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leclerc-hs · 16 hours ago

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tides of us - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and lando have phd's in getting underneath each other's skin. warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!!!, bad writing? word count: 11.4k.... author's note: surprise shawtyyyy. MY FIRST EVER LANDO FIC (pls be kind to me). i really went a little crazy on this piece. PLEASE let me know what you think. hearing back is what keeps me writing for y'all xoxo

taglist: @f1fantasys @n3versatisfied @alishamai

Lando is pissed off.

The morning had been difficult since the moment he woke; late, with his phone on low battery, and four missed calls from Max.

He groaned as he rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders before it had truly even begun. The chaotic rush to get out of bed, the frantic search for his charger, and the constant buzzing of his phone— everything, it seemed, was working against him.

“Max,” Lando snapped into the phone, voice low but clipped. “What time is it?”

On the other end, Max’s voice came through—slightly amused but with an underlying tone of urgency. “Mate, we need to talk. It’s important. Where are you?”

His feet barely made a sound as he strode through the hallway, phone pressed against his ear with a growing sense of irritation. His shirt was still half hanging off him as he stepped into the kitchen.

Lando’s gaze flickered over to you and Pietra, the laughter in the air making him feel more disconnected. He wasn’t in the mood for this. His gaze landed on you again, and for a brief moment, he just stood there, watching.

“Listen, I need to tell you about-“ Max began.

“What is she doing here?”

Lando didn’t know who he was asking. Whether it was you, Pietra, or Max, he wasn’t sure. Max’s voice became nothing but unheard chatter after the words ‘needs to stay with you’ were said into his ear as you finally turn around and met his gaze. And for a mere moment, everything seemed to stop. You didn’t look scared, or confused, but something in your eyes made Lando realize just how ridiculous this all was.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face with one hand, then muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “Forget it.”

Lando moved with a cold, almost mechanical precision, his frustration hanging in the air like a thick fog. His hands were steady as he reached for a water bottle in the fridge, but his mind was racing, thoughts darting between everything that had gone wrong that morning, the calls, the uncertainty, and now you.

He took a long gulp from the bottle, the cool water doing little to settle the heat in his chest from your mere presence. When he finally lowered the bottle, he glanced back at you, but your gaze was already on him. It was quiet now, the chatter between you and Pietra paused.

“Look,” he muttered finally, turning towards you, his voice lower than before but still carrying a sharp edge, “I don’t even care to ask what you’re doing in my kitchen.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to defuse the tension he felt deep in his bones whenever you were around. “Just stay out of my way.”

He heard Pietra’s exasperated groan from beside you, but it barely registered. His focus was solely on you. The sound of your laugh, the way you smacked Pietra’s stomach and shot him that big sarcastic smile.

His gaze locked on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur around the edges, like he was seeing through a fogged window. The anger, the frustration, the lust — none of it mattered. You had this effect on him, like his emotions narrowed into a single, overwhelming force, and it was as if nothing else existed when you were in the room.

He hated it. He hated how you could make him feel so raw, so exposed, with just a look or a word. But in that instant, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he’d been wrong. That maybe he’d overreacted— again.

But pride kept his mouth shut.

You smacked Pietra’s stomach with the biggest smile you could muster on your face. “Of course, Your Highness.”

His jaw tightened at the edge in your voice. It was always like this with you— too many layers of sarcasm, too many walls that kept him at a distance. He hated it, but there was something about the way you challenged him, the way you never let him get away with being too much of an asshole, that both irritated and intrigued him.

And ninety nine percent of the time, he’ll meet you right in the middle. But today— today, he didn’t have the energy.

He couldn’t deal with you, not today.

It had always been this way— tension, banter, sharp words laced with sarcasm, and that constant push-pull between wanting to tear each other apart or tear each other’s clothes off. The first time you met, it was a disaster. Lando had been too cocky, too full of himself, and you? You’d been the perfect counter to his arrogance. Quick-witted, just as stubborn, not willing to back down even a little. It was like two forces colliding, neither willing to give an inch.

And somehow, that collision had set the stage for everything that came after.

There were moments—brief, fleeting moments— when you’d find yourselves actually getting along. Moments when you could talk without that edge, when you almost felt like you could understand each other. But those moments always felt like they were just around the corner from the next argument or snarky remark.

It was a dance. One he was growing exhausted by, but couldn’t quit. Quite like an addiction. Something that kept him coming back, even when every part of him screamed to walk away.

The sound of the front door slamming was enough to rattle you and Pietra as you leaned back in your stool and looked at her with a shrug.

“You guys fight like a married couple.”

“Don’t ever mention me and Lando with the word marriage in a sentence again.” You feigned vomiting.

Pietra let out a loud laugh, rolling her eyes at your dramatic reaction. “Okay, okay, point taken,” she said, holding her hands up in a mock surrender. “But seriously, I’ve never seen two people who clearly hate each other but also can’t seem to stay away from each other.”

You glanced towards the door where Lando had just stormed out, the sound of it slamming still echoing in the air. Your eyes narrowed, your annoyance with him still simmering beneath the surface. The last thing you wanted was to be compared to a married couple, especially not with him. But Pietra wasn’t wrong, at least not totally.

To say that you and Lando never got along was somewhat of a lie. Sure, most of the time there was an undercurrent of challenge between you two. But if you were being honest with yourself, there were always moments that managed to slip between the cracks of your usual arguments.

It was post-Max’s birthday bash, and the night had taken its toll—everyone was absolutely smashed. The music had faded into the background, the party winding down, and now it was just you and Lando in the kitchen, standing side by side as you both rummaged through the fridge for something to soak up the alcohol. The usual tension between you two felt different tonight, lighter, almost non-existent— probably because of the drinks coursing through your veins.

The fridge light bathed the kitchen in a soft, yellow glow as you both reached for the last slice of pizza at the same time. Your fingers brushed against his, the accidental contact sharp enough to send a jolt through you. You both froze, the moment stretching out between you like a beat of silence. You could feel the warmth of his hand against yours, the proximity suddenly making the air feel thick.

You pulled your hand back first, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back slightly, trying to mask the awkwardness with your usual sharpness. “So, you were eyeing that, huh?” You said with feigned offense.

Lando wants to blame it on the alcohol. Wants to chalk up the rush of heat, the confusion clouding his thoughts, the throb he feels in his cock, to the drinks he’s had all night. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? Easier than admitting it was you— the way your laugh slipped under his skin, the way your nose crinkled after pretending to like a drink, the way your eyes were heavy with that loopy, contented look, like you were floating in your own little world.

His gaze flickers to yours, and there’s something in it—something that makes your pulse quicken against your will. He raises an eyebrow, pulling the pizza closer to him like he’s staking a claim on it. “I mean, it was there, wasn’t it?,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a trace of something else behind the teasing. His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, and for the first time, the playful banter almost felt real. “I think I deserve it more, anyway.”

You cross your arms, the fridge light casting a harsh glow against you, trying to look unimpressed. “Yeah? And why is that?”

He grins, clearly enjoying the banter. Then he leans in just a little closer, that confident smirk never leaving his face. “Because, unlike you, I’m a growing athlete.” He winks, as if that settles everything.

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.

“Well, you know you love it.” He says with a grin, his usual cocky confidence softened by the easy humor currently wavering between the two of you.

Before you can respond, he takes a dramatic bite of the pizza, his eyes dancing with mischief. “What?” He says through a mouthful. “I'm just making sure it tastes as good as it looks.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin that pulls at your lips betrays you. Yeah, it was definitely the alcohol.

Without warning, Lando brings the partially-eaten slice to your lips, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a dare in them, an unspoken challenge. Like he’s testing you. As if you would ever place your lips where his had just been.

But you’re not about to let him off the hook that easily.

You meet his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips, and you lean in deliberately, pressing your mouth to the exact spot where he’d just bitten. Slowly, you take a bite, never breaking eye contact.

You pull back, making the moment drag out a little longer than it should. Then, as you pull the pizza from your mouth, you exaggerate the motion, letting out a playful, dramatic moan.The taste of the pizza lingers as your eyes stay locked on his. A small dot of sauce is left at the corner of your lips, the perfect bait.

Lando’s breath catches at the sight, his chest tightening as his gaze drops to your lips. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing until his thumb is moving toward your mouth, gently swiping the sauce away. His touch is soft, almost hesitant, but it lingers— just a second too long. His fingers stay there, a slight heat emanating from the contact, as his eyes darken, drawn to your lips like he’s waiting for something.

You find yourself getting dizzy when he swipes it up, waiting patiently for you to make a move. But your brain is short-circuiting as you stand there frozen like a deer in headlights.

Lando tugs the tiniest smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Open,” he said, voice low, almost hushed, as if the words held more weight than the simple request.

You froze for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your chest. But that hesitation was fleeting. Your mouth parted almost instantly—partly out of shock, but also because, deep down, you knew you wanted this. You’d known it for a while, even if you’d been too stubborn to admit it before. But tonight, with the alcohol swirling through your veins and the tension between you two reaching a breaking a point, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

His thumb, warm and steady, presses against the softness of your lower lip before sinking inside, brushing against your tongue. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine. “Suck.”

Oh my god.

It takes a moment to realize what is actually happening. That Lando’s thumb is really pressed against your tongue right now. That you’re innately curling your tongue around his knuckle without so much as a inkling of hesitation. What is going on?

The sauce is long gone by now, but you don’t want the way Lando is looking at your mouth to end. So you suck. Hard.

A deep guttural groan slips past Lando’s lips. Along with a soft “fuck”.

Lando pulls his finger from your mouth, smearing the saliva across your lips, before pushing it back in with a little more force than before, pressing your tongue down.

Its only when the unmistakable sound of a loud laugh echoes from the hallway, followed by the soft shuffle of feet, that the spell is broken. Pietra and Max appear in the doorway, wrapped in their own world, oblivious.

Lando’s thumb retreats suddenly, leaving a faint tingle where it had been. He takes a few steps back, his posture stiffening as he puts space between the two of you. The slice of pizza, once held so carefully, has fallen unnoticed to the floor.

“There you guys are,” Pietra giggles, her voice light and carefree, as Max leans heavily against her. He presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, the PDA so natural between them that you and Lando have long since grown accustomed to it. “What are you doing?”

Your mind is still spinning, trying desperately to untangle fragments of the moment. It’s as if you’ve been pulled to an alternate dimension, struggling to regain your bearings.

Lando, a little too quickly, blurts out, “Pizza!” His voice louder than usual, almost too eager, and the sharp sound makes you flinch, jolting you into full awareness.

“Yeah, pizza,” you echo, your words clumsy, as you scramble to find a sense of normalcy in this moment.

You watch as Pietra’s gaze drops to the floor where the pizza slice rests, barely touched, and then back to you and Lando. Her eyes narrow slightly, but her smile remains in place.

The dinner party was in full swing, with guests chatting and laughing around the table, but at the far end of the room, Lando and you were locked in a standoff. The small, crowded space was a perfect breeding ground for irritation— just enough people to make it awkward, not enough to escape the tension between you two.

“You seriously had to make that comment in front of everyone?” Lando’s voice was low, dangerous, his jaw clenched tight as he stood rigid, his hands balled at his sides.

You didn’t flinch. You never did when it came to him. “What, didn’t think it was funny?” The words cut through the air like a knife, your tone dripping with its usual sarcasm.

Lando’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a tight humorless sneer. “It wasn’t funny. It was humiliating. But of course, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Always try to make me look like the bad guy.”

You take a step closer, your heart hammering in your chest, but your voice steady, if not a little venomous. “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you complaining when you were bragging to the guys about your revolving door of women.”

Lando’s face twisted, the smirk now gone, replaced by a bitter glare. “Some of these guys are my co-workers.” His voice was a low growl, the frustration pouring from him. “You love making a scene, don’t you?”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your words with the kind of anger you’d been trying to suppress for hours. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that pointing out the obvious was such a crime. You are a joke, Lando.”

Lando’s nostrils flared, his posture stiffening as he takes a step forward. The anger between you two was palpable, raw, like a wound that had festered for too long. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re so good at pushing people away, it’s no wonder you struggle to keep anyone near.” He spat, the words hitting you like a harsh slap.

You could feel your own chest tightening, the urge to fight back stronger than ever. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to push you away if you weren’t so fucking insufferable,” You shot back, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else—just because you’re the Lando Norris.” You say it with so much hatred in your voice, so much disgust.

Lando’s face turns red with anger, his fists tightening as if he is about to lash out. “You don’t know anything about me!” He hisses, stepping closer. “You don’t know anything. You’re too busy judging everyone, pretending like you understand.”

Liar.

“Maybe that’s because you’re impossible to understand!” You shot back, your voice cracking.

Liar.

Lando’s chest was burning, and for a second, you thought you saw something else in his expression— something deeper, darker. But before you could say another word, the sharp sound of Pietra’s voice cut through the tension, her words laced with frustration.

“You two are exhausting,” she muttered, her hands on her hips as she walks towards you, shaking her head. “Can’t you go five minutes without fighting?”

Max, standing beside her, gave you both a pointed, unimpressed look. “Seriously, take it outside or something.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating, as you and Lando stood there, completely unaware of how much attention you were drawing.

With a frustrated sigh, Lando turned his back to you, muttering something under his breath as he took a step away, the coldness in his voice unmistakable. “No need,” he said with a forced smile, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

But you could see right through it. You could see the anger still simmering just below the surface, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break. He had turned it on— flipped the switch to happy, charming Lando that everyone adored—but you knew better. You knew this wasn’t over.

You stayed frozen in place, staring at his retreating form, your blood still boiling, your heart still racing. The party resumed around you, as if nothing had happened, but the cracks between you two had deepened, and the weight of everything unsaid felt unbearable.

It was an unsettling realization— almost an entire week has passed without so much as a glimpse of Lando. Not that you were actively looking for him. Still, you were staying at his place for the time being, yet it felt as though he had vanished entirely.

The dinner party had been a mess— more than just the awkward silence that had followed after Lando’s sudden retreat, more than the strained smiles and forced laughter. It had felt like a pressure cooker, each moment pressing closer to explosion.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t mind the distance, that you needed it too. After all, how could you process anything when the tension between you two was so thick it felt suffocating?

The apartment balcony door creaks as you slide it open, and the cool night air hits you like a breath of fresh tension. You pause for a moment, taking in the city’s quiet hum from the balcony, when the sound of footsteps from behind you pulls you back into the reality of where you stand. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Lando.

You hesitate before slowly turning, your pulse quickening just a little at the sight of him standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking impossibly composed—as if he hadn’t been anything but a stranger to you for the last week. His hair is messy, as usual, falling over his forehead like it always does when he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes lock onto yours, sharp and calculating. There’s no hint of the playful teasing that usually dances there— just a cold, clipped edge. A part of you feels the sting, but you refuse to let it show.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, as if waiting for something to fall into place. His gaze flickers down to your outfit, the sharp cut of your dress, the way it hugs your frame. His eyes linger, just a moment too long. Theres something unreadable in his stare, but its gone before you can truly grasp it.

His chest feels tight, the burn simmering just beneath the surface. It’s an ache he’s learned to ignore. You’re impossible to ignore.

His thoughts scramble, trying to piece together something, anything, to get him back on steady ground. It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t even care.

But God, it does.

You straighten your posture, trying to shake the weight of his gaze. “I’m just about to head out,” you say, the words feeling almost too light for how heavy everything suddenly feels. You keep your voice steady, refusing to let the knot in your stomach show. He knows you too well to let any cracks slip by.

“Right.” His voice low, casual, but the way he says it doesn’t match the steel edge behind it. He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a slow step forward, and the space between you feels too small, too intimate.

He tilts his head, his eyes scanning you with that familiar coolness. “Big night?” He’s not asking about the plans. He already knows the answer, or at least he thinks he does.

“Just dinner,” you say, but the words come out too sharp, too dismissive, like you’re avoiding saying anything else. Avoiding the reality that you’re stepping out the door, and he’s still standing there— distant, closed off, and, for the first time, entirely unreadable to you.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, the tension in his jaw hard enough to snap if he moved the wrong way. The silence between you is loud, almost deafening, a total opposite of the usual banter that defines the strange rhythm you share. You can feel him trying to hold back, just as much as you are.

His gaze flickers down for a second, and then he looks back up, meeting your eyes, and for the briefest of moments, there’s something close to what looks like vulnerability, like he wants to say more but can’t. Like he’s trying to insert himself into your brain and figure out what’s going on in your head. He doesn’t reach for the words he’s dying to say, and you don’t either.

You shift on your feet as you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. The last thing you want to admit is just how much the silence between you has been eating at you.

“Have a good night,” he says, and his voice is tight, the words formal, distant—as if the slight tension in his shoulders is something he’s trying to hide.

You pause, staring at him for just a beat longer than is comfortable, and then you nod, your throat tight as you force out the words, “You too.”

And with that, you step past him, brushing so close that your shoulder grazes against his arm. You had almost convinced yourself that you’d made it past the worst of it, that you guys were back to normal. But then, just as you’re about to step out of his vicinity, you feel it.

His hand.

It’s quick, a sharp tug at your wrist that halts you in place. His grip is firm, but not aggressive— more like a desperate plea.

You freeze. Lando’s fingers wrap around your wrist with an intensity that almost makes you forget where you are. He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have to. His pulse is quick under your skin.

You turn to meet his gaze. His eyes are darker now, more intense, but there’s something softer too.

“There’s a spare key on entry table for you. Keep it.”

The sentence lands like a stone, cold and distant, when you’re hoping for something else. You were hoping for an argument, a confession, an apology— but not this.

An apology? From Lando? You laughed to yourself, but its bitter and dies in your throat. It’s almost laughable, the thought go him apologizing, like you could ever expect him to admit fault in anything. He’s always had a way of deflecting, of twisting words until they meant something else, until he was the charming asshole again and you were left wondering if you’d imagined everything.

Lando never apologizes. He never needs to. That’s part of the game, part of the push and pull that you two share. You fight, you argue, you tear each other down in the best and worst ways, but somehow, you always find your way back to the same place.

You nod, quick and sharp, a simple gesture to acknowledge the words, but it feels hollow.

“Don’t wait up,” You joke, the words coming out a little too forced, a way to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, erasing the awkward space with a quip.

Lando’s gaze softens just a fraction, a flicker of something familiar returning as his lips twitch into the faintest smirk. It’s not much—just the smallest shift— but it feels like a breath of air.

“Yeah, as if,” he replies, the sarcasm back in full force.

And with that, you step into the night, the door clicking shut behind you.

The restaurant buzzes with life, the clink of silverware and hum of voices filling the space as you sit at the round table with your friends. The sun is high, glittering through the windows and casting warm, golden patches across the wooden table. It’s the perfect lunch spot, lively and bright— but all you can focus on is Lando’s gaze burning your skin whenever you aren’t looking.

You try to focus on the conversation, on the joke that your friend just cracked, but every time you glance up, Lando’s eyes are already on you. His jaw clenches just a little when he takes a sip of his drink, and you can see the tension in his posture.

Another gaze at Lando, and it’s like you’ve been slapped back into reality. His gaze flickers quickly before he focuses on his phone again. His thumb taps the screen with purpose, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the furrow in his brow.

His fingers move quickly over the phone, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Max chimes in then, pulling him deeper into a conversation.

Mia’s voice pulls you back, and you force yourself to focus on her.

“So, come on. Spill.” She urges, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “how was your date last week? We’re dying for more details.”

Pietra chimes in, her voice light and teasing. “Yeah, seriously. He was so hot. I can’t even—“ She catches herself, looking over at Max as he side eyes her. “Oh, you know I love you. Now hush.” Pietra waves him off playfully, but her eyes are still on you, expectant, waiting for you to continue.

Lando’s still playing the part, pretending like he’s not listening, but he can feel the irritation stirring in his chest at the mere mention of your date.

“Well…” You swallow, trying to keep your tone light as you picked up your mimosa, taking a quick sip before placing it back on the table. “It was nice. We had dinner, talked a bit…” You trail off.

It’s not like it was a bad date—far from it— but the way Lando’s eyes keep flickering back to you, the way his jaw clenches just a little tighter, it’s like everything’s suddenly wrong.

“Nice? Just nice?” Mia’s voice pulls back, her expression teasing as she crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed with your vague answer. “Come on. We need more than that!”

Max’s gaze flicks to Lando, and you notice the way his eyes narrow slightly, that familiar edge to his expression that suggests he’s just as aware of the growing tension between the two of you. You can feel him pulling away from the conversation. His fingers tap once again on the rim of his glass, but it’s harder this time— almost angry.

He didn’t care. He told himself that a thousand times. He hated you, or at least he was supposed to.

He was supposed to laugh off the bickering, keep things casual. That’s what it was supposed to be with you. A dynamic filled with nothing but playful jabs, insults, the kind of messy, tangled friendship that made sense to no one but the two of you.

But now? Now, every glance from you, every word you said, twisted something inside of him. It was a slow burn, the kind that spread through him quietly but powerfully, a pressure building beneath his skin. He tried to ignore it, tried to turn his focus back to the conversation with Max, but all he could think about was the way your laugh echoed in the back of his mind as you chatted with the girls.

He doesn’t want to care, but he does. Why?

He’s supposed to hate you. He wants to hate you. So why does it feel like something else is gnawing at him instead?

“It’s not like it will last long,” Lando adds, the words like a bitter aftertaste. They sting in the way only a deliberate jab can, meant to sink into your skin and burn as they make their way under your ribs.

The moment they leave his mouth, a silence settles. He doesn’t want to see the hurt flicker across your face, doesn’t want to feel anything that might suggest he crossed a line. And yet, his pulse quickens, a tight knot of unease forming in the back of his throat.

“Seriously, Lando?” Mia’s voice cuts through the silence, her tone sharp and incredulous. She leans forward, clearly annoyed by the bite in his words. Pietra follows suit, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern.

Everyone knew that the two of you fought, but Lando was never a dick like this in front of everyone. Your fights were usually more playful, more teasing.

“It’s fine. Ignore him.” Your voice comes out a little too quick, a little too sharp, but you don’t care. You force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips.

Just another stupid fight. The same back-and-forth you’ve been doing for forever.

But it’s not.

Mornings are routine. You both rise at your own pace, not a word exchanged. The sound of coffee brewing fills the kitchen as you both move in sync, neither of you needing to ask for the things you want— Lando’s mug always pulled from the top cupboard, your cereal bowl set in the same spot on the counter. You don’t look at each other, but the air between you feels…habitual.

Sometimes, Lando will pull the milk from the fridge and hand it to you with no words. You just move around each other, existing in the same space.

Evenings are a little different. Lando will crash onto the couch, usually with his headphones on, diving into whatever he’s binge-watching. You’ll be in the kitchen, making dinner, the clatter of utensils and the hum of the stove filling the air.

Occasionally, you’ll both look up, catch each other’s eyes for split second, and then quickly look away.

Dinner, if it happens at the same time, is pretty quiet. Lando eats his food quickly, never really talking about the day.

Tonight, was a little different.

You’re curled up on the couch, lost in your book, one leg tucked under as you read with a concentrated frown. Lando, on the other hand, is sprawled across the other end of the couch, remote in hand, eyes glued to the screen.

“So, what’s the book about this time?” Lando’s voice is playful. He’s not really looking at you, more like staring at the screen, but he knows you’ll respond. You always do.

You don’t look up, eyes scanning the page. “It’s about a woman who solves mysteries while also balancing her dysfunctional life. You wouldn’t understand.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk on his face. “What, like you solving mysteries? I can barely get you to figure out where I left the remote.”

