfully.

Mira finally got back with some more boba, but stopped when she saw you sitting up, "What did I miss?"

"I charged her." Baby dropped his head back, grinning at Mira upside-down.

"Uh, what?"

You face-palmed, "Basically, this guy induces weakness and your loved one-"

"Boyfriend," Baby corrected casually, still smirking smugly.

"Okay, boyfriend," you sighed, "reverses that effect. Wait, Baby, it's not always going to be a boyfriend!"

"Why not? You have someone else?" He gasped dramatically, "Are you secretly married? Stringing me along, babe? That's just cruel."

You threw a cushion at him, "I meant for some girls and most boys, it'll be girlfriends. For children, their parents or guardians. So we can't exclusively use the term 'boyfriend' as a counteractive measure!"

"Is anyone else seeing this?!" Romance suddenly burst into the room, holding up his phone. The wrong way, yes, but he was trying.

"What?" Mira snapped, "Ro, this is a lot bigger than your followers!"

"Nothing is bigger than my personal fanbase!" He snapped back, then kissed her cheek, "Except for you, darling. But that's beside the point, look!" He shoved his phone in your faces.

You didn't have the heart to tell Romance it was upside-down.

Upside-down people were staring back at you with eyes full of tears, talking about how hopeless their lives were, and others were staring back with weariness in their eyes, droning on about how much work they were doing and how tired they were.

"Our fans are dying!" Romance wailed.

"He's working fast," you grumbled.

"Who?" Romance frowned.

"I'll catch him and Abby up," Mira grabbed him and led him away.

You sunk back down against Baby's chest, turning so you could bury your face in his sweater. His familiar scent and his warmth put you at ease, and your body relaxed when his arms enveloped you.

"You're okay," he said quietly, so only you could hear. "You're safe."

And when his hand circled your back, rubbing soothingly, you started to believe that maybe you would be.

The next day, he took you shopping personally to get what you hadn't gotten the day before. He kept you close, looking at every other guy suspiciously as if he was expecting them to be your harasser.

"Baby, it's fine," you assured him, "He's not...here."

You caught a glimpse of a familiar mop of hair from where you stood, in a nearby store. You cursed under your breath, pulling Baby away before you were responsible for a demon brawl.

"(Name)!"

You winced, stopping in your tracks. Baby noticed, perking up, his arm tightening around you as he pulled you flush against his side.

"Baby Saja," Kwan grinned, "What an honour."

Baby almost bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl, but you pinched his side and reminded him of where you were. So he had to settle for a bored, uninterested look.

"Who are you? Sorry, we're busy."

"But (Name) knows me," Kwan took a step closer. "Maybe we can-"

"No," Baby deadpanned. "She doesn't know you, and you can't join us."

He whistled, "Wow, Baby. Do your fans know you're such a jerk?"

"Do yours know that you're hideously inappropriate?" Baby snapped back, growing more and more irritated.

Kwan only smirked, "Not so cute and sweet like your name suggests. Good. Then maybe the Saja Boys aren't as weak as I thought. Still, falling for hunters? How embarrassing."

Baby's body tensed, like he was rearing for a fight. His jaw clenched - he was waiting for the comment about you that would set him off and give him a reason to shred this Saja Boy wannabe into pieces. His claws even started emerging, and your eyes widened.

You quickly got between them, "Enough! This is a public space. Kwan, why don't you try confronting our entire group instead of just us? Or are you too scared?"

Kwan almost snarled, but held himself back, "You're a disgrace to Gwi-Ma, Baby. You and all the other traitors." Then he vanished.

Around you, people were walking around in a daze, shoulders slumped and expressions sad or tired. Not a single person in this mall looked like they were happy to be there, and you grit your teeth.

"Baby, don't listen to him," you turned to your boyfriend, who was staring at the spot where Kwan had been standing, expression unreadable.

"He's an idiot," he simply stated, then looked up at you. "Only your opinion of me matters."

Then he took your hand and walked away like nothing had happened, his fingers squeezing yours just a little bit tightly. You squeezed back, smiling at his words.

"And you know what I think of you."

He smirked cockily, "Handsome, funny, completely irresistible?"

You gasped dramatically, "Romance?" And tapped his forehead like you were knocking.

"Ha, ha," he responded dryly. "You're hilarious."

You laughed and looped your arm around his, resting your head on his shoulder, "Mhm. You know you're all of that."

He hummed approvingly, "That's right."

As you left the mall, though, surrounded by miserable citizens, your biggest concern was now what?

tag list - @tenaciouskittenpuff @tiger-lilee-5 @seavnz @haru-reto @redkitsu03 @pearthesimp @arieslucy @matsugumisou @lonelyminh @justanindiangirl12

[wvyik]

A RECIPE FOR CHAOS.

dean winchester x gn! reader

ꕤ summary: dean and you are baking, but he spills flour everywhere. amid the mess, you tease him and share some sweet, flour-covered kisses. he promises to clean up, but not without stealing a few more kisses first.

♯ warnings: pure fluff, the amount of flour in this fic could trigger a dust storm, pre-established relationship, passionate kisses, contains one lovable idiot who thinks he’s good at baking. (he’s not)

♯ notes: i’m not saying dean can’t cook… but he might need a lesson or two on how not to create a flour storm in the kitchen. if you’re allergic to cuteness (or flour), proceed with caution.

Dean stood across from you, rolling up his sleeves with the kind of cocky confidence that would have been charming if it wasn’t so misplaced. He smirked, flexing his fingers like a man about to perform some life-saving surgery, rather than, you know, bake cookies. “Alright, sweetheart,” he announced, already taking charge. “What are we making?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed. “You don’t even know?” You plopped a mixing bowl in front of him, watching the way he grinned like this was some kind of challenge he had already won.

“Does it matter?” he shot back, leaning in slightly. “I can make anything taste good.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Last time you made pie, you burned the crust.”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “That was one time.”

“And your pancakes are always slightly raw in the middle,” you added.

His mouth fell open in mock offense. “Okay, now you’re just attacking me,” he argued, holding his hands up like he was under interrogation. Then, after a beat, he exhaled and threw you a lopsided smile. “Just give me a job before I lose my dignity here.”

You sighed, grabbing the bag of flour and shoving it into his hands. “Fine. Carefully pour two cups into the bowl.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, pressing a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “Carefully?” He scoffed. “You don’t trust me?”

You gave him a long, steady look. No words. Just pure, unfiltered doubt.

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. “Whatever, I got this.”

Famous last words.

Dean grabbed the bag, tilted it just slightly; and then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect comedic moment, disaster struck.

POOF.

A thick, white explosion of flour erupted into the air, filling the kitchen in a dense, powdery cloud. It coated the countertops, the floor, the freshly cleaned sink. It clung to your clothes, your hair; your entire existence, really. But most of all, it swallowed Dean whole.

For a second, everything went still. The silence was so profound that you could hear the distant hum of the bunker’s lights overhead. Dean, now resembling something between a ghost and an abandoned powdered donut, stood frozen in place. Flour dusted his flannel, his jeans, his face. Even his lashes, blinking rapidly in confusion, were covered in a fine white layer.

You just stared at him. He blinked.

And then, you lost it.

A strangled sound escaped you, half gasp, half giggle. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to contain it, but the sight of Dean standing there, utterly wrecked by his own stupidity, was too much. Your shoulders shook as laughter bubbled out, overwhelming you completely.

Dean exhaled sharply, sending another puff of flour flying from his lips. “I swear to God—”

That did it. You doubled over, clutching your stomach as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Oh my God, Dean—”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, running a hand down his face, only to smear the flour even further. White streaks now marred his cheekbones, his jawline, the bridge of his nose. It was a mess. He was a mess.

And it only made you laugh harder.

“You look—” you wheezed, struggling for breath, “you look like a powdered donut.”

Dean groaned, shaking out his flannel in frustration. A fresh wave of flour burst into the air, making the entire situation even worse.

You couldn’t breathe.

His eyes narrowed, lips twitching like he was holding back a smirk. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

“Very,” you choked out.

Dean’s smirk turned dangerous. Before you could react, he lunged forward, swiping a flour-covered hand across your cheek.

Your laughter stopped immediately.

“Dean!” you gasped, reaching up to touch your now flour-dusted face. “Oh, it is on.”

With no hesitation, you grabbed a handful of flour from the bag, aiming for his stupidly smug face. But before you could land the hit, Dean was faster — gripping your waist and yanking you into him.

A breath caught in your throat. Your hands collided with his chest, fingers curling instinctively into his flour-covered flannel. He was warm, solid beneath the mess you had created together. The laughter still clung to the air around you, but something else settled between you now. Something softer.

His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady and unrelenting, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your sides. “You were saying?” he murmured, voice dropping just enough to send warmth curling in your stomach.

