#black edit au

[deldelhoney]

There are some new Panthers in town (4/8)

Limelight Claw

element: light

You ain't slick

[crypticscarecrow]

You tell me buddy @the-stick-seller

[greengoblinswifey]

Entangled

pairing— nicholas alexander chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— after his wife’s jealousy and argument, nicholas sends her away to continue his escapades with you in peace

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, ass slapping, hair pulling, choking, begging, slight degradation, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, fingering, cunnilingus, oral(m), voyeurism, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming, aftercare.

The house had been a bit tense since the Golden Globes. Victoria had seen everything—the pictures, the speech, the way the camera had panned to you at the exact moment he thanked a certain woman. She had confronted him about it, voice angry behind the bedroom door while you sat in the play room, braiding Madison’s hair and biting back a smile.

“She’s the nanny, Nicholas,” Victoria seethed. “Not your date. Do you know how humiliating that was? People sending me pictures, asking who she is, why I wasn’t with you—”

“The cameramen do that sometimes, V,” he interrupted. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep when your wife isn’t there but she is,” she snapped.

You caught Madison’s curious glance in the mirror and gave her a reassuring smile, as if this argument wasn’t cracking you up. As usual, Victoria stormed out, too furious to even look in your direction.

Nicholas didn’t stop her.

By evening, you had put the kids down for a nap, and the house was quiet—except for the soft hum of Nicholas’ voice coming from his office. You hesitated for only a moment before pushing the large door open.

He briefly looked up when you stepped into his office. He was leaning back in his chair, one hand resting against his temple as he scrolled through scripts on his laptop. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and the top buttons were undone, revealing a bit of his muscular chest to make you stare for a second too long.

“Kids down?” he asked, glancing at you briefly.

“Fast asleep,” you nodded, walking closer.

He hummed in approval, still focused on his screen. That was fine—you weren’t here to talk.

As you reached his desk, you spotted a pen lying on the floor near his chair. Perfect. You let it slip from your fingers, watching as it rolled under the desk.

“Oopsie,” you murmured, dropping to your knees.

He didn’t react at first, too absorbed in whatever work he was pretending to do. But the second he felt your hands sliding up his thighs, his muscles tensed. His jaw clenched.

“Y/N,” he warned.

You just smiled, fingers grazing over his belt. “Hm? Keep working,” you whispered.

His breath hitched as you made quick work of undoing his belt, your touch slow as you felt him harden. He exhaled sharply, shifting slightly in his seat as your hands moved with practiced ease. You took him out of his pants, and he sprang free, hard and veiny before you. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests, his other hand lowering to tangle into your hair when your mouth made contact with his thick cock.

And then—a knock at the door.

You froze.

Nicholas cleared his throat quickly, his grip tightening in your hair, but not to pull you away. No, he wasn’t stopping you. He just needed you quiet.

“Come in,” he said, voice perfectly even.

The door creaked open, and Victoria stepped inside.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she sighed. “I just—I don’t know. I needed to cool off.”

“I know,” Nicholas exhaled slowly, his cock stiff beneath your hands as you took him deeper and deeper into your throat.

She lingered for a second before stepping closer, her arms crossed. “And for the record, I’m not jealous of Y/N. Just because she’s young and—”

“Victoria,” his voice was strained, cutting her off before she could finish.

“What?” she frowned.

He was getting close. You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against your scalp, the way his cock throbbed in your mouth as you glided your tongue across his long shaft and caressed his balls.

“I think you should take a day at the beach house,” he said quickly. “Relax. Clear your head.”

She hesitated, studying him. “Y-you’re sending me away?”

“You know it helps you,” he reasoned. “And I have shit to do.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. I’ll go in a few.”

She turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her. The second she was gone, Nicholas’ entire body shuddered, his head tipping back against the chair. A low, breathy moan slipped past his lips as he came in your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair for just a moment before going slack.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he muttered.

You giggled, wiping the corner of your mouth as you crawled out from under the desk.

“Your bad girl.”

Victoria left for the beach house in the morning, just as Nicholas had suggested. She didn’t say much before she left, just a tense nod and a quick hug for the kids. You had expected her to throw you a glare on her way out, but she barely spared you a glance. Maybe she was finally learning to pick her battles.

With her gone, the house felt quieter. Lighter. By bedtime, you had the kids settled into their routine. Madison clung to you as you read her a bedtime story, her tiny fingers curling around yours as her eyelids drooped. Alexander, on the other hand, was more resistant to sleep.

“Stay,” he mumbled as you tucked him in.

“Only until you fall asleep, okay?” you sighed, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead.

He gave a tired nod, already snuggling into your side. You lay beside him, running your fingers through his hair gently until his breathing evened out.

Once you were sure he was asleep, you carefully slipped out of bed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before making your way out of the room.

You didn’t expect to find Nicholas waiting for you.

He was standing at the end of the hall, watching you with a look that made your core throb. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his sleeves rolled up again, and his hands rested loosely in his pockets. He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly—an invitation.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. He walked ahead of you, leading the way down the hall. Not to your room. Not to his office. Not to any of the other rooms. To his bedroom.

The one he shared with his wife.

You hesitated for only a second before stepping inside like you owned the place. The door shut with a quiet click, and suddenly, it was just the two of you.

His eyes flickered over you, dark with something you recognized all too well. “You’ve been looking so fucking beautiful all day,” he murmured.

You smirked. “And?”

Instead of answering, he reached out, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing against your ass.

“You know exactly what,” he muttered.

His hands skimmed higher, slow, like he had all the time in the world. You shivered, tilting your chin up as his mouth brushed over yours, hovering so close but didn’t quite close the distance.

“This bed,” you whispered, glancing past him at the neatly made sheets.

He hummed, his lips brushing against your neck. “Mine tonight,” he murmured. “Ours tonight.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you let him pull you onto the bed, onto the same sheets where, just like the night he took your virginity, you weren’t just the nanny sneaking around the house.

You were his. And he was going to make sure you knew it.

He kissed you deeply as his hands traced down your sides, fingers pressing lightly against your hips before sliding beneath the fabric of your skirt.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he murmured against your lips.

“Do I?” you smiled, breathless.

“That stunt you pulled earlier,” he continued. “Under the desk. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep a straight face while you choked on my dick?”

You let out a soft laugh, but it quickly faded into a gasp as two fingers thrusted into your wet heat.

“I could barely focus on what she was saying,” he admitted, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to your throat. “All I could think about was you.”

His thumb focused on your clit, moving in slow, teasing circles, and his fingers curled inside your pussy. Every thrust was meant to build you up, to unravel you piece by piece.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark as he watched your jaw fall agape. “So beautiful.”

You shivered at the praise, gripping onto his shoulders as the coil in your abdomen began to tighten.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he continued, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You like it when I tell you that, don’t you?”

You nodded, barely able to find words. He chuckled. “Then cum on my fingers,” he whispered. “Let me see how much of a good girl you are.”

His words, the way his fingers moved with such precision, the way he knew your body like the back of his hand. It all sent you over the edge and your fingers dug into his muscular biceps as you shuddered, your orgasm ripping through you.

His lips captured yours again, swallowing the soft sounds you made as he guided you through every second of it, his fingers squelching in your pussy.

When the high finally melted away, leaving you breathless beneath him, he brushed his thumb over your cheek, his gaze softer now.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured.

He kissed his way down your body, his gaze locked with yours as you panted, savoring every inch of you. His hands ran over your body, removing the rest of your clothes and leaving you naked.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses right below your navel piercing.

His lips finally pressed against your clit, kissing and sucking and you shivered at the heat of his breath. He was completely focused on you, on every little reaction you gave him. The praise kept coming, whispered between each long lick that left your pussy quivering.

“So sweet,” he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs just a little tighter. “Nothing, no one could ever compare.”

You felt the pleasure spread through you at his words, a rush of something intoxicating. Your fingers curled into the sheets as the feeling of his tongue lapping at your juices overwhelmed you, your body trembling beneath him.

“You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” he praised. “So beautiful like this, such a pretty pussy.”

The pleasure built, pushing you toward the edge all over again. But it was his next words that completely undid you.

“She never tastes this good.”

A soft, helpless moan escaped you, your body giving in entirely to the overwhelming of his mouth engulfing your clit. He groaned in response, clearly pleased with how easily you unraveled for him.

“That’s my princess,” he murmured, pressing slow, soothing kisses to your pussy as you came down. “So fucking naughty.”

And as he kissed his way back up your body, claiming your lips in a slow, heated kiss, you realized the night was far from over.

Nicholas stood over you, shedding his clothes and stroking his hard cock. You squirmed, hips bucking slightly, wanting him closer.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Say please fuck me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the bead of pre cum that had collected at the tip.

“Say it,” he instructed.

You gasped, eyes meeting his with a desperate longing. “Please fuck me,” you breathed, the words tumbling out of your mouth, eager for his touch.

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “Good girl,” he praised. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of anticipation wash over you as he moved behind you. You lowered yourself onto your stomach, arching your back, your heart pounding in your chest, your body trembling with need.

His hands rested on your lower back, gently caressing the tattooed skin, as he whispered praises, his breath warm against your ear. “You're so fucking sexy like this. Every little thing about you drives me wild.”

Slowly, he dragged his cock along your folds, collecting your wetness as it squelched. He slapped your ass making you giggle but it quickly turned into a strangled gasp as he pushed into you. His cock took your breath away, stretching you out in a way you had desperately been needing.

He moaned, giving you a minute to adjust before sinking deeper into you. “So fucking tight for me, sweetheart.”

You shivered at his words, your pussy reacting to his every touch as you fluttered around him. His fingers tangled in your hair, using it as an anchor as he thrusted, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through you. “Taking this dick so well,” he continued, his voice shaky.

He fucked you with long, deep strokes, each one tipping you over the edge and slamming against your g spot. He left only the tip in before sending every inch of him into your cervix making you cry out into the sheets.

“Too hard baby? That’s too bad, you asked me to fuck you, sweetie. Now you have to take it,” he cooed.

He wrapped his hand around your neck, bringing you to arch off him and titling your head to the side to capture your lips in a needy kiss. You kissed him back with equal desperation, reaching around to grab his hair and run your fingers through it. You still couldn’t believe you had the married man you had needed so bad.

“Rub that clit for me, sweetheart. Need you to cum on this dick,” he whispered into your ear.

He squeezed your neck firm but gentle as you rubbed your clit, your pussy clamping around him.

“That’s it, baby. God, I need you to cum right fucking now,” he said, voice trembling.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pulling his lips into the back of your neck as your whole body shuddered. Your pussy gushed around his cock, soaking him and the sheets below.

“Good fucking girl,” he praised. “I’m so proud of you, but I’m not done with my pussy get.”

He swiftly positioned you so you were on top of him, his awaiting cock hard and throbbing. “I need you to ride this cock like you own it because sweetheart, you do. Fucking ride your cock.”

His words sent a rush of something through you. You were playing a dangerous game, but he was in charge and you knew—you’d win over her. The way he said it, so confident, so certain, made you even wetter. There was something primal in the way his words reached you.

Immediately, you lowered yourself onto his cock, placing your hands on his firm, muscular chest. You both moaned, his cock stretching you and practically splitting you in half as you sucked him in, inch by inch.

“You’re so tight baby, so wet,” he moaned, voice low and gravelly.

At his words, you lifted yourself and fell back down, his cock immediately kissing your cervix. Your nails dug into his chest and you began bouncing at a steady pace that made you feel him in your guts.

“So so big,” you cried out.

