#but again what does it mean to be a guy? what does it mean to talk like a guy?
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the-witty-pen-name · 3 days ago
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The Love Triangle From Hell (3)
Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Synopsis: Following PART TWO, Steve feels even more distant from his friends- especially you; Eddie reflects on memories he has of you two; Nancy and Jonathan work together for the paper; Robin does her best to navigate what being friends with you and Steve looks like; you seek comfort in one of the only ways you know how- calling Eddie
Series Masterlist
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; allusions to violence; miscommunication; jealousy; kissing; implications of smut; horniness
A/N: You guys are literally the absolute best. I am having the best time writing this- I'm so inspired by all of you. The love you have shown this fic so far has me overwhelmed. Thank you for your kind words, you have helped me work through some serious writer's block. Your comments and reblogs are keeping me going fr
This is unedited; please let me know what you think and if I missed anything I should include as a warning.
This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI
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His hands are tangled in your hair and he’s pulling you in close for another searing kiss. He can’t catch his breath, but he’s just so desperate to stay close to you like this. Your lips are so soft against his and your mouth is so inviting as you yank him closer. You whimper against his lips and it makes him shiver. He feels weak in the knees as you feel so pliable to his touch. You melt into his embrace and sigh happily as his lips trail down your neck. 
“Want you,” you moan softly, tugging his hair. He groans at the sensation. “Need you so bad.” 
“‘M gonna take care of you,” he promises, bringing his lips back to yours. 
“Love you,” you moan.
Before he finds out  if he says it back, his alarm goes off and he’s brought back to his reality. He groans disappointedly, covering his ears with his pillow- desperate for a couple more minutes with dream you. There’s a bang at his door. 
“Steve! Turn that shit off!” Eddie calls from the other side of the door. He’s yelling but his tone is playful. Steve hits his alarm off and drudges out of bed finally. Eddie has coffee made and Steve forgets anything is wrong at the moment. 
“Did she say anything last night?” Steve asks groggily as he pours himself a cup. 
“Um, not really,” Eddie replies, taking a moment to think about it. “I mean, yes but not about anything that we don’t know already. She’s conflicted, she doesn’t know what to think or feel. She just wants time.” 
“Okay,” Steve replies, leaning up against the counter. He takes a sip of his coffee. He needs to get to work. He can talk about this with Robin when he gets there. 
When you called Eddie, you didn’t expect Steve to answer. You thought maybe he’d say something- you wanted him too. But he didn’t. You couldn’t read him anymore.
Eddie was thrilled to hear your voice. He’d missed you, and he’d missed talking to you. He wanted that piece back as soon as he could get it. He reveled in the way his name sounded coming from you. 
“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to upset Steve- I heard the way he dropped the phone down…” 
“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says compassionately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 
He’s met with a sad feeling of silence. 
“I’m happy you called,” he says gently. He hopes the sentiment makes you feel better. 
“I’ve missed you,” you admit, and Eddie feels like his heart might swell out of his chest. 
“It’s hard when the two people who you talk about everything with are the people you want to talk about,” you joke, and he laughs with you. 
“You can talk shit about me,” he teases and he hears you groan. He bites his lip, holding back a smile. 
“How are you doing?” You ask, changing the subject. 
“Much better now,” he flirts. 
“How are you doing, really?” You ask again, your voice sounding more fragile. 
“I meant, honestly- not great. But not worse than anyone else is doing right now.” 
“Yeah…” 
“I miss you a lot too,” he admits. He runs a hand through his hair, and it reminds him of how amazing it felt the last time you played with his hair. He’s craving that touch so badly. 
When you both were in high school, Eddie went out of his way to make sure you always had a seat at the table. He’d notice as you stood with your cafeteria tray, waiting for Steve to realize there was no open seat for you at his table. He’d wave obnoxiously to catch your eye and he’d smile at the way you’d get shy from the attention. He’d point at the empty seat next to him, and he’d grin as your eyes light up in realization you had a spot. You’d shuffle through the crowd and take your seat next to him. You’d take a seat and ruffle his hair in your hands. 
Eddie was always a creature of habit. As much as he exudes chaos, he actually thrives in having a routine. Don’t get him wrong- it’s never been a good routine… but it’s routine nonetheless. In high school it was a lot of the same. Tuesdays, Corroded Coffin played at The Hideout. He would get home way too late and never get in bed until close to 3am. Wednesday mornings, he’d sleep through his alarm and stroll into first period consistently 10ish minutes late. Thursdays he prepped for Hellfire, and then of course, the piece the resistance was Friday. Hellfire. An epic campaign that would run several hours and ensure the most recent shit week had been worth it to make it to that moment. 
He remembers that he was paralyzed when the group proposed to postpone Hellfire one time his first senior year. It snaps him out of his thoughts, as he was so wrapped up in you- and how close you were sitting. Eddie knew that hypothetically, it shouldn’t matter if the date changes. However, he couldn’t wrap his head around change. He hated it- still does. A disruption from his status quo throws off his entire week and it will take him too long to mentally recover. He knew that he came off as a hard ass, but he prefers it than trying to explain his mind to his friends. He had felt  his jaw tighten as he tried to rationalize with himself that it can be okay to switch it up. He unclenched his fists once he realized that he was making his knuckles white unintentionally. 
“Uh yeah, no problem. Saturday’s fine,” he was able to manage through gritted teeth. He relaxed when he could look past himself and see his friends smile, thanking him and happily chatting about the campaign. He smiled when he observed that his decision made everyone happy. That for him outweighed the internal struggle. 
He didn’t really listen to the reason everyone wanted to reschedule, but he picked up on after the fact that everyone is talking about the Snow Ball. He couldn’t help but recoil back into himself as his friends talked about their plans to go- who they’re asking, what suit they’re getting, what songs would play, and whatever. He couldn’t have cared less. Unless… 
His eyes wandered to sneak a glance at you. He wondered if you had plans- maybe you're hoping someone asks you. Maybe, he’s lucky and you were hoping that someone would be him. He wondered if you had a date. Maybe you already had been asked. It’s not like you had been aware of the way Eddie’s felt about you- unrequited feelings that tugged on his focus constantly since he’s known you. You caught his eye and offered him a shy smile and he could crumble. 
Eddie immediately averted his gaze, and focused his attention back on his friends. He ignored the way his face suddenly became so warm and he ignored the butterflies that were swarming around in his stomach. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on these feelings- he knew that there’s no way you feel the same. Who could possibly like him? 
He felt a pressure when the freshman looked at him, one of them having asked Eddie about his own plans. Eddie sees the way the kids look up to him, they idolize him. He knows they think he’s cool. He can’t let that go just yet, he loved it too much. He needed it. He wanted to have them hang on to this version of him for as long as they’d believe in it. 
So, despite his usual distaste in school sanctioned functions, he did not want to allow the kids to think he couldn’t score a date. He could only blame society so much before they realized it’s actually his own fear of putting himself out there that cramped his dating life more than anything else. He then resolves that he needs a date to this dance. He tells himself that it’s for the freshman, to keep up the cool facade or whatever. But in actuality, he just wanted to ask you because he wants to ask you out. It’s his perfect window of opportunity. 
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” you said, when one of the freshmen asked you if you had plans. “I’d been so busy with the play, I haven’t had a chance.” Eddie watched as you glanced over to Steve’s table. “Steve and I usually would go to this kinda thing,” you said quickly, and Eddie could see your apprehension despite your best attempt to hide it. “We��ll probably go as friends again.” 
He said nothing. 
A few days later, you called Eddie and he could immediately tell you’re upset. You’re doing your best to hold it together but he can tell you’re almost at your breaking point. 
“Hey,” you say, your voice straining as you try not to cry. “I know this is totally not your thing, but I’m kind of in a bind.” 
“What can I do?” He asked, sitting up straight on his bed. He was getting ready to locate his shoes or his keys- thinking you’re in trouble somewhere. He’ddrop anything to come get you. 
“I know you’d probably rather do literally anything else, but um, I have two tickets to the Snow Ball and I already bought a dress…” 
“I thought you’d be going with Steve?” He asked. You sniffled. 
“Um, yeah I kind of just assumed he’d take me. I didn’t realize that he asked out Nancy Wheeler,” you choked back tears. “I mean it’s not like that,” you lied, maybe not to Eddie but more to yourself, “we’re just friends. But I still thought He and I would be going together like as friends again- you know? But, uh, yeah- he is taking like a real date.” 
“I know you’d hate it, and I will make it up to you. But, I already bought the tickets and I can’t get my money back. It’s like not a date or anything, just like a friend thing…” 
“I’d be happy to take you,” he replied, sincerely. He can tell you were expecting him to fight you on it. When would you catch on that he’s willing to do anything for you? 
“Eddie, thank you so much,” you sniffled, still trying your best to keep it cool. “I owe you one,” your voice cracks and you hang up quickly before he gets a chance to say anything. 
Eddie didn’t really understand back then why you were even friends with Steve to begin with. Eddie thought Steve, frankly, was a total douchebag. However, once he actually got to know Steve- it was a different story. He couldn’t resent Steve. He loved him like a brother now. And once Eddie got to know the Steve you’ve always known, your feelings for him made sense. But at the same time, Eddie held his tongue for all the things Steve did or didn’t do for so long. Steve was good guy at his core, Eddie understood. But his actions didn’t reflect that in Eddie’s eyes. But it wasn’t his place to tell you that. It didn’t seem right. You’d known Steve so much longer than him. 
Nancy and Jonathan invited you and Robin to go with them to watch Lucas’ basketball game. You were excited to get out of your little apartment and support Lucas. Jonathan was photographing it for The Hawkins Post. Jonathan paced up and down the court side to get photos, and you sat up in the bleachers with Nancy and Robin. You were never one to go to school things really, but it was Lucas’s senior year and it was a big game- of course you were going to be there. 
“It feels weird, Steve not being here,” Nancy whispers to you and you nod in agreement. 
“Yeah, everything just feels weird right now,” you agree. “You and Jonathan are okay?” 
“We’re good. We’re doing good, um, still working through stuff but we’re going to just work through it.” 
“That’s good.” 
“Robin?” Nancy asks, and Robin turns her head to pay attention. “How’s things with Vicky?” 
Robin’s face turns tomato red. “Fine,” she mumbles, happily. “I’m gonna hang out with her tomorrow.” You elbow her teasingly, making her blush redden. 
“How’s it feeling? Being the best at all of this out of us?” You tease. 
“I don’t know,” she’s so embarrassed, it’s so sweet. “We both just like each other- it’s not that complicated. She’s so great.” 
The three of you turn your attention back to the game at the sound of the whistle. You clapped and cheered the loudest whenever Lucas had the ball. He tried to plead with the lot of you to tone it down, casting weary looks in your direction. You couldn’t help yourselves. You felt so proud of him. 
You decide to take a walk to the concession stands and get some snacks for everyone. You order four sodas and two large popcorns- one for Jonathan and Nancy and one for you and Robin. You fish the cash out of the front pocket of your jeans, and hand it to the kid working the window. You thank him, and balance it all in your hands to navigate carefully back to the stands. 
You see a familiar face coming down the hallway, sprinting. For a moment, you can’t help the smile that forms across the expanse of your face until you remember what’s been going on. Your face falls, and you feel so stupid for being excited to see him when it hits you again all at once. 
You don’t think Steve knew you’d all be here, because he looks just as surprised to see you. He stops and his sneakers squeak across the polished gym floor. He looks at you with an expression of pure panic. He totally didn’t think you’d be here. And you’re surprised he came alone- but of course he did, he’s Steve. Of course, he’s going to show up to every game for Lucas. You shouldn’t expect any less. It still takes you back. 
“Can I help with those?” he asked, gesturing for you to pass some stuff to him. You nod, and tilt so he can take some of the things from your grasp. 
“Where are you sitting?” He asks, and you nod your head towards Robin and Nancy. His face deflates. “Ah, okay.” He walks over with you, and he passes the items in his hand off to Robin. He moves aside so you can walk back into your spot. 
“Thanks, Steve,” you offer him a soft smile, appreciating the effort despite the circumstances.
“Yeah of course,” he mutters, backing away, lingering for a moment because the seat that’s usually there for him between you and Robin isn’t there. He quickly pulls himself out of his thoughts and just heads over to the next row of bleachers, finding a seat next to a couple of his old basketball teammates that are here for their little brothers. 
Steve can’t even focus on the game,  he keeps trying to steal glances of you from his peripheral vision. He wants to know what Robin said that made you laugh like that, and he wished he could have heard your laugh- but you’re too far away from him. He watches as your jaw drops at something Nancy tells you, and he watches how you cheer so happily for Lucas. He wants to know if this is bothering you the way it’s bothering him. You look like you’re keeping it together and he wants to know if that could truly be the case. 
Even when you’re carrying so much hurt, you give off such a radiance that Steve and he’s sure everyone else is just drawn into. Your pretty smile and your bright eyes are all he can think about- he only knows when to cheer when he feels the people around him move. He smiles when you stand up and pose, pointing to Lucas- then Lucas matches it, giving it back to you. He watches as you both share that moment of just pure joy, and his heart aches. He doesn’t know if he could ever make you that happy. 
When the game was over, you looked to see if you could find Steve but there was no sign of him. You all invited Lucas to go out for celebratory pizza for his big win, but he wanted to go with his teammates. The plan fizzled pretty much after that. Robin wanted to get home so she could call Vicky and Jonathan and Nancy wanted to head home so Jonathan could start developing his photos. When you and Robin are walking out, you see a familiar van. 