You huffed, tilting your head up at him. His face was still a disaster — flour smudged along his jaw, clinging to the ends of his hair, but somehow, even like this, he was ridiculously, unfairly handsome.

“I was saying,” you murmured, reaching up to brush some flour from his cheek, “that you look ridiculous.”

Dean smirked. “And you look cute covered in flour.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you, beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

Dean leaned in slowly, his nose brushing yours, his breath warm against your lips. His voice was low, teasing. “What if I kiss you right now?”

Your lips parted slightly, heartbeat thundering. “What if you do?”

Dean hummed, his grin widening just slightly. “I’d get flour all over you.”

“You already did.”

He laughed softly, something sweet and knowing behind his gaze. “Guess I better finish the job, then.”

Then he kissed you.

Soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Like this—you—was something to be savored. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, tasting faintly of sugar and something unmistakably Dean. His hands tightened at your waist, grounding you, pulling you into him like he had no plans to let go.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning, Dean rested his forehead against yours. His lips quirked into that easy, lopsided smirk. “Sweetest damn mess I’ve ever made,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, fingers still curled into his flannel. “Yeah? Well, you’re cleaning it up.”

Dean groaned, dropping his head dramatically onto your shoulder. “Not a chance.”

You smirked, grabbing the mixing spoon. “Then no cookies for you.”

Dean pulled back immediately, eyes wide with betrayal. “Okay, okay! Jeez, way to attack a man’s weakness.”

You giggled, turning back to the mess of ingredients. “Yeah? Better get back to work, Winchester.”

Dean grumbled dramatically, dragging his feet toward the counter, but not before sneaking one last flour-covered kiss against your temple.

And, of course, he still managed to get flour everywhere.

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[australet789]

nonon i havent's stopped here

Because you stupid fucks forget Marinette was dumped EVERYONE'S SECRETS in like less than a week and had a stop a worldwide terrorist in the process

Did you all forget how Kagami and Felix, both KNOWING ADRIEN IS A SENTIMONSTER TOO, decided to do a (although beautiful) complexed fuck ass theater experience to Marinette so she, not them, SHE, had to save Adrien from his abusive father? They dumped a existential crisis on MARINETTE, revealed they knew she was Ladybug and were "you know, we don't have time to explain this to Adrien even though you know little about Sentimonster, so go and save your boyfriend because you care more about him than anyone else in the world, signed, Adrien's ex girlfriend and Adrien's cousin"?

Did you all forget how Gabriel preferred to KILL HIMSELF to avoid explaining his son all the fuck he did, having his comatose semi dead wife on THEIR BASEMENT and went "Marinette, you care more about Adrien than i do, explain this shit to him" and poofed himself of existence?

Did you all forget how Nathalie KNOWS the best all of this, how she still has videos of Emilie explaining stuff and is still not telling the truth to Adrien, even though she is now his canonically adopted mom? And an adult? But it's still letting Marinette fix Gabriel's mistakes?

Did you all forget all the times Marinette saw the universe destroyed just because her identity was revealed, how NO OTHER PERSON has that knowledge, and she has the need to work on the clock to fix everything or Bunnyx, AN ADULT BUNNYX, has to pop-out sometimes to ask a child to fix time paradoxes?

How do you expect HER to explain all of this to Adrien. How do you expect her alone to try and be the messenger of everyone's mistakes in Adrien's life. How do you expect a fucking child to carry the burden of everyone else's lies and not let her have her at least this one

[dodger432101]

Toon's double team - Lux Imperator and Mr Ring-A-Ding x reader part 4

[THIS PART CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DO NOT READ. This is 2000 words longer than part 3. I daresay I cooked a hearty meal for you guys (and myself, teehee) Enjoy!]

You're stirred from your sleep by the smell of breakfast. Strange, you clearly didn't make any. Unless you've started sleepwalking, and.. sleep-cooking. You open your eyes and immediately squint at the sun’s rays - no. That's an artificial light. That ceiling isn't your bedroom’s. Bewildered, you take a quick glance around the room. Oh! Right, you're still in Palazzo. Still in the projector room. Still on the bed Lux had made for you. 

The bed you and Lux had sex on yesterday. 

That thought wakes you up right away. Stretching your arms above your head, you finally notice the little toon is missing from your side. You don't have to look far to find him though, Lux is seated at the desk against the wall opposite you. He's sitting sideways on the chair, staring ahead, slowly kicking his legs as he quietly hums ‘Girl Of My Dreams’. He's seemingly lost in his day dreaming, having not noticed any of your movement. 

On the desk you spot the source of that mouth watering smell, a steaming plate of - what you can see at this angle - eggs, sausages, pancakes and toast. Seems Reginald (you just assume he made it, something tells you it would look a little... a lot more burnt if Lux had been working the stove) is up and at ‘em up already. You don't see a clock from the bed, but your stomach tells you it's time to eat so you push yourself up and step over to the table. 

This catches the God's attention, a big smile instantly stretching his cheeks up to his eyes at the sight of you. “Morning sunshine! How are you feeling? I didn't bruise anything in there yesterday, did I?” He pokes your lower stomach as he asks, giggling as if he's only joking but there's a clear worried undertone in his question. You pat his head in a reassuring way, reaching over to the plate to grab a slice of golden buttered toast.

“No bruises Lux, dear, don't worry.” Your speech is muffled as you take a bite of your food. “Is Mr Pye here?” 

It's only just occurred to you where Lux got the mattress and other stuff from. You knew Reginald had a little set-up long before the God of Light showed up. Some days he'd stay overnight to do maintenance on the reels or machines. There was no reason to keep more than one mattress, who'd come into a picture house to steal that? The multiple blankets helped on colder nights. Lux must have taken it all from him. If Mr Pye had slept here last night it would've been on the floor or a chair, neither comfortable nor good for the older man to be on for so many hours. 

Lux stands up on the chair to pick a piece of toast for himself, munching away as he nods to your question, a muffled ‘mhm’ accompanying it. Your concern must show on your face as he tilts his head, a small question mark appearing just above his hat, furrowing his eyebrows for a bit before he realises what's got you worried. “Oh!” The question mark poofs out of existence as he swallows the bit of food in his mouth. “Don't worry about him dolly! I'd asked him for that stuff yesterday morning, he actually went home last night. I assume. I woke up to him getting back, thought someone was breaking in!” Lux chuckles mischievously. “Good thing I checked who it was, poor guy might've had a heart attack from the scare I was planning for whatever poor soul had walked into this joint!” 

You roll your eyes endearingly as the God giggles away to himself. Finishing off your piece of toast, you scoop Lux up by his armpits and sit on the chair he previously occupied, placing him in your lap. You pinch his right cheek gently and kiss the top of his head before you reach for the fork on the plate, using it to cut one of the fluffy pancakes in half. “That's good to hear - him going home for the night. Not you nearly frightening the poor man.” You feed one oval of pancake to Lux and eat the other yourself, the toon humming in delight at the flavour. He makes grabby hands at the plate so you pull it close enough for him to be able to reach and pick at what he wants while you eat. Together you clear the plate quickly (most of the pancakes going to him). 

After stretching the fatigue from your limbs, you poke the God's sides rapidly, making him giggle and snort. He hops off your lap to escape the tickling so you take the opportunity to get up and grab the empty plate. “Come on pretty boy.” You make your way to the door, leaving Lux in a daze as a big red heart floats up over his head. It pops like a bubble when you're out of his sight, snapping him out of his staring before he rushes after you.

The little toon trails behind you like a shadow as you walk through the picture house. The neat thing about this building was that it had a small diner attached to it, for employee use only so they could get fresh food on their breaks. Most days you went there for your lunch, it meant you didn't have to cook or buy something for yourself the day before. Plus you got to talk to the staff there. Human interaction was always a bonus. 

Today no one is there. It's dark, save for the beam of sunlight coming in from a window. You walk around the counter towards the kitchen, missing the way Lux pauses at the sight of the sun. He's not a completely clueless God, he knows what will happen if he interacts with that powerful of a light. So, he hops over the counter to avoid touching its warm rays and continue following you around. 

Plate washed, you walk with Lux to see Mr Pye. Partly to say good morning, partly to make sure your little companion had told the truth about Reginald not sleeping in the picture house. He's in his usual theatre, cleaning up some film strips stacked in their reels on his desk. He turns at the sound of the door and smiles at you. “Ah, there you are, Miss sleepyhead. Did you enjoy your sleepover?” You have to turn and look out into the theatre to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, smiling in, what you hope is, an inconspicuous way. 

“I did indeed. And you, Lux?” You turn to look behind you, tagging in your companion to answer.