His hands went to your ass, grabbing it and guiding you as it clapped against him with each bounce. You could feel every vein, every throb and it had your mind empty. No thoughts, just his cock sliding inside you.

His jaw fell agape, his gaze moving from your pussy swallowing his cock to your tits bouncing wildly in his face. “Riding my cock so fucking well baby.”

He leaned forward, lips wrapped around your nipples and biting gently as you rode him like your life depended on it. As soon as you began circling your hips, grinding, finding a rhythm and circling again, you knew you had him.

“Oh my fucking God,” he moaned, fingers gripping the sheets. “Where the fuck did you learn that, I- I’m gonna cum.”

You moved your hips in a circle as you bounced, your precise movements having his toes curling and his fingers tangled in the sheets. “So fucking hot baby. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

The sight of him unraveling at your mercy beneath you and the feeling of his cock ripping you apart was enough to send you over the edge and your nails dug into his firm pecs as you squirted on his raw cock. You shuddered above him, but you kept bouncing and following your orgasm, you felt ropes of his warm, sticky cum filling you up.

He wrapped his big arms around you, finally regaining control and holding you in place as he thrusted inside you, making sure your tight pussy milked him of every last drop of his cum.

Nicholas gently pulled you down and you rested your head against his chest, your breath still coming in soft, steady breaths. He didn’t pull out, just held you close, his hand gently caressing your back.

“That was amazing, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so hot, so perfect. Every moment with you feels so right.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you responded, your voice equally soft, “You were incredible, too. It felt so good.”

He kissed you, slow, his lips tasting yours, savoring the connection. You began to shift slightly, trying to get off him to grab the covers.

But before you could fully pull away, Nicholas’ arms tightened around you, pulling you back to his warm body. He nuzzled your neck, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. “No, baby. Me and my girl are staying like this all night,” he said, his voice calm. “I’m not letting go of you just yet.”

The words sent a warmth through you, a sense of belonging that made your heart swell. You liked the sound of that. The idea of staying wrapped in his arms, feeling safe, wanted, and cherished, was more comforting than anything else.

“Mmkay,” you whispered, letting yourself relax again in his embrace, enjoying the quiet comfort of just being with him.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn @iamsebastiansstan @jennieonline @girldisrupted @nicholaschavezslut69

[nabikyu]

@sonadowtober day 12: role swap

Basically, Shadow is dragged to Camelot instead of Sonic and meets King Arthur and his knights. They are in front of Misty Lake.

In short, lansoni swaped

Inspired/based on this piece made by @silvermun

I had work writing this, so i'm sharing: a little bit of the process

Sadly I will not be able to make content for all days, but I'm happy that I could at least send this one 💕 There's some that I lost the day, but I still wanna do it cuz the idea that I had sounded really cute in my head

[unreal]

what if my Duel Monsters AU was actually a dating sim 🤔

[callsthefaithful]

thing for @celestialalpacaron's overlord husk au

closeups under the cut

[brownskincheyenne]

“ I spent too many years away from you woman. Years I was craving to just be in your presence.” “You know how bad I just wanted to look atcha.. just get a little glimpse of ya face..pictures don’t do you justice. Not at all Annie “ he chuckled lightly, not because the situation was funny, but because he was desperate, and he needed her to understand that he yearned for her. His spirit called for her in the morning, noon , and night & even in the in between hours. Every time his nose caught a whiff of lavender in the air, not as many times as he would’ve like, his body would quake and break out in a sweat. He needed her to understand that she was in his blood stream.

Annie stared at him hard and long. Head slightly tilted to the right, beautiful almond shaped eyes squinting. She looked at him. Really looked. Searching his inner depths more so than what stood in front of her. Her eyes traveled from the bottom of his designer gym shoes to the top of his freshly cut fade. Minutes or hours could’ve went by to smoke, he didn’t care and he didn’t hide or shrink against her watchful eyes and what felt like a full cavity inspection being conducted upon the inner depths of his soul, he stood there back straight arms falling loosely to each side of his body, he let her search and hopefully find the truth… that he loved her beyond measure & every second away from her hurt like hell, it felt like being trapped in a burning house breathing in soot. And the sight of her alone was his oxygen.

“I know you love me” Annie spoke after while. I can feel it. I felt it when you left me. “ & I won’t lie and say that time didn’t play tricks on my mind, trying to make me feel like I was just a fool for believing you still did.” Annie inhaled deeply & then slowly exhaled. Her breathing was off, her chest rising and falling erratically. She was trying to calm herself but her heart was pounding, Thudding against her ribcage, ready to burst out and give itself to its rightful owner, no apologies necessary. But she couldn’t allow that. So she stood firm.

“I love you too smoke” a gasp caught in his throat at the mention of his street name. Annie loved, was in love with “Elijah” she accepted smoke, and that’s something that made his love for her even more unbreakable. She saw the real him. She knew smoke had to be what the world got from.... took from him. Smoke was his armor. but he was Elijah with her and only with her. In other words he knew he had fucked up.. bad.

“ I.. I needed you too. I needed you when the world got tough and I couldn’t bare it, but you left me.” Annie spoke calmly, her voice didn’t crack but he could feel her heartache with each word she uttered . “How am I suppose to just forgive that huh?” I buried my pain so that you could have something to lean on, so you could fall apart, I held you together even though I wasn’t on stable ground.” Her breathing began to even out, she looked at him, her big brown doe eyes staring deep within his soul. “ I’m scared to give you all of me, not like that… not again.” Her eyes shifted to the ground , momentarily losing the bit of confidence she just had , but She took a shakey breathe, looked him directly in his eye and said “When I needed Elijah, you gave me smoke. That’s something I never thought you’d do.” although she did not cry, the sadness reflected through her eyes. “ ion know who you are anymore, & you don’t know me neither..” she paused and thought “ …… but maybe that’s where we start!? We work on getting to know each other again?”

A Drabble .. idk .. again I’m not a writer.. but I haven’t seen much smoke and Annie in a few days and I’ve been having withdrawals 😭🤦🏾‍♀️ this is a wunmi mosaku & smoke x Annie Stan account tbh.. any way what yall doing for the 4th ? 😂

[sabsclusive]

SOLD OUT ON SUNDAYS𓂃۶ৎ ─── ❛❛ 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 : 𝟏𝟐𝑲? ❞ . WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT/SMUT, STRONG LANGUAGE, SUB!MATT, DOM!MATT, DOM!READER, DOM!MATT, JEALOUS/POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, ARGUMENTS, EMOTIONAL TENSION !!

The store smells like dust and vinyl. Like that old-lady perfume you can’t name but know by heart, and rain-soaked cardboard boxes stacked by the front. The radio in the back’s playing some crusty old jazz station — something with too many horns — and the fluorescent light above the counter is flickering like it’s got beef with the ceiling. Matt doesn’t even notice anymore.

He’s behind the register, headphones halfway in, hoodie up, looking half-dead. He’s got one AirPod in and the other tucked into his hoodie pocket, and even though nobody’s shopped in twenty minutes, he’s still thumbing through the rack of CDs like there’s treasure hidden in between the cracked Jewel cases.

Until the doorbell rings.

Ding.

He doesn’t have to look up. He already knows it’s you.

The girl who only shows up on Sundays. The one who wears the same pair of Air Force 1s like they’re armor. The one who never talks except to mumble “thanks,” iced coffee in one hand and something oversized slung over your shoulder — always. You shop like it’s a mission. Like you’re here to save the ugly clothes nobody else wants. Matt doesn’t get it, but… he also kind of does.

You walk in with your headphones on, no eye contact, no smile. Just straight to the racks like clockwork. Sundays mean chaos for everybody else — brunch, church, errands — but for you? It’s thrift therapy.

And Matt?

Well. Matt watches.

Not in a creepy way. He just notices.

You always go for the skirts first. Then the oversized blazers. Then the bin with the ugly sweaters, like you dare them to be cute. He’s seen you hold up a lime green mohair cardigan like it was the hottest thing in the store — and then actually make it hot a week later when you wore it in here cropped, cinched, and stitched with rhinestones on the collar.

It’s annoying. It’s impressive. It’s kind of hot.

Not that he’d say that.

Matt watches you flip through hangers like you’re flipping pages of a book. Sometimes he tries to guess what you’ll pick. He’s almost always wrong. You like things with ugly patterns and weird buttons. You like jackets that don’t match your shoes and pants that don’t match your bag. But somehow, it works. And somehow, you don’t care if anybody else gets it.

He does, though. Lowkey.

You’ve been coming in every Sunday for two months now, and you still haven’t said more than five words to him. But Matt remembers every outfit. Every bag. The time you wore two skirts layered on top of each other and made it fashion? Yeah. He still thinks about that.

“Yo,” he says casually when you finally head toward the counter, two skirts in your hand and a blazer that smells like mothballs slung over your arm.

You blink. Slide your headphones down.

“Huh?”

He nods toward the items. “You know it’s half off jackets today, right?”

You pause. “Even this one?”

Matt glances at the tag. “Yeah. That’s technically a jacket. Even if it looks like it got pulled out of somebody’s uncle’s closet.”

You snort. “That’s kind of the point.”

Matt smirks.

You pull your phone out to check your student discount — and freeze. Then curse under your breath.

“No way,” you mutter. “I left my ID. Again.”

Matt leans forward on the counter. “Second time this month.”

You look up at him, annoyed — more at yourself than him, but still. “You memorize that or something?”

He shrugs. “You’re memorable.”

Oh.

Not him saying that all casual like he didn’t just make your stomach do a full cartwheel.

You roll your eyes to hide the smile threatening to creep up. “Whatever.”

You go to set the clothes down, but Matt leans in a little closer. “You could leave it on hold ‘til next week. Or, I could just act like you showed me the ID and give you the discount anyway.”

You blink.

“…You’d do that?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t snitch.”

You purse your lips, then nod once. “Cool.”

He starts ringing you up, slow and careful. You fidget with your sleeves, feeling the tension creep up your neck. There’s something weird about the air between you two today — like it’s… warmer. Or maybe that’s just him watching you a little longer than usual.

You glance up. “You work Sundays every week?”

He looks surprised you asked. “Yeah. Only day I don’t have class.”

“Oh. You go to school?”

“Community college. Art program.” He clears his throat, like he wasn’t planning to say that. “Trying to transfer next year.”

You blink again. “What kind of art?”

He pauses.

“Stuff you’d probably call weird.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I literally turned a doily into a corset. Try me.”

He smiles at that. For real this time.

The door creaks, and you both glance toward it. It’s started raining outside — pouring. Like full downpour, windshield-wiper-on-high type rain. You groan, pulling your hoodie over your head.

Matt hesitates, then reaches under the counter and pulls out a folded-up thrifted umbrella.

“Keep it,” he says, holding it out like it’s no big deal. “Some lady left it in the dressing room last week.”

You squint at him. “You sure?”

He shrugs. “You’ll bring it back next Sunday.”

Oh.

So he really do pay attention.

You take the umbrella and look back at him. “Thanks.”

He nods. “See you next week.”

You pause at the door. Glance over your shoulder.

Then smile — just a little.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

And then you’re gone, out into the rain, headphones back in, umbrella open. Matt watches the door swing closed behind you and presses play on his playlist. The jazz is still playing overhead. The CD rack still dusty. But yeah — the store feels different now.

Sundays used to feel like the slowest day of the week.

Now? They feel like something might actually happen.

The thing is, you weren’t even planning to try anything on.

You came in for one thing: that red tartan pencil skirt you saw on the mannequin last week. You had plans for it — split the hem, add grommets, maybe a lace-up moment in the back if you were feeling dramatic. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out. Headphones in. Hoodie up. Zero eye contact. That was the system. That was what kept you sane every Sunday.

