#Nicholas Restless

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

masterlist

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[exqorcism]

❛ 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙂𝙀 ⎯ nicholas a. chavez

₊˚⊹౨ৎ 𝓐'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: enjoy this little piece i wrote at 3am instead of sleeping.... (while im working on longer fics 🫣) 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. public sex!!! oral (fem!receiving), choking, overstimulation, almost getting caught i guess? 𝘄𝗰. 864 | 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥!

"you're doing so good for me, doll. this pussy tastes like fucking heaven", nicholas' raspy voice reached your ears, and your hips bucked, the sound vibrating against the skin of your thigh, making you gasp in sensitivity. the cold surface of the sink counter against your burning skin made you twitch uncontrollably — your head lulled back, resting against the mirror behind you. your knuckles turned white from the tight grip you had on the counter, and you muffled a sigh that threatened to leave your throat when nicholas pressed a wet, messy kiss right on your clit. if it wasn't for his strong grasp on your thighs, you'd be falling forward at the sensation.

"i can't take no more, nic. please", you cried, although you weren't sure what you were asking for — for him to stop or continue. the man cooed softly, his hand travelling up your body to close around your throat, ensuring no more sounds left your mouth.

"shh, baby. you don't want your parents to hear, do you now?", he sent you a filthy, open-mouthed smirk, his lips and chin completely covered in your sweet juices — due to his restless assault on your pussy.

you nodded the best as you could, the realisation hitting you like a brick — you were, indeed, on a family gathering. your parents and sister were just downstairs, clueless to what was going on in their own bathroom. the thought made a rush of excitement run down your spine, your spent hole clenching around nothing as you watched your boyfriend, kneeling between your legs, worshipping you like there was no tomorrow.

nicholas kept your gaze as he lowered himself yet again, his teeth digging into your thigh with enough force to leave a mark — which was always his goal.

your chest heaved with uneven breaths, and you were unable to make a sound — even when your boyfriend's tongue darted out to lap at your pussy eagerly. soft hum left his mouth, the sound vibrating against your core, making you twitch, your eyes rolling back into your head. he watched with hooded eyes as your mouth opened in a silent moan, gaze full of pride and playful satisfaction. the obscene sounds of his restless assault on your pussy filled the bathroom as nicholas lapped at your cunt greedily, the hand around your throat tightening, soft groans leaving his mouth at the taste of you on his tongue.

"dirty, dirty girl", he tutted between licks, watching as you struggled to breathe, enjoying the fact that you weren't able to reply. he sucked your little button into his mouth, tongue tracing soft circles around it, making you see stars — with a little to no effort. "what would your parents say if they saw you like this? completely at my mercy, letting me eat her out like a little slut in their own bathroom? bet they'd be disappointed".

tears began to flow down your cheeks, your breath coming out in short gasps. nicholas' hand left your throat, his arm wrapping around your thigh as if he didn't want to let you go. his eyes followed your every reaction, making sure you were enjoying the movements of his skilled tongue on your abused cunt. he kissed your pussy just the way he'd kiss your lips — stroking his tongue over your puffy clit before softly sucking it into his mouth, groaning into you purposely. just as you were about to fall over the edge, again, you heard a soft knock on the door. you had expected nicholas to get up from the floor, but instead he doubled his effort on you. now spelling his own name on your clit with his tongue, making sure you could feel every single movement of his mouth on you, his eyes clouded with lust, gaze both challenging and teasing.

your eyes were wide, the pleasure in your lower stomach getting more intense with each passing second, as you vainly struggled to get up from the counter, panic filling your whole body when you heard your sister's voice.

"y/n? nick? are you alright?", she sounded so concerned, you almost felt bad — almost, as fireworks erupted in your stomach, and you were cumming all over your boyfriend's face, loud moan leaving your mouth before you could stop it.

nicholas lapped at your cunt, eagerly and greedily, not missing a drop of your sweet release, his eyes falling closed as he lost himself in the moment.

"o-oh! yes, we're alright. i-i just have a— a terrible stomachache", you weren't sure how you managed to keep your voice steady. tears were running down your cheeks at the overstimulation, as nick swallowed every single drop of your nectar, his lips now ghosting over your sensitive and utterly spent pussy.

"get it. if you need anything, we're downstairs. make it quick!", you could hear the concern in your sister's voice before she made her way back downstairs.

"you are a fucking idiot", you whisper-screamed as nicholas got up from his knees, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your thighs.

"oh, come on. you loved every second of it", he grinned sheepishly, pressing a loving kiss on your forehead.

you didn't argue.

❝ hoffmansgirl © 2024 | do not copy, translate, recreate or plagiarise my content. 𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ❞

tags (click here to be added): @darlingnikkisixx @titsout4nicholas @brlwla @blackynsupremacy @mrs-riddlexo @essentialwriter @nicholaschavezslut69 @niteskysx

[ujuinluv]

off stage (maki) — nav

synopsis — during your college's music festival, you take a behind the scenes job helping your best friends’ band—only to clash (and eventually fall for) the sharp-tongued lead singer who’s nothing like you expected.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ enemies to lovers, female reader, 8k word count

the lounge is half-empty when you get there, which is a miracle considering how popular it usually is this close to festival week. the old leather couches sag in the middle, the vending machines buzz in the corner, and the sun slants in through the big windows, making everything look a little softer, a little more tired.

nicholas spots you first. he’s perched on the arm of one of the couches, his red hair catching the sunlight like a flare. his fox-like eyes narrow a little when he sees you, but there’s nothing sharp behind it—just the usual mix of mischief and excitement. when he grins, all teeth and warmth, you know immediately he’s up to something.

euijoo’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, brown hair falling into his wide, open eyes as he scrolls through his phone. he’s the tallest of all of you, but right now he looks like a kid waiting for his turn at an arcade game.

harua is slumped in the corner of the couch, blond hair messy, hoodie pulled halfway over his face, pretending he’s not awake even though you saw him glance up when you walked in.

“you’re late,” nicholas says, even though you’re not.

“you’re annoying,” you say back, dropping your bag onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“good, we’re starting strong,” euijoo says brightly. he tosses a small bag of chips at you, which you catch one-handed without thinking.

“where’s kazuha?” you ask.

“physics exam,” euijoo supplies.

you sink into the chair across from them, cracking the bag open. “gotcha, so what’s the emergency?”

nicholas exchanges a look with euijoo, and you immediately regret asking.

“so,” nicholas starts, drawing the word out like he’s crafting a master plan. “you know how the festival showcase is coming up.”

“yeah,” you say. “you’ve only been talking about it nonstop for the past month.”

“good, good,” he says, nodding seriously like he’s checking something off a list. “well, juju and i are playing, obviously. drums,” he says, pointing at himself. “keyboard,” he says, clapping euijoo on the back.

“band of the year,” euijoo says proudly, even though you’re pretty sure they haven’t even named their group yet.

“still working on a name,” nicholas adds, not missing a beat. “anyway. we’re kind of… short on help.”

you narrow your eyes. “what kind of help.”

“stage managing,” nicholas says, too quickly.

you immediately look at harua, who is now aggressively pretending to be asleep. you throw a chip at him. he flinches but doesn’t open his eyes.

“rua,” nicholas says, voice rising, “please. you’d be so good at it.”

“no,” harua says flatly, eyes still closed.

nicholas clutches his chest like he’s been stabbed. “you didn’t even let me finish.”

“because i know how your ‘help’ works,” harua says, finally cracking one eye open. “you’ll end up on fire and somehow it’ll be my fault.”

“he’s not wrong,” euijoo says under his breath.

nicholas glares at him.

euijoo just grins, wide-eyed and unbothered.

“so that leaves you,” nicholas says, turning to you with the full force of his bright, almost-too-charming smile. it’s dangerous, how nice he looks when he wants something.

you lean back in your chair, arms crossed. “stage managing, huh?”

“easy stuff,” euijoo says quickly. “just make sure our set starts on time. talk to the sound guys. keep jo from running away. you know. simple.”

“you say that like it doesn’t sound like babysitting a bunch of toddlers,” you say.

nicholas holds up his hand solemnly. “we’re very well-behaved toddlers.”

“no they’re not,” harua says immediately.

you consider it for a second, crunching a chip between your teeth. there’s a part of you that knows this is going to be a mess. there’s also a part of you that’s already buzzing with the kind of restless excitement that only festival week can bring.

besides, someone has to keep nicholas from fucking punching a bitch.

you sigh dramatically. “fine.”

nicholas cheers loud enough that a group of students across the lounge glance over. euijoo fist-pumps like they’ve just won the lottery.

“i knew you were the one we could count on,” euijoo says, beaming.

“bitch,” you say. “i’m just doing this for service hours.”

“same thing,” nicholas says cheerfully.

harua just shakes his head like he’s watching a slow-motion disaster unfold. “you’re gonna regret it.”

“probably,” you say.

but you’re smiling as you say it.

outside the lounge windows, you can see people starting to string up banners across the campus lawn, the colors snapping bright against the blue sky. the first chords of a guitar echo faintly from somewhere down the quad. the whole world feels like it’s tilting forward, toward something you can’t quite see yet.

the rehearsal room smells like old amps, sweat, and that weird lavender cleaner the janitors love. cables snake across the floor in every direction, half the equipment buzzing faintly, and someone’s left an empty water bottle balancing precariously on a speaker.

you’re standing awkwardly by the door with nicholas and euijoo, trying not to trip over anything expensive-looking.

“don’t look so nervous,” nicholas says, nudging you with his elbow. his hair is a mess from hauling in drums earlier, and his usual fox-like grin is turned up to full wattage. “they’re nice.”

“mostly,” euijoo adds under his breath, brown hair flopping into his eyes as he beams at you.

“so reassuring,” you mutter.

nicholas claps his hands loudly, getting the attention of the three other guys already scattered around the room.

“alright, everyone, listen up,” he says. “this is our new stage manager.”

all eyes turn to you.

you give a small, awkward wave.

“y/n, meet the rest of the circus,” nicholas says proudly. he points to the shortest guy first—pastel pink hair messy like he just rolled out of bed, snaggletooth flashing when he smiles. “that’s yuma. rhythmic guitar.”

“hey,” yuma says brightly, voice a little louder than necessary. he waves enthusiastically, like you’re old friends already.

he’s got that weird kind of energy that’s half ‘talks a lot’ and half ‘hiding in a corner the second no one’s looking.’

“hi,” you say back, a little startled by the force of his friendliness.

nicholas moves on, pointing at a taller guy with black hair falling softly over his forehead, clutching his bass like it’s a safety blanket. his face is gentle, almost doll-like, and he gives you a tiny, polite bow.

“jo,” nicholas says. “bass. shy, but lethal.”

jo immediately flushes bright red at the introduction. “hi, uh… it’s nice to meet you,” he says quietly.

you smile at him, already feeling a little more at ease.

and then.

“and this,” nicholas says, dragging out the word like he’s announcing a villain, “is maki. lead guitarist. lead vocals. also… pain in my ass.”

maki doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on one of the amps, guitar balanced casually across his lap. he’s tall—almost as tall as euijoo—and built lean, all sharp angles and casual confidence. his black hair is slicked back, a few rebellious strands falling forward. his brows are dark and chiseled, his jawline stupidly sharp, and his lips are full enough to look like they belong in some annoying cologne ad.

he doesn’t smile.

instead, he looks you up and down once, slow and deliberate, and says, “great. another manager wannabe.”

you blink.

“maki,” nicholas says immediately, warning in his voice.

euijoo jumps in too, still smiling but a little strained. “dude, chill. it’s not that serious.”

maki shrugs, utterly unbothered, and plucks a few lazy notes on his guitar.

“i’m just saying. last one bailed after two rehearsals.”

“maybe because you were a dick,” yuma says from across the room.

maki smirks but doesn’t deny it.

you shift your weight, unsure whether you should be offended or not. it’s not like you came here begging to manage their band. nicholas and euijoo practically dragged you into this.

nicholas catches your expression and quickly leans in. “don’t worry about him,” he mutters. “he warms up eventually. like, in a year.”

“or never,” yuma calls helpfully.

jo looks horrified. he glances between you and maki and gulps. “maki’s just… passionate. about music.”

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah, i can tell.”

maki hears you. you know he does, because there’s the faintest twitch of his mouth—not a smile exactly, more like he’s biting it back. but he doesn’t say anything else. just goes back to fiddling with his guitar like you’re not even there.

nicholas claps his hands again, loudly. “okaaay! now that introductions are over and nobody’s dead, let’s get started.”

you step carefully around the tangle of cables, finding a spot against the wall where you can watch without getting in the way.

yuma shoots you a quick thumbs-up and a wide grin. jo gives you an awkward smile. even euijoo throws you a goofy wink before sitting down at his keyboard.

the only one who doesn’t look your way is maki.

good, you think stubbornly.

you didn’t come here to make friends.

you came here to keep this chaos from falling apart long enough for nicholas and euijoo to have their moment onstage.

it’s been a few weeks, and somehow you’re still standing.

you’ve got the rhythm of everything now—running between light cues, managing equipment changes, fixing tech issues before anyone notices.

the chaos doesn’t scare you anymore. if anything, it feels almost… good. like you belong here.

“y/n, mic two’s giving feedback again!” someone shouts from the sound booth.

“on it!” you yell back, already moving.

you crouch at the front of the stage, adjusting cables and fiddling with the mixer settings.

out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of boots stop a few feet away. you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“amazing,” maki says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “you’re actually useful. didn’t think we’d ever see the day.”

you straighten up slowly, wiping your hands on your jeans.

he’s standing there, arms crossed, guitar slung across his back like he’s posing for a magazine cover. his mouth is curled into something that isn’t quite a smile.

“hi to you, too,” you say, keeping your voice light.

you plaster a bright, fake smile on your face, even though you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“you know,” maki continues, voice low enough that only you can hear, “we probably would’ve finished this soundcheck thirty minutes ago if we didn’t have a stage manager who needs a map just to find the on-switch.”

your jaw tightens.

you turn back to the mixer, pretending to fiddle with the settings just so you don’t say something you’ll regret.

instead, you laugh, short and airy.

“lucky for you, i’m a fast learner,” you say sweetly. “otherwise you’d be stuck doing actual work.”

you hear yuma snort from where he’s adjusting his pedalboard. even jo—quiet, polite jo—looks like he’s fighting back a smile. nicholas wanders over, sensing the tension immediately.

“maki, play nice,” he says, clapping a hand on maki’s shoulder.

maki shrugs him off with a roll of his eyes.

“just pointing out the obvious,” he says, flashing that signature too-sharp grin.

the rest of the afternoon isn’t much better. everywhere you go, maki finds some way to comment.

when you trip slightly over a coiled cord:

“graceful. like a drunk baby giraffe.”

when you check the mic levels for the third time:

“triple-checking? bold of you to assume it’ll make a difference.”

when you relay notes from the sound team to the band:

“translation: everything’s still a mess and it’s probably your fault.”

each time, you feel your teeth grit tighter, but you never give him the satisfaction of reacting.

you just smile—wide and bright—and keep doing your job like he’s not even there.

you can tell it pisses him off, too. every time you brush him off without a real reaction, his smirk tightens just a little. his eyes follow you longer, sharper. by the end of rehearsal, you’re bone-tired but proud. you survived another day, another barrage of maki’s insults, without snapping.

you’re stacking mic stands when he strolls past you, guitar case slung lazily over one shoulder.

“see you tomorrow, stage manager extraordinaire,” he says, heavy on the mockery.

you flash him a smile so sweet it practically drips sugar.

“can’t wait, lead singer who thinks he’s funny.”

he chuckles low under his breath — and for the first time today, it’s not entirely mean. you watch him walk away, the knot in your chest loosening just a little. you’re not sure what exactly is happening between you two — but you know this much:

whatever game maki’s playing, you’re not losing.

maki’s become even more unbearable at practice. and you’re fucking done.

always late, always half-assing the setups, always finding a way to make your life harder.

“is it that hard to plug in an amp properly?” he drawls one afternoon, after you’ve spent fifteen minutes untangling a cable knot from hell.

you whip around, face burning. “if you think it’s so easy, why don’t you get off your ass and do it yourself?”

he just smirks, propping his boots up on the nearest chair like a king surveying his ruined kingdom.

“watch and learn, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, fists clenching so hard your nails dig into your palms.

when he saunters over and fixes the cable with two infuriatingly fast flicks of his wrist, you hate him a little more.

you also hate the stupid, traitorous flip your stomach does at how easy he makes it look.

you swear he’s doing it on purpose.

one night, you’re trying to fix a broken light rig by yourself — the rest of the crew long gone — when maki strolls in, spinning a guitar pick between his fingers.

he watches you struggle for a minute before saying, way too loudly:

“don’t hurt yourself. pretty sure they’d rather replace the lights than replace you.”

you slam the wrench down on the stage, metal clanging.

“god, you are insufferable!” you yell, spinning on him.

he smirks, unbothered. “takes one to know one.”

you stalk toward him, stopping only inches away, rage making your hands shake.

“i don’t know why everyone here kisses your ass,” you snap. “you’re not special. you’re just a dick with a guitar.”

for the first time, something flickers in his expression — something almost vulnerable.

but it’s gone before you can name it.