“Oh, of course! I hadn't tried the whole ‘sleeping’ thing before, I expect cuddles every night now!” You sigh lightly at the idea, Mr Pye laughing as he turns back to grab something on his desk. 

“I'm glad to hear. I went home to my own bed. There were some things I forgot on the first trip and by the time I got back there it was dark. I trusted our new.. um, resident to step in if anything happened. Oh, while you're here, my little cleaner.” The older man waves a small brush at you, a cheeky grin on his face. He wants your help. You roll your eyes with a smile and take it from him. Mr Pye then hands you an armful of reels, leaving you to set up on another table in the room while he returns to the rest. You carefully remove a film strip from one of the reels, laying it flat on the table so you can examine it. As you begin brushing one of the slides Lux strolls over to observe. Seeing the little toon appear in your peripheral, you set the brush down to pick him up and sit him on a clear space on the table so he has a better view. 

“What're you doing, dolly?” He whispers to you as you return to your task, mouth on the side of his face like he's trying to be secretive about his curiosity. Mr Pye may be older than you and have his glasses on every waking moment but you knew his hearing was as fine as ever. You choose not to tell Lux this, keeping your eyes on the film in front of you.

“I'm cleaning off any dust so it doesn't damage the image on the film.” 

“Ooohhh.. how long is this going to take?” You have to look up at him after that question, an eyebrow raised. The God is swinging his feet over the edge of the table, fingers tapping at his sides, an expectant look in his eyes.

“Lux..” You just about sigh out his name, looking to the side as you ponder how you're gonna keep this impatient God quiet while you work. “If.. you let me get this done, we'll do whatever you want after. Ok? Think you can keep yourself busy till then?” His eyes light up like Christmas trees at your offer. The toon pushes himself off the desk, once bored expression replaced by a beaming grin.

“Yes, Ma'am! You won't even know I'm in the building!” Lux gives you a little salute, whole body going rigid before he dashes out of the room in record time. In his rush to leave, however, the door is left wide open. You sigh before calling the short God back, watching an adorably inquisitive blue face pop up from around the corner. Hearing Reginald stifle a laugh behind you, you poke your pinky finger at the door. “Oh! Sorry.” The little God gives a sheepish grin and stretches a hand out to grab the door handle, gently pulling it closed before you hear the muffled tapping of his steps as he goes off to keep himself occupied.

“You're the only one he listens to.”

You whip your head back to Mr Pye. He's turned around in his chair, one arm leaning on the back of it as he smiles warmly at you. “Really? Does he not get along with any of the other staff?” That would surprise you. Sure he was a God and all but he's been pretty lax with you, all things considered, letting you carry him around like a toddler from your third day with him.

Reginald shakes his head. “He scared most of the staff out on the night he arrived, those who weren't..” He looks at a hung up piece of film strip. The one 15 people had been trapped inside. “Any he missed have been chased off by now. All except you.” Mr Pye raises the hand of the arm draped over his chair, resting his head on it. “And I mean, he only calls me by my name. You? He throws in just about every pet name in the books for you.” 

You have to turn back to the film you're cleaning, your cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well.. maybe he's just a charmer. He is using Mr Ring-A-Ding as a vessel of sorts, he must've picked up some lines from the cartoon.” 

You hear Mr Pye scoff to the side of you. “Or, my dear, he's in love.” Your cheeks must be bright red now. You splutter at the notion, having to take your hand away from cleaning as you lose all focus. Not that you doubted the idea of Lux having some form of affection for you, he'd proven that many times over. But love? Could a God fall in love with a mortal, if at all? You're too busy thinking about that to respond to Reginald. You hear him chuckle quietly and turn around in his chair, leaving you to your thoughts. After a minute you get nowhere with your wondering, so you shake your head and turn to the clock in the room. 8 O’clock. You turn back to the table, resuming your cleaning. The faster this is over, the sooner you can talk to Lux.

It's midday when both you and Reginald are done, a duo of sighs being heard in the projector room as you stretch your aching muscles from leaning over to examine closely for any debris on the film strips. “I dare say we've earned ourselves a hearty lunch, hm?” Your stomach answers for you, making you both laugh. It's nice to see Mr Pye so happy. For all the time you've worked for him you've seen forced smiles that fade as soon as he thinks you're no longer looking at him, a lonely man cooped up in his projector room clinging to the only way he can see his dead love again; one single film reel. You don't even see it today, he must have left it at home. He's able to be apart from it. It's like he's finally healing. 

You follow your boss down to the diner, keeping an eye out for the little toon, expecting him to jump out at any second now you've done your task. Surprisingly you don't see even a glimpse of him, even as the smell of your lunch wafts throughout the building. He really meant it when he said you wouldn't know he's here. You sit with Mr Pye at one of the diner’s tables while you eat, eyes still scanning the room for Lux. 

Once he's finished his meal, Mr Pye stretches his arms above his head. “Well. I can't think of anything else that needs doing here, so I might as well head on home again. I imagine you'll be having a chat with our resident God after all.” You look down at your empty plate, blushing again at the idea of asking Lux if he loves you. “Oh don't be like that. It's clear as day that he's head over heels for you. Go on, go on! I wanna hear all about it tomorrow.” Your boss gently ushers you out of your seat and towards the picture house part of the building, taking your plates to be washed. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you wave goodbye to Reginald before heading off in search of your little God. After a quick check of every theatre, you find him in the projector room your bed is set up in. He's standing in the middle of the room, arms stretched above his head towards one of the lights. Lux moves his hands closer together and as he does, the light he's looking at grows dim. When he moves his hands apart, the light brightens. Is this what he's been doing for all this time? 

“Hey Lux, I'm done!” You speak quietly to not startle the toon, seeing as he's completely enraptured with the light above him. At the sound of your voice he spins so quickly he turns into a little tornado, settling down after a few seconds, facing you with possibly the cutest little smile you've seen him pull. 

“You're done? Great! I have a fantastic idea for what we can do! Come on come on come on!” He quickly takes a hold of your hand and pulls you towards the projector in the room, hopping up to grab a film reel on a nearby desk and give it to you. A Mr Ring-A-Ding cartoon. Huh. “Go on dolly, get that film rolling! You're gonna love this!” The excited little God grabs a blanket and pillow from your bed before he dashes out into the theatre, bounding onto the stage in front of the big screen while you load the film into the projector. Once it's set up you go down to join Lux, sitting in one of the seats on the bottom row as he drops the blanket and pillow on the stage. 

“Lux, Hun, not that I don't like these cartoons but I've already seen them plenty of times. What are you planning?” 

“Patience, my angel, you'll see!” You're about to ask for more of an explanation than that when the projector clicks to life and the screen lights up with the image of Mr Ring-A-Ding. His little song and dance start straight away, Lux instantly copying from his spot on stage. At first he looks annoyed at having to go along with the cartoon's act, until he looks back at you. You're watching him - not the screen, him - with a fond smile, your head leaning on one hand. Knowing he has your attention, the God puffs his chest up with pride and grins just like his carbon copy on screen is. At the end of the theme song you clap for Lux, giggling as a disembodied round of applause kicks up around you while the little God bows dramatically. Even then, it's quieter than your clapping. He only cares for your praise. 

Lux turns to the screen, backing up to the edge of the stage before he runs and jumps into the image, landing right next to Ring-A-Ding. The cartoon startles at the unscripted arrival of his own image, before Lux unceremoniously pushes him out of the screen and onto the stage below as he also hops back into our reality. Now there's 2 little toons in the theatre; one looking around in amazement while the other winks at you, arms stretched out like he's showing off a magic trick. You slowly get up and walk onto the stage, your eyes meeting with Ring-A-Ding's as you stare at each other in shared awe. “Wow..” Ring reaches a hand out to you cautiously, jumping when he makes contact with the hand you stretch out for him to touch. “Well, hi there! Gosh.. ain't you a magnolia in May, pretty missy.” Ring holds your hand, leaning his head over to lay a soft kiss on your knuckles, not once breaking eye contact . 

You're too busy giggling at Ring and his charm to see Lux’s eyes twitch at the other toon’s flirtation. The God marches over to take your other hand, lifting it to his face to press multiple kisses into your palm. “Well, dolly, how do you feel about taking this guy for a spin?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and points a thumb towards Ring-A-Ding. 

“For a spin?” You echo in confusion, looking between the identical toons. One grins in a mixture of confusion and nervousness, the other is smirking at you as he pushes you towards the layed out blanket. Then it clicks. “Lux! You brought him into this world for that?!” The God laughs his 7 note giggle, waiting until you sit on the blanket before he drops into your lap. 

“That's right sweetie pie. Think you can handle the two of us at the same time?” Lux cups your jaw in one hand to keep your eyes on him, eyebrows wiggling again as he smirks. You both look up as Ring starts stuttering with a shaky laugh. Seems he's also realised what Lux is implying.