But the skirt was gone.

“What happened to the plaid?��� you asked, pulling out one earbud, squinting across the racks like it might materialize if you looked hard enough.

Matt — that boy with the messy curls and the stare that was too intense to be polite — blinked at you from behind the counter. Like he was surprised you spoke. Like he hadn’t rung you up fifteen times already.

“Oh. Uh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sold it.”

You blinked. “To who?”

He shrugged. “Some girl. Yesterday.”

You blinked again. “And you let her?”

Matt tilted his head like that was a weird thing to say. “It’s a store,” he said slowly. “People buy stuff.”

You just stood there, betrayed. Your hand gripped the edge of a mismatched rack like it personally offended you. The silence stretched. Your iced coffee was sweating in your hand. You sighed, real dramatic, then wandered back toward the ‘Bottoms’ section.

Fine. If the tartan skirt was dead, you’d find something better. Hotter. Petty revenge by outfit.

You flipped past rows of corduroy, plaid, denim, sequins, and neon nightmare spandex until your fingers landed on it: a black leather micro mini. Mid-rise. Slight stretch. Gold stitching that caught the light like it was flirting with you. It had absolutely no business in a dusty little shop like this. Naturally, you snatched it.

The fitting rooms were tiny — more like prison cells with mirrors — but you squeezed inside anyway, peeling off your cargo pants with one hand and pulling the skirt on with the other. It hit mid-thigh. High-mid-thigh. You tugged it down. It tugged back. Rude.

Still, when you turned to the side, it was kind of… perfect?

You stepped out to check the mirror by the shoes, adjusting the waistband. You weren’t even thinking. Just doing that dumb thing where you admire the fit and make little mental notes like crop top, gold hoops, statement boot. You twisted to check the back.

That’s when you felt it.

Eyes.

You glanced up.

Matt was watching you from behind the register.

Not in a pervy way. Not in a creep behind the dressing room curtain way. But in a he forgot how to blink kind of way.

You blinked. He blinked back. Then looked away fast, cheeks blooming pink like somebody set a match to them.

You froze. Your heart did this stupid stutter, and you said the most intelligent thing possible:

“…You good?”

He coughed. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t— I didn’t mean to—”

“I mean,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you like the skirt or…?”

Matt looked mortified. “It’s cool,” he mumbled.

You waited. He looked like he was fighting a demon.

“It’s…you wear it well.”

You snorted. “That’s so grandpa-coded.”

Matt half-smiled, still red. “It was either that or ‘slay,’ and I felt like that’d be worse.”

You turned back to the mirror, heart hammering in your ears like a kick drum. He said you wore it well. You wore it well. You didn’t even know Matt talked that much.

You looked back at him one more time, just to see if he was still staring.

He wasn’t.

But he was smiling.

The skirt went in the bag.

You didn’t even flinch at the $12 tag. You just handed Matt a crumpled twenty and said, “No receipt,” like you were buying something way less scandalous. He didn’t say anything either. Just rang you up like normal. Only his hands were a little shaky, and he gave you a paper bag instead of plastic, which he never did.

You walked out that Sunday in your cargos again, the skirt rolled up in the bag, but it felt different now. The air. The weight of the door swinging shut behind you. Like the rhythm of your Sundays — same iced coffee, same entrance, same rack to the left of the fake potted fern — was off. In a good way. Like a song you’ve played a hundred times just hit different one day.

By next week, he’d put a disco ball on the counter.

You weren’t sure why it caught you so off guard. It was a tiny thing — probably from the kids’ section — but it was spinning. Slowly. And Matt was just standing behind it like he hadn’t added a whole party prop to the register area.

“Okay, Studio 54,” you said, raising a brow.

He glanced up from pricing cassette tapes. “Huh?”

You pointed at the disco ball.

“Oh.” His eyes widened like he forgot it was there. “You like it?”

You squinted. “I’m deciding.”

Matt nodded, serious. “Let me know. We value feedback here at Dusty Depot.”

You snorted. “That better not be the actual name.”

He shrugged. “It is now.”

You bit your lip so you wouldn’t smile, but he caught it anyway. His mouth twitched.

You moved to the rack, same as always, but now there was this… extra hum in the air. Like both of you knew something changed. You didn’t know what it was yet, but it was sitting in the air between you — right next to the disco ball.

You were flipping through old concert tees when you heard him again.

“You have good taste.”

You glanced up. “Obviously.”

Matt looked mildly impressed. “Okay.”

“What?” you grinned.

“Nothing,” he said, trying not to smile. “I just think you’re funny or whatever.”

That “or whatever” hung in the air for too long.

“Wow. High praise from a guy who shelves porcelain dolls for a living.”

“They’re vintage,” he said, deadpan.

“And terrifying.”

He shrugged. “It’s camp.”

You cracked up. That was the first time he made you laugh out loud, like actually laugh. Not the polite kind, either. A real, scrunched-nose, unfiltered cackle that made you step back and cover your face.

“Stop,” you wheezed, shaking your head. “You’re gonna make me buy something cursed.”

Matt tilted his head. “You already did. That mini skirt had beef.”

You stared at him.

He blinked. “I mean—it was like, spicy. Not spicy spicy, just… like… fashionably rude.”

You burst out laughing again. “Fashionably rude is wild.”

He shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”

And just like that, your Sundays weren’t the same anymore.

You weren’t supposed to be back there.

Not technically. Not unless you worked there. But there you were, standing next to the register, peeking at the stickers he’d slapped across the cash drawer and the messy handwriting on his price tags. The air smelled like old records, plastic hangers, and a little bit of boy. Which is to say… like sandalwood deodorant and soda someone forgot to throw away.

“You really don’t got a back room?” you asked, squinting.

Matt shook his head, crouched under the counter digging through a bin of misplaced earrings. “We got the closet. That’s where we keep the weird mannequins and taxidermy nobody wants.”

“That’s sick.”

“You’d like it.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Wow. I’m flattered.”

He smirked, eyes still down. “You give cursed energy. In a good way.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything. Mostly because your heart was acting like it had never been around a boy before. He was right there — right next to you — knees grazing yours every time he shifted. And you were wearing one of your Sunday specials: a denim maxi skirt turned mini with safety pins up the side, paired with a mesh tee over a thrifted baby tank. You looked good. And Matt? He noticed.

He just didn’t say anything.

He never said anything. Not direct. But he looked. You weren’t imagining that.

“So what—” you started, to distract yourself, “—do you just stand back here looking mysterious all day?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I price records. Sometimes I clean. Sometimes I pretend to clean.”

You nodded. “And sometimes you flirt badly.”

He froze.

Then stood up way too fast, hitting his head on the counter. “Ow.”

You blinked. “Oh my God.”

“I’m good,” he winced, rubbing the back of his head.

You squinted at him. “Sure. Real smooth.”

Matt laughed under his breath, still pink in the face. “Didn’t say I was good at flirting.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” you said, turning so he wouldn’t see you smiling.

Silence settled in again — warm and thick and slow, like honey.

You peeked down at the register. “Wait… are those Pokémon stickers?”

Matt turned redder. “…No.”

You pointed. “Is that Pikachu with a grill?”

“Okay, yes. But ironically.”

You cracked up. “Yeah, okay, cashier of the year.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, a little shy, a little smug.

And then — like it wasn’t a big deal at all — he asked:

“You wanna price stuff with me?”

Your brows raised. “Like, actually?”

He nodded. “I trust your taste.”

You tried to play it cool. “So I can abuse power and price cute stuff lower?”

Matt smirked. “I plead the fifth.”

You bit your lip. “Bet.”

And just like that, you were in. Behind the counter. Sitting on a crooked stool next to a boy who thought you were funny, stylish, and maybe a little cursed in the best way.

That Sunday lasted three hours.

Neither of you even noticed.

It started with the yellow sunglasses.

You didn’t even plan the fit like that — it was lazy. Tube top, patchwork jeans, cardigan falling off your shoulder, and those crooked yellow lenses you’d found in a $1 bin the first Sunday you ever came in. You tossed them on your head and walked in sipping a strawberry matcha like you weren’t thinking about Matt all morning.

But you were.

A little.

Okay, a lot.

He was behind the counter like usual, hoodie half on, curls messier than last time, writing something in a tiny notebook. He didn’t look up right away. He always looked up when you walked in — and this time, he didn’t.

You hovered by the scarves a little longer than necessary.

Finally, he looked up.

Then looked again.

And stayed.

You caught it.

It wasn’t the “oh, she’s here again” look. Or the “let me not be weird” look. It was the lingering kind. The kind where someone’s eyes trail down — from your lips to your neck to the gold chain resting on your collarbone — then flick up real fast when they realize they’re being too obvious.

You blinked. “You good?”

Matt jumped slightly, eyes wide. “Huh? Yeah. Sorry. Just spaced.”

“Mmhm.”

You walked over slow, dragging your fingers across a row of vintage windbreakers like you weren’t clocking the way his gaze stuck to your hands.

“I’m saying,” you added, “if you’re gonna stare, at least be sneaky about it.”

Matt flushed. “I wasn’t— I mean— I’m not—”

You tilted your head. “You weren’t staring?”

He cleared his throat. “Not in a weird way.”

You held back a smirk. “Cool. So it’s the normal kind of staring.”

Matt turned bright red and ducked back behind the register like it was a shield.

You laughed to yourself and walked off — not too fast — and pulled a floral mini from the rack just for drama. It had ruffles. He absolutely saw it. Later, while you were flipping through old cookbooks by the dusty stereo, he crept up next to you.

“I like your sunglasses.”

You turned to him, lifting the yellow shades off your head and sliding them onto your nose. “These?”

He nodded, soft. “They’re loud. In a good way.”

You blinked behind the lenses. “You always say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Stuff that sounds like compliments, but you’re too shy to say it straight up.”

He laughed under his breath. “I said I liked ‘em.”

You studied him. “You like me, too?”

He looked stunned.

Then he smiled — not big, just enough.

“I plead the fifth,” he murmured.

And walked off.

You stood there, cheeks burning, pretending not to freeze.

Because that? That wasn’t nothing. You knew they closed at 6.

The sign said it.

Your phone told you.

Matt told you. Twice.

But when 6:07 rolled around and he still hadn’t kicked you out… you kept pretending to flip through a rack of ripped Levi’s like you couldn’t read time.

“You know we closed, right?” he said, leaning against the wall, arms folded.

You didn’t look up. “Oh nooo… for real? That’s crazy.”

He grinned. “You absolutely know what time it is.”

You shrugged. “Guess I just lost track.”

Matt squinted. “You always leave by now.”

“Maybe I’m evolving.”

He didn’t say anything for a second.

Then: “Maybe I don’t mind.”

That made you look up.

The store was dead quiet. Just the hum of the old AC and the faint sound of some soul record playing in the background — the kind that made the air feel warm. And Matt was right there, watching you. Not in a weird way. In a knowing way. Like he saw straight through your ‘I’m just shopping’ performance and didn’t mind one bit.

You laughed under your breath and set a jacket back on the hanger. “So what happens now? You gonna throw me out?”

He shook his head. “Nah.”

“Oh? You breaking store policy for me?”

He walked toward you slowly, every step louder than it should’ve been on that squeaky tile floor.

“I don’t think you’re just here for the clothes,” he said.

Your breath caught. “Oh?”

He stopped in front of you — not too close, but close enough that you could smell the cedar in his hoodie. Close enough to see the little scar under his chin and the freckle on his cheek.

“And if I am?” you asked.

