#these two are just so OBSESSED with each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonnie-the-butcher · 2 days ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter XI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.885 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Unsurprisingly, I can't keep things sweet for too long, so here's a weird chapter again. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Kareem’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he sees you stepping in. – Holy shit! You’re alive!

– It seems so. – You chuckle, watching him almost run towards you like he’s watching a statue come to life before his eyes.

– And you’re still employed?

– Mr. Cameron told me to come back, so I guess.

He laughs, a genuine blast of overjoyed disbelief. – I can’t believe it. – He takes your bag, setting it in the little locker where the kitchen staff is allowed to keep their things. – I was so sure that after that fight, they’d just kick you on the street, I was already mourning! Damn Routledge.

– It was that lamb. – You laugh, folding your sleeves and washing your hands. – It must have really been good.

– You bet your ass it was. – He’s already moving through the kitchen as you dry your hands, almost avoiding your gaze. – God, for your brother to punch Rafe right during family dinner and still somehow keep your job is crazy. – He hums, so casually, as if he was in the room when it happened. You raise an eyebrow. – Told you you were gonna be good luck.

He winks, still smiling, but you can’t help the little doubt that swirls in your mind. – Kareem?

– Yup?

– Where were you when it happened? I came to get Rafe some ice, and you were gone.

Kareem doesn’t turn around to look at you as he hums, but you can see the blush creeping up his ears as he stands there. – I uhm, I— He clears his throat. – I went home early.

– Your things were still here, though. – He stays quiet. – Kareem. Were you hiding?

It comes off in a chuckle, soft and airy, as you step closer to him. And he stands there, his back still facing you, his hands moving thoughtlessly, wringing his fingers, pretending to be busy. – Kareem?

– Okay, I was hiding, I didn’t want to lose my job too, okay? I’m sorry. – The genuine shame in his voice brings a laugh to your lips, and he looks at you, almost bashfully, as you bring a hand to rest between his shoulder blades. – Aren’t you mad at me for being a coward?

You laugh even more at that.

The thought of a 6’5’’ overly tattooed Pakistani man with a beard and a man bun cowering in some pantry while you put ice on Rafe Cameron’s face is so delightfully ridiculous you can’t even help your amusement. – Of course I’m not mad at you. This is your job, I don’t blame you for not wanting to get fired. And these people really are crazy.

– Right? – He exhales, wide-eyed like a child on christmas morning. – You saw how Rafe talked to me, right? This kid hates me! I don’t even know why.

– Hate to break it to you, Kay, but he probably doesn’t have a reason. Rich kids don’t need reasons to be menaces. – You pause, looking up at him with a conspiratorial smile. – I’m sure you know that, though. Mr. Highland Park.

He looks away, expression taught as the blush on his face reddens even further. – You googled it.

– Oh, I did. Richest suburb in the whole of Texas? That’s another level of blue blood.

He winces. – It’s not that bad.

– Oh, I’m sure it’s not bad at all. – You laugh, a twinge of guilt blooming in your chest as you realize just how much you’re enjoying this mockery. – You should see the dump I was born in. That's bad.

Kareem clears his throat, still a little pink around the ears, and turns back to the workstation like he can physically will the conversation away. – Look, can we— Let’s- Let’s talk about something else. Mr. Cameron’s breakfast.

You sigh, already rolling up your sleeves, but still laughing. – Of course. Can’t keep the king waiting.

Kareem narrows his eyes pointing at you with a cautious expression. – You’re laughing now, but you have no idea how specific this man is. – He mutters, completely serious.

– Of course, why wouldn’t someone micro-manage their breakfast, of all things?

– Focus! – He warns, ignoring your laughter. – One egg benedict.

Your eyes widen, all amusement going down the drain. – Jesus fucking Christ.

– I told you. Hollandaise. Bacon—crispy but not burnt, and just on one side, the fat can’t be too shriveled up either. Toast. Golden brown, but not too crunchy. He hates crumbs. – He rolls his eyes, already stressed. – And don’t even get me started on the—

The kitchen doors swing open before he can finish, and a sharp pair of heels clicks against the tile. Kareem’s face drops, rolling his eyes a second time, and he leans over the counter, almost hiding behind you as you stand there in awe. You barely have time to register the pinched look on the woman’s face before she snaps her fingers, walking around like she owns the place. – Kareem. Coffee. Now.

Kareem, who had been reaching for the eggs, stills mid-motion. His fingers flex slightly before he turns around, a forced politeness on his face that doesn’t even pretend to hide his irritation.. – Good morning to you too, Marion.

Marion.

Suddenly it’s clear— Kareem said it was a miracle that you managed to make it two hours in this kitchen before being assailed by the Wicked Witch (he did in fact call her that) and her powers of micro-management— Marion, the head housekeeper (or gate-keeper, as Kareem had also referred to her), stormed into the kitchen, 5’0” tall, and a force of nature all of her own.

You bite back a smile.

Marion doesn’t acknowledge him beyond a flick of her wrist, too preoccupied with shaking her head in exasperation. – You won’t believe the morning I’ve been having. – She doesn’t wait for an invitation before pulling out a chair and sitting, arms crossed over the marble like she’s just lifted the world with her bare hands. – Rafe refuses to get up. Again. Do you know how long his room has been a disaster? Since Wednesday. I sent the maids up, but he won’t let anyone in. The smell alone— She shudders. – I went in myself just now, and the brat nearly threw a pillow at me.

You reach for the coffee pot, taking a cup from the cabinet, but Kareem pulls it from your hand. – Don’t give her this. – He mumbles, frowning and huffing under his breath. – That’s much more than she deserves.

You chuckle, taking the acrylic cup he shoves into your hand with a smile.

Marion goes on. – Are you listening to me, boy?!

– Yes, Marion. – He groans. And then, lower, – I think the people on the other side of the island could listen. – You can’t even help the laughter as he goes on. – What I’m hearing is that you walked into his room uninvited, and you got mad when he reacted?

Marion gasps, scandalized. – Excuse me?

Kareem shrugs, playing innocent. – Just making sure I understand the situation.

Her lips press together into a thin, disapproving line. – He’s acting like a child, Kareem.

He looks over at you again. – Who’s gonna tell her?

You glance up briefly, watching as she smooths a perfectly manicured hand over her pristine blazer. It’s not lost on you that she sees herself as above everyone else here, despite technically being just another employee. It’s in the way she orders Kareem around like he’s a butler, the way she perches in that chair like she owns the kitchen.

– Mr. Cameron won’t be happy about this, – she continues, shaking her head. – Honestly, you should be grateful, you know. – She gestures vaguely at you, you’re almost surprised she’s even seeing you. – That Rafe hasn’t come after you. He always gets the pretty ones fired.

– Uhm, – Your brain almost short-circuits. Compliment? Insult? General comment? You’ll never know. – Thank… you?

Her eyes suddenly go wide, and she straightens up on the chair as you put the mug in front of her. – Are you the new chef?

– Yes. Uhm, Routledge, ma’am.

She sighs with something like disappointment, but not quite. For a moment she almost seems pleased, but then she starts frowning again. – Good. He was asking about you.

– Mr. Cameron? – She raises a brow, the corners of her lips downturned. – Ma’am.

The woman relaxes the slightest bit as you refer to her by the proper title, and looks away, taking the coffee without even looking at you. – Well, of course. Rafe Cameron. He wants you to bring him a piece of pie, or some such thing.

Kareem looks at you, his brows knit together, his lips twisted into a strange grin.

– Uhm, ok. Me? Specifically?

– Is your name Routledge?!

– Yes, ma’am.

– Obviously, then.

Your hands still, grip tightening just slightly on the handle.

Kareem chuckles, bitter and Marion sighs dramatically. – I swear, it’s like he’s punishing everyone. For what, I don’t even know. He just sulks in there all day. And do you know what’s worst of all?

You force your voice to stay steady. – No. What?

She leans forward, as if sharing some great, horrible secret. – He’s not even drinking.

That catches you off guard. You blink, lifting your gaze fully now. – What?

Marion nods gravely, like this is the biggest offense of all. – Not a sip. Not since Wednesday. Not even sneaking anything. He’s just lying there, doing absolutely nothing. It’s unnatural.

– Why would he be drinking? It’s nine AM.

Kareem and Marion both scoff at that, a sharp, short bout of genuinely mocking laughter. – You don’t come around here a lot, do you girl?

You don’t know what to make of that question. And they don’t clarify anything beyond that comment.

Kareem places a cup of coffee in your hand, that same strange smile on his face as he raises a brow, taking a sip of his own. – Tragic, huh?

Marion sighs, taking a delicate sip before clicking her tongue. – I don’t have time for this nonsense. Rose has a book club event, or some such thing she needs me to organize. – She stands, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her blazer before giving you one last glance. – Good luck with this girl.

And with that, she’s gone, leaving only the sharp scent of her perfume behind.

The kitchen is silent for a beat.

Then Kareem lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head. – Charming, right?

– I feel like a whirlwind just waltzed right over me.

– She has that gift. – He grumbles.

You swallow, trying to blink whatever the hell that was away. You have work to do. – I should get started on that egg benedict.

– Oh no, no, no, my dear. You’re going up to Rafe’s and you're bringing him that pie. I don’t need him coming here and fucking up my schedule.

– C’mon!

– Nope. Get to it.

You frown, lingering in the kitchen for a moment longer than necessary, wiping the counter and cutting the pie slowly, like you’re trying to delay your own execution.

You stare at the plate. At the pie. That’s all this is. Just delivering a damn piece of pie. You don’t know why this feels like such a chore.

Kareem watches you, one brow raised, his grin teetering between amusement and sympathy. – I don’t wanna interrupt your lingering gaze or whatever, but you should go ahead.

– I’m just— You hesitate. – Should I even go up there?

Kareem snorts. – Didn’t you hear what I just told you? If you don’t, he’ll just come down here, and I don’t want him here.

– Thanks a lot, Kareem. Great camaraderie. What happened to “we average each other’s misery?” Isn’t that what partners are for?

– When it comes to Rafe, the misery is all yours. – He says, looking over his shoulder with a smile. – Don’t act like you’re walking to the gallows, Routledge. It’s not gonna be that bad, you know he likes you.

– Excuse me?

– Oh, come on. – He laughs. – Wasn’t he the one sitting on this counter asking you to kiss his little boo-boo better?

– You sneaky little bastard! – You gasp and narrow your eyes, bumping his shoulder as you take yet another cup from the cabinet, setting it under the espresso machine.

– I didn’t mean to hear all of it, okay? I was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh. – Kareem only laughs, sipping from your cup, a smile still clear as day on his face. – He was pathetic. Ward was right, I don’t know how you didn’t punch him. God, I don’t think I ever heard Rafe say please. And I’ve worked here for years!

– You’re hilarious.

– C’mon, that was a little funny.

You take the espresso and the pie, setting it on a tray. – I hope your eggs benedict break before you even take it out.

He bursts out laughing, holding the door open for you. – However will I recover from such cruelty? – You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. – If you don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m still not going to save you.

– I will literally kill you with my bare hands.

– Sure you will.

The walk to Rafe’s room is quieter than it should be. The house, for all its size and grandeur, seems eerily still. There’s no sound of maids bustling around, no chatter echoing down the halls—just the faintest murmur of waves in the distance, the occasional creak of old wood beneath your careful steps. The small tray feels heavier in your hands the closer you get.

But before you can even step foot on the second floor, a pair of cold blue eyes settle on you, squeezing slightly as that same strange smile you’ve come to know so well blooms on his face again. – Miss Routledge.

You swallow, nodding respectfully. – Good morning, Mr. Cameron.

– What are you doing? – He eyes the tray in your hands with a certain amusement, his low careful steps still creaking against the floorboards as he approaches. – Coffee?

– Yes, uhm, espresso, actually. Rafe asked me to bring the pie up for him, I thought he’d want something to drink too.

Ward laughs softly, taking the mug. – Attentive. – He grins, sipping carefully, his eyes boring into yours. – Rafe doesn’t appreciate a good cup of coffee. He only likes things sweet.

The last words lands between you, much heavier than they should

You’re not sure what to make of that sentence. So you just nod, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he doesn’t, not just yet. – I’m surprised he’s even up this early. Rafe usually doesn’t get up until midday. He’s been changing a lot these last few days.

– Never too late for a change of habit, I guess.

– Damn right. – He sets the cup, half-drunk, on the tray again, his face unreadable. – That espresso was perfect. Kareem always makes it too strong.

– I’ll tell him that.

– No need. – He hums. – Maybe you can start bringing me my breakfast too.

– If you want to, sir.

Ward smiles, taking a single step to the side to let you through.

You nod and smile, keeping your head down, but just as you’re a couple steps ahead, the tray balanced on your arm, hand hovering over Rafe’s door, he stops you again: – You and your brother had a talk after you got home?

You freeze for a moment, looking back to see him standing there, with that same look. You know that stance: Casual tone, detective eyes. He’s measuring you.

You breathe in deep, keeping your face still and your voice level. – Yes, sir.

– And what did you tell him?

– To stop meddling in my work life or get a job of his own.

He doesn’t allow much, but you can see his stance soften the slightest bit—You never got much approval as a kid, so you could always see it from a mile away— Ward nods, that same way he did when he was talking to you in the kitchen yesterday. – Good girl. – You bristle at the words, but don’t let it show. He makes a move to turn around, but his eyes remain on you. – Off you go.

You stop outside the door. Knocking once.

Silence.

A flicker of hesitation surges through you. You can feel Ward's eyes on your back, the way he lingers at the end of the hall, not even pretending to do something else.

It unnerves you.

You think about leaving the tray at the door and walking away, but you know how unprofessional that is, and you can’t afford to give bad impressions. Not with these people.

You don’t wait much longer before pushing the door open, stepping into a space that feels separate from the rest of the house, like it belongs to another world entirely. The air is heavy, stale, the curtains drawn, the light filtering in muted and dull. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, to pick out the details—clothes draped over furniture, a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, the faint scent of salt and sweat and something unmistakably Rafe lingering in the air.

He lays at the edge of the bed, almost hanging off the corner, and though he breathes in and out heavily, nothing else escapes him as the bed creaks beneath his weight.

The sound sends you back to that phone call.

The sighing, the groans, the words.

You shudder, and swallow, approaching with quiet steps. Ward’s espresso trembles lightly but doesn’t spill as you lay the tray flat on your right hand, moving the things on his bedside with your left.

He shifts slightly at the sound of your footsteps, humming low in his throat. – Baby, – He whispers, content, a lazy smile on his face. – Knew you’d come.

You smile at him, setting the tray down on his nightstand. – You asked for pie. Marion said you threw a pillow at her.

He chuckles, nodding. – Mmm. – The sound stretches, and Rafe shifts again, finally turning his head to look at you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, unfocused in a way that makes you wonder if he’s half-asleep or just playing at it. – Had a dream about you.

– Did you? Was it a nightmare?

He laughs again, shaking his head, eyes drifting shut again as his hand trails down to his stomach, the motion lingering too long, too weirdly, that same strange smile on his face. – Was nice. Real nice.

There’s something vaguely suggestive in the way he says it, but it’s faint—just enough that your brain doesn’t fully process it before he’s tugging at your wrist, pulling you closer. – Sit.

You hesitate. – Rafe—

– I don’t feel so good. – His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make it clear he isn’t letting go until you comply. You sigh, lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed. He immediately leans into you, head pressing against your side, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. His body is warm—too warm. – Think I have a fever, – He mumbles, voice dipping into something almost pitiful. – Check for me?

He pulls you close before you can protest, pouting, almost pleading. You lift a hand to his forehead. His skin is warm, clammy, but not alarmingly so. He covers your hand with his own, holding it there before you can pull away.

– It's a good thing that the witch didn't send someone else. – He mutters, eyes flicking up to meet yours. – It'd be just like her to call Rose just to piss me off. – He groans, thumb stroking the back of your hand slowly. – Like she would do anything. I could be dying on this bed and it still wouldn't matter to them.

– Don't say that.

– It's the truth. – His eyes burn into yours. – These people don't care about me, baby.

– These people are your family, Rafe. Of course they care about you.

He scoffs, and his grip loosens just enough for him to shift again, this time sliding down until his head rests against your lap.

– Rafe, I have to—

– Just for a minute, baby. Please. – His sigh is soft, almost content, and he takes your hand, guiding it into his hair before you can react. – Touch me, – He murmurs. – Brush your fingers through my hair like you do. My head hurts so bad, baby. I barely slept tonight.

Your chest tightens.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such a softie.

Your fingers twitch against his scalp, hesitating. This isn’t new. Rafe is always too much—too sharp, too reckless, too angry. And the way he switches around you, like this, like he’s someone else entirely, will never cease to give you whiplash. But he looks at you so pleadingly, so softly, those big blue eyes of his so pitiful you almost want to hold him, and you can’t say no.

He pulls at your hand, like you're a doll, like you exist for no other reason than to serve him. Still, you brush your fingers through his hair. Just once.

His breath hitches, that lazy smile softening into something quieter, something almost innocent. He shifts again, curling up against you, his fingers wrapping around the hem of your shirt. – Don’t stop, – He murmurs.

You roll your eyes but keep running your fingers through his hair, slow, rhythmic. – You do feel a little warm. What else are you feeling?

He hums, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body melting away bit by bit. – My throat is scratchy. My head is pounding. My whole body feels like cement.

– You poor thing.

Rafe hums at your words, a soft, indulgent sound that makes your stomach twist. He shifts again, pressing his face further into your stomach, like he’s trying to burrow into you.

– I hate being sick, – He murmurs, voice turning smaller, almost pitiful. – Feels like I can’t do anything. Like I’m useless.

You sigh, fingers still threading through his hair, and you know—you know—this is exactly what he wants. That little flicker of sympathy, the way your touch has softened, how you haven’t pushed him away yet. He’s milking it. But damn him, he’s good at it.

– You’re not useless, – You murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. – You just need to rest.

Rafe makes another one of those pleased little sounds. His fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, barely gripping, just enough that you can feel the heat of them on your skin. – Stay a little longer?

You hesitate.

He tilts his head up slightly, blue eyes peering up at you, half-lidded and pleading, a perfect picture of vulnerability. – Just for a minute, baby, – He whispers. – Feels better when you’re here.

Your lips part, a retort forming on your tongue, but then he exhales, slow and steady, and you realize he’s not just playing anymore—he’s settling into you, like he could stay here forever.

You sigh, glancing at the untouched tray on his nightstand. – I’ll stay while you eat, – You say, keeping your voice firm. – But just for that. I have to work.

Rafe doesn’t argue. He just hums, pleased, nuzzling into you once more before finally —finally— pulling back. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s dragging himself out of some dream.

His eyes land on the tray, and the lazy smile flickers into something more satisfied. – You brought me coffee?

– You asked for pie. I figured you’d want something to go with it. – He smiles, reaching for the cup. – But, Rafe your—

He’s sipping before you can warn him, his eyes peeking at you from beyond the ceramic rim of the cup just like his dad did.

Rafe hums again, sitting up properly now. His hands find your waist for just a second as he puts the cup down, like he’s steadying himself—like he needs you to steady him—before he lets go, stretching with a groan. His shirt rides up slightly, the sharp lines of his stomach peeking out before he drops his arms and reaches for the tray. – It's still hot. – He smiles. You don’t let yourself linger on the irony. – You made this one, didn't you? Kareem always makes it way too strong. And he doesn’t put any sugar.

You can’t help the chuckle. – I’ll bring you some sugar next time.

He smiles, taking the plate and leaning it on his knee. You don’t miss the way his fingers tremble slightly as he picks up the fork. The way he glances at you, like he’s waiting for you to notice.

You sigh again, softer this time. – What?

– You could feed me. – He grins, almost hopeful.

You scoff. – You’re getting real spoiled, Rafe.

He laughs, all the happier as he watches you reach for the fork, slicing off a small piece of pie and holding it out. He just watches you, something unreadable in his gaze, before leaning forward and taking a bite.

Your breath catches for a second.

You don’t know why.

It’s nothing. Just Rafe being Rafe.

But the way he hums, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, the way he holds your hand as he leans in, his lips barely brushing against the utensil before he pulls back—it feels like something else entirely.

– Good? – You ask, keeping your voice level.

He grins, still chewing. – So good, baby.

Of course he says it like that. You shake your head, handing him the fork. – Eat.

Rafe chuckles, but does as he’s told.