You finally glance over the top of your book, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wants to kiss you in this moment. It’s like an itch under his skin.

“I can find the remote just fine, thank you very much. It’s just that you leave it in the most random places.”

He turns to face you now, his expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah, because the fridge is totally where I’d put it.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you spend majority of the day looking for it only to find it buried under a pile of laundry.”

“Don’t even start with me about laundry, Lando,” you shoot back. “If you less time working out and binge-watching every season of whatever show you’re obsessed with this week, maybe the laundry wouldn’t look like a crime scene.”

His grin widens, clearly enjoying this. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you did laundry instead of curling up with your book every night, we wouldn’t have to live in a mountain of socks.”

You can’t help but laugh, lowering your book just enough to shoot him a playful glare. “Well, maybe if you didn’t leave half your wardrobe in the living room, I’d have a clean place to actually read.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that this is your apartment too.” He says, raising a brow.

You roll your eyes, feeling your smile tug at your lips despite yourself. “I’ll be out of your hair in a week.”

A week. You’re leaving in a week. It’s so matter-of-fact, but in that moment, it lands like a punch to the gut.

Lando’s heart skips a beat at the thought. A week?

Did you get back together with your ex? Did you find a place so soon? A million questions ran through Lando’s brain.

“Wait, what?” His voice is quieter now, not his usual teasing tone.

You glance up at him, a raised eyebrow signaling curiosity. “What?”

“I—” Lando cuts himself off mid-sentence, the words faltering as he glances away, as if he's sorting through a million things in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. A quiet, nervous chuckle escapes him, but it’s strained, almost like he’s trying to laugh off something he doesn’t want to confront. “I mean… a week? Really?”

You pause for a moment, the question lingering in the air between you. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the unexpectedness of his reaction hits you harder than you want to admit. “Yeah. What’s the big deal?” you reply, tilting your head slightly, keeping your voice light, but the quiet edge of confusion still wraps around your words.

Lando hesitates again, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, clearly uncomfortable in a way you don’t often see. He seems to be weighing whether he should say more, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “I don’t know. Just… don’t rush it, alright? I mean, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

The room feels suddenly smaller. His words, unguarded, hang in the air like a challenge to everything you thought you knew about the dynamic between you two. You stare at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see the vulnerability that always hides beneath his sarcasm and bravado. The surprise in your eyes is so clear, it almost hurts. What exactly is he saying right now?

Lando clears his throat, breaking the tension for a split second, but his gaze flickers anywhere but at you. He shifts awkwardly, his voice losing its usual edge as he continues, his words trailing off like he’s unsure how to finish the thought. “I mean, it’s not like you’re in my way here. It’s your choice, but…” His voice falters. His entire demeanor feels rawer than usual, like he's exposing something that wasn’t meant to see the light of day.

You bite your lip, trying to swallow the shock, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. Your mind is racing, caught between wanting to ask more, to make sure you didn’t misinterpret his words, but at the same time, something inside you is afraid of hearing too much.

Lando rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated by the silence that’s settled between you. His usual bravado is cracking, his carefully constructed walls slipping just a bit. “Look, forget it,” he mutters, quickly backpedaling, the familiar deflection creeping back into his voice. But there’s a tremor in it, a slight crack that betrays the vulnerability he’s trying so desperately to hide. “It’s nothing.”

The weight of the moment lingers between you, heavy and thick. You’re fighting to keep your composure, but his words are chipping away at the routine, at the easy distance you’ve always maintained. You can feel something shifting in him, and if you're being honest, it shifts in you too.

You can't help but tease him, just to deflect from the heaviness he’s left hanging in the air. “Is the Lando Norris telling me that he’s actually okay with me in his personal space?” you ask, feigning shock, raising your brows in exaggerated disbelief. “Well then, I must! Thank you, Your Highness,” you add with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

But it’s a moment too late—Lando's lips twitch, and that familiar smile finally breaks through. It’s small, but it’s real. The tension dissipates, but something else remains. He looks at you, and for just a heartbeat, he lets his guard down, dropping the sarcasm. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, half smiling. “But I guess I’ll survive you for a little while longer.”

You don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the third and fourth drink, the bitterness in your chest had started to settle into something darker, something more dangerous. You glance back toward to reserved booth, just for a moment—just enough to catch the scene that you already knew was unfolding, but still had to see for yourself.

Lando’s laugh, that easy, carefree laugh, rang out over the pumping music of the bar. He was practically hanging all over her—his hand on her thigh, his body pressed against her’s. It should’ve been something you could brush off. Something you used to actually pay no mind to.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the glass in front of you. The guy next to you, some acquaintance from the group, grinned at you. “Another round?” His voice was too loud, but it didn’t matter.

You nodded, trying to shake off the discomfort eating at you. “Sure, why not?”

The bartender slid the next round across the counter, and you downed the glass almost immediately, the burn of the alcohol hitting your throat like it might do something— like it might fix something.

Nick’s hand is now on your back, guiding you through the mass of bodies as you both step onto the semi-crowded dance floor. His fingers are light against your skin, but there’s something about his touch that feels different. But tonight, you don’t care. It’s not about him; its about the fact you cant stop thinking about the way Lando looked at the girl in the booth. The way he ignored you, like you were scum on the bottom of his shoe almost.

You find yourself pressing closer to Nick as the beat drops, your body swaying with the music, the alcohol in your system making everything feel a little more intense. He grins, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in. His lips find yours before you even know what’s happening—fast, heated.

For a second, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, trying to silence the voice in the back of your head.

But then, a forceful shove breaks through the fog, and you stumble back, your breath catching in your throat as a hand reaches for you, steadying you. And you find yourself staring at the angry face of Lando.

“What the hell?” Nick mutters, his voice low but full of confusion.

Lando doesn’t even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on you. He looks pissed—furious, even—and there’s something dangerous in the way his eyes bore into yours.

“What the fuck is this?” Lando’s voice is tight, barely controlled, as his eyes finally flick to Nick.

“We’re just having fun,” you say, your voice a little too sharp, too defensive.

Lando’s eyes narrow, his posture rigid, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingers back to you like he’s trying to figure you out.

You can’t help but feel a little thrill in the way his attention is all on you.

“You don’t need to do this,” he mutters, his words a mix of frustration and something else—something you can’t decipher.

You know what he’s talking about. The drink in your hand, the kiss with Nick. It’s messy. It’s reckless. But Lando, of all people, should know that you’ve been drowning lately. That your recent break-up—hell everything—has been eating at you, pulling you under. And crashing at his place? It wasn’t just because you had nowhere else to go—it was because, your friends knew you needed someone around.

You try to look away, but you can’t. His eyes hold you captive, and for a moment, you swear you see something break behind them—longing? You’re not sure.

“I can do whatever I want,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended, but you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

Lando doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans down towards you.

“Yeah, I guess you can,” he says softly, his voice almost dangerous. He looks down at you for a long, drawn-out second, his fingers flexing at his sights, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and drag you out of here. But instead, he steps back, his gaze softening, his jaw relaxing ever so slightly.

He gives you one last, searing look, before he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, your mind reeling.

Nick glances at you, clearly unsettled by the scene, but you barely notice.

The music continues to pulse around you, but all you can hear is the sound of your own breath and the quiet pounding of your heart.

The night air is cool against your skin, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement as you and Lando stumble back toward the apartment. You’re both slightly drunk, more than a little tipsy, still in that pleasantly buzzed state where everything feels lighter, more carefree.

You both move to the kitchen, in dire need of a snack to soak up the alcohol. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you rummage through the fridge.

“You going to see Nick again?” He asks, eyes still on you.

“Yeah, I might,” you reply trying to sound casual, but theres an edge to your voice that you can’t hide. “What’s it to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something passing though his eyes. None of which you see, you’re too focused on scanning the fridge. “Nothing. Just…” He begins, struggling to come up with a reason.

“I’m just having fun, Lando. I’m not yours to keep tabs on.” You turn to face him now, leaving the fridge wide open as you bask in its light.

The words are sharper than you intended, but they’re out before you can stop them.

Lando stands there, his expression unreadable, before he finally uncrosses his arms. He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flicking down for just a moment before he looks back up at you, his voice low. “I didn’t say you were.”

Lando swore he could’ve passed out right then and there. Not because of what you said, but because of the overwhelming sense of deja-vu that washed over him. He blinked, the scene in front of him shifting for a moment, and he was back there— a year ago, in the same kitchen, the same familiar silence between you two.

You stood there, just like now, same expression in your eyes, only this time there was no pizza sauce on the corner of your lips. But still, he remembered it.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the image away, trying to clear his head, trying to prevent the hardening of his cock as he thought of your tongue wrapped around his fingers with an eagerness.

He dropped his head back, pinching his eyes shut, with a low groan.

He’s so fucked.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sparkling sea as the yacht cut through the water effortlessly. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, making you laugh as you leaned over the railing, the fresh air filling your lungs. You’ve been needing this— a break. Just a few days to recharge with friends, laughter, and some much-needed distance from everything else.

You were surprised to see how well it was going. Sure, you’d been hesitant about this trip, especially with lando on board. But so far? Everything felt…easy. You caught Lando’s gaze from across the deck as he cracked open a cold drink, his usual smirk pulling at his lips as he noticed you watching. His swim shorts hung low on his hips, his tanned skin glowing seamlessly in the sun with unbuttoned white linen shirt slung over his shoulders.

It was days of nothing but sunbathing, dinners, and resting. It was probably the most carefree you have ever felt.

The music from the speakers drifted lazily across the deck, and you caught yourself moving to they rhythm of it, not caring if anyone was watching. The sun was working its magic, loosening every knot of tension in your body.

“We should definitely black out tonight,” Pietra laughs, bringing a shot of tequila to her lips and then carelessly throwing her hands in the air to the sound of the music.

Lando couldn’t help but stare at the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled, and his chest tightened.

“You in, Lando?” She teased, her grin mischievous as the rather large group of friends littered the boat in shouts and squeals.

Lando blinked, a little too lost in the way you tilted your head back, taking the tequila shot and laughing freely. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure, why not?” He muttered, his lips slowly curling into a small smile.

The night had stretched on longer than you’d anticipated, the laughter and music fading into the background as the alcohol worked its way through you. The yacht was quiet now, with only the sound of the waves gently lapping against the hull. The rest of the group had scattered, some slumped on the couches, others finding spots to crash under the stars. You, however, were a little too tipsy to be completely asleep.

The hallway was dimly lit as you made your way past the scattered rooms. You had intended to go to your own—at least, thats what you thought until you remembered someone had made themselves at home there, sprawled across your bed with no intention of moving.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, peeping your head into all the rooms until you finally found an empty one. Without so much though, you pushed it open, your movements uncoordinated, and stepped inside before throwing yourself happily onto the empty bed.

“I always knew you’d end up in my bed.”

You barely registered the sight before sitting up with a small shriek that was quickly cut off as Lando grasped your wrist pulling you towards him and covering your mouth. “God, can you ever just be quiet.”

The room was bathed in soft shadows, the low hum of the yacht's engine barely reaching your ears as the night stretched on, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The alcohol buzz still lingered in your veins, but the proximity of Lando, the heat of his body near yours, made it hard to focus on anything else.

You blinked again, trying to shake off the fog, but his figure still stood out clearly in the dim light. His shirt carelessly thrown across the room and his shorts discarded at the foot of the bed only made him feel more real, more present in this moment. The way his body filled the space, the way his eyes burned into you—he was magnetic, and you couldn’t look away.

Lando caught your gaze, his expression lazy but full of something else, something you couldn’t quite name. A smirk played at the edges of his lips as he leaned back, watching you carefully, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.

“Someone’s in my room.”

Your heart was racing, and for a second, you couldn’t remember why you had come here in the first place. Not with the way he was looking at you. His voice, low and teasing, sent a shiver down your spine. But you couldn’t quite process it—everything in your head seemed clouded, tangled between confusion and something else that pulled at your chest.

You opened your mouth to speak again but the words were caught in your throat, your body reacting instead. You simply sat there, feeling the weight of his gaze, and the distance between you both seemed to collapse.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your moment of hesitation. “Right,” he murmured, pushing himself up onto his elbows, the light catching his bare chest as he leaned forward slightly. “And here I thought you just wanted in my bed.”

Your stomach flipped at his teasing tone, but you didn’t have the energy to argue or deflect. You were too caught in the pull of the moment. Too caught in the way his voice sent shivers through your body, the way his eyes held yours so intently.

“I didn’t…” you began, but your voice faltered, and instead of finishing the sentence, you just let out a long, unsteady breath. Without thinking, you collapsed next to him on the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets. The coolness of the fabric did nothing to offset the heat that spread through you.

He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze lingered on you, intense and searching.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you muttered, trying to steady your breath, the words coming out more like a half-baked excuse than a statement of fact.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes studying you, weighing something in the space between you. Then, his lips parted into a slow, deliberate grin.

“It means nothing,” he agreed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes darkened just the slightest bit, made it clear that he knew it meant something—even if neither of you were ready to admit it.

The thing about Lando is…his body has a mind of its own in the early hours of the morning. The sun has barely peeped over the horizon when he feels the throb of his cock against the band of his underwear. The pressure of something pressed against him that he involuntarily flexes his hips forward, a soft groan pushing past his lips.

You stirred slowly, on the verge of breaking a sweat from how warm it was. Why was it so warm?

You felt hot all over. Your nipples were hard, the pressure of a bulge grinding into your backside, and the warmth of a body brewed a seeping hot energy low in your tummy.

Your brain was foggy, barely aware of what was happening. All you knew is that you needed this.

A hand caressed your waist, slipping under your t-shirt, grazing along the softness of your skin until it reached the cusp of your breast, the pinching of one of your nipples had you pushing back into his groin with a soft moan.

It took a few moments for your body to fully understand what was happening. For your brain to catch up with your body as Lando slowly grinded his hips into you, his fingers toying with your nipples.

You both were too sleepy to care. Too horny to care.

“Wait,-“

“Shh.” Lando cuts you off, trailing his hand up to your neck, and squeezing it just enough to elicit a soft moan from you. “No thoughts. Just feel, yeah?”

Yes.

“This means nothing.” You moaned, your hand reaching behind your head, grasping the back of Lando’s neck to pull him closer, to cradle you closer.

His heavy breaths were hot in your ear, and only made you burn hotter.

He slipped his hand down further, his fingers trailing down and slipping past the band of your sleep shorts. It wasn’t until you felt his fingers press small circles to your lace covered core that it had you arching your backside even harder against his groin, your fingers tightening over the curls that fell on the back of his neck.

“This means nothing, yeah?” His voice was hot in your ear.

“My God, you’re fucking soaked.” He let out a guttural groan.

His fingers trail back and forth, spreading your slick, before he pushes a finger in. You’re a mess. Nothing but moans as he pulls his finger out, coating your clit, and pushing back in.

“Bet I could slip right into you,” His words are broken by heavy breaths, like he’s struggling to control himself. “Take m’cock so easily. Would stretch you nice and good, mm.”

You outright cried at his vulgar words, slipping your hand from the nape of his neck to the waistband of your sleep shorts and underwear, slipping them down enough to leave you bare. The cool air of the room did nothing for you as your skin burned against his touch. His fingers pushing in and out of your core with such a lazy pace, it had you pushing your hips onto his fingers to try to speed it up.

“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue. “So impatient.”

“Now look who needs to shut up,” You knit your eyebrows together in frustration.

“More.” You needed more.

He pulls his fingers from you, slipping his underwear low enough to finally free his cock from the tight fabric that was nearly suffocating him. “So demanding.”

Pumping himself a few times, you feel him slip his cock in between the folds of you, coating himself in you. Teasing you.

“Lando, I swear to-“

He pushes himself in a single thrust, bottoming out as you both exhaled sharply.

It started out with slow and lazy thrusts, both of you nothing but groans and sweaty bodies pressed together. The sun began peeping through the tiny window of the bedroom, casting a soft glow on both of you, tangled in the white sheets of his bed.

“That’s it…feel so good f’me,” His voice was like pure sex in your ear as he slowly thrust his hips into you.

Feeling your heat wrapped around him was something he never want to end. How your perfect cunt swallowed him up.

He hummed in your ear, pressing hot open mouth kisses to the crevice of your exposed neck for him as you laid on your side. So compliant.

It reached a point where neither of you could no longer take it. The force of Lando’s hips driving harder with each calculated thrust he could maneuver as he pushed your shoulder down into the mattress, hovering over your backside he fucked into you hard.

His hips were merciless, like he couldn’t slow down if he wanted to. You felt too good. You were too good.

His hand pressed into the back of your skull, pushing your face into the mattress as it muffled out your moans.

“You take it so nice,” He groans, his head lulled forward as he leans over your frame. Sweat begins to perspire on his skin, the veins in his neck more prominent as he works himself towards the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Full speed with no warning as you spasm around his cock, sending him tumbling over the edge to his as he pulls out quickly, hot spurts of it landing onto your lower back.

“Christ,” He breathes through a small laugh.

You lay limply on the bed, your eyes following as Lando collapses next to you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You open your mouth to say something as it finally dawns on you what just occurred but Lando cuts you off.

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be,” He stares at the ceiling as he mutters the words, his eyes half-lidded in contentment.

You close your mouth.

“No thoughts, just touch.” You repeat his previous words. Like it’s some silent agreement. Some inside joke.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking car,” Max groans as he flops down onto one of the cushioned seats at one of the yacht’s dining tables.

You glance around, scanning the whereabouts of everyone, and everyone looks like a complete train wreck, to say the least.

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, stretching out endlessly above you, and for a moment you just smiled to yourself.

Lando was sprawled out across from you, lounging on one of the nearby deck chairs. He had on his sunglasses, his legs stretched out and his shirt unbuttoned, looking as laid-back as ever. His usual smirk was there, though this time is was softened.

Pietra called out from across the deck, her voice awfully cheerful compared to everyone who was hungover. “Let’s have a fucking day!”

Max groaned, burying his head into the crevices of his folded arms. “It’s gonna be a long fucking day, innit?”

The heat of the afternoon sun and the gentle rocking of the yacht had you longing for a cool dip in the ocean. After hours of lounging on the deck, you and Lando exchanged glances, both of you clearly getting restless as most of the others napped or played card games at the table.

“You know,” Lando started, his voice playful, “the water’s looking pretty great right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look but also nodding your head in agreement. You stood up, slipping your white cover up over your head with ease, before striding toward the edge of the deck, your feet already starting to get warm from the sun-kissed wood.

The skimpy black string bikini leaves little to the imagination as you wiggle out of the cover-up, and Lando swears he might just collapse at the sight of it.

Lando follows, a wide grin growing as he matches your pace, before reaches for the back of your legs and slips you over his shoulder with ease.

“Lando!” You shout. But it’s no use. You don’t even get to finish yelling his name before you are sent over the deck’s edge, plunging into the water with Lando glued to your body. “You’re insane!” You sputter, wiping salt water from your eyes, and though you’re furious, you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

“What? You weren’t gonna jump in?” He teases, his voice light, but theres a glint in his eye.

You both tread the water for a moment, floating side by side, as the sound of the ocean mutes the sound of your friends yelling over a deck of cards.

Lando smirks, tilting his head, his usual dark unruly curls, now slightly lightened from the days spent in the sun, is slicked back and dripping from the dive.

Your stomach flips as he draws a little closer, and for a moment you can’t help but think back to earlier this morning. The way he spread you out and filled you with his cock.

Lando reaches out, his fingers brushing your skin lightly, sending a shiver through you that you can’t quite shake off.

He notices the glaze in your eyes, the way the goosebumps form on your skin from his touch, and the way your nipples have pebbled through the thin material of your bikini. He leans in a little, just enough that his lips hover near your ear. His breath warm against your skin as he speaks, his tone almost a whisper, “Can’t stop thinking about earlier. Your cute little moans. Need to hear more of ‘em.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, and you feel a rush of heat spread through you.

“Come to my room tonight, yeah?”

You really don’t know what you were doing. The soft creak of the yacht’s deck is the only sound that accompanies you as you slip down the hallway, heart pounding faster than normal. The dim lighting in the hallway barely registers in your mind as you stop in front of Lando’s door, a quiet exhale leaving your lips. You’d convinced yourself you were just going to sneak in, just to talk for a little while, but now you’re here. Again.

Everyone left to go out on the land, while you and Lando decided to hang back. No one suspected a thing, not that it mattered if they did.

Lando shifts on the bed, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen, as you quietly close the door behind you. You take a few steps forward, just close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating from where he’s lying.

Lando finally glances over, a lazy grin spread across his face as he watches you slip into his bed. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, making yourself comfortable, leaning back onto the bed and propping yourself up on your elbow. Lando all but gives you one minute, before he’s pulling you closer, and tucking you under his arm. His body heat mingles with yours, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It just feels natural—like this is the way it was almost meant to be.

“You seriously think that was a good ending?” Lando’s voice is incredulous. “That was such a cop-out! It doesn’t make any sense. That’s just lazy!”

“Lazy?” You laugh. “It’s a story about life, Lando. About how not everything can be wrapped up in a nice little bow. Sometimes, you don’t get closure. Sometimes you don’t get any answers. That’s the point!”

Lando pushes himself up. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Whats the point of it all if the story doesn’t actually go anywhere? It just—ends.”

Your heart is pounding now, you don’t even know how something as simple as a movie ending resulted in you two fighting. But it was no surprise. You guys loved to argue.

It was almost like your own version of….foreplay?

“You’re so stubborn,” You spit, releasing a sarcastic laugh. “You can’t just let something be, can you? You always have to control it, make it fit your idea of how things should go.”

Lando reaches towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he corners you up against the plush pillows of his bed. “And you think you’re any different?” His voice is low, dangerously calm now. “You think you have all the answers to who I am, hm?”

“Fine,” You snap. His chest is just centimeters from yours. “Maybe I don’t. But at least I’m not acting like the world owes me something. Maybe that’s why you’re always so angry.”

He leans forward, his breath hitting your face. “I’m angry?” Lando’s voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe I’m angry because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You blink, suddenly aware of just how close you are, how he’s looking at you with something completely different in his eyes now.

“Maybe I’m angry because the only time I’ve managed to get your slutty little mouth to shut up was by having my fingers in it. Or with my cock shoved up your cunt.”

And then, without warning, Lando moves. It’s fast, but not reckless. He reaches for you, one hand grasping the back of your neck as he leans in, just close enough to where your lips can brush against each others.

“Tell me you want this again.” His voice is low, rough.

Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words come out as nothing but a shaky exhale. You want to tell him yes, to beg him to close the distance, but you’re paralyzed. Is this really happening…again?

Lando brushes his lips against the apples of your cheeks before bringing them to the crevice of your ear.

“C’mon, tell me you want this as badly as I do, yeah?”

You nod. “Please.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he’s there—his lips against yours, hard, desperate, and all-consuming.

It’s not a kiss; it’s a collision— a meeting of two forces that have been fighting against each other for far too long. His mouth is warm, and when it presses against yours, its with such an intensity that you feel the world shift. He’s taking, but he’s giving just as much. His hand slips down to the crevice of your waist, squeezing whatever he can get his hands on.

The kiss deepens, and its not soft anymore—its needy, frantic, each of you chasing something that’s been building for ages. The fingers of his other hand curl into your hair, tugging you even closer, until you feel like you might melt into him. You respond in kind, hands moving to his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, your palms feeling the heat of his skin. You want more.

You’re not quite sure how it happened but one moment you’re pressed against the plush material of the mattress clothed, and the next your clothes are strewn across the room with Lando pressed between your legs.