“You.. you want me to… with her? And you?!” Ring is blushing a vibrant pink now, scratching the back of his neck. Lux lifts himself off of your lap to approach the other toon.

“Let me make this clear now: you're here to satisfy her. I didn't bring you here so you could blow your load and scamper off back home. My pretty lady cums before you do or I will send you back to your little cartoon world with bluer balls than you already have. Got it?” Ring gives another nervous chuckle, nodding quickly.

“Okay I’m all up for this.. but uh, how am I gonna tell you two apart?” Both toons turn to you at your question. The one on the left grins as he closes his eyes for just a second. When they're open again, the once black pie eyes are a vibrant gold colour. Guess that's Lux.“Huh.. well alright then.” You shrug and start undressing yourself, Ring covering his eyes as your top comes off and reveals your bra. 

“Oh ho ho, no no no, none of that. Watch her. She's doing this for you, after all.” Lux pulls Ring’s hands from his eyes, making the nervous toon look as you unclip your bra and pull it off your body. You lean back on your hands and smile at the both of them, watching as Lux pushes Ring towards you. 

“I.. wow, golly miss, you really put the stars to shame..” Lux moves behind you as Ring stares at your body. Your God begins to press kisses down your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around your front so his hands can cup your breasts. He kneads at them gently, cooing at the sigh you let out at the feeling. 

“Just gonna stand there? Come here, help her out of these pants. You haven't seen anything yet.” At Lux’s instruction, Ring kneels down in front of you. Shaky, uncertain hands reach out to touch your skin, running up and down your stomach and sides. He looks up into your eyes as his fingers reach your pants. You snap out of the daze Lux's petting has put you into to nod at Ring and lift your hips up. Slowly, your pants are pulled down your legs, the toon's eyes following every inch of skin that’s revealed. Once they're off your legs, Ring crawls back to you, his hands running along your thighs gently. “Ain't she gorgeous? Gosh, you're gonna love the singing we'll get out of her in a minute.” Lux purrs, rubbing his cheek against yours as his hands move along your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples in a practised manner that has you arching into the touch. “Take her panties off. She's practically got her own personal heaven between her legs.” 

Again, Ring looks for your permission before he slides the fabric down your legs. He gasps quietly at the sight of your pussy, dripping wet from the attention the toons have been giving you. “Golly gee gosh, is that all because of us?” The toon puts his hands on the inside of your thighs as he looks between your face and your pussy, licking his lips.

“Who else would she get this soaking wet for? Right angel? All mine, aren't you?” Lux takes a hand away from your breasts to cup your jaw again, turning your head to plant a heated kiss on your lips. You whine into the God's mouth as his finger and thumb pinch a nipple gently, earning a muffled chuckle. He breaks the kiss to smile at you, one thumb brushing over your cheek while the other soothes your nipple. Then he moves his gold eyes down to Ring-A-Ding. “Use your mouth on her. You're not moving from there until she's screaming.” 

Ring looks stunned for a few seconds before he blinks rapidly, taking one last glance at your eyes before he moves his head down between your legs, his previous hesitance gone as his tongue runs right over the length of your pussy. You buck your hips at the sensation, making his tongue rub deliciously into your clit, causing you to moan and tilt your head back into Lux’s shoulder. The God of Light takes this opportunity to press a multitude of kisses onto your throat, sucking gently on random spots to add to the pleasure building in you. Ring drags his tongue lower, lapping at your juices before driving the warm muscle inside of you. This startles a breathless moan from you and has you arching your back as the toon’s tongue explores your tight hole. Lux wraps his arms around your middle, just under your breasts, holding you as you writhe in pleasure. His head rests on your shoulder as he watches Ring eat you out.

As your moans increase in frequency and pitch, Lux tilts his head so his lips are brushing against your ear. “You sing so pretty for us, sweetie pie. Are you getting close? Gonna cum in his mouth, angel? Flood his tongue with that sweet honey?” You whine in response to the God's whispers, grinding down onto Ring's tongue as the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter. “Go on.. cum for us. Cum for me. Cum for your God, my pretty little angel.” That causes the knot to snap, your body shaking, breath stuttering as you let out one last loud moan. It trails off into breathless whimpers as Ring keeps licking at your walls, making your hips jump as your body fights between escaping the overstimulating pleasure and grinding into it. 

You let out another quiet moan when Ring finally pulls his tongue from your pussy, Lux running his hands down your sides in a soothing manner while you come down from that intense orgasm. Just as you get your breathing steady, you feel a bulge rub up against your pussy. Ring has started grinding his clothed cock against you, panting heavily, his face bright pink.

“Who. Said. You could do that?” 

Both you and Ring freeze at the icy tone. The toon in front of you stumbles onto his feet, a shaky grin directed at the God of Light behind you. Lux gives you a gentle, reassuring kiss on the shoulder before he moves towards Ring, waving his finger in a circular motion. He wants them to swap places. As Ring quickly makes his way around to your side, you catch Lux glaring at the back of his head, his fists clenched. Why is he so angry? 

With the toon's places swapped, Lux kneels down between your legs. He holds the outside of your thighs as he leans his head down your glistening pussy. “Since you're so desperate, you can fuck her mouth.” 

Ring begins to stutter again at the notion, a sharp glare from Lux quickly shutting him up. You lean back on one hand, using the other to grab onto the top of the toon’s pants. Before you pull them down, you look up at his face. Ring is sweating, face practically glowing red from his blush, and unsteady grin stretching his lips. Even then, he nods at you. You pull them down, the tip of his cock nearly hitting your nose as it falls out of his pants. At first glance it's identical to Lux’s, but as you wrap your hand around it a difference becomes crystal clear. It's noticeably thinner. 

You look down to the God between your legs. He's already looking at you, his tongue drawing circles along your pussy to warm you back up after your first orgasm. He raises an eyebrow when your eyes meet, pulling his tongue off of you.

“What?”

“I thought you hadn't altered that form.” 

“I haven't! I'm just bigger! Got a problem with that, toots? You sure seemed to love it yesterday.” 

You roll your eyes as you turn from Lux’s gold gaze and look up at Ring, leaning your head over to wrap your lips around his tip. His head tilts back as you run your tongue over the slit. “Ohhh, *BLEEP*!” You can't fight the smile rising to your lips at the loud censorship, feeling the vibrations of Lux’s chuckle against your pussy. You move your head to swallow more of his cock down your throat, closing your eyes in focus. The toon is already panting, resting a hand on the top of your head to stabilise himself. 

Lux stares at the way your lips glide along the other toon's length, moving his tongue down to your entrance and slipping it inside you. He has to prove he's better. Give you a reason to choose him, to be his. Only his. 

He finds that sweet spot along your walls with ease, brushing the tip of his tongue against it over and over as you writhe, moans muffled around Ring. You wrap your legs around your God’s head, pushing his face right up against you, his pig nose rubbing your clit. Your second orgasm is approaching faster than your first, your walls tightening around Lux’s tongue making him groan quietly, eyes slipping closed as he loses himself in your sweet flavour. 

“Gosh miss, I'm not gonna last much longer with you on me..” Ring whines, the hand on your head gripping slightly onto your hair as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. You hum in acknowledgement but keep your eyes closed, missing the way Lux’s eyes snap open to glare at Ring. He doesn't get to cum before you. Lux pulls his tongue from inside you, simultaneously latching onto your clit and sucking while a thick blue finger works its way inside you, making a beeline to your sweet spot. The combination of sensations drive you right to climax, thighs squeezing the God's cheeks as you shake and moan. The vibrations trigger Ring’s own orgasm, the toon letting out a stuttery whimper as your tongue is drenched in a thick, salty liquid. You really hope this is safe to ingest. That worry doesn't stop you from swallowing it down, wringing out more whimpers from Ring as your throat contracts around his cock. 

Once he's finished filling your mouth, Ring pulls back slowly. You catch the tip in one more kiss before it's out of reach, making the toon shudder. Lux is up in an instant, sucking on the finger covered in your nectar as he marches over to the other toon. Ring opens his mouth but before he can get a word out Lux grabs him by the back of his waistcoat, spinning with him once and then chucking him at the screen. He lands face first on the cartoon image, pants still around his ankles as the projector clicks off. It's just you and a heavy breathing God in the theatre now. 

“Lux..?” You stand up from the blanket, reaching a hand out as he walks past you. He turns his head to hide his face, left hand rubbing his right arm. Lux makes it off the stage before he sighs deeply, halting.

“I.. look I'm sorry sunshine but, I think that's the last time I bring him out to play.” He turns to you, gold eyes still not meeting yours. You make your way down to him, gently cupping his chin to lift his head. Even then he hesitates to look at you, only lifting his eyes up when your thumb brushes against his cheek. He looks.. sad. Expectant. Does he think you'll be angry at him? 