“better a dick with talent,” he says flatly, “than a wannabe clinging to a clipboard.”

it’s a low blow.

it hits harder than you expect.

you step back like he’s slapped you, heart in your throat.

maki watches you for a second longer, jaw tight, before turning and walking out.

the silence he leaves behind is deafening.

the fighting gets louder.

“your setlist makes no sense,” you snap at a late-night meeting.

“because clearly, you know more about music than i do,” he says lazily, arms folded across his chest.

“this isn’t just about you, maki. you’re not the only one performing.”

he shrugs. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him across the crowded table. he stares back, unbothered, until you’re the one who looks away, teeth grinding.

the rest of the team watches with a mix of amusement and fear, staying carefully out of the blast radius.

the worst part isn’t the fighting.

it’s how you notice things about him anyway.

like the way he always shakes out his hands before playing, like he’s releasing something heavy he doesn’t want to carry.

like the way his eyes go distant sometimes, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.

like the way he never lets anyone touch his guitar—ever.

you file these observations away in the back of your mind, furious with yourself.

you don’t care. you don’t.

one night, you’re the last two in the practice room. you’re shoving chairs back into place, muttering curses under your breath, when he says, without looking up:

“you’re not bad at this, you know.”

you freeze.

he doesn’t say it like a compliment. just a statement of fact.

still—coming from him, it feels like a grenade lobbed straight into your chest.

you clench your jaw. “don’t flatter me.”

“wasn’t trying to,” he says, shrugging.

you hate how much your heart stutters anyway.

things get worse before they get better. during a soundcheck, you argue so loudly the entire crew hears.

“how dense can you be?” you shout, throwing your arms up.

he rolls his eyes dramatically. “keep yelling. maybe you’ll fix the mic that way.”

you step right into his space, close enough that you could shove him if you wanted. (and you want.)

“god, you’re insufferable.”

he leans down, not backing away. not even a little.

“likewise,” he murmurs, low and dangerous.

for a second, the air between you crackles—not just with anger, but something hotter, sharper. you’re the one who flinches back first. you tell yourself it’s because you’re better than this. not because of whatever the hell just sparked under your skin.

you slam your lunch tray onto the table so hard the water bottle nearly topples over.

“who hurt you?” kazuha asks, amused, peeling the lid off her yogurt.

“guess,” you mutter darkly, stabbing your salad like it personally wronged you.

harua leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely.

“if it involves a certain stage manager gig…” he says slowly.

you point your fork at him.

“ding ding ding.”

kazuha gasps dramatically.

“already? you’ve only been at it, what, two months?”

“three weeks,” you correct. “three weeks of pure hell.”

harua snorts. “let me guess. maki?”

you nearly drop your fork. “you knew?” you splutter.

harua shrugs like it’s obvious. “i tried to warn you! that’s why i bailed when nicholas asked.”

kazuha perks up, interested. “wait, wait—you know him?”

harua nods grimly. “yeah. we ran in the same circles for a while. he’s… a handful.”

“understatement of the year,” you mutter, stabbing a tomato viciously.

“what’s he doing now?” kazuha asks, swirling her spoon in her yogurt.

you groan, dropping your fork. “being an asshole for sport. like—he goes out of his way to make everything harder.”

kazuha tilts her head. “maybe he’s flirting.”

you nearly choke. “no,” you say firmly.

“trust me. there’s no flirt. just…insults. comments. side-eyes. every time i open my mouth he looks at me like i’m stupid.”

harua leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “he’s like that with everyone,” he says, more gently. “he doesn’t even realize half the time.”

“oh he realizes,” you snap. “he realizes and he enjoys it.”

kazuha hums thoughtfully. “maybe he’s just intimidated.”

you bark out a laugh. “of me?” you gesture to yourself. “please.”

“you’re scary when you want to be,” harua says mildly.

kazuha nods in agreement. “cute but terrifying,” she says brightly.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling a little despite yourself. still—the frustration buzzes just under your skin. you pick up your sandwich, ready to launch into another rant—when a shadow falls over the table.

“talking about me again?”

you freeze mid-bite.

maki stands there, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable.

great. perfect. how much had he heard?

harua’s face shifts instantly—calm but cold.

kazuha presses her lips together like she’s fighting a smile.

you set your sandwich down carefully. “do you eavesdrop on everyone,” you say sweetly, “or am i just special?”

maki smirks lazily. “you’re very loud,” he says. “hard not to overhear.”

“maybe walk faster next time,” harua says under his breath.

maki glances at him, expression tightening slightly. but instead of arguing, he shrugs.

“don’t worry,” he says, looking right at you. “wouldn’t want to waste my precious time listening to that again.”

you feel your hands curl into fists in your lap. before you can think of a comeback, someone else calls out:

“oi, maki!”

nicholas comes jogging over, euijoo at his heels, both balancing plates of food.

maki straightens up a little as they approach, like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to.

“what’s going on here?” nicholas asks cheerfully, plopping his tray down next to yours.

euijoo raises an eyebrow at the tension in the air. “you guys fighting again?”

“technically,” kazuha says, smiling sweetly, “they weren’t fighting. they were complaining.”

“important distinction,” harua adds.

nicholas looks at maki. maki shrugs, looking bored.

“just passing by,” maki says.

“right,” euijoo says, dragging out the word.

nicholas claps maki on the back. “come sit,” he says.

maki doesn’t say anything right away, just slides into the seat across from you like he belongs there. nicholas barely glances up before launching back into conversation.

“man, i swear my professor fucking hates me,” nicholas says, waving a fork dramatically. “she gave me a 70 on my paper and said i was ‘too casual.’”

“maybe don’t start your essays with ‘yo, listen up,’” euijoo says dryly.

nicholas gasps. “it was creative writing!”

harua snickers under his breath. “creative doesn’t mean criminal.”

“it was an artistic choice,” nicholas insists, dramatically clutching his chest.

kazuha giggles, picking at her fruit cup. “i kind of wanna read it now.”

“i’ll sell copies,” nicholas says proudly.

“no one’s paying for that shit,” maki says, deadpan, finally speaking.

nicholas grins and flicks a piece of lettuce at him. “jealous.”

maki smirks but doesn’t argue, reaching lazily for a carton of chocolate milk from his tray.

it strikes you—how easy it is between them. no sharpness. no biting tension. just lazy, familiar teasing. kazuha glances at maki, curious.

“wait—you’re doing the showcase too, right? i don’t think we’ve met.”

maki glances up at her, pausing mid-sip. “yeah,” he says casually. “part of the band.”

he offers the smallest shrug—like it’s no big deal.

kazuha smiles. “welcome to the chaos.”

“already regretting it,” maki says, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

you watch, almost disbelieving. he’s not cold with her. not cutting. just… normal. borderline polite, even.

“you’ll survive,” harua says, resting his chin on his hand.

maki scoffs. “barely.”

“rua only says that because he bailed,” kazuha teases.

harua shrugs, unapologetic. “self-preservation.”

“coward,” nicholas coughs.

“genius,” harua corrects him smoothly.

euijoo leans in. “you missed rua’s grand speech last week about how he’s ‘too emotionally fragile’ to handle backstage drama.”

“it wasn’t a speech,” harua protests.

“it was a single, dignified sentence.”

“and then you ran away,” nicholas says, laughing.

harua holds up two fingers. “peacefully withdrew.”

kazuha laughs so hard she almost drops her spoon. maki chuckles under his breath too—a real sound, not mocking—and leans back in his chair, looking genuinely amused.

you stare at your tray, picking at the corner of your sandwich. they’re all so relaxed.

he’s so relaxed.

but not with you.

with you, it’s a constant cold edge. a target painted on your forehead. you sneak a glance at maki.

he’s tossing grapes into his mouth, listening to nicholas and euijoo argue about whether anyone actually reads the club newsletter. his whole body language—slouched, loose, unbothered—is completely different than when he’s talking to you.

like you’re a switch that flips him straight into defensive mode.

you fold your hands in your lap tightly.

maybe it’s not him.

maybe it’s you.

you knew today was going to be hard.

yesterday at lunch, watching maki laugh and joke around with nicholas, harua, and euijoo, and even kazuha, who he didn’t even fucking know. easy, effortless smiles. teasing without any edge. soft nudges to the shoulder. head thrown back laughing at harua’s bad jokes.

he was… good with people.

friendly. warm, even.

and not once had he looked at you.

you told yourself not to overthink it.

you told yourself you didn’t care.

but the feeling had stuck to your ribs like glue.

so now, standing in the middle of the rehearsal hall with your clipboard clutched tight in your hands, you brace yourself for another day of pretending you’re fine.

the band is setting up. cables snake across the stage, the drum kit gleams under the spotlights, and your headset buzzes faintly against your ear. you’re double-checking the mic setup when maki wanders past you, twirling a guitar pick between his fingers.

“still here?” he says, voice light but sharp. “thought maybe you finally got tired of embarrassing yourself.”

you don’t even blink. you just finish taping down the mic cord and move to the next one, pretending you didn’t hear him.

maki frowns, slowing a little as he watches you.

normally, you’d have snapped something back by now. rolled your eyes. shoved him with your shoulder.

you don’t.

you just move quietly, efficiently, like he doesn’t exist. nicholas catches the shift first.

you see him glance between you and maki from where he’s setting up his drum kit, his brow furrowing slightly. euijoo notices next, pausing halfway through organizing his keyboard cables, his eyes wide and a little worried.

“mic three’s good,” you say into the headset, keeping your voice even. “moving on to bass line.”

you don’t look at anyone.

especially not maki.

for the rest of rehearsal, the pattern stays the same.

every time maki makes a comment—

“don’t trip over the cables, superstar.”

“maybe check the speakers this time, stage manager of the year.”

“you sure you’re not just pretending to know what you’re doing?”

—you don’t respond.

not with a glare, not with a joke, not even a glance. you keep your head down and your work clean, heart pounding way harder than it should.

at the end of rehearsal, as everyone’s packing up, you slip toward the equipment table, organizing spare batteries and gaffer tape with trembling hands. you hear footsteps behind you.

“hey,” nicholas says, voice low. “can we talk?”

you turn, forcing a neutral smile. “sure. what’s up?”

euijoo hovers just behind him, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.

nicholas crosses his arms. “you ‘kay?”

“yeah. fine,” you say automatically.

“you seemed… out of it,” euijoo says gently. “like… not you.”

you shrug, tapping a loose roll of tape against your palm. “just tired.”

nicholas gives you a look—the don’t lie to me one he’s perfected as the oldest. “it’s about maki, isn’t it?” he says.

your throat tightens. “no,” you lie, too quickly. “i mean, he’s always like that. i’m used to it.”

euijoo steps closer, voice soft. “y/n… you don’t have to be.”

you stare at the floor, feeling a lump form at the back of your throat. “he’s nice to everyone else,” you mumble. “maybe it’s just me he doesn’t like.”

nicholas exhales slowly, raking a hand through his messy red hair. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?” you ask, finally looking up at them, voice cracking slightly. “because i’m tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

euijoo’s face twists. he hates seeing you upset.

nicholas steps closer, squeezing your shoulder.

“you’re not the problem,” he says, firm and sure. “he’s just an idiot. we’ll talk to him if you want.”

“no,” you say quickly, wiping your hands on your jeans. “i don’t want it to be a big thing. i can handle it.”

euijoo hesitates, then nods slowly. “if you change your mind, we’ve got your back.”

you give them a small, real smile. it doesn’t fix everything, but it helps. a little.

out of the corner of your eye, you catch maki watching you from across the room. something tight in his jaw, something almost… uncertain.

you tear your gaze away before he can catch you looking.

you were getting better at pretending it didn’t bother you.

maki still kept his distance, and you still kept yours.

the comments had almost stopped altogether now—a quiet truce neither of you spoke about. around the others, you let yourself laugh, tease, exist. jo’s shy smiles, yuma’s loud jokes, euijoo’s constant encouragement—it all chipped away at the heavy weight in your chest.

but when it came to maki, you held the line.

it was easier that way.

especially now, with the showcase only two weeks away. no one had time for personal problems. rehearsals were full-speed, no breaks, no excuses.

today was supposed to be a full run-through. it started fine—a few minor hiccups you handled without blinking. but halfway through the set, one of the amps blew out, sending a horrible crackle through the sound system.

then the lights glitched.

then jo’s bass strap broke clean off mid-song.

it spiraled faster than you could stop it.

you scrambled between the stage and the tech booth, trying to fix one disaster after another while nicholas and euijoo did damage control. everyone was frustrated. you could see it—the tension tight in their shoulders, the way yuma shook out his hands, the way jo wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

you could feel it like a weight on your skin. when nicholas finally called it for the day—his voice rough with exhaustion—you were left picking up the mess. most of the others drifted out, dragging their instruments and gear behind them, murmuring tired goodnights.

you stayed behind, crouched on the stage, coiling cables and locking equipment cases.

your body ached.

your head throbbed.

you were halfway through unplugging a monitor when you heard footsteps.

you didn’t even bother looking up.

probably one of the crew, checking to see if you needed help. instead, someone cleared their throat awkwardly. you looked over your shoulder to see a crew guy—a second-year you vaguely recognized—holding a bag of takeout.

“uh… this is for you,” he said, a little confused.

he held the bag out like it might explode.

you blinked, slowly standing up and wiping your hands on your jeans. “me?” you said.

he nodded. “yeah. someone told me to give it to the stage manager. had your name on it.”

you frowned, confused. you didn’t remember ordering anything. but sure enough, when you took the bag, there was a folded piece of paper taped to it.

your name scribbled across it in messy handwriting.

no message.

no signature.

just your name.

you pressed your lips together, heart thudding a little too fast.

you didn’t open the bag right away. you just clutched it awkwardly, glancing around the hall.

nicholas was packing up his drums, laughing tiredly at something euijoo said.

jo had already disappeared, yuma’s guitar case slung over one shoulder.

maki was across the room, sitting on one of the amps, lazily scrolling through his phone.

no one looked at you. no one acted like they’d just sent you dinner. you frowned slightly, confused. the crew guy who’d given it to you had already disappeared too. you had no idea who it was from.

still, the bag was warm in your hands. and after the day you’d had, you weren’t about to turn down free food.

you finished packing up your things, tucking the takeout carefully into your backpack, and headed home without another word.

your apartment was dark when you stumbled through the door.

you didn’t bother turning on the lights—just dropped your stuff in the entryway and kicked off your shoes. the bag of takeout was still clutched in your hand, the smell hitting you properly for the first time. it made your stomach twist painfully—you hadn’t even realized how hungry you were.

you sat down on the floor right there, pulling the bag open with tired fingers. inside was a neatly packed container of food. nothing fancy.

your heart squeezed a little.

you dug deeper and found a small folded napkin tucked into the side of the bag. you opened it half-expecting another note, but it was blank.

just the napkin.

whoever sent it didn’t want you to know. they just wanted you to eat.

you blinked hard, throat tightening for a second before you forced yourself to breathe through it. you picked up the fork, scooping a bite of food into your mouth.

it tasted better than it had any right to. you sat there on the floor, tired but somehow a little less heavy, eating quietly in the dark.

no music. no noise.

just you.

and a silent, invisible kindness that you didn’t know how to repay yet.

it was monday. five days until the showcase.

and it felt like the world was balancing on a wire that could snap at any second.

nicholas was already behind his drum kit, twirling his sticks with a frown you weren’t used to seeing.

euijoo hovered by the keyboard, adjusting his settings over and over again.

jo sat cross-legged on the floor, tuning and re-tuning his bass.

yuma was pacing near the amps, muttering to himself.

and maki—

maki leaned against the wall with his guitar slung over his shoulder, arms crossed.

watching everything.

watching you.

you dropped your bag by the stage, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been. you had a checklist a mile long:

mic checks, monitor levels, cable tests, backup batteries, light cues.

you hadn’t even taken your jacket off yet when maki’s voice cut through the hum of the room.

“you look like you’re about to cry already,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear.

you stiffened, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. you turned slowly, forcing a smile that felt glued to your face.

“good morning to you too, maki,” you said, voice light. because what else could you do?

he raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “just saying. if you break down before thursday, we’re screwed.”

“thank you for your concern,” you said sweetly, and shoved your bag under the tech table a little harder than necessary.

euijoo shot maki a look from across the room—subtle, but definitely annoyed.

nicholas banged his sticks together, trying to get everyone’s attention back. “alright,” nicholas said, voice a little too loud. “let’s run it from the top. we’ll do two full sets today if we can. no pressure.”

you swallowed hard and yanked your headset into place. you could do this. you had to do this.

still, even as you ran through your checklist, you could feel maki’s gaze lingering.

he wasn’t laughing.

he wasn’t smiling.

and for some reason, that made it worse.

you ignored him. you ignored everything but the work in front of you. but as rehearsal dragged on, the pressure built until you felt like your whole body was vibrating. one of the lights wouldn’t respond to the cue. the wireless mic kept cutting out. someone unplugged a monitor by accident.

and through it all, maki’s voice kept finding you.