Lando lowers his face, and you’re happy to find that the curls of his hair tickle at your face when his lips meet yours again.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world; like he should be doing nothing else but kissing you for the rest of his life. His hands move to your hips as his tongue glides our from his mouth in-between your lips, to meet with yours.

You taste sweet against his tongue and your gasp is muffled by his tongue as he presses his hardened cock right into your warm center. You tighten your legs around his hips, and buck up against him with a small moan stuck in your throat.

He pulls apart from your lips, much to his dismay, but still hovers over you and trails his lips across your face, down to your neck.

“You argue too much with this mouth,” He mutters, raising his arm over his head to remove the black t-shirt that adorned his body.

You feel flustered and hot all over as you nod in agreement, pulling at the fabric of your lacy bra that was left on.

His thumb traces the pout of your lips, a dribble of saliva smearing over them from your recent make-out. “Should put it to other uses, yeah?”

Your eyes lock with his as you nod. Utterly speechless but the clench you feel in your stomach and the heat between your legs more than enough for you to realize just how turned on you are.

“Would you like that, baby?” Lando lets the pet name slip mindlessly, it stirs a swirl of butterflies in your tummy. “Just let me shove my cock in your mouth whenever I need you to shut up? Anything to fill your throat up, yeah?”

You audibly moaned at the thought. Yes.

The smirk that tugs on his mouth is almost lethal and you swear he might just be your undoing in this moment.

“No thoughts. Just touch?”

“No thoughts. Just touch.” You confirmed.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #lando norris angst #lando norris x y/n #lando norris #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando x y/n

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youngheejay · 3 days ago

Text

Broken hearts and noses

Sometimes you have to get slammed in the face by a door to find your way back into your lover’s arms.

Starring: Jay x fem!reader [established relationship] feat. enhypen members

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“All you do is work, work, work…” You crossed your arms in a pout and nagged Jay’s ear off as he tried to make some dinner. The emphasis laid on tried.

“Please, y/n. Not this again.” He exhaled tiredly.

“What do you mean ‘not this again’? If you would just listen to me I wouldn’t talk about it anymore!”

“Listen to you?? I’m already listening, y/n! What do you expect me to do?? Tell my manager ‘oh by the way, I can’t do the concert because my girlfriend complains about me not spending enough time with her’?” He put the wooden spoon rather harshly on the kitchen counter and started chopping up some vegetables on the cutting board.

“And I’m here with you right now, aren’t I? So I really don’t get why you’re still whining so much.” He uttered roughly.

His words were like a stab in your heart - he wasn’t taking you seriously. The realisation of it made you so upset that the corners of your mouth went down on their own. But you didn’t want to cry. At least not in front of him. Which was really weird - in the last two years you had been dating him, you never had a problem with crying in front of him.

That was before your last fight with him. Which was funnily enough also the last time you saw him, so 2 weeks ago:

~ “Are you seriously crying again about this?! That’s all you can do, right? Crying and getting on my fucking nerves.”

His harsh words surprised you so much that your tears automatically stopped from the shock. Or maybe it was an instant defense mechanism to protect yourself from any other hurtful words from your boyfriend.

Of course you tried to be rational: he was tired from work, y/n. You shouldn’t have brought it up. It was the wrong timing. He just had a fight with his manager and just wanted to have you by his side and didn’t want to hear you also complain. Complain about how lonely and neglected you felt for the last couple of months. Yet again.

And as always he snapped at you and didn’t want to talk about it.

Not only did he not want to talk about your feelings and problems, but he also never talked about his own. Obviously.

He didn’t even tell you what the fight with his manager was about. If you hadn’t pushed him so much to tell you why he was in a bad mood you wouldn’t even had known that he fought with his manager.

He never talked about anything that bothered and worried him. Never. He always said everything was fine - and at the same time his actions and words showed you that he wasn’t fine.

And as always, he regretted how he spoke to you and apologised.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to lash out at you. Let me make it up to you,” he had murmured against your neck as you tried to ignore him.

“Hm?” He left a trail of kisses all over your shoulder and neck, “I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me, my angel.”

His hands caressed your waist and stomach, “you’re my little angel, hm? C‘mon, let me apologise to you, princess.”

And as always, you also didn’t want to fight with him. You hated it.

Hence, you let him make it up. He kissed you and ‘made love to you’ as an apology.

As always.

It was a never ending circle. A new couples tradition since a few months now. ~

It felt like a barbed wire was tightly wrapped around your neck as you tried not to cry. But your eyes expressed everything that needed to be said. Disappointment, anger, heart-ache, desperation. Too bad that he wasn’t looking at you but was rather interested in chopping those carrots into thin slices.

The more seconds you held back your tears the more you felt like a wall was being built between you and the person you loved the most. How could your relationship develop like that?

You watched him for a few moments in complete silence. The way he was cutting the ingredients made it seem like he was in complete peace. That’s what he used to tell you - that cooking brought him peace and a chance to gather his thoughts in his hectic life. Or just to completely shut down from all his problems. Either way, it was his way of dealing with his emotions and troubles. A moment of peace and quiet.

It seems like that this also isn’t a good moment to talk to him about my feelings.

But then your eyes wandered up to his face. His eyebrows were furrowed angrily, his lips in a sulking pout and he was clenching his teeth which was evident because of his prominent jaw.

You quickly realised that he definitely was not coping well with whatever was going on in his head. Your heart clenched at the thought of your boyfriend struggling and keeping everything to himself.

“Babe?” You tried to catch his attention.

Nothing. He didn’t reply to you.

“Jay…” you took a step forward to him as his back was shown to you.

When you realised that he wasn’t going to give you a response you gently put your hand on his arm. He visibly tensed up at that.

“Jay, I-“

“What? What do you fucking want from me, y/n?” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“I just that-“

“What, y/n? What?!

That I’m making you sad because we never go out on dates?

That I’m neglecting you and you want me to be more present?

That I’m always working and never spending time with you?”

You took your hand away timidly - seemingly lost at words.

Jay scoffed as he continued, “I was already working when we two met, y/n! You knew what my profession was and you knew how much I needed to work!”

“Are you saying it’s my fault now?!” You shouted in disbelief.

He put the knife roughly away on the counter and turned around, just to shout angrily at your face: “Yes, y/n! You should’ve asked yourself whether you’re willing to make this sacrifice or not before you decided to date me! You should’ve thought about whether you could adjust to my lifestyle or not!”

“Are you fucking serious?! When we started dating you always had some time for me! I never thought of this because you didn’t give me a reason to see it as an obstacle!”

“Too bad, y/n! This world doesn’t resolve around you! I can’t manage everything like I did 2 fucking years ago!”

“But WHY??!! WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE THE JAY YOU USED TO BE??!!!”

You gave up to fight against your tears and just sobbed loudly, holding your face in your trembling hands and letting them catch your tears. At this point your body was shaking like a leaf. You hiccuped, and cried and cried.

As you were still crying and sobbing you tried to calm down by taking deep breaths.

You straightened up your posture and looked him straight in the eyes, albeit you were still hiccuping and sniffling:

“You’re right. I- I made a stupid decision back then. Good thing we- we cleared this up.” You tried to sound as sternly as possible while tears were streaming down your face.

Jay continued to look at you in fury - or maybe it was confusion. You couldn’t tell the difference.

He shut his eyes in frustration and rolled his head back as he leaned back onto the edge of the kitchen counter - holding it with a firm grip.

“Baby- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so-“ just as he was about to apologise to you for the nth time because of the same thing, the same fight, the same topic, you quickly interrupted him:

“Save it. You don’t have to apologise when you clearly don’t want to change anything.” You made your way out of the kitchen and wiped away the tears on your cheeks. But the tears continued to pour down the same path you just cleaned up.

You quickly made your way to Jay’s room and grabbed your belongings.

Phone, wallet- you hiccuped - no, it’s in my purse. Where’s my purse?

Your sobs didn’t stop.

Where’s my fucking purse?

You spotted your jacket in Jay’s bed and turned around too quickly with it when you grabbed it.

Crash.

With wide shocked eyes you looked at the frame you accidentally knocked down and broke.

A frame which contained a picture of you two on a random date. One of the many dates you used to have. It was a cute picture. You thought you looked okey in it but Jay swore that your smile was prettiest he had ever seen so he had to frame it and put it on his side table.

~ “This way I will never forget your pretty smile and will remind myself to always make you smile like this.”

He explained to you with a shy smile and rubbed his neck in embarrassment when you spotted the frame in his room and asked him about it. ~

This fucking bastard! Fucking liar is he! I should sue him for all these lies!

You angrily started to gather the broken glass and put it in his bin. Not even in the angriest state you could just leave it like that - he could hurt himself.

You didn’t even think about it. You were just doing it.

Your vision was blurry because of your tears so it didn’t really surprise you when you cut yourself. And as fucked up as it sounded - the pain of the cut was more bearable than the pain in your heart.

Lastly, you put the photo in the bin and with that the promise ring you received from him on your two years anniversary. Which was not even too long ago.

Maybe you were overreacting. You still loved and respected him after all so much. So fucking much that you felt your heart shred apart in several pieces.

And you knew he felt the same towards you.

But you also knew that he was having some own problems and didn’t know how to handle them which resulted in him taking it out on you - unintentionally or not, you had enough with these fights.

Thus, you needed to take this step to make a change. Either for the better or the worse. You just really hoped for the better as you saw the ring laying safely in the corner of the bin.

Hopefully he’ll find it and come back to his senses.

You were a little hesitant to leave the ring there, scared he might throw away his trash and not notice it.

No, it’s okey. If we make up, we’ll do it quickly. He won’t empty his bin till then.

The ‘if’ in the sentence lingered longer in your mind than you would’ve liked.

You then quickly made your way into the bathroom which was directly connected to his room and washed your cut clean. After you wrapped some toilet paper around it as a quick solution you walked back into his room, holding your jacket in your other hand.

Surprisingly, you spotted Jay there. Kneeling in front of the bin, he (fortunately) held the ring and the photo in both of his hands.

And when he turned his head around, showcasing you his misty eyes, all you could see was a small, hurt child. A child who didn’t know what to do with these adult problems and responsibilities, who was overwhelmed and just wanted to be held, who wanted to cry without feeling bad about it, without worrying his loved ones.

He looked so vulnerable in that moment.

You hesitated a little - you wanted to wrap him in his arms and tell him that everything is going to be okay. But you knew this wasn’t the right move.

Then, without a word, you marched out of his room.

Jay was startled: “B-babe!”

He quickly stood up after hastily putting the picture on his bed and stuffed the ring securely in his pocket.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Of course, you didn’t respond to him as you firmly went to the front door where your shoes were put right next to his larger ones. You quickly went on to put on your jacket when you remembered that your purse was in the living room.

Just as Jay was about to grasp your arm you quickly escaped his reach and walked back right past him as if he didn’t even exist.

When you entered the mess of a living room you thought how clean Jay’s room always was.

Ugh, I don’t wanna think about him!!

“Baby, hold on!” Before you could react he held your wrist firmly: “Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself with the frame?” He carefully examined your hand and noticed how the toilet paper was stained with blood.

“Wait a minute! I think Sunghoon has some bandage in his room!” He spoke alertly as if you were in some kind of emergency.

Normally you would’ve giggled at his exaggeration but at this moment his reaction only made your eyes teary.

“Just wait a second, alright?” He put his hands on your shoulders and made you sit on the couch. Then he looked firmly in your eyes, assuring himself that you wouldn’t leave just like that.

But he was wrong. You can’t just wait and forget everything as if you never fought.

He’d come, patch you up, apologise to you and you’d forgive him because he means it. He truly does. But you wouldn’t talk about your issues. You’d just place a bandage on the wound instead of taking care and finding the cause of it.

When you heard him rummaging around in sunghoon’s room, you took your purse and went again to the front door. Just as you put on your shoes and were about to leave, you heard Jay:

“Don’t go.”

His voice was shaky and full of pain.

“You forgot your ring,” he spoke quietly, afraid to say the wrong thing.

We both know I didn’t forget it.

You didn’t say it out loud.

Instead, you reached for the doorknob when he repeated his plea:

“Please, y/n. Don’t leave me. I beg you.”

His words broke your heart. You took a deep breath as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I think-“ you were interrupted with a slam in your face. Tuck. “Ah!”

“Y/N!” Jay exclaimed in horror as you dropped your bag and hold onto your nose in pain. He quickly pulled you into his arms.

“Oh my god! What happened?” Jake asked with a horrified expression.

“You slammed the door in my girlfriend’s face, you fucking idiot!” He gritted his teeth in anger.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, y/n!” Jake wanted to approach you to make sure you were okey but Jay wasn’t having any of it.

He quickly stepped in front of you as he still held you firmly. His back was now blocking Jake from stepping any closer to you. Like a shield protecting you from any danger.

“Stay away from her, bastard.” He gave Jake a glare.

“It was an accident!”

“I don’t fucking care. You hurt her. If you ever get near her I’ll fucking kill you.” He spat back and then turned back to you.

He softly and gently cradled your face: “Baby, let me see if you’re bleeding,” he requested with so much love and care - the complete opposite from how he talked with Jake just seconds ago.

You hesitantly pulled down your hands from your nose to show it to him. Jay exhaled in relief: “it’s not bleeding, don’t worry.” You wanted to point out that he was the one who shouldn’t worry, but then you remembered that you were still mad at him.

“I think you should lay down a bit.” Jake suggested carefully.

“Why don’t you just shut up, fucking bitch?”

“Jay!” You scolded lightly, “it was an accident, don’t be so harsh!” You unconsciously put your uninjured hand on his chest to calm him down.

“Oh? What happened? Why is Jay hyung calling you a bitch?”

“I opened the door when y/n was just about to leave and it hit her face on accident. He’s acting like I tried to kill her!”

Jungwon shook his head - he was disappointed but definitely not surprised and looked at you: “are you okey?”

You nodded your head and tried to give him a smile but the expression hurt more than you expected. “Ow!” You clasped your nose with your hands and closed your eyes as tears pricked up from the pain.

Jay quickly cradled your face in his hands again and brushed your cheeks with his thumbs, “baby…” he cooed in empathy.

“What happened?” You had to stifle a laugh when sunghoon and Riki entered the dorms and asked the same question in sync.

“Jake hyung hit y/n in the face with the door.” Jungwon answered casually as he handed Jay a cool pad.

“On accident!” Jake grasped his hair in disbelief.

Riki whistled: “That’s how people die, Hyung!” He knew what he was doing. Fuelling the fire intentionally so that Jay would rip apart Jake in pieces.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re still alive, Jakey. Y/n is his queen - if I were you I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. He’ll definitely come for you!” Sunghoon joined the teasing.

But Jay wasn’t even listening to them. He was totally focused on carefully placing the ice pack on your nose. “Ouch!”

What a great day! Fight with boyfriend, injured hand and now this.

“I know, baby. Just a little more, okey? It will help soothe the pain.” He kissed your forehead, wishing he could take away your pain and to let you know he’s there for you. You held his hands, yet again completely unintentionally, as one was caressing your cheek and the other held the cool aid on your nose.

“Oh my god! Guys, you don’t know what just happened! The head manager was sooo pissed that Jay hyung skipped practice today but then, actually just now in the car, Heeseung hyung talked with Jiwoo Hyung about this whole dating ban-“

Sunoo began his loud chatter even before he entered the dorms since the front door was still widely open and he saw his members standing in the hallway.

Then he cut himself off when Jungwon gave him a stern look.

“What?”

He then looked at his surroundings only to realise that you were also there.

“Oh hi, y/n! You look so stunning today!”

The rest of the boys coughed awkwardly as they face palmed themselves.

You took away Jay’s hands from your face, but still hold onto them tightly, and softly greeted him back and thanked him.

What the hell was going on?

Dating ban? Skipped practice?

You had so many questions but you just stood there completely frozen. Then your world started spinning.

“I’m feeling dizzy…” you weakly informed Jay just in time before your vision turned black and you collapsed right in his embrace.

His arms are so nice and strong.

That was your last thought before you entered the world of unconsciousness.

—

“What if she’s really dead?” You heard a nervous voice.

“Don’t be stupid, hyung. She’s literally breathing as we talk, look at her chest moving.”

“I’m not looking at her chest! That’s the last thing I should be doing if I don’t want to die at Jay’s hand.”

“Why are you whispering his name?”

“Jungwon, please!” Jake gasped as if Jungwon’s question was absolutely absurd, “did you see how he looked at me?! I almost killed his girlfriend - if he hears me talking about him or y/n he’ll definitely end me.”

“That doesn’t even make sense… if he wanted to kill you he wouldn’t even allow you in the same room as her. And besides that, how on earth would he hear you?”

“I don’t know… he probably put a camera here to watch us. His obsession over y/n is a little concerning. But… hmmmm… now that you’re saying it… it is really weird. Why is he letting me stay near her…?

Oh my god! Maybe that’s just his psychotic game. He wants me to witness her death so I’ll live with this guilt forever. Wow, I have to leave this room quickly.” You heard the scratching of a chair.

“You’re not going anywhere, hyung!” Hit.

“Ouch! Don’t hit me there, my leg muscles are sore from practice.” He sulked childlike.

“Just sit down and wait until Jay hyung comes back.”

Where’s Jay?

“See, that’s what I mean! Isn’t it so weird that he went out himself and told us to watch over her?” Jake asked curiously.

“Definitely. Did you see his face when she fainted?I’ve never seen him like this. He froze just like that… he looked like he was about faint himself.”

“Right? And when he was in shock he was talking to himself something like ‘it’s my fault’.”

“Hm,” Jungwon hummed, “now that I think of it, it really gets weirder - usually he’s the proactive one. He’s always level headed and knows what to do. But back then we had to move him aside and handle the situation. He didn’t even move for a while.”

“Do you think they had a fight and that’s why he was so shocked? Like, why was she leaving the apartment in first place? He texted us that we should eat dinner outside because he’s cooking for her but did you see the kitchen? He didn’t even start cooking - his utensils and ingredients were laying around so randomly… like he got distracted or was interrupted.

This would also explain why he is making us sit here in case she wakes up - you know, so she wouldn’t be facing him first thing first. And it would also explain why he hadn’t knocked me out yet. He feels guilty.”

You could hear their tiny brains ratter as a moment of silence followed.

“Nah…”

“Nah!!!”

Both of them let out at the same time.

How can someone be so clever yet still so dumb?

Jay is only clever. He is really super smart.

Your heart melted at the thought of him.

“Oh my god! Are you seeing this? She’s smiling!”

You quickly made a neutral expression as you didn’t want to ‘wake up’ yet. You wanted to listen what they had to talk about. These gossiping aunts. And you wanted to wait for Jay.

“Hyung, now you’re just hallucinating. How can an unconscious person possibly be making any expressions?”

“I swear! She just made that smile! You know that smile whenever she looks at Jay!”

“Ohhh, you mean her ‘I’m so stupidly in love’ smile?” You felt your ears heat up in embarrassment.

“Yeah, yeah, that one!”

“Hm… maybe she’s dreaming about him.”

“Or about something that’s factually beautiful.”

Hey! You frowned internally. Jjongie is beautiful.

“Like a flower garden?”

“Or like rainbows and a sunny day.”

“Yeah, or maybe something cute like puppies.”

“Oh my god puppies! That’s so sweet, I wanna see them too.” You could hear Jake’s pout.

Then you heard a soft knock on the door.

Oh! Is that Jay? I should pretend that I just woke up when he comes in!

“I bought these flowers for y/n!” Sunoo exclaimed in excitement.

Oh… it’s just sunoo…

“Look hyung! I got this black plushy cat for y/n!”

And Riki…

Jungwon and Jake bursted out in laughter:

“BWHAAHAGAHAH- that looks exactly like jay hyung!”

“His angry eyebrows! They’re like Jay’s!”

“I’ll place it right next to her.”

Aww my baby Riki.

“And I’ll put these flowers on the nightstand then she’ll wake up to the sweet scent of them.”

Sunoo!!! He’s such a sweetheart, so cute.

“Hyung, you need to put them in water otherwise they’ll wilt too quickly.“

“Nah, she can do it herself when she wakes up. Ugh! How long is it going to take? I think I’ll watch the new episodes of our show so I can threaten her with spoilers and make her do my laundry.” He chuckled evilly.

Sunoo! You felt irritated.

“If she ever wakes up.” Jake corrected him in a matter-of-factly tone.

“What do you mean ‘if’?”

“There’s a high possibility that she’ll never wake up, Riki.” Jake muttered dramatically.

“What?” Stop scaring my son! Don’t worry, riki, I’ll wake up soon!

“Nice! I always wanted her beanies!”

Riki!! You tried to calm your anger down.

“Oh my god! You’re a genius! I’ll take her skincare!” You felt your blood pressure rise. Don’t you dare, Kim Sunoo!

Then you suddenly felt the weight of the mattress go down at the foot of the bed.

“She better not wake up anytime soon.” Sunoo mumbled as he put his legs under the blanket and made himself comfortable as he pulled most of the blanket towards himself.

“Hyung! Be careful!” - at least there’s one person in this room who’s worried about me - “Jay hyung will get mad when he sees you sitting there. He strictly forbid it.”

Right. Jungwon is not taking care of me. He’s following his Jay hyung’s instructions!

“Agghhh this is nice,” next you felt a heavy weight settle on your legs as Riki was laying horizontally on them.

Ugh, he’s so heavy.

“Hyung knows y/n likes us. We’ll just tell him she wouldn’t have liked it if he scolded us.”

Then he started to roll his back on your legs and used them as some kind of muscle roller.

“That’s right,” sunoo agreed with Riki.

After a few moments of silence - and after Riki moved around on your legs and ultimately decided to sit like Sunoo but on the other side (and stealing more of the blanket than he did) - you finally heard the door open again.

Jay!

“Oh you guys are back! Did you get everything for y/n?” Jungwon asked.

“Yeah, Jay went to her apartment on his own and got her necessities meanwhile me and Hoon went to a store.” You heard how Heeseung was placing multiple bags on the floor.

“Wow did you buy everything from the store?”

“Basically, yes. He gave us a list he quickly had written down during the car ride. That man knows his girl.” You heard Sunghoon and his rummaging to which you assumed that he also was setting some shopping bags on the ground.

Exactly, you agreed proudly.

“Or he didn’t know anything and just wrote everything down he once saw in a store.” You ‘accidentally’ kicked your feet and hoped you aimed any body part of Riki.

“Ouch! She kicked me!” Bingo.

But where is Jay?

“And where is he now?” Sunoo expressed the thought that clouded your mind.

After a few silent moments Heeseung sighed softly and finally spoke up: “In the car. He told us to take the stuff to his room and if she’s awake we should text him. He’s probably waiting in the car for the message.”

“I don’t know man. He was acting so weird. Like he was the one at fault. I mean I get it; to see your woman faint like this is probably not easy but… - i don’t know how to describe it- he just was out of it.”

Heeseung hummed in agreement to sunghoon’s observation.

My baby. Your heart broke at the thought of jay sitting alone in the car. What is he doing? He should sit next to you and wait until you woke up! Or even better! He should kiss you awake!

Just as you wanted to speak up you heard the door opening again and finally there was your boyfriend.

“She’s still not awake?” With panic in his voice he entered his room. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you guys! I’m calling an ambulance.” He announced suddenly.

“Don’t call an ambulance! You have to kiss me awake, you moron!” You shouted in frustration as you suddenly sat up, startling everyone.