Your eyes catch his lips as he chews. His eyes are heavy, his smile is glad, but you see the familiar watercolor of black and blue forming on his skin, reaching for him before you can stop yourself.

Rafe doesn’t even flinch as your hands ghost over the bruise on his jaw. If anything, he leans into it.

– Does it hurt?

– It'll hurt a lot less after you kiss it. – Your face drops. You try and pull back your hand, but he holds it in place, laughing with a delight you will never understand. – I don’t know why you even bother to pretend you don’t like it. You kiss me every time I ask.

You scoff. – I never said I don’t like kissing you, Rafe. I just don't like kissing you when I’m at work. Which reminds me—

He pulls your hand a little harder now as you stand. Eyes wide and pleading. – No, no. C’mon, I'm sorry, okay? Don't go, baby, please.

– You don’t need to apologize. I'm not going because of anything you did, I just have to go because Kareem needs my help.

Rafe scoffs, pulling you tighter, and closer, until you’re close enough that he can lean his head on your waist and squeeze you in his arms. – Kareem is a bitch. – You make a noise of protest, trying to pull away, but he keeps you in place. – And that’s rich coming from you. The apology thing. For every ten words you say one of them is an apology.

– One in every ten? – You chuckle. – Pulling out the statistics now, huh? I didn’t know you were a mathematician.

Rafe laughs, the sound resounding against your skin as he presses his face closer to you. – I’m nothing if not a man of the sciences, baby.

– Whatever you say, Norman Osborn. – You thread your fingers through his hair again, soft, slow, just enough that you can feel him relax under your touch.

You shouldn’t like it.

The way he melts at whatever crumb of affection you give him.

The way he clings and pulls and holds like he can’t bear for you not to be touching him.

The way he sighs at every touch.

Because you’ve been here before. And it never ends well for you.

But still you let him hold you, stroking his hair. And when he pulls away, looking at you with those big expectant eyes, the question already on his lips, you kiss him before he can beg. You revel in the way he clings to you as you move your lips against his, gently, barely a whisper of a touch, afraid you’ll hurt him.

And for a moment, Rafe matches you.

He sighs, and his lips part, but he kisses you back just as softly, moving against you almost temptatively. His hands stay still, barely resting on your waist, letting you set the pace. He exhales a slow, content sigh through his nose, his fingers pressing into your sides just slightly, like he’s savoring the moment.

It feels nice.

Not too much, not too fast, just nice.

And maybe that’s why you don’t stop him when his hands start moving.

It’s gradual—so gradual that you barely register the shift. The way his grip tightens, how his fingers start grasping at you instead of just resting against your skin. The way his breathing picks up, shallow, uneven. Then his lips part again, and suddenly the kiss isn’t soft anymore.

Rafe’s hands settle under your ribs, pressing against you so tightly you can barely breathe. His mouth moves over yours more hungrily now, lips parting, head tilting, like he’s trying to consume you. A low, satisfied hum escapes him, his fingers dragging up your spine, tangling into your hair like he’s claiming you.

And God, the way he clings to you—it’s like he’s starving, like he’s been deprived of something.

His hand slides down, over your sides, around your hips, fingers gripping at your thigh, trying to pull you onto his lap.

So you pull away.

Rafe makes a wounded noise, low in his throat, chasing after your lips before his eyes even open. His hands won’t let go, his fingers flexing against you, as if he’s trying to coax you back into his arms.

– Rafe, – You breathe, voice steadier than you feel. – You're gonna hurt yourself.

His eyes blink open, already searching for another way to pull you back in. His lips are red parted, breath coming out fast, and the bruise looks darker, larger, enough that your heart skips a beat.

– Shit. – Rafe lets your hands flutter towards the discolored skin, he lets you touch him softly, staring at the way you frown with a breathless smile. – Jesus. Look at you. I'm so sorry.

– There you go again. – He chuckles, hands back at your waist, pulling you in again. – I’m fine baby, I’m not made out of glass. – He murmurs with a smile, but when you stop him, he looks up at you like you’ve just taken something vital away from him.

You look at the door, counting how much time you’ve already wasted. Rafe groans, his fingers tightening around your chin and pulling you back, like a petulant child who can’t bear not to be paid attention to. You laugh, smoothing back his hair. – I have to go.

– No you don’t. Lay down with me for a minute, c’mon. – He murmurs, his voice wrecked, like he’s the one suffering. – Kiss me again. Just—just one more time.

You shake your head, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. He just leans in again, lips barely ghosting over yours, voice dropping into something dangerously soft.

– Please?

– I’ll come back later.

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but then he presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, slow, lingering, his breath fanning against your skin. Another, just beneath your jaw. Then lower, nuzzling into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, lips barely brushing against the skin there.

You shudder, and he feels it. – Is this where you like it? – He murmurs, triumphant, like he finally got something he can use against you. He’s already leaning in to kiss you again when you push him away.

– You’ll have to find that out another time. – You exhale sharply, untangling his arms from around you before he can try to stop you, and taking the plate, the cup, the tray. – Try to sleep again, you’ll feel better.

– I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t abandoning me.

You laugh out loud, hiding behind your hand as you push him back down onto the pillow. – How could I be so cruel?

– This isn’t funny, okay? I’m being serious. I’m sick and you’re gonna leave me here, all alone? – He eyes you, disapproving. – What if I choke?

– You’re not gonna choke.

– You don’t know that.

– Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna choke, because, you’re gonna lay on your side— You pull at his shoulder softly, until he does as you say, watching you with that same disappointed look as you adjust his pillow. – there you go. Officially choke-proof. Get some sleep.

He’s quiet for a moment, letting you pat his shoulder and kiss his eye, letting you step away, but just as your hand hovers over the doorknob, he speaks again:

– Why were you with Barry earlier?

You don’t even know why you let yourself forget it. The way he looked at the two of you from his window, the way his eyes sharpened as you let Barry step away.

You knew he was gonna bring this up.

You knew he was gonna ambush you.

So you sigh, looking over your shoulder as your hand remains, steady, on the brass doorknob. – Can we talk about this later?

– I wanna talk about it now.

– Rafe—

– You slept at his place? – He cuts in, just the ghost of an edge on his voice. – Is that how much you hate your brother? That you would go to Barry's place just to avoid him? Even after what he did?

– I don’t hate my brother, and I didn’t sleep at Barry's place. He came to apologize, and he was too drunk to drive so he stayed over.

– He wasn’t too drunk to get over there. – He says, sharp, too sharp for someone who just a moment ago had been so drowsy. – He slept with you.

– He slept next to me.

Rafe scoffs, looking away, smiling bitterly at the ceiling. – I bet he tried. – He mumbles. – Did he take you to that bar, the one in the Cut with all those weird irish people?

– What are you talking about?

– You know that's where he goes to pick up girls, right? He wanted to sleep with you!

– I didn't sleep with him, and we didn't go to any bars. He was drunk. We talked and fell asleep, that’s all. Why do you even care about this?

Rafe’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans back on his elbows, looking at you like he’s thinking way too hard about something that should be simple.

And something in him shifts.

Slowly, he sits up again, walking towards you. His hand finds your wrist—not grabbing, just tracing his fingers over your pulse like he’s absentminded, like he’s bored.

– You really spent the whole night with him? – His voice is light, almost playful, but you can hear the edge underneath it.

You sigh. – Rafe—

– No, I just… – He tilts his head, watching you. – I guess I don’t get it.

– Get what?

His lips twitch like he’s about to grin, but he doesn’t, he looks bothered, like he has something bitter in his mouth. – How you weren’t bored out of your mind.

– What? – You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, his fingers tighten slightly around your wrist—not hard, just enough to keep you here.

– I mean, really, baby, c’mon. – He exhales, shaking his head like he feels bad for you. – Barry? – His lips curl like the name itself tastes bitter. – You know he’s not half as fun as me.

You almost laugh, shaking your head. – What are you even talking about?

– No, it’s fine, – He cuts in, like he’s just thinking out loud now. – Maybe you like being bored. Maybe that’s the problem.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

You’re actually perplexed.

There is no path in the road of rational thought that could ever lead to the conclusion he got to. You don’t know whether he’s mocking you or if the sickness actually got to his head.

Rafe sees it, feels it, and that’s when he really grins, but there’s no joy to it. He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he leans in, voice dropping lower. – That’s it, isn’t it? – His fingers trail up your arm now, slow, barely touching. – You're tired of me. That's it.

– What?

His face darkens, and he looks away, laughing bitterly.

– Rafe, that’s not—

He exhales sharply, looking away like he’s already heard enough. His fingers slip from your wrist, dragging down your arm like he’s letting you go. Letting you leave.

– Never mind, – He mutters.

The change is instant. The teasing, the smugness—it’s gone. Now he just looks… defeated.

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. – Rafe.

He shakes his head. – No, I get it, – he says, voice quieter now. – You don’t have to explain.

Your stomach twists. – Where did you even get that from—

– I just thought you liked being around me, – He cuts in, and fuck, his voice wavers just slightly, just enough to make something inside you crack. – But if you need space you could’ve just said so.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say to that?

Rafe sighs again, rubbing his jaw. His fingers graze the bruise there, and for the first time since you walked in, he actually looks as tired as he claimed to be.

And suddenly, you feel awful.

– I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I'm not tired of you, Rafe. – You say, soft, reassuring. – You know that.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. – Do I?

You frown, stepping closer before you can stop yourself. – Rafe.

He looks up at you then, and God, his eyes—wide, glassy, wounded.

You hate it.

You hate that he looks at you like that, like you’ve hurt him, like you’ve done something wrong.

So you sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed again, and putting the things on the nightstand just like before. – Don’t do this. – You murmur, smoothing your hand over his hair. He almost pulls away, but then he leans in, exhaling, like he can’t stop himself. – I'm not tired of you. I could never get tired of you. You're a person, Rafe. Not a toy.

Rafe doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you, his eyes widening again. Then, just as quickly as he pulled away, he shifts closer, tucking his head against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist, clinging. – Really?

His eyes are glassy, his voice cracks.

– Don’t play around, you know I’m serious. I’m not tired of you.

He burrows in closer, grasping, heaving. – God, yeah. Yeah. – He nods, rapidly, incessantly, the movement rough against your skin, like he’s breaking down. – Sometimes I forget. I’m sorry, baby. I keep forgetting.

– What? What are you talking about?

– That you’re not like them. – He sighs, and there’s so much relief, like you've lifted a weight off his shoulders. Like he can finally breathe. – That you’re good. That you’re not cruel. That you actually care about me.

– Rafe—

– You care about me. – He repeats. You no longer know whether he’s speaking to you or to himself, trying to get it through his brain. – You do, and you would never abandon me. You wouldn’t. Right?

His grip tightens around you, fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them.

You hesitate. Because this—all of this—feels eerily familiar. But the way he’s looking at you now, wide-eyed and raw, makes it impossible to leave.

He’s backed you into a corner, and you have no choice but to open your arms.

– Of course not. – You murmur, threading your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. – I wouldn’t, Rafe. We're in this together now, okay? You can't get rid of me now.

Rafe exhales, shuddering, pressing himself closer to you. Like you just saved him. Like you just fixed something inside him. – Yeah. – He nods again, rapidly, like he’s convincing himself now. – Yeah, I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t.

His fingers flex against your back, and for a second, he just holds you there, silent.

Then, quietly—soft, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear it—

– I don’t think I could take it.

Your stomach twists.

Because it’s too soon.

It's too much.

It's too fast.

But that’s normal, right? He's not used to it. To being cared for. To being looked after. To being heard. The way you met was so weird and intense and overwhelming for him. A brush against death, one that he's convinced himself you saved him from. How could he be anything other than too much? How could he feel ever “normal” about this?

You know you don’t.

You attached too fast, too deeply. You can’t even see him hurt without thinking he's dying all over again. So of course he's weird about it.

You're weird about it.

Right?

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because what do you say to that?

What do you say when he’s wrapped around you like this, when he’s breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him here?

You just let him hold you.

And when he sighs again, nuzzling deeper into your chest, you feel it—the way his body finally relaxes, the way his grip loosens just enough to let you breathe, the way he hums, content, satisfied.

Like he’s won.

Like he knew you’d stay all along.

You exhale, threading your fingers through his hair. – Just lay down, okay Rafe? Get some rest.

– I'm fine. – He sniffles, but he looks at you, and he looks shattered.

– Please. Lay down for me, can you do that?

He hums, already relaxing, already settling. But as you move to lay him down, adjusting him against the pillows, his arms only tighten around you. – Lay down with me.

He pleads.

Like he still thinks you might disappear.

Like he needs to hold you.

You sigh again, letting your hand run soothingly down his back. – Rafe.

– Just for a minute, baby. Then you can go. – Rafe whispers, pressing his face closer, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally speaks. – Just don’t get tired of me.

You swallow hard. – I won’t.

You lay down next to him, settling on the pillows.

His arms pull you closer.

Not gently, not like he’s worried about hurting you—desperately. Like he was just waiting for you to give in, like now that you have, he’s going to make sure you can’t take it back.

His face presses against your collarbone, breath warm against your skin. His hands—broad, steady, greedy—slide under your shirt, but it isn’t heated, like it was before, just needy. He spreads his palm flat against your back, holding you there like he needs to feel you.

Like he needs proof that you’re real.

And you exhale, letting your fingers drift through his hair again, slow, soothing.

Rafe hums, the sound low, content. Then—just barely, just enough for you to notice—this weird sound escapes him. A hum. Maybe a huff, maybe a sigh, but it sounds like a laugh.

Your fingers still for a second.

– …What?

– Nothing, baby. – He sniffs, his voice thick with exhaustion, but you feel his smile against your skin. – Just—you’re so fucking nice to me.

Rafe grins, you can feel his smile against the sliver of skin your shit allows, and his free hand comes up, to your collarbone, to your tattoo, burrowing closer.

You don’t say anything.

And neither does he.

Slowly, his breathing evens out. His grip on you stays tight—like even in sleep, he doesn’t trust you not to leave—but you feel his body fully relax against yours, the tension melting out of him.

You should leave.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you just lay there, fingers still threading through his hair, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the weight of him against you.

Because if he wakes up and you’re gone, what will he do?

Because if you leave, and he spirals again, and something happens—

No.

You don’t want to think about that.

So you stay.

Just for a little longer.

Just until you’re sure he’s really asleep.

You find yourself sneaking away from him as his breath weighs heavy. Taking the things from the nightstand like you're stealing. Fixing yourself in the mirror like you've done something wrong.

When you get to the door, you can’t help but look over your shoulder, making sure you’re safe, making sure he’s still asleep, like you used to do with your dad when he drank too much.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and you shake your head, as if to get the memory off of you, steps growing hasty as you climb down the steps, rushing to the kitchen.

The tray knocks softly against the counter, and you take the plates out thoughtlessly, running them under the sink, washing them obsessively, the stains on the plate, on the cup, on you, too risky to leave unattended.

– Hey! – Kareem’s voice echoes from behind you. You look over your shoulder. He’s disheveled, voice breathy. Way too surprised to see you. – Took you a while.

You focus on scrubbing, the foam of the espresso lingering on the ceramic. – Yeah, uhm. Rafe’s sick.

– Jesus. He didn’t puke on you, did he?

You pause, the perfect lie having just fallen on your lap. You stare at the sponge on your hand, unable to look Kareem in the eye. – Not on me. He was really sick though. Took me a while to get him to eat after that. Took me even longer to get him to sleep.

He laughs, but the sound is rushed. He’s shifting around on his feet. – You’re too nice, Routledge. I would’ve left him there. He would’ve choked on his own sick if it were up to me.

You shudder, shaking your head.

You’re back at Barry’s, laying on the ground, Rafe wretching as you hold him steady. You keep shaking your head until the image goes away. – Why are you doing that? Just put it in the dishwasher.

– Oh. – You look beside you, a perfectly good washer merely feet away. – I always forget people have those. I’m already halfway done.

– It’s okay, just leave it there. – There’s a noise behind you, steps. You look over, but Kareem interrupts your train of thought. – So! Uhm, you’ll never guess.

– What?

– Mr. Cameron came down here, when I was already one with the egg benedict, halfway through the hollandaise, with the bacon already on the skillet, and he told me he’s not gonna have any breakfast.

You chuckle, trying to pull yourself into the conversation. – How considerate of him.

– Right? Such a sweet man. – He takes the plate from the counter behind him, still lingering too close, like he’s blocking you, trying to keep you from running. You shake your head again. You’re acting paranoid. Kareem’s just being sweet. – Here you go. Left some for you, you look hungry.

– Feeding the orphans? I didn’t know you were charitable like that. – He chuckles, almost fooled by your normalcy. – What else do we have to do now, what are these people’s ridiculously specific breakfast orders?

– Uhm, none. Rose doesn’t eat breakfast, Sarah’s not here, Rafe’s already been fed and the only thing Wheezie ever eats is cereal, so we’re off the hook. We can just hang around, plan out the other meals and eat scraps like the dogs we are.

– Scraps are for the strays, my friend. Purebreds like you get full meals, especially in houses like this.

He raises a brow, unimpressed, unamused. – Ha-ha. Very funny.

– Thank you, comedy is my passion.

He shakes his head, and reaches for some paper, already getting you started on the prep. You’re glad for his practicality.

You let yourself sink into the routine.

Anything to keep your mind busy.

The hours pass in a blur of tasks—chopping, prepping, cleaning, planning, moving like you’re on autopilot. Your hands work faster than your thoughts, you like it that way. Every time you stop for too long, something creeps back in—the weight of Rafe’s arms around you, the way he sighed into your skin, the way he smiled against you.

So you don’t stop.

You joke with Kareem, toss out your sarcastic remarks, keep up the easy banter like it’s just another day. And he laughs, calls you a saint for dealing with Rafe every time he calls you up for something menial, rolls his eyes when you dodge his questions about why you took so long.

And for the most part, it works.

It works when you’re plating dishes, when you’re folding napkins, when you’re bickering with Kareem over the right way to season something.

It only falters in the quiet moments.

When you wipe down the counters and catch yourself scrubbing too hard, like you’re trying to wash something invisible off your hands. When you zone out in the pantry, staring at the shelves but not really seeing them. When you hear the faintest creak from upstairs and your stomach flips before you even realize what you’re reacting to.

But you shake it off. You force yourself to.

Before you know it, the day is gone.

The kitchen is clean, tomorrow’s meals are planned, and the only thing left is the quiet hum of the fridge and the last few scraps Kareem keeps picking at.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, forcing yourself to feel normal.

Because everything’s fine.

Right?

You leave Kareem again as he puts away the last of the shopping in its right, labeled place, and you drift back up to Rafe’s room, standing at the door, listening to his steady breathing, forcing yourself to feel at ease.

But you’re not.

You’re not as you close the door. You’re not as you climb down the steps. You’re not as you stand in the driveway, calling Barry for the second time as you wave goodbye to Kareem.

You’re once again staring out into the street, pondering whether to walk or call someone else when you hear a familiar rumble. In the distance, in the surprisingly dim light of the suburbs, you glimpse the red and yellow paint job of Barry’s— actually Rafe’s— bike.

He pulls over slowly, coming to a stop on the asphalt right before you, wearing a jacket you’ve never seen before, and no shoes.

– What’s up with you, Ghost Rider? Just come back from a rave or something? Whose clothes did you steal? – You’re chuckling to yourself, but your heart’s not in it, you’re still looking over your shoulder as you stand there, waiting for him to take off his helmet, for him to say something, do something. But he doesn’t. He stays there, hands clutching the handlebars, staring forward, without saying a word. – Bee? Jesus, what happened now? Are you okay?

You’re getting shifty. Something's wrong, you can feel it.

Your hand is shaking as you lay it on your best friend’s shoulder, silently pleading that he look at you, say something to you, just give you a sign that he’s alive. But he just turns away.

You hear a light scoff, the sound muddled under the heavy helmet.

– Barry, for fuck’s sakes, just say something, this ghostface act is freaking me out! – He laughs again, just as bitter. – Barry!

He flips the visor, looking back at you with nothing but scorn in his eyes. But these aren’t Barry’s eyes. These eyes are blue.

You step back, shaking more than you can hide. – Where—What— You keep mumbling, but the words don’t come out. You don’t even know what you want to say.

You want to run. You want to hide.

But when you step away again, this person’s hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, and he wrings you closer, nails digging into your arms. – Get off of me. Get off— You want to scream, but it comes out as a whisper. You’re backing up, your voice hoarse in your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears, and then your eyes catch it.