“That's okay, Hun. I enjoyed it, don't get me wrong. But you satisfy me enough on your own. I don't need another toon to keep me happy.” Lux gives a small smile at that, though he looks away again. Maybe he needs some more convincing. You look down, noticing the bulge in his pants. That'll do nicely. “Why don't I.. show my devotion to my God?” 

The sultry tone you use grabs his attention. Lux blinks up at you, quickly nodding his head. “Yes.. yes, I'd like that sunshine.” 

You stroke his cheeks and nose lovingly while you back him up towards one of the theatre’s seats, letting him drop down onto it before you get his pants off and ease yourself into your God’s lap. Once you're steady, you rise up and take a hold of his cock, slipping it inside of you, dropping until your lips are flush against his hilt. You start a slow rhythm, drawing quiet moans from the God under you. “Ohhh, dolly you feel so good. Fuck, I'm not gonna last long with you on top of me like this.” Lux chuckles breathlessly, fingers kneading into your hips as he looks up at you with a lax grin.

“Oh, Lux.. even if you cum, what's stopping me from carrying on riding you?”

His eyes widen at your words and his grin falls in surprise, but you feel it. His cock twitches inside of you. He likes the idea. “Well.. gosh sunshine! That's, uh, well..” His cheeks are dark blue now, a bead of sweat forming on the side of his head. Oh, he really likes the idea. Can he admit it?

His eyes flick away for a heartbeat, then he looks up at you with a lovestruck gaze as he reaches a hand out. You notice his eyes have morphed into glowing gold hearts as you lean down. He gently cups your cheek once he can reach and starts a speech that stuns you still. “Darlin’, I'd take anything you gave me. Go ahead, ride me ‘till this form breaks apart and fades away - I'll come back. I'll find you again, no matter how long it takes, no matter where you are, and I'll let you destroy me over and over, until the stars go out if it makes you happy, angel.” His breathing is ragged at this point. “Anything you want, if I can grant it to you, it's yours. I'll do anything you want, I'm all yours sweetheart you own me; my heart, my soul. You're the light of my life. No one in this universe or any other could amount to you in all the time there will ever be.” 

You can't help but cup his head in both your hands and kiss him after that. Lux just about whimpers at the contact, closing his eyes as he lives up to his words; taking anything you give him. When you break the kiss you rub his cheek with your right thumb, watching him turn his head into it so he can press a kiss into your palm, his hand coming up to run his fingers along your wrist. He finally opens his eyes, pupils still golden hearts, to stare right into yours as he leans back into the chair. “Go on angel, ruin me. Please..” 

“Yeah? Gonna take what I give you like a good little God?” 

“Mhm, I will. Please pretty lady please..” 

You could never say no to that cute face. 

You give him one last peck on the lips before you move your hands to grip the back of the chair, legs shifting so your ass is hovering over his lap. Lux has both hands on your hips, his grip barely there. “Ready, Hun?” He nods vigorously. Well let's hope he is. 

You raise your hips until only his tip is inside you before slamming your ass down. That has his head tilting back, eyes up towards the ceiling as he lets out a dazed moan. This new, harsh rhythm has Lux melting into the seat, head back, eyes closed as he succumbs to the mind breaking pleasure you're drawing out of him. You angle your hips mid thrust so the tip of his cock bullies against your sweet spot. You can't help the way your walls tighten at the feeling, squeezing a pathetic little whine from Lux. 

“Angel, sunshine.. I'm close, so so close. Can I cum, pretty lady? Please please please can I fill you up?” Lux pants out, his fingers digging almost uncomfortably into the flesh of your hips. You don't get a chance to answer as the God of Light keeps rambling. “Please dolly, fuck, let me cum inside you. I'll fill you up so good, give you a demigod to grow in your womb. Would you like that, angel? Everyone will know you're mine, all mine.” 

You lean your head down so your lips brush against his cheek, laying a kiss there before you move further down to whisper in his ear, just as he had to you earlier. “Go on, Lux. Cum for me. Cum for your angel, my little God.”

Lux suddenly leans forward, wrapping his arms around your middle to keep you still, his cock buried to the base inside you. A series of whimpers are heard from him as he presses kisses down your stomach, cock twitching as he reaches his orgasm. His antennae are in a permanent heart shape as they brush against your skin. Once he's done pumping you full of his cum, Lux sighs lightly as he pulls his head away from your stomach, smiling up at you with a satisfied expression. “Thank you, angel. I think you've shown your devotion to me well enough for today.” You both chuckle at that, equally breathless. You move a hand from the back of the seat, cupping Lux’s cheek as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocates straight away, both hands now stroking up and down your sides. 

Wait.. he mentioned a demigod. Shit, could he get you pregnant?! He'd already cum inside you yesterday! You quickly break the kiss, sitting up more as Lux stares into your eyes with a half lidded gaze. “I'm.. not gonna end up actually having some demigod baby of ours, right Hun?” Lux blinks a couple times at the question, gold hearted pupils changing back to the black pie eyes of Mr Ring-A-Ding. 

“Oh! No no, don't worry about that my dear angel. This body isn't exactly.. fitted.. with everything required for reproduction.” He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, looking away from you sheepishly. “I just, uh, got carried away I guess. I won't lie, the thought of you having my offspring is.. tempting.” He looks down to your stomach, the hand behind his head moving to brush against your skin, right where your womb is. “But this is only our fourth day together. It's a bit early to think about having children, hm?” You nod as he looks back up to you. Maybe later down the line.. 

As Lux leans back again, soaking in his post orgasm glow, you look up to the projector room. The box of tissues in there would be really helpful right now, you can feel your God’s cum threatening to leak out. Half in wishful thinking, half as a joke, you snap your fingers as Lux had done yesterday to summon the film strips to do his bidding. Of course, you don't expect it to happen to you. He's a God, you're a human. So it comes as a great surprise when a strip of film does fly down to you, the tissue box wrapped up securely. You glance between the box and your God, he looks as surprised as you feel. “Huh.. it must sense that you're close to me, or.. something like that. Almost like my harbinger knows you're my angel now.” You don't know what he means by ‘harbinger’ but you decide to ask about that another time. For now, you lift yourself off Lux’s cock, using the tissues to wipe up the combined liquid spilling out of you. The toon underneath you immediately comes to your aid, the film strip moving the tissues to him as he takes a few out to help you.

Cleaned up, you move back to the stage and pick up your clothes. As you put them back on, Lux hops off the chair and pulls his pants onto his hips, clambering onto the stage to collect the blanket and pillow. The both of you head up to the projector room, Lux jumping onto the bed as he covers himself with the blanket and puts the pillow behind his head. His little hat floats off onto the table in the room as he stretches and yawns. You crouch down to scoop him up, making room for yourself on the mattress to sit down, God in your lap. 

You sit and cuddle with Lux for a few minutes, a comfortable quiet settling in the room. Then you remember what Mr Pye had said earlier in the day. You hesitate to break the silence for the question you want to ask. Luckily, Lux does it for you. 

“Sunshine? Are you ok? You're starting to feel tense. Did you pull something down in the theatre?” 

You look down at your God. He turns in your lap to face you, getting onto his knees so he can reach up easier to cup your cheeks in his hands. “Oh, yes I'm alright. Just..” You fidget with the hair on the back of Lux's head with one hand, working up the courage to ask if he loves you. He waits quietly, a gentle smile on his face. “I was just wondering.. Well, Mr Pye said something interesting today.” Lux tilts his head at that. “He, um.. said that you.. might be in love. With me.” 

The smile on Lux’s face grows. “Well duh! Thought that was clear as day, toots!” He giggles at the surprised look you give him, wrapping his arms around your neck in a warm hug. “Oh, angel, of course I love you. I meant everything I said while you were.. ahem.. on top of me.” You both flush at the memory of that. “I just.. never thought to say it out loud. I thought you knew already. But, seeing as you didn't..” Lux presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I do love you, my sunshine. So, so much.” 

You give Lux a kiss back, pinching his cheek gently. “I love you too, my cute little God.” His antennae curl into the familiar heart shape as he flutters his eyelashes at you. Smiling at the adorable display, you swing your legs over so you can lie down on your mattress, pulling Lux up so his head is level with your neck. 

“Angel, don't you need to eat again soon? You've only had, what, two meals? What about your 5 a day?” You can't help but chuckle, patting your God’s head. 

“Lux, the 5 a day is about fruit and vegetables. Not the amount of meals you eat.” 

“Ohhh! That makes much more sense. 5 meals sounded like a lot for one human.” You sigh lightly as Lux giggles, snuggling his face into your neck as you cuddle up to each other. “Still. Don't you need some more food soon?” 