“I’ll bum a ride from Nancy,” Robin assures you, pushing you in Eddie’s direction. She waves to Eddie from a distance and then jogs to catch up with Nancy and Jonathan. 
“What are you doing here?” you ask with a smile. He pushes himself off of the hood of his van and walks over to you, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. 
“I thought you might be here,” he quips. “Plus, I had to poke my head in- Sinclair is some big shot apparently?” he jokes, “I had to check out for a few minutes.”
“He’s really great,” you agree. 
“Was Steve here?” Eddie asks. 
“Yeah I saw him. He didn’t really stay either- I mean he stayed for the game, but we didn’t talk really.” You shrug. 
“Well,” he says, trying to optimistically change the subject, “Do you wanna get out of here? I could give you a ride home or we could get food or something- or even just drive around and not talk. I’m not picky.” 
He looks so beautiful like this, you observe. The sky is pitch black but the lights in the parking lot illuminate him perfectly with a soft glow. His hair is wonderfully messy and his smile is making it hard for you to breathe. Has he always looked like this? You wonder, astonished as it hits you all at once. He’s gorgeous. Your eyes linger, taking in every little detail you’ve overlooked before. He waves his hand in front of your face to snap you out of your trance. 
“Stop looking at me like that,” he tisks. 
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like you’re trying to jump my bones,” he chuckles. Your face warms, and suddenly you realize how long you must have been staring. 
“Ha, right,” you joke sarcastically, or at least, trying to joke sarcastically. You walk past him and get into the passenger side of the van and try your best to compose yourself in the few seconds it takes for him to follow suit. 
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, turning over the ignition, “where to?”
“Can we just drive around like we used to?” you ask- the circumstances of tonight making you feel so nostalgic. 
“Of course we can,” he hums, passing you the case of his cassettes- a familiar and welcomed sight for your tired eyes. 
You watch Eddie as he drives, and observe the way the muscles in his arms flex ever so subtly as he turns the wheel. You watch his ringed fingers tap across the top of the steering wheel and you can’t help it the way your mind wanders. You’re so wrapped up in the way his hair sways so effortlessly and the movement of his jaw as he sings, you don’t even notice that Steve was leaving the gym just in time to see you both drive away. 
After a little while of aimless driving, and hitting up the drive thru, Eddie ends up parking at Lover’s Lake when neither of you are ready to go home just yet. 
“Eddie?” You ask absentmindedly, finishing off the milkshake he got you. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” he replies, also finishing his, but with an obnoxiously loud suck of his straw- determined to get every last sip. 
“Why do you like me?” you ask, cringing almost immediately. You think you sound like a middle schooler or something- you’re so embarrassed. His eyes widen for a brief second, contemplating his answer. He tosses the empty cup into the back. 
“First off,” he criticizes teasingly, “I did not say I liked you- I’m in love with you. Get your facts straight, ma’am.” 
“My apologies,” you giggle, holding your hands up in defeat.
“I mean- I love everything about you; always have,” he starts. “You’re sweet and kind. I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re incredible, and sometimes I can’t figure out why you wanted to ever be friends with me in the first place.”
“Eddie?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Would you kiss me?” 
Eddie’s a goner when you’re looking at him with those doe eyes. More than anything he wants to lunge across and close the space between you. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It takes every fiber of his being to hold himself back..
“I don’t know if I can kiss you without knowing if I could ever kiss you again,” He whispers, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in towards you. His hand lifts to hold your cheek and suddenly he’s so close. Closer than the two of you have ever been. His lips are tantalizingly close to yours when his forehead touches yours. A huge bang on the side of the van scares you both away from each other. 
“Give her time, my ass, Munson! Get the fuck out here! Get your fucking hands off my girl!”
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@sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs
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yyuangss · 2 days ago
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what they do when they miss you ( star rail men )
notes … ! i redid my theme so that means that i’m legally required to post something 🤠🤳🏻 working on a fic jing yuan cough cough but i wanted to post something quick and short for right now
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drops everything to come and see you, a very impromptu visit. he doesn’t care, as soon as the thought of missing you comes into his mind, he needs to see you at that very moment. everyone hates him for it because it’ll be at some of the worst times possible. yes, they complain to him about it. does that mean he’ll stop doing it? no. he’ll just laugh it off. you’re more important to him than anything else and that’s all that matters. whatever he was doing, he can put it off for tomorrow. well, maybe not tomorrow because he’ll want to see you then too. so not tomorrow, but the day after… maybe.
jing yuan, aventurine, gallagher, boothill, luka !
he’ll make plans to be with you. usually happens whenever you guys spend too much time apart. as soon as those plans are made, nothing is going to come between him and spending time with you. he will make sure everyone knows he’s going to be with you on a certain day by saying it whenever he gets the chance. all other events get rescheduled or canceled to fit around your set date. that’s how serious he is. it’s his way of expressing how he’s looking forward to seeing you and getting to be around you again.
dan heng, welt yang, gepard, blade, luocha, dr. ratio, argenti, sunday, jiaoqiu, moze !
you’ll get spammed with voice messages. when you decide to listen to them, he’s just horribly singing kiss me thru the phone by soulja boy.
caelus, sampo koski !
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witherby · 2 days ago
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hello! great work so far :-) im getting into batfam myself and been loving the platonic/familial works you do w littlest wayne! was wondering if you'd ever do an teen y/n or just an older one? I'd love to see you tackle the idea of a robin y/n or jaybe just some angsty kid stuff,,,,,, hope you had a good new years!
-- :33Anon
I love angst with my whole heart and soul, and I'm happy to write it with a slightly older Reader. Hope you don't mind I've commandeered your prompt to showcase the ability you guys voted on.
This one's a long read so I'm splitting it up. This part is roughly 2400+ words.
The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home
(Part 1/2)
Masterlist is Here!
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Uncle J'onn is looking at you curiously.
He's been doing that a lot, lately. When Daddy brings you to the Watchtower to be babysat so he can go save the world, one of his co-workers that they can afford to spare gets put in charge of keeping an eye on you. Usually it's Uncle Hal, but this time it's J'onn and he's in his natural form, which you don't mind. Green is your favorite color, and his whole body is green! He's nice and calm, and tells you lots of stories and plays any game you want, even if it's hard for him not to cheat and read your mind. He says it's instinct. You don't hold it against him because you still have fun.
Lately, though, when he talks to you, he tilts his head a bit. He usually does that when he can't understand something.
You wipe your face, checking for cookie crumbs. All clean. You search your shirt for any weird marks or stains. All clean. You scrunch your nose and puff out your cheeks, pouting.
"What's wrong, uncle J'onny?" You ask him. Daddy says the way to get honest answers from someone is just to be forthcoming (Dicky told you what forthcoming meant when you asked him later), so you are. "Did I do something wrong?"
That seems to snap his train of thought. J'onn shakes his head and goes back to sorting out the jigsaw puzzle pieces for you. You're good enough at this to do 100-piece puzzles, now, and when you get really stuck you don't even cry anymore!
"Nothing is wrong, Flittermouse," he says, watching you start putting the edges together first like Dami taught you. "You are simply...changing. Differences are not inherently wrong."
"What's inherably mean?"
"Inherently. It means instinctively, or something that is "set in stone." A rule that does not change. I am stating that change is not something that is always wrong. It's not a firm rule."
You pout and try to process all of that in your brain. It was a partial answer. Daddy says that means people might want to hide something from you.
"What's changing?" You ask him. "I got older a week ago. Is that what you mean? I'm four, now. Grandpappy says I'm getting so big and growed up. He says to not do that so fast. I dunno how, though. He's silly."
J'onn hums. His eyes look away from you as he considers what to say. You put one whole edge together before he speaks again.
"You know that I am not a human, correct?"
"Yeah, I know," you say. "I don't care. I love you. And auntie Diana. And uncle Clark. And uncle Barry. And —"
"Thank you," J'onn gently interrupts. "Do you also know that, sometimes, humans are born not entirely human? That sometimes they get special abilities?"
"Yeah, I know that," you repeat.
"I suspect that —" he cuts himself off, hesitates, then starts again. "Little one. You are showing signs of being one of those humans with special abilities."
"I am?" You ask. You perk up. "Can I fly?!"
You immediately abandon the puzzle and climb onto your chair, about to jump off of it to try and fly around, but J'onn catches you by the back of your shirt before you can hit the ground.
"You cannot."
"Aww...then I don't wanna be a megahuman," you complain, stomping your foot.
"Metahuman."
"Whatever."
"I am sorry," J'onn says, "I did not mean to upset you. I do think you are developing powers, however."
"Not fly powers?" You frown.
"No, not flight powers."
"Boring," you say, blowing raspberries. J'onn cracks a smile at your antics and you giggle. "Help me do the puzzle, please!"
"Alright," he relents, sorting more pieces for you. You're both quiet for a while, and you get the whole frame done before he speaks again.
"Little one. Do you know your father's rule about metahumans?"
"Yeah," you say, grinning, because you're a great listener. You pitch your voice down and make it scratchy. It's adorable in your four-year-old tone. "No metas in Gotham. I am Nighttime. Raaahhh."
J'onn huffs in amusement. "Right. He usually means what he says, does he not?"
"Yeah," you agree, "daddy is a bad liar. He lied and said he didn't eated the last cookie once, but he did eated it. Alfie was mad, 'cause it was for Dami, but Dami didn't care. He likes brownies more than cookies. I like brownies, too."
"I figured," J'onn says. He's not looking at you again. This time he's frowning.
"Do you want brownies?" You ask, figuring that was the issue. "I don't have any. I can ask for some when Daddy comes back. I'm good at sharing, 'cause I'm a good noodle, like Jay says."
"No, but thank you for offering to share. Jason is right, you are a good noodle."
You preen. "I know!"
J'onn drops the subject again and helps you complete the puzzle. You squint at every piece in concentration and politely ask him if he can dim the lights so you can work better. He complies, and after another hour and a half, you have a completed image on the table.
"Yay! We did it!"
The sounds of chatter and footsteps appear down the hall moments later, and you spring to your feet in delight.
"Hello!!!" You shout.
A chorus of "hello!" greets you in return from multiple heroes, and the rest of the Justice League files into the room one by one. They don't look too roughed up, so the mission wasn't very dangerous. That's good. You stand by the door and offer them hugs. Everyone complies, to your endless delight.
"Daddy!" You cheer when you see him, running and hugging Batman's legs. He scoops you into his arms and you grin and point at the table. "Uncle J'onny and I dided a whole puzzle! I didn't give up!"
"Good job, Mouse," Bruce says, reaching out to adjust the light. "You did it in the dark?"
"Yeah," you grin, kicking your feet. "Did you punch bad guys?"
"I did."
"Did you win?"
"Yes."
"Can we have ice cream?"
"Maybe after dinner." He carries you down the hall and towards his temporary quarters, the place he'll stay after a particularly tough mission when he can't make it home right away, and deposits you gently on the bed. "I have to debrief with everyone, and then we can pack up and go home."
"Okay, daddy," you say, already digging through the nightstand for a toy to play with. "I stay right here!"
"Good job," he says again, kissing the top of your head, and leaves you alone with a small wave.
--
The next time you need to be at the Watchtower, it's with Uncle Clark and Auntie Diana. The mission wasn't a super dangerous one, so they both got to stay behind and entertain you.
Today, you're a cashier at your world-famous grocery store. You have the best ingredients all over the world.
"Welcome to the groshy store, what do you want stranger?" You demand, getting into character. Clark looks mildly offended.
"Whoa, hello. That's a lot of 'tude for a paying customer," he says.
"You didn't buy nothing yet! Whataya want!"
"Uh. Some carrots please."
"All out."
Clark narrows his eyes at you. "Can you check in the back?"
You turn around. You turn back.
"All out. Whataya want!"
"You barely looked!" He insists.
"FRESH OUTTA CARROTS, BUB. WHATAYA WANT."
"Oh my goodness, now there's yelling. I think I need to speak to a manager."
"Okay!" You shuffle across the room and grab Diana's hand, leading her back to Clark. "This is the manager. Auntie, tell him all the carrots are gone. He can't have any."
Diana covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You heard them, stranger. There are no carrots here."
"Well, aside from the blatant nepotism, auntie, I think you're hiding the carrots from me," Clark huffs, crossing his arms. "I need them for my soup. Guess I'll go to the grocery store across town. I hear they're nicer."
"No," you gasp, "wait. Okay maybe I have one secret carrot. I go get it."
You leave their giggling forms and run over to the toy box that was set up for you on the watch tower, thrusting your hands inside to dig around. You squint your eyes, but all the bright colors are hard to distinguish properly. In the dark spaces, deeper into the box, is where you cast your focus. Instinctively, you follow the trail and close your hand around a plastic carrot. You lift your hand triumphantly.
"Okay, got it!" You cry, only to startle when you find both Clark and Diana kneeling beside your toy chest. Diana picks you up around the waist and takes several steps back, and Clark's eyes turn that funny shade of blue they do when he's using x-ray vision. "Umm, I gotted the carrot already. It's in my hand."
"Are you injured?" Diana asks you, expression deadly serious. You frown and shake your head. "You're certain? I could sense something in that box with you."
"No, I'm fine," you promise. Clark stands up and his eyes go back to normal. He shrugs, brows furrowed.
"There's nothing in there but toys."
"Yeah," you nod, "toys and dark spots."