“maybe if you actually knew what you were doing—”

“someone’s gotta teach you how to fix that faster—”

“at this rate, you’ll be the reason we bomb—”

each comment was like a pinprick under your skin.

small enough to brush off at first.

but they were stacking.

heavy.

nicholas called five. everyone scattered off. you and the crew got to fixing every fucking problem that went wrong, and five minutes turned into twenty-five minutes.

and just when you were calming down, here comes your favorite person on the whole fucking planet.

you don’t know what sets him off this time.

maybe you breathe wrong. maybe you blink at the wrong angle. whatever it is, maki latches onto it like blood in the water.

“didn’t realize clumsiness was a talent,” he says, after you accidentally drop a mic stand while resetting.

his voice is light, almost lazy—but every word lands like a slap.

nicholas mutters something under his breath from across the stage, trying to keep things moving.

euijoo flashes you an apologetic look.

jo and yuma awkwardly fiddle with their gear.

you pretend you don’t feel the heat crawling up your neck.

you keep working. and maki keeps going.

“seriously, at this rate, we’ll be lucky if the stage doesn’t collapse.”

your hands shake around the cable you’re coiling.

you force yourself to breathe evenly.

“maybe you should stick to handing out water bottles or something,” he adds, voice low and mocking.

you slam the cable down without meaning to.

it rattles loudly against the metal floor.

everyone stops.

the silence is thick and ugly.

your throat burns.

your vision blurs.

your whole body buzzes with rage and shame, a horrible mix you can’t untangle.

you don’t want to cry.

god, you don’t want to.

but the tears are already spilling over, hot and furious.

you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, humiliated.

“leave me the fuck alone,” you snap, voice cracking.

it sounds pitiful even to your own ears.

maki steps back like you hit him. he looks…wrong. not smug. not triumphant. just stunned. and maybe—for the first time—scared.

“chill, i didn’t—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“just shut up, maki,” you choke out, grabbing your things.

you push past him, bumping shoulders hard, and disappear backstage.

you lock yourself in a storage closet.

sit on a crate. bury your face in your hands.

it’s not just him. it’s everything.

the stress, the pressure, the way you’ve been trying so hard for so long just to be enough. and somehow maki always knows exactly where to dig the knife.

you breathe in shaky gasps, trying to wrestle yourself back under control. behind the door, you hear footsteps.

soft. hesitant.

a knock.

“…hey.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “what,” you bite out.

pause.

“can i come in?”

you don’t answer. the door creaks open anyway.

maki steps inside, awkward and stiff, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. he closes the door gently behind him.

for a second, neither of you speaks.

then:

“i’m…” he clears his throat. “i’m sorry.”

you stare at him. not because you don’t believe him, but because you can’t remember the last time maki apologized for anything.

he rubs the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes. “i didn’t mean to— i wasn’t trying to—” he breaks off, frustrated. “you’re not useless,” he says finally, voice rough. “i was being a dick.”

you let out a bitter laugh, wiping your cheeks with your sleeve. “yeah. no kidding.”

maki flinches like you slapped him. he moves closer, then stops like he’s afraid of spooking you. “i’m not good at…” he gestures helplessly. “this. people. being…not an asshole.”

you snort, exhausted. “obviously.”

for a moment, you just stare at each other. the harsh fluorescent light hums overhead.

he looks wrecked—hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, shadows under his eyes. and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious he doesn’t know how to hold.

you don’t know what to do with that. so you look away.

he sits down on the floor in front of you, cross-legged. like he’s planting himself there and refusing to leave.

you don’t tell him to go.

after that, things shift.

slowly. awkwardly. like learning to walk after forgetting how.

maki still teases you. but it’s different now—lighter, edged with something almost fond.

you roll your eyes at him. but sometimes you smile too, against your will.

he starts carrying extra water bottles. tossing you one without a word during long rehearsals.

you start saving the good headphones for him. pretending it’s because he’s “too annoying to listen to otherwise.”

the others notice.

of course they notice.

euijoo nudges nicholas during meetings, grinning.

yuma whispers too loudly to jo, who giggles behind his hand.

you glare at them. maki flips them off without even looking up from his guitar.

and somehow—impossibly—it doesn’t feel bad.

it feels like breathing again.

you catch him friday night after everyone’s gone home, sitting on the edge of the stage, strumming quietly. you lean against the wall, arms crossed.

“you’re not terrible, you know,” you say.

he looks up, startled. then he grins—real and soft, not smug. “high praise coming from you.”

you roll your eyes. but your mouth twitches upward. you walk over, hesitating only a little before sitting next to him.

your shoulders brush.

neither of you move away.

you had thought the nerves would hit earlier. during soundcheck. or call time. or when you helped lay the last cable across the stage.

but somehow, it waited until now—ten minutes before showtime—to slam into you all at once.

you stood backstage, headset looped around your neck, hands clenched into fists at your sides.

your clipboard was tucked under your arm, crumpled and worn from how many times you’d flipped through it tonight. the band was huddled together a few feet away—nicholas twirling his sticks, euijoo stretching his fingers, jo tuning for the fifth time, yuma bouncing on his toes.

they looked nervous. but not like you. not like you were about to come apart at the seams.

you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, forcing yourself to breathe. you could do this. you had done all of this before.

rehearsals. tech runs. stage calls.

but this was different.

this was real.

“hey.”

you jumped slightly, snapping your eyes open. maki was standing in front of you, guitar slung across his back, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

he looked… calm. ridiculously calm.

“you good?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear.

you swallowed hard, forcing a nod. “yeah. totally. great.”

he tilted his head, studying you for a second longer than was comfortable. then he shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder toward the others.

“you know,” he said casually, “you’re more stressed out than the people actually performing.”

you huffed out a weak laugh. “thanks. that makes me feel so much better.”

maki cracked the smallest grin—quick, barely there, but real. he stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“i’m serious,” he said. “you’ve already done everything. there’s nothing else to screw up now.”

you opened your mouth to argue—because there was always something that could go wrong—but he cut you off.

“you kept this whole thing from falling apart. rehearsals, equipment, keeping yuma from throwing his guitar at jo…” he paused, smirking when you let out a choked laugh. “you did that. you.”

you stared at him, thrown off balance. he never talked to you like this.

not before.

not even after everything that happened.

“why are you being nice to me?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

maki shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. like he hadn’t spent the last two months making your life harder than it had to be.

“because you deserve it,” he said simply. “and because i don’t want you running off five minutes before we play.”

you rolled your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosened just a little. you hugged your clipboard tighter to your chest, trying to will yourself to believe him.

he bumped your shoulder lightly with his own.

“hey. look at me.”

you hesitated, then tilted your head up. his eyes—dark, sharp, familiar—were steady on yours.

“you’ve got this,” he said, softer this time. “seriously. we’re lucky you’re here.”

your throat tightened again, but not in the way it had earlier — not like you were about to cry.

this time, it felt different.

steady. grounding.

before you could say anything back, a stagehand waved from the wings, giving you the two-minute warning.

you blinked, snapping back into focus. you nodded sharply and turned toward the others, calling out the final checks. and just before he followed the rest of the band toward the stage entrance, maki paused.

he leaned in, voice low and teasing against your ear. “don’t cry from stress. i’ll laugh.”

you snorted, shoving him lightly toward the others. “shut up and go.”

he grinned—real and wide and easy—and disappeared into the shadows with the rest of them.

you stood there for a second longer, heart hammering, the weight in your chest finally lifting.

you weren’t alone in this. not anymore.

you adjusted your headset, squared your shoulders, and called the first cue.

the second they played the last chord, the stage lights dropped and the room exploded into cheers. you barely had time to process it before nicholas came barreling offstage, red hair plastered to his forehead, huge grin splitting his face.

“holy shit,” he gasped, immediately pulling you into a hug so tight you thought your ribs might crack. “we did it!”

“nico, juju, you killed it!” you laughed, patting his back as he swung you in a circle.

euijoo stumbled after him next, still catching his breath, his brown hair sticking up everywhere. he didn’t even say anything—he just leaned his entire body weight into you like a human pillow.

“i’m dying,” euijoo mumbled into your shoulder.

you laughed as you shoved him off lightly. “you guys were insane.”

“you sounded so good,” kazuha said, popping up beside you, practically bouncing in her sneakers. “like, i knew you guys were good, but that was insane.”

harua nodded, hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, a lazy grin on his face. “nicholas almost fell off his stool though.”

“i did not,” nicholas shot back, mock-offended. “i recovered. it’s called being a professional.”

“right, right,” harua teased, bumping his shoulder against yours. “very professional.”

you laughed, feeling the kind of high that only came after surviving something huge together. they were all sweaty, messy, loud—but they looked so happy it made your chest ache. you were about to say something when you felt someone step up beside you. you turned—and almost stumbled.

it was maki.

his black hair was pushed back, messy from the stage lights and sweat, his guitar slung carelessly across his back. he looked unfairly good for someone who had just screamed his lungs out for an hour.

for a second, he just stared at you. his hooded eyes unreadable, mouth set in a tight line.

“hey,” he said finally, voice rough.

“hey,” you echoed, feeling suddenly way too aware of yourself.

he shifted a little, like he was nervous. his fingers twitched against the strap of his guitar.

“i, uh,” he started, then stopped, glancing at nicholas and euijoo, who were pretending very badly not to eavesdrop.

he scowled and turned his attention back to you. “i just wanted to say… thanks,” he said, low. “for everything. like — really. we would’ve been screwed without you.”

you blinked, caught off guard by how serious he sounded. maki was many things — snarky, competitive, impossible sometimes — but he wasn’t fake.

“you guys did all the work,” you said, smiling a little.

he shook his head. “nah. you kept it together. even when i was… you know.” he grimaced slightly. “being an asshole.”

you laughed under your breath. “you were pretty bad.”

his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. then he ducked his head for a second, almost shy.

“so,” he said, kicking at the ground. “i was wondering if, maybe, after the after party… if you wanna go out with me?”

you barely had time to react before–

“she’s busy,” nicholas cut in loudly, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “busy going on a date with you.”

yuma, who had just wandered over, snorted so loudly it echoed backstage. “bro, you’re sweating more now than you were on stage,” he said, practically doubled over laughing.

maki turned bright red, glaring at them like he was weighing whether murder was a reasonable option. you bit your lip hard to keep from laughing—not at maki, but at how genuinely flustered he looked.

maki muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “i’m gonna kill them” before focusing back on you. his voice was quieter now, just for you. “i’m serious. do you wanna go out with me?”

you felt your heart skip in your chest—and this time, it wasn’t just the post-show adrenaline. you smiled—small, a little shy. “yeah,” you said. “i do.”

maki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. his mouth pulled into this crooked, boyish smile that made your stomach flip.

“good,” he said.

nicholas and yuma immediately burst into obnoxious cheering, harua and kazuha high-fiving like they’d just witnessed history.

euijoo laughed quietly, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“this is so embarrassing for you,” yuma teased maki gleefully.

“shut up,” maki muttered without any heat, still looking at you like you were the only person in the room. “after party first,” he added, voice low, a little more confident now. “then our date.”

you grinned, your heart racing. “deal.”

and somehow, through all the noise and laughter and chaos of backstage, it felt like you and maki were standing in your own little world:

quiet, real, just beginning.

[byllsbytch]

Cumming home to you <3

Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Ok, it’s pretty shitty, I’ve written this in 30mins, n im too lazy to write smut. (Besides I’m shit at it on a good day.)

here ya go cuties.

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Nicholas Alexander Chavez comes home late to his gf after a long day of filming, after many attempts of trying to get freaky they decide - fuck, we’re both too tired.

Warnings: Girl none?

I’d sat on the couch watching a cooking show, it was the most entertaining channel on at the time and seeing as the night was drawing to a close, I needed something easy to watch. It was my first week in our new apartment and Nick certainly was working his ass off for it. I numerously checked the time on the microwave in the kitchen and watched as the minutes passed.

I pulled the blanket up higher to my chin, slowly fluttering my eyes trying to keep them open. A tough inner battle. Being alone in the house it wasn’t hard to keep them open, when alone I’m always restless, however I was overtired. A wave of sleepiness hit me harder causing me to slump to the side of the couch. The words from the television became unintelligible and I began to drift away.

It felt like it had been two minutes before I woke to see Nicholas had finally gotten home and stood over me, pecking my cheek and playing with my hair.

“Come on princess off to bed.” He whispered. I struggled to open my eyes and glanced at the time again.

“2am! Nicholas! Are you ok baby?”

He smiled at my concern.

“I’m fine babe, just let me get you to bed.”

I mumbled before nick swooped me up in his arms and carried me to bed. I stretched and sprawled out in the centre of the bed before groaning in satisfaction.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so tired.”

“You’re fine my darling girl. I’ll just go for a shower and I’ll be right back. I’m sorry for coming home late and waking you.”

He walked into the bathroom the next room over and turned the water on.

-

The steam began to snake its way into the bedroom. After a few minutes I managed to pull my dead weight up off the bed and dragged my body to the bathroom doorway staring at Nick’s physique behind the shower glass.

I slowly began to pull off my shirt and kick off my pants. I heard the water turn off and Nicholas got out drying himself then wrapping the towel around his waist. He finally noticed me standing in the doorway in my old, ratty underwear. He bit his lip before coming close to me.

“What are you doing babe? You ok?”

I smirked at him, placing my hand onto his abdomen. He looked down to my hand and smiled closing the gap even more.

“I was going to get into the shower.”

“Oh damn it!” He joked, “Come on baby, let’s just go to bed it’s late.” He lent over and kissed me on the forehead.

I looked up at him and gave him puppy eyes a slight frown.

He looked away. “Oh come on! I feel bad that I woke you up.”

I placed my hand on his cheek before pulling him into a kiss.

He leant in with no hesitation and tangled his fingers into my hair. We both closed our eyes in each other’s embrace as Nicholas began to make his way from my lips down my neck. I took my hands behind my back before undoing my bra. He kept all his attention to my collar bone leaving sloppy kisses. He pulled away sensing the warmth from my breast and stepped back to glance at them. My forearms rested in his, he stared in complete adoration and love.

“You’re so gorgeous and perfect.”

He placed his hands onto my chest before going back into the kiss. I moved my hands down to his towel and gently tugged, teasing him.

“Mhmm” He hummed, nodding in the kiss.

I pulled it off before he lifted me up and carried me back to the bed.

He placed me down delicately before crawling over me.

He was out of breath and visibly excited.

“How was work handsome?” I asked keeping my hand on his face his stocky frame above me.

He stopped puzzled, already panting from the little action.

“Yeah it was alright baby. Long and boring but it’s ok because we’re about to wrap up filming soon. Tell you what got me through it, you. I couldn’t help but think about you all day. I’m so happy it’s over so we can be in this moment right now.”

I felt a grin grow wider across my face.

“Especially the snap that you sent earlier, that REALLY helped me wind down.” He chuckled, winking.

My eyes widened as I gasped, slapping him playfully on the chest, “Nick! Oh my god!” I couldn’t help but laugh and he soon joined in with me placing his forehead against mine.

“You know what this is nice. How about we just do this.”

“Oh thank god!” I said, “I’m so fucking knackered.”

I rolled onto my side and felt Nick press himself up against me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his head into the crook of my neck.

He smirked at my reaction. “Oh ok! You came onto me remember!”

I smiled at him, “Well it’s hard not to.”

“You wanna know what’s hard?”

I turned my head back to look at him grinning before rolling my eyes.

We had some more pillow talk while he continued to spoon me.

“We’re definitely on in the morning, you know that?”

“Oh yes!” He triumphantly pumped his fist.

[bad-omens-blog]

Haunt Me

Summary: The boys try to convince Noah to get over his dream girl, and Noah finally sleeps with her.

Warnings: Drinking to induce sleep. Conversations in the bath. Drunk Sex. Bath Sex. Possessive yet sweet dirty talk. P in V.

Noah leaned back in his chair, allowing the tension in his muscles to ease as he cracked his neck, the satisfying sound echoing in the studio's quiet corners. He pulled the headphones off, releasing a rush of silence that contrasted sharply with the day’s chaotic recording of V.A.N. The relentless hum of the instruments and the artificial-sounding vocal takes had taken its toll, leaving the front of his head throbbing like a bass drum.

For the past week, he'd been plagued by unsettling nightmares that twisted his sleep into a restless ordeal, draining his mental and physical energy. Each night, he was thrust into surreal landscapes filled with half-formed shadows and echoes of voices that felt hauntingly familiar. The weight of those sleepless nights now pressed heavily on his brow, making him acutely aware of every slight ache and discomfort. As he rubbed his temples, he wondered how much longer he could juggle the band's demands and the specter of his unresolved problems.

All he longed for was to be enveloped in the warmth of his girl's embrace, where he felt a sense of complete belonging. She was the same enchanting girl who had populated his dreams for the past two years, her laughter echoing in his mind, her smile lighting up his darkest days.

"Noah," Poppy--Moriah's voice cut through his brain fog, "You okay?"

"In his head again." Nicholas muttered, "Daydreaming about his fantasy girl."

"Shut the fuck up." Noah snapped.

He had only told the guys because it became harder and harder not to talk about her. So many questions about the DOPOM album. Who was it about? Where the hell was he getting his operation from? It was constant nagging before he finally spilled about her. The guys had asked if he had truthfully seen her, and he had to admit, "Only in my dreams."