Matt looked down at you, quiet. That stare again — soft, heavy, not moving. The kind that makes your knees do something they shouldn’t.

“Then I’m glad,” he said.

You laughed, nervous. “You’re weird.”

He shrugged. “You’re still here.”

Your fingers grazed a hanger behind you, but you weren’t really looking at the clothes anymore. You were looking at him. Wondering what it meant that he didn’t flinch when you got this close. Wondering if he always looked at girls like this — or if it was just you.

Then — completely calm, like it was the most natural thing in the world — he said:

“You wanna hear the record I keep behind the counter?”

You blinked. “You hide records now?”

“Only the good ones.”

He held out a hand.

And you took it. Behind the counter, the store looked different. Quieter. Older. The overhead lights buzzed while he put the record on. It cracked a little at the start — then melted into this warm, jazzy loop. Saxophones. A bassline. Some smoky-voiced woman crooning about wanting something she’s not supposed to want.

You sat on the little stool while he leaned on the register next to you, saying nothing.

Just listening.

Your knees touched.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t leave until 7:43.

And even then, he held the door open slow. Like he didn’t want to watch you go.

It was dumb.

You barely touched him. Y’all didn’t even hug. But somehow your brain took that one long stare behind the register and ran with it like it was a full-blown music video. And now here you were — 3:02 in the morning, bonnet slightly crooked, laying flat on your back staring at the ceiling like Girl, be so serious right now.

Because why did you dream that he kissed you?

Why did your subconscious go full softboy indie romance on a boy who’s barely said more than eight sentences to you at a time?

And worse — why was it good?

You groaned into your pillow.

In the dream, you were back in the shop. But it was darker. Like dream-dim — warm string lights, a record spinning in slow motion. You were wearing something you would never wear in real life — some slinky little tank and a skirt that rode way too high.

He was behind the counter again. Looking at you like he knew something. Like he’d been knowing.

And then — no warning — he just stepped around the register, walked right up, and kissed you like he meant it. Hands low on your waist, mouth slow and sure, like it wasn’t the first time.

You woke up so mad.

You flopped back down and grabbed your phone.

Siri, why did my brain make up a whole fake moment with a boy who hasn’t even asked for my number?

Siri was useless.

You considered texting your group chat, but it was 3am. All they’d say was “you’re delulu” and “tell him.” As if it was that easy. As if you didn’t have a whole wall up made of sarcasm, thrifted boots, and an iced matcha addiction.

Still, you opened your notes app and typed:

Sunday.

Matt.

Dream.

Bonnet slipped off.

I hate it here.

You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling again.

You weren’t gonna act weird next time.

You weren’t gonna bring it up.

You were gonna be cool.

So cool.

It was a Sunday like any other. You walked into the thrift store, the familiar chime of the doorbell announcing your arrival. Matt was behind the counter, as usual, his head buried in a book. You made your way to the racks, pretending to browse while stealing glances at him.

After a while, you picked up a particularly hideous sweater and held it up. “Think this would look good on me?” you asked, a smirk playing on your lips.

Matt looked up, took one look at the sweater, and burst out laughing. Not the polite chuckle he usually gave, but a full, genuine laugh that lit up his face.

“Absolutely not,” he said, still laughing. “But I admire your confidence.”

You laughed too, the sound mingling with his. It was the first time you’d seen him so unguarded, and it made your heart flutter.

You spent the rest of the afternoon chatting, the conversation flowing easily. The tension between you was still there, but it was different now. Lighter. More playful.

“So what happens if I do buy the ugly sweater?” you asked, holding it up like it was high fashion.

Matt tilted his head, leaning on the counter. “I’d judge you.”

You smirked. “I can handle that.”

“I’d also say you owe me ten minutes behind the register to defend your choices.”

You blinked. “Ten minutes?”

He shrugged. “It’s serious business.”

The way he said it — that dry tone, the steady stare — made your stomach flip.

So you bought it.

Ten minutes later, you were behind the counter, standing way too close in a sweater that looked like a couch from 1973.

“This is deeply hideous,” you whispered.

Matt stood behind you. Too close. He smelled like laundry and cedar again.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you make it look…” His voice trailed off.

You turned to face him.

That was a mistake.

You were way too close now — breathing each other in. Your back brushed the edge of the register. His hand was on the counter, knuckles brushing your waist like it wasn’t an accident.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“Say it,” you whispered.

He blinked, slow. “Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

A beat passed.

Then, voice low:

“I’m thinking if I kissed you right now… you wouldn’t stop me.”

You didn’t move.

His hand slid off the counter — to your hip. Gripping. Testing.

You nodded once.

He leaned in.

The kiss was slow — mouth soft but full of intent. Like he’d been wanting to for weeks but refused to rush. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. Your fingers curled into his hoodie. His tongue grazed yours — just once — and your knees damn near gave out.

Then he pulled back, barely.

His breath hit your mouth.

“You always stay this late?” he whispered.

You licked your lips. “Only when it’s worth it.”

You weren’t even looking for it.

You were behind the counter, killing time, sipping iced coffee and flipping through the sketchpad he left open like it wasn’t his entire brain on paper.

It was normal at first. Outlines of jackets. A couple sneaker silhouettes. Scribbled song lyrics in the margins. But then — dead in the middle of the book — you.

Back turned. Leaning forward. Coffee in hand, headphones on. Skirt barely covering anything. Down to the scuffed toe of your Doc and the chipped red nail polish on your thumb.

You stared at it for a long time.

“Matt,” you said, not even bothering to hide your tone.

He glanced over from the racks. “Yeah?”

You held it up. “You serious right now?”

One blink. Not a single flinch. “What?”

“This is me.”

“Damn,” he muttered dryly, walking over. “Caught.”

You tilted the book. “What, you just sit in the back drawing me like a project?”

He stood right in front of you now, voice low. “You been walking in here every Sunday in these little skirts, looking like that… and you’re surprised I noticed?”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t say anything.”

He shrugged. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m Matt, I jack off to you like twice a week’?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Relax,” he added, smirking. “I only drew it. I got a very vivid imagination.”

You stared at him. He stared right back.

That heat from last week came crawling up your throat. But now it was laced with something else. Tension — yeah. But also confusion. Intrigue. Suspicion.

“Come here,” he said, already reaching.

You didn’t move, but he stepped into your space anyway. Hand on your hip. Grip way too firm. The sketchbook slid off the counter and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You creepin’ me out right now,” you whispered, even though your breath hitched the second he touched you.

“I haven’t even started yet,” he said, smiling like a dare. “You want creepy, baby, we can do creepy.”

And then — he kissed you. No build-up. Just heat. Teeth. Tongue. His hands gripped your waist so tight it felt like punishment. Like you owed him something.

You gasped, he laughed into your mouth. “That little noise? Yeah. Keep doing that.”

You barely remembered how your panties came off — only that they did, and fast. He sat you on the counter like it was a throne and dropped to his knees like he’d done it before. Your skirt got shoved up to your waist. His mouth was filthy — all tongue, all spit, all control.

“I should’ve done this the first time you walked in here,” he said, licking slow and messy up the inside of your thigh. “Could’ve saved myself the backaches.”

You moaned, grabbing his hair. He laughed again, mean this time.

“Yeah. Take it,” he muttered, pushing two fingers in without warning. “Thought you were real quiet. Turns out you’re just full of shit.”

He fucked you with his mouth and fingers till your thighs were shaking, then stood up and unzipped his jeans like it was nothing.

Condom. Wallet. Quick. Practiced.

He flipped you around and bent you over the counter like he owned you. You barely had time to breathe before he shoved in — hard. One hand in your hair. The other flat on your lower back, holding you in place like he knew you’d run.

“Goddamn,” he hissed. “This is what you been hiding under those grandma skirts?”

You whimpered.

He gripped harder. “What? You don’t like being talked to?”

You didn’t answer fast enough, so he grabbed your throat and pulled you back.

“Say it,” he whispered against your ear. “You want it like this?”

You choked out a breath: “Yes.”

He snapped his hips in deeper. You gasped, legs folding.

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

By the time he finished, your legs barely worked and your lipstick was smudged halfway down your face. He didn’t even pretend to be sweet. Just tucked himself back in, pulled your skirt down, and passed you your underwear with a stupid little smile.

“That sketch?” he said, nodding at the pad on the floor. “Think I’m gonna update it.”

You glared at him, breathless. “You’re sick.”

“Sure am,” he said, leaning in close. “And you still keep showing up.”

You barely remembered how you ended up outside in the rain. One minute you were stumbling around the back of the store, fighting with your jacket, and the next, you were standing under the awning, blinking hard to focus.

You should’ve gone home. You should’ve done anything but stand there, breathing the cold air and trying not to let the panic set in.

But you were thinking about him. About that.

And how much he’d messed with your head.

The front door to the store creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn. You didn’t want to turn. But you could feel him before he spoke.

“You can’t leave like that.”

Your fingers twitched. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

You took in a sharp breath, sucking the rain-soaked air down into your lungs. He didn’t even sound like he cared — which pissed you off more than anything else. But you didn’t say that. You just let the silence stretch.

Matt stepped out into the rain, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke again, closer now. “Thought I broke you, but damn… you’re still standing.”

“Stop,” you muttered, your back to him. “Just… stop. I don’t need your jokes right now.”

“You don’t?” He laughed, but it was low — like he could hear the cracks in your voice. “Funny. Because you liked me joking earlier.”

The words were too much. You turned around, eyes narrowed, throat tight. “That wasn’t a joke, Matt. That was you being a creep.”

His expression didn’t change. His smirk slipped, replaced with that familiar look of quiet understanding. “You’re right,” he said, voice dropping a little deeper. “But I was being serious, too.”

“Seriously what?” you shot back, fists clenched at your sides. “That you wanted to fuck me?”

He shrugged, slow and deliberate. “Yeah. You think I didn’t want it?”

“Don’t talk like that,” you snapped, your heart pounding. You hadn’t felt this conflicted in forever. Your body was still humming from the aftermath, but your mind was too tangled.

He was smirking again. “Like what? Real? Because I’ve been real with you from the start.”

The rain had soaked through his hoodie. But the way his eyes stayed locked on yours? It was like everything else didn’t matter.

He stepped closer, his presence too close, invading that space you usually kept for yourself. His hand brushed your arm, just barely, but it was enough to make you tense.

“What’s so bad about me being honest?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing. “I like you. You liked what happened. But you’re acting like you want to run now. What’s that about?”

You didn’t have a good answer.

“Answer me,” he pressed, stepping forward just enough that you had nowhere to go but back. “I can see it. You’re into me, right?”

Your heart skipped.

“I—” You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it together. But you weren’t getting anywhere. Not with him looking at you like that.

He smirked again, his hand landing on your wrist this time, holding you there as if he was claiming some part of you — just like everything else.

“You want to run away? Fine. But you’re not going to, are you?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took a step back, but only to breathe you in. “You want me again. I’m sure of it.”

Before you could process, his lips were on your neck — hot, desperate, and enough to make your breath catch. He didn’t care about how awkward this was or about the rain splattering against your skin. All he cared about was you.

“I told you. You can’t just show up like that — in those skirts and with that look — and expect me not to want to tear you apart,” he murmured, lips dragging up the side of your neck. “Now, you’re stuck with me.”

You pulled away from him, trying to breathe normally, but your body was betraying you. The moment you did, he grabbed your wrist and spun you right back into him.

“Relax,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “I won’t bite.”

But you were already on edge, too aware of how badly you wanted to be touched.

This time, you didn’t try to stop it. Your body was already responding, aching, heated, and so damn frustrated.