Both heroes look at you. You squirm in Diana's hold shyly.
"Um, want to pay for the carrot?" You ask, holding it up. "It's only ten dollars. Orrr one lollipop." You whisper conspiratorially. "I can be bribed."
Diana and Clark exchange glances. Clark gingerly takes the carrot from you and puts it back in the toy box.
"Sold. Let's go to the kitchen and pick out which flavor you want."
You grin, forgetting about the game, and Diana puts you on the ground so you can follow excitedly after them. With a couple "pretty please's" and your lethal puppy dog eyes, you even manage to get two lollipops. You ask to be hoisted onto the counter so you can swing your feet as you enjoy the candy, and both heroes perch on either side of you.
It's quiet for a while. It feels like that weird, anticipatory quiet you felt with Uncle J'onny, but you don't know what for, so you wait for one of them to speak. You finish off one whole sucker and open the second one when it happens.
"Mouse?" Clark eventually asks, "can you explain what you meant about your toys? That there are dark spots in there?"
"Yeah," you say, "shadows. Dark spots. Light not touching."
"And you can...feel shadows?"
You hum, thinking it over. "Um...yes. Kind of."
Clark and Diana look at each other again. They're frowning. You frown.
"Can you tell us what you mean by that?" She asks.
"Um. I wanted the carrot, for uncle Clark," you say, "so he can buy it at my groshy store. And the dark spots showed me where it was, and I grabbed it."
"Did they also help you complete the jigsaw puzzle, when you were with J'onn?" Diana asks. "It was quite dark when we got back." You nod.
"Yeah. Easier to do in the dark. It's not cheating!" You blurt. "I didn't cheated!"
"Okay, ya' didn't cheat," Clark agrees, gently patting your back. There's a slight drawl in his words which usually shows up when he's stressed out. "We're just curious, is all, darlin'. Seems you've got a... A special talent, we can call it."
"It's a power. They're a metahuman, Kal," Diana says simply, "and you know Bruce's rule."
The rule? Which one? Always brushing your teeth before bedtime? Or maybe no sweets until you finish your dinner? Hmm, but you haven't had dinner yet. That doesn't make sense.
"No metas in Gotham. I'm very aware, Diana."
"Then you see the problem."
Oh. Now you think you know why uncle J'onny was upset that day.
"Now wait a minute," Clark says. He looks genuinely angry, which confuses you. Did they not like that you could ask the dark for help? They had superpowers, too. You figured they would be happy. "They're his kid."
You are. You're Daddy's little Flittermouse, scampering around and bringing joy. That's what everyone tells you. They love you.
"You've seen how hard he works to keep us out of Gotham," Diana says. "We can be trusted to babysit, but we can't enter the city? What does that tell you?"
"That's different. He's territorial, we all know that. He's not a monster, Diana. He would never hurt them —"
"I'm not saying he is. I'm not saying he would. But I am saying that he doesn't bend his own rules. He does not make exceptions."
Oh.
You sit almost numbly on the counter and watch Clark and Diana start to argue over your place in Gotham. Over your place at home.
You think about Daddy's rule about no metas in Gotham. You think about your new ability to interact with shadows.
Oh.
The lollipop tastes like ash on your tongue and the tips of your fingers feel like tv static. When you blink, your eyes sting as they well up with tears. You've been so good about not throwing fits, about not being a crybaby, about being as strong as your super cool daddy and brothers and grandpa.
But you can't call them that anymore, can you? They don't want metas in Gotham, and that's what you are, now. You can't live with your family anymore.
Large, fat tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You whimper and both Diana and Clark whip their heads around to look at you in shock.
"No, oh no, don't cry," Diana coos, "you don't need to worry. Your father isn't —"
You bat her hands away when she reaches for you and jump off the counter, running underneath Clark's cape. They don't catch on to what you're doing in time.
Clark practically rips it off and fans it on the floor, floating above it with wide eyes. Diana kneels next to the fabric and frantically pats it, searching for you.
But there's nothing. You've fled into the shadow Clark's body cast and allowed the darkness to swallow you.
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snugglyporos · 2 days ago
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// Christ I wish I could go back in time and erase concepts like 'unconscious bias' from the world of popular lingo because people apply it to things that they don't apply to. No, most people do not possess an unconscious bias that working class people are worth less than rich people, that's your classist ideology being applied to things that you shouldn't apply it to. We might call that a conscious bias.
What is actually happening is a mix of tropes being blended together and not changing over time. Namely, the idea that the more individuals there are, the weaker they are. We see this everywhere; fifty ninjas? Weak. Not a problem. One ninja? Super powerful. Legend. This exists in everything from James Bond movies to comics to Power Rangers.
The reality is that, narratively speaking, the random cannon fodder between the protagonist and the final boss do not matter. They don't! In real life they would, but if you tried to give ever goon a backstory and explain it you would have a shit story because the audience does not care about the backstory of unnamed good #23. After they take the punch from the protagonist, the audience has entirely forgotten they existed.
Which means that, narratively speaking, the killing of the main villain is more important and more impactful than the killing of some random goon. Now, if you're a good writer this shouldn't be the case. But this too, comes from the blending of genres and tropes.
In the late 1980s, fiction became more violent and more visceral. This means that a lot more violence was happening! And yet, writers still wanted to have their protagonist show that they were the protagonist, because people were all in on moral relativism. People would be like 'well, there's no difference between the hero and the villain if the hero kills the villain.'
The response was a lot of heroes started adopting a weird kind of no killing rule; Batman will break your fucking spine but kill the guy who just blew up a building? That's too far! 'I'm not like you, a guy who kills people, I just cripple them for life!'
And again, this is what happens when genre conventions (the hero should be morally superior than the villain, or at least attempt to be) mixing with trope developments (everything now needs to be brutal and violent to reflect real life).
Now, the circle has completed itself, where we're once again back to 1985, where people are like 'actually no, the hero should fucking kill that guy.' You'll probably be a big fan of the Death Wish movies and The Dark Knight Strikes Back; you know, things that lots of proto-fascists really love because they reinforce the notion that actually, heroes should wield violence against their enemies and impose their will through abject terror.
The reality is, people aren't sitting around going 'my work should reflect the idea that workers are less important than the boss' it's that narratively, the random goons exist to be smacked down to prepare the audience for the big bad, because rising action requires that there be rising challenges. This is mixing along with personal tastes in media.
Now, you could, for example, turn this new trope on its head and ask whether the Punisher murdering every jaywalker and low level drug dealer with extreme violence makes him a villain, because his ideal is that any lawbreaker should be murdered instantly no matter how low the crime. You might also argue that the trope should actually be that the grunts shouldn't be killed by the hero, but the guy who organized them should, because he's much worse than they are.
You could also argue that, the reason why the hero doesn't just kill the villain is that murder is wrong? Even if you think it's morally justified? I think people forget, when they fantasize about an ideal French Revolution, that the most common crime people were executed for was pickpocketing, and every day they would execute the guys who got caught working the crowds at the executions the day before. More poor people got killed in the French Revolution than rich people; you should probably keep that in mind!
Because the core reason you probably want your hero to not kill people in general is that you then have to ask who deserves it and your answer will inevitably include a lot of people you might actually like! You probably don't want heroes taking vague concepts like justice into their own hands because inevitably that makes them into the Death Wish protagonist, deciding that what really needs to happen is for a white guy with a gun to just start shooting up inner cities.
You don't want your hero to start killing people because this is corrosive and it will inevitably result in comparisons between people who got killed.
So no, it's not some kind of unconscious bias, it's because we've melted a worldwide demand for bloodshed and violence with established genre tropes and if you removed one or the other people would complain and be very unhappy.
Or, I guess you could go on and say that Freddy Kruger is anti-marxist because he only targets teenagers instead of people who really deserve it.
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francesderwent · 1 day ago
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so for the purposes of this discussion I’m going to assume that we all agree that it’s not a desirable state of affairs to be sexually intimate with a whole bunch of people just for fun. I know not everybody agrees with that *gestures vaguely to the sexual revolution and the hookup culture*, but if I have to prove that first then that’s going to take forever and I don’t think it’s what we’re talking about anyway.
we’re going to assume that our interlocutor believes sex and love do have something to do with each other, and wants to know why we shouldn’t treat sex the way that most television shows these days treat sex: like kissing on the lips. you’re in love with your boyfriend so you kiss him on the lips. and then you might break up, and fall in love again and kiss a new boyfriend on the lips. in certain circumstances you might kiss someone on the lips who isn’t your boyfriend, like if they save your life or you go through a bonding experience together or something. and eventually you get married to someone and you only kiss that guy on the lips from then on, but you have kissed a few other guys before and it’s not a big deal or a scandal at all. why, is the question, can’t we treat sex exactly the same?
so, point one is: because the whole physical world is infused with symbolic meaning, the human body speaks a language of its own. we don’t assign meanings to the “words”, they’re inherent and universal. you can’t twist bodily actions to mean whatever you want them to mean, they’re going to go on saying what they really mean whether you want them to or not. a slap does not mean love; its violence is not and cannot be loving. a kiss does not mean hatred; Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss adds an extra layer of hurt to his deception.
point two: in order to exist happily and healthily in the world, we need to speak the truth with our bodies, and not try to twist the language of the body into saying something it isn’t. when we lie with the body, the whole real world we live in resists us. we’re trying to impose our own meaning by our own will onto something that already has its own meaning, given it by God, and quite frankly, God’s meaning is stronger and it’s gonna win. think of this as living in a state of denial—even if you can stay in your denial for a little while, eventually, reality will have its say, it will make itself felt. more on this later.
point three: sex, as a word in the language of the body, is saying something other than just “I feel love for you”—i.e. it is saying something different than a kiss. how do we know this? first of all, sex causes bonding on a chemical level in a way that kissing absolutely does not! secondly, sex creates children—and therefore exists on a very different level than kissing! both of these differences point to this: kissing as a “word” speaks about love as desire, when it says “I feel love for you” it’s mostly saying “I want you”. sex as a word speaks something more, it says something in itself about a commitment which is forever. what sex is saying is “I give all of myself to you and I receive all of you in return, we belong to each other forever”.
point four: the only circumstances in which sex can be spoken truly is marriage. sex speaks in the body the same total commitment that is made in the marriage vows, reiterating and confirming the mutual gift that has already been given.
this is sort of where it gets tricky (and where I think TOB speakers often fail their listeners), because when you’re dating somebody, if you’re not being disingenuous and stringing them along until you find something better, you do hope that you’ll be together forever. and so the more you fall in love with someone, the more you naturally (and appropriately, I’d say!) want to have sex with them, because you want to be able to express your longing for that forever. you don’t intend to lie with your body! you want to say what sex says and make it true in the saying of it!
I think the usual Christian response is to say “ah yes, but that forever isn’t yet promised or guaranteed, so you don’t know if it’s ever going to come”. and as much as the person currently head-over-heels in love doesn’t want to hear it, unfortunately it is very real. for every Jack who meets his first serious girlfriend in college, has sex with her because he really wants them to be together forever, and then marries her six years later having had sex with no one but her, there’s just as many (if not more) Jill’s who meets her first serious boyfriend in high school, has sex with him because she really wants them to be together forever, then is blindsided by a breakup and goes on to repeat the pattern with several more boyfriends before she finally finds the “one”. it’s a tragically common story, so common that the trauma of it is becoming harder to recognize. but it causes severe emotional and psychological harm, to give all of yourself to a person hoping for the gift to be received, only to have your whole self be rejected, or trivialized, or used and discarded. it takes tremendous courage for Jill to pick herself up and believe in love again, and often she’s disappointed over and over again. even when the “one” does appear and the gift is finally received completely in marriage, the scars don’t fade completely. I think a lot of people who get their happy ending end up experiencing that phenomenon of psychological backdraft, all their old sexual traumas bubbling up again now that they finally have a healthy sexual experience to know how it should have been. they then have to spend the honeymoon years of their marriage healing from everything that came before. so the usual Christian guidance is “you don’t want to go into marriage with all that baggage, so better to wait just to make sure”.
and while I do think avoiding trauma is generally a good idea, I think this is a little bit of a cop-out. for one thing, it kind of seems to be saying “don’t have sex with your significant other, because you don’t really know if they’re telling the truth about wanting to marry you”—that is, it’s encouraging you to not trust your partner. sure (she said sarcastically), that sounds healthy!! there has to be a better, more loving reason not to have sex with a significant other before marriage. and it’s this: if the Church’s teaching about sex and marriage are really true, then it is just as wrong for Jack to have sex with his girlfriend before marriage as it is for Jill to have sex with her boyfriend—Jack’s eventual marriage to his girlfriend doesn’t retroactively validate every instance of premarital sex! and if Jack having sex with his girlfriend before they got married is wrong, then what we’re saying is it must be hurting them. even though their love story ended happily! even though they did end up giving and receiving the gift of self completely! getting things “out of order” is hurting them and making them unhappy. this is the burden of proof, and it’s much harder than proving Jill’s sexual history is hurting her. and yet if we believe Church teaching, it must be true!