Right under the collar of his shirt, just underneath the collarbone. The same letters that are engraved into your skin. The same words in the same place.

He lets go of you, watching you stumble back so desperately you fall, seated, onto the grass, and only then does he take the helmet off.

You see his hair before you see his face. The mess of blonde strands that spill out from under the cushioned helmet. But not the usual mess, the mess you’d expect from JJ, the mess he gets whenever he wears a helmet.

It’s a very specific chaos. The sort he gets when he runs his hands through his hair so much he starts tearing it out.

– So it’s true, huh? – JJ’s voice is a blade, a blunt one, it beats you before it can cut. – When John B said it, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you’d never do that. You’d never be so fucking stupid.

– JJ—

– No. – He barely refrains from screaming it, looking away, his fingers clenched so tight around the plastic visor you see his knuckles pale. – You’re not gonna do this to me again! There’s nothing you can say to me right now. Nothing!

– Barry— Where— Your voice dies in your throat. You’re trembling. You don’t know why. You don’t know how, but you can’t stop it.

– Barry doesn’t fucking matter, get on the bike. – You try to swallow, you shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. He reaches forward, grabbing you by the arm again. – Get on the fucking bike right now!

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

119 notes · View notes

tulipq · 23 hours ago

Text

Sorry, need to jump in on this: The whole reason for the obsession with pottery shards is because pottery is the product of human intent and knowledge. We can learn a lot about the connections people had to each other through seeing how ideas, like what's a nice looking earthenware vessel for liquids, spread.

You know how people go "look at all of these pyramids that look nothing like each other! This must be a sign these societies all knew a common super advanced pyramid builder civ. Maybe aliens." Yeah, that is fucking dumb. But it is a fucking dumb version of a kind of sensible idea "These two groups have similar looking pottery starting at this layer in the dig. Their pottery was more different before this layer, and after we start seeing similarities. I bet the talked to each other around when their pottery got similar." And then if you have one of those epic pottery knowers they can be like "Yeah, actually, there's a good shot these later changes are because they might have met someone from this other valley down the coast!" and it is super cool.

So if you want archeologists to get your gender right, just make a jar that says "These are my pronouns and I got this idea from reading a tumblr post in March of 2025" as a clear, large, and legible (think about how hard it is to read old hand writing, make sure you are not doing that, think about how it is going to be worn away some) and put your ashes in it. Make it easy for people, don't make them wait on lab work or have to get a fancy pottery person.

future archaeologists will know you were (not) a boy

#original material #effortpost

47K notes · View notes

throatgoat4u · 2 days ago

Text

late on the first day

word count: 0.6k

summary: it’s the first day of senior year, and dotty's already running late. of all classes, it had to be for your favorite class—art. just when you think things can’t get any worse... they do.

warnings: none :)

a/n: i lowkey already made this a like a month and a half ago but like............ yeah.... also this won the popular vote on what au i should release for next and so yeah. idk why i never put the intro to this au out but oh well. also, the reader's name will be dotty. also, the taglist is not official and is just a taglist of people who commented/reblogged the moodboards i had created so yeah! enjoy!

toodles sluts :)

you sprinted up the stairs, heart pounding as you weaved your way to the 2½ floor where the art wing was tucked away. there was no way you could be late—not on the first day of senior year, and definitely not to your favorite class. art had always been your escape. ever since you were little, you’d been an artist at heart, constantly sketching, coloring outside the lines (literally), experimenting with oil pastels, acrylics, and your personal favorite—watercolors.

but being the “art kid” had its downsides. while other girls were out at parties, shopping sprees, or obsessing over boys, you were lost in your sketchbook, shading imaginary worlds. it didn’t take long for people to notice how different you were. the teasing started small but grew sharper over the years, each comment isolating you a little more. by the time middle school ended, you were already used to being alone.

losing your best friend when she moved to another state only solidified it. since then, solitude had become your constant companion. but art? art was still yours. and that was why you couldn’t be late today. not when it was the one place you actually belonged.

you slipped into the classroom just as the bell rang, heart still racing from the mad dash up the stairs. scanning the seating chart at the front, you were relieved to find your assigned seat in the back corner, far from prying eyes. but that relief evaporated the moment you saw who you’d be sitting next to.

christopher sturniolo.

your blood ran cold. of course, it had to be him. chris wasn’t just popular—he was the most popular guy in school. every girl wanted him, and every guy either wanted to be him or be his best friend. there was no in-between. it didn’t help that he was the star of the hockey team, the golden boy who had secured a spot on varsity as a freshman and led the team to state championships every year since. he had it all: the looks, the talent, and, of course, the girl.

eva—the captain of the cheer team and the only girl who could possibly match his popularity. together, they were the school’s golden couple, envied and admired by everyone. chris was untouchable, living in a world completely separate from yours. he didn’t know you existed, and you were pretty sure he never would.

but you had noticed him.

in middle school, you had the biggest, most ridiculous crush on him. it started in sixth grade when he held the door open for you that one time, and it didn’t fade until the end of eighth grade. you were completely obsessed with chris sturniolo. you had filled an entire sketchbook front to back with drawings of him—his smile, his eyes, even the two of you together in scenes that only existed in your imagination. you remembered sketching his face more times than you could count, lost in a fantasy where he actually knew who you were.

but to him, you were nobody. just another face in the crowded hallways. he didn’t even know you well enough to recognize you as the girl who ate lunch in the bathroom or hid under the bleachers—just like everyone else did.

you tried everything to get over him that summer, finally deciding to write him a love letter, just like laura jean in to all the boys i’ve loved before. you poured your heart out in perfect penmanship, sealed it in a beautifully customized envelope with the prettiest wax seal you could find, and tucked it away in your love letter box, where it would stay forever, unread and forgotten.

or at least, that was the plan. but now, sitting next to chris for an entire the entire year? yeah, this was going to be a problem

taglist: @freshloveee. @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan. @heart-sdiary. @sturnshood

100 notes · View notes

five-bi-five-mind · 3 days ago

Note

so I am obsessed with your jj x readers fics, esp the top!jj and jealous!jj ones. so I have a request (if you take requests).

jj had Henry but she and Will didn't end up together because Will wasn't willing to sacrifice his career and neither was JJ but they used to spend a lot of time together for Henry. Fem!reader started working for the BAU when Henry is five, and JJ and Reader started sneaking around together. JJ is possessive of reader but they're both closeted, even though reader is now willing to go public. but then Will returned, wanting to be a family for Henry's sake and JJ agrees to give it a shot, breaking reader's heart. A month or so later, the BAU returned from a gruelling case and go to a bar to wind down. JJ and Reader haven't really spoken since things ended except for work purposes. But when JJ sees a guy flirt with and kiss reader at the bar, she grabs reader and takes her to the bathroom and becomes possessive....After, reader asks JJ what she wants because jj's behaviour is confusing and JJ says "You" (thank you)

Breaking Point

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, Smut

Words: 11.7k+

Summary: JJ fell for you hard, but she wasn't good with feelings and she liked having control. Only problem was, she lost all of it any time you were around. Now, Will is trying to push her to restart a relationship and all she can do is push you away to handle all these complicated feelings.

Warning: rough sex, overstimulation, possessive sex, possessive!JJ, little bit of toxic!JJ, dubiously consensual kissing, double sided strap-on, multiple orgasms, vibrator, bottom!r, top!JJ, alcohol mention, biting... I think that about covers it.

A/N: I took a break but now we're so back and it feels good to be back. Hope y'all enjoy a JJ fic!!

(gif not mine, credit to luthqrs)

She had fallen first. You always joked that it was you who did and you were just waiting for her to stop being so wrapped up in her own head, but no. If only you knew how mistaken you were.

She most certainly had fallen first, and dare she say, she had also fallen harder. Not that any of that seems apparent to you now, or ever will at this point, if JJ were being honest with herself. But she would go to her grave denying any claim that you were the one to fall first or to love her harder.

See, she fell for you the moment she saw you. She might be practical, she might be calculated and calm and she prided herself in always weighing the risks versus the reward. JJ built her life around assessing every situation and making sure every single action she took, every choice she made, made sense for her future. But then her eyes fell upon you and all of that went out the window.

She replays that first day you came to the BAU in her head more times than she could care to count. That day she met you, you were just starting as part of the team. She heard your laugh from the halls before she even saw your face. The feeling of your laugh ringing through her ears, washing over her entire being, she won’t ever forget. She didn’t understand why she felt the way that she did then, not until her eyes finally met yours, but that was hours later.

Somehow, the two of you managed to miss properly introducing each other for most of that first day. You were off getting familiar with the BAU, catching up on who’s who and where’s what. She was wrapped up in a case close to home that seemed like it was all dead ends. It wasn’t until the end of that work day did she finally run into you. Literally.

With her hands full of files and her eyes glued to the words written in them, she kept walking until she smacked right into you. To her own defense, you were looking everywhere but up, trying to find the right room number to finally meet the elusive JJ in the first place. Neither of you were looking forward until your bodies collided and her papers started flying everywhere.

JJ was immediately mortified and frustrated and for a moment there was utter silence as you both looked down at the mess of papers around you. But then you looked up and laughed. It caught her off guard again, but she didn’t know why. Maybe it was that the feeling washed over her again. A feeling she rarely feels these days with her line of work. A feeling that something pure and happy was in her presence. It’s that sort of feeling that rubs off on people, but rarely does it grace the BAU halls. And then she looked up.

Your eyes sparkled as you laughed. “Well, that’s one way to make an introduction I guess,” you said to her between giggles. Without even knowing it, she was smiling back at you. She thought to ask if you were okay, but words were hard to get out.

You scooped up all her papers and she just stood there, eyes wide, as you placed them back in her hands. When you told her your name and that it was nice to meet her, finally she found her voice again and said the same.

The meeting might have been ordinary to you, but to her it was the first time in a long time that the world felt lighter. It was the moment that you walked out the door from your first day with the BAU that JJ swore to herself to make sure you never lost that light. This job could be monstrous, but you weren’t a field agent. She could shield you, she could protect you.

It was in that small moment that JJ fell in love, even if it took her weeks to realize what that feeling was. The need to protect you grew as she watched you wince from across the room each time new crime scene photos were presented for each new case. She remembered being like you, she literally was you. Now you’re the new communications liaison and you still had the same sick feeling she used to get when the horrors of the world were being highlighted page after page on the table in front of you.

—----------------------------

It was only a few short months before the feelings JJ had for you boiled over. She’d like to say she was good at hiding them, and to an extent, she was, but she unfortunately had a breaking point. What she really regretted was how that breaking point came about and what actions it resulted in.

In JJ’s best efforts to shield you from a job that, in all reality, was impossible for someone to be shielded from at least some horrors, JJ had also somehow convinced you and a lot of people around you that she hated you. She would urge for you to not be put on certain cases, but that would come in the form of her– unintentionally –making it sound like you were not qualified or skilled enough to handle those cases. JJ didn’t think that in the slightest, though. She really thought you were better at the job of being a liaison than she ever was. But she also knew the path she took from being a liaison, to finding herself in danger in the field and not as prepared as she should’ve been at times. She couldn’t handle you following that same path, so she did what she could.

The rumors that she hated you were also not helped by the fact that she absolutely froze up any time you tried to talk to her. She had no idea what this magnetic pull was that she felt any time you were near. She thought about you when you were around and even more when you weren’t. JJ knew she should’ve actually tried to have more conversations with you, squash the rumors that she hated you finally, but any time she tried to get closer to you the pull got stronger. And then by the time you did approach her, her mind was so wrapped up in the feeling that she just couldn’t think to get any words out. Everything about you confused her.

What made matters worse, however, was that JJ found herself always near you even when it wasn’t by her own choice. In the office, she was always nearby to make sure you didn’t walk into a wall, since you had this annoyingly charming habit of reading files and walking at the same time. Or, JJ always noticed you had a knack for getting up any time the jet had turbulence and she would often shoot up and catch you before you fell. Anytime that happened, JJ would feel like her skin was on fire wherever your delicate hands would steady themselves on her strong arms. It always made her stomach twist in a way that felt similar to when she used to have a fear of flying, only the feeling would stick with her when they landed and then hours after.

While JJ savored these moments without really knowing why, it came across quite differently for you. JJ’s eyes would always harden anytime she stepped back once you regained your footing and she wouldn’t stop staring at you. To everyone around the both of you, it looked like she was glaring. In reality, JJ was just trying to figure it all out. But as more and more time went by, she was starting to piece everything together.

Feelings weren’t something JJ was good at, but she couldn’t deny that they were building within her. She had decided maybe she should ignore them. If she stuffed them down long enough she could either get used to living with the feeling or they’d go away. At least that’s what she told herself, but then there was a day that your time overlapped with that one intern… The one with the rich dad and the shit eating grin.

JJ was in the absolute worst mood and he was just making it worse. He usually flirted with the other interns and she didn’t care about that but today, she guessed he was going for a different target. And any time JJ heard his obnoxious voice flow through the halls, calling your name for you to slow down so he could catch up, asking you a useless question, it just made things worse. She snapped three pencils that day and it wasn’t even noon yet then.

When he finally came to her office to ask if she needed anything, she thought asking him for a big coffee order for the office, but for specific coffee across town would solve her problems at least temporarily. She just wanted him away from you; he kept getting too fucking close. And she told herself this wasn’t about jealousy, it wasn’t because she wanted you and couldn’t have you, it was because he was going through interns like they were nothing and she didn’t want to see him treat you like that too. Except, her plan to get you away from him backfired in the worst possible way.

She didn’t think he would have the guts to ask you to join him in assisting, and she didn’t think you would use your lunch break to assist. But of course you did, because you’re kind and he played it up, acting like he could use all the help he could get. That just soured JJ’s mood even more.

It took over an hour for you to return with that guy too and the whole time JJ kept picturing the worst. How he might be driving with his hand on your thigh, when it should be hers. How he could be making you laugh and smile when JJ just wants to be the reason you do that just once more for her. How he could be asking you on a date and she wouldn’t be there to somehow interject and make sure that never happens in a million years.

She wouldn’t ever know if her first two worries happened to have come true, but to her utter horror the last one did. As he brought back the coffee, handing it out to all the team, he turned and gave you that same scheming grin and said the words that JJ absolutely did not want to here. “So, that’s a yes for Friday night?”

It wasn’t said to the room, obviously. It was said to you as you stood next to him and sorted out the pastry orders for the rest of the team. You just looked back at him and gave him a small smile and a brief nod. You didn’t have to say anything for JJ to know her worst nightmare was confirmed, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from asking her own question as she stood in front of you and waited for the items she requested.

“What’s friday?” It sounded just as angry as JJ felt. But what didn’t help the situation was the way you flinched at her tone and how your eyes widened in fear.

“Oh– uh…” you stuttered, your eyes still looking at JJ with shock and confusion. “We’re just going for drinks, no big deal.”

Why did JJ feel her stomach drop at the way your eyes moved from hers to then look down at the floor? JJ winced at her own actions, but it was like something else took over for her as your words began to sink in. “Can I see you in my office, (Y/N)?” Suddenly, she was on autopilot as the idea of you going out at night with him washed over her like molten lava. “Alone.”

She caught the look you gave the intern and the look he gave back, and JJ’s rampant jealousy flared, but to her relief you just nodded.

She didn’t wait for you to start moving before she turned on her heel and started striding to her office. When JJ reached the office she held the door for you and you walked in on shaky legs. She would’ve felt guilty at how nervous she was making you, but right now she could care less. She needed to squash these plans, no matter what. She had no idea how, but right now logic was out the window.

“Listen, I know that dating is frowned upon in the office but it’s not a–”

“You’re right,” JJ cut you off mid sentence, closing the door behind you with a slam. “So why are you announcing to the whole office that you intend to do it anyways?”

“L-look I’m sorry,” you were panicking as you looked back at JJ, still standing between you and the door with her arms crossed. “But it’s not a date. We’re going out for drinks. That is all, nothing the team doesn’t do regularly.”

“It’s completely different,” JJ snapped back.

“How so?” You were just confused if you were being honest. Not mad at the reaction of your colleague, but utterly lost to why it seemed like JJ was so angry from this that she was visibly shaking.

“Because he wants to sleep with you!” JJ knew she was breaking some sort of rules with HR with that outburst but she could care less. Her nails were digging into her own arms as she stood, fuming in front of you.

“That–” You honestly couldn’t think of a comeback. You were so shocked by her outburst that your mind was racing too fast for you to keep up. “Why do you care?” It was all you could manage to ask.

“Why do you want to?” JJ really needed to stop at this point, but her blood was boiling and her skin was on fire and she kept taking steps until she was in your personal space and had backed you up against her own desk.

“It’s not against the rules, it’s just frowned upon, but I won’t lose my job for it. I’m allowed to get a drink with him.” You were trying to rationalize something that you didn’t even want to do. It was just drinks, and he was nice, you didn’t want to date him you just wanted to have a good time with someone for a few hours until you had to go home to an empty apartment, was that so wrong?

“It’s not okay.” JJ was breathing hard and she was standing so close to you that you could practically feel her body against yours.

“Why?” You were getting frustrated. Your brain was working fast, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here.

The simple “why” was something JJ couldn’t answer. She didn’t have an angry remark, she didn’t have anything smart to say. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it pounding in her ears and all she could manage was a frustrated, “It just fucking isn’t!”

“Does this have to do with the team or is this just your problem, JJ?” You were finally pushing back, but you still remained still. The confusion was irritating and her bad attitude was starting to rub off on you. The way her adrenaline was pumping, her aggressive reaction, it was all seeping into you and suddenly your scared demeanor flipped. “You’ve had a problem with me since day one! What is it? You’re trying to push me out right? I can’t even make friends with the intern, is that it? If you want me out of this team so badly, I can just go because obviously this isn’t working out! Not when every single little thing I do pisses you off so badly. I don’t know what I even did you, but I’ve had it with–”

And just like that JJ snapped. All control went out the window. You were mid angry rant but the thought of you leaving the BAU scared her just as much and her resolve crumbled.

Her lips smashed against yours with such a force that you had to brace yourself on her desk until your knuckles turned white. Her kiss was brutal, it was angry, it was passionate and the way she had finally released her own arms to grip your chin had you grunt against her lips. Your eyes were wide for a moment as her lips pressed harder against yours, moving in a way so yours parted enough for her tongue to graze yours. And when it did you couldn’t help the way your eyes slipped shut and a slight shiver ran through your body. One of her hands was still gripping your chin tight, but the other had snaked its way down and around your waist so you didn’t have to steady yourself so hard on her desk. This also meant her full body was pressed up against yours and you were surprised by how much heat you felt as she leaned into you. You were also surprised by how much your own body melted into hers as she let out a groan against your own lips. It wasn’t until you heard that groan that you realized, you had been kissing her back. You had maybe resisted for a moment, but at some point your hands weren’t on the desk but in her hair, your lips had parted more, and you had let her tongue run against yours in a hungry frenzy.

But then reality sunk in for a moment and, since you no longer needed the support to stay up right since you were now seated on her desk, you removed your hands from her hair and moved them to her chest to shoved hard. Surprisingly hard for someone who had maybe a fraction of JJ’s strength.

She stumbled back, her eyes wide and her lips red and wet from the force and messiness of the kiss she didn’t mean to give. There was a pause, a silence that hung over the room as you both just stared at each other.

JJ was trying to think of excuses, of reasons for why the hell she would force herself on you like that. She was so angry she didn’t think and now she was angry at herself for doing something so out of character.

But then you took a deep breath and JJ’s eyes flew from the floor back up to meet your own. “So…” you cleared your throat as you struggled to find the words you wanted to use. “I guess that explains some things.”

And then you laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and JJ’s whole body relaxed.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Obviously, you did not go out for drinks with the intern. Instead, you and JJ had a talk and JJ had essentially poured her guts out to you and you had told her that you felt the same exact pull she was feeling. The only difference was, you actually knew how to handle your feelings, but with how JJ had been acting, you had convinced yourself that it was very much one sided.

Clearly it wasn’t, and after that moment in the office you had decided to try to follow your feelings with her, albeit slowly and without announcing it to the team for at least a good while. Keeping it a secret from the team was working out well, but the taking things slow part went out the window basically the same night as your first kiss.

JJ had the idea of talking alone, just the two of you at her place. That very quickly ended in her taking you right then and there on her couch for the first time. You should’ve been embarrassed you couldn’t even make it to her bed, but the way she kissed you like she was trying to savor every single inch of you, you never stood a chance at resisting her.