"Dream girl?" Moriah asked, a smile playing on her lips, but it lacked the genuine warmth that usually brightened her expression. Her eyes didn’t twinkle with the same sparkle. "Should I be feeling jealous about you spending time with someone else?" Her voice hinted at the playful accusation, but an underlying tension suggested she felt more than just playful curiosity.

Jolly snorted derisively, the sound echoing with disbelief. "Not likely," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Across the room, Noah's icy glare locked onto the older man, his expression a mask of simmering frustration. "I'm just saying," he replied, his tone steady but laced with hesitation.

"None of you get it." Noah growled, "She's not just some fragment of my imagination!"

"Prove it." Nicholas instantly said, "Tell us her name at the very least. Two years, and you still have yet to say her name."

A seething rage coiled tightly within his chest, a storm brewing beneath the surface. These guys, oblivious to his feelings, acted as if they were completely unaware of the depth of his devotion to her. She was not just a fleeting passion; she was his heartbeat, the essence of his being, the center of his universe. The sheer thought that they disregarded the fact he had poured his heart and soul into an entire album dedicated to her—every note and lyric a testament to his love—infuriated him. It felt like a betrayal as if they were diminishing the significance of a two-year journey he had embarked upon for her alone.

Noah stood up, throwing his headset on the table, "Fuck you guys."

He took a deep sip from the bottle, and the vibrant bite of the tequila sparked a rush of sensations. It had been quite some time since he savored its golden warmth, a deliberate choice he made long ago to embrace a healthier lifestyle, stepping away from drinking, smoking, and other reckless habits that once defined him. Yet through all that change, she remained—the one steadfast presence in his life amidst the fleeting distractions.

Noah realized his tolerance had plummeted when he almost tripped over his shoes going up the stairs. He groaned when his door opened, and her delicious scent hit him.

His eyelids fluttered like delicate moth wings, barely able to stay alight as the soft embrace of sleep beckoned him. Just moments before he sank into the welcoming depths of his pillow, the intoxicating haze of drunkenness wrapped around him, pulling him down into a velvety darkness that finally promised her.

Noah woke in the bed, on top of her fluffy bedspread. He looked around and didn't find her anywhere. He got to his feet, swaying lightly, and said, "Baby?"

"Noah?" Her honey voice called out from her in-suite bathroom, "I didn't think you were coming back."

He stumbled to the door, leaning heavily on the frame. His brown eyes lifted, and the scene in front of him sobered him slightly, "Fucking--Oh my god."

There she sat, enveloped in the warm embrace of a deep claw-foot tub, steam billowing gently around her like a silken veil. Beads of sweat clung to her skin, causing a few errant curls of fiery red hair to cling delicately to her forehead. Her glasses were on the floor next to the tub, so she was squinting at him, "Are you okay?"

"Better than ever." His voice echoed in his ears, unfamiliar and tinged with an invigorating rasp. It was husky and breathless, resonating with a raw intensity that echoed in his chest.

He moved forward, sinking to his knees beside the tub. Her eyes were soft, always so fucking soft that it melted his heart. His hand reached for her cheek, feeling her silky skin.

That's what she was--silk and honey. Lace and creamy. She was so unbelievably soft, and he was lost in it.

"Love me." Desperation laced his breath, "I need you. I have to need you. You're the only thing I cling to."

"Of course, I love you." She whispered. "What's wrong?"

"I need you for real. We are playing the Mayhem festive this year. That gives you a year to save, or I can send you tickets. I'll pay for your plane ticket, wherever you are. Please. Please." His lips crashed onto hers, desperately trying to show how much he loved her.

He wasn't sure when he decided, but suddenly, hot water splashed around him as he climbed into the tub with her. He ignored the way his skin screamed at him as he dragged her to his wet chest.

"Noah!" She giggled, "You're all wet and soapy now."

"Don't care." His lips attached to her neck, sucking and biting, "Can I have you?" He leaned back to look into her hazel eyes, "Please?"

Her warm and inviting smile danced playfully across her lips: "Always. I'm yours." An almost sugary-sweet kiss brushed against his lips as she leaned in, igniting a familiar flutter in his chest. At that moment, he felt his resolve fade.

It was more than just pleasing her, seeing her in bliss, than her breathless praises to him.

Noah had a selfish goal. No secret—it was written all over his greedy touches. In the way his hands branded her skin like a claim, in the way his mouth lingered too long, tasting, taking, as if to memorize her from the inside out.

Every moan he pulled from her was another tally in a quiet war only he knew he was waging. He didn’t just want her body pliant under his. He wanted her soul curled around his. He wanted the tremble in her voice when she whispered, "Noah," to be his altar. A devotion. A surrender.

His teeth scraped down her throat, water sloshing over the rim as he ripped his shirt off and tossed it somewhere. His drunkness haze made the heat worse, the taste of her skin even fucking sweeter.

"Mine." He whispered against her throat before his teeth claimed it. The way she clung to him tightly as his teeth caused pain and pleasure down her spine made his head swim. His lips dragged across her shoulder, slow, shaky, contrasting to his hands, which gripped her hips.

Somehow she got him out of his sweats and socks as his mouth went down her chest, licking and lips pulling at her nipples, making them go from pale pink to almost raw red. She was moaning, and her hands gripped his hair, pulling him closer to her chest. Teeth nipped at her before his tongue soothed the sting away.

And maybe he was being selfish because he wanted to devour her. Maybe it was all too much. But when her hand reached back to thread through his hair and repeated his name—so soft, so sure—Noah let his forehead rest against her shoulder and believed it.

She became impaietnt and giuded his throbbing cock into her and he groaned, "This is about you."

"I want you." She whimpered as he tried to control his hips, "Please, Noah."

His lips found her cheek, burning and damp, and he kissed her there, soft, almost reverent. A contrast to the way he rolls his hips forward, deeper, deliberate, dragging his cock through the tight clutch of her walls like he’s searching for something only she could give him. This is how he wanted to die.

He jerked her out of the water, sitting on his heels. Their chests were pressed together, one hand on her lower back and the other on the tub's rim to keep them balanced. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his cock moved deeper in that position, making him choke.

She gasped, head tilting back instinctively, but he didn't miss. He trailed kisses across her face, wet and lingering—cheekbones, the corner of her mouth, the shell of her ear—each one a worship, a vow unspoken. He thrusts slowly just enough to make her feel every inch, every twitch and drag, as if he’s trying to memorize the way she fit around him.

"Oh fuck." He choked as she gently rocked with him. He was so deep he could barely breathe. He buried his head into her neck, "Just like that."

He squeezed his eyes shut when she tightened around him, clinging to him for dear life. He couldn't breath, couldn't see, couldn't fucking think. . . Only her.

And inside that slow, steady rhythm, with her hands tangled in his hair and his mouth still chasing every inch of her skin, Noah moved like a man trying to earn her devotion—one thrust, one kiss, one breath at a time.

He shifted his hips' angle slightly—but it’s enough. Enough to make her body jolt, your hands scrambled on his back. Her nails dug deep across his tattoo. His thrusts picked up pace, not frantic, but deliberate—to keep her right on the edge without letting her fall just yet.

"You're going to belong to me." He grunted out, grabbing a fist full of her hair and pulling her head back to make her look in his eyes, drunk, lust-filled, and devoted, "No one else. Mine."

Hazel eyes were lid-heavy, tears streaming down her face, and steam plastered curls across her neck and forehead. She nodded and cried out when his teeth bit into her shoulder.

Each rock of their hips made her clit rub against his pelvis. Noah tipped his head back. His muscles ached, his lungs desperately pulled in hot, humid air, and sweat dripped off his face, but he would not stop.

"Noah--I'm gonna--" She practically bounced his grip, chasing after her orgasm.

"Yes! Fuck yes!" He grabbed her at her ribs and finally let loose. She tried to cling to his shoulders, but he set a pace she couldn't keep up with.

Noah saw white star blasts behind his eyes as her walls clamped around him with a piercing scream in his ears. She chased that high as much as she could, but he didn't let her come down. He choked out a groan as he fell forward, narrowly missing slipping into their water as he came.

He peeled his eyes open, panting, heart pounding and fucking hot. His brown eyes ran over her body, covered in bite marks, hickies across her chest, and her nipples almost looked bruised. Her thighs twitched uncontrollably, muscles clenching with aftershocks she couldn't control, and her body stayed arched, overstimulated.

"Are you okay?" He ground out, desperately trying to catch his breath.

She nodded with a pleased hum, "I didn't think you were going to be like that."

"Like what?" He pulled her out of the water and helped her out of the tub. Her towel-covered back leaned against his chest.

"Almost animal-like." She gasped as his hand ran up her thigh and across her wet core, "You want to go again?"

"I'll have you as many times as you want, " he whispered. He felt the pull of awakeness, signaling that his time there was coming to an end. "I just wish this wasn't all a dream."

"It's not." She whispered, "I'll see you soon."

Noah stirred from a deep slumber, the remnants of fatigue weighing heavily on his body as his muscles protested every movement. He blinked, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the window, and gradually took in his surroundings. With a groan, Noah swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath his feet. Each step felt like a chore, his limbs aching as he navigated through the dimly lit hallway toward the bathroom, the faint sounds of the world outside gradually coming to life.

"Dude, what the fuck happened to you?" Jesse's voice came from below on the first floor.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Noah's voice was raw and his back stung like a bitch.

"You're soaking wet and your back is bleeding!"

Noah suddenly became acutely aware of the glistening water droplets trickling down from his damp hair, each one shimmering like a tiny gem as it fell. He glanced back towards his room, where a disheveled pile of soaked clothes lay abandoned on the floor.

Noah hurried into the bathroom, the glaring overhead light slicing through the darkness like a knife, forcing him to squint against its brightness. He twisted his torso, peering into the mirror to glimpse his back. There, against the canvas of his tattooed skin, vivid, deep crimson lines intermingled in a complex web, starkly contrasting with the intricate ink that adorned him. Suddenly, her sharp gasps echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the moment that had just transpired.

He smiled to himself, "Best fucking night of my life is what happened."

--------------------------------------------------

TAG LIST: @xmads-omensx @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall @mrscevans

The Dream Girl Series is pinned to my wall! I am so sorry for me to post this so long!

[serapharua]

HYBRID &TEAM | JEALOUSY . . . !

&team ot9 — GENRE : imagines headcanon fluff hybrid au — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : possessiveness — REQUESTED : nope.

K (kangaroo hybrid) :

The room hummed with light chatter, and K stood at the edge of the gathering, his sharp eyes fixed on you. You were laughing, the sound warm and sweet, but the person standing too close to you, leaning in just a bit too far, soured the air around him. K’s jaw tightened as he crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing as his tail flicked behind him in restless irritation.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. You were friendly; it was part of your charm. But when the person placed a hand on your shoulder, his chest tightened, a simmering heat pooling in his gut. It wasn’t anger, it was something deeper, more primal. Jealousy wasn’t something K often entertained, but right now, it burned through him like an ember catching fire.

When your eyes met his across the room, his expression softened for a moment, but he didn’t move. Instead, he held your gaze, silently willing you to notice the way his usually steady demeanor had shifted. The person said something to you, but K didn’t hear it; he was already striding toward you, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure.

“Mind if I steal them for a second?” K’s voice was low, steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it. Without waiting for a response, he gently took your wrist and guided you away from the conversation, his tail brushing against your leg as he walked.

When you were out of earshot, K turned to face you, his brows furrowed and his gaze intense. “Do they always have to get so close to you?” His voice was calm, but the underlying tension was clear. “I don’t like it.”

You blinked up at him, caught between surprise and amusement. “Are you… jealous, K?”

His ears twitched slightly, and a faint blush dusted his cheeks. “No,” he said a bit too quickly, his eyes flickering away for a moment before locking back onto yours. “I just don’t want anyone thinking they can take what’s mine.”

There it was, the quiet possessiveness you’d only seen glimpses of before. But the way he looked at you, a mix of vulnerability and determination, made your heart skip a beat. K wasn’t used to feeling this way, but for you, he’d admit it, even if only in his own stubborn way.

FUMA (panda hybrid) :

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness Fuma usually found comforting. But tonight, that tranquility only heightened the unease gnawing at him. Across the room, you were chatting with someone, laughing at their jokes, leaning in closer to hear them better. Fuma’s sharp eyes caught every small gesture, every effortless connection between the two of you.

He wasn’t the type to interrupt or make a scene, but the tightness in his chest wouldn’t go away. He stayed seated at the edge of the couch, his usual calm expression betrayed by the way his thumb worried at the edge of his sleeve.

When you finally returned to his side, still carrying the warmth of your previous conversation, he tried to play it off. “Looks like you had a good time,” he said softly, his tone measured but unmistakably tinged with something heavier.

You tilted your head at him, noticing the shift in his demeanor. “Yeah, they’re nice. Why?”

Fuma shook his head and offered a small, almost resigned smile. “No reason. Just… didn’t think I’d have to fight for your attention tonight.” His words were gentle, but his dark eyes betrayed a vulnerability he rarely showed.

The honesty caught you off guard, and you placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “You don’t have to fight for anything, Fuma,” you said, voice firm but kind. “I’m here with you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at your words, and he let out a soft laugh, brushing a hand through his hair. “Good,” he murmured, his usual warmth returning as he glanced at you. “Because I don’t plan on giving you up.”

NICHOLAS (doberman hybrid) :

It’s a quiet afternoon at the group’s usual hangout spot, a cozy café where everyone likes to relax after practice. You’re sitting at a table with a few of the others, enjoying your drink, when someone from another group, a friend of the members, walks in. They notice you immediately and make their way over, a friendly smile on their face.

“Hey, it’s good to see you! Mind if I join you?” they ask, already pulling out a chair before you can respond. The energy around you shifts slightly, but you don’t notice, still caught up in the conversation with the others.

Nicholas, however, isn’t so oblivious. He’s been watching from across the room, his gaze sharp as the newcomer takes the seat next to you, too close for his liking. He fidgets with his drink, irritation building beneath the surface. He’s never been the type to show his feelings openly, but today, something about the way they’re smiling at you, leaning in too close—he can’t stand it.

You laugh at something the newcomer says, your eyes sparkling, and Nicholas feels a knot tighten in his chest. His posture stiffens as he stands up, casually making his way over. The closer he gets, the more he seems to loom over everyone, his presence growing larger in the small space.

“Hey,” he says, his voice smooth but with an edge you don’t usually hear. You look up, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“Hey, Nicholas. What’s up?” you ask, trying to ignore the tension in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead leaning down just a little too close to you. His hand rests gently on your shoulder, possessively, as he looks at the newcomer. “I think they’re with us,” he says, the words almost a challenge.

The newcomer looks a little taken aback, glancing between you and Nicholas. They offer a smile, but Nicholas doesn’t return it, his eyes dark and watchful. He leans in a bit closer to you, brushing his thumb along your shoulder in a way that sends a subtle message. The newcomer hesitates for a moment, then nods, getting the hint.

“Oh, no worries. I’ll let you two catch up.” They stand and walk away, giving you a polite nod before leaving the table.

You blink, not fully understanding what just happened, but Nicholas remains standing close to you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. He doesn’t apologize for his actions, but there’s something in his eyes, pride, possessiveness, and maybe even a bit of regret.

You tilt your head slightly. “Nicholas, what’s going on?”

He finally speaks, his voice low. “Just didn’t like how close they were getting,” he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “You’re mine to protect, okay?”

You smile softly, understanding his feelings, but you’re not sure how to react to the intensity of his jealousy. Nicholas, however, seems satisfied that the space between you and the newcomer has been properly claimed. He settles back into his seat beside you, not saying much more, but his hand still lingers a little too close to yours.

EJ (sloth hybrid) :

EJ sat quietly in the corner, his usual calm demeanor masking the unease brewing inside him. You were chatting with someone, laughing at a joke they had made. EJ had been trying to catch your eye, but you seemed so engrossed in the conversation. He shifted in his seat, absentmindedly adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie as his gaze flickered between you and the person next to you.

Normally, he’d just let things be, but today… it felt different. You were his person, weren’t you? The one who made him feel comfortable and at ease. And now, someone else seemed to be taking that place.

He stood up slowly, his tall frame moving toward the group, but he paused just behind you. The conversation flowed around him, but his thoughts were elsewhere. You seemed so happy, and it tugged at his chest, pulling him out of his usual calm state.

EJ cleared his throat softly, just enough to get your attention. When you looked up, he gave you a gentle, almost shy smile, but there was something in his eyes, a slight spark of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice quiet but with a hint of something more. “I was thinking we could watch a movie later… just us?” His words felt like a subtle invitation, a quiet plea for your attention.

You smiled, nodding in agreement, but you were still chatting with the other person. EJ let out a soft sigh, leaning against the wall as he continued to watch you. His lips tugged down into a faint frown, though he quickly masked it with his usual relaxed smile. His jealousy wasn’t loud, it wasn’t angry, but it was there, buried beneath the surface, and he wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.

As you finally excused yourself from the conversation, EJ straightened up and walked over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a slow, almost possessive gentleness. “Ready for that movie?” he asked, his voice more soothing than usual.