“You’re not funny,” you muttered, but it was weak — you knew it was weak. You were already giving in.

Matt’s grin was back in full force. “Yeah, I am,” he whispered. “You like me this way, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

You barely remembered how you ended up outside in the rain. One minute you were stumbling around the back of the store, fighting with your jacket, and the next, you were standing under the awning, blinking hard to focus.

You should’ve gone home. You should’ve done anything but stand there, breathing the cold air and trying not to let the panic set in.

But you were thinking about him. About that.

And how much he’d messed with your head.

The front door to the store creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn. You didn’t want to turn. But you could feel him before he spoke.

“You can’t leave like that.”

Your fingers twitched. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

You took in a sharp breath, sucking the rain-soaked air down into your lungs. He didn’t even sound like he cared — which pissed you off more than anything else. But you didn’t say that. You just let the silence stretch.

Matt stepped out into the rain, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke again, closer now. “Thought I broke you, but damn… you’re still standing.”

“Stop,” you muttered, your back to him. “Just… stop. I don’t need your jokes right now.”

“You don’t?” He laughed, but it was low — like he could hear the cracks in your voice. “Funny. Because you liked me joking earlier.”

The words were too much. You turned around, eyes narrowed, throat tight. “That wasn’t a joke, Matt. That was you being a creep.”

His expression didn’t change. His smirk slipped, replaced with that familiar look of quiet understanding. “You’re right,” he said, voice dropping a little deeper. “But I was being serious, too.”

“Seriously what?” you shot back, fists clenched at your sides. “That you wanted to fuck me?”

He shrugged, slow and deliberate. “Yeah. You think I didn’t want it?”

“Don’t talk like that,” you snapped, your heart pounding. You hadn’t felt this conflicted in forever. Your body was still humming from the aftermath, but your mind was too tangled.

He was smirking again. “Like what? Real? Because I’ve been real with you from the start.”

The rain had soaked through his hoodie. But the way his eyes stayed locked on yours? It was like everything else didn’t matter.

He stepped closer, his presence too close, invading that space you usually kept for yourself. His hand brushed your arm, just barely, but it was enough to make you tense.

“What’s so bad about me being honest?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing. “I like you. You liked what happened. But you’re acting like you want to run now. What’s that about?”

You didn’t have a good answer.

“Answer me,” he pressed, stepping forward just enough that you had nowhere to go but back. “I can see it. You’re into me, right?”

Your heart skipped.

“I—” You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it together. But you weren’t getting anywhere. Not with him looking at you like that.

He smirked again, his hand landing on your wrist this time, holding you there as if he was claiming some part of you — just like everything else.

“You want to run away? Fine. But you’re not going to, are you?”

You couldn’t speak.

He took a step back, but only to breathe you in. “You want me again. I’m sure of it.”

Before you could process, his lips were on your neck — hot, desperate, and enough to make your breath catch. He didn’t care about how awkward this was or about the rain splattering against your skin. All he cared about was you.

“I told you. You can’t just show up like that — in those skirts and with that look — and expect me not to want to tear you apart,” he murmured, lips dragging up the side of your neck. “Now, you’re stuck with me.”

You pulled away from him, trying to breathe normally, but your body was betraying you. The moment you did, he grabbed your wrist and spun you right back into him.

“Relax,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “I won’t bite.”

But you were already on edge, too aware of how badly you wanted to be touched.

This time, you didn’t try to stop it. Your body was already responding, aching, heated, and so damn frustrated.

“You’re not funny,” you muttered, but it was weak — you knew it was weak. You were already giving in.

Matt’s grin was back in full force. “Yeah, I am,” he whispered. “You like me this way, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

The thrift store’s air conditioning was broken again.

You could feel it the second you stepped inside — that warm, trapped heat clinging to every rack of dusty denim and 90s tees. But you didn’t care. You adjusted your headphones, iced coffee in one hand, and started flipping through skirts like it was just another Sunday.

And it was.

At least, for you.

Matt watched you from behind the counter, chewing on the inside of his cheek, pretending he wasn’t thinking about you in ways that would get him fired twice over.

You had on this long denim skirt — high-waisted, frayed hem, cinched just right — and a cropped baby tee that read HEAVEN SENT in rhinestones.

Yeah. That was insane.

You didn’t look at him once. Not a glance.

You just popped your gum, turned up your music, and kept shopping. Calm. Cool. Like nothing had ever shifted between you two.

Meanwhile, Matt was barely breathing.

He watched you try things on over your clothes — an oversized jacket here, a cropped sweater there. You smiled at your reflection once, and he swore his knees buckled.

He waited. Waited for you to say something. Do something. Look at him.

But you didn’t.

You were halfway to the fitting rooms when he finally said your name.

Soft. Careful.

You paused — headphones still in, brows lifted like hm?

He motioned you closer. “Tag’s stuck. Let me fix it.”

You walked over, confused. “On what?”

He didn’t answer. Just reached behind you and tugged the tag from the back of your skirt. Except… there was no tag.

You raised a brow. “Wow. Real smooth.”

Matt smirked, but his hands stayed on your waist.

“I’m not tryna be smooth,” he said. “Just tryna remind you I exist.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re loud. It’s hard to forget.”

He stepped closer. Way too close. “Loud? Me?”

“You’re literally standing on top of me.”

“You’re not moving.”

You didn’t. You wouldn’t.

He leaned in, voice low. “You’re pretending you don’t remember, but you do.”

You blinked slowly. “I’m pretending you’re normal.”

Matt grinned. “Bad move.”

And then it happened — sudden, rough, messy. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the back, into that dusty employee hallway that smelled like old patchouli and cardboard. Before you could speak, he had you against the wall.

“Say stop,” he muttered, eyes dark, voice low and steady. “Say stop and I’ll let go.”

You didn’t.

He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

Then his hands were everywhere — gripping your thighs, yanking your skirt up, pushing your legs apart like he’d been waiting all week to wreck you again.

“You wear this little skirt in here and act like it’s nothing,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to your neck. “But you wanted me to do this, huh?”

You bit your lip hard, head tilting back, but he caught your jaw.

“Don’t hide,” he growled. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

You gasped — and he took full advantage of it, dragging your panties down and lifting one leg over his hip.

His jeans were already half undone. You didn’t know when, didn’t care.

He didn’t waste time. Just thrusted into you — fast, deep, like he’d been counting down the seconds to it.

You cried out, fingers digging into his hoodie.

He laughed. “Too much already?”

You nodded. But it wasn’t a real no. Not even close.

He sped up.

Your back hit the wall. Again. Again. Again. Rough. Fast. Dirty.

“You tryna act like a little angel,” he panted against your mouth, “but I know what you need.”

His grip tightened on your thigh. The hand that wasn’t holding you up slipped under your shirt, groping rougher than last time — like he needed all of you right now.

“I think about this every Sunday,” he whispered, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “I dream about this shit.”

You gasped again, body trembling — and he loved it.

“Gonna cum like this?” he teased. “Like a good little problem?”

You almost screamed.

And he didn’t stop. Not until your legs shook. Not until you went quiet.

Then — and only then — did he pull back.

Panting. Smirking. Ruined.

You looked up at him, dazed.

He tapped your chin with two fingers.

“See you next Sunday.”

You walk into the thrift store like always — headphones on, iced coffee in hand, cute outfit that you definitely picked just to mess with him.

Matt’s already waiting at the counter. Arms crossed. Hoodie pushed halfway up his sleeves like he’s been pacing. The second he sees you, he points at the back.

“No games today,” he says. “We’re talking.”

You raise a brow. “Talking?”

He nods. “In the back. Right now.”

You sip your drink. “You’re weird.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well. You ruined my brain. Congratulations.”

You follow him anyway, because of course you do. You love watching him try and fail to act like he’s not on the verge of folding every time you touch him.

He closes the door behind you and turns around fast.

“Alright,” he says, “I’m running this now. You’re done. You had your little chokehold moment last week, and I’m over it.”

You blink. “Oh?”

He nods. “Yup. Starting now, I’m the one calling the shots. I’m the one doing damage. You’re gonna be the one shaking.” You just stare at him for a second. Then you take one step forward, grab his face in both hands, and kiss him hard. Like hard. And that’s it.

He whimpers.

Whimpers. Then melts like a folding chair. You pull back, smug. “Say that again?”

He blinks, dazed. “…Say what?”

“Exactly.” He groans. “Okay—damn. Hold on.” You laugh, but he pulls you into him and buries his face in your neck. “No, I’m serious,” he mumbles into your skin. “I had a whole monologue planned. I was gonna be mean. Maybe even ignore you for five minutes.” You smile. “Tragic.” He pulls back slightly, gives you this mock-serious look, and deadpans: “I should’ve made you beg. Or brought up butt stuff. Something to throw you off.” You snort. “Butt stuff?”He grins. “You wouldn’t survive. You’d combust.” You smack his chest, still laughing, but he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles like a complete simp. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you say. He hums. “I am. And you’re dangerous. I think about you all the time. I literally rearranged the employee schedule just to make sure I see you every Sunday.” You pause. “You changed the schedule?” He shrugs. “Yeah. So what?” You squint. “Matt.” “Don’t act surprised. You know what you do to me.”You kiss him again, slower this time — deep, lazy, a little messy — and when you pull away, his eyes are soft. Like too soft.

“You still running this?” you whisper.

He shakes his head immediately. “Not even a little bit.” You walk into the thrift store, expecting the usual—Matt, his hoodie, maybe some sarcastic comment about your outfit. What you don’t expect is the girl standing at the counter, leaning over it way too casually, laughing at something Matt said. That’s not normal. You stop in your tracks, watching the exchange. It’s not the first time someone’s flirted with Matt, but there’s something about this girl’s tone—too soft, too familiar. She’s close to him. Too close. The way she touches his arm when she laughs? You don’t like it. Not one bit. Matt catches sight of you standing there, and for a second, the air feels thick with something you can’t quite name. You cross your arms over your chest and wait. You’re not going to be the one to interrupt. But when she slides a hand across the counter toward him, you definitely notice. She’s playing all the moves—laughing at his jokes, touching his shoulder like she’s claiming territory. It makes your stomach twist. You don’t even realize you’re walking toward them until Matt looks up, his face going slightly pale when he sees you, and that’s when the girl finally notices you too. “Oh, hey!” she says, eyes bright, as if you two are friends. “You’re the fashion student, right? You’ve got some great taste—Matt was just saying how much he loves what you do.” You nod coolly, your gaze never leaving Matt’s.