“I'll be ok, Hun. We'll just have a short nap before dinner.”

“Okay sunshine! I'm fine with that, seeing as I get to cuddle with you.” Lux presses a kiss at the part of your neck he can reach. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

After the work and play you've done today, you fall asleep quickly. Your God snuggled up to you, keeping an ear out just in case anything dared to disrupt your slumber. Of course nothing does, nothing would enter this picture house without his permission. It was his harbinger, his domain. A safe place for the God of Light and his angel.

[Feel free to give suggestions for what future parts could include! We're getting to 10, I have an angsty little idea cooking for it >:)]

[allastoredeer]

It's kind of funny to think that when Lucifer points out to Charlie that they have the same blood, it's clear that Lucifer has golden blood due to being an Angel, while in battle we see that Charlie actually has red blood, probably due to being the daughter of the first human/sinner woman, which ironically makes her even closer to Alastor just on a visual level.

Another thing I love about that song is that Lucifer stresses that he will support her, but always focusing on material things and the use of his power. While Alastor, the manipulative bastard who knows everyone's weaknesses, brings out all the bonds and emotional support he's given Charlie just by being there from the beginning, how they've become friends, how he makes her laugh with his jokes, he even hugs Niffty, and all that "corny" stuff is what Charlie really appreciates, but she has no interest in material things.

Ooooh! Good point about the blood! In that aspect, she could be more closely affiliated with sinners than Lucifer or the hellborn.

Also, that's what I REALLY love about Alastor and Lucifer's song, because your right! Lucifer is focusing on all the things he can get her. Material items. Which is exactly where he went wrong.

Charlie is the princess of Hell, I'm pretty sure she has no problem buying anything. Lucifer may be able to snap things into existence, but that's not what Charlie wants. It's not what she needs.

Alastor, on the other hand, is observant as fuck. He was with the Hazbin crew for only a week before he pegged Charlie's daddy issues.

It is also very interesting that in this photo Lucifer is in the spotlight with his back turned to Charlie, and Charlie's body language is so hurt and closed off, she's literally on the brink of tears. I'm just saying, I don't think we give Charlie's feelings about her and Lucifer's relationship more credit. We tend to focus more on Lucifer's emotions and that is such a shame because LOOK at her. Charlie is not okay.

Charlie wants connection, support, and community. She wants someone to be proud of her. She wants someone who is reliable and involved.

And Alastor knows that and, when you think about it, he HAS done that.

Look at Charlie's face when he tells her he's happy to "fulfill all her bizarre request."

Requests. Not just poofing items into existence.

We've already seen examples of Alastor being involved with the hotel and doing things that Vaggie and Charlie ask him to do, such as taking the egg bois with him, sitting in on Charlie's exercise's, making a commercial, building a new wall, dealing with clogs--and I imagine he's done a lot more over the 6 months that he's been there.

(Also, not to go off topic but Alastor's back arch oh my god??????)

Look at her face when Alastor say's that she's an "impressive young lady" and that they're all "very proud of her."

He didn't even need to say "I'm proud of her," it was "we're proud of her."

It makes me wonder when the last time Charlie heard those words. Did Lucifer and Lilith ever tell her they were proud of her? I looked through the episode transcripts, and there wasn't a single time Lucifer said "I'm proud of you", even after they rekindled their relationship.

I think it's something Charlie has wanted to hear for a VERY long, and hearing it from Alastor (who's as close to a father figure as she's had, I guess), I can't imagine how much that meant to her.

Also note Charlie's face when Lucifer interrupts them to request he meet her other friends.

Charlie wants emotional connection. She doesn't want Lucifer to come in and fix all her problems, she just needs a little help. She wants his support. She invited him to the hotel so she could show him what she was working on and how much things have improved.

And let's be honest here, Lucifer went to the hotel for purely selfish reasons.

He didn't go to listen to Charlie's pitch or even consider helping with it. He already said no about setting up a meeting with Heaven and he went into the hotel already believing it wouldn't work, with no intention of keeping an open mind.

He missed Charlie and went there only to see her, which isn't altogether bad! He missed his daughter. That's fine. But by all accounts it was a selfish decision that he made purely for himself. It was to benefit him, not her.

And I think, on some level, Charlie expected that.

So when Alastor swoops in saying all the right words, knowing exactly what Charlie wants (because he's been paying attention), knowing that she doesn't need material items but emotional connection, you know, I can't blame her for looking the way she did, and I'm not surprised it sent Lucifer head-first into a whirlpool of insecurity.

Lucifer went wrong by trying to "buy" (for lack of better term) his way back into Charlie's good graces. I don't think he meant for it to come off like that, but the whole basis of his "i'm a better dad than Alastor" argument is "look at all the things I can get for you," "look at all the ways you can benefit from my status" and "we're blood-related."

Whereas Alastor's was "here's all the things I've done to help and support you," "look at the times I've been reliable" and "you've already made a found family here, you don't need a biological one."

I'm sorry, but going by the song? Yeah, Alastor kind of beat Lucifer in the dad category.

Doesn't mean he's an actual, loving, and supportive father figure to Charlie LMAO, but by all accounts, he's checked the boxes.

[godofthestupid]

currently torturing my crappy laptop that definetly did not even dream of ever having to be used for 3d programms by messing around in blender

[eahtheramblings]

Legacy Day, as told by archived mirror net post's

The goal of the Revamp au is to take what already existed in the series and pull it towards its darker or more logical conclusions, and as such, Legacy Day and the resulting consequences end up playing out a lot more chaotic here than in the original series. For starters, most of the parents are there, and the entire thing is not only being broadcast across normal mirror television, which was forced to cut out after Ravens rebellion, but also Blondie's livestream, which crucially didn't cut out after Raven refused to sign and thus captured the aftermath. The news discusses the 'Legacy Day Fiasco' (as it had been dubbed) furiously, and social media spends weeks debating if Raven went up to the roof afterwards to sic her dragon onto the crowd or to truly ... free herself from her destiny, as Headmaster Grimm seems to believe. Apple and others who signed the book prior had to be quarantined for a full day as Grimm and other sorcerers checked them to make sure the tearing of the book didn't have any negative magical impact on them, which fueled conspiracy theories for a good few hours that they were dead or had "poofed". Several of the parents refused to leave the school afterwards, and a closed-door meeting was held for nearly ten hours over night at the school including every monarch in attendance to the ceremony. All in all, a day to remember indeed.

Bonus image:

[spiderfunkz]

THE APARTMENT WE WON'T SHARE

peter parker x reader

cw: post-nwh, angst no comfort, in this universe everyone forgets tasm!peter, everyone including his own partner. inspired by the song of the title.

it's peter's first christmas alone. he's undoubtedly sad, it would be heartbreaking for you to see him like this, thankfully you will never get the chance to. that's what peter thinks, he's grateful for that. that you will never have to see him in the condition he's always in ever again.

a part of him wants to meet again. to suddenly bump into each other on the subway, to accidentally grab the same book in the library— he hopes to feel the spark again. to see your eyes flicker in familiarity. a sense of déjà vu. as if in another timeline, you were meant to be.

it was supposed to be this timeline. he's supposed to be in your arms right now, opening presents together. he's supposed to give you a gift he's been saving for all year. a perfect present. now it sits, collecting dust on the corner of his room.

he's tried his best to come to terms with it. but gosh, it hurts. he's been on a new date, a couple dates, actually. but he stopped after the third one. he realized that he was trying to find you in every person he meets. nobody can compete, he couldn't find the spark. no eyes shined like yours, no personality was as big as yours, no lashes fluttered like yours. no one was you. he wanted you, not someone like you.

he came close though. to you.

in a café, it was you and peter's spot. he believes that you were there because an essence of him still lingers. that's what he tells himself. you were in your favorite sweater, your hair was beautiful, neat like always. you held your usual order. before peter leaves he saw something, something that reassured him this was for the best.

you were with someone else.

he was hoping to catch you glance at him, or for you to notice him, even if it meant just for a second. but you didn't. your smile was so wide, you laughed at a joke. a joke peter thought he would make. and then you left. stepping out of the café and out of his life. to make it worse. with someone new.

every time he patrols he always hopes to see you. he thinks this is just pure madness, obsession. but he also thinks that this is him genuinely missing you, not being able to move on from someone who is perfect. his life was near perfection with you. his heart is unable to do continue without you, he's trying.

and on christmas, today, he saw you. in apartment building, the moonlight highlighted you, as if it was a cruel reminder from the universe that he will never see that light in his life ever again. he was so focused he tripped on the edge of rooftop.

as he caught his feet, he thought this was a christmas miracle, but then he realized,

it was the same apartment building you two toured together. you gave an idea to peter that the two of you should share an apartment. to have a place of your own, you've always wanted that. peter wanted to, but you were the most excited about it. to have a roommate that is also your boyfriend.