You nodded, and as you walked away together, he couldn’t help but keep his gaze on the person you’d been talking to, wondering if he’d have to keep competing for your attention. But deep down, he knew one thing, he would always quietly find a way to be there beside you.

YUMA (ermine hybrid) :

You were chatting with a friend of yours, laughing and catching up over lunch. The conversation was light and easy, and everything felt comfortable until you noticed Yuma, who had been sitting across from you, suddenly grow quiet. His eyes flickered between you and your friend, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his lips.

You couldn’t help but notice the shift in his mood. Yuma, who was usually so playful and energetic, was now leaning back in his chair with a slightly furrowed brow, his gaze fixed on your friend a little longer than normal. Every now and then, his foot would tap impatiently against the floor.

Your friend, completely unaware, continued to joke around with you, making you laugh even more. But Yuma seemed distant, his playful aura replaced by something else.

When your friend reached across the table to grab something, Yuma shifted his position, now sitting straighter and closer to you. He casually placed his hand on the back of your chair, a small gesture that felt a little more deliberate than usual. His fingers brushed against your shoulder, and he leaned in slightly, his voice quieter than before. “You seem to be having a lot of fun,” he remarked, his tone carrying an edge you hadn’t quite expected.

You turned to look at him, noticing the glint of something in his eyes, almost like he was waiting for you to acknowledge him. “What’s up?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips, sensing something was off.

Yuma didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at your friend, his gaze a little sharp, before turning back to you. “Nothing. Just thought I’d make sure you’re okay,” he said with a slight shrug, though there was an unmistakable hint of possessiveness in his voice.

You tilted your head, noticing the slight pout on his lips. “Yuma… are you jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the way his eyes narrowed at your friend said enough. “I’m not jealous,” he muttered, though his crossed arms and the little huff that escaped him told a different story.

You chuckled softly, amused by his reaction. Gently, you placed your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his fingers beneath yours. “You know I’m right here with you, right?”

Yuma’s mood shifted immediately. His expression softened, and he leaned in closer, his voice low as he whispered, “I just don’t like sharing you.” He gave you a small, almost sheepish smile, as if realizing how his jealousy had been more obvious than he’d intended.

“Well, you’re my favorite,” you reassured him with a smile, leaning in for a soft kiss on his cheek.

Yuma’s eyes brightened, a playful spark returning. “Good,” he said, his earlier mood all but forgotten as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “Because I’m not sharing.”

JO (arctic fox hybrid) :

The evening is warm, and the group has gathered in the cozy corner of the café. You’re laughing, your eyes lighting up as the person across from you cracks a joke, and Jo can’t help but notice how close you’re sitting. The way they’re leaning in, paying extra attention to every word you say, it stirs something unfamiliar inside him. He tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t quite work.

After a few moments, Jo stands up quietly, his movements deliberate but calm. He says nothing as he moves toward the counter, his mind a little clouded. You catch sight of him, a small frown on his face, and the moment he’s out of the conversation, your attention shifts toward him. You know him well enough to see something’s off.

When he returns, he’s holding two cups of hot chocolate, one for you, the other for him. He slides one over to your side of the table, his fingers brushing against yours as he does. He doesn’t speak immediately, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than usual, like he’s waiting for something, maybe your reassurance, maybe your attention.

As you thank him with a smile, Jo settles in beside you, the person you were talking to a little too engrossed in their phone to notice. Jo’s arm casually drapes over the back of your chair, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the seat. His posture is relaxed, but the subtle closeness between the two of you sends a quiet, clear message that he’s not going anywhere.

He might not be confrontational, but in this moment, Jo’s actions speak louder than his words. He’s here, and he’s not going to let you get too caught up in someone else’s attention without reminding you that you have his.

HARUA (bunny hybrid) :

It was another casual hangout, and the group had gathered at a cozy café, chatting and enjoying their drinks. Harua had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the afternoon, his usual warmth hidden behind a soft smile as he watched you laugh with one of the new friends who had joined the group. You were having fun, but Harua seemed to be growing more and more distant, his ears flicking at every touch or laugh you shared with the other person.

You didn’t notice how tense things had gotten until the person next to you leaned a little too close, making you giggle at something they said. Harua, who had been quietly sipping his drink, suddenly stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. His movements were more abrupt than usual, but no one else seemed to notice.

“I’ll be back,” Harua muttered softly, his voice barely audible as he made his way to the door, not giving anyone a chance to respond. You furrowed your brow, wondering what had gotten into him.

You excused yourself from the table and followed him outside, catching up just as he was leaning against a wall, his arms crossed tightly in front of him. His bunny ears drooped slightly, a small sign of his unease.

“Harua?” you asked, walking over to him, concerned. “What’s going on?”

He glanced at you, his expression a mix of frustration and vulnerability. “I don’t like how close they were to you,” he admitted quietly, looking away as if embarrassed by his own words. “I… I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt… uncomfortable.”

You blinked, surprised, but then understood. “You’re jealous?” you asked gently, your tone soft, trying not to make him feel embarrassed.

Harua hesitated, his hands nervously fiddling with the edge of his hoodie sleeve. “Maybe,” he muttered. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and a little desperate. “I don’t like seeing you smile like that with someone else.”

You smiled softly at him, walking closer and placing a hand on his arm. “Harua, I’m not going anywhere. You’re important to me, okay?”

But Harua still seemed uneasy. After a long silence, he made a small but determined gesture, he gently pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly as if to reassure himself. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled and soft. His normally shy nature was still there, but this time, he acted on it, wanting to keep you close in a way that made you realize how much he cared.

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around him in return. “You won’t lose me,” you whispered. “You just have to let me in when you’re feeling this way, okay?”

Harua nodded, holding you a little tighter, his warmth and sincerity calming his jealousy. Though he might be shy, when it came to you, he wasn’t afraid to show his feelings, even in his own quiet way.

TAKI (otter hybrid) :

It was a quiet afternoon, and you were sitting on the grassy patch near the lake, chatting with one of the other members. As you laughed at something they said, Taki was nearby, his eyes flicking between you two. He had been watching you for a while, feeling that familiar twinge of discomfort. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other person, it was just that he didn’t like how easily they were making you smile. He wanted to be the one making you laugh like that.

He pushed himself off the rock he’d been lounging on, his playful nature taking over as he slid across the ground like a slick otter, and with a grin, he plopped down next to you. Without saying a word, he nudged your shoulder with his, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

“Hey, don’t you think it’s a little unfair for someone else to get all your attention?” Taki’s voice was light, but there was a hint of playfulness, and maybe a little possessiveness, in it.

You laughed, shaking your head at him, but the other person seemed to notice the shift in the air. They awkwardly shifted back, realizing they were maybe crowding you a bit.

“Maybe you should let me have some fun too,” Taki continued, his smile widening as he snatched a nearby stick and started twirling it in the air like it was some kind of toy. His playful energy was a distraction, making sure your attention shifted to him as he continued to tease the other person.

You looked at him, amused by his antics. “You’re such a child, Taki.”

But Taki wasn’t done. He leaned in closer, his voice soft yet teasing. “I’m not a child. I just know how to make sure the person I like knows where their attention belongs.” His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath the teasing.

With a final playful push, he gave you a wink, the kind that only made it harder to deny how much he enjoyed being the one who made you smile. He had his own way of showing he cared, and sometimes, that meant making sure no one else could take his place.

MAKI (golden retriever hybrid) :

It was an evening out with the group at a local event, and the atmosphere was filled with music and laughter. You were standing near the snack table, chatting with a few of the other guests when someone you had just met started talking to you more intently. They were leaning in close, laughing at your jokes, and it didn’t escape Maki’s notice when the other person placed a hand on your shoulder, clearly comfortable in your space.

Maki, who had been standing a little farther back, took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. His eyes were locked on you and the other person, his hands instinctively fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He felt his chest tighten, an emotion he hadn’t expected bubbling up, a familiar, uncomfortable feeling that made him want to step in.

After a few minutes, Maki finally couldn’t take it anymore. He casually made his way over to where you were standing, his usual energetic demeanor replaced by something quieter. He placed a hand on your shoulder in a way that was more possessive than usual, gently guiding you away from the conversation. “Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge to it. “Can we go over there for a second?”

You turned to him, surprised by his sudden shift in behavior. The person you’d been talking to gave him a curious look, but Maki simply flashed a friendly, if slightly forced, smile. “Oh, hey, Maki,” you said, sensing something was off. “What’s up?”

Maki’s bright eyes lingered on the other person for a brief moment before he returned his attention to you, his expression softening just for you. “I was thinking we could grab some drinks, just the two of us,” he said, his voice lowering a bit as he tugged you toward a quieter corner of the venue.

Once you were a little farther from the crowd, Maki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that,” he said, his usual cheerful tone tinged with a hint of something softer, more vulnerable. “I just… didn’t like seeing you with them, that’s all.”

You blinked, realizing what was going on. “Oh… Maki, you’re jealous?”

He hesitated before giving a small, sheepish nod. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I don’t like sharing you, okay? You’re… important to me.”

Your heart melted a little at his honesty, and you placed a hand on his arm. “Maki, you know I care about you, right?” you reassured him, giving him a warm smile. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Maki’s face lit up at your words, the tension easing from his posture. He leaned in a little, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good, because I don’t plan on letting anyone else take my place.”

Word count : 3703 | serapharua, 2024.

[darksigns-exe]

your love is sunlight - nicholas ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: unprotected intercourse, swearing

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist sign-up

He’s all yours for the rest of the year. 

With the band’s last show done, you’re intent on keeping Nick as close as you can. And while this year hasn’t been as busy as the previous few, you still missed him terribly.

He sleeps so soundly next to you, and you almost don’t want to wake him. It’s still early, he doesn’t have to be awake yet. You remain next to him until you feel yourself becoming restless. Unravelling yourself from him is always hard, and you barely manage to tear yourself away from him.

You wander over into the kitchen. Since you found a place together, you’ve managed to turn this place into a cosy little corner where the outside world doesn’t matter that much.

Lydia hops up onto the counter while you prep your first coffee of the morning. You scratch the spot under her chin, earning you a satisfied little sound. It had taken her a moment longer than the others to get used to you. Now that you’re on good terms, she has become so affectionate with you.

Nick is – as expected – slowly rousing from his sleep when you return to the bedroom with your coffees. He rubs his hands across his face, trying to shoo away the sleepiness that still clings to him. You pause for a second to watch him.

When his eyes finally find you, his lips twist into a soft smile. “Good morning.” he mumbles, his voice still a little rough.

You place his cup on the bedside table next to his side of the bed, before settling down next to him.

“Sleep alright?” you ask.

You reach out to brush a few stray pieces of hair out of his face.

Nick gives a nod in reply as he sits up. He reaches for his cup, cradling it in his hands. He sighs contently when he takes the first sip.

“Pretty good. Could have done with a little more, though.”

“You didn’t have to get up yet.”

“No, but I don’t sleep that good when you’re not next to me.” he places his hand on top of your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze, “Don’t like sleeping without you.”

You drop your head to his shoulder, “Luckily you won’t have to until next year.”

“I really can’t convince you to come with us?” he almost sounds a little sad, and you do feel bad for having to say no to him.

The idea of being stuck on a plane for that long simply fills you with too much fear and discomfort.

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time.” Nick offers, “We could stay for a bit longer if you want? See a few things?”

You know what he’s trying to do, and you’re almost ready to give in.

“I’m not going to be in the way?” You feel a little silly asking the question, you’re friends with the boys, you know you wouldn’t be in the way.

“Baby.” his hand carefully turns your face towards him, “You’d never be in the way. We’d all love to have you there. If it’d make you feel better, I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

You lean forward to kiss him, almost spilling the contents of your cups onto the freshly washed sheets. Nick quickly sets his cup back down on the night stand, before he takes yours from your hands, too.

His lips find yours again so easily. His hand weaves into the hair at the back of your neck, keeping you close to him.

You quickly find yourself placed in his lap. Nick’s free hand finds a comfortable home at your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh he finds there. You can’t tear yourself away from him, the way he kisses you is just too addicting.

Instinctively, you grind down against him, feeling him already growing hard. Nick lets out a little sigh, prompting you to repeat the motion. He gives a stronger squeeze to your waist, silently telling you to keep going. You bring one of your hands between your bodies, trying to touch him properly.

“Scoot back a little?” Nick whispers, barely parting from your lips.

Reluctantly, you move back from him, giving him space to practically tear off his shirt. He struggles with the pyjama bottoms, and you lift yourself away from him to help him, just for you to topple over on top of him. Nicks laugh echoes through the room.

“Careful baby.” he smiles, pulling you in for a quick kiss as you set yourself upright again, “You wanna stay on top today?”

You nod.

You love watching Nick fall apart under you, and you know that he likes seeing you on top of him.

His fingers quickly find their way between your thighs. Your head drops back when the tips of his fingers dip into your wetness. Nick likes to take his time with this, no matter how much you whine and whimper for him. In fact, you think that it only spurs him on more.

“You feel so good, love. Think you’re ready for me?” he asks, fingers pushing deeper into you.

You nod, trying your best to choke out a yes.

His fingers shift inside of you a few more times before he carefully pulls them from you. You shift, making space for Nick to reach between your bodies. He lets out a hiss when his hand makes contact with his cock. You brace yourself against his waist, closing your eyes when he traces the head against your folds.

The first stretch is always a lot, no matter how much he prepares you for it. You take your time sinking down on him. Nick wraps one hand around yours, gripping it tightly to ease your nerves. Once you're full seated on top of him, you tear your eyes open, looking down at your love.

Nick gazes up at you with a devastating softness. Your love for him is only growing stronger with every day, and really you can’t imagine being with anyone else.

“Whenever you're ready, my love.” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

You give yourself a few more moments before you begin your slow grind against him. Nick tries to keep his eyes on you, but he only lasts a few minutes before his head falls back against the pillow, and he lets out a low sigh.

The hand on your waist flexes, twitches as he groans softly.

You trace your fingers across his cheek, gently brushing your thumb across his skin. Nick’s eyes flutter open and he gives you a soft smile.

“Nicky.” you sigh, return the squeeze of his hand.

He feels so good inside of you, filling you so perfectly. You grind down against him, slowly increasing your speed.

“You’re so good, baby – so fucking good.” the breathy tone of his voice makes you tremble too.

Nicks tongue dips out to wet his lips, and you can’t stop yourself then. You lean down to kiss him, all the while still moving yourself along his cock. You feel Nick smile against your lips, making you smile in return.

You stay close, and thankfully Nick understands that he needs to help you out a little. He needs a moment to find a comfortable rhythm, but once he does, you know that you won’t last much longer.

“Getting close?” you whisper against his lips.

Nick nods quickly, trying his best to stifle a moan.

Your insides feel so tight already. You let yourself drop forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder. Every thrust into you drags you closer and closer towards your release. His hips stutter and a moment later you feel him spilling inside of you. Nick gasps out your name. His hand tightens against your waist just a little bit too tightly.

You try to keep up the rhythm, but ultimately fail. Nick is quick to pick up on it though and brings his thumb to your clit. You moan out loud when he begins to draw quick circles over you. You follow him soon enough, falling apart around him so easily. You sigh his name against his skin.

Eventually, you let yourself sag against him. Nick’s arms wrap around you, holding you close to him.

“I love you so much.” he says softly, still so very breathless.

In return, you press a kiss against his bare shoulder, “I love you so much.”

You remain like this for a while longer. By the time you manage to separate yourself from him, your coffee has gone cold. Nick fixes both of you new cups while you’re under the shower, and you come back to an almost finished breakfast spread.

He’s at the stove, preparing your scrambled eggs ready when you enter the kitchen. You wrap your arms around his middle, resting your cheek against his back.

“I’m almost done.” Nick says, and even though you can’t see his face, you know that he has that little smile on his face.

“Thank you for making breakfast.” you reply.

You press a kiss to his shoulder blade before you reluctantly distance yourself from him.

While he finishes up the scrambled eggs, you carry your coffees and the plate of cut up fruit over to the coffee table. You have to shoo Jerry away from the plate – as always.

Nick joins you soon enough. He kisses your cheek before he sits down on the sofa. Lydia quickly takes her place on his lap.

“We’ll have to find someone to babysit them.” you say as you sit down next to him.

“What do you mean?”

“For when we’re in Australia. I’m sure they won’t let us bring them. And God knows they can’t be left alone.”

You can practically hear the gears in his head turning, before he breaks into that beautiful smile of his.

“You’re coming with?”

“Of course. I want to see the baby kangaroos too.”

Nick pulls you in for a kiss, jostling Lydia in the process. He presses a series of little kisses against your lips. You can’t stop the smile that forces its way onto your face.

“Thank you, love. It’ll be even better with you there.”

You can’t possibly ask for more than this. With Nick by your side, you’re sure that you can do everything, even a long haul flight.

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake @th4t-em0-k1d

@thisbicc @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @mrsnoahsebastian @blackveilomens @sorrowsofsilence

@fadingangelwisp @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @thisisntablogspost @tintadecirco

@rumoured-whispers @cheyyyyr @mathfairchild1 @thewrstinme @Follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[bisexualbob-the-ghost]

Luigi Nicholas Mangione is innocent and is being set up by Mayor Eric Adams of New York to placate the oligarchs that have him in their pocket.