“Babe…” Jay’s shoulders visibly relaxed and his eyes were shaky as he looked at you with so much relief.

He quickly made his way towards you and sat on the bed right next to you. Then he pulled you carefully into his warm embrace and nestled his head on your shoulder.

“I was so scared, honey. Don’t ever do that again.” He said with a shaky voice and pulled you as close as possible. And then he started to cry. Loudly.

And of course hearing him cry made you also cry. So you cried just as loudly.

“Why weren’t you here, Jay?! Everyone was in this room except for you! I- I was waiting for you but you were the last person who came into this room!” You wailed as you gripped tightly onto Jay’s shirt.

Jay’s heart broke at this, nevertheless, he started to caress your hair in order to calm you down.

“I’m sorry, princess. I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.” He whimpered as his tears didn’t seem to stop. “Just please don’t break up with me. I’ll do anything. But don’t leave me.”

“I don’t wanna leave you either, jay! But I can’t keep going on with these fights! You never tell me when something is wrong and you have no idea how devastating that is! It hurts so much knowing you’re in pain but not being able to help you or comfort you in any kind of way! Why even have a life partner if you don’t want to share your life with your partner?!”

“I’ll- I’ll tell you. Alright, princess? I’ll tell you every little thing from now on. Just promise me you’ll never scare me like this again.” He pulled away slightly and cradled your face in his hands to wipe away your tears with his thumbs.

“O-okey.” You sniffled and nodded a little as your tears were slowly but surely stopping.

You patted his cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt to clean up his wet face when you suddenly heard a light sniffle.

When you looked over your boyfriend’s shoulder you caught sight of sunoo trying to hold back his tears after seeing such an emotional, heart-wrenching and romantic scene in real life.

The realisation settled in that you and your boyfriend shared such an intimate and personal moment with his 6 fellow members. But when you looked around, anticipating teasings and laughter, you were met with nothing but compassion.

They all looked like they were trying to hold back their tears.

When you looked back at your boyfriend he was already looking at you with so much love and regret. He kissed your forehead: “I’m so glad you woke up.” he mumbled against it.

“Of course I would wake up, idiot!” You giggled a little and it immediately melted his heart.

Then you pouted sadly and hold your nose lightly: “It hurts.”

He widened his eyes in panic, “your nose? I swear to god I’ll kill Jake…” he mumbled under his breath while he examined your nose.

Jake gulped.

“It doesn’t look swollen… but we should go see a doctor, princess.” he firmly decided.

“No, jjongie. I just wanna lay down a bit. Can you get me the cooling aid, please?” Jay hesitated a little as he wanted you to visit the doctor nonetheless he didn’t want to argue with you: “Of course, honey. Lay down and rest, hm?”

“Can you lay down with me, please?”

Jay felt butterflies erupt in his stomach, “of course, my sweetheart.” Then he turned around to glare at Jake: “what are you doing, clown? Get her the ice pack, will you?”

“Y-yes, sir.” Jake sprang up from his chair.

“Jay, don’t be so mean to him. He didn’t do it on purpose.” You spoke softly as you patted his chest. Jay responded with a sulking grunt.

Then you looked at Riki and Sunoo who were still sitting on the bed at the other end with squinted eyes: “You should actually talk to them.”

Both of their eyes widened in a comical way.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Riki stuttered with fear loaded in his voice.

“We- we didn’t do anything wrong, hyung!” Sunoo stammered.

“What’s with them?” He looked over his shoulder and then back at you.

“Actually, they were so nice talking about how they got me gifts,” you looked around and found the plushy and the flowers they were talking about, “see, Jay? They took good care of me.”

“Really?” Jay inspected the plushy with suspicion and was surprised at his little brothers.

“Mhm, I heard something - I don’t if I understood it correctly - but something along the lines how they’ll buy me beanies or just in general some branded clothes and accessories and of course some skincare! Oh and how they’ll go to my apartment and clean it up for me. They even want to do my laundry!”

“Wow that really doesn’t sound like them,” jay chuckled but then turned around to look at them again. Just in time the two boys switched their facial expressions from unpleasant to happy ones.

“Thanks guys. I really appreciate it.”

They gave him a forced smile. Jay rose his eyebrow: “her apartment key is in my jacket pocket- you can go now and clean it up. I’ll join you.” They started to climb out of his bed whilst rolling their eyes secretly.

“No, jjongie! Let them do it!” You gave him your best puppy look. Sunoo rolled his eyes harder than before.

“But-“

“No buts! We still need to talk.” You gave him a stern look.

Jay looked at your cute expression and he’d be an idiot if he refused you. “Of course, my love,” he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then just go and I’ll check tomor-“ he looked around and realised that everyone left already and that the cooling aid was laying on the ground at the swell of the door frame, “-row…”

“When did they even leave?” Jay mumbled as he stood up to pick up the cool pad and closed his door. After wrapping it up in a thin towel he went back to the bed where you were already laying and made some room for him. He joined you in the bed and gently laid pad on your nose. You sighed in relief: “This is nice…”

Jay kissed your forehead and cradled you in his other free arm, “come here,” he mumbled. You took the cool pad from his hand to press it on your own when you asked curiously: “what did you buy for me?”

“Oh, that?” He looked over his shoulder where the bags were, “just some stuff for my princess.” He cheekily answered. You swatted at his chest but he quickly caught your hand and pressed a kiss on the palm before resting it on his chest and pulling you closer. You felt him caressing your ring finger when you heard him shakily breathe in: “babe…?”

Hearing his serious tone you put the cool pad away and looked him in his eyes, you hummed: “yes, darling?”

He squeezed your hand lovingly as he felt his stomach churn anxiously: “Can you please wear the ring again? It feels heavy in my pocket.” And in his heart.

You smiled at him softly: “Of course, my love.”

Letting out a shaky breath, he speedily and clumsily pulled out the ring from his pocket and immediately slid it on your ring finger.

He lingered a kiss on it, “I’ll make sure you never take it off again. Only if I replace it with an engagement ring.”

You grinned widely as you felt a blush on your cheeks: “I’d love that actually.”

Jay leaned in to kiss you but you quickly blocked him by putting your hand in front of his lips. “Why?” He tilted his head and looked at you with sad eyes. You almost caved in.

“First talk, then kiss. We’re not doing any kind of lovemaking - and you know what I mean by that - until you explain to me what’s going on,” you declared sternly, “and until then I’m still mad at you and won’t speak to you otherwise.”

“Okey, okey. I’ll explain,” he replied to you swiftly and wrapped his arms securely around you as if to make sure you won’t go anywhere.

And then he started to explain. And you didn’t say anything until he was done.

——

“So, just because of Jungwon’s dating scandal your head manager banned everyone from dating?” You summed up the whole complicated tension in the company, which had been going on for a few months now. You tried to process the information. “I can’t even comprehend this. That’s so unfair.” Your heart felt heavy.

“I know…” he agreed with a sad tone.

“Now I can actually understand why you wouldn’t tell me this. If I were you I probably also wouldn’t have.”

He sighed with a heavy heart: “but still… I failed miserably at hiding it from you. I mean it totally affected my mood. I should’ve just talked with you about it.”

You patted his cheek: “It’s okey, honey. It’s now in the past. We’re letting this chapter of our relationship go and are looking forward, alright?”

He gave you a cute little nod but one look in his eyes told you everything. How much he regretted these fights and his harsh words to you. It was impossible to express it with words.

“Babe… why are you looking like a sad puppy? It’s okay every relationship has its ups and downs. That’s actually a good thing. That way you can see whether a relationship is healthy or not. Whether the two partners are aligned with each other or not. Look at us: we’re talking about it and are going through this together. The important thing is that we’re making progress together, right? And that we’re learning from our past mistakes together. It’s also a testament to our commitment.“

He responded again with a nod, not daring to speak up as he was too afraid he might break out in tears. You pouted at him and whispered, “give me a kiss.” Without a word he leaned into you and met his lips with yours. And only after a few moments you started to taste his salty tears. “Babe…” you parted your lips from his, just to peck them several times. “Don’t cry, my jjongie. Everything is alright. We’re okey, baby.”

“I almost lost you, y/n.”

“No, you didn’t, silly.“

He wiped his tears away and pouted a little: “you threw away your ring.”

“It was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else. You found it and we talked about everything, right?”

“What if I didn’t? What if I threw it away on accident?”

“Then we would’ve gotten a new one. But I knew you’d find it and we’d make up in time before you would even empty out your bin.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

You kissed his sulking lips again, “okey, I won’t, you little baby.”

As you were sharing another sweet kiss his nose bumped against yours and normally you would’ve chucked at the ticklish feeling but, unfortunately, your nose was really sensitive as you let out a painful groan.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he looked at you concerned.

“It’s okey,” you grabbed the cool pad again and held it against it.

Jay rubbed your waist to give you some comfort as he mumbled: “I really wanna punch Jake in the face.” He squeezed his eyes shut to calm himself down when all of the sudden he sat up from his laying position. “Give me a minute. I’ll just do it now.”

“Jay-“

“No, you’re right.” He took a deep breath: “I’ll slam his face against the door.”

“Honey,” you stretched out your arm and put your hand on his back, “before you do that just listen to me. Think about it: this accident brought us back together.”

He turned around to give you a look, “you’re not being for real, are you?”

“I’m 100% sure we wouldn’t have talked for at least one whole week. But looked at us now,” you wiggled your hand clad with the ring in front of his face. Jay laid back down next to you, now a little more relaxed.

“Sometimes I don’t like how you only see the good even in the bad things.” He was laying on his back and didn’t look at you as he stared at the ceiling.

“Why?” You giggled, “isn’t that a good thing? To be optimistic.”

“It is, I guess. It’s one of your traits I love so much. But it also makes me realise that I’m not worthy of your love. That you’ll probably leave me someday because you found someone who matches you way better than I do. That’s why I also don’t like it. It’s like a reminder that I’m not good enough for you.” He whispered the last part as he wanted to avoid a crack in his voice.

“Jay…” you were lost at words. In your eyes Jay was the most confident person to ever exist. Never ever did it cross your mind that Jay could also be insecure about your relationship. Just like you felt sometimes.

“Oh Jay…” you repeated emphatically and scooted closer to him. “Come here.” You wrapped your arms around him and pulled his head towards your chest. He immediately responded by embracing your waist and nestled his face in the crook of your neck.

“This was really stupid of you, you know? You always tell me to not speak such nonsense when in reality you also have these thoughts of insecurities.

I need you to know that there’s no person on this earth that can handle me as well as you do. There’s no person who loves me like you do and you show it to me in the most special ways. I know there’s nobody else who knows me like you do. So don’t ever think this again, alright?”

Jay only tightened his embrace around you as a response.

“So what if we fought? It only grew us stronger and closer. I got to know you better through this. And you’re acting like I’m some saint who’s never done anything wrong in this entire relationship. I think you’re forgotten that I always snap at you when I’m overwhelmed in the slightest. Or when I get my period I’m always annoyed with you. Or when I’m sleep deprived. I could give you sooo many examples from our life that we’ve been sharing for quite awhile now. You can’t tell me that you forgot all these instances.”

“Hm, but it’s not the same…” he mumbled against your skin.

“How so?” You exclaimed in a high pitched tone, “just like you don’t care about my bad traits I also don’t! I feel the exact same way about you. Believe it or not!”

“Promise?” He rasped with a sleepy voice.

“Promise.” You sealed it with a kiss on his head.

“You know, about this picture I told you I liked it because of your smile, right?”

You hummed.

“That’s actually not the whole story. I love this picture so much because on this day I realised I wanted to marry you. That you were the one for me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise: “Really?” You asked yet again in a high pitched tone, which made him chuckle lightly.

“Really.”

“But it was taken not even 1 month into our relationship! How could you possibly know it back then?”

He looked up at you and brushed away a strand of hair behind your ear gently:

“I don’t know what happened that day, princess. I just realised that my feelings for you weren’t - and obviously still aren’t- for someone who I’m dating casually. When you greeted me that day with your usual beautiful smile I immediately knew it. That’s why I love this picture so much. It reflects not only my feelings for you but also the importance of your smile- your happiness to me.”

He sighed sadly, “that day I swore to myself to never be the reason of your tears. To shield you from any harm and pain that could potentially make you sad. And I miserably failed at that…” he blinked his eyes harshly to stop the tears.

Slap.

“Ouch!”

“Stop it, Park Jonseong!” You frowned angrily.

“You’re only a human. You didn’t fail at anything. Do you really think I’d be laying here with you if I thought that? You always take care of me. Even when we’re fighting! You literally skipped practice today to spend time with me. So don’t ever talk like this about yourself.”

“That slap hurt…” he mumbled as he held his cheek with his hand.

“Stop acting like a child.” You rolled your eyes but nonetheless you leaned in to kiss his cheek where you slapped him.

“Better?”

“Here also.” He pointed at his other cheek.

“I didn’t even touch that side.” You laughed at his silliness. Nevertheless, you pecked it.

“And here.” He pointed at his nose.

“Mwuah.” You smooched his nose.

“And here also.” This time he laid his finger on his lip.

“Oh now you’re getting bold.”

“I was born bold.” He clasped your face in his hands and gently pulled you in for soft kiss.

The kiss was interrupted by a giggle of yours which you unsuccessfully tried to stifle: “bold or bald?”

Jay rolled his eyes with a smile and leaned in yet again to kiss you: “oh just shut up…”

After this chaotic day you were sure of two things:

First, the next time you’re taking off your ring it will be because he’s giving you another one - this time a diamond ring.

Second, from now on, whenever you’re with him, you’ll never have to open a door yourself.

—————————————————————————

Comment and reblog! Appreciate likes but tumblr doesn’t.

Feedback etc. is highly appreciated.

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hjvi · 2 days ago

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blurb of chris babysitting your little sister

The moment your lips met Chris’s, it was like everything else faded away. His hands cradled your face, tilting you just right as he deepened the kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. The weight of him pressed against you as he guided you back onto the couch, his fingers tracing gentle patterns down your sides. Every time he pulled away, just slightly, it was only to steal another breath before diving back in, kissing you like he couldn’t get enough.

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers curling into his hoodie, and he groaned in response, his hands traveling lower, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to brush against your skin. His touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. He was just about to push things further, his hand ghosting over your waist, when you suddenly placed a hand on his chest, breathless.

"Chris, we can’t," you murmured, your lips swollen from his kisses.

His brows furrowed in confusion, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "What? Why?"

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing. "My little sister’s here. I’m babysitting."

It took a second for the realization to hit him, but when it did, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder with a small, defeated laugh. "You’re kidding."

You grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Nope. She’s in the other room."

He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "You’re evil."

Before you could reply, a small voice interrupted. "Chrissy!"

Your seven-year-old sister came bounding into the room, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. She had the biggest crush on Chris, and she made it known every time she saw him.

"Hey, princess!" Christopher greeted her with the sweetest smile, immediately sitting up and opening his arms. She wasted no time launching herself onto the couch next to him, practically beaming as he pulled her into a hug.

You watched as your sister giggled, tugging on Chris’s sleeve. "Wanna play princess with me?"

Chris chuckled, shooting you a knowing glance before nodding. "Of course. What’s my role?"

She placed her hands on her hips, looking very serious. "You’re the princess!"

You snorted at the way Chris’s face twisted in mock horror before he quickly recovered, nodding solemnly. "Alright, but only if I get a really sparkly tiara."

Your sister gasped excitedly and ran off to grab her collection of dress-up accessories. You leaned against Chris, grinning up at him. "You’re so good with her."

He shrugged, but the pink on his cheeks gave him away. "She’s cute. And she reminds me of you when you were little."

Your heart swelled at his words, but before you could say anything, your sister returned, dumping a pile of tiaras, boas, and plastic jewelry onto Chris’s lap. "Time to make you a beautiful princess!" she declared.

Chris played along perfectly, letting her place a too-small tiara on his head and wrap a pink feather boa around his shoulders. When she held up a toy wand, he waved it dramatically, making her squeal with delight.

As she continued accessorizing him, she suddenly looked up with wide, innocent eyes. "Chris, how much do you love my sister?"

Chris’s smile softened as he glanced at you. "More than anything."

Your sister hummed, as if contemplating his answer. "How did you know you were in love with her?"

Chris looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "It was a lot of little things. Like how she laughs at my dumb jokes, or how she always knows what I’m thinking before I even say it. And how she makes me feel like I can be completely myself."

Your sister beamed. "Can I marry you too?"

Chris chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "Of course. We’ll have a big princess wedding."

She gasped happily before turning to you with a mischievous grin. "How much do you and Chrissy have sex?"

Your jaw dropped as Chris nearly choked on air. "Excuse me?!"

Your sister giggled. "I heard it on TV!"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "I am taking away the rated R channels."

Chris, still recovering, laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "You’re gonna give me a heart attack, kid."

Your sister just giggled again, completely unfazed, before returning to adjusting Chris’s tiara. And as you sat there, watching Chris let your little sister turn him into a princess, you couldn’t help but think—he was going to be the best dad one day.

And you were so, so in love with him.

a/n: thank you for reading!! I appreciate any interactions more than you'll ever know<33

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

tags- @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys @sturniolohohoho @h3arts4harry @fratbrochrisgf @abysful @slvt4chrissturniolo @tezzzzzzzz @surfer-sturn @blushsturns

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo blurb #sturniolo triplets x reader #mathew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #frat boy chris #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff

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cvnt4him · 2 days ago

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insecurities is just the most common thing a human being can experience..no matter your power, strong will, immaculate self discipline, insecurities are normal and everyone goes through it once in a while.

And like everyone else, you have your own insecurities. Being fat is something everyone seems to look down on. Everything is funnier and way easier to make fun of when you're fat. You hate looking at yourself and seeing your body. Your chubby tummy, your fat arms and squishy cheeks. They were the bare minimum of what you disliked about yourself, dare you say hate.

It will always befuddle you when you see your super handsome strong and admirable boyfriend. I mean he's well built, sexy, and damn was he just blatantly perfect. There's no point in pointing out small features about him when everything you seen was perfect. Anyone with eyes could see he is a walking piece of art perfectly made.

It hurts you to see that you're holding something like him down. It makes you feel terrible.

You're sulking in bed, you haven't moved since he's left this morning. It worries him terribly. It's normal for you to feel gross and icky but that doesn't mean it doesn't upset him as well. He hates seeing you cry, and when it gets this bad he can't help that stinging feeling he feels his heart give.

While you're hidden under the cover not bothering to lift your head up to see anything he slowly and quietly walked towards you, a small smile on his face as he climbed into bed behind you. You feel the extra dip in the bed added given his weight. you open your eyes beneath the cover before you swing the cover off of you whipping your head around to see your loving boyfriend.

Calm eyes full of love and adoration for you. He scoffs lightly and pulls you into a deep and tight hug causing you to whine. Small kisses are planted on top of your head while he holds you closely and you listen to his breath, his heart beating behind his chest.

“ ’s everything okay.”

It wasn't really a question but it was good to feel like he cared. Of course you knew he did, he cared so much and he made sure that you knew that....in his own weird ways.

You give a small nod before you try to scooch impossibly closer to him. He chuckled above you and sinks deeper into the comfort of the bed, not bothering to remove the clothes he was wearing after the long day he's had. Holding you was simply enough.

Sure he might not be done much of anything, but him just being near you was enough to make you feel loved. Like regardless of your weight, you're loved. He had a knack for that, he was a damn good person and an even better boyfriend. You were impossibly lucky, is all you could think.

“ I love you. y'know that.”

You nod again, he hums in disapproval above you his brows furrowing as he looks down at you giving the top of your head a rather aggressive kiss before he grabs you by your chin and cranes your head up to his so you can face him, he gives you a stern yet pouty look huffing as he stared down at you.

There is no way this big strong manly (for the most part) man was sitting here pouting. If only the world could see your man now. He was adorable that's for sure. You can't help the giggles and laughs that escape you as you stare up at him, admiring his handsome yet cute features. He truly was a work of art, the gods definitely took their precious time sculpting him and those abs.

“ I love you.”

He says once more while he continues to pout. You snicker and realize what's got him so peaved, he wants you to say 'i love you' back. You always say it back when he says it to you, mainly because it's true, you do love him as well. But another reason is because it makes you feel like he loves you just that little bit more when you say it.

For the fun of it, you decided you weren't gonna say it. Just to see how far you could really take it. A small displeased groan leaves him as he eyes you up and down eyes squinting at you as your teasing smile grows wider, you try your best not to crack but you can't help it. He's too cute, you burst out in laughter and let your head fall onto his chest.

He groans and kisses you all over, pouting and slightly annoyed with you but he can't deny the fact that he loves you far too much. You eventually tire yourselves out, small giggles leaving your two motionless and entwined bodies. Your arms draped over his body while his legs were in between yours, fingers locked together as you hold hands smiles on both of your tired faces.

He looks over to see your eyes closed, you weren't exactly asleep just in more of a dazed estate really thankful for what you have and how much love you feel even when you get in this mindset. A heavy sigh leaves him as he looks back up at the ceiling deciding he'll just do what he needs to in the morning. He quickly sheds his day clothes off and turns in for the night in only his boxers holding you close and kissing your temple, his hand on your tummy as he occasionally squeezes it, giving you a ticklish yet discomforting feeling.

You squirm at the touch and then to give him a warning look that he simply dismissed with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. He pulls you closer and chuckles in your ear lightly, you can feel his breath fan the side of your face as he sighs heavily.

It was hard to feel insecure about your body when regardless of what he does he managed to make you feel loved.

mha ➥ izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, EJIROU KIRISHIMA, mirio togata, denki kaminari silently.

hq ➥ HINATA SHOYOU, BOKUTO KOTAROU, atsumu miya, kuroo tetsuro, asahi azumane but quietly aswell.

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mootmuse · 2 days ago

Text

Legitimately this is exactly how this scene went. And instead of doing the stuff I should be I ended up rambling about that. Here goes:

I managed a rewatch recently and as genuinely funny as it is to talk about, this scene was kind of chilling. Like the way Crozier just Turned as soon as someone who would/could stand up to him walked in. (Or someone who - like Jopson - he associates with feeling good and having his addiction fed.) Like the way he was in one moment like 'oh of course you're right it's dangerous to send the men outside' when Blanky stood up to him, and in the very next moment once Blanky wasn't around to see, coldly ordering Little outside again. And the contrast with how he treated someone (Jopson) who was never in a position to have to tell him 'I don't have any whiskey for you'. Genuinely excellent illustration of how far he'd spiralled to and how bad it'd got.

Like the show doesn't spend any extra time hammering anything into your head, but the way Crozier was at that point lying to the people around him based on whether he could push them around, and how that was all centered around the goal of getting more to drink was very much there.

I also think Little and Crozier's earlier dynamic here is interesting in terms of how people under that kind of stress interact with different personalities. There's more than just this at play but, even without it coming up in terms of words or actions, in the way Little and Jopson both speak and carry themselves it's obvious that one is a much stronger personality than the other, and someone in the mindset Crozier was in then is going to respond to that instinctively.

Also, while I do think rank and class were at play there - if Jopson was the type of person to tell Crozier anything he didn't want to hear just then I think he might have been on thinner ice than Blanky was, because Crozier's so used to him being a servant and perfectly obedient in everything. But Blanky did very much get away with pushing back a little bit, and Blanky is lower in rank and class than Crozier is too. According to Wikipedia historical-Little (and so probably his fictional counterpart) is a first lieutenant, which I assume (knowing nothing about any kind of military) makes him the man on the spot when the Captain wants to give a direct order, so that's probably a big part of why he becomes the target of Crozier's addiction-feeding at that point, but the show I think makes a good case that personality is a part of it as well.