now you stayed there. with no peter. he speculated that you gave the same idea, just to another person. the christmas tree was glowing, the lights were sparkly, you exchanged gifts, and peter finally accepts the fact that he was never really in your life.

the dates you two went; the rooftop parties, the bookstore-reading days, movie nights, the trips to europe that never happened— all never truly existed. maybe not to you, but only to peter. the promises, his photographs, all poof! gone.

it's been a year. it feels so empty. colder than usual.

you seemed warm. he knows it. now you sit, at the apartment you will never share with peter. he swings away, the mask is suffocating. he comes back to his apartment. it's cold, unfurnished. only a simple bed, table, and a chair. he was never good at interior work. however you were. you were great.

what lies on his table is cold takeaway, one fork— he doesn't know where the spoon went, coffee he left untouched, and one single polaroid of you, a clear one, where you were still very seen. the one he took when he fought his old enemies with his brothers. the rest were gone, well.. not really. it was just oddly faded. a silhouette of you is there, but it was just the presence of your absence.

peter kept everything. how unfortunate. he wanted to call, to reach out first, but never did. he shouldn't. there was no one to talk about this to, no one. he thinks that before reaching out, he should come to terms with it. fully.

he wishes you a merry christmas. he hopes you get the message. heart to heart. he hopes there's still a small chance.

a/n: should i make this a mini series?

[ct-multifandom]

El Toro de Piedra reactions

Papacorn more like plateofcorn. I’ve been telling you guys the Ivan lore is gonna go crazy

So is El Toro a real supervillain with super-strength powers or is he just like, some guy wearing a costume? In a world where Luka has magic empath abilities and the ice cream man has divine matchmaking powers I guess it’s not unheard of.

It’s nice to see there are actual criminals in Paris other than Hawkmoth though because before this point it was like “where are the cartoon bank robbers?”

Ok I NEED to know what’s up with Ivan’s mom. “Strong like me and intelligent like your mother” is she also a career criminal? Raul was in jail and Ivan canonically has a younger sister so I’m guessing they live with the mom? Either way his family lore isn’t complete yet

Totally unrelated to anything (the intro reminded me) but I noticed Argos’s eyes look normal in his render but in Revelator they were all purple like in s5. Is he slowly gonna start looking more human over the course of his development?

Gabriel had Adrien wearing that fuckass outfit from birth no wonder he doesn’t know how to dress himself

I like how we’re slowly building a timeline of when exactly Gabriel went insane, like in that plushy that was probably still the Gabi Harry Clown remembered. Somewhere between this and beginning his archeological adventures something happened to him

“You’re gonna know all the secrets of my childhood” [from reading the baby photo album] oh dramatic irony 🦚

Why do I like Luka’s Brazil design more than his default outfit

Ah Marinette you almost walked in on Nathalie’s deeply plot significant evil zoom call. She snapped her laptop shut so fast you’d think she was watching something else

Who thought Luka participating in a concert over FaceTime was a good idea. What kind of utopian sound quality and internet speed do they have in this world? Idk connection is still unreliable tho ig

What’s with him traveling btw because he was clearly back in the Revelator flashback. Do they just teleport him in when they need Viperion or is he traveling back and forth now? Is he gonna come home permanently later?

The conspiracy theorist in me wants to say Gabriel didn’t write that letter and it was planted by the organization but I doubt it. It’s suspicious though. Like when did he write this and what did he think was gonna happen after he died? What if poofing this letter into existence was part of his wish and he had to sacrifice a single sheet of blank printer paper in order to make it happen? Pretty good deal

Ladybug and that STUPID IDIOT chat noir

Ah Ivan’s breakdown censoring the sentimonster stuff just in time of course

I like the way they animated his hand shaking when he dropped the drumstick

So this is a regular thing and he refuses to talk to Mylene about it :(

Mylene literally has one of the best dads in this whole show so maybe Ivan is comparing Raul to Fred and that’s why he feels so weird for having a problematic father

The version of Lila (I assume) stalking Ivan is dressed in traditionally masculine clothes. Maybe she has cross-dress disguises as well.

It’s actually kind of insidious how Nathalie is pushing Marinette into being responsible for hiding things from Adrien. All this crazy shit went down with your villainous boss and somehow the blame for covering it up is going to end up on his son’s high school girlfriend (???)

And *she’s* the one really gunning to sweep it under the rug because if the truth gets out it will primarily have negative consequences for her. I’m not sure how much I believe hiding this is really “for Adrien”

What, you guys don’t know about the secret compartments in the Louvre bathrooms?

Oh hi Alim

Why is it always the Mona Lisa, why do they never go after a less well-guarded painting. Also that room is the French painting gallery and the Mona Lisa isn’t French and is displayed in other parts of the museum… lol I know they only have one gallery modeled and re-use it for everything but still

Ivan’s phone background is the Kitty Section logo

The letter,,, so this is what he was learning in poetry class

Was Raul gonna karate chop the letter in half wtf

I wonder where he’s from, like he’s a Spanish speaker but what country?

Did they ever confirm Ms Bustier was the French teacher before this? I kind of assumed she was but I don’t remember them explicitly saying it and it was more like each class had a main home room teacher than every single class being with different teachers

Nathaniel turn your head more i want to see your miraculous. I think it’s curved? Like it’s a thin and flat silver hair clip but it has a sickle shape that curves around the bunch of hair

Does he have freckles now? Also now we can tell that him having creases under his eyes is just part of what he looks like and not his character model being weird

Zoe what are you doing here you were never even in her class

Sabrina is once again standing directly between Zoe and Max in a group shot. This is maybe the fourth time this season. Incredibly suspicious what is going on here

Yay Mr Montalain looks like he’s in the same art style as everyone else now! And he’s one of the only characters who didn’t have their eyebrows utterly waxed in the redesign. If there’s anything that I have beef with in the redesigns it’s that no one’s allowed to have prominent or interesting eyebrows anymore.

Ondine brown hair animation error?

Even the patriotic People With Blue Eyes cocomelon baby is clapping

The girl with dark skin, a pink pixie cut, and sunglasses on her head is there. She was eating lunch with Adrien, Nino, and Sublime in ep 4 but we don’t know who she is yet

I just noticed Chris is in the crowd, baby why are you an unattended child at the tribute concert for the big kid schoolteacher

The dude in the background who looks like Milo from Atlantis with long curly hair seems like he’ll be one of the new teachers maybe

There’s also a guy who looks like he rides a penny farthing to work, he might also be a new teacher

Aw Ivan’s contact photo for Mylene is her leaning on him

Oh I guess the crime thing maybe is a family business? His grandma? I need the extended Ivan family lore where’s his family tree like those promotional graphics from a while ago

I’d say his dad is a toxic masculinity machismo guy, but him bringing up the grandma (and grandpa) feels like it’s “correcting” for that, like no he’s not patriarchal he was just raised in a hard ass crime family where everyone was like that regardless of gender

That re-contextualizes the Ivan little sister lore :( he probably doesn’t want her to have to deal with the stuff he did and end up like the rest of his family. He might be involved in raising her, too, if his parents are in and out of jail and that might be where his interest in childcare comes from

Off topic, I just finished watching a YouTuber play the game The Roottrees are Dead/Roottreemania which is a mystery puzzle game about piecing together a crazy family tree from nothing and I feel like I’m back in it. “You placed Ivan on the tree and found that Raul is his father. You found the line about his mom’s intelligence, allowing you to place Mrs. Bruel. You collected the clue about Raul being like his dad to fill in Ivan’s grandfather. The line about Ivan’s grandmother setting him straight allows you to add her to the tree. What you may have missed is that in one of the Germany-exclusive trading card game secret lore cards you can find information about Ivan’s younger sister, the last known piece of the tree.”

He looks at his dad like “god you’re pathetic” and then starts running and screaming

Manhole covers are really light in miraculous Paris

Oh so he was keeping the ox miraculous is his pocket. Last episode I thought it was an animation error. Or maybe against school dress code. But he just doesn’t fully accept it

Ivan you were given a free little magical girl animal companion to talk through your problems with and you just gave them away you aren’t utilizing your resources

I’m seeing the pattern here. In Penalteam they all rejected their miraculous for different reasons and now they’re doing it again but expanding on why each of them didn’t want it. Sabrina didn’t think she’d be a good choice because she used to be a bully, and Ivan was afraid of being aggressive because it turns out he doesn’t want to resemble his dad. I’m guessing Marc’s episode will be about overcoming impostor syndrome then, but I’m curious what Nathaniel’s deal is like wtf does “I’m not comfortable being on a team” mean.