so we return at last to my above point two—in order to exist happily and healthily in the world, we need to speak the truth with our bodies, and not try to twist the language of the body into saying something it isn’t. and here’s the kicker: we are not God. we cannot make a thing so just by saying it. so no matter how understandable it is to try to create a relationship that will last forever by speaking forever with our bodies, it simply does not work that way. when the word is spoken out of the context which makes it true (i.e. when you have sex outside of marriage), it does not and cannot bring that whole context into being—it doesn’t create a vow of fidelity, it doesn’t create a shared life, it doesn’t create a public commitment. someone can have sex with you and then break up with you, someone can have sex with you and then get in their car and go home leaving you there by yourself to sleep alone, someone can have sex with you and then pretend you don’t exist. the sex, on its own, doesn’t create a slippery slope that leads swiftly and inevitably to marriage. it just creates tension between the life you actually have, unmarried, and the unreal life you’re pretending you have in sleeping with one another. it makes all those parts of yourselves that you haven’t shared stand out more strongly, making you feel every little separation as a wound. and instead of creating a sense of peace and security, it leads to a kind of desperate grasping feeling—“we’re acting like us being together forever is a done deal, but it’s not a done deal, it’s not set in stone, so what can I do to make it work, how can I control this, how can I make him want me enough to stay?” even if in the end Jack proposes, the foundation of the relationship has been damaged. it can be healed, and rebuilt! but it is not good for a relationship to develop under that kind of strain. not good, and not necessary.
what’s the alternative? when you wait to have sex until marriage, your dating years with a partner can be years of expectantly looking forward in hope, while also living in the moment. you are not married yet—so your relationship is not set in stone, you’re still deciding what kind of relationship you want to have together, which means it can still get better and better as you build it. talk a LOT! talk about everything! talk about your pasts, talk about your dreams for the future! work out your issues in the present instead of covering them over with physical affection! because you’re not burdened by the anxious desperation to turn a lie into the truth, you will be able to see more clearly what the strengths and the weaknesses of the relationship really are, which allows you to address your weaknesses and work on them! and because you’re not pretending like you’re already totally committed, the prospect of actually making a total commitment will be more and more attractive. when you’re not trying to act like you’re married already, it’s so much easier to have open conversations about the future you want together, and easier to know when it’s time right now to take steps to get there. and that’s exciting! it’s fun to have stuff to look forward to, it’s fun to make plans together!
it’s not a better way because there’s less collateral damage, because you’re hedging your bets playing it safe just in case something goes wrong. it’s a better way because it’s all about letting love develop in its own time, according to its own internal laws. I’m not gonna say “guard your heart”, as if your significant other was an enemy at the gates. instead, “guard your relationship”, because it’s worth protecting, worth giving every chance to be as happy as it can be.
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mysunshinetemptress · 2 days ago
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Insight 4
Smarter universe
A/n: I feel like this one I might edit a bit more so a rerelease might cone idk I don’t really like my writing in this. it’s 1am and I wanted to give you guys another insight as promised. Also thank you to @womenwoso for helping with the logistics of this insight.
Leah hasn’t known what it’s like to not wake up and feel nauseous for the past few days, not since you left, but today it’s worse, today she goes to training and although she hopes you’ll be there in the back of her mind she knows you won’t.
Leah’s slow to get ready, slow to leave and slow to arrive to Sobha Reality training ground, she’s late and her teammates don’t understand why. Leah’s never late, you’re never late.
Leah checks in and trudges her way to the changing room where the rest of the arsenal girls are, slowly Leah pushes the door and walks making a b line for her locker before throwing her bag down and quietly getting ready.
Leah doesn’t miss the way the girls look for you coming in behind her like you usually do, and she definitely doesn’t miss the questioning glances between Steph and Alessia.
“Le where’s Y/n.” Leah shrugs continuing to get ready, her eyes glued to the floor. Steph steps forward “hey mate, where’s Y/n? She didn’t answer the phone to Less or I this morning.” Leah mumbles into her chest “I don’t know.” This only causes more confusion between the pair as Leah continues to put on her training gear.
“What do you mean you don’t know Leah you live together, you’re married to her for godsake” Leah feels her stomach flip “she’s gone-she left.” Alessia steps forward her own stomach dropping, gone, left. Where, why and why didn’t you text them or call it doesn’t make sense. “ She would have said something, why did she leave arsenal.” Leah shakes her head as she feels her emotions start to rise again “not Arsenal, not yet anyway.” Leah pauses tying her shoe “she left me.”
Leah hates that for a slight moment you’re the bad guy and that her friends support her, but it’s all a lie. Steph puts her hand on Leah’s shoulder comforting her “what happened.” Leah shakes her head the tears forming in her eyes as the feeling of getting sick intensifies “I cheated.” She lets out quietly so quietly that Steph is the only one to hear.
Alessia looks confused “what.” As Steph recoils her hand as though she’s just been burned “you did what.” Leah shakes her head “please Steph.” Steph doesn’t take pity on her instead she shouts “you cheated on your wife, on Y/n.”
The rest of the girls all seem to freeze as they turn to look at their Vice captain “you better be taken the piss.” Katie shouts from across the room.” But Leah’s silence is deafening “Leah.” Kim tries but the defender stays silent.
“She won’t answer our texts, our calls, how-is she safe.” Leah doesn’t answer she can’t answer she doesn’t know where you are, she doesn’t know you’re wrapped up in her bed in her childhood home holding on to her jumper as you sob.
“I don’t know….we…she talked and then she left.” Leah lets out, “who was it Leah.” Leah’s head turns to Lia and the knot in her stomach tightens “I-Lia.” Lia already knows, she wish she didn’t but she does “Leah.” Leah shakes her head “I didn’t-please- it-I don’t know it just-we just…please.” Lia feels sick and the room spins slightly at the thought that she had been introduced to HER months ago when Leah and her met up for coffee and SHE came bouncing over.
Steph has her phone out as she tries you again and again Alessia’s frozen “but what about everything-you guys were supposed to be having a family.” They don’t know Leah thinks of course they don’t know she didn’t know “we are.” The room seems to drop like a led balloon.
Leah’s up against a wall next Katie holding her shirt in her fists “please tell me your wife…who wants nothing more than a family with you…who we have all seen cry day in and day out over not being able to have a baby with you isn’t pregnant because if she is so help me god Leah.”
Again Leah’s silence is all it takes to confirm the team’s worst fears. “I don’t know who else to call.” Steph lets out painfully “everyone else is in this room” Leah gulps, your gone, you’re not answering your phone and Steph right everyone you love…you think of as your friends, family are in this room and once again the knot gets bigger.
Katie drops Leah back to her feet “Kim.” Kim looks at the Irish girl “you’re suspended”. Kim turns to Leah as the vice captain tries to protest “I don’t want to see you near this place until I say otherwise.” Leah nods packing up and heading out the door.
“Leah.”
Lia chases after her stopping just at the car park “please tell me that it’s not HER.” Leah shakes her head “I…” Leah’s interrupted by a car honking HER car as SHE pulls up beside the duo “Hey baby ready.” Leah turns and looks to Lia “I-i can explain.” Lia shakes her head “don’t bother, you’ve made your bed and clearly you still enjoy sleeping in it.”
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wormdebut · 3 days ago
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STEDDIE MICROFIC JANUARY — NEW YEARS REVELATIONS
@steddiemicrofic | Word: New | Word Count: 517 | Rated: T | CW: Steve is a pining mess
——
“Has it ever crossed your mind, that you might just—like him?”
Steve couldn’t hide the cringe. His shoulders twitched—
“Ew, Robin.”
“Don’t Ew, me, Harrington. I don’t mean to burst your weird little bubble here but every day you complain about Eddie Munson is another day I have to watch you, pining after him.” Robin Buckley is tired.
Robin Buckley is insane.
“Ew, Robin!” Steve yelps. Tossing the blanket off his bed to slap at her shoulders. Fuck this shit.
“I’m serious, Steve. I think it’s time that maybe—perhaps—you consider—that maybe you’re into men.”
Steve can’t help but scoff. “Well, no shit Rob. Of course I’m into men. That’s not fucking new. It’s not men that are the problem—it’s him.”
Robin’s eyes go wide. “Well, shit, Steve. This revelation is pretty damn new to me!”
Steve tries to stop his eyes rolling to the back of his head—he really does.
“Oh come on, Robbie. I’m me. Is this ‘revelation’ really all that shocking.”
“I—“ Robin sighs. “Yeah, well. It always kinda has made sense hasn’t it?” She can’t help but laugh. “But why is Ed—“
Steve cuts her off. “Don’t.”
She laughs again, “Oh, come on, Steven. You just came out to me at ten at night on a Tuesday in January. God forbid I say Eddie Munson’s name.”
“Ew, Robin!” Steve couldn’t handle this. Really he couldn’t.
Her laughing was getting out of control now.
“Oh my god! Your blushing! This is even crazier than the fucking demogorgons!”
“Robin!”
——
It doesn’t go away.
His stupid feelings for stupid—him—don’t go away and it’s getting harder to hide.
Steve’s watching Eddie prep for a show.
A rock show.
The world can end several times, that’s not shocking. No.
But Eddie Munson and his stupid band getting weird underground street cred because he is some sort of hellspawn, devil child that survived the earthquake of ‘86?
That’s shocking.
And it’s hot as hell.
This is not good. This is awful . Eddie Munson is terrible for Steve’s health.
Fuck it. It’s a new year and he had survived the world nearly ending several times.
So he had a raging boner for Eddie Munson.
Whatever.
——
Steve was dazed. Turns out the underground hellspawn music circuit knew their shit.
Corroded Coffin was incredible.
Eddie Munson was hot.
And Steve Harrington was absolutely fucked.
“As I live and breathe, Stevie baby! You came to see me.” Eddie popped up out of nowhere, sweaty, eyes wide, clearly buzzing with adrenaline—and sweaty.
Steve swallows. Is it hot in here? “Uh—yeah. You were hot—I mean, the band was hot—great—good. You guys were good.” What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Get a grip.
Eddie smirks—and Steve is fine, thank you.
“Ohoho—Do you think I’m pretty, Stevie?” Eddie winks, and he’s so close and so sweaty and—you know what?
Yeah—Fuck yeah.
“And if I did?” Steve asks, chill, suave, cool as a cucumber—his hands are not shaking. He’s totally fine.
Eddie’s smirk softens—just a little— “Then I’d say you and I should get out here, no?”
Steve nods. Fuck it. He’s trying something new.
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So you believe that Boeing paid off the family juuuuuust enough to get them to say that he wasn't assassinated, but not enough to stop them from saying "Boeing is responsible for his death and should be held responsible for their grotesque conduct that drove him to suicide?"
I guess I should've been more clear when I said Boeing "paid off" the bereaved family, that's on me I guess, but I didn't mean they paid them off in the same sense that you'd pay off a cop. If it even transpired, it would more than likely go something like: "Hey, we feel really bad about the tragic loss of your son who definitely for sure killed himself, so uh, here's some money for your loss. See, we're the good guys in this! Please don't point fingers at us."
Or alternatively, they could've not been paid at all. Both are just as likely and explain why the family might still be pointing fingers. It wouldn't have been hush money, more like a gift meant to ingratiate them as an innocent party that obviously didn't work (again, assuming it even happened).
The evidence you have is an apparent belief that money has evil-gravitic properties, and anything bad that happens must have originated with the closest concentration of money.
Not anything, no, just the ones where Occam's razor applies. Again, which is more likely, a hundred billion dollar company who are active agents of shady, illegal business practices had both the cause and the means to have someone with information dangerous to their company killed and covered up... or that the guy who was about to testify with said-dangerous information just up and decided to end it all right before the finish line?
You seem to be under the impression that money holds little to no power which is as amusing to me as it is grossly naive.
By your standard, is there any evidence that is not hearsay? Because the evidence is "all of the evidence," and I appended the assessment of the family to pre-empt the accusation it was all made up evidence. What evidence does not count as hearsay?
To reiterate, I don't have any evidence that he was killed, nor did I ever claim to. But the evidence that he killed himself is the hole in his head and the "trust me bro" we get from the cops, which is the same exact kind of evidence that we got from Epstein's supposed suicide as well, just a man hanging in his cell and a "trust me bro" from the cops.
Now, is this me saying that we should question whether or not every suicide by gunshot/hanging is legit or just actually a covered up murder? No, obviously not. Again, I'm just applying Occam's razor here. Joe Blow who lived an average life before deciding to end it all probably wasn't secretly murdered. But the guy with information that could harm a lot of really powerful people, who is in active pursuit of revealing that information to the proper authorities, decides to end it all just before the finish line? You can't reasonably argue that it's not the least bit suspect.
The rest of us know Epstein didn't kill himself because we observe facts about reality and observe when they do and do not align with a conspiracy or cover-up.
You know, I don't mean to be rude, and what I said about you being naive about money was rude, so I apologize. But if not money, you seem to think that maybe only politicians or political figures have the modicum of power necessary to have someone killed and cover it up.
Like let's just examine your admission here: You've admitted that the circumstances surrounding Epstein's supposed suicide were suspect enough to justify questioning it's legitimacy. You admit to this despite the fact that he was in prison and under close watch by guards and cameras. Which, mind you, I agree with. But you're telling me that someone in those circumstances was somehow murdered, and said-murder was then covered up?
So then explain to me how exactly it's so unbelievable that a dude not in prison, not under watch by guards or cameras, was murdered in his car and then covered up as a suicide? How was one dude with dangerous information under total security and surveillance mysteriously killed and staged, but the other dude with dangerous information with no security or surveillance probably just killed himself?
This isn't the hill I'm prepared to die on, but sure, maybe he did kill himself. But then again, maybe Epstein actually just killed himself too.
Remember earlier this year when Boeing very clearly had a whistleblower executed? And law enforcement didn't even look for anyone or release any info about it or anything?