The only thing that gets me is when people act like this is Crozier and Little's ENTIRE dynamic. Like with a lot of Crozier's early show behavior that often gets taken for his entire default personality this side of him came out in specific circumstances for specific reasons, and changing those circumstances changes Crozier's behavior and dynamic with the other characters, like Little. Crozier's not soulbonded besties with Little the way he is with Jopson, but when it comes down to it all these guys are just Adventure Coworkers who signed up to bunk together for a few years. His relationship with Jopson is weirder than his relationship with Little, which reads to me as a very normal one; when it comes down to it Crozier is ultimately just Little's boss (although interestingly the script does note I think at the promoting Jopson scene that at that point Little sees Crozier as an admirable person, so- a boss that Little maybe looks up to).

I'm not getting at anything, I just think it's all pretty interesting, the way the show handled this part of things, and I needed something fun to do.

edward i need you to walk a mile in the freezing cold to bring me more liquor. yes it is so cold you could literally die. chop chop. JOPSONNN YAY how are you my sweetiepie sparkle jumprope queen. i will never let anything happen to you. my perfect baby boy. EDWARD where the FUCK is my whiskey

#the terror #addiction cw #addiction #long post #here's to hoping OP already has enough notes on this that they pay this no attention I just needed an emotional support ramble

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scoupsakakitty · 17 hours ago

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i think a touching scenario would be 14th member reader who has always been treated coldly by leader scoups until one day they had a major breakdown, and he would realise he was being too harsh and they would reconcile 🙊

Breaking the Ice | Seventeen x Reader | Angst, Fluff

The practice room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet as the members ran through the choreography again. It was their third time in a row, and exhaustion was settling in, but no one dared to complain.

Except for Y/N, who was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Y/N, focus."

Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, his eyes locked onto her with the same cold intensity he always had when addressing her. The room fell silent for a split second before the music started again, but Y/N didn’t move.

Instead, she dropped her hands to her sides, clenched her jaw, and turned around. Without a word, she walked straight out of the room.

"Y/N—!" Joshua called after her, but she was already gone.

A few members exchanged glances, uncertain of what to do. Seungcheol remained still, his expression unreadable.

"Hyung, that was too much," Mingyu muttered.

"You’ve been really hard on her lately," Jeonghan added, watching him carefully.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. "She needs to keep up. This isn’t a game for her just because she’s the youngest."

"No one said it was," Wonwoo pointed out. "But maybe talk to her instead of just pushing her all the time."

For a moment, Seungcheol said nothing. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room.

He found her in the lounge, curled up on one of the couches with her face buried in her hands. She wasn’t crying—not loudly, at least. But the way her shoulders shook told him everything.

Seungcheol hesitated.

He wasn’t good at this—talking, fixing things with words. But he knew he had to say something.

"You ran off," he finally said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Y/N flinched but didn’t look up. "Just go, Seungcheol."

He let out a quiet sigh. "No."

Her fists clenched. "Of course not. You always have to be in control, don’t you?" Her voice was unsteady. "Always watching, always criticizing, always making me feel like I don’t belong here."

Seungcheol’s chest tightened at her words.

"I don’t hate you," he said, his voice softer now.

She scoffed. "Could’ve fooled me."

He walked closer, stopping just before the couch. "I was never trying to make you feel like that."

"Then what were you trying to do?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought… if I was too soft on you, people wouldn’t take you seriously. That they’d see you as weaker because you’re the youngest. Because you’re the only girl."

Y/N finally looked up at him, her eyes glistening.

"I wanted to make sure you were strong enough," he admitted. "But I didn’t realize I was just pushing you away instead."

Silence hung in the air between them. For the first time, Seungcheol wasn’t looking at her with cold, calculated eyes—there was regret in them now.

After a long moment, he hesitantly reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Y/N."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she gave a small nod.

"...Just don’t do it again," she muttered.

A quiet chuckle left him—relieved, almost. "I won’t."

And for the first time in a long time, Seungcheol’s presence didn’t feel like a burden to her. It felt safe.

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oofmybad · 3 days ago

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“It feels good. Just new”

Synopsis: billie straps you for the first time. That’s legit everything. Nothing groundbreaking.

Warnings: dom!billie x sub!reader, strap, spanking, squirting, mildly rough sex, NOT proofread, I think that’s it.

Words: idk

A/n: this is my first time writing smut. And I wrote it in ~maybe~ 5 minutes max lol. So it’s probably shit. Couldn’t quite get myself to proofread it back. But just wanna post it to get past the shyness pfft. Anyway, enjoy (I hope).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because we don’t have to.”

“Yeah, baby. Of course I do. I- i really want you.”

“Ok pretty girl. Tell me if you want me to stop, or anything. You’re in control, always.” Billie says as she lines the strap up to your core.

“Um… Will it… hurt?” You ask, slightly embarrassed of your lack of experience.

“It shouldn’t do if you’re turned on enough. You feel pretty wet to me. But it might feel like a bit of a stretch at first.” Billie says as she strokes your baby hairs away from your forehead.

You take a big breath and hold the air in, anticipating the sensation. “Ok” you say, now determined.

“Uh uh, you gotta breathe, baby” Billie takes one of your hands and places it on her own chest so that you can copy her breathing, “here, follow me”.

You are now breathing at a steady pace when Billie reaches for your hand that’s placed on her chest, so that she can clasp her fingers in between yours, holding your hand that’s now laying next to your head.

“I’m just gonna put the tip in, ok?” Billie says keeping firm and controlled eye contact with you.

Just like that, her unwavering confidence melts any lingering worry away. “Please” you say, the word slipping past your lips like a begging whimper.

“Mm!” You gasp a moment later once Billie has pushed the first inch or so inside of you.

“You ok? Need me to stop, angel?” Billie’s eyes shoot up from your bodies connecting to search your eyes for any discomfort.

“No, no! It feels good. Just new, that’s all” you reply.

“Ok I’m gonna go a little deeper now” Billie warns you before pushing further into your pussy, inch by inch - she periodically waits for you to get used to the new stretch.

“Mmmh…fuck-“ you let out a moan as the full length of the strap pushes against your walls. You let go of Billie’s hand in order to wrap your hands around her back, tightly clasping onto her shoulders with your nails, and pulling her body flush with yours.

“Ugh, god” Billie moans, almost like a reply to your altered, deeper, position. “I can feel you clenching. You feel so good”

“Please give me more, Billie” you plead.

“What do you want, angel?” Billie whispers into your neck, her teeth nibbling at the tender skin of your collarbones.

“I want you to fuck me” you pause to think “…hard”.

Billie pulls her head back to search for any doubt in your eyes, but she finds nothing but desperate longing. Without another word, Billie pulls the strap out of you, quickly ramming it back inside of you repeatedly - your g spot getting hit every time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t stop!” you practically wail out.

“Can you turn around for me, baby?” Billie asks as she positions herself to be towering over you. Pulling the strap out at the same time.

You sigh, almost whimper, at the loss of sensation. But you quickly obey, turning around so that the right side of your face is being pressed against the mattress and your ass is in the air.

Billie lines the strap up with your entrance once again, teasing your clit at the same time, and asks “you ok?”

“Omg yes! Please just-“ you can’t even finish your sentence before Billie thrusts back into you, hitting places you didn’t know existed inside of you, as she smacks ur ass with each thrust - enjoying the recoil.

Your hands neurotically search for something to hold onto. Landing on the pillow above your head that’s leant on the headboard. “God! Oh, fuck” you moan out, panting with every thrust.

“You take me so well, angel” Billie says as she uses her tattooed hand to push up your spine towards your neck, creating an even deeper arch. Billie moans at the glorious sight in front of her.

This new angle sends you into another dimension. You are literally dizzy and seeing stars. “I have to cum! Please!”

“Already, baby? Hold it for me. Be good” Billie huffs as she continues to smash her hips into your ass.

“I can’t”

“Yes you can” Billie retorts as she reaches round to rub your clit again.

“Ah, pleaseeee baby!” You whine.

“I said not yet” Billie snaps sternly. You would be scared of her if you weren’t so turned on. She smacks your ass one, two, three more times to show you how much she means it.

But this only causes you to unravel completely. Moan after moan explodes from your mouth - you not even having a chance to warn Billie that you’re cumming.

From behind you, and through your moans, you can faintly hear Billie’s grunts in time with her hips stuttering against yours. She’s doing her very best to keep fucking you through your simultaneous orgasms.

Hearing her struggle to not whimper is the final straw for you. A rubber band inside your core snaps as you try to warn Billie. “Fuck! I’m gonna pee! Wait!”

Billie, being more experienced than you, knows that you’re gonna squirt so she musters up all the strength she has left. She roughly grips your ass cheeks and uses them as handles to pull herself further into you.

“Uhhhnn. Fuckuhhh” your expletive moans, skin slapping, and the sound of your juices crashing onto Billie’s thighs and the mattress are all that can be heard in your bedroom.

#lesbian #billie eilish #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x y/n #billie x reader #billie x you #billie eilish smut #wlw smut #strappon

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vibelladonna · 3 days ago

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❛ 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 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, chaotic & teasing assistant!reader, fem body!reader, reader takes no shit, boss/assistant relationship, playful banter, teasing, 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

Sooooooo……

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.

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

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meinii · 13 hours ago

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"hoodie thief"

summary: Sylus' hoodies have been disappearing lately... the thief was closer than he thought •⩊•

content: fluffy fluff, Luke and Kieran cameo

୨୧·。。·♡·∴·♡·。。·୨୧

Sylus was no fool

at first, he didn’t think much of it—one or two hoodies missing wasn’t a big deal. he probably left them somewhere, maybe in his office or tossed over one of the chairs in Onychinus. but as the days passed, his wardrobe slowly dwindled. hoodies, sweatshirts, even his thicker, oversized ones—all mysteriously gone

and there was only one person who had the audacity to steal from him

you.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. he had seen you wearing his hoodies a few times, the fabric swallowing your frame, the sleeves dangling past your hands. and each time, you acted as if it was no big deal. like it wasn’t a crime against the very fabric of his empire.

the moment you walked into his office that evening, wrapped in yet another one of his hoodies, he just stared

you blinked "what?"

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, a slow smirk tugging at his lips "you’re awfully comfortable stealing from me, aren’t you?"

you feigned innocence, glancing down at the hoodie draped over you "oh… this? I—uh—found it"

"found it?" he repeated, amused

"yeah. just lying around"

"in your house?"

"…maybe"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. he could force you to return them—could pin you down and strip it right off your body if he really wanted to—but he let it slide, for now

because, truthfully, he liked seeing you in his hoodies.

that might’ve been the end of it—except Luke and Kieran, the ever-loyal informants, decided to stick their noses in where it did not belong

"boss, we have a report on your missing items"

Sylus looked up from his paperwork, giving Luke and Kieran a deadpan stare "You actually investigated?"

Luke grinned "of course. you seemed so troubled about it, after all"

Sylus rolled his eyes "go on, then"

Kieran pulled out a small tablet, tapping the screen "after some thorough research—which included some discreet surveillance—we have identified the culprit" he turned the screen toward Sylus

it was you, sneaking out of his penthouse with an armful of his hoodies, stuffing them into a bag like a professional thief

Sylus let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief "she really had the audacity to smuggle them out?"

Luke smirked "oh, she’s been planning this. we even found a whole stash at her place"

Sylus raised an eyebrow "a stash?"

"mm-hm. neatly folded, stacked in her closet. she’s treating them like trophies, boss"

Sylus chuckled, tilting his head back in amusement. the fact that you collected them, carefully keeping them all together—it was both ridiculous and insanely endearing

"and here’s the best part," Kieran continued, clearly enjoying himself "we confronted her about it. wanna know what she said?"

Sylus smirked "let’s hear it"

Luke cleared his throat dramatically "'tell Sylus I have no idea what he’s talking about. those are legally mine now. he can’t do anything about it.'"

Sylus burst out laughing, dragging a hand down his face "legally hers?"

"she made a contract in her head, boss. if she wears it enough times, it’s hers now."

Sylus shook his head, amused beyond belief "She really is impossible"

Luke grinned "so? what’s the plan? gonna storm her place and reclaim your lost belongings?"

Sylus smirked "no, no… let her have them"

Kieran raised an eyebrow "really?"

"oh, yeah" Sylus leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief "I want to see how long she thinks she can get away with this"

that night, you were comfortably curled up on your couch, wearing yet another hoodie of Sylus'. t smelled like him—faint hints of cedarwood, spice, and something unmistakably him. it was oversized, the sleeves pooling over your hands, the warmth of the fabric making you feel safe

you had no regrets. none at all.

until your phone buzzed

Sylus: I know everything

you stared at the message, heart stopping for a second

you hesitated before replying

You: everything about what? Sylus: you’re a terrible liar.

you swallowed, typing as nonchalantly as possible

You: I think you’re mistaken. I am simply a humble citizen living her best life. Sylus: living your best life with my entire wardrobe?

okay. he knew. he definitely knew.

you considered your options

1) play dumb 2) flee the country 3) beg for forgiveness

before you could type a response, there was a knock on your door

your stomach dropped

slowly, cautiously, you opened the door—only to find Sylus leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement

"you," he drawled "are the worst thief I’ve ever seen."

you cleared your throat, shifting slightly "what brings you here, oh great ruler of Onychinus?"

he smirked "oh, just checking in on my beloved hoodie thief."

You knew Luke and Kieran had snitched. those little traitors.

Sylus stepped forward, towering over you, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of the hoodie you were wearing

"you didn’t even bother returning one," he mused, tilting his head "you just kept all of them"

you pouted "well… they’re cozy"

his eyes flickered with amusement "and that means they belong to you?"

"yes," you said shamelessly "finders keepers"

Sylus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head "unbelievable"

"you’re not mad, though," you pointed out, a slow grin spreading across your lips "you like seeing me in them."

he exhaled, a smirk playing on his lips "you’re lucky I do"

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly. his voice lowered, warm and teasing

"if you wanted to keep something of mine so badly… all you had to do was ask"

your face grew warm at the implication "I—"

"shh" he leaned down, his lips barely an inch from yours "enjoy your little collection while it lasts. I might just take one back… personally"

your heart definitely skipped a beat

Sylus grinned at your expression, clearly enjoying himself

"sweet dreams, hoodie thief"

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away—leaving you flustered, warm, and absolutely unwilling to give back a single hoodie

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burrowdarling · 3 days ago

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The Offline Series 001

Summary: The introduction to The Offline Series, covering the last day of the regular season and the beginning of the postseason.

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: This series will have mentions of adult content throughout so MDNI

Note: Hi everyone and welcome to The Offline Series! It's taken some time and rewriting, but the first part is finally here. I have plans to do specific events like the Pro Bowl Games as well as other ideas as connected standalones. I'm excited to create this small for these two and I hope you'll come along for the ride! Asks about these two are always welcome, I'd love to develop a world for them.

Word Count: 5.6k (my longest fic yet!)

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux @lilfreakjez @jburrgf Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

The past few days have felt a bit tense in the house with the season ending the way it had. Of course, you had wished things had gone differently, but it only made you more hopeful for the next season to come. Things were very touch and go when it came to Joe’s mood. Which was to be expected. You were so proud of him and the way he was able to lead the team to a winning record by the end of the season. You knew Joe was beating himself up about it despite the records he was breaking and the path he was paving in the NFL as a whole. You knew he was MVP material and it gutted you that he wasn’t in the conversation with the numbers he was putting up despite the final scores of each game.

He was processing the way he always would, by himself in his own way. He was going to the gym, meeting with who he needed to, throwing himself into everything else but rest. Arguably that also meant it was most things except time with you. You hadn’t seen too much of him recently, but you could feel his lower energy in the house even when he wasn’t around. Things felt colder and you had to admit you were starting to get a bit lonely. You thought back to that Sunday when the big shift in him happened while you went around the house and tidied, not like there was much when one of your stress relievers was cleaning.

**Flashback to Sunday**

You had the 4:25 games all on at once, each game taking up their respective corners of the screen. You were hopeful that having more than the two games would provide some kind of distraction, but you knew his mind was elsewhere when he kept his vision darting between the two opposing corners of the screen. You wished you could read his mind, making sure to remain close enough if he needed you, but far enough that he was able to be with his own thoughts.

You knew that the other guys were glued in the same positions after talking with the other girls. There was a constant stream of messages in your group chat talking about how the guys were doing and sharing the experience with one another through the phone. By some miracle, you hoped the Jets and Broncos would pull this off. You had a deep gut feeling based on the Chiefs lineup that things weren’t going to go the way you needed them to. The most you could do was hold out hope and watch with cautious optimism. You found yourself copying Joe’s movements, unable to look away from the two most important games. The Jets were starting off strong and that lifted some weight, but the Broncos came out swinging so fast against the second stringers for the Chiefs.

You couldn’t blame them, really. It was no other team's job to win or lose for someone else, but that didn’t make the game on the screen any less frustrating to witness. The amount of time the Chiefs quarterback was taking in the pocket from having no open players to pass to, it was no wonder he was getting sacked left and right. The score just kept getting higher and higher, the Bengals chances slipping away the more the Broncos scored. The Jets win wasn’t even necessary at this point, feeling worse knowing everything had gone to plan except this once game.

You kept glancing over at Joe, watching the light in his eyes fade with the passing time. You knew he was worried about the outcome as much as he tried to hide it. He wanted a chance in the playoffs, working his ass off to finish with the win streak they had, not to mention the records he was breaking for himself and on the team. If anything he turned colder, feeling the shift in him from where you were sitting on the couch. You made no move to touch him let alone speak to him when he got like this. You didn’t know which version of Joe you would get and you weren’t in the best mindset to find out.

By halftime, Joe had retreated to his office without a word and you let him. You couldn’t get yourself to turn the screen off, watching the abysmal scene in front of you at the Chiefs vs Broncos game. The amount of things that had to go the Bengals way, it felt like it was so far fetched. It really did come down to this one game. The score was so far gone, it was purely to see how far the Broncos would push it.

Towards the end of the fourth quarter, you turned the game off and made your way to the kitchen to make something for dinner. You didn’t know if Joe would eat, but you had to at least try. You cooked his favorite, plating some for yourself and making him a plate. You walked cautiously up to his office, a warry feeling sitting in your chest as you got closer to the closed door. It was silent on the other side, able to hear a pin drop. You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves before you faced what could be on the other side of the door.

You knocked gently on the door, hearing some grumbling on the other side before the door was pulled open. You were met with a blank faced Joe, his hair roughed up from his fingers tangling in it. You knew better than to mention a word about the game. Joe was beating himself up more than you could even imagine. You held his gaze, trying your best to keep things direct as you moved the plate in your hands towards him.

“I made you some dinner in case you were hungry. I’m gonna take a shower and get in bed to read for a bit. In case I fall asleep before you, I love you and I’m here if you need me,” you said and weren’t expecting any type of verbal response back.

He looked down at the meal you made him, watching as the slightly bit of tension dropped from his shoulders. His eyes moved back up to yours and the smallest ‘thank you’ slipped past his lips. You arched up on your tiptoes to reach his cheek, his frame always towering over you. He took the plate from your hands and gave you a nod before turning to close the door. You let him shut himself inside, knowing that all you could do at this point was wait for him to come around. You wouldn’t stop showing him small acts of kindness and support, knowing he was still appreciative even if he didn’t show it. You would always be there to take care of him and you weren’t stopping now.

**End of flashback**

You had your current read perched in your lap, trying your best to keep your mind occupied on something that wasn’t the thick feeling in the air. You were doing anything you could to keep yourself busy-reading, cooking, cleaning, even leaving earlier for work, and getting yourself a coffee in the morning rather than making it at home. You knew Joe would open up when he was ready, but the meantime wasn't always the easiest to manage. You felt your phone buzz on the couch next to you, lifting it to see what the notification was. You saw that it was an Instagram post notification from Joe because of course, you have his notifications on. It was a rare occurrence when he would post anything so you had to be in the know. You clicked on the notification, having an inkling of what it could be, but the wind was still knocked out of your chest as you read his caption.

"Season to remember, sorry you won’t get to watch anymore. Year 5 in the books."

You stared at your phone for a moment, processing the post he made. You felt your heart break for him, unsure of what could be going through his mind while he was upstairs. Swiping through the few photos he posted along with it. The first photo being of “the big three” as everyone has been calling them. The next two being of himself on the field and the last of him and Ted. You felt like you could sense the emotion through the phone screen.

He came down from his office a little while later, his hair ruffled from constantly running his fingers through it. You could imagine him sitting at his desk, looking for the right thing to say to his fans. The movement of gripping his locks through his fingers was a way of grounding himself when he felt overwhelmed. You noticed it as the season had gone on, tending to do it more often in press conferences when all he wanted was to be at home either alone in his office or with you. He went over to the fridge to grab something to drink, spinning off the cap and taking a huge swig as he walked over to where you were in the living room. You had on some mindless TV show in the background for noise, not paying it much attention.

He came to sit down next to you on the couch, slouching into the cushions with a deep sigh escaping past his lips that he must've been holding in. You shifted to sit up criss-crossed with a blanket draped over your lap. You patted the spot on your lap gently, signaling Joe to rest his head in your lap. He moved to you without a word, positioning his long limbs on the couch to settle his head in your lap with his legs draping over the edge of the armrest.

“Take this as a chance to just be offline for a while. You spent months holding so much of other people’s bullshit all season. You deserve to take the offseason as time for you,” you spoke softly as you started to gently touch his head and felt him lean into your hand.

Joe let out a sigh of contentment as he settled into your touch. You knew it was something that made him feel safe and grounded. You ran your hands through his hair, giving him time to process your words and respond. A break was something Joe wasn’t the most familiar with, always needing to be on and moving all of the time.

“I know you’re right. It’s just hard to shut my mind off sometimes. It’s hard to feel like I could’ve done more, still can do more to prepare for next season. I don’t want to have the same rhetoric from everyone next season like I did this year.”

You felt your heart break for him. There was an ache in your chest at his admission, feeling a small tear drop against your exposed skin. You leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his temple, letting your lips linger there.

“I know you worked your ass off Joey, you always do. You also earned yourself some time to unwind for a while, let your body rest. I’m excited to finally get to spend some uninterrupted quality time with you. Your mind and your body deserve to heal J, I’ll be here with you while you do. I already know you’re gonna come back stronger than ever.”

You tilted his chin up, turning his head towards you. You looked down and the gentle giant with glossy eyes in your lap. The thought brought a smile to your lips and a small laugh. You leaned over once more, placing a kiss to his pouting lips this time. You were about to sit back up, but Joe kept you in place. The kiss began to get more intense, feeling a small fire igniting within you at his tongue grazing across your lower lip.

You were putty in his hands, body willing to do whatever it was that he wanted. Joe loved how reactive you were to his touch, no matter how small or innocent it was.

A small moan escaped your lips, unsure of how you guys ended up in a full makeout after having such a deep moment. You finally pulled away, the angle becoming too much for you as you started to get a bit light headed. You weren’t sure if it was from having your head turned or the intoxicating pull that was Joe, figuring it had to be some kind of combination of the two.

“Sorry hun, I couldn’t keep my head like that for much longer. I was only trying to make you feel better, not —” you were cut off from your apology with a much gentler kiss placed on your lips.

“I know that, this was one of those times I was at a loss for words to tell you how much I love you so I figured I would show you instead. I know I can get in my head a lot, I really do appreciate that you give me the space to think.”