After that, well, the two of you were goners. Sneaking office kisses– and sometimes even more… whenever you’d get the chance. She insisted on being secretive and careful for numerous reasons, and you were okay with that as long as it meant JJ was all yours.

After six months of sneaking around had gone by, you did, however, reveal your secret to her child. It was entirely by accident and all due to the ex of hers that you never liked, nor trusted.

You both had been in bed, wrapped around each other the way you both would every single night since you exchanged “I love yous” three months prior. This time, luckily, you were both clothed. Both of you were tired from a case and just wanted to fall asleep in the safety of each other’s arms.

But then, early in the morning, an excited blonde head peaked through the door and that peaceful sleep you were once in was rudely awakened. It felt like someone drenched you in frigid water, the way JJ’s eyes snapped open and met yours in terror before snapping to the child bounding for the bed.

She jumped up with record speed and met him before he could jump in. “Henry, h-hi buddy. What are you doing here? Where’s your dad?”

Before she could even answer she heard his voice call from further in the house. “Hey, we just let ourselves in!” You really hated that he had his own key, but knew as they were co-parents it was necessary. Plus, that’s not what was on your mind right now. Now, you were also standing out of bed and just looking around the room helplessly as if hiding would solve anything.

“Mommy, you had a sleepover?” His innocent question felt like a shot to the heart. You both froze. JJ had a forced smile on her face that she directed toward her son but you couldn’t bring yourself to fix your expression. It was one of utter shock and horror.

You had met Henry, even spent plenty of time with him in the last six months. JJ would just say you’re a good friend and he happily accepted that. In all honesty, he adored you and you felt the same for him, each time you saw him it felt more like you were becoming a family, even if he was totally oblivious to that feeling. But the two of you hadn’t talked about actually telling him what you were, you never wanted to push it with JJ.

“Uh…” JJ laughed nervously, her eyes shooting between him and you. “Yeah, buddy.”

She was trying hard to think of some way to come up with an excuse for what you were doing in her bed. She knew he didn’t really need an answer, but she feared what he would say to his father, her ex, when Henry inevitably spilled the beans.

“So,” you heard Will’s voice call from the hall. “We thought we’d surprise you, take you to breakfast!”

His voice was getting closer and closer and you were frozen in place. There was no way for you to hide now, nowhere for you to run.

“Sorry to wake you and all, doll,” his voice continued to get louder. “But the little guy just wanted to surprise you.”

You could hear the creaks of his steps right around the corner.

“So what do you say?” His voice was right by the doorway now. “Breakfast as a family sounds…”

He didn’t finish his sentence as he entered the doorway. his voice trailed off and his eyes were wide. He was looking between the child clinging to his ex and you, a person he’s met two or three in passing because of the job, standing two feet from the bed. A bed that was unmade and clearly slept in by both of you.

“You have company.” His whole demeanor changed in an instance. His eyes hardened and his jaw set. “I didn’t know…”

He trailed off again and you heard the unspoken words. He didn’t know JJ was seeing other people. He didn’t know JJ was seeing a co-worker. He didn’t know JJ even liked women. They were all questions you could see swirling in his mind.

“I’m just leaving,” you finally spoke up. Something told you, you didn’t want to be here for whatever discussion was about to happen. JJ looked over as soon as she heard your voice and gave you both an apologetic, but relieved look.

You didn’t even gather your clothes. You grabbed your phone and keys, and left in your fuzzy pajamas.

When you got back to your place you were a mess. Nothing could’ve prepared you for starting your morning like that. JJ sent a text maybe fifteen minutes after you got back home with a quick apology and a promise to talk later.

But then you didn’t hear from her for hours after that. And hours more once the sun went down. And then suddenly the weekend went by and hours became days. JJ took time off of work and those days turned in to almost two weeks.

You were a mess. The team saw, but didn’t say anything. You just tried your best to do the job.

For JJ’s part she was also a mess. She knew she needed to see you, to talk to you, to do what she never thought in a million years that she would ever do. That’s why she was ghosting you, so she could put off the pain that she knew was going to feel like ripping out her own heart and stomping all over it and yours in the process too.

After that day, Will and her had argued. He had told her that he never expected her to move on to someone else. That he always expected she would come back to him once they both felt less married to their jobs. When JJ had said that, though, that was just her excuse to spare his feelings. Will had never made her happy, not in the way she was when she was with you.

But his words still twisted in her gut like a knife. They spent hours screaming back and forth about everything until he finally took the low blow and used Henry as an excuse. He convinced JJ that when they were apart, Henry would be a mess that he couldn’t be with both his parents at once.

If JJ was thinking logically, she would’ve seen through that lie since Henry not once mentioned that to her. But she was caught off guard and Will was pressing all the right buttons to make her guilt and anxiety rise, until finally she heard herself give in to him.

She uttered four words to him and that was all it took to realize JJ had lost this battle. “I’ll break it off.”

JJ wasn’t ready to accept the full weight of those words. It’s why she didn’t answer your calls or texts and why she took off work for over a week. In that time she didn’t see Will either though. After a few days he added into his arguing that they needed to try again and she adamantly disagreed. She tried to push alternatives, more time spent together with Henry, but not together in a romantic sense. He wasn’t happy about it, but agreed to take what he could get, always saying it was a “start” but JJ didn’t like what that implied.

What made matters even worse was that she saw you before she was ready to face you and it all happened completely by accident.

It was rounding on two weeks and JJ was running out of vacation time, so she knew she had to break the news to you soon, she just wasn’t ready for it to be that soon.

Except, she had foolishly agreed to dinner with Will to discuss Henry away from the house. He convinced her that their son didn’t need to hear them argue and that they’d be more likely to keep their voices level in public. She really shouldn’t have agreed, but she did. And that’s how she found herself seated across from Will at a semi-nice restaurant for the evening.

To add to everything else, when she realized you were there too, was the exact moment that Will reached out and put his hand over her own. She wasn’t even sure what he was saying, not when the rest of the world felt like it was frozen and crumbling around her all at the same time.

There you were, about to be seated with Emily walking in behind you. The look in your eye told JJ she didn’t need to say any words to rip your heart out, you figured it out on your own all in that moment. To make matters worse, JJ would usually recoil from Will’s touch, but being so shocked to see you, she couldn’t move a single muscle.

Your eyes switched between looking at her horrified face to Will’s smug one and then finally to the way his hand laid over hers. It made you sick. Emily stopped in her tracks behind you taking in the scene and no doubt understanding why your body language had changed.

She had taken you out, guessing the relationship between you and JJ within seconds of it starting. She also knew there was trouble in paradise, so when Emily confirmed you hadn’t heard from JJ after over a week had gone by, she thought a nice dinner would help. At least it would get you out of the apartment. You had stopped leaving other than to go to work since that fateful day.

Emily didn’t need to see your face to know it was filled with hurt. She put one hand on your shoulder and leaned close to whisper a simple “let’s go” in your ear.

JJ watched, sick to her stomach, as you nodded and turned back around. All too late her brain fully processed what happened and she shot up from her seat as she watched Emily help put your coat on at the door.

There was no conversation after that. You didn’t need one, you understood and you avoided her like the plague.

————————-

Three months went by after that. The two of you only talked when you needed to. You spent more and more time laying in bed than you’d like to admit and JJ… Well, she fell into a pit of self loathing for how much you were hurting.

Still she didn’t give into Will, despite what you and others might think. She would go along with his plan to spend more time together, but only platonically. And the only reason she agreed to that was because the days she spent at home without Henry were torture. She would stare at the phone and hope for you to call or for her to get the courage to call you, knowing she really could not do that after everything.

If she wasn’t staring at the phone alone on her own, or ignoring her heartache by spending time with her son, she was busy staring at you any time you worked together. You felt her eyes burn into the back of your head and it always made your chest hurt. You tried your best to ignore it, to ignore her, but there was only so much you could do when she hovered.

Again, you were thinking about finding another job. The only thing was you had just gotten comfortable here. And really, Emily had been your rock through all of this. She had spent a lot of time listening to your heartbreak when you finally revealed what she already knew about the two of you. Emily had even offered to try to talk some sense into JJ, but that avoiding that she was extending to you had unfortunately also extended to the rest of the team. She couldn’t handle seeing any of them, especially if they were going to, undoubtedly, question her about her increased time with Will and what was going on with her intense mood.

The closeness of you and Emily was starting to drive JJ crazy. She had a million questions ever since she saw her put a hand on your shoulder that fateful day. But she also fully recognized that she had absolutely no right to ask you any questions, and honestly she didn’t think she could handle hearing them for two reasons. One being that if Emily and you were romantically involved it would crush JJ even more, the other being that last time JJ got jealous, her control slipped and that’s what led her to this heartache in the first place.

So instead, JJ just watched and tried to see if she could figure out exactly what was going on. Of course, she told herself she also watched to protect you. Maybe she was a coward who fled from you, but she was still trying to keep some of the promise she made to herself about you since the first day she met you. She already let some of your light die, but she knew that was from how she had hurt you. Those wounds would heal, at least she thought so, but the way this job can leave an impression on a person really couldn’t. She just couldn’t have you getting hurt by anything else.

Except, when she pushed for you to be away from a case, you started pushing even more strongly for that exact case that she so badly did not want you to have. It was like you were purposely putting her through hell. She had to worry about you and keep her distance for some of these cases, the only good thing was that with Emily close to you now, at least two capable agents could protect you. Anytime she saw Emily do exactly what she swore she would always do, protect you, comfort you from the horrors of a bad case, it would feel like JJ’s heart was ripping at the seams.

And then there was one case that was just too horrible that even JJ could barely stomach it. But you still insisted on heading over with the team. JJ watched with a grimace on her face as Emily sat by you on the jet, her hand on your arm, trying to coach you on what to expect and how to take precautions. JJ was fuming at her close proximity and the way Emily was gentle with you in a manner she didn’t think she had ever seen from the other agent.

It wasn’t at all what JJ thought, though. You didn’t mean to challenge JJ when you insisted on these cases. You just couldn’t stomach going home to your empty apartment so much anymore, not when the ache of losing JJ was getting even worse. So you clung to Emily, your new friend, your confidant. She was a small light in the darkness that was surrounding you both at work and in your own personal life. There was nothing romantic between you two, it was just like you clicked as fast friends and that’s what you really needed right now.

So when a hard case came up and Emily was assigned to it, you insisted on going too so you wouldn’t feel so alone. Every single time, you ignored the snide remarks JJ made when she didn’t get her way. And you definitely tried not to acknowledge the jealous glaring JJ would send your way any time Emily put her hand on you. Deep down, you knew exactly what JJ was thinking about when it came to your closeness with Emily and you hoped she thought it. In fact, you hoped it hurt her. At least then she would have a taste of the suffering she put you through each night you knew she would go home to Will.

But with this last case, everything was just so much worse.

Not only were you in a small town with a hotel that had limited availability– so of course, to JJ’s utter dismay, you shared a room with Emily– but you insisted on being way too close to where the danger was. JJ couldn’t help but think that you were so over her and into Emily that you couldn’t be separated for one goddamn second. It wasn’t like that though, if JJ was being logical, she would’ve known it was because you were determined to help in any way you could.

Except, being closer to the case meant you were closer and closer to being the next victim of this unsub and it had JJ near her breaking point yet again. She hovered closer than ever, and you felt that from the way her fiery eyes would stare at you for hours on end as you and Emily worked closely together on how best to respond to the public while she was busy trying to find the killer.

And of course, the perfect storm came the moment both JJ and Emily took their eyes off you. You got attacked, you almost got shot, you could’ve died. JJ was tired of watching you walk into a hotel room with Emily right behind you and she had to ask. She couldn’t handle it anymore, she told herself if she just found out that you were at least happy with Emily then she would stop hovering, she would try to stop caring.

So she pulled Emily aside, for a moment– it was just a moment. But it was all it took for you to get snatched. JJ didn’t get to ask her question, she heard the struggle and her stomach dropped when she turned around and you weren’t there.

Then, of course, it was Emily who stayed calm. It was Emily who made the plan. It was Emily who found you, found the unsub, and rescued you from a fate JJ was always worried you’d meet. You were bruised and battered, but ultimately fine. JJ wanted to run to you, to hold you and comfort you and care for your wounds, but it was Emily who ran to you first. It was Emily who pulled you into her arms and squeezed you tight. And as JJ ran in behind her and saw the way she held onto you and you held onto her, her feet froze and she couldn’t bear to look at either of you.

Seeing all of that, going through that case on the sidelines while you were almost lost forever, it was killing JJ. She couldn’t pretend she was okay without you anymore, she couldn’t pretend to be a happy family with Will either. She didn’t know what was happening between you and Emily, but she had to find out, and more than anything she had to see if she could get you to give her another chance.

Emily was her friend, and part of her felt guilty that if her assumptions were true she would essentially be trying to steal her best friend’s girlfriend, but you were hers first. JJ wanted you to be only hers always, and she was just now waking up to that realization.

—-----------------------------

As soon as you all returned from that case, JJ set the record straight with Will. She had long since realized that Henry didn’t really care to spend time with them together. If anything, JJ realized, Henry missed time with you.

Will did not take it well, but JJ was prepared for that. She threatened court and full custody and he finally backed down. She had gotten him to agree to only see each other for drop offs with Henry and forced him to give her spare key back.

A week had gone by since that case, but the whole team was still feeling the exhaustion from it. When Penelope suggested everyone get drinks, JJ surprised herself by agreeing. But then again, she saw the way Emily approved of that idea and knew that if Emily was going, you would be there. JJ was determined to figure out what was happening between the two of you and watching the way you two were together at the bar would be an excellent clue before JJ finally got up the nerve– for the second time –to confront Emily and figure things out.

When you all got to the bar, JJ noted how the two of you came in together. She wasn’t surprised, but it made her blood boil in a way that was familiar to when that intern got too close to you.

You sat in a booth with Penelope and Morgan chatting away while Emily sat her stuff next to you and went to the bar for a couple of drinks. JJ sat at a table with Hotch and Reid, they were discussing something beyond her, but she couldn’t bother to listen. Her eyes were glued to you.

For the most part, you knew she was staring, but you had gotten really good at ignoring it the past few months. Except, this last week it had been worse. She would not only stare at you, but glare at Emily, her own friend. You knew, by the way your pulse sped up each time you caught the look JJ was wearing, that something had to give, you just didn’t know when. You especially didn’t think it would be on a night at the bar, with the entire team surrounding you.

Three drinks in for you and Penelope suggested some dancing. You didn’t dance, Emily didn’t dance, but Penelope pulled the two of you up and out of the booth anyways. So then you found yourself dancing very close to Emily while Penelope was happily moving along with the music and Morgan right next to you.

You had never been a good dancer though, so when you tripped on your own feet Emily’s arms flung out to catch you and you found yourself pressed against her. It all happened entirely too fast after that.

There was a loud slam of a glass somewhere in the distance and then a hand roughly tugging your whole body back by the shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a second?” JJ’s voice was louder than it needed to be, even over the music. Emily had backed up, her hands in the air as if JJ was armed and aiming for her.

You didn’t even know when JJ had spun you around and away from Emily’s embrace. Your head turned to look at Emily and her face wasn’t even shocked. It was just expectant and unsurprised. She gave you a short nod, looking at you with soft eyes, but before you could even agree JJ pressed again.

“Do I need to ask for your permission to talk to (Y/N)?”

“JJ!” You gasped at her harsh tone. She had never talked to Emily like that, she would never dare. But she’s also had a couple drinks and she was about done watching her best friend have her hands all over the girl of her dreams.

“It’s not my decision,” Emily said, keeping a calm and level tone.

“Excellent,” JJ hissed as her hand grabbed yours and tugged.

She had realized that meant it was up to you, but she didn’t give you a chance to agree. She needed to figure this out alone, right then and there, and in her anger she decided she needed to hear you say it. She needed you to admit that you were able to move on from her so quickly and with her closest friend no less. How could you even do something like that to her? JJ was seething. Yes, she knew it looked like she immediately moved on with Will before even actually properly breaking up with you, but she hadn’t! Aside from that moment where he touched her hand, JJ wouldn’t let him have any sort of physical contact with her after that. She loathed his touch, and she couldn’t imagine you’d be able to handle anyone else’s but hers. After all those nights of admitting to her that you were hers alone, she never thought you’d move on so quickly. But here you were, and to her, it looked like you were utterly wrapped up in Emily.

“JJ, what the actual fuck?” you were protesting as JJ was dragging you across the bar and towards the bathroom. She didn’t seem to care though, as she practically shoved you into the bathroom before stepping in and locking the door behind you.

“I didn’t say that I wanted to talk!” You took a step back from her.

“We need to,” JJ snapped back. She realized she was one to talk, considering the two of you never properly had a break up conversation. But at least now, you could have that or some sort of conversation. Whatever was going to happen, JJ knew it needed to be said.

“We could’ve done that any other time,” you began with your arms crossed over your chest. “It’s been months. And now, with everyone having seen your little outburst– Now, you want to talk to me?”

“What’s going on between you and Emily?” Okay, so JJ was ignoring everything you said to her now. JJ knew this wasn’t the healthiest way to work out her feelings, but she couldn’t help it. This was driving her crazy, her control was slipping again. There was just something about you that made the resolve she worked on for your years go out the window.

“What?” You took another step back in surprise. JJ followed. “Nothing! Why do you care?”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” JJ pressed, taking another step into your personal space.

“Why. Do. You. Care.” You emphasized every word, getting more angry by the second.

“It hasn’t been that long, (Y/N)!” JJ was still taking a step forward for every step back you took until your back hit the bathroom wall. “Now you’re fucking my friend?”

“So what if I am?” You threw your hands up in frustration. “I can fuck whoever I want! I can go home with a random stranger, I can go home with Emily, I can fuck anyone I want. You know why, JJ?” Your finger poked hard into her chest as you finally reached your own breaking point. “Because you’re fucking your ex and you didn’t even have the decency to break up with me!”

“So you are fucking Emily?”

“Jesus Christ, JJ!” You were yelling, you knew you were yelling, and you knew someone could hear you if they were too close to the bar bathroom. At this point you didn’t care. “NO! I am not, but you know what, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll go home with Emily tonight, maybe I’ll go home with a stranger. I don’t have to be alone just because you decided you don’t want to be with me anymore. And I think it’s time for me to finally, finally move on from you JJ. I’m not yours, I don’t belong to you, I can go fuck–” you practically spit out the word, “whoever the fuck I want.”

JJ stopped for a second. An uncomfortable silence fell over you as you huffed in heavy breathes from your outburst and the rage boiling through your veins. You took a step forward trying to leave, but in that moment JJ took one too until you were forced to retreat, your back again pressed to the wall. This time she was right in your personal space, much like that first day that she kissed you.

“No you can’t,” JJ’s voice shook with anger as she spoke, but it wasn’t a yell. It was a low, daring tone that made your skin crawl.

“What?” Your eyes were wide in shock that JJ, after your outburst, would still deny you your own freedom. “Yes, I ca–”

You couldn’t finish your words, JJ was already on you. In fact, she was pressing her whole body so hard against yours, you barely had room to gasp. It couldn’t be heard anyway, not with the way her lips crushed into yours with blinding speed.

It wasn’t going to be like the first time though, you weren’t going to give in that easy. You turned your head after a moment of her lips pressed to yours and took a deep breath before trying to protest.

“You’re with Will now!” You gasped out as you felt JJ’s lips meet your jaw line.

“I never was,” she breathed against your skin. Your blood went cold at that, but you didn’t even have time to process before JJ’s hand snaked between the two of you and cupped your chin. With little effort, due to the shock of her words, she pulled your head back so your lips could meet hers again and all you could manage to do was let her kiss you.

But some sense came back to you the moment you felt her teeth tug at your bottom lip. You pushed on her chest and tried to turn your head again, only able to mumble a weak, “I don’t understand…” against her lips.

Her hold on your chin tightened, keeping you in place as she used her body weight to keep you still against the wall. “This has been torture,” JJ groaned against you. Her fingers clenched harder around your jaw as she dragged her lips across yours once again. “I can’t handle it anymore.” Her lips pressed firmly against yours this time and all you could do was whimper against her mouth.

“I’m not with Will,” she continued to mumble breathlessly against your mouth. Your hands braced themselves on either side of her waist as she pressed you harder and harder against the wall. “You’re supposed to be mine,” she practically growled against your lips.