People keep comparing Luigi Mangione's case to the subway murderer who got off because of systemic eugenics, but I think there's something more apt about the fact that a CEO had someone executed in recent memory, with zero attempts to find a culprit, while they spared no expense at all to find (and probably frame, it's beginning to look like) someone who shot a CEO. It's always fine to slaughter if you're rich, but if you kill the rich, they will hunt you down.
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doiliedaze · 2 days ago
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Show ‘em
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Warnings: exhibition, public, fingering (reader receiving), mean!sev (kinda), manipulation?? so dub-con (putting this to be safe I’m not sure), slightly forced submission??, humiliation
Genre: smut
A/N: omg guys thank y’all for interacting with my work the way y’all have, it makes me feel so warm!! I found my folks °ʚ(*´꒳`*)ɞ°
I think this goes under dub-con because Sevika touches reader without asking but she knows reader would consent and reader does consent even though she whines and feels shame.
───────┈ · ·
It was another night filled with laughter, drinking and gambling.
In the lanes you’re known as Sevika’s girl and she makes sure you remember it too. Sometimes her jealousy can get the best of her and she gets overprotective but she doesn’t want to lose you. She understands your a ray of sunshine down here and who doesn’t like the light? In her eyes it’s to make sure no one tampers with your light.
People tend to try her, especially when it comes to you. Always making jokes that if Sevika looses a game they should be able to touch you. Comments like this aren’t new to her but they have been something she’s been hearing more lately. In her mind there’s only one way to solve this; show you off only in a way she can!
So here you are on Sevika’s lap, skirt bunched at your hips, panties around your ankle and bare pussy dripping onto Sev’s thigh.
“Vika please” you whisper in her neck hiding with shame and arousal. Annoyed she pulled two fingers out to slap your pussy harshly, “be quiet, tryna focus” she mumbles looking at her cards.
This started because you were talking to a close friend and an asshole was in her ear talking shit and she hit her limit. It’s honestly a power trip for her, doesn’t help that she’s a bit tipsy but she has the prettiest thing in the lanes that everyone could see and never touch.
Your weeping cunt clenches around her fingers, that familiar sensation building in your stomach. “No more Vika” you whine, eyes lined with fat tears and your plump lip trembling. You claw at anything you can touch, distracting her again.
For that she added another finger and curled them inside you forcing a loud moan out of you, “can I focus on the game please?” She refuses to talk to you in a disrespectful manner even if her actions are disrespecting you, but you have to understand this is for your own good.
Your hips fight against her fingers despite it feeling so good. Sure you’d rather not be fingered in a bar but you’d do anything to please her, she’s your Sevika and you love her more than anything. Your suppose to listen to the ones you love right? Follow their commands, especially when they are protecting you. At least that’s what she’s whispering in your ear.
“Be my good girl and take it.” She states as she wins her round. “I’m your good girl” you whisper as you suck her fingers in. A shit eating grin can’t help but grow on Sevika’s face. Loving the feeling of you slowly submitting. This is conformation you learned what she was tryna teach you, teach everyone. She owns you.
───────┈ · ·
A/N: I had no idea how to end this🥹 hope you all liked it though, I just wanted to execute this idea and try my hand at one of my darker ideas!!
Taglist: @manfuckthisimout
(Dividers- @dollywons)
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melminli · 12 hours ago
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ex, for a reason
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summery - your boyfriend was the sweetest guy in the whole world, but maybe that was the problem.
pairing: kang dae-ho x fem. reader
word count: 1.4k
contains: modern au, angst w/ comfort, fluff
the request.
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He really shouldn't worry about it as much as he did right now because the whole thing was just totally stupid, and all the stuff that had been going through his head was irrational. Dae-ho knew that and yet, he just couldn't stop himself from imagining multiple crazy scenarios in which you were breaking up with him - he didn't want any of this, why would he? The only heart that got broken in the process was his and it was all because of nothing.
Well, maybe there was this one thing, and that was that Dae-ho had been feeling a bit - well let’s just say - insecure about your relationship. He was very much aware of the fact that he had zero resemblance to the guys you usually date because he wasn't, well - he wasn't an asshole. You and even most of you’re friends make fun of it now that you two are together and it actually turned into some kind of inside joke that you broke the curse with him. Though, Dae-ho didn’t really feel like laughing about it right now.
This whole thing is so stupid, he thought to himself as he absently watched some show on the TV before he suddenly heard you laughing next to him. He just looked at you shortly and knew that it was probably because of something funny you saw on your cell phone. But, he just couldn’t restrain himself and had to remember the conversation you had a few days ago. He sighed again with a heavy heart at the memory because apparently, your last ex - some guy named Thanos? - had messaged you out of the blue and asked you what you were up to.
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"Hey, look who just sent me a text. I thought I had blocked him everywhere?" you exclaimed, laughing as you shoved your cell phone in his face. Dae-ho just looked a bit confused at the message after he read it because he didn’t really get what you were talking about. He read it one more time, though, he was still kind of lost because it honestly just looked like a normal message, how was he supposed to figure out what was going on?
You then decided to reveal the whole thing since your boyfriend just continued to send you confused glances. "It's my ex. You know, I told you about him. The one I dated before we met."
Yeah, he could remember bits and pieces of that. "So, what does he want?" he asked, still not quite sure what was going on.
You sighed at his innocence. "He obviously wants to get back together.“
"Does he?" Dae-ho asked and was seriously surprised. He pointed at your phone while he talked. "But he just asked if you still had his old sweater, that could mean anything."
You waved as you laughed. "Oh, trust me. I know what that means.“ you assured him and thought back to the old days, which was something you didn’t like to do. „We were pretty much on and off in our whole relationship because I always tried to break things off after fighting - but then always take him back afterward. So, it just started to turn into a really bad cycle at some point, I guess.“ you tried to explain. „Anyway, he used to text me about some meaningless thing as soon as he wanted to get back together and this is one of those texts since he's also not the kind of person to send you a message if he doesn't want anything from you. I’m just surprised that he would try this again because I broke things up with him for real the last time, trust me.“
Oh. It felt like Dae-ho should be laughing at your ex's desperate attempt to get back together with you now, but he felt more like ugly crying, to be honest. „Yeah, that is pretty funny.“ he just decided to say with a forced smile on his face.
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Since then, the whole situation just wouldn't let him go. No matter how hard he tried to. The way you told it, made it seem like you two got back together a lot and who was to say that maybe a part of you wouldn't want to try again - purely because of muscle memory? He wasn't the type to get irrationally angry over something like that, but he'd be lying if he said that all these negative thoughts didn't make him incredibly depressed the past few days.
"Hey, I know I've asked you this a few times now, but are you sure everything's okay?" you finally asked him when you noticed how he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on in his show. It was unusual for him to be so quiet when usually some comment about what was happening would leave him every minute.
He just nodded under his breath. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," he said, feeling guilty again for being the way he was right now.
You moved a little closer to him and hugged him lightly from the side. "You're lying and I'm tired of waiting for you to come to me on your own because, as you know, I'm not the most patient person on earth."
He avoided your gaze guiltily. "It's stupid."
"It's clearly not, because you've been acting like a depressed housewife for days."
He laughed lightly along with you at that little joke of yours. "And how is that supposed to look like?"
You smiled. "You know, you're like you always are - you make dinner, you bring me my favorite tea, but you sigh very loudly every now and then plus you're also a bit distant." you continued to broach the subject in a slightly joking manner to get rid of the heavy air around you two.
Of course, you would be aware of his bad mood. "Well, I just noticed that I'm not like the other guys you've dated before," he whispered casually while playing with the fabric of his shirt. Even though, you both knew that it seemed to be a topic that was bothering him.
You nodded. "So?" you just asked him, thinking something other would follow since you couldn’t see what the problem was. Though, there didn't seem to be anything more coming. "That's all? You’re upset because you're not like my shitty boyfriends in the past?" you repeated a bit in disbelief.
Dae-ho looked to the side, embarrassed. "I told you it was stupid..." he whispered. "I just don’t want you to think that I’m boring or something…"
You just took him in your arms and tried to suppress your laughter so as not to add salt to the wound. "I didn't mean it like that, but I'm telling you this now because you obviously to need to hear it," you said as you placed a kiss on his head. "You're not boring. You’re the sweetest boyfriend in the whole world and I would never trade you for any of my past relationships. I love you and I've never even said those words to any of my exes, did you know that?" you asked him, watching as he slowly looked up to you. "…really?" he asked you shyly, even though you had been together for a while now.
You smiled. "Really," you assured him and were glad to see your boyfriend in his normal happy state again. However, you then remembered the conversation you had a few days ago. "Was this whole thing about Thanos? You don't have to worry about him. I hate that guy, he like probably cheated on me more times than he admitted." you laughed and stopped when something else came to mind. "Besides, I think he also stole some money from me..."
Dae-ho looked at you worriedly as he held you even tighter. "Oh my god, are you serious? You never told me that, is that why you broke up with him?"
You looked away a little embarrassed yourself this time and didn't dare to confess to him that it had unfortunately taken a lot more than that for it to end between the two of you. Those weren't your proudest moments in your life. "Yeah, sure..."
But who cared about all that, right? You were the happiest you could ever be with Dae-ho and that was all that mattered. Maybe you should remind him more of that because he really didn't deserve to feel inferior to someone like that damn Thanos.
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siri-ike · 11 hours ago
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Danny awoke, abruptly to a flick to the forehead.
"Ow." It didn't really hurt. It was more just a reaction.
"Stop digging up your giant wound, idiot." A boy in a gray tank top (that looked like it wasn't originally gray) and a domino mask directed.
Danny tried to get up but was held down by a girl dressed in all black. She gestured to stay on the table. It was a lot like a dissection table, except it was paded. And strangely, his hands weren't restrained. He let go of the staple he'd been trying to scratch out in favor of reaching for either of them. The girl took the hint and held his hand. He sniffled. She even removed both their gloves, revealing his black and gray frostbitten fingers.
Slowly, he closed his eyes again and was engulfed in a bright blue light. The last thing he heard was the sound of a heart rate monitor finaly detecting a beat.
~~~~~~~
This time, he woke up in a bed. It's still definitely a medical room. Modesty hadn't been a concern for him lately, but it's nice to be covered up. Sitting up didn't hurt nearly as much as usual. When he looked down, he saw he was wearing some kind of stretchy corset. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get it off.
OK, here goes. Standing was no picnic, either. It was more like those weird jello dishes Aunt Alice sometimes brought to family gatherings. Discusting and surprisingly hard.
The floor is cold to the touch, it dosnt help that he's barefoot. And... pink. No, his feet are pink. He looks at his hands. Also pink. Nonono. He staggers over to a sink with a mirror above it and forces himself to look. He had pitch black hair and normal blue eyes.
It's ok, this is fine. A bunch of strangers know who he is, but it's alright. They helped him, so they must be trustworthy, right? And even if they weren't, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except rescuing the other ghosts.
"Oh, good. You're awake."
Danny stumbled, catching himself on the sinke and the cabinets behind him.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Mind answering a few questions." The masked boy was nonchalant and detached. He wore a pair of sweatpants stained with at least 4 days' worth of mystery goo. He looked like he had the same sleep schedule as Clockwork.
"You're not cleared to stand yet, and considering you've already fainted just from holding a girl's hand, you might wanna take it easy." Was it the same guy as before? It's not the same tank top, and he doesn't seem like the kind of person to change clothes regularly. Plus, Danny was lying down when he saw him first. He didn't look this short then.
Danny moves one hand from the cabinets to his chest. It's still covered. He couldn't scratch through the barrier. He tries to rub at it to get a little bit of relief, but nothing works.
"I, I can't," he's out of breath. But not from walking, he's not tired. It's frustration. "I can't leave."
"Sure you can, you sljust have to prove you're healthy enough first." He didn't even look up from his tablet. "It's multiple tests, and you don't even need a perfect score for all of them." This guy sounds more into tests than Jazz. "Let's start with walking. Does it hurt to walk?"
"I can't leave." Danny slides down to the floor.
"Hm, we'll circle back to that one. How many fingers am I holding up?"
"I can't leave!" He covers his face with his hands.
"You know what? Nightwing can handle this."
Mere minutes later, the same boy came back, this time taller and dressed like an overtly sexy trapeze perfomer that works at a disco themed dive bar. He rushed in and sat on the floor next to Danny. Arms held out around him, but not touching him.
"What's going on? What do you need?" He asked, sounding like a preschool teacher.
Danny sat there for a moment before embracing the strangely clad man. With the side of his face smushed thoroughly into the man's chest, Danny could feel the exposed chest hair on his ear. What are you doing, man? You can't have exposed chest hair on your superhero outfit. Even Danny knew that, and he wears a hazmat suit into battle. Despite the faux pas, he was still comforting.
"I c'cant lea-ve," Danny trembled.
"That's fine, you don't have to leave." He tried to reassure.
"Can't" why can't he say anything else?! "leave."
The man just hugged him tighter and caressed his hair, just like Jazz does. And just like with her, Danny couldn't help but let out a tear.
~~~~~~~
A while after that, another man, maybe 60-70 years old, made him eat a bunch of tiny sandwiches. They were so much better than the steaming pile of nothing he had the past several weeks. He must have eaten his own weight in finger foods.
~~~~~~~
Red hoods entrance was loud. Was it this loud the first time, too? Danny could hear yelling, scolding. From the words he could make out, Red Hood must have brought him here and only told the others after he'd already left. tt. What a hero.