“Of course, Joey. You know I’ll always be here whenever you need to talk. Me forcing you isn’t going to do either of us any good in the long run. You also know I’ll happily be a willing participant to your throes of affection. In that case you’re more than welcome to show me properly.”

Joe sat up and took your hand in his to guide you off the couch, moving so quickly towards the stairs.

“Don’t mind if I do, all you had to do was say the word.”

Joe was always amazing in bed, but there was something even deeper about the way he would make love to you. Everything felt ten times more intense than usual, his passion unmatched. You were left lying there breathless, the sheets haphazard over the bed with your body tucked snuggle into Joe's side. His hand gently grazes your side, slowly lulling you to sleep. Exhaustion almost overtook you before his voice broke through the silence that enveloped you.

“Thank you for everything that you do for me. I know I’m not the easiest to love, but I’m grateful for you everyday,” his words waking you from your sleepy state.

You turned around to face him, his arm falling between you as you did. You moved your hands up to cup his cheek, feeling him lean into your soft touch as you stroked the stubbled skin. You felt Joe release a breath he must’ve been holding in and let his eyes fall closed. It was the most relaxed you had seen him in days.

“Joey loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, doing this with you makes the highs and lows worth it all.”

You saw a quick tear slip past his defenses, quick to wipe it away hoping you didn’t see. It was too late for him though, you were too busy doting on him. His eyes looked up to meet yours and it was over for him. Joey tucked himself into your body as if you would make the pain he was feeling go away just from your touch. The more tears streamed down his cheeks onto your exposed skin, silent sobs racked his body and all you could do was hold him. Whispering sweet nothing in his ear while stroking his back with light scratches of your nails. Your heart split in two at the pain he must’ve been feeling, it being so hard for him to let you in.

You have no idea how long you two laid there, your gentle giant finding his solace in your smaller embrace. As his tears seemed to settle and his body relaxed, the tension finally dissipated his body for good from the emotional release. Joe sniffled as he pulled back from your neck. His baby blue eyes were red, his face flushed pink. You brought your hands up to wipe any stray tears from his face. Joe seemed to be closer to his normal self, something still holding him back.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, able to tell that there was something he wanted to bring up.

“I got an offer to attend the Australian Open and I’ve been thinking about it, it could be a different experience for me. I wasn’t necessarily gonna go, but after we talked I think I’m gonna tell them yes. I was hesitant because I was honestly still feeling so down on myself, but you’re right that I deserve to go out and enjoy the fun things like everyone else has been doing. People are gonna talk regardless so I might as well be happy while they do,” Joe said with a finality to his words and a returning sense of confidence you hadn’t seen for a bit.

“That’s awesome sweetheart, I totally think you should go. Get out of the cold in the land down under,” you joked back with him wishing you could escape the throes of the Cincinnati winter.

By the look on his face, you could tell he wanted to make some kind of oral joke but was holding himself back to preserve the moment the two of you were sharing. You felt him pull you in closer to his chest, his arms securing you in like a fortress from the outside world. You rested your head on his solid chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat bring you a feeling of comfort.

“They offered for you to join me of course, but I know you can't just take off of work that easily. I wish I could have you there with me, I really am sorry for being such a dick and icing you out,” Joe spoke as he peppered the top of your head with kisses

“I would love to go with you, but I already finessed time to go to Orlando for the Pro Bowl Games with you, unfortunately. I’m excited for you to get that experience and can’t wait to hear all about it. I’ll be here when you get back, don’t worry,” you assured him.

“I’d hope so, don’t be surprised if I don’t let you out of my sight when I get home,” Joe warned in a teasing tone you knew all too well meant only one thing.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way lover boy,” you pushed back, giving him a kiss to his nose. “I’m starting to think I’ll have to make you a self-care plan to ensure you actually take a break for once.”

“Does this plan involve you in all sorts of positions for me,” Joe teased as he brought his hand to cup your bare breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked nipple.

You gasped at his touch, still feeling sensitive. You lightly smacked his hand away as you feigned offense. Your body’s reaction betrays you in that moment, feeling the heat begin to form in your center. You had to be the voice of reason for once, both of you needing some kind of sleep more than anything.

“Get your mind out of the gutter for once, I actually meant it seriously. If I need to take the time to make one for you I will,” you said and you meant it, “just because I work with kids doesn’t mean it can’t apply to you too.”

You worked in mental health, mainly with kids and adolescents. You were able to be a safe space for them to learn how to share, develop healthy coping skills, and work through anything that was going on with them. There were times that you could see where Joe would benefit from taking a different approach. He was such a big advocate for mental health, but he didn’t always give himself the same grace when he needed it.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll behave and take my time. I was honestly thinking of getting a massage tomorrow if you’d like to come with me. It could be a great way for us both to destress,” Joe suggested.

The idea did sound incredibly tempting, knowing you had your own knots and pent up tension stored in your body. You hadn’t gone for a massage in ages and Joe always got them as a form of restoring his body during the season.

You rolled over, feeling Joe sniggle up behind you as he draped an arm over your waist, “you let me know when and where, you bet I’ll be there.”

Joe’s trip to Australia came and went in a flash, sticking true to his word and making sure he showed you just how much he missed you. Claiming he needed some way to ‘exhaust himself’ and get him to sleep from the massive time change he was combatting. He told you all of the stories from his time there that you hadn’t already heard over the phone while you two lay in bed. You weren’t exactly sure when you fell asleep, being lulled into slumber from the warmth and presence of your boyfriend.

That next morning, you woke up to Joe splayed out next to you. He looked so peaceful; with the thin white sheet draped across his lower half, chiseled chest on full display for you to admire. Both of you had forgotten to pull the shades over after yesterday’s activities, the morning sun casting a warm glow across his sun kissed skin. It felt like a crime to wake him, but you had massage therapists coming to the house. Joe wanted to keep things private and got a few people to come here that he’s worked with through the team during the season. You were grateful considering how tender each of your muscles felt from last night, skin heating at the thought.

The least you could do was wake him gently, shifting on the mattress so you were level with his stomach. You always admired Joe’s body and he damn well knew that. You never got the chance to do so this close and unrushed though. You took your time absentmindedly tracing patterns across his skin, lightly dragging your fingertips through the dips and curves of his muscles and hips. You dropped your lips to his warm skin, making a path of kisses up to his neck. You felt him stir about halfway through, glancing up to see a barely there smile on his lips.

You could tell he was trying to remain “asleep” to not interrupt your pursuit. You decided to have a little fun knowing he was awake. You dragged your lips up his chest, lightly sucking at the skin on the base of his neck. You felt his breath hitch underneath your lips feeling satisfied. You nipped at his ear causing a groan to come from Joe, unable to hold back his facade any longer.

You could tell he was trying to remain “asleep” so as to not interrupt your pursuit. You decided to have a little fun knowing he was awake. You dragged your lips up his chest, lightly sucking at the skin on the base of his neck. You felt his breath hitch underneath your lips feeling satisfied. You nipped at his ear causing a groan to come from Joe, unable to hold back his facade any longer.

He shifted quickly, tucking you under his body as his strong arms caged you into him. You giggled as he ducked his head and nipped at your neck, knowing it was where you were super ticklish. His attacks against you were ruthless, leaving you begging him through sputters of air and laughs to get him to cease fire.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, trying to regain control of your breathing.

“I could say the same thing to you too, I’m not complaining if I get to wake up to your touch every morning,” Joe said as he ducked back down in an attempt to move things further.

You stuck your hand out as a barrier to stop him. You wouldn’t have nearly enough time with your massage appointments happening soon. You wanted to freshen up quickly to be ready for them when they got there.

“We’re not gonna have any time right now, J. They’re gonna be here in,” you looked down at your bare wrist, a small laugh rumbling in Joe’s chest at your humor, “like 10 minutes.”

“I’ll bet you I only need three of those ten if you let me,” Joe tried to press, hoping to win you over with a morning orgasm to start your day.

You had to admit, it was definitely a tempting offer. Joe loved lazy morning sex with you, feeling the lack of time constraints and pressure. It was his favorite way to start his day when he could. There were also mornings where quickies would wake either of you up before you had places to be, connecting before your busy days. You contemplated the idea, Joe wiggling his eyebrows suggestively above you trying to entice you. You also would have the rest of the day with this being the only thing you had planned. You worked to flip yourselves to get you on top, Joe grinning thinking that he would be getting his way. You slipped off of him, throwing on some semblance of clothing and ran your fingers through your hair to tame it.

Joe groaned feeling like you pulled a trick on him. Before he could protest you, the sound of the doorbell ringing sounded through the stillness of the house. A smile crossed your lips as you started to make your way out of the room, turning back once you reached the frame of the door. You left him alone in bed, sat up against the headboard frustrated from your absence. He looked lost, a pout formed on his lips and a prominent bulge obvious underneath the thin fabric of the sheet.

“You should probably take care of that before you come down, I don’t think your massage would appreciate it,” you said with a smirk as you disappeared down the hallway

“Oh you’re gonna get it later sweetheart,” Joe called after you, making you laugh at the promise.

You composed yourself before pulling the door open. You greeted them kindly, letting them in to get everything setup in the living room. The pair seemed lovely, telling you a bit about themselves while getting their things ready. They handed you a robe and requested you change into whatever made you feel the most comfortable. You left to change, tying the robe overtop of the bralette and sleep shorts you put on. You were exiting the bathroom when Joe made his way down the stairs in a pair of tight alo shorts. They were sitting high up on his thighs as if he had them pulled up, the glimpse at the skin making your mouth water.

It was like he could read your mind, choosing those on purpose as a form of payback for leaving him alone to take care of himself. He dropped you a wink before passing you to say hello, taking the second to shake those thoughts from your mind for the time being. This was technically your fault, but you knew it would also make him more worked up later.

You both laid on your respective tables and let the two ladies get to work. You had never gotten a massage before, not thinking it was a necessity, but having a change of heart after the first few minutes. The lotion felt and smelled absolutely amazing, giving reprieve to your aching and neglected muscles. Your shoulders felt the tightest from how much sitting you had to do at work, constantly seated in different positions at your desk or on the floor if that’s what your clients preferred during their sessions. Sighs of content and groans of pain as she worked tumbled from your lips without a second thought. Joe was mostly silent, making you realize how often he did this and was used to it by now.

Knots you didn’t even know you had were being pressed and worked. You couldn't help the groans of relief that left your mouth, trying your best to taper the sounds. Turning to look over at Joe whose pupils were blown wide as his back was being worked on as well. You let your eyes trail down his frame, knowing exactly what was under the sheet covering his lower half. Your body was heating, feeling conflicting feelings of tension and relaxation as your masseau’s hands worked wonders at alleviating your deep seated stress. You turned your head to face away, knowing it would be for the best.

You made small talk the best you could, finding it hard to speak when certain tight areas were touched, cutting off whatever it was that you were saying. It made you wonder how Joe did this as often as he did, focusing on the temporary hurt being worth it in the end. After about 40ish minutes, they began to finish up and gave you both a few minutes to relax while they went and cleaned up their hands.

You sat up to stretch, reaching your arms above your head and appreciated the lack of pain when you did. You felt Joe’s eyes locked on your body sensing the heat in his gaze without meeting his eyes. He stood up off of his table, not worrying about wrapping his robe back around him. He came to where you were sitting, leaning into you with his hands pressing into the massage table on either side of your legs. His knuckles brushed against your exposed skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Joe leaned down more to meet your ear, bracing for what filth was about to come out of his mouth.

“You bet your sweet ass the minute they leave, I’m gonna have you screaming my name for so long your voice will be gone by dinner time,” he whispered, his voice husky and dripping with lust.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was only barely lunch time. You breath caught in your throat as Joe brought one of his hands up to cup your cheek, slipping down to lightly grip your throat. You swore you forgot how to breathe, getting so lost in the moment that the sound of running water scared you back into reality. Remembering you weren’t alone and could get caught with Joe hand around your throat at any moment made a new wave of pleasure wash over you.

You separated when you heard the footsteps begin to get closer. Heat crept up your cheeks at almost being caught in a not so innocent position, even if you were in your own home. You chatted for a few minutes while they packed everything up. You talked about tentative plans for another appointment soon, now that you knew what you were missing out on. You had barely walked them out the door before Joe was behind you in his robe. Your front was pressed against the cold material of the front door, eliciting a gasp from your parted lips.

“Do you know how hard it was to just lay there knowing you were wearing so little beside me,” Joe said as he slipped your robe off your shoulders placing kisses to the exposed skin, “making all of those little noises of yours.”

Joe slipped the robe off the rest of your body, letting it fall to the floor. Turning you around to face him, keeping your proximity to one another so close it was hard for you to spin. He dropped to his knees before you, taking in the sight before you. He slipped off your shorts, growling at the sight before him.

You had forgone underwear, forgetting to sip some on after this morning and assuming the coverage of the shorts would be sufficient enough. In hindsight, it worked as easier access for a moment like this.

“Naughty girl, getting that entire massage while eye fucking me with this bare pussy,” Joe chastized into the flesh of your thighs, alternating between kissing and nipping at your skin.

“I was too preoccupied this morning, I guess I must’ve forgotten,” you spoke, half lying as you tried to keep your head on straight from his touch so close to where you wanted him the most.

“Likely story, you could’ve had this pussy wrapped around my cock this morning, but someone had to be a tease,” Joe said as he brought his hand down to your wet pussy.

Joe wasted no time in latching his mouth onto your center, feeling so close a release already from how strung up your body already was. He alternated between licking and sucking that your mind was spinning. You gripped your hands into his hair, tugging slightly to let him know how close to the edge you were.

Right as you were about to fall over it, Joe pulled back and stood to meet your lips in a rough kiss. You groaned in frustration at your lack of climax, irritated at how close yet so far you were from release. When Joe pulled back

“What the hell J, I was so fucking close,” you whined, knowing you sounded like a brat.

“You’ll get there when I let you, if someone was nicer to me this morning then they wouldn’t be left hanging would they,” Joe said as he sauntered off towards the stairs, “I'm gonna hop in the shower. I want you on the bed and ready for me once I’m out and maybe I’ll let you cum if you behave.”

You were stunned in your spot for a moment. The time off seems to already be doing wonders for his mood, the downside being that he had time to be just as much of a tease as you were. You hustled up the stairs doing exactly what he asked. You were glad that your body was relaxed, not sure if Joe would be using that to his advantage. You could get used to disconnected Joe.

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mistyshane30 · 3 days ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 9)

Synopsis: A night out with friends turns into something far more complicated as emotions run high and unspoken tensions linger. You tried to keep your distance, but some things are impossible to ignore.

Word count: 5.1K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unspoken emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language

The room is quiet, except for the soft, steady breathing of your friends. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a faint golden glow through the sheer curtains. It’s peaceful—until you stir slightly, shifting in your sleep, and realize something feels…off.

Your arm.

It’s draped over someone. Warm. Comfortable.

You blink, still groggy, but as your vision clears, the realization slams into you like a truck.

It’s Agatha.

Your breath catches in your throat. WTF? Your pulse picks up, your whole body going rigid as the weight of the situation sinks in.

When the hell did this happen? You don’t even remember moving in your sleep, let alone ending up in this position.

You need to move. Now.

Very, very slowly, you start to retract your arm, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But then—Agatha shifts.

Your entire body locks up as she turns ever so slightly toward you, her face now just inches from yours. Her breathing remains soft, steady, oblivious to your internal crisis. But you? You’re completely frozen, hyper-aware of the way her lips are barely parted, of the faint scent of lavender and something deeper, something distinctly her lingering between you.

You swallow hard. She’s still asleep. It’s fine. Just move—carefully.

Your eyes flick to the others—Wanda, still curled up on her side, completely knocked out. Jen, Alice and Lilia, equally dead to the world. No one saw. No one knows. Good.

You take a slow, careful breath and start again, inching your arm away, moving like you’re defusing a bomb.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you pull back completely. You don’t dare look at Agatha again as you carefully, so carefully, shift away from her warmth and push yourself upright.

The second you’re free, you slip out of the mattress and quietly make your way toward the bathroom, your heart still hammering in your chest. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

You brace yourself against the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair’s a mess, your face is flushed, and your mind is racing.

What the hell was that?

Shaking your head, you reach for the faucet, splashing cool water onto your face, trying—desperately—to get it together.

When everyone finally wakes up, you do everything in your power to avoid looking at Agatha. You keep your head down, focusing on your food, trying to act as normal as possible. But inside? You’re spiraling.

Your mind keeps replaying the morning over and over. How long had your arm been around her? Did you move in your sleep, or—God, what if she had been the one to move closer? No. No, that’s insane. Right? You shake the thought away, stabbing at your scrambled eggs like they personally offended you.

Meanwhile, Agatha is just casually eating pancakes, completely unbothered. Because of course she is. She doesn’t even know about it. Meanwhile, you’re sitting here, losing your damn mind.

Wanda, ever perceptive, narrows her eyes at you from across the table. “You good?” she asks, sipping her coffee.

You blink at her, then quickly nod. “Yeah. Just… head hurts. Probably a hangover.”

It’s not a complete lie. Your head does feel kind of heavy, but that’s not really the problem. The real problem is the fact that you woke up cuddling Agatha-fucking-Harkness and now you have to act like everything is fine.

The conversation at the table continues, and you do your best to stay quiet, to blend in. But then Lilia, ever the social butterfly, claps her hands together. “Okay, so. I was thinking—since we had a cute little slumber party last night, why not go all out and hit the town tonight?”

“Oh, I’m so down for that,” Alice chimes in immediately. “It’s been forever since we had a real night out.”

Wanda nods. “I could use some dancing.”

You, however, tense at the idea. The last thing you want is another night of potential chaos, not when you’re still recovering from this morning’s crisis. “I don’t know…” you start hesitantly, but before you can even finish, Alice is already rolling her eyes.

“Oh, come on. We’re all going,” she insists, nudging you. “Don’t be lame.”

Jen raises a brow at you. “Yeah, don’t be lame.”

You sigh, already knowing you’ve lost this battle. “Fine.”

Jen grins. “Great! Then pre-game at my villa. Be there at six.”

And just like that, your fate for the night is sealed. After breakfast, you retreat to your villa, hoping—praying—that you can shake off whatever this morning was before the sun sets.

The time passes quickly, and before you know it, the sun has dipped below the horizon, casting deep hues of orange and purple across the sky. You stand before the mirror, putting the final touches on your outfit—a black satin slip dress with a high thigh slit, paired with Bottega Veneta Spritz Strap Pumps. The thin diamond tennis bracelet on your wrist catches the light as you adjust your RCJ 14K Yellow Gold Long Polished Teardrop Dangling Earrings. Your hair is sleek and straight, every strand perfectly in place, and your makeup is soft glam—sultry but effortless. You throw on your Black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag, taking one last glance at your reflection.

You’re putting in extra effort tonight, not that you’d ever admit why.

With a deep breath, you head out and make your way to Jen’s villa for pre-game. Music hums through the space, laughter fills the air, and the energy is already buzzing. You keep your distance from Agatha, making it a point to steer clear whenever possible. Not that anyone notices—after all, you and Agatha aren’t exactly known for being close. Just two people existing in the same space. That’s all.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Drinks are poured, shots are taken, and the group is in high spirits by the time you all pile into the van heading to the club. The moment you step inside, you quickly drag Wanda to sit beside you, using her as a barrier between you and Agatha. You don’t even glance in her direction, focusing instead on the road ahead.

Tonight, you’re determined to have fun. To forget.

Or at least, try to.

At the club, the music is pounding, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Neon lights flash in dizzying patterns over the dance floor, illuminating the crowd as they move in sync with the heavy bass. The energy inside is infectious—an intoxicating blend of excitement and chaos, like anything could happen tonight.

You and your friends weave through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. The bartender barely acknowledges you as he pours drinks with practiced efficiency. Once everyone has their orders, you settle into a booth across from the bar section. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter mixing with the pounding music and occasional cheers from the crowd. It’s comfortable, fun—until your glass is empty, and you find yourself hyper-aware of a certain presence nearby.

Agatha.

You refuse to glance in her direction, even though you know she’s there, sitting with the others. It’s ridiculous, really—acting like avoiding eye contact will make the morning’s incident disappear. But the memory of waking up with your arm draped over her is still seared into your mind, making your pulse quicken despite your best efforts to act normal.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you announce, standing up.

No one pays much attention as you weave through the crowd back to the bar. You slide onto a barstool, signaling the bartender.

“Whiskey, neat.”

As you wait, a figure slides into the seat next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar voice says smoothly.

You turn, and there she is—Rio Vidal.

Your brain momentarily short-circuits.

“Uh… hi,” you stutter, caught off guard.

Rio smirks, clearly amused by your reaction. Her white silk shirt is unbuttoned just enough to be distracting, tucked into black tailored pants that accentuate her frame. Her hair is in a messy bun, and somehow, that only makes her look more put together. She looks effortlessly hot.

“You were at my flower shop yesterday. And now here you are,” she muses, tilting her head.

“Wow, fate,” you tease, mirroring her smirk.

Your whiskey arrives, and you take a sip, feeling bolder under the influence of alcohol and Rio’s presence.

“My friends are here, too,” you say, nodding toward your booth.

Rio follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a raised brow. “And yet, you’re over here. With me.”

“What can I say? I like good company,” you quip.

The conversation flows easily. You tell her what you actually do for a living, and Rio raises an eyebrow, setting her drink down with a quiet clink.

"Wait, you’re a CEO? Of a tech company?" she repeats, clearly impressed, but there’s also a hint of amusement in her tone, like she’s reevaluating you.

“You don’t believe me?” you challenge, feigning offense, tilting your head slightly.

“Oh, I believe you." She studies you for a second, then smirks. "It just wasn’t what I was expecting." She takes a sip of her own drink, her gaze lingering on you over the rim of her glass. "Guess I should stop underestimating you, huh?"

Somehow, you find yourself bringing up last night’s dare.

“So, funny story,” you start, grinning, “I actually texted you last night.”

Rio tilts her head. “What?”

“My friends dared me to text you. Just a ‘hey~’ but, um, yeah… you kinda blocked me,” you admit, laughing.

Rio chuckles, shaking her head. “That was you? I thought it was some random prank. Guess I should unblock you, huh?”

Before you can respond, Wanda approaches. She glances between you and Rio, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” she teases, but her eyes gleam with amusement.

“Wanda,” you warn.

“Rio,” Wanda greets, offering a polite nod.

“Wanda,” Rio acknowledges smoothly.

Wanda shoots you one last smirk before sauntering off, leaving you with Rio again.

As the drinks keep flowing, you grow bolder, a little more reckless. Your fingers brush Rio’s arm when you laugh, the warmth of her skin lingering against yours. You lean in just a little too close, your faces inches apart, her cologne mixing with the scent of whiskey on your breath. And Rio—she doesn’t move away. Instead, she smirks, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The moment stretches, charged and unspoken, the club's music pulsing around you like a heartbeat.

The conversation shifts into deeper territory. Rio talks about her work, her passions—the way she started her flower shop, how she loves the artistry behind arranging bouquets, how she finds peace in the quiet moments before the shop opens. She speaks with a quiet intensity, her hands moving as she describes the feeling of working with something alive, something delicate.

You find yourself listening closely, watching the way her brows furrow when she talks about the struggles of running a business, how her voice softens when she mentions the flowers her mother used to love. There's something deeply personal about the way she shares these things, as if she’s not used to talking about herself like this.

The way she gestures with her hands when she speaks, the intelligence in her eyes—it’s familiar. Too familiar.