Ok his dad being a supervillain is kind of out of nowhere and I do wish there was some sort of foreshadowing that this guy even exists but I gotta say they have been setting this up for a long time. To the point where fans did notice that Ivan probably has issues at home like a violent parent. I feel like the supervillain thing specifically was probably made up later on to make the topic less heavy

TRANSFORMATION the smoke exhale the hammer smash the kicking at the ground slay

My fav part is where he turns his back to the camera and flexes

“I’m not a real singer” lmao why are you the vocalist then what

Rose said star in English is that a thing in French? That the English word for star means rockstar or something because I thought the normal word for star meant that too

THEY 😲👉 THE. ONSCREEN THEY KISSED. After all these years holy moly omg THEY

It sort of pmo when people say “oh so they’re finally canon now” like where have you been. Why do they have to smooch on the lips in front of us for us to know that we already knew that. It’s like every season the show crosses the “oh they’re gay” threshold for more and more people by being more obvious

And when people complain that it was cowardly and not good enough, do you want to see tongue in this children’s cartoon? What more do you want (this is a rhetorical question btw guys don’t be in my replies and also gay marriage has only been legal in the us for ten years and is criminalized in many places let’s be fr). Ok salt over

Anyway they kissed, epic 👉 gay people

Adrien holding phone Luka like how Nathalie used to hold tablet Gabriel. Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes

The song is lowkey quite good what

Maybe the most insane fight sequence in the entire show I might be gagged

I am my fathers daughter

Minotaurox tanking that hit to protect Chat Noir oh if there’s gonna be a “civil war” between him and Ladybug we know whose side Ivan will be taking

From the side profile his hood really does look like an ox’s neck that’s pretty cool

Guys they made Ivan so gorg in the redesign. Character designer 1: ok so I guess Ondine needs normal clothes we could start with that Chatacter designer 2, slamming open the door, gasping out of breath from running up the stairs, a pile of papers flying everywhere: we need to make Ivan cunty

He’s so tuff, equally if not more so than Pegasus I would say which is a pretty high bar

Ladybug’s lucky charm cowboy hat is so unserious girl read the room. this is what happens when the main character is the only bitch on the show with no daddy issues in The Daddy Issues Episode

The visuals in the ep are so artsy. You got Juleka’s chrome neon concert lights vs Ivan’s breaking bad sepia filter western

How did a letter turn into a whip?

They were technically right, Raul didn’t do anything illegal. Yet. What is this new chance program even supposed to do though because I don’t think it’s working

“Your dad was a hero” Adrien: :/

Ah this part :) evil shadow government cult thing. This is how Tomoe’s connected to everything. Are they as an organization The Supreme?

Now that Gabriel’s dead is someone else taking over as The Diamond? They were the second to last one to log off and Nathalie didn’t move so is someone else behind that name now

Maybe Lila… like Kagami said she isn’t special enough to be a diamond so maybe she took that personally and decided to prove her wrong by filling that role ?? ?

Nathalie’s dad is wheat man nooo Marinette’s wheat-based dad is so much better. I wonder if she was raised to be some kind of fucked up secret agent child soldier from a young age and that’s why she has crazy assassin skills. She doesn’t want to be involved in this bs but lacks the courage to face her father. If only she was there to hear about Ivan’s valuable life lesson and how Adrien regrets that he missed the chance to apply it. If only Nathalie still had the chance right ahaha

Gabriel probably wasn’t aware Nathalie was a plant? Or maybe he was and she was more like a conscripted bodyguard idk

The theatre mask icon reminds me of Lila, like obv her metaphorical masks but there have been screenshots circulating about the black and white split mask hanging in her bedroom and how in Climatiqueen, the lighting of the first lightning strike makes Aglae’s face look exactly like that mask. Creepy. Maybe she’s that dude’s daughter and she was also raised to be some spy like Nathalie was.

I’m kinda hoping Lila is being manipulated by the powerful elite adults at some level because that’s more interesting to me than “girlboss teenage girl outsmarts everyone on earth”. Maybe she thinks she’s in charge or on equal terms with the rest of them but they’re using her

I wonder if the Bourgeois are any of these or Bob Roth. I hope they’re mostly new characters. It feels cheap if they’re all established antagonists who aren’t particularly threatening and play silly roles. Tomoe is nothing like that, and also is an industry titan from a totally different country. It seems like these people are the leading elites in certain categories from all around the world. Could this eventually be a setup for more miraculous world specials? Surprise one of these people lives in Rio and one lives in Dakar, see you there.

I’m not analyzing each logo in detail because other people already did it better than I would’ve

Ok that’s enough, maybe see you guys next week for The Ruler or maybe not. I’ll decide if I want to talk about it or not. I committed to post about this one last time because I felt in my balls that it was gonna be fire and it was.

[worldly-fluster]

The LADS boys...when you go 'missing'???

(angst with some comedy cause it's fun)

So the plot is: you get tired of being near people, get overwhelmed and overstimulated so you need a bit to yourself...well you forgot to tell a certain someone you went MIA. He...panics? I don't think that's the right word for what he does.

Sylus(featuring the twins), Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel

ALSO-None of you are dating yet in any of these I write. Unless I specifically say so anyway. Lil note at bottom too lol

Sylus-

•So. He is definitely not panicking.

•He sooo knows where you are.

•He tells himself anyway.

•Only to realize that you weren't where he thought you were.

•You were supposed to be at one of his bunkers- your favorite bunker that he has in his possession. He even saw you go in there!

•But you aren't there?!

•The only way you could have left his/Mephisto's sight was if you literally disappeared. Like, poof Lola's gone.

•He looked everywhere in that place for you but he couldn't find a clue so he branched out.

•Poor Mephisto...his poor little wings, having to fly around like a, well, Chicken with its head cut off.

•It was actually a whole TWO days until he remembered that the twins existed and he could get their help.

•They were gone too??

•So, time skip until almost a week- 5 days, 8 hours and 37 seconds on the dot- he wasn't counting- go by and he gets a call from the twins.

•Apparently, they walked in on you having a breakdown and when you asked them for help to get you away from everything for a bit, they couldn't say 'no'.

•And all three of you completely forgot to tell the big boss man. Actually legitimately did forget.

•The twins were panicking about your well-being that they forgot about Sylus until you said you were okay enough to go back.

•lets just say, he was not pleased.

•All three of you- more like the twins only, he couldn't stay mad at you- were 'grounded' until he said so.

Xavier-

•He didn't really think much of you being gone at first, he just figured Jenna sent you on another mission by yourself again. The third time that week.

•Yeah he was worried, but he only got really worried when he asked Tara about it and she said you went on leave.

•He almost immediately signed for his own leave.

•He tried calling, texting, everything. But you didn't answer so he thought the worst.

•Where was his little teddy bear?

•he tried your apartment- he teleported into it and no it wasn't trespassing, he was checking on a friend. What do you take him for? A criminal??

•he tried all your favorite shops, cafe's and even asked Zayne, your doctor, whom had no idea about this but we'll get to his reaction later.

•it was barely two days until he found you.

•at a cat Cafe/bed and breakfast that you told him about in passing a few weeks before.

•He remembered it only because he remembered you were wearing that cute little blue blouse he got you for your birthday a month ago while telling him and he saw someone wearing something similar to it while he was pani-sorry, calmly looking for you.

•Oh he pouted.

•he whined.

•he almost cried.

•so a few head pats and apologies later he was docile and telling you not to do that again, without him anyway.

•he didn't think to ask Jenna about your whereabouts, she knew where you were going the whole time.

Zayne-

•He only realized something was wrong when Xavier popped in asking where you were. Saying he couldn't find you.

•Zayne thinking rationally, first tried to contact you.

•because who would ever ignore their doctor?

•...wait no, you have done that.

•Panic.

•has his own mental breakdown for a few minutes then immediately goes home because life is too much and he needs a bit.

•...why did he find you cuddled in his bed with all the plushies you have given him.

•you're gonna be the death of him, he swears.

Rafayel-

•He noticed immediately.

•boy texts you every other minute because he's bored. Wether it's a meme of a fish or about how sharks eat for free. In this economy?? He thinks not.

•so when you don't text back the normal 'k' within 2 minutes, he calls Thomas to inform him that the assassin sea urchins finally got you and are now after him.

•on a serious note, he is ✨ panicking ✨

•you are officially 'missing' for about a day and a half when he finally gets a message back from you.

•he ignores all messages and calls from you until he sees you in person.

•acts like he doesn't know you but then his act quickly falls apart as he starts whining about it being more than 800 years and something about the assassin urchins being back, crabs wanting vengeance and how barnacles are the new currency of the new age.

•Just text him next time you want a long vacation from everything. He knows the best spots.

##So I might actually write out these things at some point when my brain starts working correctly, who knows when that will happen lol##