If you think that sounds like conspiracy theorist talk, let me spell it out for you.

Mayor Adams has been charged by the US Department of Justice for accepting bribes and allowing himself to be influenced. 

“For nearly a decade, ADAMS has used his prominent positions in New York City government to obtain illegal campaign contributions and luxury travel. ADAMS solicited and accepted these benefits from foreign nationals, businessmen, and others.”

This is a quote straight from the Department of Justice’s website. The article goes on to say that Adams pressured the New York Fire Department to allow the opening of a skyscraper despite the fact that it had not passed inspection because he had been paid off by a “foreign government.” If Adams could do this to his own fire department, why would it be such a stretch he would pressure the police department? 

What happened with Mangione is simple. The elite of New York City and the rest of the country were shaken by the support of the UHC Shooter and were pressuring Adams to find the culprit so they could make an example of him. Adams then put pressure on the NYPD to find someone, regardless of if it was the actual perpetrator. 

The NYPD, facing a restless public that would not help them and mounting pressure from their higher ups, stuck to their tried and true method of lying through their teeth.

More conspiracy talk you say? In 2022 the Brooklyn DA overturned 378 convictions due to false testimony from New York police officers. The charges overturned ranged from felony charges to trivial parking violations. 

Side note: the city refused to pay for their victims legal fees or recoup the fines they paid.

I believe that Adams, the prosecution, and the police department all know that Mangione did not commit this crime. But sacrificing one little human life is worth it to them to appease their corporate overlords. 

I also believe that they know we know which is why they are marking Mangione as a Terrorist so that any support or talk of him will stop. More than anything, they want Luigi Mangione to disappear. They want to use what they do to him to be an example to keep us peasants in line, while he rots in the dungeon created by their cruel lords.

Don’t let them get their way. Keep talking about him, keep fighting for him, keep fighting for all the people they’ve locked away to keep them quiet.

And remember, if everyone is a terrorist, then no one is. Don't let them shut you up. 

Adams charges source 

False Testimony source

[kissorkill16]

Everything Will Be Okay: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Nicky makes a deal with a shadow to go back in time to save Mrs. Peterson from the car crash, unknowingly changing his own life in the process.

(P.S., inspired by this idea from @kawa-goat ! Also, have this screenshot!)

👇

Nicky laid wide awake in bed, completely restless and stressed out from the whole week.

Mrs. Peterson Diane died in a car crash, Mr. Peterson was acting crazy (crazier than usual), and Aaron and Mya have been distancing themselves from him.

It's just been a lot for Nicky to carry on his shoulders.

After a while, he finally felt himself drifting off to sleep, but before he could even get a wink, he noticed someone standing in the corner of his room.

He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, and saw that there was a long, skinny, dark shadow with white eyes and deer antlers standing in the corner of his room.

He barely got out just one second of a scream before the thing slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Hello, Nicky.", said the shadow. "Do not fret. I don't intend to hurt you."

The shadow removed its hand from Nicky's mouth, and Nicky took a deep breath to calm down. "Okay, but what do you want?", he asked. "Or what do you intend to do?"

"To make you a deal."

Nicky was confused. "A deal?"

The shadow nodded. "You're miserable now, and it all started with the loss of Mrs. Peterson. Don't you agree?", asked the shadow. Nicky looked down at his lap and nodded.

"What if I said I could change that?"

Nicky crossed his arms and looked at the shadow incredulously. "I wouldn't believe you.", he said.

"Oh, but I can, Nicholas.", said the shadow. "Most believe that entities and reality changes don't exist, but I happen to be an entity, and I have the power to bend reality to my satisfaction. I can just bend it for you if you just accept the deal."

Nicky still wasn't so sure he should accept this deal.

"What's the catch?", he asked.

The shadow shook its head. "No catch, dear. If I change the timeline where Mrs. Peterson dies, then you'll have your friends again, and you won't have to feel so lonely anymore."

Nicky thought about it for a moment, he still had doubts, but he just really wanted things to go back to normal. He missed his friends, he missed Diane, so maybe taking this deal would really help him a lot.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

The shadow extended out its hand, and Nicky looked at it for a moment.

Then, without another thought, he took the hand and shook it.

"Deal."

The shadow disappeared, and Nicky felt himself falling asleep.

When Nicky woke up, the sun shined through his window, and he got up and stretched.

"Narf! Breakfast is ready!", called his mom from the kitchen.

Nicky stretched out some more before he went downstairs to the kitchen.

His mom was sitting at the table, reading a book. His dad was near the oven, making pancakes. He turned around to look at Nicky and smiled at him.

"Morning, Narf. You have a good sleep?", he asked.

Nicky nodded and sat down at the table, "Yeah. Yeah, I did.", he said.

As the family sat down and ate breakfast together, Nicky couldn't help but wonder if that deal that he made with the shadow was real or just a dream.

He promised to change the timeline and make Diane live.

He just needed to make sure it was true.

After lunch, Jay and Luanne were getting ready to leave for a work trip. Before they left, they dropped their son off at Enzo's house. Nicky hugged and kissed them goodbye.

"We'll be back for dinner.", said Luanne. "Behave for Mr. Esposito."

"I will.", said Nicky.

"And stay out of trouble.", said Jay.

"I will.", said Nicky.

With one last "I love you", Jay and Luanne drove off, and Nicky waved them goodbye as he watched them drive away.

Enzo and Nicky sat in the living room, eating chips and watching TV. Just then, Maritza walked into the room, hands on her hips.

"I want the TV.", she said. Enzo looked at her and rolled his eyes. "Buzz off, I'm using the TV right now.", he said.

"My favorite show is coming on in three minutes and I don't want to miss anything. I want the TV.", said Maritza, more firmly this time. Enzo groaned.

He looked at Nicky, "You're so lucky you don't have a sister.", he said.

Maritza sat down in between Enzo and Nicky, making them both jump back, and Nicky's face turned a little red.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?!", said Enzo.

"If you won't let me have the TV, then I'm not leaving this room.", said Maritza.

"But this is a horror movie, you don't even like those!"

"Then let me have the TV and I'll change the channel."

Nicky got up, shaking himself off. "Well, since we're inviting people over, is it okay if I invite someone else?", he asked.

Enzo looked at Nicky, "Nick, I didn't invite her. She's just being annoying.", he said. Then he sighed and leaned back into the couch. "But I guess you can, I'd just have to ask my dad first."

"Who did you want to invite?", asked Maritza.

"Aaron."

Enzo and Maritza looked at Nicky with wide eyes, and Nicky understood what those reactions meant. He sighed and looked at the two.

"Look, I know you guys probably have some...history together, but he's my friend, and I haven't known him for as long as you have, but he's not as bad as you think he is.", he said. He looked at Maritza's unsure face, "I'll even let Mya join in too."

He looked at Enzo, who didn't look at him as he crossed his arms.

"And Trinity."

Enzo and Maritza exchanged a look, then looked at Nicky.

"Alright, fine. You can invite Aaron and Mya over. Just let me go ask my dad if it's okay.", said Enzo. He got up and walked out of the living room, straight to his dad's office.

Soon enough, Nicky, Aaron, Mya, Trinity, Maritza and Enzo were sitting in the living room, eating snacks and watching a movie. While they were here, Nicky decided to see if the shadow was telling the truth.

He scooted closer to Aaron.

"So, Aaron...", he said, trying to sound casual. "How've you been?"

Aaron looked at him, then back at the TV. "I've been okay.", he said.

"Is your mother okay?"

Aaron looked at him again, and his expression was full of confusion. He slowly looked back at the TV, "Yeah...she's okay. She wanted me to tell you she said hi.", he said. Then he looked at him again, "But why're you asking me about my mom?"

Nicky didn't look at him and just turned his attention back on the TV, "No reason.", he said.

"It doesn't sound like no reason.", said Aaron.

Nicky shrugged, trying not to sweat out of nervousness and sound as calm and collected as possible. "I've just been wondering.", he said. "I haven't heard from you guys in a while since the prank we pulled at Mrs. Tillman's."

Aaron shrugged, "Well, we've been okay. My mom grounded me and took my art supplies away, but she agreed to let me come over. My dad...I don't want to talk about him.", he said. "But other than that, I've been alright."

Nicky smiled at his best friend. "That's good to hear.", he said.

He didn't want to tell him about the shadow he made a deal with last night. He didn't want to tell anyone about that. He didn't want his new friends to think he's crazy. Though, with all the time he spent with Aaron, maybe he didn't want anyone to think he was crazy either, maybe that's why he's so kept to himself most of the time.

Hours passed, and the kids got bored with watching movies and decided to play video games instead. When they got bored with that, they just laid down next to each other on the floor.

"I'm so bored.", said Maritza.

"Me too.", said Trinity. "I don't want to go outside. It's raining and I'll get my makeup wet."

"I don't want to go out in the rain period.", said Mya.

They sat in silence for a while, the only noise in the house being the TV and Mr. Esposito talking on the phone in the other room.

"What do you think he's talking about?", asked Aaron."

Nicky shrugged, "No idea.", he said.

Just then, Mr. Esposito came into the living room, quickly putting his coat on.

"Kids, I think you guys should head home.", he said. Then he looked at Nicky, "Nicky, I need you to come with me."

The kids got up, dusting themselves off. Nicky was the quickest to get up, "Why?", he asked as he straightened his shirt.

He wasn't prepared for what Mr. Esposito told him next.

"I just got a call from your father, your mother is in the hospital."

The car ride to the hospital was eeriely quiet. Nicky could hardly believe what he just heard.

His mother had been hospitalized.

When they got to the hospital, they saw Jay waiting in the lobby, and he clutched the sides of his head. Nicky ran up to him.

"Dad, what happened?", he frantically asked.

Jay looked at his son, and Nicky saw how tired and panicked he looked.

"We were just driving to pick you up, and it was so rainy and I could barely see, even with my headlights on. Suddenly, we crashed into a truck and the car set on fire! I made it out alive, but I got burned on my arm. Your mother...oh my God..."

Suddenly, Jay started hyperventilating. Mr. Esposito and Nicky sat on either side of him and rubbed his back as he tried to steady his breathing.

The doctor came to the lobby, looking heartbroken.

"I'm sorry, sir. We've...we've done everything we could, but...your wife, she...she..."

He didn't even need to finish before Jay started sobbing uncontrollably.

Nicky wrapped his arms around his father, and his father did the same. Finally, Nicky couldn't hold it in any longer, and he started crying into Jay's shoulder.

His mother was dead.

The funeral was held two weeks later, and Mr. Esposito helped him plan. They invited a few of Luanne's colleagues, and if you'd have been there, you'd have seen that Jay and Nicky were the ones who cried the most.

The weeks after that had been extremely stressful for the Roths.

One morning, Nicky came downstairs to see his dad cooking waffles. He sat down at the table, not looking up from his lap.

Jay sat two plates down at the table.

"Uh...Dad.", said Nicky. "You set a plate for Mom again."

Jay looked at the plate of waffles he sat down on the table, and he smiled widely, but nothing close to joy. It was more of a sad smile.

"Oh...so I did."

Then he started to giggle.

It sounded happy and sad at first, but mostly sad. Then he started crying, and he wiped the tears from his face.

Then, so suddenly, so out of nowhere, he screamed and slapped the plate off the table.

Nicky flinched as the plate crashed onto the ground, and broken glass covered the floor.

"Dad, what the hell?!"

Jay looked at the broken plate for a moment, then he broke down crying again.

"It crashed!", he cried out loud, "Just like I did into that God damn truck!"

Nicky watched for a moment as his dad cried, then he got up to comfort him, stepping around the broken glass on the floor.

He wrapped his arms around his father.

"Shhhh, it's okay, Dad.", he said. "It'll all be okay."

Jay seemed to calm down, and he nodded and wrapped his arms around Nicky.

"Yeah. Yes, you're right.", he said. "Everything will be okay."

Unfortunately, neither of them could've been any more wrong.

Not only was Jay having scary random outbursts almost every time he was reminded of the crash, but he also started to turn into a diabetic dessert disaster. Binging on all of the stuff he ate when he was feeling a certain type of emotion.

Nicky might've guessed he was feeling a whirlwind of emotions if he was eating all of his favorite treats at once.

It was such a hassle to clean up the vomit afterwards when Jay stuffed himself too much.

Nicky tried confronting him about it.

"Okay, Dad. Intervention time. You can't keep eating like this.", he tried to reason. But Jay shot him a terrifying look that made Nicky shrink back. "Okay, it's cool. Just don't throw up on me."

Nicky knew his father was trying his best to take care of him and himself, but he was just too out of control. Not knowing what to do, Nicky just closed himself off completely and locked himself up in his room for most of the day.

One day, Nicky woke up to rocks being thrown at his window. He looked out to see Aaron waving at him.

"Hey, Nicky!", he said.

Nicky waved back. "Hey, Aaron."

"Come over to my house."

Nicky looked down at the grass. "I can't, I -"

"It's not optional."

So Nicky didn't have a choice.

He decided to just walk out the front door to Aaron's house this time, instead of his usual sneaking out through his window and climbing into the trellis.

When he got downstairs, he smelled bleach and vomit coming from the living room.

Feeling a little hungry himself, Nicky went to the living room and took out a zinger from one of the sweet boxes. But just as he was about to eat it and leave, he noticed something on the living room table.

It looked like a note to Miguel about working from home, and he looked underneath to see another piece of paper, that looked like a letter to his principal about taking up homeschooling.

What was all of this for?

"Nick, I'm growing a beard here. Come on."

Nicky turned around and walked out the door to see Aaron standing on the front porch.

They went across the street to the Peterson house and went to the living room, where Mya was sitting on the couch and playing with her dolls. She smiled when she turned to see Nicky.

"Hi, Nicky.", she said. "How've you been? We haven't heard from you in so long."

Nicky shrugged, not looking at her. "I've been better. Sorry I've been so distant, I've just got a lot going on and I needed time to myself.", he said.

Aaron patted his best friend on the shoulder, "We totally understand, buddy. We're just glad you came here now."

"You said it wasn't optional.", snorted Nicky.

Nicky spent most of the day just hanging around in the house, playing with dolls and hide and seek with Mya and coloring pictures with Aaron.

When Nicky went down the upstairs hallway to go to the bathroom, he bumped into Mr. Peterson and just froze all of a sudden.

The man looked down at him.

"Hello, Nicky.", he said.

Nicky cleared his throat and gave him a little half wave. "Hello, Mr. Peterson.", he said.

Just as he moved to step around him, Mr. Peterson grabbed his shoulder, and tilted his head up to meet his gaze. Nicky's poor weak knees couldn't help but shake when he did this, but surprisingly, he didn't see anything malicious or crazy in those eyes.

They looked almost...normal.

"How have you been doing?", asked the man.

Nicky opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a minute, he cleared his throat again.

"I've been alright.", he said. "Just...a lot has been happening since the...you know."

"Yes, I know.", said Mr. Peterson. "And I understand how difficult this must be for you. That's why I'm just checking in."

Nicky nodded at him, and with that, Mr. Peterson just walked away, leaving Nicky standing in the hallway.

The boy was super confused, and really surprised. That was the first time he's ever seen Mr. Peterson act...normal.

But he tried not to pay any mind to it.

The rest of the day had been spent with the Petersons, and Nicky had completely forgotten about the time. It wasn't until Mrs. Peterson was just setting up the table for dinner that he nearly sprinted out the door.

"Wait, Nicky! Honey, don't you want to stay for dinner?", she asked.

"I'm sorry, Diane! I'd love to, but I can't!", Nicky quickly said before he ran out, across the street, and into his house.

Before he could even step away from the door, his dad punched the wall and looked at him like a tiger ready to attack its prey.

He looked terrible. His hair was a mess, his eyes were strained, he had huge bags under his eyes, and his shirt was covered in vomit.

"Where the hell were you?!", he screamed at his son. "I've been tearing my hair out trying to find you, I had no damn idea where you were!"

"I was just across the street.", said Nicky, feeling scared.

Why was he scared? He knew his dad wouldn't do anything to hurt him, he wasn't that kind of person. "I'm sorry, Dad. I should've told you. And I wanted to, but you were...I couldn't find you."

"You left the house to go see those little hoodlums across the street without my permission?", asked Jay. "Your mother said you weren't allowed to see them anymore, and I'd like to respect her wishes, Nicky."

"Dad, she's dead -"

"I KNOW SHE'S DEAD! I KNOW DAMN WELL SHE'S DEAD, DAMN IT!", yelled Jay. He clutched the sides of his head again and started frantically moving around like he had a bug in his ears. "FUCKING GOD DAMN IT! WHY THE HELL IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! AM I BEING PUNISHED OR SOME SHIT?!"

Nicky looked at his dad, eyes widened in complete fear.

"I'm just going to go upstairs.", he said, his voice trembling a little.

But before he could even make it up the stairs, he felt Jay grab his arm and guide him to the kitchen.

"Nicky, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that.", he said. "I'm trying, I really am. You know that, right?"

Nicky nodded. "I know, Dad."