“Is that right?” you ask, voice even. Matt clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah. Y/N, this is… Sarah. She’s just—” Sarah interrupts, cutting him off, grinning way too wide. “Yeah, Matt was just telling me how cute you are. He said you two are pretty close. I think that’s sweet.” You swallow the wave of irritation, trying to keep your cool. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Cute,” you repeat, your voice low. “I didn’t realize we were that close.” You turn, heading to the back of the store, but you hear Matt stumble behind you. “Y/N, wait—” he calls, his voice tense. You turn to face him. “I’ll be in the back.” When the door clicks shut behind you, you finally let yourself breathe, your frustration turning into something sharper. Matt follows you, his steps hurried. When he gets inside, he closes the door behind him, his expression apologetic. “Look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t— I didn’t realize it was bothering you.” You don’t look at him. You know if you do, you’ll crack. “It didn’t bother me,” you lie. “Just… never mind. She can flirt with you all she wants. Whatever.” “Y/N,” he says, his tone more serious now. “It’s not like that. You know I—” cut him off. “I know what? You were just laughing with her, Matt. It’s like you didn’t even care. Like I’m just… what? The Sunday girl who buys stuff and leaves?” Matt’s face falls. “No. You’re not just that. You’re not just ‘the Sunday girl.’ You’re—” He takes a step toward you, voice almost a whisper. “You’re the one who gets me. Who actually knows who I am.” You look up, meeting his eyes. “Then why’d you let her think…. Think you were interested?” “I wasn’t. I promise you, I wasn’t. You don’t have to worry about her, okay?” He steps closer, taking your hand carefully. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking.” You snort, letting out a breath. “That’s the problem. You don’t know.” There’s a beat of silence between you before he pulls you close to him, hands on your waist. You don’t pull away. Not yet. He looks down at you, his voice rough. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I let that happen. You’re the one I want. You’re the one I always want.” You feel your heartbeat speed up, but you’re not ready to let him off the hook just yet. “Prove it,” you say quietly. He smirks. “How?” You tilt your head up, your voice low and teasing. “I want you to apologize. And I want it to be real. No more messing around. You. Me. And you’re going to show me how much you care.” Matt’s eyes darken. “You’re really gonna make me work for it?” You nod, your lips curving. “Absolutely.” A couple of minutes later…

The tension is unbearable. You’ve barely spoken since you walked into the back room, but now, Matt is all over you. He’s kissing you, pulling you against him, and you can feel the difference — his urgency, his need to make up for what he almost didn’t realize.

When he pushes you back against the wall, you finally let him take control. His hands move faster now, more deliberate, desperate to show you that he’s sorry, that he’s yours.

And when he pulls back to look at you, his lips swollen, his eyes dark, it’s clear he’s ready to prove it.

You don’t even have to say a word.

You kiss him again, slow this time, showing him what forgiveness feels like — messy, hot, but full of that need to feel connected, to not let anything come between you.

You were just trying to be funny. That’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway. There was this old man at the front counter earlier, one of those regulars who always tries to flirt with the young girls while buying 99-cent mystery books and yellowed paperbacks. You were behind the counter with Matt when it happened — when the man winked at you, asked if you were “single like this dollar bill,” and you, caught in the moment, laughed a little too hard. But it wasn’t just the laugh. It was the way you leaned into it. The way you grabbed the old man’s receipt, looked at Matt dead in the face, and said, “Looks like I have options now.” You thought it was dumb and harmless. Matt didn’t. Now the store’s half-closed, the racks are pushed back, and he’s slamming the drawer shut harder than necessary. You’re standing by the front window, fiddling with the beaded necklace you were gonna buy. The silence feels heavy. “…You good?” you finally ask, casual. But your tone is shaky. Matt turns around, jaw tense. “You think that was funny?” You blink. “What?” “That old dude. That little… performance.” His voice is sharp now. “You think I wanna sit here and watch you flirt with some creepy ass sixty-year-old? While I’m standing right next to you?” You stare. “Matt, it was a joke—” He cuts you off. “No it wasn’t. You leaned into that shit like you were tryna prove something.” You scoff, nerves twisting up now. “Are you serious? You know I wasn’t actually flirting with him”. He shakes his head taking a step closer. NOTE : NEEDED TO MAKE A PART 2💔

[kedaked]

Me when i take things to seriously

I be making awful serious fan art and then do shit like this bro

[d4nger-d4ze]

Wow look at these awesome totally real screenshots of sonic 06 that i took. So real of them to put gay people in there.

[silverspotted]

daemon scenes expect he’s a collection of oil paintings

[deldelhoney]

Nat-chan's totally not flag dress

[ashllynlou]

something something your best friend's daughter

[greengoblinswifey]

Nanny Knows Best II

pairing— Nicholas Chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— Your ‘relationship’ with your boss has progressed, leading to jealousy from his wife and him inviting you to an award ceremony. After the ceremony, you celebrate in the best way possible with the dam finally breaking after close calls and stolen moments,

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, virgin!reader, lots of flirting, ass grabbing and groping, fluff, slight angst, jealousy, praise kink, fingering, finger sucking, cunnilingus, oral(m), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, L bomb.

a/n— Last part(?) but requests for bimbo!nanny!reader x nicholas are open <3 Please note, this is just fanfiction and I don’t condone cheating of any kind irl. w.c— 7.4k

Part I

Nicholas had kept his word—he didn’t act weird like he did after the kiss. He was as composed as ever, stealing long kisses when no one was looking, his hands sometimes wandering to your ass and boobs, groping you like he couldn’t get enough, leaving breathless before pulling away like nothing happened. But he hadn’t gone further than that, and you knew why.

Victoria had been pissed lately. At first, it was the time he spent with you, but even when he tried to fuck her—unfortunately or even spend time with her, she accused him of thinking about you. She wasn’t wrong, though.

You weren’t mad that you hadn’t gone all the way yet. If anything, you enjoyed dragging things out, watching Nicholas struggle to keep his composure. You teased him relentlessly, brushing up against him when you passed, wearing skirts that made his gaze linger too long on your ass, pressing a finger to his lips when he looked like he might lose control.

You had him wrapped around your finger, and you both knew it.

One afternoon, you were in the kitchen making a bottle for Madison and grabbing juice for Alexander. You hummed to yourself, swaying slightly as you reached for the top shelf. You didn’t hear Nicholas step in until his hands were on your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You like torturing me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin.

You let out a breathy laugh, arching to feel how hard he was behind you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said sweetly, though the way you pushed against him said otherwise.

Nicholas exhaled sharply, his grip tightening, his lips dragging down your neck. “You drive me insane,” he muttered.

Before you could answer, small footsteps echoed down the hall. You barely had time to push him away before Alexander ran into the kitchen, his little hands reaching for his juice. Nicholas took a step back, adjusting his shirt as if nothing had happened, while you handed Alexander his drink with an innocent smile.

Close call. Again. Kids always talked and you didn’t need to scar him or have him blabber to his mother about what he saw.

Later that evening, when Victoria was out for one of her shoots—or whatever she did when she wasn’t home, you and Nicholas found yourselves alone in the living room. The kids were distracted in their playroom, giving you a rare moment of privacy. You stretched lazily on the couch, your skirt slipping up just enough to show the soft curve of your thigh and peeking to show your thong barely covering your pussy. Nicholas sat across from you, gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Something wrong?” you asked, your voice filled with false innocence.

Nicholas exhaled, shaking his head. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” you giggled.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was one second away from crossing the room and ruining you. But before he could even try, Madison’s cries echoed from upstairs.

You smirked, slipping off the couch and brushing past him on your way to the playroom. As you passed, you leaned in just enough to whisper, “Better luck next time, Mr. Chavez.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching you walk away, frustration rolling off him.

God, you loved this game.

The house was quieter than usual today, with Nicholas and the kids out. You had a moment to relax when you heard the sound of Victoria’s heels clicking against the floor. You didn’t even need to turn around to know she was heading your way. When she spoke, her voice was laced with irritation.

“You think you can keep up this little act?” she said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes narrowed in your direction. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

You took a breath, turning around slowly with a small, innocent smile. “What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious but with a subtle hint of challenge in your tone.

Her gaze flickered over you, clearly looking for any sign of weakness. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on between you and Nicholas. The way you act, the way you look at him, its obvious you want my husband.”

You laughed lightly, a little too sweetly for her liking. “Look, Victoria, I’m just here to do my job. If you’ve got a problem with it, I suggest we talk to Nicholas about it. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the extra help.”

She scoffed, clearly not buying it. “You think he doesn’t notice? I know you’ve got some kind of charm working on him. But don’t think you can fool me. I see right through you.”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “Oh, I don’t need to fool anyone. And I’m not dumb, just because I like to have—fun.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I graduated university early with a degree that you don’t have, not that it’s any of your business. And with honors, might I add.”

Victoria’s lips pressed together as she looked at you, clearly stunned. For a moment, she was silent, her eyes searching yours, but you were already a step ahead.

“You may think you know everything, but I’ve got a lot more going on than you realize,” you said with a sly grin. “I’m not just the dumb, pretty face you think you can dismiss.”

Before she could say anything else, you turned away, walking past her and leaving the tension hanging in the air. You weren’t about to waste any more of your time on her. What you would use your time to do though, was fuck her husband and get a one up over her. She’d see who really ran things.

As you moved to the kitchen, you thought about how she was probably stewing over the conversation but there wasn’t anything she could do. Nicholas was your boss, she couldn’t fire you. But then, just as you grabbed a glass of water, you heard the door open, and Nicholas stepped in, looking a little worn out from the time with the kids.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. You returned the smile, and for a moment, the air felt electric between you two.

He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on your ass as he passed you. You caught a hint of his aftershave, the familiar scent that always seemed to draw you in. Your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your ear. “You look gorgeous today,” he murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure, but the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the heat between you two intensifying. “You're just saying that to distract me,” you teased softly.

Nicholas chuckled, and for a brief moment, his hands lingered at your ass, his hands caressing the plump flesh. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to your core. “Maybe I am,” he said his eyes locking onto yours. “But does it work?”

Just as you were about to speak, you heard the sound of footsteps, and in that instant, you both quickly pulled apart, trying to act casual as the kids walked into the room. But the energy between you and Nicholas hadn't dissipated, it lingered in the air and all you wanted to do was pounce on him.

Later, with the kids busy playing, you found yourself alone with him again. You could feel him near, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was hard not to let your guard slip. You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “We’ll have to be more careful next time,” you whispered, knowing the game was far from over.

Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a second, his breath hitching slightly as he met your gaze. “I can't promise I'll be able to stay away,” he murmured. “I need you so fucking bad, sweetheart.”

Just as you both leaned in, about to lose yourselves in another heated kiss, the sound of a door opening caused you to pull away quickly, your heart racing as Victoria’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“The kids are looking for their snacks,” she said, her tone laced with something that you couldn’t quite place—annoyance? Maybe. She glanced over at you and Nicholas, her eyes narrowing.

You smiled sweetly, trying to act innocent. “I’ll be right there,” you said, offering her a wave as you stood up. You glanced back at Nicholas one more time before heading towards the kitchen, your mind already thinking about the next close call. But that next close call thought was shattered.

Something was off, and Nicholas could feel it. It wasn’t anything obvious—just small shifts in your usual demeanor. No lingering glances, no soft smiles, no lighthearted giggles whenever he teased you. You were polite but distant, your usual bubbly energy dulled to something restrained.

And it had everything to do with this morning.

Victoria had always been affectionate with him in front of you—little touches here and there, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers tracing over his jaw, but today had been different. This time, she had kissed him, pressing her lips to his with a kind of ease that came with being his wife. She had pushed herself against him, fingers lacing in his hair, and she had looked right at you as she did it.

Like she was reminding you exactly where you stood.

It shouldn’t have bothered you. Nicholas wasn’t yours. No matter how much he said he wanted you, no matter how many times he found an excuse to keep you close, he still went into bed with her at the end of the day.

But it stung.

And now, hours later, you were still in your own head about it, stirring the sauce on the stove without really paying attention. You didn’t even hear Nicholas come in until you felt his presence behind you, his hand going over your hip before stopping himself.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His voice was low.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the pot. “No.”

He sighed, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Did I do something?”

“No,” you repeated, softer this time.

He didn’t buy it. You felt him reach for you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. And then, before you could step away, he leaned in, lips parting, about to kiss you. But you turned your head at the last second, letting his lips land against your cheek instead.

He froze. You felt the way his breath hitched, the way his hand lingered against your jaw like he was trying to figure out what just happened. Slowly, he pulled back, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice more urgent now.

“It’s nothing, really. I should finish dinner before the kids get home,” you said as you exhaled sharply.