Danny sat still, legs dangling off the bed, waiting.
"Sup, flesh wound?" The Red Hood entered brashly. "What just gonna sit there, didn't baby bird patch ya up? Or at least give you drugs?" The way he spoke, it was clear he was trying to come off as a jerk. But the questions and the emotional energy he gave off said otherwise.
"Bertrand told me to stay in bed. I won't argue with the hand that feeds me." Danny forced a smile.
"Bertrand?" The Red Hood took off his helmet... another domino mask. Why do all these people look exactly the same? And more specifically, why do they look more related to him than half his family does?
"I don't know his real name, but he looks like he could be Bertrand." He cleared.
"Ha! He does, doesn't he?" He's a lot less scary looking without the helmet. Now, if he could only take off the blood covered jacket. "It's better it you don't know our names. Tell me what was going on at that facility." His face was serious again, but his emotions were the same throughout.
Danny's hand wandered back to his wound, still out of reach. Still beckoning to him. "The guys in white are a seacret government organization that wants to exterminate all ghosts. They've captured almost everyone already. Walker, Young Blood, Pointdexter, the Lunch Lady. I couldn't see the others, but I know they were there." His wound grew louder and louder.
Touch me, find me, hold me. He felt like it was screaming at him.
Red grabbed Danny's hands to stop him. "It can't heal with your hand stuffed inside."
It can't heal, not yet. Not until he's whole.
"So these Guys in white, if they want to exterminate all ghosts, then why were the ghost all in cages instead of dead?"
"It's difficult to kill a ghost. The most common way is to just fade out. And each ghost will fade for different reasons. They want to find a faster way that will work on any ghost."
It clawed at his mind, all consuming. In the way he used to feel about protecting others or space. Now, there is only the hole in his chest.
Red sighed. "Baby bird!"
The boy from before stepped into the door frame as though he'd been just out of sight the whole time. Probably listening. "Yes?"
"What's up with his chest? Did you not give him painkillers? That thing was fully open."
"Are you in pain?" The tired one addressed Danny.
"No."
In response, Red let go of his hands, which went straight back to his chest, and looked back at the other boy with a "see?!" kind of motion.
"You could have an infection. The copious amount opioids we gave you would still hide the pain. How does it feel?"
Danny only needed a single word to describe it.
"Hollow."
~~~~~~~
It took a lot of convincing, but the ratty one, Red Robin, agreed to let him be awake while they checked on the wound.
He sat back on the same padded metal table as before, arms fully extended and holding onto a handle bar. Behind him stands the blue one, wingnut or something, ready to hold him back if he tries to interfere. In front of him is Red Robin, to his right is Red Hood and to his left is the silent girl in black, Orphan. Some others had come in earlier, but Hood had asked each one to stay away.
Red Robin readied his scalpel, and slowly, he cut through the garment, reaching from Danny's armpits to slightly below his bellybutton. Once that was gone, there were still layers of bandages. They started off white. The more they removed, the more it started turning a light brown, then a darker brown. By the end, it looked almost black. Only when it was all gone did he try to reach inside, but was stopped by 70s playboy model, who guided his hand back to the rail. He took a deep breath and heard two faint *clink* sounds.
Red Robin looked shocked, Orphan didn't react at all, and Red Hood looked concerned.
"What?" Asked... Dark... wing?
"I put in 36 staples, but it looks like he's pushed out 14 of them from the tops and bottom." He pauses. "And the wound has closed in those places. This sort of progress should have taken days, not 20 hours."
"What about," Danny tried to find the right word "inside." Close enough.
The cavity was harder to examine now that it had gotten smaller. "There's no infection. Remember to thank the antibiotics on the way out."
"Are you conscious enough to be doing this?" Hood snarked.
"It's not infected. There's no extra stuff, there's, uhm. Something missing. It was like," Danny opened and closed his fist, trying to convey something.
"Did you remove something?" Said blue bird to red bird.
"There was some shrapnel. It was like tiny pieces of Cristal."
"That's it. I need it, where is it?"
Nightwing had to pull him back into place. Nightwing, that's his name.
"It's in a box, I tried to put it back together, but it's fragile." It was like Red Robin disappeared and appeared shortly after with a biohazard box.
He might be a teleporter or a speedster. And since the GIW wanted Hood, he must have some kind of ghost powers, too. That explains why they wear masks.
Inside the white, insulated plastic box was a mostly reassembled ice core. It glowed a weak blueish-green. As Danny's hand inced towards it, it glowed bitghter. He only had to pick up the pieces. It was as though they found their way together on their own. Each one drained him more than the last, but it was all worth it.
To finally be whole again.
Prompt: Prison Break
Walker wouldn't have expected it, but one of the worst parts of being imprisoned by the GIW was watching Phantom suffer through the descending stages of violent obsession failure.
All of them were feeling it, obviously, but for most of them it was a slow decline - the pull of longing, developing over days and weeks into a sharp ache. Ember, ignored and silenced, was lashing out, kicking the glass walls and screaming for attention, even when it hurt. Johnny and Kitty, kept out of each other's sight, pressed against the walls closest together. Walker's whole body throbbed with frustration and self-loathing, needing to return to his territory and drag everyone back with him, away from this place of torture.
But Phantom, not three years dead and with an obsession that demanded that he keep everyone completely unharmed, had declined rapidly. Sure, for the first week or so, he'd been preoccupied with troubles of his own, strapped constantly to a table with hands digging through his insides. But then they'd started to spread out their attention.
At first, Phantom didn't seem to realize what was happening. He cried out in anguish and fear, trying to break open his cell and being punished for it, collapsing under the shock collar's control. Walker could almost see when he figured it out, when he started to clutch at his chest, and scribble constellations onto the walls and floor in his dripping ectoplasm with hands that trembled, trying to ease the pain in his core.
Then he started to curl up and choke on his tears, shuddering in pain whenever screams echoed down the hall. Finally, in between his own turns on the table, he started to shove his hand into his open chest, clutching his burning core directly, moans of pain rising into yells in nearly perfect unison with whoever else was the victim this time.
(Sidney had declined in nearly perfectly unison with Phantom, which a part of Walker hoped the punk hadn't noticed.)
If Phantom wasn't a halfa, he probably would've shattered into dust by now. It probably would've been a mercy.
When the yelling started, Walker almost didn't notice. Phantom, delirious with pain, for sure didn't. But before long, most of the rest of them had stirred to alertness, dragging themselves closer to the glass to peer down the hall. A troop of GIW stormed down the hall without glancing at any of them, and an alarm started going off. Phantom whined and rolled over, his hand buried in his autopsy wound while he shivered. (The scientists had tried stitching it closed, but Phantom just clawed it blindly open.)
"What's happening?" the Lunch Lady croaked. (Youngblood and Phantom were starving, and it was doing her no favors.)
"Prison break," Walker rasped. He recognized the signs. "Someone's here." He'd never imagined that it would be a relief.
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wihellib · 1 day ago
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I need to talk about this some more.
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I really thought that Beel's forgetfulness was due to his ADHD but was also, in part, due to the fact that he’s an ass. I thought he was being wilfully obtuse and playing up his memory loss to get out of situations he didn't want to deal with. Which is probably still partly true, but his main reason is because the memories are truly gone. This is horrifying.
Think about how awful that would be, to feel pieces of your memory just slipping away from you. Does he ever have a moment of clarity on which memory is being destroyed before it happens? Does he have a chance to think ‘Oh please not that one’ before he loses it forever? Does he ever get deja vu at feeling sad but having no recollection of why and realizing that he lost something precious to him again but will never remember what it was?
And this would happen all the time. We don’t know the exact number, but it’s been implied that he has tons of clones. And he has a huge graveyard for clones that have already died. He also splits himself into flies quite often. Which means that Beel has lost so so much. And, still, he’ll lose so much more. The poor guy.
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mommynott · 2 days ago
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Blades & Bows
12 Days of Dickmas - Theodore Nott x Reader
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Summary: Your toxic boyfriend, mad yet again over a revealing outfit decides to teach you a “lesson”👀
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, modern au, toxic!theo, toxicbf!theo, mean!theo, knife play, knife kink, cutting clothes off, degrading, control freak, possessiveness, PIV, dirty talk, choking, spitting, dom&sub, toxic relationship, rough sex, manipulation, heavily toxic Theo
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Thrown onto Theodore’s bed, you let out a gasp at his roughness. Yet again you had worn a skirt that was too short, a top too revealing to a Christmas party. And to say the least— Theo was not happy about that.
Jealousy, possessiveness, and anger enveloped him. His fists balled up as he stalked toward the bed. “You just never listen do you?” He growled as you tried to sit up, only to be pushed down to your back.
“God Theo! What is the big deal?” You exclaimed, your voice tinged with annoyance. Another fight. Your boyfriend’s eyes darkened as he reached into his back pocket.
“You…Your body….You belong to me. No one else— I can’t stand seeing other guys gawk at you…”
He spoke lowly, almost dangerously as he finally pulled his hand back out from his pocket. Revealing his silver-painted pocket knife. Fuck me. You had a thing for knife play, although you wouldn’t admit it often.
“But they know…. They know I belong to you, that I’m yours-“ Breathing out your words he knelt between your legs, they spread seamlessly. “—I don’t care.” He growled, almost cutting off your words.
Swallowing a bit, the blade got closer to your chest, that sinister grin of his that you knew all too well plastering his face. “What are you—“ Again, he cut you off.
“Quiet, slut—“ Speaking in that same growl tone, your doe-eyed gaze flickered between his own. Theo slowly lowered the knife right between your breasts. The sharp tip scratching against your skin.
A purring moan emitted from your lips, feeling him drag the blade down to your top. —Slaaaaaash- the sound of the material tearing and ripping seams filled your ears. Yet another shirt ruined- but you didn’t mind.
“There they are…those perfect tits— my perfect tits-“
His domineering tone was causing arousal to pulsate throughout your entire body. You submissively nodded your head with a subtle lip bite. “Y-yes daddy….”
Theodore’s eyes shot to yours at your whispered response— darkness gleaming within them. But a darkness of desire. “Good girl….” His words cooed as he grazed the blade along your bra, outlining it.
“Only for you…” Another one of your breathy whispers was heard, Theo’s cock wanting to burst through his jeans while the blade drew lower. Teasing it gently along the waist of your skirt. “You’re damn right only for me—“
Shuddering from his possessiveness and assertiveness, you whined. “Stay still, Slut—“ Theo demanded as he started to rip into the delicate material of your skirt. —Slaash-
This time the cloth seemed to tear smoothly, almost like butter. Before you knew it, you laid in your matching black lace set before your toxic boyfriend. Feeling your chest rise and fall with each breath.
“And underneath….still a slut I see-“ You swore his eyes went from that ocean of darkness to a pitch-black night. Gulping your words down. “It-it was for you…” Through a murmur, you felt the coolness of the blade once more, teasing at the small black bow in the middle of your lingerie.
This time though, through the center of the intricate lace along your bra- it snapped open, the bow turning into a ripped ribbon while exposing your breasts to Theodore. “Mine—“ Groaning deeply, his eyes trailed over your tits.
Snaking down the knife, he brought it to your panties. Cutting along the center once again, letting the chilled tip of the blade drag across your mound enough to scratch you.
“—Mine-“
His voice was so low, so fucking deep. You could practically feel the puddle of your wetness dripping out of your pussy. “All yours…” Your breathy tone combined with your glazed-over eyes to Theo, he could hardly contain it.
Theodore’s breathing was heavier- more intense as he threw the knife to the side. Throwing off his t-shirt with ease before wriggling off his jeans and boxers. “That’s fuckin’ right…God imma fuck you all night, slut— my slut.”
Gripping onto your thighs, he threw your legs over his broad shoulder before plummeting himself deep inside of you without warning. His massive length stretching you out caused a sea of loud moans to howl out of you.
“That’s it, scream for me— Dirty little whore…” Theo huffed through his thrusts. Your legs on his shoulders, he took one of his hands to wrap it around your pretty throat before spitting down on your face.
“Y-your whore- God! Yes!” Your screams of pleasure echoed off of the walls as he mercilessly slammed into your clenched walls. Already feeling climax approaching you. Theo shifted his hand, spreading his spit across your lips.
This would continue all night. A ravishing and rough punishment. Filled with sex. Lust. Domination. And you didn’t mind it in the least, you knew at the end of the day…It was out of love…it had to be…right?
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On the 11th day of Dickmas we get…Theo’s pocket knife tearing our clothes off hehe👀🎁
Hope y’all enjoyed this one! We got one more and Dickmas is officially finished this holiday season 😭
Dividers pinned in my masterlist🌙
Love all my naughty nymphs 💋✨
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trustmypoison · 1 day ago
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SVT in a long-distance relationship
Requested? Yes!
Request: ‘hi! i love all of your writing! Would you be willing to write a fic about SVT in a long distance relationship? thank you!!‘
It’s physically painful to be separated from his phone - Jun, Hoshi, Vernon
You guys have a never-ending text conversation that really doesn’t have good mornings or good nights included at this point. There’s no point in it when you guys were already talking, you know? On bad days when he really misses you, he hands his phone over with a deep sigh when he can’t take it with him. Like, does he want to perform? Of course! But some nights, he’s counting down the minutes until the show is over, and he can pick up the conversation again with a simple ‘I’m back.’ Really doesn’t mind the physical distance so much as long as you’re just a message or phone call away. 