She was filling all your senses and your head was swimming. You were supposed to hate her, she left you. She hid you and then she got back with her ex, but here she was devouring your lips with her own. You weren’t supposed to swoon at the way she called you hers or melt when you felt her tongue dance against your own. But you couldn’t help it… she was all you ever wanted.

Your body practically melted in her arms as her lips dragged themselves over yours before fully claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. The way her tongue swept over your lips until finally you parted yours had your head swimming. When you both heard and felt the groan that escaped her own mouth your whole body shuddered. You really shouldn’t be doing this, you knew that somewhere deep down in your mind. But every time her tongue ran against yours that thought got pushed back further and further until all that was left was just her.

When one of her hands left from around your waist to tangle in your hair, you knew you were a goner. Her lips had left yours to attach themselves to your neck and you did nothing to stop it. The hand that had made its way to your hair was now tightened into a fist and she was pulling hard, making you tilt your head back so she could have more access to the most sensitive parts of your neck. All you could do was whine and squeeze your eyes shut as the overwhelming feeling of JJ’s tongue making its way down to your collarbone was driving you crazy.

There was no way you were going to snap out of this. You knew that the aftermath of whatever was happening between the two of you in this moment would break you as soon as it was over, but you had missed her so much. If she was being driven crazy just because she saw you for two seconds with someone else, how did she think you felt? It was torture not having this with JJ anymore. You craved this. You needed it.

But still there was that one voice. It was so small and distant now, but it was still telling you this was not a good idea. That you should push her away before this would hurt too much. JJ leaving you the first time had broken you and you’re barely putting the pieces back together. What happens if you break again? Will there be enough of you left to even salvage?

It was the feeling of JJ’s teeth biting down hard into the most sensitive part of your neck that somehow finally broke you out of the trance you had fallen under. It was like someone dumped ice cold water on your system and your entire body went ridge. JJ was too focused on the feeling of having you in her arms and against her lips again to notice, though.

She kept going, running her tongue over the angry red mark she had just left. Your hands were balled into fists again at either of her sides and if she noticed that you were trying to lean away from her, she didn’t seem to care.

“JJ, wait,” your voice was quiet and hoarse. If you could’ve you would’ve been more assertive, but your head was still swimming. Your hands pressed harder onto her sides, trying to keep her still while you pushed your own body away, but her grip was strong. One of her hands tightened in your hair and the other around your waist; the action made you wince.

“Please, stop.” Your voice was a little louder now and you felt the reality of the last few moments settle in your stomach like a bowling ball. Thankfully, JJ finally took notice of this. Her body stilled and her head tilted back up with hooded, hungry eyes. For a split second you wanted to throw it all away, but that tiny voice had officially won.

“Why?” JJ was still holding onto you, but the hand in your hair had finally moved back to your waist.

“JJ, I can’t handle this. I could barely handle sneaking around, I definitely can’t handle being your little secret again until you decide to leave and go play family. Or make me the other woman… or whatever is going on here.”

“You’re not those things, you would never be those things.” JJ’s eyes said it all as she uttered that sentence. The pain in them had shown, but it just added to your confusion over this whole situation. You were torn between wanting to yell at her and comfort her all at the same time.

“Then what am I, JJ?” You needed to press this. She can’t just keep you from moving on, she can’t keep interjecting when someone shows slight interest. Either this all needed to stop for good or the both of you needed to finally figure things out. “What is it that you really want?”

“It’s…” JJ stood still, her hands still gripping your waist. The sound of the drip of the faucets nearby seemed deafening in the uncomfortable silence, but yet you waited. “You. I want you.”

There was a pause and you took a deep, shaky breath to ground yourself. “What does that mean, JJ?” You whispered your question, afraid to get your hopes up.

“That I want to do this for real. I’m done holding back,” JJ’s hand released you for a moment to brush hair from your face and tuck it behind your ear. “I’ll tell everyone, I’ll vow to never leave you again. I just can’t be without you anymore longer.”

You searched her eyes for a moment and this time you could see the sincerity shining through them.

“Just tell me you’re mine,” JJ whispered as she pressed her forward to yours. “Just please, tell me you’re mine.”

“I- I’m…” you took another deep breath, squeezing your eyes tight before tilting your head up so JJ would move hers down. “I’m yours,” you breathed with a soft kiss placed on her forehead.

When JJ heard those words her hands moved once again to hold either side of your face, bringing your lips in for another searing kiss. But this time you were ready and you met her with as much passion.

She kissed you like that for a while, her lips pressing completely against yours in a way that left you gasping for air against her mouth. After a moment JJ left your lips and kissed up your jaw. She made her way to your ear and leaned into you closer, her breath tickling as she took a moment to enjoy the way you were panting and shaking against her. “Can we get out of here?” JJ’s voice was filled with so much want as her teeth grazed your ear. You bit your lip to stop yourself from letting out an embarrassing whimper at the words you longed to hear once again, and nodded your response instead.

——————-

Getting into her place was messy. As soon as the Uber dropped you off, JJ’s lips, tongue, and teeth were all over you again. The way she was kissing you, you already knew you were a mess for her.

As soon as she managed to get her front door open, she slammed it closed and then slammed you onto it, grinding her knee between your legs as she kissed you in a frenzy. At some point, the two of you had pulled off your shoes and she had scooped you up, still kissing you like crazy, as she walked the two of you to the bedroom.

When she flung you onto the bed, with more excitement than grace, you didn’t even have time to react before she was on top of you, pulling at yours and her own clothes.

“Tonight,” JJ growled against lips, “you’re going to know that you belong to me alone, always.” You felt her hips roll against yours from where she had already gotten between your legs and you gasped at the sensation.

“And you— you’re- oh god.” JJ’s teeth were sinking into your neck again and her hands already had your shirt and bra over your chest so her fingers could play with your nipples. It was making full sentences nearly impossible to get out. “Y-you’re mine.”

“All yours, princess,” JJ purred as her tongue and teeth moved down your neck and onto your chest. The second you felt her warm mouth close around your nipple, you couldn’t stop the pathetic whine that fell from your lips. You didn’t even notice that JJ had also managed to pull your shirt over your head, you were just so far gone in all the sensations she was giving you and she hadn’t even really started yet.

JJ spent time paying attention to your breasts, alternating between your nipples with her lips and teeth while she continued to rock her thigh between your legs and encouraged you to grind on her. Things were building up fast too, you could feel yourself getting worked up and close to release, but you desperately wanted more. More of her touch, more of her hungry possessiveness, more of everything.

It was like she read your mind though, because in an instant she was pulling away. You started to whine but then you felt her hands pull at your tight jeans and you were just relieved that it meant more direct contact with JJ where you needed her most. But then, once you were finally completely naked, JJ got off the bed.

“Where are you going…” you trailed off as your eyes followed her to her night stand. You didn’t need an answer, as you watched her pull out a silk bag that outlined its contents quite obviously. JJ quickly removed the rest of her clothes before returning to the foot of the bed.

“I got this a while ago for us,” JJ admitted as she pulled out what the bag was not-so-discreetly hiding. “But I was holding off on telling you, I was worried I would get too intense if we tried it, but…” JJ was back on the bed, kneeling between your legs, her hands on either of your knees. “I’m tired of holding back, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard as your eyes zeroed in on what JJ’s hands were doing. With a pink, double-sided strap in her hands, she was spreading lube on both sides. You couldn’t help but notice how one side was quite larger than the other.

“It vibrates by the way,” JJ’s wink was even visible in the dimly lit room. “Are you okay with this?”

You appreciated the check in, and yeah you were nervous for this, but you also had never wanted something more than this moment right now. “Yes,” you practically moaned the word in excited anticipation.

“Good,” JJ gave you a smile more mischievous than you’ve ever seen it. And your eyes were still completely transfixed on the way her hands were lowering the toy down between her legs. “Let me just…” she trailed off as she took it inside herself and you watched in a trance as she shivered at the sensation.

Then it was your turn. She readjusted your own legs, spreading you wider and you couldn’t help but feel yourself flush at how exposed you were. You also knew you were incredibly wet from her already. Even if she used lube, you didn’t think you needed it. Although, it was big, and the biggest you’ve ever taken before was just her three fingers…

The toy lining up with your entrance is what woke you up from your thoughts and you gulped. JJ’s pupils were blown as she looked down at your naked body, your pussy dripping wet for her before she even entered you. And then, in a flash, she was all the way in.

The way you both groaned at the sudden feeling spurred JJ on fast. She was immediately entranced by how good she felt while also being flush between your own thighs. “Doing okay?” JJ’s voice was strained, she was trying hard not to just start fucking you into the mattress. She needed the okay first.

“Mm.. mhm,” was all you could manage, but you paired it with a nod. Your eyes were shut tight and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your own hips against JJ’s, desperate to feel her start moving.

The toy was big, the way it stretched you out burned, but it was so fucking delicious in every way. Except, the moment you rolled your hips a second time that was all it took for JJ to break. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go slow with this toy, not when it felt good to actually feel you somewhat when you try to fuck yourself on the strap. She just didn’t know it would be this good.

JJ’s grip on your legs tightened and she began to grind into you hard. Your head immediately fell back onto the bed when you felt JJ’s hips rock into your own. She was moving faster than you expected she would and it was all overwhelming.

With the way JJ was moving, her whole body was now pressed against yours. Moans and desperate sighs came from above you and you couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her even tighter against you. Your hips moved in time with hers and the way you felt her shake in pleasure above you while you took every single pump of the toy into you was incredible.

JJ’s hand came to your chin and she pulled your head back down until you were face to face, her body never slowing from the way it rutted into you. “Does it feel good?” JJ purred as she kept fucking into you with the strap, every pump pushing her end against the right spot for her. “Do you like what I’m doing to you, princess?”

You moaned, your eyes squeezing shut tight as JJ pumped even harder in that moment. But JJ’s hand stayed on your chin, squeezing a little tighter than before. “Use your words,” she demanded as her thrusts got more powerful.

“Yes!” You cried when JJ’s other hand moved to hook your own leg around her waist. “Fuck just— please just don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” JJ groaned as she felt her own peak building. “Look at me.”

It was a struggle to open your eyes but you did so just as JJ’s hand moved from your chin to your neck. “You’re mine,” JJ growled as she applied pressure. You groaned out a yes in agreement and JJ moaned as her hips continued to move frantically.

“You’re mine,” she repeated, fucking into you with full force, “and you’re going to look at me when I make you cum.” Those words were what finally did it, you fell apart on her strap with a loud moan. Her hips never stopped their pace until finally you felt her whole body shudder above you. Her head fell into your neck and you felt the way she moaned and placed wet kisses to your bare skin. The way the orgasm hit JJ was just as powerful as yours and you both slowed for a moment.

But that moment was short, because as JJ pressed her whole body weight on top of you, you felt her hips roll again and you whined at the sensitive sensation.

“Shhh,” JJ soothed, “you’re going to give me one more.”

“JJ I don’t know if-“ her hands were moving down your body, hoisting both your legs this time over her hips. You tried to finish your sentence but you couldn’t with the way she was slowly pumping the toy back into your already sensitive pussy.

“We haven’t even tried all its features.” You didn’t comprehend what JJ meant until it was too late and she had you gasping in surprise. One of her hands had left your leg and moved down between the two of you. She had turned on the vibration and now, the pink, rather large strap on that was inside both of you was vibrating in a way that was causing your eyes to roll back into your head.

“Oh my god,” you both said in unison, only your voice sounded like a garbled moan at the same time, while JJ just sounded breathlessly fascinated at the reaction it was pulling from you.

“This is better than I ever dreamed it would be,” JJ purred as her hips restarted their rocking rhythm into you. The way the toy curved so the base of it hit JJ’s clit at the same time made her struggle with her staying steady and slow, but she knew you were sensitive and needed to be worked back up gently at first.

With your legs hooked over her waist though, the strap was hitting even deeper than it had been when you first came and now that it was vibrating too, you swore you were seeing stars.

“That’s it,” JJ whispered as she grabbed your hips and helped you fuck into her strap. “Keep moaning for me, baby, moan my name.”

You didn’t even know you were doing that. You just couldn’t even control your body. All you could do was moan and whine as you let JJ fuck your into the mattress.

Your whole body was shaking and JJ’s was too. Her pace was faster again and you knew it was a matter of time before you both came together again, but when JJ reached down and turned up the vibration you instantly fell apart in a show of moans and tears before she could cum with you.

She didn’t stop there though, she didn’t even turn down the vibration as her hips started going harder.

“J… JJ I can’t.” You were practically slurring your words, you could barely function with how many sensations were going on as JJ kept using your body to get herself off.

“Shhh, one more baby one more,” JJ pleaded as she chased her own orgasm using your body. “I wanna cum again too.”

You just nodded desperately, your eyes shut tight as JJ again pressed her naked body to yours and fucked the toy into the both of you. Her moans were getting louder and yours were matching as your nearly exhausted body was being brought to the edge for a third time.

JJ hips were slamming hard into yours again, so hard you knew there would be bruises. And the grip she had on your hips was so tight you figured there would be nail marks left over too. But neither of you cared, because when JJ came on top of you again with a desperate moan you couldn’t help the cry that you let out as you felt your body release for a third time.

And finally, finally after a brief moment, JJ moved to turn the vibration off. Your body jolted at the feeling of it finally stopping, but you couldn’t even pick up your own head to look as JJ slowly pulled the toy out from you and then her.

“Holy shit,” JJ panted as she rolled off you and pulled your spent body to her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly.

“Good… we’ll give it five minutes and then I want to taste you.”

“What?!” You perked up at that. Your body was still shaking and you knew your thighs were covered in your own cum. If you came one more time you didn’t think you’d be able to walk tomorrow.

“I told you,” JJ traced a finger across your jaw as you looked up at her with wide eyes. “I’m not holding back anymore. Tonight I will show you who you belong to and I’m not done showing you yet.”

You gulped as you looked at the resolve in her eyes. You knew there was no stopping this once JJ had decided to let go of control, but this is all you ever wanted. So, maybe another round… or even two… wouldn’t be so bad. At least you both had the day off tomorrow.

Join the taglist here

Tags: @geekyandgay98 @desperate-gay @high--power @finleyfray @natashamaximoff69 @inlovewithemilyprentiss @lovelyy-moonlight @jareguiromanoff @dj-bynum3718 @marinawolf @taivantaylor @noahrex

#jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau smut #jj x you #jj x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #jennifer jareau angst #jennifer jareau imagine #five-bi-five-mind

150 notes · View notes

larkingame · 23 hours ago

Text

so, it's 2025...long time no see.

I'll skip they hi, how are yous and get down to the real meat and potatoes of what I'm here to say. TLDR: Larkin is still being worked on (screenshots + such below) and it's always going to remain a free game, but it's under heavy construction atm. thanks for checking in 🫡

for the two people who want to hear the long sob story that usually comes with these type of posts from online creators: I fucked up my back majorly and was out of work for a long time. I went back to work pre-maturely and! I've fucked it up again. the stress of this, lack of income and the fact that i've been taking a lot of meds to help the injuries (but mess with my ability to stay coherent) has made it really difficult to consistently focus on larkin, writing, social media in general, but it is still getting worked on in bits and pieces.

that said, some back story: I started working on larkin in 2019/2020 and it was really really fun! loved it. had a great time. but then i started posting about it and showed it to other people (and to my surprise they??????? liked it????) which made me put a very large amount of pressure on myself that made it not so fun any more. over time i would go through cycles of it's fun! to it's not fun! and so on and so forth. throughout this time I also had pressure from a lot of people around me (irl) to somehow like. strictly monetize larkin somehow, and as someone who was like VERY INSECURE and obsessed with people like mishka making like insane funds off of her game of the same type?/genre? i gave in to that pressure (if you could not tell by all my occasional dirty deletes of shade towards twc. truly pathetic and if any of yall saw. apologies and thanks for ignoring it.) addressing that: i liked twc when it came out, it was fun for what it was and larkin would not exist without it. so thanks for that miss jenkins and i will probably still passively engage with it on my own time.

but, back to larkin. anyways, the looming pressure of this need to monetize made me hate everything that i was doing and constantly feel like i needed to re-evolve and rework and just, overall not have a fun time with it. throughout the months of november, december and january when i was really missing the days of larkin's existence as an idea when me and my sister would just like walk around our neighborhood and i would just infodump to her about my cowboy vampire ocs. so i found my old larkin notebook and the stickies i made planning plot stuff and avoiding tumblr i just. had fun working on my little cowboy vampire game. like not really thinking about other stuff. and that's essentially it.

so I came to a conclusion: larkin is something i love, and i want to continue loving it. so essentially, i won't be monetizing the game itself. episodes/chapters whatever they end up being in the end will always be free. yay. if you want extra content/want to support me in some way monetarily, feel free to join the patreon, however, I won't really be active on it until i have something substantial to show you game wise. that being said, you can still subscribe for access to the backlog of short stories and art etc. I'm turning off charges each month until i have like a real game for you to play that doesn't make me sick to my stomach to look at or think about. another note: pc players are going to be priority until it's finished. I will have a mobile version but i can't promise you she will be all that pretty.

another note, because larkin is free i can't promise quick turnarounds on anything but what i'll be offering on patreon when i start charging again and additionally: i'm back to making larkin a game for me. i really lost a lot of enjoyment for doing this stuff when i thought about that pressure i put on myself like i mentioned above but also, when i started writing it for other people in mind. first and foremost i am making larkin because i like cowboys, i like vampires, i like horror and religious trauma themes. i'm writing this for me: kc, so i can go on my computer and teehee at all the kissing scenes and make a cool cowboy character with fights. i'm going to make it gay and self-indulgent and basically just have fun with it because it's my game and i am making it and i said so.

all that said here are some of the major things i've done with larkin over this past little while:

updated the website so that it is now useable :)

done a lot of work on the ui:

and i have been rewriting a lot of stuff because I FEEL like it was not good and was not fun for me. THE DEMO FROM LAST JUNE ESPECIALLY. it hurts my stomach to look at.

visually, dan (@tapeworrmart ) has been on his fucking a-game with the art even through my crisis. here's the male ace portrait he put together for me last fall and the art for the main menu:

we also have some more art in the works that i am very excited for because they are in pursuit of new fun features :D

all that said. thanks for the continued support if you're still reading this, appreciate any interest you have in my game.

#larkin game #interactive fiction #game development #larkin #larkin interactive fiction

73 notes · View notes

fakegingerrights · 2 days ago

Text

Oh my stars this just unlocked a core memory

We got a bucket of them at a garage sale once. My sister and I divided them between us. We loved these stupid little toys. At the same time, we were also, the neurodivergent little shitlings we were, becoming obsessed with the idea of easter egg hunts. But without the eggs.

One at a time, we'd take the other's shopkins and hide them around the living room in as many nooks and crannies as we could find, and the other would have to find them all. You couldn't hide your own shopkins otherwise the other would steal them when they found them (we were insanely jealous of the other's collection) so you had to hide theirs. It also worked in the way that you had bonus incentive to find them all otherwise the other person got to keep the ones you didn't find.

When I say we had a lot of these things, I mean we probably had nearly a hundred each. And we played this back and forth game incessantly for almost two years. Our little brothers were too young to play and we were also obsessed with hide and seek but this was a happy medium.

Then, as children do, we got ahold of nail polish and covered all the shopkins in glow in the dark clear polish from Claires. We'd leave them in the sun all day then hide them and you had to find them before they lost their glow in a blacked out room.

We also had individual names and personalities for every single shopkin we ever owned. I have no clue what their real names were but for a solid 8 months our lives entirely revolved around this game and these toys. This is probably the longest stint in our entire lives (until I moved out of home) that me and my sister went without fighting. Everything was settled with a match. The goal was to eventually hide the other's shopkins so well they couldn't find any and you got to keep them all, thus making you the bestest in the house at hiding tiny objects in potentially hazardous locations.

Then one day we just... didn't play. I don't exactly remember what happened, and we might still have the collection somewhere (probably not, we've moved 5 times since then) but I haven't thought about that in years until I saw this post and everything hit me like a sleeper agent activation.

... I'm gonna ask my sister if she still has any. We haven't talked in a while.

DID YALL HAVE SHOPKINS OMG

#gingerno #gingerspeaks #shopkins

371 notes · View notes

wisteria-lodge · 3 days ago

Note

What do you think a genderswapped Harry Potter (Harriet Potter?) would've been like?