"I'll stop yelling and I'll clean myself up a little. Meanwhile, why don't you go to the kitchen? I made dinner and I don't want it to get cold."

Jay went upstairs to the bathroom while Nicky went to the kitchen, heated up the plate of food on the table and ate it. He heard the shower running as he ate his food.

When Nicky was done, he sat down on the living room couch. Soon enough, Jay came downstairs dressed in pajamas. He looked better than when Nicky saw him.

"I also got chocolate milk if you want some.", he said.

"Okay.", said Nicky.

As the boy watched TV, Nicky couldn't help but think back to the letters on the living room table, about his dad working from home and starting homeschooling.

Maybe when Jay got back from the kitchen, he'd ask him about it.

Finally, Jay came to the living room, two cups of warm chocolate milk in his hands. He gave one to his son and sat down as he drank his own.

It was silent as Nicky drank his milk and watched TV, and when he finished, he finally turned to look his dad in the eye.

"Dad, we need to talk.", he said.

"About what, Nicky?", asked Jay.

"Well, this morning as I was about to leave, I saw a couple of letters on the table in the living room about...about...uh..."

Nicky couldn't even finish his sentence before his dead started to feel heavy, and the room began to spin uncontrollably. He started hyperventilating and clutching the sides of his head.

"D-Dad, I...Dad what's happening?", he asked his father, who just sat and watched as he panicked from the lack of control over his body. "Dad, help me! I'm scared!"

Jay pulled Nicky close to him and held him in his arms, gently rubbing his head and making Nicky's eyes slowly close.

"Shhhh, don't panic, Narf. It's alright. You're going to be alright. Just try to remember what you told me..."

The last thing Nicky heard before he was completely unconscious was his father saying...

"Everything will be okay."

[vashwoodficrecs]

shepherd my flock

by: Bioluminescent

M, Vashwood, 8k, complete

Later that night as he lies awake in bed, restless and alone, he hears a howl like the sound of screaming church bells through the open window. Inexplicably, old grief sitting heavy in his chest, it makes him think of Nicholas.

CHURCH GRIM WOOWOO!!! Listen I love the mechanics of this so much. The way Wolfwood is a church grim, and how the lore of it is woven into this fic is just immaculate. And the atmosphere of the writing!!! I am shoving this into my bloodstream.

[atinyjules]

Warmth Ft. Doberman hybrid!Nicholas

A/n: Another Doberman Hybrid!Nicholas crumb. I'm really loving this series 🥹 This one is well, sick!nicho.

Here it iss

Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, soft comfort

Pairings: Doberman Hybrid!Nicholas x fem oc (name not mentioned)

Warnings: Extreme fluff that might cause you to pass out.

Nicholas had been off since morning. Normally, he was a ball of restless energy, always pacing, twitching his ears, or flicking his tail in idle amusement. But today? He was sluggish. His ears drooped slightly, his tail barely moved, and most damning of all—he hadn’t even teased you once.

You watched him carefully as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His usual sharpness was dulled, eyes half-lidded like he was struggling to stay present.

"You’re sick."

His head snapped up. "No, I’m not."

"You are," you insisted, stepping closer. "You’re moving slower. You’re barely talking. You look exhausted."

Nicholas scoffed, straightening up like that alone would prove you wrong. "I’m fine."

You gave him a pointed look. "It’s okay to be sick, you know. You’re not a machine."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You’re right," he said, tilting his head slightly. "But I’m not sick."

You frowned. "Nicholas—"

"I’m not sick," he repeated, voice firm but avoiding your gaze.

You sighed, crossing your arms. He was too damn stubborn for his own good. Fine. If logic wouldn’t work, you’d have to hit him where it hurt.

"Do you not trust me enough to let your guard down?"

That got him. His ears twitched, tail giving the smallest flick before going still again. He groaned, tilting his head back in defeat.

"That’s not fair," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "You always do that."

You softened. "Neither is you refusing to take care of yourself when you’re obviously feeling like crap."

A pause. Then, finally, he exhaled and admitted, "Okay. Maybe I’m…a little sick."

You smiled, stepping close enough to rest a gentle hand on his arm. "Finally."

Nicholas barely had time to react before you grabbed his wrist and started tugging him toward his bed. He let out a low grumble of protest, but he didn’t resist—not really. His steps were sluggish, and the moment you reached his bed, you pushed lightly on his chest, making him sit.

"You always make sure I’m safe," you murmured, kneeling beside him. "Now let me do the same for you."

His ears twitched at your words, tail flicking slightly before going still again. He let out a slow breath, shoulders finally relaxing as he leaned back against the pillows.

"Bossy," he muttered, but there was no bite to it. If anything, his voice was softer than usual.

You smiled, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. He was warm—too warm. Definitely feverish. With a sigh, you stood up, disappearing for a moment before returning with a cold compress and a damp cloth.

Nicholas watched you, his tired eyes half-lidded as you gently pressed the cold compress against his forehead. He shivered at the contrast but didn’t pull away. Instead, his ears twitched slightly before relaxing, his tail curling lazily around your wrist.

"You're warm," you murmured, carefully dabbing the damp cloth along his jaw and down the side of his neck, cooling his heated skin.

"Hm," was all he managed, voice barely above a hum. His usual sharpness was completely gone, replaced by something soft, something vulnerable.

You pressed a light kiss to his forehead, and he let out the smallest, sleepiest sigh.

"You're not allowed to use my own tricks against me," he mumbled, voice drowsy, eyes already fluttering shut.

You chuckled. "Too bad."

Nicholas huffed, but his body was already sinking into the blankets, muscles finally relaxing completely. His tail gave one last lazy flick before going still.

For once, he wasn’t fighting it. For once, he was letting you take care of him.

—

Nicholas slept the entire day, only waking up when you gently nudged him to take his medicine and eat something. Each time, he grumbled but obeyed, too exhausted to argue. He barely kept his eyes open long enough to finish before slipping right back into sleep.

Now, as the evening settled in, the comforting aroma of chicken soup filled the room. The rich scent stirred him from sleep, his nose twitching slightly before his eyes fluttered open—half-lidded, hazy with lingering drowsiness.

He turned his head sluggishly, vision still adjusting, and saw you setting up a bed tray table in front of him. His ears twitched as he followed your movements, watching as you carefully placed a spoon beside the steaming bowl of soup.

Slowly, he turned his head the other way, his gaze landing on the hot chicken soup resting on the bedside table. The sight alone made warmth bloom in his chest, though whether it was from the soup or you, he wasn’t sure.

Before he could say anything, your voice broke the quiet.

"Feeling better?"

Nicholas blinked at you, still dazed, before exhaling softly. His tail gave a slow, lazy flick against the blankets.

"...Yeah," he admitted, voice still thick with sleep. His gaze softened as he looked at you. "Thanks to you."

Nicholas let out a slow exhale as he pushed himself up, still sluggish from sleep. His movements were heavy, his body clearly still tired, but he didn’t complain. As he settled against the pillows, blinking the drowsiness from his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

The moment your lips met his skin, his eyes fluttered shut, his body instinctively relaxing under your touch. His ears twitched slightly, tail curling loosely at your side.

"It’s time to eat," you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his half-lidded gaze before carefully placing the bowl of soup onto the bed tray table in front of him.

Nicholas blinked at it, then at you, still looking a little dazed. His hands remained in his lap, making no move to reach for the spoon. You tilted your head, watching him for a moment before speaking again.

"Do you want me to feed you?"

His gaze flickered toward you, then to the bowl, then back again. He hesitated for half a second before giving a small, tired nod.

You smiled softly and picked up the spoon, scooping up some of the warm broth before gently blowing on it to cool it. Satisfied, you lifted it toward him.

"Here," you said gently.

Nicholas leaned forward slightly, parting his lips as you carefully fed him the first spoonful. The moment the warm, rich flavor hit his tongue, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a small, pleased sigh.

You chuckled. "Good?"

"Mm," he hummed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before opening again, still hazy but content.

You scooped up another spoonful, blowing on it once more before bringing it to his lips. Nicholas accepted it easily, letting himself sink into the warmth of your care.

After finishing every last drop of the soup, Nicholas let out a soft sigh, clearly more satisfied and a little less feverish than before. You smiled, picking up the empty bowl and spoon, ready to take them away.

But just as you turned to leave, a warm hand gently caught your waist, stopping you in place.

You glanced down at him, confused. "Something wrong?"

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just looked at you, his tired, half-lidded eyes practically screaming don’t leave.

Before you could question him further, he tugged you back down onto the bed, his grip firm but not forceful. You barely had time to react before you were sitting beside him again, the warmth of his body pressing against yours.

He leaned in, resting his head on your shoulder, his lips brushing softly against your skin as he mumbled, "Stay."

You felt the way he breathed you in, his nose nuzzling just slightly against your neck, as if grounding himself in your presence.

A soft laugh escaped your lips. "I will—just let me put the dishes away first."

Nicholas let out a low, dissatisfied grumble, his breath warm against your skin. "Too long."

Before you could protest, he took the bowl and spoon straight from your hands, barely sparing them a glance as he reached over and placed them on the bedside table. Then, without hesitation, he pulled you into the bed with him, wrapping his arms around you securely.

You let out a small squeak of surprise as he settled behind you, big spooning you with his warmth completely surrounding you. His tail curled loosely around your leg, and his grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly.

"Better," he mumbled against your hair, already sounding drowsy again.

You sighed, but a fond smile tugged at your lips. "You're impossible."

Nicholas only hummed in response, already melting back into sleep with you in his arms.

I'm starting to get invested in the Doberman!Nicholas series (it's not a series. Idk what to call it, I'm just gonna call it Doberman hybrid!Nicholas crumbs)

I hope y'all enjoyed it 🥹

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated 🩷 ✨️

[shadowtriovibes]

your memory is ecstasy

Pairing: Richard Jackdaw x f!MC

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, Sex With A Ghost

Summary: i blame the jackdaw girlies for this one (i love you all). pretty much just a couple thousand words of Sex With A Ghost™

“Someone like me, I can only look,” he tells you softly. “I’ll never touch.” “Looking is something, I suppose,” you reply. “If – if you wanted, I’d let you look.” “You would, hmm?” he murmurs as he leans toward you. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a tempting offer. Years, in fact.” “That’s a shame,” you answer as your eyes dart down to his lips. “Let me, then.”

Most of the time, the detention chamber in the dungeons beneath the Great Hall is one of the coldest rooms in the entire castle. On nights like this, however, with countless ghosts congregating just down the hallway, there’s an additional chill in the air.

At Sir Nicholas’ invitation, you’d joined the Headless Hunt for one of their frequent parties deep beneath the castle. Your thoughtful offering of some rotten roast beef from the kitchens had been much appreciated by the men of the Hunt, but it wasn’t long after you arrived that the gaggle of ghostly women in their centuries-old fashions started to draw their eyes toward the dance floor.

One who doesn’t float toward the center of the room is Richard Jackdaw. Instead, he sits in an alcove far away from the ghostly banquet table, and when you make your way over to politely thank him once more for his help in your search back in your fifth year, he invites you to join him for a pint.

“Do the house elves bring you this mead?” you ask curiously, pouring yourself a mugful from a very real bottle on the table.

“I’m not actually sure where it comes from,” he answers. “But whenever a live one such as yourself joins us and pours some, it’s always fun. Makes this wretched dungeon smell a lot more like a real pub.”

“Well, then I’m happy to be of service,” you say as you raise your glass in cheers to him.

The two of you fall into an easy conversation while you drink. You ask him questions about his postmortem adventures with the Hunt, and he listens as you tell him about your more recent explorations along the Clagmar Coast.

“May I ask, what does your Slytherin paramour think about all this adventuring?” he asks you with a cheeky grin. “I see you didn’t bring him this evening.”

“O-oh, we’re not – I’m not courting anyone,” you quickly explain. “We’re just friends.”

“I think that may be news to the poor young man,” Richard laughs. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

Eventually, the more boisterous members of the Hunt kick up a frenzy as they argue over the outcome of their latest journey to the Forbidden Forest, challenging each other to duels with their transparent swords drawn.

“What do you say we continue this conversation somewhere a bit quieter?” Richard offers. “I’ve no interest in participating in yet another pointless skirmish.”

“I know a place,” you offer, and moments later he joins you in the detention chamber, luckily devoid of any delinquent students at this late hour.

As you place an anti-unlocking charm on the door, you call out, “I suspect you probably spent many hours here as a student.”

“Guilty as charged,” he laughs.

You take a seat in the middle of the room on the cold tile floor. Compared to the ghosts’ party, this room feels several degrees warmer, and the cool stones feel quite nice against your palms as you sit cross-legged across from Richard, who floats a few millimeters above the ground.

“They’ve been particularly restless lately,” he says apologetically, nodding in the direction of the dungeon party. “Always trying to show off, especially when one of the most beautiful living girls in the castle chooses to grace us with her presence.”

You blush softly and duck your head.

“I could watch you blush all day,” he says boldly. “What a breathtaking thing it is to blush — to be alive, really.”

Suddenly you can understand how Richard earned himself his reputation as a shameless rake in his time.

“Were you this flirtatious during your time?” you ask him, unable to hide your grin. “You and your Apollonia?”

He snorts derisively. “Apollonia was never mine, in any sense of the word.”

That makes you pause, curious.

“Richard,” you ask softly. “Have you ever… when you were alive, were you ever, er – with a woman?”

“Was I with a woman?” he asks, bemused. “Do you mean in the company of women? Quite a few, as it happens.”

“No,” you say, laughing nervously. “I – I meant, did you ever know a woman? Biblically.”

You’re thankful that the semi-darkness of the room hides how your blushing cheeks go even redder.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “You mean sexually.”

“I do,” you whisper. “It’s… just that you seem–”

“I wasn’t,” Richard interjects. “In my time, a century ago now, it wasn’t appropriate. I hadn’t married, I wanted to finish school first, and… and I thought I’d have plenty of time.”

“You should have,” you say softly.

“That’s my own damn fault,” he says with a rueful grin. “But it’s neither here nor there. To answer your question, I never had any relations with a woman. I’d wanted to, especially with Apollonia, and in a vague sense with plenty of gorgeous women I knew back then.”

You shift a bit, drawing your knees closer together. “So, you… you never even saw a woman?”

Richard purses his lips. “Well, I shan’t say that.”

“Oh?” you ask.

“Being a ghost does come with some perks,” he teases. “Over the years I’ve drifted in and out of countless spaces that amorous couples thought would be private. I’ve even been invited into some such spaces by curious schoolgirls like you.”

“Richard!” you squawk. “You’ve had affairs with students?!”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he teases you. “Darling, you’re hardly the first witch to develop a crush on this ill-fated adventurer.”

You pout and lean in closer. The cold emanating from his body is strange, but not unwelcome.

“Someone like me, I can only look,” he tells you softly. “I’ll never touch.”

“Looking is something, I suppose,” you reply. “If – if you wanted, I’d let you look.”

“You would, hmm?” he murmurs as he leans toward you. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a tempting offer. Years, in fact.”

“That’s a shame,” you answer as your eyes dart down to his lips. “Let me, then.”

Richard watches you with dark eyes as you carefully stand up from the floor. He tugs his ascot loose while you slip your dress up over your head, and he smiles amusedly when you tap the tip of your wand against your back to make your corset go slack.

“If there’s a silver lining to becoming a ghost,” he drawls, “it’s that I’ve been given the chance to see how fashion for you witches has become more and more revealing over the years.”

“I’ve heard Muggle women are bringing up their skirts higher and higher,” you tease him, mimicking your words by pulling the slip of your chemise up to the tops of your thighs.

As you tug the garment up over your head and let it fall to the ground, Richard sits back on his hands and nods toward his lap – a blatant invitation. While you can’t actually sit, you’re able to kneel across his opaque form as if you were straddling him. The cold emanating from his body isn’t bothersome like this, you think; it’s more like a soothing balm, against your skin where you’re radiating heat.

“Can you feel that?” you ask him softly. “Where I’m warm?”

“No,” he tells you, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look downcast all evening. “But I can see you.”

With your pile of clothes happily abandoned, you’re fully nude straddling his form. Where other men might ordinarily put their hands on you, you’re left wanting for touch. Nevertheless his pale eyes roam over your form and fill you with a heat that seems inconceivable given his ghostly pallor.

“Lovely,” he says appraisingly. “What I’d give to feel you, feel the weight of you on top of me.”

“Richard,” you sigh happily. “Tell me more.”

“Hmm, what should I tell you?” he wonders aloud. “Would you think me wicked if I told you how much I wish I could press my lips to your breast until you’re writhing in my lap?”

“No,” you whine. “No, I wouldn’t, I want you to.”

“Touch yourself, then,” he instructs.

Richard groans under his breath while you cup your breasts in your hands, tracing your thumbs across your hardening nipples until they peak so temptingly just in front of his mouth. You know you’re getting wet between your thighs, and you wonder what will happen when your arousal becomes so much that you threaten to drip – ordinarily you’d simply stain your lover’s trousers with it, but this time you suspect you’ll leave a filthy mess on the floor.

The thought makes you squirm and moan.

“That’s it,” Richard murmurs. “Now, do you like touching yourself elsewhere, dear one?”