A total expert at FaceTime dates - Jeonghan, Wonwoo, DK, Chan
Complete with a recurring calendar invite every week and everything so neither of you schedule over it. You guys usually eat together, even if one of you is having breakfast and the other is having dinner. The distance doesn’t feel so bad when you guys can just simply carry each other from room to room and keep up the conversation for hours on end. And when you don’t feel like cooking for yourself on one of those FaceTime dates? You don’t know how he does it because he doesn’t even break conversation or seem distracted, but takeout just shows up at your door. When you lightly scold and thank him for it, he pretends like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. 
Constantly sending gifts to you in the mail - Seungcheol, Woozi, Seungkwan
Regular communication? Most certainly. But the little silver lining in a long distance relationship for him would be packing up a little care package every couple weeks or so. Tangible objects mean a lot to him when it comes to you, so he gives you a constant stream of them. Sometimes, it’s just snacks or little trinkets. But sometimes, it’s extravagant gifts that make your jaw drop and scold him for the expense. He sort of lives for the random text that he can sneak to read during a busy day when you say, ‘Not again!!’ Shortly followed by a ‘Thank you, I love it.’ And naturally, he loves your little care packages, too. If one of his members tries to get a hold of it before he can, he can and will fight for it because you made it, and it’s his. 
Just gets on a plane the moment he has some free time - Joshua, Mingyu, Minghao
The constant phone calls and texts, regular FaceTime dates, and gifts in the mail are great and bring him a lot of comfort when he needs them. But nothing beats having some time off to just jump on a plane and go see you. He doesn’t really care if you have to go about your business because it’s a surprise, and you can’t take time off. He’ll wait patiently at your home while you have to be out and do things for you while you’re gone. And when you’re finally home, expect him to be glued to you. The ‘goodbye for now’ might be hard when he has to go back home, but it’s well worth it. 
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zoyarecs · 2 days ago
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i could say i’m surprised, but at this point i’m really not because you’re so damn good at everything you write, and i stand by that. i mean, all your works are amazing, but this one is definitely in my top 3, no doubt. maybe i’m a little biased because i fucking love enzo, but either way, the talent is all there (your brain duh)🧏🏻‍♀️
He couldn't decide if he loved you or hated you in moments like this. Maybe both.
boy is sweating, i just know it (AS HE SHOULD)
To everyone else, you looked effortlessly put together-an angel in your festive sweater and jeans, so soft, so sweet. But Lorenzo knew better.
this little smug bastard knowing his girl like the back of his hand, it’s canon, everyone knows it hehe, and i love that you included it here 🌝
you chimed in, your voice light and teasing. "Oh, don't blame the wine. Lorenzo's just got a lot on his mind tonight."
i looooove the reader’s personality, she knows how to handle Lorenzo and i’m all for it. she’s so sassy lmao, it’s hilarious 😭 she needs to slap him
You tilted your head, a slow smile curving your lips. "Dessert already? But the night's just getting started, isn't it?" "Don't worry, love," you said softly, just loud enough for him to hear. "I'll make sure you get exactly what you want... eventually." subtle graze of your fingers against his arm or leg, pushing his limits without saying a word.
hi soooo, i need a reader x reader story like RIGHT NOW, she’s so fucking hot helleoooolosisjshstfvhaysgsg (lorenzo is 💦💦 in his pants)
You shrugged, feigning innocence. "Everyone had a good time. What's there to complain about?" Lorenzo took a slow step forward, his gaze fixed on yours. "You know exactly what."
he’s so done but as i said ‘prove do seu veneno’ ✋🏻✊🏻
He gestured toward the sweater with a flick of his fingers. "Go on, then. Show me." Without giving you a chance to say another word, he dropped you onto the bed with a force that made the mattress bounce.
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nothing—JUST THIS LEONA MARIA WHEN I CAT H YOUEJAYWYWHHEHWGWHWB
Without warning, he yanked at the straps of your lingerie, pulling them down just enough to expose your breasts. His hands immediately moved to cup them, squeezing and kneading them with rough insistence.
the way i imagine this in my head… i’m so 🫠🫠🫠🫠 because he’s the type of guy who does stuff like this without any warning
"You think you can tease me like this and get away with it?"
i would tease him on purpose after this
"Begging already?" "Patience, darling," "I wonder if you've been like this all night, haven't you? Wet and needy, waiting for me to touch you."
cocky smug bastard fuck me and yes you’re right enzo 🤭🤭🤭
"You like that, don't you?" he purred, slapping your tits again, harder this time. "Like it when I treat you like a little slut."
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PUT THIS ON MY GRAVE, LEONA THIS IS MAKING ME FEEL THINGS
He buried himself deep inside you, his fingers still squeezing your tits, almost as if to ground himself. You both stayed there for a moment, still tangled together, breathless and satiated. Lorenzo leaned down, kissing your neck softly, his voice low and teasing.
i love that he’s treating us like a princess after ruining us, that’s so sweet of him. i want to slap him so bad
LEONA, this was incredible. the dialogues, the tension, the group moments—everything was spot on and made me feel so involved in the narrative. 😣😣😣😣 your works always make me feel like i’m actually in it with them, and i love that because you’re so fucking talented, omfg, don’t even get me started. and the smut?! GIRL, IT WAS SO HOT. i’m obsessed with it, with everything you do, actually!!!!! 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️
FICMAS #9— WRAPPED IN RED / lorenzo berkshire
december 27th
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lorenzo berkshire x fem reader
summary: surprising your beloved boyfriend in your favorite festive colors…
warnings: smut mdni, unprotected piv, degradation/praise, lingerie, nipple sucking, titty slapping (?), creampie, established relationship
words: 3.8k
a/n: sorry i’ve been kind of MIA the past two days bbs, i will get to my inbox soon <3 (forgot to do the taglist when i first posted this so i added it now!)
navigation ficmas masterlist
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Lorenzo was always calm, always collected. He moved through life with the kind of ease that made everyone else envy him—a permanent smirk tugging at his lips, a lazy confidence in every stride. But tonight? Tonight, that composure was cracked, splintering with every passing second.
And it was your fault.
Because even while his friends laughed, argued, and passed bottles of Firewhisky around the table, Lorenzo didn’t see them. He didn’t hear the clink of glasses or the familiar banter filling the room. No, the only thing he saw was an X-ray version of you, his mind peeling back the thick-knit sweater and denim jeans you wore to reveal the little red-laced secret you’d shown him before everyone arrived.
 He couldn’t decide if he loved you or hated you in moments like this. Maybe both.
You sat beside him, close enough that your knee occasionally bumped his under the table. To everyone else, you looked effortlessly put together—an angel in your festive sweater and jeans, so soft, so sweet. But Lorenzo knew better. 
And he was trying to behave—Merlin, he was trying. But every subtle movement of yours, every time you reached for your glass of wine or leaned forward to laugh at one of Theo’s jokes, he felt the blood rush to his head and lower. You were a menace.
“You good, mate?” Blaise’s voice jolted him back to the moment. 
Lorenzo blinked, quickly plastering on a grin that he hoped didn’t look too strained. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Blaise shrugged, tipping his glass toward Lorenzo. “You just seem a little... distracted. Too much wine already?”
Before Lorenzo could answer, you chimed in, your voice light and teasing. “Oh, don’t blame the wine. Lorenzo’s just got a lot on his mind tonight.”
He glanced at you, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. You gave him an innocent smile, one that made his chest tighten and his fists clench under the table. 
Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Bet it’s work. You always get that look when you’re thinking about work.”
“Yeah,” Lorenzo muttered, forcing himself to look away from you. “Work.”
“Lighten up, Berkshire.” Pansy reached for the bottle to refill her glass. “It’s Christmas. No one wants to hear about whatever boring Ministry nonsense you’ve got going on.”
“It’s not boring,” Theo cut in, gesturing with his fork. “Enzo probably has a very important case. You know, like illegal broomstick modifications or... I don’t know, someone stealing cauldrons.”
The table burst into laughter, and even Lorenzo managed a weak chuckle. But his thoughts weren’t on the conversation. They were on you—on the way you crossed your legs, the way you kept tugging at your sweater like you were hiding something beneath. 
He barely registered when Mattheo passed him the tray of roast potatoes, only grabbing it when Theo nudged his shoulder. “You’re really out of it, mate.”
“I’m fine,” Lorenzo said quickly, setting the tray down with a bit more force than necessary. He glanced at the clock, then at the empty plates around the table. “Should we bring out dessert?”
You tilted your head, a slow smile curving your lips. “Dessert already? But the night’s just getting started, isn’t it?” 
If you weren’t sitting in a room full of people, Lorenzo would’ve kissed that smirk off your face—or done something else entirely. Instead, he swallowed hard, leaning back in his chair and gripping his glass like it might anchor him.  
“Don’t worry, love,” you said softly, just loud enough for him to hear. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you want... eventually.” 
Lorenzo groaned under his breath, earning a curious glance from Draco. This was going to be a long night.
The evening dragged on in fits and starts, each laugh and clink of glasses feeling like a small eternity. Lorenzo kept himself occupied pouring drinks, clearing plates, and chiming in on conversations when necessary, but his attention was always split. The rest of the group was far too absorbed in their own stories to notice the tension simmering beneath the surface—except for you. 
You leaned into every teasing word, every subtle graze of your fingers against his arm or leg, pushing his limits without saying a word. By the time Theo and Blaise started debating the best Quidditch team of the decade, Lorenzo was practically vibrating with the effort it took to keep his composure.
“Alright,” Pansy announced at last, standing and stretching her arms overhead. “I think that’s my cue to head out before Blaise starts drafting us for his imaginary team.”
“Imaginary?” Blaise shot back. “I could make the Cannons win if I had half a chance.”
Draco rolled his eyes, standing to help Pansy with her coat. “If Blaise keeps this up, we’ll all be here until morning.”
A flurry of goodbyes followed, with everyone exchanging hugs and well-wishes. You played the perfect hostess, ushering them out with a warm smile while Lorenzo stood stiffly at the door, offering little more than clipped nods. He was polite enough to keep up appearances, but you could see the strain in the set of his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders.
Finally, the door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt deafening.
You turned, leaning casually against the door as you looked at him. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Lorenzo said nothing at first, his eyes scanning your face before dropping lower—to the hem of your sweater, which you had just barely started to tug up before letting it fall again. The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker, more dangerous.
“Not bad?” His voice was low, quiet in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “You think that was not bad?”
You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Everyone had a good time. What’s there to complain about?”
Lorenzo took a slow step forward, his gaze fixed on yours. “You know exactly what.”
You laughed softly, pushing off the door and sauntering past him toward the living room. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t, huh?” He was behind you in an instant, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist. The heat of his touch sent a jolt through you, and you turned to face him, your heart pounding. 
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You’ve been driving me mad all night, love. And now you want to play coy?”
You tilted your head, your lips curving into a sly smile. “I don’t know... maybe I just wanted to see if you could handle it.”
Lorenzo’s grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know you were treading on thin ice. “Handle it? Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’ve just started.”
Before you could respond, he released your wrist and stepped back, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin flush. He gestured toward the sweater with a flick of his fingers. “Go on, then. Show me.”
You hesitated for a moment, letting the tension stretch just long enough to tease him. The air between you felt thick, thick with something that wasn’t just anticipation, but need. Lorenzo was standing so still, his jaw clenched tight, his gaze trained on you like you were the only thing in the world. 
And you, of course, were taking your sweet time. You took a step forward, brushing your fingertips across the collar of his shirt. “What’s the matter, Enzo? You look a little... tense.”
He didn’t respond at first. His hands flexed at his sides, a muscle in his neck tensing as he tried—unsuccessfully—to hold onto whatever sliver of control he had left. But you could feel it, the way the air between you had shifted, crackling with something dangerous. 
Then, before you could blink, he was there—his large hands gripping your waist with bruising force, lifting you off the ground and throwing you over his shoulder without a word.
You gasped, more out of surprise than anything, but the playful smirk you wore didn’t falter. “Enzo! What—”
But he didn’t care to hear it. His steps were long and measured as he marched toward your bedroom, every move deliberate, as if he was on a mission. The door slammed behind him with a finality that made your stomach flutter with nervous excitement. 
Without giving you a chance to say another word, he dropped you onto the bed with a force that made the mattress bounce. The sound of your heart thudded in your chest, and for a split second, everything was quiet. 
Lorenzo stood at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like you were a puzzle he had to figure out. He dragged his gaze up and down your body, lingering on the way your sweater stretched across your chest, the hint of red lace peeking out from beneath it. His eyes darkened, almost black with hunger.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me tonight?” His voice was rough, ragged, and you could feel it, feel the restraint slipping away with every passing second.
You grinned, leaning back against the pillows like you didn’t have a care in the world. “I think I have a pretty good idea,” you teased, running your hand down your side, accentuating the way the fabric of your jeans hugged your hips. 
Lorenzo’s breath hitched. “You think it’s funny?” he growled. He didn’t wait for your response. He was done with your teasing, done with pretending to be patient. He reached down, yanking your sweater off over your head in one swift motion, the sound of fabric ripping filling the air. His hands were all over you now, rough and demanding, tracing the delicate lines of your body like he couldn’t get enough.
There, beneath it all, was the lingerie. Red lace that hugged your curves, teasing him even more than you had with your coy little glances and touches all night. The delicate lace barely covered your chest, and he could see it—see the way your nipples peeked through, hard and waiting for him. His eyes flicked up to yours, and for the briefest moment, he saw that glint of mischief in them.