So to start... I actually don't think life at the Dursleys would be all that different for Fem!Harry. Maybe there would be less *violent* bullying from Vernon and Dudley... but they honestly don't manage all that much as it is, and Harry's "normal" abuse mostly consists of being shouted at, locked up, treated as a scullery maid, and just generally made into a scapegoat + inferior/problem child that the rest of the family can unite around. If anything, Fem!Harry would have just reminded Petunia even MORE of Lily, and stirred up even MORE complicated emotions. And we'd get even more of live-in chef/maid Cinderella!Harry. It would all feel very Matilda.

The first big change I see happening... is I don't think Ron would have bonded with Harry on the train nearly as easily, if she were a girl. Young Ron is honestly pretty uncomfortable/awkward around girls... unless he's able to put them into a category like "little sister" (which doesn't count.) Or "know-it-all" (which doesn't count.) It's kind of a plot point in Book 4 that it takes him a while to realize Hermione and Ginny are girls he and Harry could potentially ask to the dance. Ron grew up around a bunch of guys, and you can tell. I think he'd try to *impress* Fem!Harry on the train, and probably put his foot in his mouth.

Harry would be at kind of loose ends on the Hogwarts Express, and get sucked into the search for Trevor the toad as something to do. So in this version, she actually ends up bonding with Neville. Hermione would be there too but well - Hermione rubbed Harry the wrong way at first in canon, and it would be even more the case here. They're both (functionally) muggleborn girls - but Hermione is SO much better prepared, and has SUCH loving parents, and won't shut up about any of this. In a way that Canon!Harry kind of fixates on Draco for ending up with his Ideal Life, it's possible that Fem!Harry might fixate more on Hermione.

11-year-old Draco would have treated Fem!Harry exactly the same, meeting her at Madame Malkin's and later on the train. He'd still have his obsession with her, and yeah, it probably does read as more of a crush to his Slytherin buddies... but I really do not see that stopping him. If his father can't get him to be normal to Harry, then that's just how it's going to be.

Harry will still get Sorted into Gryffindor, but I don't see her being close with any of the the other Gryffindor girls. Lavender and Parvati just have very different personalities, and Harry and Hermione... are very intense people who work best when they're able to take breaks from each other. In Book 4 when Harry is exclusively hanging out with Hermione, he comments that she's not as *fun* as Ron. And we see that dynamic again in Book 7 when it's just the two of them in the tent. Like they're incredibly effective, but seem to be wearing each other down a little. I think that forcing young (less emotionally mature) Harry and Hermione to be roommates would just end up with them getting on each other's nerves.

Hermione might get pulled into the friend group when Harry and Neville need help researching Nicholas Flamel, but she could easily stay more of a supporting character or even a frenemy in this version. Fem!Harry would still be the youngest seeker in a century. (Draco would be even more motivated to steal Neville's Remembrall if Neville is Harry's best friend... so that face-off would have gone down exactly the same.) Once she's actually on the team, I could see her falling in more with the upperclassmen, and hanging out with Fred, George, Lee, and Angelina (especially if they put together that she's a bit lonely.) It could be Harry, Neville, maybe Hermione, maybe the twins solving the puzzles at the end of Book 1. They'd still suspect Snape, who... would honestly be just a slightly different flavor of antagonistic and weird towards Harry, if she were a girl.

But in second year, Ginny would be Sorted into Gryffindor and I do think that Fem!Harry and Ginny would get along great, absolutely be bros. They could bond over quidditch, and Harry would get more of a sense of Ginny's actual personality (funny, cool). I have to think 11-year-old Ginny would be much less awkward around Harry if she were a girl.

Which would be really intense actually, because Ginny would have shown up to school with the the Diary, and it's... sort of important to the plot that she's isolated and has no friends. If she shares it with Harry as a cool thing - then Harry is ABSOLUTELY going to get obsessed with it. And since Harry's a much better *get* for Tom (Tom talks about being *so* pleased when powerful, important, future nemesis Harry starts writing to him instead of Ginny...) I think you just get Possessed!Harry opening up the Chamber of Secrets.

Also, would Harry have a crush on Tom? We know that Tom Riddle tries to impress Canon!Harry, which doesn't work... but Fem!Harry he might try to charm. Tom can be very charming if he wants to be. Harry also thinks he's very handsome. Either way, Tom is going to work VERY hard to to get Harry to distrust her friends. Really, you'd just get Harry's plot about being isolated and possessed by Voldemort in Book 5 moved to Book 2. Tom would get Harry to write "her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever" on the wall, and lure her down to the Chamber of Secrets.

However. I do think that Lily's magic, which makes it impossible for Voldemort to physically touch Harry, would also make it impossible for him to properly drain her life and take over her body. I'm thinking of the moment at the end of Book 5 where Voldemort tries to possess Harry, but Harry fights him off. So... I think Harry just wakes up in the Chamber of Secrets with an intact Diary and a basilisk she can control, since of course she's still a parselmouth.

The question is... what happens to the Diary, now that Harry knows it's dangerous? I'm thinking that when Harry disappears, Ginny freaks out and tells one of her older brothers what's going on, who tells Arthur, who tells Dumbledore. Which leaves Dumbledore with a Horcrux that still works... and it seems like if you've got school-age Tom Riddle right there, that would be a much easier way to get an answer to the question 'how many horcuxes do you plan on making?' So Dumbledore gets a head start on that project.

Harry now effectively just is the Heir of Slytherin. She can go to the Chamber whenever she wants, and the basilisk is her familiar I guess (Hagrid would LOVE helping her take care of it.) I could also see a Harry who gets more *interested* in Salazar Slytherin after this. She definitely wouldn't talk to Draco - he spent Book 2 being an asshat and calling people slurs. But Harry might try to pick Theo's brain or something.

Now Hermione. At first I was thinking - does Hermione just die, in Book 2? Would she have known to look around corners with a mirror, and so survive her basilisk attack?

I do think she'd still figure it out... and it's because of Lockhart. Hermione is a Gilderoy Lockhart *fangirl,* and without Ron and Harry poo-pooing her crush (and without first hand experience of Lockhart causing issues for Harry...) I think she's able to geek about about this with her roomies. I mean, Lavender and Parvati read Witch Weekly. They know he's won the Most Charming Smile award. Hermione likes a project, and without Harry and Ron providing one, I think her new thing is impress Lockhart. And what would impress Lockhart? Well, he's a monster hunter who is trying to find the Chamber of Secrets and identify what's inside. How cool would it be, if they were the ones who helped him? He'd write about them in his next book.

So I think the Polyjuice Potion plan (Hermione's idea) is still a go. She might even talk Lavender and/or Parvati into helping out. (I mean, they joined the DA. They're up for some rulebreaking.) Hermione would still turn herself into a cat, which would actually massively humanize her in the eyes of her roommates, and I think they all end up much better friends in this AU. Eventually, one of them does manage to Polyjuice into Pansy, which is a much more effective way of interrogating Draco. And by this point, Hermione has met Myrtle, and has enough info to solve the mystery, and even bring her findings to Lockhart. Who ah. Finds an excuse to just run. There's a very fun portion of the year where Dumbledore teaches DADA.

I don't see all that much about Book 3 changing until the climax - because the crew Harry takes down to Hagrid's after dark *would* be different. Neville, Ginny (not the Twins - I think they give Harry the Map and peace out, they've got their own stuff going on and don't want to hang out with their much younger sister.) Maybe Theo? I could see him taking on a very Hermione-ish support role by this point.

But this also causes a problem, because if Ron isn't there, Scabbers isn't with him. And if Scabbers isn't with Ron - I don't think Remus notices Peter on the map, and so just stays inside and drinks his Wolfsbane, which means Snape doesn't go down. And since Sirius' target was never *actually* Harry... I think this is just a universe where Sirius first-degree-murders Peter, and doesn't have a confrontation with Harry at all.

I do think Voldemort still comes back though. Trelawney would still have made her prophecy ("His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master.") In this universe, that prophecy would refer to Barty jr, finally throwing off the Imperius curse for the first time.

Bertha Jorkins still goes on her trip to Albania, and... Voldemort probably just possesses her the same way he did Quirrell. I bet that's easier to do after someone's been sort of fried by a memory wipe. Also, being in her head, I have to assume he's eventually gets some inkling of the fact that Barty is still alive, and so goes looking for him. Harry still goes to the Quidditch World Cup since she's friends with Ginny, her scar is still hurting (she probably writes to Lupin about this, instead of Sirius, but Lupin gives her pretty similar advice. He will have still left Hogwarts, because Snape would still have outed him as a werewolf at the end of the year.)

Harry still ends up as Champion. I think Big Sister Fleur would be a little more protective of Fem!Harry than Canon!Harry. And also... Harry just straight-up has a crush on handsome, nice, good at Quidditch Cedric. Rita could write about the Harry/Cedric/Cho love triangle, instead of Harry/Hermione/Krum.

The Yule Ball would actually be kind of a big deal for Fem!Harry. Up until now, she's been kind of a tomboy who wears Dudley's hand-me-downs... and is occasionally forced into some terrible 'party dress' when Aunt Marge visits. Harry's best friends are a boy and a tomboy, her quidditch teammates are feminine role-models but very much athletes: 'girly' hyper-femininity is something she associates with Aunt Petunia.

But, fourth year roles around. Mrs. Weasley buys her a set of emerald-green dress robes that actually look really nice, and she needs to find a date for the ball. I think she thinks about asking Cedric... but chickens out at the last minute, and asks Neville to go with her as a friend. Between her much more girly roommates, and Fleur taking pity on her and giving her some tips... I think Hermione's big Yule Ball glow-up is also Harry's first experience with wanting to look pretty, and succeeding.

I think it would be fun, and make sense, if this lead into a little secret admirer subplot. Someone is leaving her little gifts and messages, and she's thinking - is it Neville? Theo? Cedric?

(it was Draco. Instead of the blast-ended skrewts, Hagrid has them all taking care of Harry's basilisk, and like... she has a basilisk... she's the Heir of Slytherin... she asked Longbottom to the ball when she could do so much better... she was wearing green and looking perfect. Draco's Harry obsession has sorted itself out into a very serious crush.)

Back to the main plot. With Peter dead, I'm not sure Barty would be able to take care of Voldemort AND prep the ritual to bring him back to life AND impersonate Moody. He's going to need a man on the inside. I think at first he tries to use his father - but as we know that is going to get very risky very fast, because Barty Sr is remarkably good at fighting the Imperius curse, and also just knows way too much. He's a huge risk, because if he goes rouge, he'll tell Dumbledore everything (which is very nearly what happens.)

So I think Barty Jr. targets Barty Sr.'s assistant Percy Weasley, after he can no longer control his father. Uses him as a way to affect things in Hogwarts. He might imperius him, but he also might just like... Polyjuice himself into his father for short periods, and manipulate Percy in a non-magical way to make sure he helps Harry, and gets her through the maze to the cup first. Once Percy realizes what he's done... I think he re-commits to his family in penance, and stops being a such a Ministry man.

Voldemort rising works as kind of a reset button, so things would start looking a lot more canon again, only with Ron and Hermione swapped out for Ginny and Neville. Main difference being, Voldemort has Barty now. I absolutely think he would have survived Book 4.

So I'm going to leave this what-if here for now. Thanks for the ask, this was a lot of fun to think about.

#hp #hp what if #genderswapped harry potter #girl harry potter #harry/cedric #harry/tom #harry/neville #harry/draco #tell me if I forgot anything #missed anything #or if you have any ideas #girl harry potter au #fem harry potter au

117 notes · View notes

noctiva · 17 hours ago

Note

Im madly obsessed with vampires so it’s only fair I ask for vampire Toby hc-🪽

regular toby bites so vampire!toby??? oh lord…

Vampire!Toby Headcanons

CW!! biting obv, mentions of blood and injury, sexual content, slight dubcon, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

Vampire!Toby falls in love with you at first sight. Well… First scent.

He had smelled you from blocks away when he was out a night stalking the shadows, a scent so sweet he found himself gravitating towards it.

To which he found you, as the source.

And you looked even sweeter than you smelled.

He could only imagine your taste.

Vampire!Toby felt his fangs ache as he watched you; so blissfully unaware. Walking home from your job at the tavern, completely ignorant to the fact that a monster of the night was tracking your every step.

He would follow you the whole way home, taking note of where you lived - for future reference.

Vampire!Toby tried to wait, but that scent. What he smelled emanating off of you that night was ingrained in his mind.

He knew for a fact, that you had to be the most succulent feast in this entire damn city.

He knew that, because every other victim he feasted on started to taste… Stale. Flavourless. The only thing pleasurable about the experience being the theft of energy from their lifeless bodies.

There was simply no fun in it anymore, because he knew that you were better - and he hadn’t even tasted you yet.

Vampire!Toby snuck into your room one night, when the cravings got too intense to bear.

Through your window, which you left unlocked.

Not because you were stupid, just… Ignorant. But he supposed he couldn’t blame you. Creatures like him were just the object of myth and fairy tails, you would have no reason to fear something you didn’t believe to exist.

But maybe you should’ve.

Vampire!Toby just can’t help himself when he lays his eyes on you once more.

Sound asleep, like a beautiful doll, soft breaths causing your chest to rise and fall. Rise and fall. A sensation he hadn’t experienced in centuries.

Vampire!Toby walks over to your bed slowly, quietly, before kneeling next to you - sweat beading up on his skin as he breathes in the scent of you so close.

It’s more intense than ever, and it makes his head spin.

He can’t help but lean over you and nuzzle into your neck, a wave of heat washing over as his listens to the rhythmic thump thump thump of blood rushing through your veins.

It was calling to him. You were calling to him, even if you weren’t aware.

Vampire!Toby would leave your neck slick with saliva before he finally sunk his fangs in.

And when you awoke from the searing pain, he’d hold you down.

You were just as delectable as he imagined. The taste of your blood coating his tastebuds in a flavour so unique it made him dizzy.

Vampire!Toby would only be spurred on more by the sound of your cries.

The perfect accompaniment, to the feeling of your blood gushing into his mouth. So hot and fresh that he found himself leaking drool against your skin with each mouthful he swallowed down.

Vampire!Toby would keep you alive.

Wouldn’t drain you completely, because that would be a waste.

If he were greedy enough to suck dry the most delicious food source he had ever laid his lips on, he would’ve kicked himself for years to come.

So instead, he just drinks until you fall unconscious. Then, when your breathing goes shallow he retracts his fangs.

Only because he knew, that would one taste would never be enough.

So, Vampire!Toby would take you with him.

Whisk you out into the night with your limp body in his arms, the taste of you still staining his lips.

He would bring you back to the abandoned castle he called home, hellbent on keeping you with him.

Which he would ultimately, be successful at doing.

Vampire!Toby would keep you captive at first, and wipe the tears from your cheeks as he fed from you for the hundredth time.

But by the two hundredth, you would find yourself sinking into the feeling.

Sickly craving this depraved man’s touch. If you could even call him a man. This monster’s touch.

Vampire!Toby would try to be gentle as he could with you. Never taking more blood than he absolutely needed.

(Though, he would fantasize about bleeding you dry. Sucking every drop of decadent blood from your veins, until there was nothing left for your heart to pump).

But, he would never. Mostly, because it would just be stupid to discard of the constant blood source he had acquired - but partially because he had grown fond of you.

Fond of the way you started to run your hands through his hair as he sunk his teeth into your skin, tearing back open a wound he had created millions of times now.

Fond of the way you went so pliant beneath him - going from rigid and terrified, to submitting completely.

It was only natural, that at one point during feeding, Vampire!Toby would find himself growing hard in his slacks as he tugged you in close - fangs in your neck as your nails dragged down his back.

And if you were to indulge him?

It would become a nightly occurrence.

Vampire!Toby fucks you slow and deep as he pulls blood from your veins - euphoria thrumming through his entire body. Unable to decide if he should focus on your velvety walls sucking him in, or your blood gushing against his tongue.

His favourite, was having you on top though.

Letting you warm his cock as he litters your neck with bite marks, nudging his hips up every so often just to keep you sated.

But your neck wasn’t the only victim.

Vampire!Toby would leave you absolutely covered in bite marks.

Your thighs, chest, shoulders, hips - not caring if it was an optimal place to suck blood from, just wanting the taste of your skin on his tongue.

Vampire!Toby would leave you weak more often than not.

Either from the blood loss, or how ferociously he had given you his cock the night prior.

(Or sometimes, both).

When you’re passed out completely, he would nuzzle up against you - lazily licking at your neck to try and satiate the craving that always persisted.

But as time went on, he would go easier on you.

Only drinking until you’re a little woozy, not completely gone.

You’d taste your own blood on Vampire!Toby’s lips when you kissed him, and prick your lips on his teeth more often than not.

(An instance that he absolutely adored.)

Vampire!Toby became obsessed with you from the first night he spotted you, and now that he had you, he wasn’t planning to ever let you leave.

Good thing you didn’t want to.

—————————————————————————☆

I’m doing headcanons bc they’re quicker to get out then full fics

vampire!toby yummy yum yum!!

#toby rogers #crp #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #ticci toby hc #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby smut #toby rogers headcannon #toby rogers x reader #toby rogers smut #crp headcanon

71 notes · View notes

wherearedagrapes · 17 hours ago

Text

Man, we have almost the exact same ideas about Amy! That’s crazy Haha! She’s been one of my favorite Sonic characters since I first played (I think it was) Sonic Adventure 2 as a little kid? I loved that she was pink and small but brandished this big hammer and big personality. I’m hoping she keeps that, which means, yeah I both want and expect movie Sonic and Amy to have a bit of a rocky start lol But that’ll make the balance they establish later more rewarding.

I also think it’s more interesting than Amy being seen as this, like, perfect dream girl that Sonic spends the movie trying to get with. As cute as the fam giving Sonic dating advice would be, I really need Amy to be complex and kind of a pain like the other characters. I want her to challenge Sonic (and vice versa). I want them to learn from each other, to grow because of each other. Since that’s been the case with all the characters introduced in the movies thus far, I’m not too worried. But, you know, there’s always going to be a little wariness.

I’m excited to see movie Sonic and Amy’s dynamic as buds beyond that friction as teammates. They’re both playful, high-energy characters that I can see keeping up with each other’s quips and bits and having similar senses of humor. I think they can match each other’s freak in a way their game counterparts don’t exactly lol… Again, the movies have done such a great job with Tom and Maddie that I’m not that worried. Like I constantly think about how we’re introduced to them as a couple — with Maddie having bought two cakes for Tom in case he didn’t get the job in San Fran and pulling out the wrong one by mistake lmao like that’s so funny, and right away it tells us so much about them! But I’m getting sidetracked. Anyway

What you described, Amy being kind of a control freak in the team at first because she’s desperately trying to keep the situation from becoming worse — because she’s so passionate about this, about saving the world — is exactly what I see! Those obsessive traits of hers manifesting from her obsession with this mission, her life’s mission essentially. (Much like Knuckles guarding the Master Emerald) This is her destiny. And in being so obstinate and self-sacrificing, she’s actually sabotaging her chances of success. Yes!!

I didn’t notice the explosion is blue and pink — that’s very interesting… And Ivo being sent to the past instead is totally plausible. I don’t know how I feel about Amy having chaos powers though. Like, okay — I’m not super familiar with Sonic game lore, but having chaos powers is supposed to be rare. Right? In the games, it’s just Shadow. In the movies, I think it’s Shadow and Sonic? And having that power is treated as a very special (and dangerous) thing.

All of the alien characters definitely have heightened abilities. Knuckles also seems to have inherited and learned specific abilities from his tribe. So I can see Amy having some clairvoyance due to her family or culture. But that’s not chaos energy, right? Or is it? Is chaos energy like the Force in Star Wars? Lol I guess I’m curious why you think Amy has chaos powers aside from Metal Sonic creating that pink energy blast.

With Amy coming along, I can't stop thinking about the Amy-Sonic/Tom-Maddie parallels.

You know, the pink and blue scheme, Tom having a similar personality to Sonic and Amy possibly having some similarities to Maddie, Amy and Maddie possibly being two big city girls with Amy being from New York and Maddie from San Francisco while Tom and Sonic are both from Green Hills, the setup of Amy plus 3 Wachowski siblings as well as Maddie and Tom, who canonically have siblings too.

They've been foreshadowing this couple since the second movie, fight me!!

(and Tom x Maddie are the parents and couple ever, I love them!)

(Also, please give Maddie more prominence. She's awesome!)