“No,” he said immediately, stepping in front of you. “Talk to me, honey.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t like you to tell him how you felt, not when you assumed this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. But the way he was looking at you now, searching your face like he genuinely cared, made it impossible to brush him off.

You sighed. “This morning. With her.”

His expression flickered, realization dawning. He pressed his lips together, nodding like he understood exactly what you meant. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I should’ve—” He exhaled. “I didn’t think. I didn’t want to make you feel like, like you don’t matter to me.”

Your chest tightened. “I know I don’t have a right to be upset. She’s your wife.”

“But you mean something to me, too,” he said quickly, reaching for you again, his hands cupping your cheeks. “You mean so much to me.”

Your resolve cracked. The way he was looking at you, the warmth in his touch, the sincerity in his voice, it was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You melted against him, letting him wrap his arms around you, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

“How?” you mumbled against his chest, your voice small.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This weekend.”

“What?”

“Victoria’s flying out with the kids for that wedding,” he reminded you. “You’re supposed to go, but she made it very clear she’d rather struggle alone than have you there.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh at that. “She really hates me.”

“She’s jealous,” he corrected, smirking. “Not that I blame her.”

Your cheeks warmed, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I have the Golden Globes Friday, but tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping,” he said, smoothing his hands down your hips. “Whatever you want. All weekend, you’re mine.”

“Really?” you asked, a slow, giddy smile spread across your face.

He nodded. “Really.”

You bit your lip, your usual bubbly energy returning as you swayed on your heels. “I do love shopping.”

“I know you do.”

And just like that, the jealousy and frustration from earlier faded into something warm and sweet. Because maybe, for just a little while, you could pretend that you were his. And maybe, for just a little while, he could pretend too.

The next morning, Nicholas kept his promise. You had expected something simple, maybe a quick stop at a store before he had to rush off to film. But no, he was serious about spoiling you. He had a car pick you up, a sleek black one with tinted windows, and when you slid inside, he was already waiting, his arm stretched across the back of the seat like he had all the time in the world for you.

“You ready?” he asked, smirking as his eyes dragged over your outfit. “You look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered at the compliment. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nice,” he said simply, nodding to the driver.

You tried not to overthink what somewhere nice meant. You tried not to wonder if he had done this before, taken Victoria shopping, picked out things for her, spoiled her the way he was about to spoil you.

But as soon as you arrived, stepping into the first high end designer store where the sales associates practically tripped over themselves to greet Nicholas, all those thoughts faded.

Because this? This was for you.

And he made that clear.

“What about this?” you asked, holding up a red dress, expecting the usual nod of approval.

But Nicholas shook his head. “Not you.”

You blinked. “Not me?”

He took the dress from your hands, replacing it with another—softer, sexier, something that hugged you in all the right places.

“This,” he murmured, running his thumb over the fabric. “This is you.”

Your breath caught.

And it continued like that—him choosing things for you, watching you try them on, leaning back in his seat as he took you in. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel.

But it was dangerous too.

Because at the end of the day, he still wasn’t yours.

And as much as he wanted you to feel special, this wasn’t real.

Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

Nicholas had certainly followed through on every word, after, he made sure to take you from one designer store to another, never once flinching at the price tags. Gucci, Chanel, Cartier—if you wanted it, it was yours. He helped you pick out the perfect dress for the ceremony, something elegant but undeniably you, pairing it with Louboutin heels that made your legs look even longer. You had even restocked your makeup with Charlotte Tilbury, layering yourself in luxury.

But the best part? He let you indulge in your favorites. Juicy Couture, where you picked out sets in every color. Victoria’s Secret, where you didn’t hold back, tossing lace and silk into your shopping bags without a second thought.

Nicholas didn’t complain once. He only watched, entertained and amused, as you treated yourself like the princess he claimed you were. It wasn’t until you were in the dressing room, slipping into a plush pink robe, that things took a turn.

You were adjusting the belt in front of the mirror when the lock clicked behind you.

Your breath caught.

Nicholas.

He had slipped inside, shutting the door behind him, his presence instantly making the small space feel even smaller. His gaze dragged over you like he had all the time in the world to admire you.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

“Mr. Chavez, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

His lips twitched. “You’re right.” He stepped closer, pressing a hand to the curve of your waist, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Because, being in here makes me wanna fuck you right here, right now.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You turned to face him, eyes wide. “Mr. Cha—”

“I know,” he cut in, his fingers tracing the belt of your robe, his voice soft but insistent. “I can’t. But I can do something else.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he dropped to his knees. Your stomach flipped. “Nicholas—”

“Shh,” he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs. His eyes lifted to yours, dark. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitched.

Outside, the store was filled with people—other shoppers, sales associates, people who had no idea what was happening behind the locked door.

You shouldn’t. But when Nicholas pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, your resolve crumbled.

And as his hands slowly spread your pussy open, as he whispered soft praises against you, you realized something dangerous.

For the first time all day, it wasn’t the diamonds or designer labels that made you feel spoiled.

It was him.

You pressed a hand to the wall, the other gripping the belt of your robe like an anchor, your knees threatening to give out as Nicholas ravished your pussy with his mouth.

He had always been good with words, but now? Now he spoke in a way that made your head spin—soft groans and whispered praises against your core, each one sinking into you.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured. “So perfect, baby.”

You whimpered, biting down on your lip to stay quiet, but the pleasure was overwhelming. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as you trembled against him, your body betraying you, giving in to everything he was pulling from you.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “We—we can’t—”

His lips curved against you, amusement in his next words. “Then be quiet.”

But how could you? How could you when he was so relentless, when every stroke of his tongue made your breath hitch, made heat coil in your stomach until you were seconds away from breaking apart?

And then—a knock.

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Everything okay in there?” A voice—feminine and concerned. An employee.

Nicholas didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, dragging his hands up your legs, pulling you closer, deeper into his mouth like he wanted to see you panic, like he loved the idea of you barely holding it together.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a whimper as you forced out a breathy, “Y-yeah! Everything’s totally fine!”

The pause outside the door felt endless.

Then, finally—“Alright, just let me know if you need anything.”

Footsteps faded, and you sighed in relief, only to gasp as Nicholas gave you one last, devastating pass of his tongue.

That was it. That was all it took.

Your whole body tensed, shaking as the pleasure crashed over you, silent but all consuming. Nicholas held you through it, his hands steady, his mouth working you through the aftershocks until you were barely standing.

Only then did he finally pull away, his breath heavy, his lips slick and shining as he looked up at you with that signature smirk. His chin was soaked. And the worst part? He knew exactly what he had done to you.

“You should see yourself right now,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over his lips. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your legs still felt weak, your head foggy, but couldn’t speak.

Nicholas carried your bags, all of them like it was nothing, his arms stacked high with luxury shopping bags as you both stepped outside. The flash of cameras caught your attention, a few paparazzi managing to snap some photos before security ushered them back.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too dazed, still floating from earlier, your legs still wobbly in your heels.

Nicholas opened the black car door for you, helping you in before tossing the bags into the trunk. Once he slid in beside you, he didn’t stop looking at you.

That smug, self satisfied look. “Stop it,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Stop what?” he smirked.

“Staring at me like that,” you pouted, crossing your arms. “It’s weird.”

His grin widened. “But I made you cum, didn’t I?”

Your whole body burned. “Mr. Chavez!” You smacked his arm before burying your face in his chest, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “You’re too cute.”

You huffed, refusing to look at him. But the way he was holding you, stroking circles against your hip, made it impossible to be truly mad.

By the time you reached the mansion, you had regained some of your composure. Nicholas let you breathe, retreating to his own space while you packed away your new things.

You still couldn’t believe it. A rich, married man. Your rich, married man. It was wrong. And yet, here you were.

You were admiring a new diamond bracelet in the mirror when he appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with that same smirk.

“Pretty,” he murmured. “But not as pretty as you.”

“You’re such a flirt,” you said as you turned, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist. “Only for you, baby.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, tilting your chin up before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into it, hands sliding up his muscular chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He kissed you harder, guiding you back toward the bed, his hands slipping under your crop top, pushing it aside. You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, his touch igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.

Clothes came off, piece by piece, heat building until you were naked beneath him, your body arching against his. And then—he stopped.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Nicholas?”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Not like this,” he murmured.

You pouted. “But—”

He kissed you again, soft but firm. “I want your first time to be special,” he said, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Not rushed.”

Your heart was aching at how genuine he sounded. “But,” he smirked, “I can still make you feel good.”

Before you could respond, his hand slipped between your thighs, drawing out a gasp as he touched your pussy that was already dripping wet for him.

He took his time, watching every reaction, whispering sweet praises, coaxing you to the edge.

His finger thrusted inside your pussy, curling and finding your g spot as you moaned freely beneath him. Finally you didn’t have to worry about being caught.

He look at you, his eyes moving from your lips to your pussy gushing for him. “Those sweet moans. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, grinding against his hand so his palm calm in contact with your clit.

“Good girl, now it’s time to cum for me,” he said, voice low and rough.

Your pussy clenched around him and you cried out, a release so intense it made you squirt all over his fingers. He held you close as you trembled, pressing kisses to your forehead.

By the time you came down, trembling and breathless, he was holding you close, stroking your back.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed, melting into him, eyes fluttering shut as you fell into slumber.

The next morning came quicker than expected. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred slightly, still tangled in the sheets with the events of the previous night in your mind. Nicholas had slept in your bed and it was a wonder how he managed to keep his dick in his pants.

The Golden Globes was that night, and he was up early, making sure everything was in place. You, however, took your time getting ready, ensuring every detail of how you looked was perfect.

Just as you were slipping into your dress, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Are you ready?” Nicholas called.

You took one last glance in the mirror before stepping forward and opening the door. Nicholas stopped breathing.

His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch, the dress hugging your figure perfectly, the way your makeup highlighted your best features, your hair perfectly curled, the effortless way you carried yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled. “You look—” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

You gave him a twirl, the fabric of your dress catching the light just right. “You like it?”

“Like it?” He scoffed, stepping closer, his hand grazing your waist before he caught himself. “Sweetheart, I love it. You look absolutely breathtaking.”

His words made your body warm, but before you could reply, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

With a small smile, you looped your arm through his, and together, you stepped out, ready for the night.

The moment you arrived at the Golden Globes, all eyes were on you. The flashes of cameras were overwhelming and reporters and photographers called out Nicholas’ name. But then, to your surprise, they started calling you too.

You instinctively held onto Nicholas’ arm, nerves creeping in. He felt it immediately, his hand covering yours, reassuringly.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Just give them that beautiful smile.”

You did.

Together, you posed for pictures, his hand resting securely at your waist. But then, a few photographers started asking for solo shots. You hesitated, glancing at Nicholas.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. The photographers gushed over you, snapping pictures from every angle. Compliments came from all angles, how elegant you looked, how cute you and Nicholas were together. It was overwhelming, but Nicholas never took his eyes off you, standing just a step away.

Meanwhile, he was pulled into an interview, and of course, the questions about you came. “And who is this stunning young woman with you tonight?"

He laughed, his gaze flickering to you as you clutched his arm, still smiling.

“A very special woman,” he said vaguely. “She’s been my biggest supporter.”

Before they could press further, the ceremony began.

The night went on but nothing compared to the moment Nicholas’ name was announced as the winner for Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama.

The second it echoed through the hall, you both shot to your feet. His first instinct was to turn to you, his hands finding your waist, his face so close, his lips brushed yours before he remembered. His wife was watching.

He stopped himself just in time, but you didn’t care. You threw your arms around him instead, jumping up and down, screaming in excitement.