“Yes,” you admit with a shy smile. “Though now every time I do, I’ll imagine a deviant ghost may be watching me.”

“You won’t need to imagine,” he says cheekily. “Will you show me?”

You sit back on your heels before sitting down on the cold floor, letting your legs spread while you prop yourself up with one hand. Your other hand traces down the front of your body to the apex of your thighs. When you touch your entrance and discover how slick you are already, you shiver.

“Merlin’s beard,” he grits out. “Your cunt looks positively greedy. I’m sure you’d take me so well, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you keen, hungrily eyeing his translucent hand as he reaches toward your body.

Richard scoffs under his breath. “Men like Nicholas, the others in the Hunt, they’ve had actual lifetimes to enjoy the body of a woman.”

You shiver as he traces his fingertips along the inside of your thigh, goosebumps rising in the wake of his supernaturally chilling, yet not-quite-there touch.

“They’ve had conquests, they’ve had… love, I suppose,” he continues. “But not me.”

“Richard,” you whimper, high and needy and utterly shameless.

“And now, they spend their days and nights trying to coax you sweet, obliging little schoolgirls into bringing them rotten meats,” he says, a derisive sneer on his lips. “As if we even have appetites for food anymore. Trust me, lovely, that sort of thing fades.”

He shifts closer while you rub slow circles over your clit, watching how your mouth falls open in pleasure.

“But this, this never fades,” Richard confesses. “If I could put my lips to your skin and taste you here.. Darling, I’d sooner starve rather than chase the taste of anything else on my tongue.”

“Come closer,” you plead. “Just – as close as you can.”

You sit back on one elbow and keep your other hand between your thighs. With your fingers you spread yourself open, gasping softly as the cold air reaches the sensitive skin near your entrance.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles. “You’re a fierce temptress, love.”

He leans in close to the apex of your thighs — so close that the tip of his nose could trace along the delicate crease of your hip, if he could truly lay his hands on your skin.

“I could swear I can smell you,” he says in a low voice. “Merlin, you smell like… like musk, and sweat, and skin. Sex. All this humanity, I could get drunk on it.”

“I wish you could taste me,” you confess. “I wish you’d put your tongue on me – in me, even.”

“I would,” he tells you. “I’d pleasure you however I could, with my mouth or my hands or… Anything you like, I’d give it to you.”

You slide two fingers inside yourself, curling them inward and whimpering as you press against the sensitive spot deep inside you that makes you wail when you’re alone in your bed, Muffliato cast to keep your roommates none the wiser.

“I want to see you,” you admit to him. “C-can you – are you able to…?”

“Yes,” he tells you. “Yes, I can touch myself. Shall I show you?”

You grind the heel of your palm against your clit while Richard opens the front of his trousers. When he sits back on his knees between your thighs, he lets you take a look at his hard length.

“Merlin, I want to touch you,” you sigh. “Or taste you.”

Richard smirks at you as he starts to slowly stroke himself. “I’ll have you know, I used to wonder whether women craved men’s bodies the way we so desperately crave yours. Women in my time would never dream of admitting it, but you nineteenth-century girls are so… eager.”

For a while you both fall silent, letting the other watch while you bring yourselves pleasure with your hands. Richard’s eyes are fixed firmly on your entrance as you pump two and eventually three fingers inside yourself, desperate moans tumbling from your lips. While he watches, he fucks his hand in time with your movements. What little you can see of his core is taught and well defined, and you think it’s an unbearable shame that he was killed before he had the chance to use his body for what it seems to so clearly have been built for.

“Please,” you beg, for nothing in particular. “Please, Richard.”

“Go on, love,” he grunts. He sounds for all the world like one of today’s wizards – alluring, commanding, firm. “Show me, I want to see you let go.”

You collapse onto your back as your orgasm is wrenched from you, arching against the stone while you buck against your hand and, as you’d predicted, leave a telltale mess on the ancient floor. Richard leans over you and drags his eyes down the length of your body before squeezing them shut and coming into his hand with a broken moan.

(There’s no mess from him, which isn’t really a surprise, but is still dissatisfying.)

After you’ve both redressed and have found a new spot on the floor to sit side by side, you ask him, “Is it… when you, er, climax, is it as good as when you were alive?”

“Quite honestly, I can’t remember,” he says with a laugh. “I suspect the answer is no, but since it’s been so long, I’m content with what I’ve got.”

“So what you’re saying is that we could do this again?” you ask with a teasing smile. “Perhaps tomorrow night, after everyone’s gone to bed…?”

“I’ll come find you,” he promises you with a matching grin on his lips. “Of course, you needn’t wait for me to get started, should you feel inspired.”

You whisper back, “If fact, I may do just that.”

[byllsbytch]

Restless

Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Genre Fluff

Summary When restless and unable to sleep, Mr Chavez comes to the rescue, giving you affection and soothing you.

A/N :P

Warnings None whatsoever, just a couple of cutie patooties

The room was pitch black. I laid in bed on my side, cuddling up into the sheets, I’d laid awake for ages while Nicholas rested up beside me evident of his busy day. Driving myself insane I decided to get up have a drink and go to the toilet.

It flashed 4 am on the clock and I rolled my eyes knowing I didn’t have enough time before I was supposed to wake up and start my day. I sighed and headed back to bed still restless.

I climbed back into the blanket and felt Nick’s warm body sneak up against mine. He placed his head into my neck and kissed me gently.

“You ok baby?” He mumbled.

“Hmph,” I whispered back.

I felt his body tense up behind me and he had fully awoken now.

“What’s wrong?”

Not being able to see anything I spun my body into the direction of his voice.

“I can’t get to sleep and it’s been pissing me off.” I grumbled quietly.

“Hey, Hey, Hey.” He prompted himself up on his elbow, leaning over my body underneath him, Nick placed a hand on my cheek.

“I know what can make it better” he said before kissing me.

I leant back into the kiss hungry; a sudden wave hitting me.

“I need you, all of you.”

He flung his leg over me now fully hovering over, our kisses echoed through out the dark silent room, accompanied by our heavy breaths.

He snuck his hand underneath the shirt I was wearing guiding his hand to my breasts. He massaged them gently occasionally flicking his thumb over my nipples. I threw my head back in pleasure as Nicholas continued to kiss down my neck.

“Are you going to mark me up?” I pleaded.

“Baby no, I have respect for you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Respect, seriously? Claim me Nick, I’m yours.”

“What about that brunch that we have with your parents on Thursday?”

“You’re no fun.” I taunted.

“Ok, ok, but only a little one.” He began to suck onto the skin underneath my collar bone.

When he was finished he laid back on his side, face to face with me. The space between us was minimal as his fingers intertwined with mine.

Finally I was able to fall back asleep.

[nicnak20]

Passive:

*Two passive aggressive apartment neighbors. But when one has a new pasta sauce recipe that the other happens to try, feelings begin to develop- more than just mutual.*

The air in Apartment Building 3B was thick with unspoken tension. It wasn't the heavy, dramatic tension of a thriller, but the lighter, more persistent kind – the kind that clung to the shared hallways and festered behind closed doors. Nicholas, residing in 3B Apartment 202, and Yn, in 3B Apartment 204, were masters of this particular brand of neighborly animosity. Their passive aggression was a delicate, almost balletic dance of subtle jabs, polite smiles that didn’t reach the eyes, and carefully crafted noises designed to irritate but never quite cross the line into actionable complaint.

Nicholas, with his dark brown hair perpetually tousled in a way that somehow managed to look both deliberate and charming, and warm brown eyes that could melt glaciers when he wanted them to, was, by nature, a kind soul. He was the sort of person who would offer his seat on a crowded bus, who volunteered at the local animal shelter, and who genuinely believed in the good in people. Yet, with Yn, his inherent sweetness seemed to curdle into a mildly sarcastic politeness. He’d hold the door for her in the hallway, a touch too long, a smile stretched a little too wide, while making a pointedly loud phone call about needing ‘peace and quiet’ to concentrate.

Yn, on the other hand, was a mirror image of Nicholas’s gentle nature. Her heart was as warm as sunshine, her patience seemingly bottomless. She’d spend hours listening to her friends’ woes, baking cookies for her colleagues, and always had a kind word for the elderly woman downstairs. But when it came to Nicholas, her warmth became a glacial coolness punctuated by overly cheerful greetings that dripped with saccharine irony. She might leave a ‘thoughtful’ note on his door about the ‘fascinating bass vibrations’ emanating from his apartment late at night, even when he was fairly certain he’d been reading with headphones.

Their passive-aggressive game had started subtly. Perhaps it was the shared wall, a conduit for every cough and dropped spoon. Maybe it was the unspoken competition for the best parking spot. Or perhaps, it was just the frustrating anonymity of apartment living that allowed for misunderstandings to fester. Whatever the genesis, it had become their peculiar, unspoken dynamic.

One Saturday afternoon, the aroma of garlic and simmering tomatoes began to waft through the building. It was a rich, vibrant smell, laced with basil and something indefinably savory. It permeated the hallway, seeping under doors and tickling noses. Nicholas, nose twitching, realized the source was drifting from Yn’s apartment. Normally, he’d have ignored it, perhaps even subtly opened his window wider as a silent commentary on ‘apartment smells’. But this was different. This wasn't stale takeout or microwaved popcorn. This was… intoxicating.

Later that evening, Nicholas found himself restless. He’d tried to order pizza, but even the smell of greasy pepperoni couldn’t quite displace the lingering scent of Yn’s mysterious sauce. He found himself pacing, an unusual agitation stirring in his chest. Finally, curiosity – or perhaps something more primal – won out.

He grabbed a small, clean container from his kitchen, feeling a little ridiculous. He walked down the hallway, his footsteps hesitant. He stopped outside Yn’s door. He could still smell it, stronger now, making his stomach rumble. Taking a bracing breath, he knocked.

Yn opened the door, a dishtowel draped over her shoulder, her expression initially guarded. She was wearing a simple dress, her cheeks flushed from the heat of cooking, and for the first time, Nicholas actually saw her, beyond the neighborly facade. She was lovely. Her kind eyes, the ones usually narrowed in polite suspicion towards him, were wide with surprise.

“Nicholas?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.

He swallowed, feeling a bit foolish with his empty container. “Hi, Yn. Um… I know this is going to sound… strange.” He shuffled his feet. “But… that smell. From your apartment. It smells… incredible.” He cringed internally. Smooth, Nicholas, real smooth.

Yn’s guarded expression softened, a flicker of genuine surprise replacing the usual polite indifference. A faint blush rose on her cheeks. “Oh,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “You mean the sauce?”

“Yes! The sauce! It smells… amazing. Like, seriously amazing.” He felt his own cheeks heating up. Was he actually complimenting his passive-aggressive neighbor on her cooking? This was unprecedented.

Yn actually chuckled, a soft, warm sound that was completely unexpected. “I made a new recipe. It’s… well, it’s been simmering all day.”

Nicholas, emboldened by her smile, took a small step closer. “Look, I know we’re, uh… neighbors. And things haven’t always been… neighborly. But… could I… maybe… just smell it a little closer?” He instantly regretted it. Too forward. Way too forward.

But instead of slamming the door in his face, Yn’s smile widened. “Smell it closer? Nicholas, I’ve made enough for a small army. Why don’t you come in? I can give you a taste. And… maybe we can… actually talk?”

He blinked, stunned. Actually talk? Beyond forced pleasantries and veiled insults? This was… unexpected.

“Really?” he asked, his heart doing a little flutter-kick.

“Really,” she confirmed, stepping aside, gesturing him in.

Nicholas stepped inside her apartment, and he was immediately enveloped in the glorious aroma. Her living room was cozy, filled with warm colours and soft cushions. It felt… inviting. Not at all like the battleground he’d mentally constructed in his head.

Yn led him to her kitchen, which was small but spotlessly clean and filled with even more tantalizing smells. On the stove, a large pot bubbled gently, the source of the heavenly scent. She ladled a small portion into a bowl and handed it to him with a spoon.

“Here,” she said, her eyes suddenly shy. “Try it.”

Nicholas took a tentative spoonful. The moment the sauce hit his tongue, his eyes widened. It was… phenomenal. Rich, complex, bursting with flavour, with a hint of sweetness and a subtle spicy kick. It was the kind of sauce that made you close your eyes and savor every nuance.

“Wow,” he breathed, genuinely awestruck. “Yn, this is… this is incredible. Seriously.”

A genuine smile bloomed on her face, lighting up her entire expression. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sure about the oregano, but…”

And just like that, the dam of passive aggression seemed to crumble. They started talking. About the sauce – the recipe, the ingredients, the inspiration. Then, hesitantly, about other things. Their jobs, their hobbies, their families. Nicholas learned that Yn was a graphic designer, loved hiking, and had a mischievous sense of humor. Yn discovered that Nicholas was a software developer, played the guitar, and volunteered at the local soup kitchen on weekends.

They talked for hours, the bowl of pasta sauce between them, forgotten. The initial awkwardness melted away, replaced by a surprising ease, a comfortable rhythm in their conversation. They discovered shared interests, similar values, and a mutual appreciation for quiet evenings and well-brewed coffee.

As the hours passed, they even tentatively addressed the elephant in the room – their past neighborly… friction. It turned out, it had all been a series of misunderstandings, fueled by the thin walls and the inherent distance of apartment living. Nicholas confessed that he’d thought Yn was deliberately slamming her doors at odd hours, when in reality, her door just had a faulty latch. Yn admitted she’d been annoyed by what she perceived as his late-night TV watching, unaware he was simply a night owl who preferred documentaries to blockbuster movies.

They laughed, a genuine, easy laughter that filled the apartment, chasing away the lingering shadows of past misunderstandings. They realized their passive aggression had been a ridiculous dance of avoidance, a misguided attempt to establish boundaries when all they really needed to do was talk.

As the evening deepened, Nicholas found himself completely captivated by Yn. Her kindness, her warmth, her intelligence – they were all even more radiant up close, without the filter of neighborly antagonism. And Yn, in turn, found herself drawn to Nicholas’s gentle nature, his easygoing charm, and the genuine warmth in his brown eyes.

When it was finally late, and Nicholas reluctantly stood to leave, Yn offered him the rest of the pasta sauce in his container. “For later,” she said, her smile soft.

He took it, their fingers brushing for a fleeting moment, sending a surprising spark through him. “Thank you, Yn,” he said, his voice a little husky. “For the sauce. And for… everything.”

“Thank you, Nicholas,” she replied, her gaze holding his. “Maybe… maybe we could… cook together sometime?”

His heart did another flutter-kick. “I’d really like that,” he said, his smile mirroring hers.

He walked back to his apartment, the container of pasta sauce warm in his hand, a warmth that spread throughout him, chasing away the old tensions. He opened his door and stepped inside, the familiar space suddenly feeling different, lighter, brighter. He placed the sauce in the fridge, a silent promise of future shared meals.

The next day, Nicholas found a small note slipped under his door. It was handwritten, on a piece of pretty stationery.

Nicholas,

The recipe, if you’re interested. And maybe next time, we can try making it together?

Yn.

Attached was a neatly written recipe for her incredible pasta sauce. Nicholas smiled, a wide, genuine smile that reached his warm brown eyes. He knew this was just the beginning. The passive aggression was gone, replaced by something far more delicious, far more fulfilling. Something that had started with a smell, blossomed over a bowl of pasta sauce, and was just beginning to simmer into something truly beautiful.

He couldn't wait to cook together again, and to discover what other flavors, both culinary and emotional, they could create together. The aroma of possibility, sweeter than any basil or tomato, filled the air between Apartment 202 and 204, a testament to the transformative power of a good recipe and the courage to finally, truly, talk.

[theromanovsistersnew]

Alexey was adventurous and restless. Doctor Eugene Botkin's children noted his inability to "stay in any one place or at any one game for any length of time." When he was 7, he stole a bicycle and rode it around the palace. Nicholas, shocked, ordered all the guards to chase and capture Alexei. At a children's party, Alexei began jumping from table to table. When Derevenko tried to stop him, Alexei shouted, "All the adults have to go!" Recognizing Alexei's energetic nature, Nicholas ordered that Alexei be allowed "to do everything that other children of his age used to do, and not to restrict him unless absolutely necessary."

[theres-a-starman]

Jegumas day 24: the night before Christmas @noblehouseofgay

word count: 324

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Regulus, James, and Harry were all blissfully asleep, tucked in all comfy cozy. They’d went to bed with full hearts and full stomachs after spending Christmas Eve with family and friends and feasts.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Harry dreamed of many things, most containing presents and gifts he’d get, or even of catching Santa Claus in the dead of night.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

Regulus and James were in matching pajamas, Harry’s being a onesie version of the others. They lied curled up in bed, cuddled up and cozy as presents were set under the Christmas tree.

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

Regulus was in awe. Finally a Christmas uncontrolled by his mother or any other evil force that may have attempted to stop them from enjoying it.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

Harry couldn’t wait. He was restless. Tossing and turning, however deep asleep he was.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

The night was gorgeous, a cool breeze fluttering through the crack in the window and blowing across James and Regulus’ bedroom, the air smelling of snow and feeling like true Christmas.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

The happy couple’s decorations on the yard swayed slightly, blown blissfully by the breeze as they slept serenely.