She reminds you of Agatha.

That realization sits uneasily in your stomach, a whisper of something you don’t want to examine too closely.

“Come dance with me,” Rio suddenly says, extending a hand.

“Oh, I don’t really—”

“Come on,” she insists, grabbing your hand before you can protest further.

You let her pull you onto the dance floor, the alcohol buzzing in your veins. She’s a good dancer—confident, fluid. The way she moves her hips, the way her brown eyes lock onto yours—it’s hypnotic.

And yet, as you sway to the music, as Rio pulls you closer, your mind betrays you.

For a split second, you imagine Agatha in her place.

That thought snaps you back to reality.

“I— I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out, pulling away.

Before Rio can respond, you slip through the crowd, your heart pounding as you make your way to the restroom, desperate to catch your breath.

While you’re inside the cubicle, trying to steady your breathing, the bathroom door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sharp click of heels against the tile floor. You freeze. Then, you hear it—that voice.

Agatha.

She’s on the phone.

Your stomach tightens as you strain to listen, her words clipped, her tone sharp. At first, it sounds like she’s instructing Ralph to find something in their house, but the irritation in her voice grows quickly.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” she snaps.

A pause. You imagine Ralph giving some lazy excuse on the other end.

A scoff. “Are you serious right now?”

Then, her voice changes—lower, colder. “I left you alone for two weeks. Two. Weeks. And you still can’t handle basic responsibilities?”

There’s another pause. Then Agatha actually lets out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. "Must be nice to just sit back and have a good time while I’m the one keeping everything from falling apart."

Your breath catches.

She sounds nothing like the Agatha you’re used to—calm, in control, always with a teasing edge. No, this is different. This is raw, her voice trembling with frustration, exhaustion. Like she’s at the end of her rope.

Ralph must say something that makes it worse because her voice turns even more bitter.

“Real problems?” she repeats, disbelief dripping from her words. “What do you even know about real problems, Ralph?”

Her footsteps pace across the bathroom floor, the sharp tap of her heels echoing in the quiet space.

“You have no job. No responsibilities. You just sit in a house that I pay for, acting like you’re the one suffering.”

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale—like she’s trying to hold something back.

“You don’t even care, do you?” she asks, softer this time. But there’s something broken in her voice now, something she can’t hide anymore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s not your business. You shouldn’t be listening. But you can’t move. You can’t stop hearing it.

Then, the final blow comes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Agatha says, and her voice isn’t raised, isn’t full of anger—it’s just… final. “We’re done, Ralph. It’s over.”

Silence stretches. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Then, a quiet, “Okay then.”

And the call ends.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing. Then, the unmistakable sound of a quiet sob.

Your chest tightens.

You stay frozen in the stall, hands gripping your own arms, feeling like an intruder in a moment that wasn’t meant for anyone else to witness.

Then, Agatha moves. You hear the creak of another cubicle door opening, then the soft click of it closing.

Now’s your chance.

You push the door open as quietly as possible, stepping out on light feet, careful not to make a sound. You glance once at the closed cubicle where Agatha is, then slip out of the bathroom, the air outside feeling heavier than before.

You make your way back to the bar section, swallowing hard. When you reach Rio, she gives you a curious look, brow slightly furrowed.

“Everything okay?” she asks, studying you.

You force a smile, shaking off the weight in your chest. “Yeah. Just—needed a moment.”

Rio doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press.

You pick up your drink, taking a longer sip than necessary, forcing yourself to focus back on her. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But out of the corner of your eye, you see Agatha walk out of the bathroom, heading toward the booth seating. She looks composed, but there’s something in her eyes—something not quite put together.

And you know.

She’s not okay.

After some time, Jen walks over to you, looking a little uneasy. She sighs, rubbing her temple before speaking. "Hey, we’re heading out early. Lilia’s not feeling well—her stomach is killing her. And Alice… well, she’s a little too drunk right now."

You glance over at Alice, who is giggling at something Wanda is saying, her head resting lazily against Lilia’s shoulder. Wanda looks like she’s already bracing herself for the chaos of getting them both back to their villas.

"Do you need help?" you ask, already preparing to get up.

Jen shakes her head. "No, we got it. But…" She hesitates, then nods in Agatha’s direction. "She doesn’t want to leave. Said she wants to drink more. Can you keep an eye on her?"

Your stomach twists. Yeah, you do know why.

You glance toward Agatha, sitting alone at the booth, swirling the last of her drink, her eyes distant. You swallow, forcing down the hesitance rising in your chest.

"Yeah," you say finally. "I got her."

Jen offers a grateful smile and squeezes your arm lightly. "Thanks. I owe you one."

She turns back to Alice and Lilia, helping Wanda guide them toward the exit. You watch them leave, then exhale slowly, glancing back at Agatha.

You’re still talking to Rio, but your attention keeps drifting. You steal glances toward Agatha, watching the way she nurses her drink, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the glass. There’s something heavy in her posture, something resigned. You know why she’s like this, and it breaks you a little to see her like that. It takes everything in you not to go to her immediately, to fix whatever’s weighing her down.

Rio notices.

She nudges your arm, her eyes flickering to Agatha. "Hey, I was thinking of staying a bit longer, but…" She trails off, tilting her head slightly toward the woman sitting alone. "Your friend needs you tonight."

You shift uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t want Rio to go—not yet. But at the same time, you don’t want to stay put either—you want to go to Agatha. But she’s right.

"You sure?" you ask, glancing at her.

Rio smiles, an easy, knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah. You got this?"

You hesitate for a moment, looking back at Agatha. There’s something about the way she’s sitting, like the weight of the world is pressing down on her shoulders.

You nod. "Yeah. I got this."

Rio gives you a small smile and squeezes your shoulder briefly before stepping back. As she turns to leave, you call out, "Unblock me and give me a call, okay?"

She glances back over her shoulder, smirks, and nods. "We’ll see."

And just like that, she’s gone.

You stand up from the bar stool and head toward the booth where Agatha is sitting. She’s slouched against the seat, swirling the last of her drink, eyes distant. You hesitate for a second before sliding in beside her, leaving just enough space to not feel intrusive.

There’s a beat of silence before Agatha speaks, her voice laced with something unreadable. "So… is the date over?"

You huff a quiet laugh, picking up your whiskey. "It wasn’t a date."

She hums, taking a long sip of her drink like it’s water. "Could’ve fooled me."

Something about her tone makes you pause, but before you can figure it out, Agatha lets out a shaky breath—and then, just like that, she breaks.

Tears slip down her cheeks, silent at first. Then, her shoulders shake, and she quickly wipes at her face like she’s ashamed to be seen like this. Your chest tightens at the sight.

You inch closer, hesitating only for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her back. She leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"Are you okay?" Your voice is quiet, careful.

Agatha swallows hard, staring at the table. It takes her a few seconds before she finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper. "What did I do wrong?"

She keeps going, her words spilling out faster than she can catch them. "I tried, you know? I really did. But it was never enough. It’s like… no matter what I did, he always had one foot out the door."

You don’t say anything—just let her talk, let her get it all out.

"It’s over, Y/N," she says, voice breaking. "Like, really over."

You knew this already, but hearing her say it still twists something deep inside you. You squeeze her arm gently. "I’m sorry, Agatha. I know this… I know this hurts."

She sniffles, laughing bitterly. "You don’t have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you care. We both know I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass."

You roll your eyes, exhaling sharply. "Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You think you’re the only one? We’ve both been a pain in each other’s ass."

Agatha lets out a dry chuckle, wiping at her cheek. "Fair point."

You soften just a little, tilting your head at her. "But I do care, Agatha. More than you think."

Agatha turns to look at you then, eyes glossy and searching. For a moment, you think she might say something, but instead, she reaches for her drink and downs the rest of it in one go.

Eventually, the two of you move to the bar. The crowd has thinned out, leaving just a few stragglers nursing their drinks. You don’t drink anymore, but Agatha does. She’s still crying, though it’s quieter now, more subdued.

She nudges you with her elbow, a small smirk playing on her lips. "You’re actually a good listener. Who would’ve thought?"

You chuckle. "I have my moments."

"Mm." She rests her chin on her palm, studying you. "I guess you’re not so bad."

"High praise."

The night stretches on, and before you know it, Agatha is completely drunk. You don’t hesitate to call an Uber. When it arrives, you help her up, but she stumbles against you, unable to walk straight.

"Alright, come on," you murmur, wrapping an arm around her waist to guide her outside. She leans heavily against you, her breath warm against your shoulder.

You place her inside the passenger seat and slide in beside her. The driver doesn’t say anything, used to late-night drunks, but you keep talking to Agatha, making sure she doesn’t fall asleep.

"We’re almost there," you whisper as the car pulls up to the resort.

She suddenly perks up, a drowsy smile on her lips, her head lolling slightly to the side. "You know what?" she slurs, blinking up at you like she’s just had the most brilliant idea.

You tilt your head, amused. "What?"

And then, completely out of nowhere, she starts singing, voice hushed and syrupy. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…"

You blink, caught entirely off guard. "Agatha—"

She points a wobbly finger at you, her expression serious despite the alcohol in her system. "You’d be like heaven to touch…"

Your face is on fire, but you can’t stop the small chuckle that escapes. "Oh my god."

She keeps going, her voice lilting unevenly, slightly out of tune but full of feeling. "I wanna hold you so much…" Her eyes meet yours, and for a second, something flickers between you. Something dangerous. Something you don’t have the strength to analyze right now.

You shake your head, breathless in disbelief. "Alright, Frankie Valli, let’s get you to bed."

She giggles but doesn’t stop singing, leaning into you as you guide her toward her villa. "At long last, love has arrived…"

"Oh, for the love of—" You sigh dramatically, but there’s no real frustration behind it.

She clings to your arm, her grip surprisingly firm. "And I thank God I’m alive…" Her voice hitches, and there’s a moment—just a fleeting second—where she looks at you like she means every word she’s singing.

Your throat tightens. You pretend not to notice.

By the time you get her to the door, her voice is softer, the words slurring together. "Can’t take my eyes off of you…"

You sigh, unlocking the door with some difficulty. "Alright, Agatha. Time to sleep."

She hums, resting her head against your shoulder for just a moment before murmuring, "Mmm. You’re warm."

You swallow hard, ignoring the way your heart stumbles over itself. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, inside."

And even though she’s drunk, and this whole situation is ridiculous, you can’t help but feel your heart clench at the sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so utterly unlike the Agatha Harkness you once knew.

You guide Agatha upstairs to her bedroom, careful with every step as she leans heavily against you. When you finally reach her bed, you help her sit down gently, her body swaying slightly. Her eyes are glassy, lost in thoughts you can’t quite reach.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. She doesn’t respond, just stares at the floor.

You hurry downstairs, filling a glass of water and grabbing some Advil from the kitchen. When you return, she’s not lying down like you expected. Instead, she’s still sitting at the edge of the bed, her shoulders shaking, quiet sobs wracking her frame.

Your stomach twists.

“Agatha?” You set the glass and the Advil down on the nightstand and immediately sit beside her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She lets out a shuddering breath, wiping at her face. “Whatever I do… I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice is so small, so broken, it nearly shatters you.

Your heart clenches as you reach for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into you, her body warm despite the chill in her words. “That’s not true,” you say firmly. “You are enough, Agatha. Ralph is just too damn stupid to see it.”

She laughs wetly, shaking her head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You pull back slightly, looking at her. “You are brilliant. You’re sharp, funny in that mean, sarcastic way. You care about the people you love, even if you pretend not to. You have this way of making people feel… seen.”

Your throat tightens as you speak. You don’t even realize you’re getting emotional until your voice cracks slightly on the last word. You blink rapidly, trying to hold it together.

Agatha notices.

She gently pulls away from the hug, and when you meet her gaze, there’s something intense in the way she looks at you. Her eyes are searching, tracing every part of your face like she’s trying to memorize it, like she’s grasping onto something unspoken between you.

Then, so softly, she whispers your name, her voice barely above a breath, like it holds the weight of everything she can’t say out loud.

Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat as the moment stretches, fragile and heavy all at once.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, she cups your cheek, her touch warm, grounding. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, your mind screaming—

And then she leans in.

Her lips meet yours, gentle and soft, everything you’ve ever wanted—except not like this. Not when she’s vulnerable, not when she’s breaking right in front of you.

You freeze for a second, torn between every part of you that has dreamed of this moment and the part of you that knows it isn’t right.

With every ounce of willpower, you gently pull away, your hands on her shoulders. “Agatha…”

She blinks at you, confused, her lips still parted.

“You don’t know what you’re doing right now,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of something passes through her eyes—hurt, maybe, or realization. But you don’t let yourself look too closely. You stand up, stepping back. “You need to sleep, Agatha.”

She doesn’t argue, just watches you with something unreadable in her gaze. And then, just like that, you turn, walking to the door.

You close it softly behind you as you leave her villa, your heart pounding, your mind an absolute mess.

When you get to your villa, you head straight to your bedroom. The silence is suffocating. After the noise of the club, the villa feels too quiet. Too empty. But your mind is loud. The moment you close the door behind you, it all crashes down at once.

You drop your keys onto the table with a shaky breath, your fingers lingering on the cool surface as if grounding yourself will stop the spiraling thoughts. You stumble toward the bed, collapsing onto it without bothering to change. Your dress clings to your skin, the faint scent of perfume and alcohol mixing with something heavier—something painful.

You replay the kiss over and over again. Not just the kiss itself, but the way Agatha looked at you before it happened—the glassiness in her eyes, the slight tremble in her lips, the way she whispered your name like it meant something. Like you meant something.

Your heart clenches as you remember how she leaned in, like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. And for a second, you let yourself believe it. For a second, you let yourself want it. But now, in the quiet of your room, the reality is sharp, cutting through any illusion you might have entertained.

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. What else is there to do? Cry? Maybe. But what good would that do?

If this kiss had meant something, Agatha wouldn’t have done it like this. She wouldn’t have done it drunk, desperate, tangled in the mess of her failing marriage. You know it wasn’t about you. It was about escaping, about numbing whatever pain she was feeling. And you were just there.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to sleep, to forget—but how could you? Every time you close your eyes, you see her again. Feel the ghost of her lips, the heat of her breath, the way she fit against you like she belonged there.

Your fingers brush against your lips as if trying to erase the feeling, but it lingers. It sinks into your skin, into your chest, into every part of you, refusing to let go.

With a frustrated sigh, you press a pillow over your face, trying to drown out the ache, the longing, the stupid, unrelenting hope that still clings to the edges of your heart. But it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Because even with your eyes open, even with the distance between you, Agatha is still there. And that’s the cruelest part of all.

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness smut

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wbbpls · 1 day ago

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My Girl

Hi! I’m totally new to this, so I’m sorry if this is all over the place. lmk if you guys like it!

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After a tough win, the team gathered in Paige’s room since she is hosting the party. Paige is talking to Ice and KK in the kitchen when Azzi walked in. Azzi is her best friend, who might also be the love of her life. Not that Azzi needs to know that. Of course she’s stunning, even in a crop top and jean shorts. The past few months they’ve been crossing the appropriate lines for friendship with lingering touches and flirty banter.

Across the room, some guy was standing way too close to Azzi. Her Azzi. Paige knows Azzi isn’t hers, but it kills her to think of Azzi with anyone else. That guy keeps leaningt in closer and closer to Azzi. Paige tried to look anywhere else, but her eyes had a mind of their own, and Azzi felt those piercing blue eyes burning into her. When Azzi looked over at Paige, she saw something in her eyes she’d never seen before.

When he put his arm on her waist, Azzi stepped backward uncomfortably. Something took over Paige’s body, and suddenly, she was next to Azzi. Her long arms slid around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in and away from that guy. “Hey Az, sorry I took so long. Here’s your drink.”

Azzi leaned into Paige’s soft yet possessive touch. “That’s okay, I was just talking to, uh, Jake, right?”

Barely acknowledging Paige, he responds, “Yeah, so how about that dance?” Is this Jake guy serious? Paige literally has her arm wrapped around Azzi and she wasn’t even sure of his name. Azzi’s whole body stiffened as she leaned further into Paige. “I’m just gonna hang out with my team, but thanks.” He didn’t seem to care. “Aw c’mon Azzi, I’ll show you a good time.”

“She’s good.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to talk to security first. If you didn’t notice, I was talking to Azzi.”

Paige stepped in front of Azzi, making sure he couldn’t touch her. “If you didn’t notice, Azzi said no. So back the fuck off my girl and get out of my apartment.” It just slipped out, but god, Paige wishes she could call Azzi her girl every day.

“Her girl? You for real, Azzi?”

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend, so maybe give it up and leave us alone.” Speechless, Jake left quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

“Your girl, huh?” Azzi says as her hands rub up Paige’s biceps.

Paige wrapped her arms entirely around Azzi’s waist as if she’d done it every day of her life. Thankfully, the lights are low, hopefully blocking her blush. “Well, hopefully not his girl.”

“Yeah, definitely not looking to be his girl.”

“You lookin to be someone’s girl?” Paige’s eyes drifted down to Azzi’s lips, moving her hand to rest on her lower back. Azzi bites her lip, “Hm, no longer looking, just waiting for her to get it together.” Paige suddenly couldn’t breathe. Does that mean what she thinks it means? They always avoid these conversations, but the liquid courage is pushing boundaries. Paige can’t say that she’s in love with her. She can’t ruin their friendship and everything they’ve built, but she can’t stop touching Azzi either. “Uh, do you want to go dance?”

“Yeah, P, let’s go dance.” Azzi drops her hands down to Paige’s, and Paige starts to think maybe Azzi doesn’t want to stop touching either. The music feels like an excuse to be way closer than friends should, but it all happens so naturally. When Azzi starts to move her hips into Paige slowly, her breath hitches, and she grabs Azzi even tighter. Paige knows there’s no way they can use being best friends as an excuse anymore. She knows their teammates will tease her about this tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because she has Azzi in her arms. As the beat speeds up, so do their hips as they grind into each other. A soft whimper leaves Azzi's mouth and Paige can’t help herself, “Fuck Az you’re so hot”

They are now face to face, their lips just an inch apart, and Azzi’s hands are in blonde strands. With a mischievous smirk, Azzi says “Yeah? You think so?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then show me.” Paige has never moved so fast in her life. She drags Azzi through the crowd and to her room. Slamming the door shut, Paige shoves Azzi against the wall with one hand on her waist and the other leaning above her head. “Say it again.”

Looking up at Paige with hooded eyes, Azzi practically whispers to Paige, “Show me.”

Paige leans in, their lips brushing, but not fully touching. “You sure, Az?” There’s no going back after this and Paige is praying they never have to.

“Paige, please. I want to be yours.” Something broke inside Paige, and she kissed her like her life depended on it. She’s dreamed of kissing her a million times over, but this kiss is better than she could have ever imagined. Azzi slightly opened her lips, inviting Paige’s tongue. Their kiss progressively got more passionate. Paige began to kiss down Azzi’s cheek to her neck, sucking and biting just to get Azzi to whimper.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” Paige chuckles and says possesivley as she leaves marks down her neck. Letting out a moan at the words, Azzi grips at the hair on the back of Paige’s neck, “Yes, fuck, P, you feel so good.” Paige slips one of her legs between Azzi’s and moves her hand just under Azzi’s breast. “Tell me what you want.”

Pulling Paige’s head back up to her face, Azzi breathes heavily, “I want to be yours, Paige.” Staring into her eyes, Paige finally says it. “You’re mine, Azzi.” Paige pulls at the back of Azzi’s legs, hinting for her to jump into Paige’s arms. Paige picks Azzi up and shoves her hard against the wall, kissing her even harder. Azzi leans her head back, “Mmh, I want you so bad.” Paige takes this as an opportunity to suck at her neck and grind into her hard. The moan that they both release is borderline embarrassing. Their lips reconnect, and Paige walks them over to her bed. “Fuck Az, you look so good,” she says as she straddles Azzi.

They both start pulling off each other’s clothes and grinding into each other. Paige’s hands are hovering dangerously above Azzi’s jean shorts. “Can I?” Azzi nods her head and pushes Paige’s hand down further. Paige fumbles with the button to her jeans as she kisses down her chest. She slips a finger down to rub at her clit. “Fuck, baby please.”

Paige isn’t sure if it’s the term of endearment or the begging, but she knows she’ll do anything Azzi wants. “Tell me who you belong to.” Paige slips two fingers deep into Azzi.

Azzi is a whimpering mess, with her eyes shut, gripping onto the sheets. Paige loves that she can’t speak, but she needs to hear Azzi say it. “Tell me, mama. Who do you belong to?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Paige, fuck!” Azzi yells out as Paige thrusts deeper into her.

“You’re so fuckin sexy, ma. You’re all mine.” Paige can feel Azzi getting tighter. “Your pussy that wet for me, baby?”

Azzi’s eyes are rolling into the back of her head as she grips onto Paige’s shoulder like her life depends on it. “I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Paige laughs at the idea, like she’d ever stop. “C’mon Az, when have I ever done you like that.“

“Paige I love you but shut up and fuck me” Azzi says breathlessly. Did she mean that or was it just in the moment of a fucked out haze? Paige slowed for a moment but knew she couldn’t stop now. She started to rub Azzi’s clit until her legs were shaking. Azzi came screaming her name as Paige continued to finger her guiding her off her high. Out of breathe, Azzi pushed Paige’s fingers away and pulled her up. Paige is trying to act normal about all of this, but Azzi just said she loved her.

Azzi must have noticed Paige’s hesitation, “What’s wrong, P?”

“You love me?” Even to Paige’s ears she could hear the insecurity. Azzi’s face softened as she rubbed across Paige’s jaw. “Of course I love you. I always have. I just have been too scared to push things and risk losing you.”

Paige starts laughing leaving Azzi confused. “Uh, what’s so funny about that?”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin in love with you and we are so dumb.” Azzi smiles, showing those beautiful dimples. “I guess we deserve each other, hm? Maybe now I can return the favor and show you how much I love you.”

Paige can’t believe this is real. Azzi is her girl.

#paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics

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healingpage · 3 days ago

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vindicated (swear i'd never do it again) - choi yeonjun

ꕥ pairing: bf!yeonjun x afab!reader

ꕥ genres: smut, angst

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ warning: dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, arguments, confrontations because they are adults, reader cries a lot, cheating (implied), make up sex, unprotected sex, oral (f.rec) multiple orgasm, fingering, riding

ꕥ wc: 6k

ꕥ a/n: i actually hate this... i've been gate keeping it since last year because of it but nevertheless enjoy

The noise of rain tapping on the windows corresponded with the racing beat of your heart. Weeks had passed since the previous arguments, yet the ensuing silence felt even more distressing. Yeonjun's brown coloured long trench coat still hung by the door, his cologne subtle yet persistent in the air—a harsh reminder of all that was left unsettled between you.

You sit on the floor of your shared apartment with legs crossed, browsing through the pages of a vintage photo album. Your eyes soften at the shiny pictures that seem like it quite narrates a tale of love that seems unstoppable for both of you. Yeonjun was smiling at a summer festival, his eyes almost closing as you guys were hit with warmth from the sun. You were right there by his side, kissing his cheek. Another picture captured you resting on his shoulder during a late-night train journey. At that time, your friends had playfully teased you about your inseparability, during your early stages of relationship, attached closely to each other’s hips all the time.