“You did it!” you squealed. “Mr. Chavez, you won!”

He hugged you tightly, holding onto you for a minute longer before he finally made his way to the stage. The applause was loud as he accepted his Golden Globe, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude.

“Wow,” he exhaled into the mic. “This—this means everything.”

He thanked his team, the cast, his family, his kids. And then—

“I want to thank a special woman,” he said, his voice steady. His eyes flickered to you.

You stilled.

“Yeah, you know who you are,” he continued, lips twitching into the smallest smile. “You were the one who pushed me to audition for this film. You told me the role was mine before I even believed it myself. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You’re my biggest supporter.”

Your heart clenched.

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you held them back, shaking your head in disbelief, hands clasped over your mouth.

The moment he stepped off stage, you were in his arms again, holding on tight.

As the ceremony wrapped up, you leaned into Nicholas, your hand slipping into his. “We should totally celebrate,” you whispered.

He smirked, holding up his award. “The best celebration?” he murmured, leaning closer, “would be with you in my arms.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The car ride home was quiet and very intimate. Nicholas held his award in one hand, his other resting over yours. At one point, he lifted the Golden Globe, pressing a kiss to it before turning to you, brushing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, reaching to straddle him, fingers threading through his hair, but the car stopped. You had arrived home.

He exhaled a laugh, his hands slipping to your waist as you both pulled away, breathless. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Hand in hand, you stepped into the mansion like you were his wife. He had been gushing over you all night, and now was no different. He stopped you in the grand hallway, taking a moment just to admire you. “You have no idea how perfect you are, how perfect you look,” he murmured.

Then, he smirked. “I have a surprise for you.”

Curious, you followed him up the stairs, only to freeze at the sight. The entire staircase was lined with rose petals and pink flowers, leading up to his bedroom.

“Nicholas,” you gasped.

He pushed the door open, revealing the room filled with candlelight. Roses were scattered everywhere, the soft scent filling the air.

You turned to him, stunned. “Is this for me?”

His expression softened. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist. “You deserve it.”

Before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered against your skin. “So beautiful. Flawless.”

His lips brushed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw and then finally, your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—he was in love.

Nicholas backed you toward the bed, his gaze dark. His hands were gentle as they trailed down your arms, fingertips going over your skin as if you were something precious.

“You have me at your mercy,” he murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched as the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, and before you could fully process it, he was kneeling before you, his large hands smoothing over your thighs. His touch was savoring every inch of you, his lips pressing kisses along the path his fingers traced.

His hands found the hem of your dress, gathering it slowly, sliding it up your legs as his lips followed. A kiss at your knee, another at the inside of your thigh, each one sending a shiver through you. He held you firmly, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, “You’re perfect. So beautiful, so sweet, my perfect girl.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a desperate attempt to hold onto something as his lips and touch gave you overwhelming pleasure. He hummed in approval, his hands spreading your legs, squeezing gently, savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His kisses against your pussy turned hungrier, his voice a quiet worship between them.

“So goddamn wet for me, you taste so good.”

You arched under his devotion as his tongue explored you and he took his time, as if memorizing you, drawing out every moan with precision that came with being with an older man. Every brush of his lips, every press of his thumb against your clit built, heightening the pleasure until you were trembling, breathless, gasping his name.

He didn’t stop. He soothed you through it, whispering how good you were, how proud he was, how no one else could ever make him feel the way you did. His hands caressed you, his touch never leaving you, even as you came down from the high he had so effortlessly brought you to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked with your juices. He tilted his head up, watching you with satisfaction, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh before pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. Then, rising slowly, he brushed his lips against your temple, then your cheek, before finally pressing a deep, slow kiss to your lips.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” he murmured against your mouth.

You could only nod, still lost in his touch.

He smiled, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Good. Because I’d do it again and again if it meant seeing you like this.”

Nicholas held your gaze, his fingers replacing his mouth in your pussy, working slow thrusts as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Have to get this tight pussy ready for me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips trailed over your chest. His finger curled inside your wetness as his thumb rubbed rough, but gentle circles on your throbbing clit, “You’re so good for me,” he praised, watching every reaction, every tremble. “My pretty girl.”

Your fingers dug into his arms, breath hitching as warmth built deep inside you. “Nicholas—” you whimpered, your body arching into his touch.

“That’s it, my love,” he coaxed, kissing you deeply, his hand never faltering. “Cum for me, I’ve got you.”

You could barely hold back, gripping his shoulders as your body responded to the deep strokes of his fingers, finally reaching an orgasm that had you gasping as you squirted all over his fingers. He knew exactly how to make you feel good.

“Taste yourself,” he murmured. You held on to his hand, sucking your juices off his fingers before you took them in deeper.

“So obedient,” he praising, rubbing his thumb on your lip. “What a fucking mouth.”

“And I know how to use it,” you said, finally speaking.

“Are you sure you want to, sweetheart? Tonight’s about you,” he retorted.

“Tonight’s about you too, we’re also celebrating, remember,” you pouted and that did it for him.

His gaze was fixed on you, as he shrugged his pants and the rest of his suit off. Your fingers brushed over him in all his glory, and his breath caught when you made contact. He was hard, long and full of girth, feeling weighty in your hand. The tip was pretty, pink and leaking, pre cum oozing and slowly dripping down his shaft. As you looked up at him through your lashes, you could tell by the look in his eyes how badly he wanted this, and that only made you want him more.

God, you were almost jealous. Victoria used to get that dick every night. But then your jealousy turned into pride—it was yours now. She was stupid to be neglecting him.

His hands wrapped in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

As you took him into your mouth, each motion drew out quiet sounds from him. You took him deeper and deeper, swirling your tongue as you did and using your hands to rub his bare thighs then to caress his balls.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Everything about you is perfect.”

His praises made your pussy throb and you started deep throating him, using as much tongue as you could to make it sloppy just the way you knew older men liked it.

“Sweetheart, if you keep taking me like that—fuck, I’m gonna cum, you’re so good at this.”

You moaned around his cock, then took it out of your mouth to spit on it. Sticking your tongue out, you looked up at him as you slapped his cock against it and he moaned in response, his head tipping back.

He gently placed a hand on your cheek, caressing as your movements caused salvia and his pre cum to drip down your chin. You were a sight for sore eyes and he was ready to see you swallow his cum.

“H-holy fucking shit baby, I’m gonna cum down that throat,” he moaned, his voice breaking.

You took him as deep as you could, then gliding your mouth and your tongue across his shaft as you felt his warm cum shoot down your throat. You swallowed every drop and smiled up at him.

“Good girl,” he cooed, pulling you up to him, “I’m so proud of you.”

Nicholas stood in front of you, his hands gentle but firm as he carefully took off your dress, his gaze never straying from you. His eyes were filled with admiration, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t want to take off the beautiful dress you’d been wearing all night but you somehow looked even more beautiful underneath.

“You're absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. “I can’t even begin to explain how gorgeous you are.”

You felt your cheeks heat at his words, but his tone was so comforting and warm that any nervousness quickly faded. His hands were tender as they glided over your skin, slowly removing your undergarments from your body, piece by piece.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment, checking if you were still comfortable.

You nodded, feeling a sense of trust as he continued. “Yes, I'm okay.”

Nicholas took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady himself. He reached out and held your hand, squeezing it gently as he spoke again.

“I want you to know that this is all about you,” he said softly. “And I’m here with you every step of the way, okay? If you need a moment, we can stop. Just tell me.”

You nodded again, your heart fluttering, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort with his reassurances.

“This might be a bit uncomfortable at first and once again, if you want me to stop, let me know.”

He lined his raw, hard cock with your entrance, his movements slow and thoughtful, making sure everything was gentle. He kept his promise, holding your hand tightly and keeping his focus entirely on you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “You feel like Heaven.”

His thrusts stilled when he felt your barrier, and he slowly leaned down, your hand remaining in his as he kissed you softly. He pushed against the barrier and you bit down on your lip, the discomfort unmistakable but soon fading into immense pleasure. Your hot married boss was taking your virginity.

He rubbed your clit as he moved inside you, his thick cock only managing to go half way in, yet it felt so good. His muscles flexed as he was above you, his abs glistening under the candlelight.

He continued to check in with you, asking if you were okay, his affection unwavering. You felt safe, cherished, and respected as he made sure to only move forward when you gave him the go ahead each time he checked if you were fine.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You're taking me so well,” he murmured. “I knew you would.” His words and steady thrusts built you up and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. Your pussy clenched around his cock even tighter, your moans growing louder.

“I know baby, I know. Cum for me, cum on my cock,” he encouraged.

He pressed his forehead against yours, and your fingers dug deep into his back, leaving a trail of fire as an intense orgasm washed over you. Your legs shook and you cried out as you came, his touch comforting and grounding you through it all.

He caressed your cheek, moaning as a rush of liquid soaked his cock. “That’s it. Good girl.”

When your breathing slowed, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, his touch delicate as he continued thrusting slowly, tracing kisses along your shoulders and down your back. “You’re so beautiful, from this angle.”

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements on his cock as the sensitivity made you feel the tension build again, his whispered words filling you with warmth and reassurance.

“Rub your clit for me, sweetheart” he panted, cock pulsing inside you.

Doing as you were told, you rubbed your clit, jolts of pleasure shooting through you. His thrusts increased but still gentle and each time he pulled out leaving only the tip in, his cock was covered in your cream and juices.

“Cum again for me, baby. Cum with me while I cum inside this perfect pussy,” he breathed. “Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had.”

With one final thrust, he groaned, a low and guttural sound—almost primal spilling inside you as you clenched down on his cock and squirted. You milked him of all he had, ropes of his hot cum lodged deep inside you. He stilled, tracing his fingers along your spine. “You have the most perfect ass,” he teased, making you smile as you both caught your breath.

The warmth of Nicholas’ embrace putting you on your back made reality slowly settle around. He held you close, his lips pressing against your forehead. His breath was still a little uneven, but his focus was entirely on you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, tilting your chin so he could meet your gaze. His eyes were full of concern. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, a shy smile on your lips. “No,” you whispered. “That was amazing.”

Something in his expression softened even more and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb on your cheek. “You were perfect,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m honored you trusted me with this.”

The exhaustion was beginning to settle deep in your bones and Nicholas noticed immediately, shifting to sit up, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You’re tired, I’ll take care of you.”

Before you could protest, he had already lifted you into his arms, carrying you through the candlelit room and into the bathroom. The scent of roses was still in the air, mixing with the faint cherry aroma of the bath bomb he poured into the warm water. Steam came around you both as he stepped into the tub, settling in first before guiding you between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

His arms circled around your waist, holding you securely as the warmth of the water enveloped you. His lips brushed against your shoulder, trailing soft kisses up to your neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “And you did so good for me. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

A deep warmth spread through your chest and you leaned into him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as he ran a washcloth over your skin with delicate care.

By the time he had you wrapped in a plush towel and carried you back to bed, sleep was already pulling at you. He slipped in beside you, tucking the covers over both of you before pulling you into his arms once more. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his fingers tracing light patterns along your spine.

“You mean the world to me,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your hair.

As sleep began to take you under, you barely registered his next words, soft, almost like a breath against your skin.

“I love you.”

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn @iamsebastiansstan @chavezhoe @jennieonline @girldisrupted @nicholaschavezslut69

[they-call-me-youngermoney]

i love this drawing of kara from @moeblob sm, she reminds me of a red velvet cupcake lol

[red-lady-jj]

POC Eggman Design I made. Inspired Heavily by Blade, Alfred Coleman, and other such tomfoolery.

Quite pleased with the results.