#the pink may also be a nod to the ova as hyper metal sonic gives off a pink energy streak against sonic #heavy emphasis on the may though #we can continue this discussion in private if you want since this post is getting kind of long 😅#i really want to hear more of your thoughts!#amy rose

176 notes · View notes

vibelladonna · 2 days ago

Text

❛ 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

123 notes · View notes

urrmomzfavorite · 16 hours ago

Text

PAC: Your Next Relationship (who, where, when)

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile One🐲:

Who: A bombshell—someone sexy. You’ll see this person as eye candy. They’ll catch your eye the second you’re in the same room as them. They have a magnetic aura, they command authority simply with their presence. They could be taller than average. I’m hearing tall,dark and handsome. Where: I’m getting the image of someone’s hands holding your waist, saying, “Excuse me?” Ooooh, this is dangerous. The second they touch you? Electrified. The eye contact lingers, and the sudden rise in temperature sets your body on fire. You’ll fall for each other at first sight. I can feel the sexual tension, the people around too.lol. This is this type of thing when everyone at work can clearly see you guys like each other but you still play it slow. This feels like having a crush when you’re younger. Getting excited to go to work because you know they will be there. This is really cute, you guys make each other blush. When: This could happen when you’re starting something new—maybe a new workplace, a vacation, or even a cruise for some. It could happen after a move, I see movement. You won’t see it coming, but trust me, it’s coming. 18+ Thoughts: “You need a spanking” “Let me worship you” “Moan my name”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two🧚🏾:

Who: You know them. Yes, it’s them. I know you’re tired of hearing about them, but listen—you need to talk to this person. They don’t want to let go. They can’t let you go. It’s you; it has to be you. Wow, someone’s spiraling.This person is losing their mind over you. You might be ignoring them, a little taste of the silent treatment huh? They can’t handle it. Now it’s clear they have no power, and by the way they are reacting, they know time is up? You’ve given a lot of time/chances to this person. It’s funny how karma works, all that time wasted on them is now being repaid by constant obsession and insecurity when it comes to their place in your life. Their position is rocky? Do they even still have one?

Where: I don’t know if this person is blocked, but they’ve spent an insane amount of time in their Notes app, trying to come up with the best way to start a conversation. Adding you on social media with fake accounts? This is actually wild. I don’t feel like they’re dangerous—they just seem desperate for your attention and approval. They seem determinated? Needing to know what you are doing, with whom? This person is unwell. Pile two this is your next relationship reading, but you don’t have to make space for someone in your life when they are in this state. Also you don’t even have to date them, but they have a huge pull on your energy, frantikly trying to hold onto you. They regret not telling you how they felt, how much you mattered. They don’t know why they tried so hard to make you feel like you didn’t. Omgggg this is actually hurting my head.

When: I think you haven’t talked to this person in a while, and that’s the problem. Paranoia has had time to grow, and now it’s like a virus. They’re losing sleep over this. It’s like all those times they tried desperately not to think about you—and succeeded—are coming back to haunt them. And they’re not letting go 18+ Thoughts: “ I want to make it up to you in bed” “Answer my calls” “I miss you caressing me”

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three🍀:

Who: You don’t know this person yet. They’re really tall and love earthy colors—green looks amazing on them. This person is crafty and loves spending time in nature. They have this quiet confidence. Where does it come from? From knowing exactly who they are. They are secure in themselves and it shows in the way they walk, talk, breath.lol. This person has a strange effect on you, they feel like a warm blanket, and this feeling is constant. No roller coaster. As if you were spending the early mornings on a beach watching the sun rise. This is finally a love that doesn’t take anything from you, it just adds to your life.

Where: This will happen outside on a summer day—maybe in a garden or a park. This person sees you reading? LOL, they quickly Google the book on their phone before approaching. Smart one! This person knows what they want and doesn’t play games. They’re also excellent cooks! You could meet them at a class someone invites you to—you’re trying it out for free. This person feels so refreshing, they are exactly what you need when you meet them. They see you and already start plotting, They don’t look like it tho. With their dazzling smiles. I’m getting surfer boy energy lol. They seem so zen, so at peace, and this energy will rub off on you.

When: They’re slow-moving, and your paths haven’t aligned yet. I’m hearing that both of you need to make some lifestyle changes before being united. This one is really up to divine timing but it is worth it.

18+ Thoughts: “Let’s break the bed.” “Let me tie you up.” “I want to make you c*m”

✨Psst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !✨

#tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile #astrology #spiritual journey #18+ tarot #divination #tarot witch #pick a card reading #daily tarot

124 notes · View notes

ch33z3grits · 20 hours ago

Text

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

summary: Camille tries to push away her feelings as she navigates her hesitation surrounding her engagement. Terry lays the foundation for the most important part of his plan so far.

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, obsessiveness/possessiveness, stalking, angst, mentions of blood and violence, fluff

word count: 7700

a/n: as promised, posted a day early 🙂‍↕️ (only roughly edited tho lolll) lmk what y'all think of the new POV 👀

Camille’s song: You Right-Doja Cat | Terry’s song: I Luv Your Girl-The Dream

Pt. Four

Camille

Camille woke up feeling refreshed, an undeniable excitement flowing through her. It had been about a two months since she started rotating between Aston and Terry, and the difference in her energy and happiness was stark. And it was all thanks to Terry, the man who made every week vibrant for her. He had a way of making each day feel full of purpose—whether it was high-energy and spontaneous, or laid-back and easygoing. He knew how to balance it all, and Camille found herself eagerly anticipating whatever he had in store next. One day, he was patiently showing her how to swing a golf club as they entertained his clients at Top Golf. The next, they were hunched over case files, dissecting old archives over a quiet lunch. He had a way of seamlessly blending work and play, of making everything feel interesting and engaging.

On other days, he would take her to community events, like mentoring young Black men eager to get into law. Or they would spend hours tracking down secondary sources to support a particularly tricky case. With Terry, even the most mundane tasks became something she looked forward to.

And with each passing rotation, Camille could feel herself slipping further into the pull of her crush on him, which she still refused to fully acknowledge. It wasn’t just his gorgeous face, his sharp intellect, or his easy confidence that captivated her. It was the way he made her feel valued and understood. She felt safe in his presence. And, there was an almost cherished feeling that washed over her when he looked at her, as if she were more than just a colleague to him.

Now, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case. He had plenty of people fawning over him in the office. Especially Stephanie, who hovered around him, doing whatever she could for his attention. Stephanie’s beauty and sex appeal was unmatched in the office. So Camille knew that she didn’t stand a chance. Besides, she couldn’t be with Terry anyway. She needed to finally get her father’s acceptance and protect her family’s financial security. A one-sided crush couldn’t get in the way of that.

The best part of finally feeling rested was that Camille had the energy to dive back into the things she truly loved. The first thing on her list was the early morning yoga sessions led by her best friend, Kali, every Saturday. The classes were always a space where they could reconnect.

Camille and Kali had met during their freshman year at a Black Student Union meeting. They quickly became inseparable, their bond growing stronger with every shared experience, every late-night conversation, and every laugh that made their sides ache.

When Camille moved to Houston three years ago, she was gripped by a crushing homesickness that left her feeling isolated and making friends seemed impossible. It didn’t help that her job at the time was draining her spirit. Each day felt like a struggle to just get through.

She poured her heart out to Kali about how difficult it had been to adjust. Without hesitation, Kali packed up her life and moved to Houston a month later. When Kali’s father, who raised her by himself, passed away the following summer after a battle with lung cancer, Camille became Kali’s rock. She stayed at her apartment for weeks, helping her with chores, managing her commitments, and comforting her through the grief overall.

Through all the highs and lows of their twenties, they had always been there for each other, whether it was celebrating achievements or pulling each other out of the darkest moments. But as time passed, life got busier. Camille’s career demands intensified, and the frequency of their interactions dwindled. Weekends that used to be filled with laughter and long talks now felt like rare treasures.

So, Camille had been counting down the days to this Saturday, eagerly anticipating the chance to spend time with her best friend again. It had been too long, and she was ready to pick up where they left off, to feel that comforting sense of sisterhood again.

Camille got to the studio right at 7 AM, jumping into Kali’s arms as soon as they saw each other. “Bitch, I’ve missed you soooo much,” Kali shouted as Camille pulled away. “We have so much to catch up on. Especially whatever this tea is you could only tell me in person.”

Camille hadn’t yet told her, or anyone for that matter, about Terry working at her firm and the feelings it brought about for her. It was the kind of thing that she was too afraid to discuss over the phone, just in case Aston was in earshot. Since they hadn’t seen each other since Chloe’s wedding, she had nearly three months of stuff to tell her about.

She buzzed with anticipation as the class came to a close. As she wrapped up her yoga mat, Kali waved bye to her last client before turning back to Camille. They squealed, hugging each other once more.

“Cammie, I’m just so happy to see you! It’s about fucking time that Aston gave you a damn break,” Kali scoffed. Camille sighed. Kali had witnessed the entirety of Aston and Camille’s relationship. She was there for her when Camille first found out about him cheating. She was her shoulder to cry on when she went through the heartbreak. When they got back together, she was very vocal about her dislike for him. And she still can’t stand him, even all these years later. It’s gotten to the point that Aston and Kali aren’t allowed to be in the same room, due to Kali throwing a drink on him at Camille’s graduation party. Camille had to beg him not to press charges and Kali had to promise to skip future functions that included him, unless it was their wedding.

But it worked out for Camille in the end. She never had to worry about Aston tagging along to their outings, so she could be as unfiltered as she wanted to be around Kali. No code switching. No tone policing. Just her being herself.

They chatted about minor things as they walked to a nearby coffee shop. They wanted to have their matcha lattes in hand and start their walk in the park before getting into the juiciest updates in their life. Once they got to the park, Kali immediately got down to business.

“Alright, Cam,” Kali said, sipping her drink. “What’s got you glowing?”

Camille smiled shyly. “I kinda have a new boss now. Working with him has been such a relief. I still get cases from Aston, but I don’t work with him as much–”

“Thank. God,” Kali cheered, making Camille playfully roll her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Camille started again. “But that’s kinda the problem. My new boss has been…somewhat of a distraction for me. You remember the guy I danced with at that last club we went to for Chloe’s bachelorette party?”

Kali’s eyes lit up. “That fine ass nigga with the braids? Who looked like he was gonna fuck you in front of everybody?”

Camille’s cheeks heated up. “Yes, him,” she nodded. Kali gave her a look. “What about him?”

Camille sucked in a breath, “He’s my new boss.”

Kali’s jaw dropped, stopping in her tracks. “That man who owned the club? He works with you?!” Camille nodded, biting her lip. Kali slapped a hand over her mouth, bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Omgggg, Camille! I fucking love this for you!” she shouted, prompting other park goers to look their way. Kali calmed down a bit before grabbing Camille’s hand, pulling her close. “Please, Camille. Please tell me you’re fucking him,” Kali whispered excitedly.

Camille's eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and shock. "Kali! Don't say that! I'm in a relationship," she protested, her eyes scanning the park for anyone who might know them.

Kali wasn’t deterred by Camille’s protesting. Instead, a sly grin played on her lips. “Yeah, and I absolutely hate the relationship. But that nigga from the club?! I’d support that ‘til the day I die.”

Camille groaned, her fingers running through her hair. “I really wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” she muttered.

“Too late, I already did," Kali shot back with a shrug, clearly unbothered. “Now tell me more. Are you at least going to try to take him to bed? Has he tried to make a move on you?”

Camille shook her head quickly. “Not at all. He’s been very sweet about the situation. He pulled me aside to tell me he would keep everything between us. He’s been nothing but professional.” She tried to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks warming from Kali’s lewd suggestions.

Kali’s shoulders slumped, a disappointed frown curling on her lips. “So he hasn’t given you any hints? Nothing?!” She raised an eyebrow.

Camille chuckled softly, shaking her head again. “No, Kali. He’s just been a perfect boss. I’ve been working on some of his cases for over a month now, and honestly, it’s been amazing. Everything’s interesting, there’s no pressure, just the best balance.” She smiled, the words coming from a place of genuine satisfaction. Camille’s stomach dropped as an amused, knowing look crossed Kali’s face.

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with a teasing glint. “And how do you really feel about him, Cam?”

Camille shifted awkwardly, looking down at her hands, and mumbled, “I think… I think I have a crush on him.” She couldn’t help but shrink into herself, afraid of what she had just confessed.

Kali’s laughter rang out loudly. “So there’s still hope! Y’all are gonna fuck, I just know it!”

“Kali–”

“Yeah he’s just frontin’ ‘cause y’all are at work, but that man was all over you at his club. You give him the green light and I’m sure he’ll have you folded like a pretzel in no time.”

“Kali…please. I’m engaged. Can we please respect that?” Camille’s voice trembled slightly, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. Kali rolled her eyes in the dramatic way only she could. “Camille, it’s never too late to back out of that arrangement. I want you happy more than anything. And I don’t know… maybe your new boss is like a wake-up call or something? I mean, a stranger you had so much chemistry with coming into your life again? That could be your way out. Or at least a little opportunity to get back at Aston?” Her eyes searched Camille’s face for a reaction.

Camille’s fingers froze on the cup, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. She stared back at Kali, unsure of how to respond.

Kali’s eyes softened, though her voice still held a firm edge. “I get it, okay? You’ve made a commitment to your family, and I respect that. But an arranged marriage is a big deal, Camille. You have one life. You can’t just walk down the aisle because it’s expected of you.”

The silence between them stretched out as Camille struggled to find her words.

“I’m not saying you should act on whatever you’re feeling, or that it's all about getting back at Aston,” Kali continued, her voice lowering. “But maybe it’s time you started thinking about what you want, and not just what Mr. DeWaterson wants. His world won’t end if you don’t go through with it. And if it does… I don’t give a fuck. You’re my friend, not him.”

After a few beats, Camille spoke, her voice low. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from it, Kali. It’s been planned for so long... My family, his family, everything... I’ve spent years trying to make this work in my head.” She shook her head, her voice cracking slightly. “But when I’m with my boss—his name is Terry by the way—it’s like... I’m able to escape reality and hope for something different. Something more loving, more passionate…,” Her eyes met her friend’s. “But like I said, he’s only been professional. There’s no chance of us getting together. I mean, he’s already sleeping with someone at the office. I can’t–”

“Wait, what?!” Kali nearly choked on her sip of matcha. “He’s that out in the open with it?”

Camille paused, thinking over the interactions he’s seen between Stephanie and Terry. There really wasn’t anything sexual about them. Stephanie definitely liked him and flirted with him all the time. But he just reacted with a cool amusement, nothing that really hinted at something going on outside of that.

“Well…no. I haven’t seen him do anything that hints at that. But Aston said he saw–”

“Fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s probably jealous of him and doesn’t want you to get too comfortable with him,” Kali stated with a definitive nod.

Camille’s heart began to race again. Was Aston just making things up? Was he lying to make sure I keep Terry at arms-length?

“Kali, I don’t think he would do that–”

“Camille? That you?”

The deep, familiar voice called out, washing over Camille like a wave. She froze in place as her mind scrambled to determine where it was coming from.

A tall, muscular figure jogged towards them. Though his face was momentarily obscured by the distance, the deep baritone of his voice, the bronze sheen of his skin, and the way his perfectly sculpted six-pack glistened in the sun made it unmistakably clear. It was Terry.

Camille’s gaze swept over him as he got closer, everything seeming to move in slow motion. Sweat trickled down his torso and his ocean-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. His full lips parted, a flash of white teeth widening with recognition. The sight of it all sent an unexpected flood of heat to Camille’s core.

Terry came to a stop right in front of her and Kali. His presence seemed to fill the space between them, his masculine scent drifting into the air. Camille snapped out of her daze, blinking rapidly.

“Hey, Camille,” he said, licking his lips.

Camille cleared her throat, fighting to regain composure. “Terry,” she managed to say. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine. How ‘bout you?” Terry’s voice was smooth, his words rolling off his tongue with effortless ease. His eyes traced every curve and line of her figure in a way that made her skin hot. She suddenly felt aware of every inch of her skin, regretting the choice of just biker shorts, a sports bra, and an open hoodie.

She shifted, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m pretty good,” Camille replied, her voice catching slightly, betraying the flutter of nerves she felt.

They stood there, locked in a moment that stretched on too long. Their eyes held each other’s, the air thickening between them with an unspoken charge. The silence grew heavier, each second stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. Just as Camille opened her mouth to speak, the sound of a throat clearing beside her shattered the bubble between them.

Both Camille and Terry’s eyes snapped to Kali, who stood there with a smirk on her lips, clearly amused by the tension in the air. Camille's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but a part of her couldn’t help but feel relieved. The moment had been too electric and she was grateful for the interruption.

"My fault," Terry chuckled, the rich sound of his laugh wrapping around Camile like a blanket. He extended his hand toward Kali. "I’m Terry. You look familiar."

Kali, smirked and took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Kali! Yeah, I was at that club with Camille that one time,” she said with a playful gaze that flicked to Camille, her lips curling into a bright, teasing smile. Camille felt a chill of dread settle in her stomach. Please don’t embarrass me, she silently pleaded.

Terry’s eyes lit up, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. His grin spread wider. “Oh shit, that’s right! I’m sorry y’all’s night had to end like that," he said, his tone laced with playfulness and a touch of sincere remorse.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Kali replied breezily. "I think something amazing came out of that night. Right, Camille?" She glanced at Camille, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Terry’s attention shifted back to Camille, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, word?" he chuckled. "You’ll have to tell me about that." His eyes locked with hers, making her gulp.

Kali continued with a sly grin. "Are you visiting from New Orleans?"

Terry shook his head with a light chuckle. "Nah, I only check on that place sometimes. But I don’t live in New Orleans. I work here now, with Camille."

Kali’s smile broadened. “Really?! What a lovely coincidence—”

“Right,” Camille quickly interrupted, her voice almost too sharp. “It’s just crazy how small the world is.” She shot Kali a glance, her eyes filled with an unspoken warning. Kali merely smirked, unfazed by the stare. “But don’t let us hold you up from your run,” Camille added, eager to wrap up the conversation that she knew her friend would take too far.

“Nah, y’all not holding me up,” Terry said with a relaxed shrug. "But I’ll let y’all get back to y’all’s girl talk. It was nice meeting you, Kali." He flashed them both a grin before turning, jogging past them to continue on the trail.

Both Camille and Kali stood in silence for a moment, their eyes following his retreating form. Kali was the first to break the stillness, her teasing smile returning in full force as she glanced sideways at Camille. “That little moment y’all had? Oooo, bitch! I thought he was about to turn you every way but loose.” She let out a mock swoon, dramatically fanning herself.

“Kaliiii,” Camille whined as she resumed her walk, trying to brush off the flurry of emotions that had hit her all at once. Kali, unrelenting, fell into step beside her.

“Did you see how he looked at you?” Kali’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "Girl, he would devour you if you let him." "Ughh, not this again," Camille groaned, her mind spinning. But, was he looking at me like that? Or was Kali just being funny? She couldn’t quite shake the image of his gaze locked on hers, how it had made her feel exposed, yet... alive.

"Okay, okay, I’ll give it a rest," Kali sighed dramatically, making a show of looking away. But her smile didn’t fade. “But... I think you should try to entertain Mr. Terry. Who knows? The universe might be giving you an out from becoming Mrs. McCoy.”

They continued their walk, abandoning any discussion of Terry for other updates in their life. But in the back of her mind, Kali’s suggestion echoed. Was Terry’s sudden reappearance a sign? A chance at real love? Her mind kept circling back to Terry, the way he’d looked at her, the tension between them. Was she making a mistake, choosing to put her family’s expectations and her fiancé’s needs above her own desires? Her chest tightened with uncertainty, the thought of her impending wedding now feeling more like a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear.

Terry

Terry sat in the parking deck of Watkins & Glen, patiently waiting for the arrival of a particular colleague. Terry knew if he came to the office at the early hour of 6 AM on a Monday, only two people would be there: him and Aston. Terry couldn’t believe he showed up at that time every day. No wonder he wasn’t moving up the ladder. His ass-kissing was too obvious.

To keep his mind occupied, Terry thought about how getting closer to Camille these past two months had been absolute bliss. Each moment alone with her was intoxicating, as though it was just the two of them, suspended in their own little universe. She captivated him so effortlessly. Her curiosity, the way she dove into everything with passion, it was all alluring. He found himself lost in the grace with which she moved, always so composed and beautiful, yet there was an unspoken vulnerability that made her even more magnetic.