However, it seems that his love, you don't know, maybe it has faded as time passed. Like a withering flower that is waiting for a moment to shatter on earth, words that were once delivered with sweetness now carry a sharpness. Of course at first, the arguments began minor: late response to messages, any sorts of miscommunications that could have been resolved with an apology. Soon arrived the yelling disputes, doors being slammed, and evenings spent in different rooms. Yeonjun was always the avoidant type, rather than to sit together and talk he prefers to distance himself, stressing you out at the lack of communication.

As you are occupied with countless thoughts, you hear the door slowly being opened, causing you to look up abruptly. Yeonjun enters, his jet black hair evidently wet from the rain. He appears unchanged yet changed, his eyes bearing a heaviness that didn't exist previously. For a brief time, neither of you said anything. The atmosphere in the room was dense, laden with unspoken thoughts.

"You’re still around," Yeonjun eventually says, his tone distant.

"Now you don’t want me here? Where could I possibly go?" You coldly answer, hurt by the question, or his choice of words. Your hands quickly shutting the album and putting it down.

He moves a step closer, then two, then he is standing not even two steps away from you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. "I was wondering if perhaps you… I'm not sure." His voice is toned down at the end, like he’s not sure what to say.

"Isn’t that what you do?" The resentment in your voice was unignorable, tugging at the string of his heart. "You are gone whenever situations become too tense, you always walk away."

Something flinches inside Yeonjun hearing that, but he refuses to look away. “And you always hold on too tight,” he counters back, his voice trembling. “Like you’re afraid if you let go even a little, everything will fall apart.”

“Because it will fall apart, Yeonjun!” Your voice goes up three tones higher, it even cracks, but you care less about that when you have tears welling up. “It already is. Can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asks, his voice breaking as well. “I’ve tried to fix this. I’ve tried to be enough for you, but maybe… maybe we’re just not compatible.”

His words hang between, heavy and suffocating. It feels like he’s admitting defeat, like acknowledging the storm both of you trapped in will never clear. And God, does it hurt. The constant effort you make to understand him better, the lies he told to your face you turned blind eye into, the missed important dates.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whisper, your voice barely audible to him. “But even after everything, I can’t walk away. I… I love you, Yeonjun. Even when it hurts. Even when you hurt me, over and over. I can lose everything, but not you…”

Yeonjun’s shoulders droop, and for the first time in a long time, he looks guilty. He stares at your wet face, your disheveled form, your trembling hands. You never look so broken, his sweet darling, the apple of his eyes, his precious love appears like a broken piece of glass before him, it wrenches his heart thinking that it was from all his doings.

“I love you too,” he admits, his voice raw. You can feel his gaze soften a bit, eyes no longer angry. “But is love enough if all I do is hurting you?”

The question is like a stabbing knife to your heart. You both knew the answer, but neither has the courage to say it aloud. Silence fills the air once more, the rain pouring outside is like a brutal mirror to the storm inside your apartment.

Finally, Yeonjun closes the distance between you. He hesitantly kneels in front of you, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he says, every word that comes up from his mouth shakes. “But I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Maybe we can’t fix it,” you replied, your tears spilling non stop now that he’s got his hands on you. It is obvious that his hand is cold from the freezing weather outside, yet it spreads warmth inside you as you lean further into his comforting, healing touch. “Maybe we just have to accept that we’re broken. But I’d rather be broken with you than whole without you. I don’t wanna give up on us, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun leans his forehead against yours as he hears the nickname, his own tears falling. You let him engulf you in his arms, arms brushing over each other giving you goosebumps on the realisation that you went on a week without him. His chest heaves up and down, relaxed heartbeat calming you down as you savour the moment.

“I am sorry, baby,” he is the first one to break the silence. You could not pinpoint whether he is sincere about it, but his eyes are telling you like you matter the most in his world. “I hurt you, didn't I? How’d you sleep this past week?” His voice laced with concern, tone so dulcet and sweet you feel like you are falling into a gush of sugar. Knowing you hardly fall asleep without him around, his mind floods with sorrowful guilt.

“Horrible, I missed you,” you come clean, him smiling so softly you would miss it if you weren't right in his hug.

“Poor baby, I missed her too,” he uses his usual baby tone to talk to you, stroking the back of your head while you find yourself closing your eyes at the comforting contact.

“Wanna cuddle?” He's asking so nicely, not even waiting for your answer as he lifts you up from the cold floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. He walks you both to your shared room, your heart thumping as you feel butterflies all over again. The room hasn't changed since the last time you guys slept in the same bed and room, clean simple beige sheets that Yeonjun had changed after your last intercourse being where you land on.

He's taking off his jacket, the only thing that he wears on his upper body being the black sleeveless shirt that drives you crazy everytime you see those on him. Your eyes that are set on him trembles a bit, forcing you to let out a cough.

“It's January. You shall wear something more warm.”

“I could warm up being next to you,” he's quick with his witty answer, already jumping on the bed again, pulling you yet again into his embrace. His face is buried in your neck, lips dangerously wandering around your sensitive areas you breathe deeply as you bite back a moan.

“Jjunie, I thought we were only going to cuddle,” you interrupt, yet you find your hands tangling in his strands of hair, noticeably longer since the last time you held onto them.

“Aren’t we?” his lips latching on your skin by now, gently sucking on the flesh before he lets go, leaving a fresh mark of him on you, reclaiming his territory. He retreats for a while, lips part as he hears the small gasp that comes up as you notice the hickey. “So beautiful…”

As you remain captivated by his alluring move, seemingly innocent as he keeps making out first, then his hands start to roam not only over but now under your clothing a little. He strips your top off first, fondling at your tits.

“Tell me if you don’t want me,” he pauses, looking at your expression. Your doe eyes look at him, a bit glassy. His stomach churns at that, just a moment ago, you were yelling at him but now, under him you could not deny his contact with your body.

“Oh—” you moan out, feeling every inch of your body craving for his touch more and more, you could feel your underwear sticking onto your entrance by now, your arousal grows greedier. “Yeonjun.”

“Am right here, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Want you, need you, all of you, oh my god—” your words are cut at how he would make easy work of the tiny shorts that wrap you, he slips them off quickly, palming your ass before slipping off the lacy underwear too.

Then his shirt is off in a minute, before long you're staring at one spot on his chest, your voice that says his name shrieking. Yeonjun is confused at first, before he looks at the direction you are setting your eyes to. His eyes widen as you shove him away, your trembling hands pulling the comforter to cover your body.

“Was–was there someone else?” your voice comes up shaky, eyes glistening with tears that pools at your lower lid. Yeonjun is silenced, a lost look evident in his face. “Y/n…”

“Answer me!” Your tears are falling now, your heart crushed at how he’s not quick to reassure you, to deny your assumption, anything. The bruise mark on his chest, one that was not created by you. Sure, your relationship had been quite flimsy at times after a solid three years, but you never had a reason to doubt his love for you. Every time you argue, it was never about a third person. The third person has never come into the picture. “Did you sleep with her?!” you shout, Yeonjun flinches at the tone.

“Baby, I don’t–”

“Then, what the fuck is that on your neck?” you ask, squinting at a faint purplish mark near his collarbone. It was positioned enough to be hidden when he’s wearing a shirt, but now that it’s off, it’s so evident.

Yeonjun covers the hickey with his hand, the movements rushed and awkward. “Oh, this? It’s... nothing. Just a bruise from a fall,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“Let me see,” you say after a long silence, your tone firm but he can see the way your lips tremble. Yeonjun hesitates a little, but you reach out your hand, and he lets you inspect the spot. You feel your stomach turn as you lightly run your fingertips over it. You aren’t foolish, it was not just any bruise; it was distinctly shaped and coloured like a hickey.

Your heart drops as you feel the reality of the situation. “That has nothing to do with a fall. Be honest with me.”

Yeonjun’s face changes, and the room falls quiet for a brief period. Both of you, especially Yeonjun, feel anxious about the occasion.

He wobbles with "I... I can explain," but his words sounded unsure, and you feel that is an insincere answer. Like he’s hiding something.

Your head whirl with feelings of betrayal, rage, hurt, and disbelief. This has turned into the rifts in the trust you had established together, not simply about the mark. Your head feels heavy, turning down as you cry.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, y/n!” he’s also yelling now, frustration overcoming him. Guilt, sadness and anger mixed in as he breathed in, his own eyes wet. His heart breaks seeing your state, it’s not the first time he sees you crying but this time you look incredibly heartbroken, miserable and not just upset at him.

“Then, what, what would explain this, Yeonjun?” you are fully sobbing, words imprecise swallowed by your cry.

“I was just… at the club okay? I was drunk, I don’t even remember–”

“Fuck that!” you cut him off, your voice burst with fume. “Do you realize how this looks?! How does it feel to even think you might’ve cheated on me? You try to sleep with me when that mark hasn’t even disappeared?!”

“Baby,” he tries again, trying to get closer to you.

“Don’t baby me,” your voice cold as ice in line with the gaze you now give him. “I don’t know, I thought you would never do that to me. I would never find someone else as long as I’m your girlfriend, Yeonjun. So stupid of me to hold on to you, I should have left long ago, so I don’t feel this hurt, because now I love you so much—too much, it feels even more painful…” you confess, finding yourself laughing at the absurdness yet your tears keep on rolling non stop. “If you don’t like me anymore you could just tell me. I would pack my things myself so you don’t have to rub it in like this.” Sniffles exit your nose, the back of your hand become the temporary napkin as you rub your tears away.

His eyes softened as he reached for her hands, his touch warm but cautious. “Y/n, I’d never hurt you like that. I love you. Please believe me.”

You pull your hands back, turning away to hide the tears welling yet again in your eyes. But before you could retreat further, Yeonjun closes the gap between you both, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Y/n, look at me,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re everything to me. I can’t stand the thought of you doubting that.”

You turn slowly, her tearful eyes meeting his. There is sincerity in his gaze that makes your heart falter, and along that, a little of expectation because you can still feel the love. It’s still there in his eyes, filled with it and warmth as he looks at you.

“Explain to me,” you say, trying to steady your voice but Yeonjun, knowing you through, could catch that you are still hoping for his denial, still hoping that it isn’t true what you see. With a regretful smile, he cups your face gently, brushing tears away, his fingers on you treating it as delicate as possible.

“Won’t you judge me?” he carefully asks, studying your expression as your brow rises in confusion.

“It depends,” you answer, short, simple and clear.

“Saturday,” he starts, “I was at Taehyun’s. I was stressed out about our fight, and then he persuaded me into going to the club. Relax a little. I had a drink, maybe two but I was so wasted, I don’t remember who was it, I don’t know her, it was a random girl there, I’m gonna be honest we make out a little, and she did this,” he pauses, touching the mark, before his gaze settles on you confidently this time, “Taehyun came up, and he dragged me out there, telling me all about it the next morning. He was meaning to tell you everything first, but I told him not to, because I want to settle things ourselves.”

“Why didn't you tell her you’re not single,” you complain, lips pouting as you contemplate the story, it seems believable but you don’t know for sure. “And why do you have to be so hot, people literally couldn't leave you alone.”

He softly laughs at that, before turning serious again. “I am sorry, pretty girl,” he apologizes, “I don’t know how to mend things that have already happened, I know I should’ve known how wasted I’d be and just head home.”

He then grabs your comforter covered waist, pulling your head to land on his chest, letting you wet it. Your sobbing grows louder first, hands reluctantly creeping up to touch his shoulders. “I am sorry, oh baby, you don’t know how sorry I am, it’s all my fault, should have stayed that night, just hold you close until you’re not upset at me.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, tell me, gorgeous,” his voice is whiny now, almost pleading when your sniffles haven't stopped. The hand that is holding onto your back scatters random shapes on it.

“Then prove it,” you mumble, looking up to him again, your voice barely audible.

Yeonjun cups your face gently, you look very endearing with cheeks red, eyes swollen and lips pouting a bit, his thumbs brushing away the tears remaining on your cheeks. “I’ll spend my entire life proving it,” he says, the sound of his confession thick with emotion.

Your lips meet together in a tender kiss, one that starts slow but it quickly deepens as you could feel the desperation in his touch, the regret, the unspoken promise that he’d never betray your trust.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back on the bed where you can place your head on the pillow comfortably. His hands roam your back as yours are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into a shared need for closeness, for reassurance, for reconciliation, for love.

Seconds later, he's immediately invading your personal space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. He has his face nestled in the crook of your neck, a heavy breath that tells you he's relieved and something familiar, something that you hunch as love.

“Jun—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of chapstick that you're familiar with, the one that he only uses during winter due to dryness. Desperate sounds leave both your mouths, you are whining while he's half groaning. His body pressed against yours, separated by the cover that hasn't left your body. When he finally pulls away from the passionate kiss, his eyes find yours, filled with affective and yearning.

“I missed you s’ much, princess, how did I survived a whole week without you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the collarbone with a cherish that signifies his worship on you.

“Would you allow me, princess, I want to make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with his big, puppy-like eyes, an expression so pitiful it’s admirable. The desperation behind them makes it difficult to say no. You aren't better, your whole body is craving for him.

“Touch me,” you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "Please," you breathe out, and he happily obliges, the cover is off the bed instantly.

Then his hands travel down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. The hand then kneads the meat of your ass, your breath hitches as he goes down on you, nails digging into his arms as you inhale deeply as if committing you to memorise his scent.

“My girl’s so pretty,” he slurs out, before he dives into your pussy, your hand goes flying to grab onto his hair as he splits you open through his tongue.

“Yeonjun!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. He says sorry, but his action doesn't match the word. “Has been so long since I munched on this.”

Your toes curl, eyes thrown back at the way he is switching between licking and sucking, almost like that's the whole purpose of his life. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He was right though, it has been a while, the pleasure is almost foreign to you.

“Are you still my girl?” he questions, sounding cocky like the usual Yeonjun you know. The sexy, intimidating confidence that has you weak in your knees every time. Your only response is a moan, causing his lips to turn into a smirk, “Of course you are, I‘m the only one that can get you this wet, baby. Correct?”

No longer able to give him a reply, he continues to work his mouth on you. His tongue is relentless, it is sucking onto your entrance, then it is swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. The pace is sloppy, uncoordinated, messy even sometimes, but it only serves to bring you higher to the excitement of it all. Each time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy pant in search of breath, feel the way his mouth lets out your name.

“Oh, Y’jun—” your mindlessly thrown words trail off into incoherent mumbles as you feel closer to the edge, bringing you the sensation. “So close, please.”

The urgency in your begging translates to him as an invitation to continue. The way your entire body is wound up so tense, unwittingly ready to snap. He moves his thumb finger to press on your clit, skilled enough to actually let another two of them be inserted in your pussy, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that dangerous spot that has you seeing stars.

“Shit, you just got way wetter, you have been craving me that much, huh,“ he chuckles against your thighs, and he's not completely wrong. The way he's re-arranging your inside, it's like he's trying to prove a point, to prove that as much as he needs you, you need him too.

"Wanna cum, please," you gasp out, and then he increases the intensity, your thighs shaking like crazy before it all stops as your liquid gushes out. Yeonjun is more than glad to pick up some of it, slurping them from his fingers. His sexy gaze and your quivering ones meet, silent praises and apologies heard from the way he's caressing your waist gently.

“You haven't come yet,” your sweet voice echoes in his ears. You are still the bundle of love for him, always thinking of his pleasure when you were just crying betrayed by his trust earlier. With agony, Yeonjun is shaking his head, presenting you with a small smile.

“No, it's okay princess. I should be fine, let's go to sleep, hmm? You are tired, I'll hold you,” he's denying you, aware of how relaxed your body is after having your orgasm, you must be so sexually frustrated the whole week. On top of that he knows how bad your sleep was affected due to your argument. Your eyes have been drowsy for a while now, yet you find strength to get up, straddling his lap.

“Love shall go both ways, as much as I mean the world to you, you mean the same to me. What you want from me, I want you the same way too.”

Your eyes staring at him, the honesty in it clear as crystal. Your hand that he is missing so much takes off his pants. The skin against his feels so soft, you are moving a bit behind to kneel before him.

“You really don't have to, princess,” he's saying again, hands caressing your hairline. You look up to him with round eyes, determined to mean what you said earlier. In a brief moment, you are presented with his hard-ons, the sight making you drooling. He's denying you once again with the look in his eyes, so you confidently reply, “I wanna do this.”

“Fuck," Yeonjun breathes out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He collects your hair in his fist gently, holding it as you swallow him whole. Your hands move to rest on his thighs, pretty acrylics pressing on it whenever another inch of him goes in.

The feeling of your mouth enveloping him has him pulsing in your throat, his lips part as lewd sounds of him moaning leaves. “You're doing so well for me, babe.”

You take the praise to relax your jaw, letting his tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the feeling, hurriedly tapping his thighs to let him know the cue. He tightens the grip he has on your hair as he starts to move your head on his length, forcing you to take more and more of him till your nose brushes against his pelvis.

He moves your head up and down, his thrust harsh as he makes you take his entire length then leaving only his tip before repeating the entire process, moaning out your name whenever his head brushes against your throat.

You know he is getting close—you could feel him pulsing in your mouth, as a layer of sweet coated his forehead despite the cold room, making him glow so charmingly. You inhale a deep breath, before sucking in your cheeks, humming his name around him, knowing it is exactly what it would take to throw him over the edge.

“I'm close, baby,” he pleads, inaudible chatters of moans follows after as you double your efforts, and as expected a few seconds later his release spreads through your throat as you continue to bob your head to swallow.

Yeonjun’s chest is heaving, his hair a disheveled mess as he leans his hand heavily against your head, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him. You guys stay silent for a while, eye contact with each other being the only sole communicator.

And when you place your legs on either side of him, both of his hands finding their home on your waist, your hole wet and slick enough, ready for him, he’s once again starstrucked, the feeling's overwhelming like you’re made just for him. He bites his lip when you slide down with a whiny mention of his name, you stay still for a moment, and he's all but resist as he needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now just bad.

Your eyes could not help but trail down to the mark from earlier, upsetting thoughts taking over you as you encounter the upsetting thoughts again. Your eyes tremble with tears as you hold onto Yeonjun’s shoulders, you begin to sob again, the sight making Yeonjun uneasy as he’s even more apologetic when you are so clearly hurt by the smallest mark, yet the biggest mistake he had made.

"You're mine, you got that?" you sniffle, your touch on him soft but it feels possessive enough to Yeonjun at that point of time.

"Of course, all yours baby, only yours," he breathes as you part your lips, looking down on his neckline. Your eyes briefly glance over the hickey painted over his chest and it leaves the feeling of your heart throbbing in your chest. Unshed tears sting at your eyes, the sound of incoherent sob immediately puts him to sit up against the headboard, holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t do this, let’s just—”

“No,” you decline immediately, hands clasping together at his shoulder trying to push him back to let you be in charge. You bite back a sob, “I want to do this. Want this off you,” you snivel, looking pitiful and so eager to get the mark to be hidden by your own, your lip finding its way to his skin, sucking on it before your teeth sink on the same exact spot that leaves Yeonjun wincing in pain. He’s staring at you deeply now, heart wrenched as droplets of tears roll down your cheek in frustration.

"I should’ve been better, should’ve tried harder, I'm gonna make things right, love, I swear," he's spurting all his emotion out, hands scrambling to make their way to your thighs and helping you to move.

“Swear I’d never do it again,” he adds, his pillow-y soft lip rasps across your sensitive neck as he plants gentle kisses all over it. The action is filled with reassurance, infatuation, and warmth. Quite literally soft and tender, far from the agony that had filled your heart only moments before.

“There, princess?” he's asking, his tip reaching your sensitive spot, your voice exceptionally high pitched when you reply to him a yes.

He's much more attentive tonight. Usually sex with him was rough, which you couldn’t complain about or dislike, but there is something adorable about him being so soft with you that always made this a lot more enjoyable than usual. His kisses and praises doubles, along with the occasional apologies, his promise to do better. Your mind goes out from while to while, unable to comprehend the actual sentence that he forms. You are just glad he's holding you, grounding you from blacking out.

“Let me show you my love,” he helps you on your back, his dick sliding out for a while, smiling softly when you make a fuss for it, “I know, it's okay, baby,” comes out his mouth as he thrust up into you, sucking at your neck to leave a few more love bites.

“Faster,” you whimper, dissatisfied at the slow pace.

“We'll get there, so impatient,” Yeonjun chuckles, his hand brushing against your arms to settle into your breast, fondling it. Your desperate moans filled the room, the pace slowly building up. Your hand travels down to your clit, rubbing it before it gets shoved away by Yeonjun instantly.

Before you could question his denial, he whispers a stern “I could do that,” as you relax to his touch, his skilled fingers working its magic. You wrap your arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he brings you closer to your high.

He hums against your lips as you tighten around him when you reach your orgasm, peppering the softest kisses all around your face while his hands mapped out your precious body that he’s come to cherish so much. Someone as lovely, as flawless, and as serene as you is a blessing for a man like him, a man who is emotionally lacking and aloof. Your body shakes with the overstimulation, a small smile escapes as he slows the pace, tender and consistent thrust to relax you.

“You feel so good, baby.” His eyes trailing down your body to where you are connected, the base of his cock wraps with thick white rings of your arousal, and his mouth opens at the vicious sight. He watches closely for your expression every time he plunges forward; your hips moving to meet his, thrust for thrust despite your previous orgasm. “Pussy made for me, yeah? Missed me that much?”

Each harsh thrust makes your tits bounce and forces a moan out from you as a response. Yeonjun chuckles at your lack of words, the sight admirable for him. The pleasure on your part made it difficult for you to even make out his expression or words anymore, feeling like you are on cloud nine for a second and a second later you are back on ground.

“Gonna make it up to you, promise,” he’s mumbling in between his praise for you, left at his mercy as he draws various shapes on your clit to push you further in ecstasy, another orgasm creeping in as you hold onto his shoulder tight.

As you let go for him, the endless words of flattery along with assurance of the love he has for you acts as your company. He’s slowing down, waiting for you to come down from your high. As your breath and heartbeat falls into a stable rhythm again, he’s back to thrusting slowly, your breath hitches as you are flooded with oversensitivity, wincing at the intrusion.

“Shh… I’m sorry, just a little bit more, pretty,” his whisper sends relaxation, trusting him with everything as you nod, occasional whimpers leaving your mouth at the slight discomfort. You shift your entire focus on him as he reaches his release, eyebrows furrowed with a slightly opened mouth as you reach your hands out to touch him on the cheek. The contact subconsciously draws a moan from him, resting his forehead on yours.

“Baby,” he calls out, “I’m sorry, I love you.”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, nodding as you rub his cheek yet you say nothing. The silence is deafening, Yeonjun himself cringing as he pulls out from you slowly. None of you breaks the silence as he gets up first to clean himself, allowing you to take a small nap before being woken up by him, for the never forgotten aftercare.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I wanna have you in my arms.” The question arises from him as he buttons your pyjamas for tonight. He takes in your cozy state, eyelashes fluttering as you look up to him. You rarely ever see his nervous state, he is a person that always exudes such kind of charisma, carrying himself with confidence, at least around you, yet he seems least intimidating, nervous and very cautious with that simple question.

He isn’t looking for grand gestures or dramatic declarations. What he’s asking for is something simple, intimate, and deeply human: the opportunity to lie beside you, to hold you, and maybe even to begin the slow process of rebuilding what was lost, piece by piece. For a moment, you let yourself believe that this time, it might be different. That he genuinely wants to start anew and make amends, not just relive the moments of the past.

“Of course, Jjunie. Hold me, and don’t let go.”

At your reply, Yeonjun nearly jumps, placing you snuggly in his hold, not missing the opportunity to land a kiss every each and a while on your forehead as you relax and allow yourself to doze off.

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