Her shyness had slowly dissolved, giving way to a new, playful side of her, one that seemed to emerge more and more as they spent time together. It was in the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, in the subtle teasing that had become a part of their easy rhythm. Every time Camille smiled at him, his heart stumbled, driving him further into his obsession.

And Camille, she was falling for him too. He knew it by the way her breath would catch when he was close. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, he would catch her staring at him, her eyes soft with affection. And her voice—oh, her voice. It took on that sweet, innocent tone when she spoke to him, like she couldn’t help but let the warmth slip through.

But beyond all of that, what made his heart swell the most was the happiness that seemed to radiate from her more and more each time they were together. He had become her quiet gardener, nurturing her little by little, seeing her blossom with every passing rotation. A flower he was allowed to water, watching her unfold more beautifully with each moment they shared. And for Terry, that was everything.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he caught a glimpse of a familiar Porsche Cayenne rounding the corner of the deck. It reversed into a spot right next to the elevators. Terry’s jaw clenched as he saw Aston open the door of the car.

He had often thought about just killing him to speed up his plan. Tear out his throat or rip out his lungs. Let dogs feast on his remains. It would save Terry a lot of time and energy. But he had no idea how Camille would react to Aston’s death. Terry didn’t think she loved Aston. At least…not in that way. But he couldn’t risk her slipping into a depressive episode. Especially if he wouldn’t be able to properly comfort her. So he refrained from causing him any physical harm. But, Terry was more than willing to cause psychological harm.

He got out of the car, shutting the door softly so Aston wouldn’t notice him yet. He quickly approached the elevator, Aston’s back still turned. Quietly, he peered over his shoulder as Aston looked at his phone. He was already checking betting apps. Terry smirked.

“Morning,” he spoke. Aston’s body jerked, turning to face him with wide eyes. Genuine surprise flickered across his face before quickly being replaced by that fake ass smile he always pulled. “Terry, morning…I didn’t even hear you.” The elevator softly dinged and Terry smoothly stepped past him, making his way inside. “Yeah your head was pretty stuck in your phone so I’m not surprised,” Terry returned, barely containing the smugness in his voice. He didn’t miss how Aston’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly with irritation. God I just want to knock his fucking head off, Terry thought as the elevator doors closed. “I get it though! I used to be on the apps all the time.”

Aston blinked, confused and a tad bit embarrassed as he looked at Terry. “What do you mean?” Terry just smiled and gestured to his phone. “The betting apps. I used to be on those all the time. But now…” Terry paused, letting the silence stretch to add to Aston’s anticipation. “Now, I prefer the stuff that gets you real money.” Aston tapped his finger lightly against his phone, trying to interpret what he was saying. Terry could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Well, the parlays I’ve hit are pretty huge,” Aston stated arrogantly. Terry nearly rolled his eyes. But instead he just shook his head with a chuckle. “Nah, man. I’m not talking about the $2000 here, $6000 there. I’m talking about the shit that could be a down payment for a house.”

Aston laughed in disbelief, “What kind of stuff gets you that kind of money?” Got him, Terry thought, fighting a smirk. “Between you and me,” he lowered his voice, leaning in just enough to make Aston feel like he was getting an exclusive secret. “I host some underground poker shit on the side.” Terry watched his eyes widen, his mouth opening subtly. “Woah…really? Terry, you just don’t seem like that kind of guy.” Terry shrugged nonchalantly. “That makes it even easier for me.” Terry took a few steps back to lean against the elevator's walls. “But, you should see some of the stuff I’ve walked away with. One night, I made three hundred grand.” Aston’s pupils widened. He tried to find words to react, but the elevator dinged. Terry would make sure he had the last word. “But like I said, I host. So let me know if you ever want to play.” He smiled, patting Aston’s arm before stepping out of the elevator.

Terry knew he had him. Aston was a man choked by his addiction, and it was only a matter of time before he took the bait. And take it, he did. A little over an hour later, with the office still empty for the most part, Aston came knocking. A soft, hesitant tap at the door. Terry’s lips curled into a sly smile as he greeted him, his eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and cold calculation. I’ll let him bring it up, Terry thought. Let him think he's still in control.

Aston awkwardly coughed, swinging his arms nervously as he approached Terry’s desk. His eyes were shifty, and just the slightest bead of sweat slid down his forehead. He was nervous, desperate. Damn, he must need this money more than I thought. He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick that only deepened Terry’s amusement. The guy was unraveling right in front of him.

“So, uh…” Aston’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, betraying his nerves. “About those games you were talking about? How do they really work?”

Terry leaned forward, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he studied Aston.

“It's pretty simple,” Terry said, his tone casual but low. “I host them every Thursday night, just me and a few other guys. You send a deposit to lock in your spot, and you’re in for four games. All winnings remain confidential. No IRS. No paperwork. Everything under the radar. Real simple.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, watching Aston’s eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Terry’s voice dropped an octave, darker, heavier.

“But—” He began, fixing Aston with an intense stare. “Anything that goes on there, stays in there. Understand?”

Aston shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, his eyes flicking away to the floor. The words settled in the air, adding to his unease.

“Yeah,” Aston muttered, his voice tight. “Yeah, seems straightforward enough…how much is the deposit?”

Terry let out a soft, humorless sigh, his eyes never leaving Aston’s face. “$30,000,” he said flatly. “And you gotta put up another $50,000, at least, to play.”

Aston’s face drained of color. His eyes went wide, as if the numbers hadn’t fully registered. He took an audible breath, his hand coming up to tug at the collar of his shirt.

“That’s…that’s a lot man…” Aston trailed off. He was visibly rattled now, his composure slipping away. Terry smirked, watching the man squirm.

“Yeah, bruh, no pressure. I know it might be out of the budget for an associate.” Terry’s tone dripped with sarcastic sympathy. Aston’s expression visibly changed. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared slightly, his gaze hardened. There it was. The envy, the bitterness. Terry could see it clearly.

Terry leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch for a few moments, savoring the tension. He had him.

“No,” Aston said, his voice more relaxed, but with a razor-sharp edge. “That’s not a problem. I’ve got more than enough to cover that. I’ll even send it today.” The words came out through gritted teeth, a mixture of pride and barely-contained frustration.

Terry’s smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Perfect.

“That’s great, man!” Terry said, his tone suddenly light and jovial. He slid a notepad and pen across the desk. “Just write down your number, and I’ll send you all the details.”

Aston paused for a fraction of a second, but he wrote his number down anyway. As Aston slid the notepad back, Terry’s eyes caught the brief flicker of hesitation in his gaze. But it was fleeting, gone before it could become a problem.

Aston turned to leave, his body language still tense. But just before he opened the door, he paused to look over his shoulder back at Terry. “And Camille… she won’t find out about this, right?”

Terry froze, the name making his heart beat just a touch faster, but his face never betrayed him. He kept his expression casual, his voice smooth.

“Nope, not at all,” Terry said, his words dripping with casual assurance. “Not from me. Not from you.” Aston nodded, his lips pressed thin as he stepped out the door.

Camille

Camille took her time walking through Watkins & Grant. Not only was it Monday, it was the start of a two-day rotation with Aston. She was ready to dive into the day’s work, but if she were honest, she’d much rather be working with Terry. Despite her newfound enthusiasm for the job, working with Aston was still…draining. His demeanor had softened since her rotations began. He was less snippy and wasn’t as strict with deadlines. But his animosity towards Terry had only grown, a simmering resentment that Camille couldn’t ignore. Initially, she’d thought his sharp comments and tense glances were the result of him still grieving over not making partner, a bitter disappointment he hadn’t quite come to terms with.

But as the weeks passed, she realized his feelings had shifted into an intense, unrelenting jealousy. Aston’s eyes would narrow into icy daggers whenever Terry entered a room. Whenever the team celebrated one of Terry’s achievements, Aston’s hands remained firmly by his sides. It was as if his pride couldn’t bear to acknowledge Terry’s success. And every time Camille spoke about him, even in passing, Aston couldn’t help but drop snarky comments. His disdain was impossible to miss, and though Camille was determined to focus on work, she couldn't shake the discomfort it caused her. But outside of that, Aston was still pretty pleasant. So she just let the whole envy thing roll off her back.

Camille pushed open the door to Aston’s office, expecting to greet him with a simple “good morning.” But as soon as she stepped inside, her words caught in her throat. Aston was sitting at his desk, but he looked nothing like the put-together man she was used to. His usually sharp appearance was now disheveled, as though he’d been awake for far too long. His eyes were unnaturally dilated, the pupils wide and unblinking, while his leg bounced erratically beneath the desk. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he was completely unaware of her presence.

A wave of concern washed over Camille as she took in the scene. “Aston?” she called out gently, her voice tinged with worry. “Are you doing alright?”

His head snapped up in an instant, his gaze locking onto hers in a way that startled her. He had a frantic, almost fearful look. But he quickly wiped his hand across his face, as if trying to reset his expression.

"Morning, Millie," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and forced a strained, dry laugh. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Camille didn't buy the forced cheerfulness. She took a step closer, setting her bag down on her desk slowly. "Are you okay? You don’t look so good," she asked, her concern deepening.

Aston waved off her concern with a flick of his hand, his smile stretched thin. “Me? Oh, I’m doing great!” he said too quickly, too brightly. “I mean, my stocks went down a little, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

She nodded slowly, but her suspicion lingered. Aston was obsessed with his stocks, always checking the market, always fretting over numbers. But there was always something that told her that there was more to it than stocks. Something more risky that had him far too invested and far too tense. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something.

At that moment, their finances remained separate. Camille paid her half of the rent, her share of the groceries, and contributed to other household bills, but there was no blending of accounts, no pooling of resources. She never had the intention of opening a joint account with him. There was something about the idea that didn't sit right with her. Whatever financial turbulence he was navigating, she hoped it would be sorted before their wedding day.

Aston, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You ready to get started, babe?" he asked, his tone brisk as he passed her a thick stack of papers. Camille glanced down at the pile, already estimating that it was at least 150 pages. She nodded as he continued. “Great. I need you to proofread these contracts. Can you do that by COB?”

Camille flicked through the papers, her brows furrowing as she flipped page after page. She could feel the weight of the task sinking in. Who could possibly get through all of this in a single day?

“That’s a pretty tight deadline...,” she breathed. Aston’s face fell for a moment, a brief flash of disappointment. But he quickly masked it, offering a small, almost apologetic smile.

“You know what, don’t even worry about it,” he said. “Just do the best you can.”

Camille returned a small smile, but her mind lingered on the sheer volume of work. She let out a quiet sigh before sinking into her chair.

“Oh, by the way," Aston’s tone shifted, a strained undertone creeping back into his voice. "I can’t go to lunch with you today. I’ve got a meeting across town that’ll run from 11:00 to 3:00." His words were casual, but there was a subtle edge to them, as if he were trying to brush off a reason he didn’t want to share.

A cold knot twisted in Camille’s stomach at the change in his voice, but she pushed it aside, choosing not to press. "Okay," she murmured, her eyes focusing on the highlighter in her hand.

Around 10:40, Aston sprang from his chair with urgency, his movements frantic. She couldn’t help but watch, her eyes following him as he muttered a hurried “bye” under his breath, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Something’s not right, she thought, the feeling settling into her gut. The thought crossed her mind before she could even stop it: follow him. Her eyes narrowed as she mulled over the possibility. But that would be crazy, she reasoned. What good would it do to sneak after him? Whatever she found out wouldn’t change anything anyway. And yet, the nagging curiosity to uncover just a sliver more about this mysterious meeting gnawed at her.

But before she could dwell on it further, the blare of her phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced down, surprised to be getting a call so early on a workday. Terry’s name flashed across the screen, making her heart skip a beat. A smile instantly tugged at her lips as she scrambled to answer the call, her fingers fumbling with the screen in her haste.

“Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound casual, though her voice betrayed the excitement bubbling inside her.

“Hey, Camille, sorry to call right now. You got a minute?” Terry’s voice washed over her, rich and smooth. She felt an instant flutter in her stomach.

“Yeah, sure! What can I do for you?” she replied, her voice coming out girlier than she intended.

“I left a file I need for this presentation I’ve got in the top drawer of my desk. I won’t be able to make it there and back in time. You think you could drop it off?” he asked.

Camille hesitated, torn between her professional obligations and her personal desire to see him. Helping Terry would mean taking time away from her assignment, something that would surely upset Aston. But the thought of seeing Terry, especially after missing their usual morning exchange, was hard to resist.

“Of course! Just send me the location,” she breathed, her voice catching slightly, a soft smile creeping onto her lips as a deep chuckle echoed in her ear.

“Thanks, Camille. I appreciate it. I’ll send a pin now.”

“Okay, see you soon!” she said, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. Slightly embarrassed at how eager she sounded, she quickly hung up the phone, grabbing her bag with haste. She made her way toward Terry’s office, the joy of hearing his voice still hanging in the air.

But before she could reach the door, Camille was stopped in her tracks. Stephanie appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly into her path with a forced smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, Camille. You know Terry’s not in the office now, right?" Stephanie’s voice came out with an odd, strained edge. Camille blinked, taken aback by the abrupt question.

“Oh, yeah. He just called me! He left something in his office and wants me to bring it to him,” Camille replied, keeping her voice polite. She moved to step around Stephanie, but Stephanie sidestepped, once again blocking her path.

“Really?” Stephanie said, her tone dripping with a sickening sweetness. “I can do it for you if you’d like. Aston mentioned that you had a lot of work to do.” The suggestion hung in the air, as if she were doing Camille a favor. Camille’s brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. Why would Aston mention that to her?

Camille let out a weak giggle to break the tension. “That’s alright, he’s already expecting me,” she said, her voice firm but laced with the tiniest edge of irritation.

Stephanie’s smile faltered just a fraction, the expression slipping for a moment as she frowned slightly, her eyes flickering with something Camille couldn’t quite place. But after a beat, she stepped aside, finally allowing Camille to pass.

Weirded out by the whole interaction, Camille quickly walked through Terry’s office, grabbed the file and made her way towards the elevator. The feeling of Stephanie’s unblinking stare burning into her back the entire time.

That was odd, Camille thought, as she slid into her car. She grabbed her phone, pulling up the directions Terry had sent her. The map loaded slowly, and she took a deep breath, letting it steady her as she clicked her seatbelt into place. Once the directions finally pulled up, she reversed out of her parking spot and navigated the car out of the parking deck, her thoughts drifting as she hit the road.

Twenty minutes later, Camille pulled into a packed parking lot, her eyes scanning the area until they landed on the only figure outside. Terry stood near the entrance, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the morning sun. He wore a deep purple shirt and well-tailored black slacks, and for a moment, Camille was entranced by the way the colors seemed to highlight the goldeness of his skin. She sighed softly, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she gazed at him from a distance, glad she made the drive.

I can’t have him, she thought, her heart aching slightly, but it doesn’t hurt to look. To admire. She pulled into a parking spot adjacent to him and watched as he turned toward her car, his smile confident and inviting. She didn’t want to acknowledge her feelings for him, but in moments like this, it was impossible not to.

“Hey,” he greeted as she stepped out of the car and made her way over to him. She gave him a bright smile. “Hey!” she replied, passing him the file. “This is the one, right?”

He smiled down at her, grabbing the file.

“Yes ma’am. Thanks for taking the time to come down here,” he spoke. “I owe you.” Camille’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. “Don’t mention it, happy to help,” she replied softly, trying her best to not giggle like a schoolgirl. “Have a great presentation,” she said, turning back towards her car.

“Hold up,” he called. Camille brought her attention back to him. “McCoy got you that busy? I was thinking I could treat you to lunch after this? It’ll only take an hour.”

Camille hesitated, chewing on her lip. She really had to get back to work. Terry fake pouted, tilting his head. “Please, Camille,” he pleaded softly. “Like I said, I owe you one.”

Her chest tightened. He really wants me to stay! She thought. And Aston would still be gone by the time I got back…

“Okay,” she said, “Since you asked so nicely.” It’s just a harmless lunch. “I’ll just grab my phone out of the car.

She reached down into her purse as she walked back towards her car, her fingers brushing through the clutter in search of her keys. As she rummaged, her hand brushed something sharp. An unexpected jolt of pain shot through her, forcing her to yank her hand back. It felt like a scalpel had sliced her skin. A deep gash ran across the pad of her index finger, and bright red blood began to bead up, dripping down in fast, heavy drops onto the dark asphalt below. She stared down at the wound in confusion, the sharp sting still pulsing through her hand.

“Huh,” she muttered softly to herself, not fully processing what had just happened. “I must’ve cut myself on my key–”

Suddenly, a new, much sharper pain pierced through her neck, cutting off her train of thought. It sank deep, the sensation burning through her like fire, making her yelp. A split second of agony. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was replaced by an overwhelming, mind-numbing euphoria. Her senses were flooded with a pleasure and delight that seemed to drown out everything else. Every nerve in her body seemed to hum with a strange, fulfilling electricity she couldn’t comprehend.

Her vision blurred, the world around her tilting to the side. Her legs felt weak, and she stumbled, her body swaying like a leaf caught in a breeze. She had to fight to keep her balance, but it was a losing battle.

Although her strength faltered, firm arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, steadying her body. The warmth of the figure against her sent another strange thrill through her, though she couldn’t focus enough to make sense of it. She could feel the strength of the mystery person, his body solid and real against hers, but the haze of pleasure and confusion made it hard to think.

"T-Terry?" she whispered, her voice coming out weak and shaky, her boss’ name the only thing slipping through the fog in her mind. She reached up, her trembling hand brushing against the chest she was pulled into in a futile attempt to ground herself in something familiar. But the world was slipping from her grasp too quickly, her vision swimming in and out of focus. Before she could say another word, everything went black. The strange sensation she was feeling was her only comfort as darkness consumed her.

Stephanie’s song: Streets-Doja Cat

Stephanie

From the concealed safety of her car, Stephanie watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the scene unfolded before her. Terry, the man who had her completely under his spell, suddenly and violently sank his teeth into Camille’s neck. The act was so swift, so shockingly predatory, that it left Stephanie frozen. Camille, with a look of confusion, had pulled her bloodied hand from her bag. Then, moving with unnerving speed, Terry was behind her. His teeth punctured her skin with an animalistic precision. Camille yelped in pain, but the sound quickly faded as her eyes fluttered and began to droop. Her body swayed as if she was in slow motion, and she crumpled in Terry’s grasp.

When Stephanie had first decided to follow Camille nearly thirty minutes ago, she had envisioned a confrontation, a way to make her intentions clear. She could see how Camille had developed a crush on Terry. The way she always looked at him coyly. How she would act so clueless to get him to treat her like some fragile puppy. It was a constant reminder that he didn’t belong to Stephanie, even though he's what she craved most. Terry and Stephanie weren’t a couple, but that would change. She would make sure of it. Stephanie could admit it without shame: she would do anything to have him. And that included scaring off the paralegal who had feelings for him. She had to mark her territory, to make Camille understand that she had no place in his world.

But this… this was beyond anything she had ever anticipated. The man she lusted after, the man she wanted with a ferocity she couldn’t control, was something more than human. Some sort of… supernatural creature. Stephanie’s pulse quickened, her chest tightening, but instead of revulsion, an overwhelming wave of attraction surged through her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the way Terry’s strong arms wrapped around Camille’s collapsing body, how his mouth moved with such raw intensity against her neck. The sight stirred something dark and primal inside her, making her pussy throb.

God, that’s so hot, she thought, her breath catching. That should be me. The raw power, the dominance in the way he held Camille, it wasn’t terrifying—it was an erotic fantasy come to life.

In a daze, she reached for her phone, her fingers trembling with excitement. She quickly pressed record, capturing the moment as Terry’s fangs withdrew from Camille’s skin, leaving behind two circular wounds. He blinked down at her in shock, his eyes flashing with panic. In a frenzy, he licked the blood from the puncture, as if to somehow erase the evidence, before he swept Camille up in his arms, cradling her against him.

Stephanie’s lips curled into a sinister smile, her heart racing. She stopped recording and sank lower into her seat, knowing that the shadows of the car would keep her hidden. The weight of the discovery settled over her darkly.

I know your secret, Mr. Richmond, she thought, her mind spinning with possibilities. Let’s see how I can use it to my advantage.

------------------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #rebel ridge #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre fic #aaron pierre x black!oc

102 notes · View notes