“You’re such a fucking brat,” he muttered, running his hand up your thigh, feeling the soft fabric of your jeans under his fingertips. “You think you can just walk around in front of me like this and not expect me to lose my mind?”
You tilted your head, your voice sweet yet laced with defiance. “Maybe you shouldn’t have invited everyone over then.” 
Lorenzo growled, shaking his head before he leaned over you, his lips trailing along your neck, tasting your skin with each breath. 
“You’re lucky I don’t tear this off right now,” he muttered against your skin. “But I’m going to enjoy this, I’m going to take my time, because you deserve every second of this.”
He traced the edge of your lingerie with his fingers, his touch so slow and deliberate it made your breath catch in your throat. You squirmed beneath him, desperate for more, but he wouldn’t give it to you—not yet. His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the delicate swell of your chest where the lace barely contained your breasts.
You moaned softly, and it was enough. Lorenzo could feel the restraint inside of him snap.
Without warning, he yanked at the straps of your lingerie, pulling them down just enough to expose your breasts. His hands immediately moved to cup them, squeezing and kneading them with rough insistence. You gasped, arching into his touch as he leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the way he sucked and nipped at you made your body tremble, your hands gripping his hair as you urged him on. 
He pulled away, his eyes flashing with something dark, something primal. “You wanted to tease me? Now you get to feel what it’s like when I can’t keep my hands off you.”
The next moments were a blur of frantic movement, his hands and lips devouring you, tearing at your clothes with such urgency you could barely keep up. But you didn’t mind. You wanted this, needed it, wanted to feel him lose himself in you. 
And soon, it wasn’t just about the teasing anymore. It was about claiming, about showing just how badly you had driven him to the edge.
He tugged your jeans down your legs with little care for the slow buildup he’d promised—he was done with that. You weren’t in the mood for waiting either. The moment your legs were bare, his hands were back, grazing over your skin like he couldn’t get enough. 
You let out a soft whimper when he knelt between your legs, eyes dark and focused on the lingerie that had driven him mad all night. The red lace, so simple, so soft, now felt like a taunt—a promise of what he hadn’t had, what he’d been denied for too long. He ran his hands along the edges of the fabric, just skimming the sides, before tugging it down slowly, exposing you to him fully.
Your breath hitched when the cool air hit your skin, and Lorenzo wasted no time, pressing his lips to your inner thighs, his breath warm and heavy against you. His hands were still on your tits, gripping and squeezing as he kissed and nipped his way closer, the anticipation making your body tremble beneath him.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, before he finally pulled back to look at you fully. His eyes flickered between the lace remnants at your waist and your flushed face, a smile tugging at his lips, though it was filled with nothing but hunger. “You think you can tease me like this and get away with it?”
You couldn’t help the teasing grin that crossed your face. “Maybe I can.”
His gaze turned intense. "We'll see about that." He stood up quickly, pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his chest to you. The movement was fluid, almost predatory, and the way he reached for his trousers sent a thrill straight through you. The urgency in his actions was both exciting and nerve-wracking—he wasn’t just acting on desire, he was acting on something else too. Something deeper, something urgent.
Before you could even react, Lorenzo was back over you, pressing you into the bed with his body, pinning your arms above your head. His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, hot and demanding. You gasped into his mouth when you felt the pressure of him, hard and insistent, against your stomach. His body was tense, his every movement purposeful as he ground against you, unable to hold back.
You moaned against his lips, desperate for more, for something, anything. "Enzo..." you whispered, pulling your hands free to thread them through his hair, tugging him closer. "Please."
He pulled back just enough to look down at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Begging already?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. But there was something in his eyes—something softer that made your chest tighten. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin in a fleeting moment of tenderness before he returned to his more urgent touch.
You felt the heat between your legs intensify, an ache so deep it threatened to consume you, and you didn’t want to hold back anymore. "I want you, Enzo," you breathed, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.
Lorenzo’s smirk deepened, but there was a teasing, almost mocking quality to it as he looked down at you, eyes dark with desire. His voice was low, taunting, as he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours softly before pulling away, his breath hot against your cheek. 
“Patience, darling,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your body again, barely skimming over the lace of your lingerie before he slid his hand between your legs. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of your panties, teasing just enough to make your hips buck involuntarily.
You gasped, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you, but you didn’t get a chance to savor it. He moved faster, tugging at your panties just enough to expose you, fingers now teasing your sensitive skin, circling slowly, deliberately. 
“You’re so wet,” he said softly, almost in awe, as he dragged his fingers lower. The way he spoke sent another rush of heat through you. “I wonder if you’ve been like this all night, haven’t you? Wet and needy, waiting for me to touch you.”
His fingers slid inside you without warning, and you gasped, your back arching against the bed as you dug your fingers into the sheets. Lorenzo’s thumb found your clit, circling it in a rhythm that sent your mind spinning. His pace was slow at first, just enough to drive you wild, but he wasn’t gentle. Not tonight.
“You’re fucking dripping,” he muttered, the words laced with both admiration and amusement. “Aw, poor baby. Do you want me to make you cum?”
You could only moan in response, your body reacting to his every touch, every movement. His fingers curved inside you, pressing against that spot that made your vision blur and your chest tighten. He leaned down, kissing the side of your neck as you squirmed beneath him, desperate for more.
“I bet you’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice a low, rough purr against your skin. “Wondering when I’d finally take what’s mine.”
You nodded, barely able to focus, your breath coming in shallow gasps. His fingers increased their pace, the pressure in your core building higher, tighter, until you were on the edge of losing yourself.
But just as you felt yourself teetering, Lorenzo pulled his fingers away, leaving you breathless and aching. He lifted his head, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched your body writhe beneath him, desperately trying to find some relief.
“You’re not getting off that easy,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Not tonight.”
Before you could protest, he pulled you up, your legs wrapping around him as he kissed you again, deep and forceful. You didn’t get a chance to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You gasped as he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, the heat between you both palpable.
“Now,” he growled, “I’m going to make you feel it.”
With one swift movement, he thrust into you, and the world around you seemed to fade into nothing. The pleasure hit you instantly, a deep, overwhelming pressure that had you gasping for air. He didn’t hold back. His pace was brutal from the start, each thrust driving deeper, filling you completely. The way he moved, so forceful, so confident—it made everything inside you tighten.
You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning, your hands scrambling to grab at his back, pulling him closer. “Enzo… Please…”
“Please what?” he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I want to hear you beg for it.”
You swallowed hard, the words feeling like they were caught in your throat, but he was relentless. His thrusts were deep and unforgiving, each one hitting a new level of pleasure you hadn’t expected. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, slapping at your ass, as if marking you, claiming you. His lips were on your neck, biting, sucking, leaving bruises that only added to the fire burning inside you.
“Enzo…” you gasped again, unable to control the way your body moved against his. “Please, harder…”
He grinned against your skin, a breathless laugh escaping his lips. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
With a growl, he shifted his angle, pushing into you even deeper, his body slamming against yours with each thrust. You moaned louder, the sound filling the room as you felt the tension in your body intensify, the pressure building in ways you couldn’t control. His hand moved up to your chest, gripping at your breast through the lace, squeezing and pinching as he gave your nipple a sharp twist.
You gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves through your body, making everything inside you tighten even more. He laughed darkly, his breath heavy in your ear as he slapped at your tits, the sting of the contact making you wince, but the pleasure only grew. 
“You like that, don’t you?” he purred, slapping your tits again, harder this time. “Like it when I treat you like a little slut.”
The sting of the slap made you gasp, your body trembling beneath him, but it was all part of the overwhelming pleasure. Your breath came in ragged bursts as he alternated between slapping and groping your tits, squeezing them harshly through the lace, pulling at your nipple again with a cruel twist.
“Enzo, please…” you whimpered, unable to stop yourself from writhing beneath him, your body aching with need. “I can’t… I’m so close…”
“Close?” he repeated, a wicked grin forming on his lips as he slapped your tits again, the sound of his hand meeting your skin ringing in the air. “You want to come, sweetheart? You need to beg me for it.”
His thrusts grew more forceful, more erratic, as he continued to abuse your tits, slapping them with no mercy. The sting mixed with the pleasure, and you could feel yourself tightening again, your body responding to his every movement. You couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Please, Enzo… I need you to let me come,” you gasped, your voice desperate. 
With one final, deep thrust, he gave you what you wanted, and you exploded in waves of pleasure, your body seizing beneath him as you cried out his name. Lorenzo’s thrusts didn’t stop; he followed you, his own release coming in a sharp, breathless groan. He buried himself deep inside you, his fingers still squeezing your tits, almost as if to ground himself.
You both stayed there for a moment, still tangled together, breathless and satiated. Lorenzo leaned down, kissing your neck softly, his voice low and teasing.
“I love you,” he whispered, his hands softening their grip on your chest. “But don’t think for a second I’ll let you off that easy again.”
You smiled, the aftershocks of your orgasm still trembling through you. “Maybe next time I’ll make you wait longer.”
Lorenzo chuckled darkly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I’ll make sure you regret that.”
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​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan
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blog-o-meter · 13 hours ago
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House of Whispers (Part 2) - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader
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summary: Everything comes to a head and (Y/N) is right in the middle.
warnings: 18+, angst, so much arguing srry not srry, unprotected p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, cheating, cursing, outdoor sex, idk what else honestly
required listening: Already Know by DEGA; Anxious In Venice by Superhumanoids
word count: 25,005
a/n: part 2 is here yay!!!! ik this part picks up abruptly but I truly didn't want to split it up into parts </3 curse you Tumblr! anyway this is the last part so pls enjoy. I had so much fun writing house of whispers, idk like I could clearly imagine everything happening in my head crying emoji you guys already know how much I love dragging shi out for no reason. anyway I have some ideas already for other single-part fics, I just need to write them!
Part 1 | Part 2
reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!
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Over the next few days, the tension only grew.
Valerie settled into her role as the center of attention with a practiced ease that made my skin crawl. She was charming and effervescent in front of Nicholas’s mom and the guests, always quick with a compliment or a laugh. But the moment their backs were turned, she shifted, snapping at the staff with thinly veiled disdain and issuing passive-aggressive commands like she was the queen of a castle that wasn’t hers, at least not yet. Not for another few months.
“Do you really think that centerpiece works?” I overheard her ask Maria, her voice syrupy sweet but her eyes hard. “I mean, I guess it’s fine if we’re going for rustic, but I thought we were aiming for elegant. Maybe… try again?”
Maria nodded quickly, her cheeks flushing as she scrambled to adjust the arrangement. I wanted to say something, to call her out, but I knew better. Confrontation wouldn’t end well — not with her. Instead, I bit my tongue, holding onto the simmering anger as I turned away.
Whenever Nicholas wasn’t in the room, she barked orders like a drill sergeant, her tone sharp and impatient. But the moment he returned, she was all soft smiles and doe-eyed adoration. It was a performance, and I hated how good she was at it.
The mistreatment wasn’t lost on Paolo or my mom either. Paolo shot me a glance as we passed through the dining room the next afternoon, his expression tight. “Your friend,” he said under his breath, the word ‘friend’ dripping with sarcasm, “has a real knack for making people feel small.”
“She’s not my friend,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended. Paolo raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue.
Maria, on the other hand, was less subtle. Later that evening, as we stood in the kitchen helping prepare dessert, she leaned close, her voice low. “That woman,” she muttered, nodding toward the patio where Valerie was holding court with a group of guests, “is a nightmare. I can’t believe Nicholas is marrying her.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Instead, I focused on slicing strawberries, the knife trembling slightly in my hand. My mom’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing.
Nicholas wasn’t oblivious, either. I caught him watching her more than once, his jaw tightening and his gaze darkening as she dismissed a server or criticized one of the housekeepers. He didn’t say anything, not directly, but the cracks in his façade were growing until he had enough.
The dining room was alive with conversation, the clinking of glasses and the low hum of laughter filling the space. I sat between Paolo and my mom, doing my best to focus on the meal and ignore the weight of Nicholas’s gaze from across the table. Valerie sat beside him, her hand resting possessively on his arm as she chatted animatedly with one of the other guests.
“So, Paolo,” Valerie said suddenly, her voice cutting through the chatter like a blade. “It’s fascinating, really, how someone in your line of work can find time to travel so much. I mean, I suppose it’s easier when you don’t have to worry about running a household.” The smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes, and the condescension in her tone was unmistakable.
Paolo, to his credit, remained calm. He leaned back in his chair, his expression polite but cool. “It’s all about balance,” he replied smoothly. “I imagine you’d know a lot about that, being so… involved in planning your upcoming nuptials.”
“Balance is key,” he said, his voice deceptively calm as he set his fork down. “Of course, it also helps to treat the people around you with a little respect. Makes things run a lot smoother.”
Valerie blinked, her smile faltering for a split second before she recovered. “Oh, definitely,” she said, her tone overly sweet. “I was just saying how impressive Paolo’s schedule must be. It’s really a compliment.”
Nicholas’s gaze didn’t waver. “It didn’t sound like one.”
The tension at the table was palpable, the other guests suddenly finding excuses to excuse themselves. My mom gave me a knowing look as she stood, her arm brushing Paolo’s. “Let’s grab some coffee in the lounge,” she said brightly, her tone masking the awkwardness in the air. Paolo nodded, rising to follow her and the others out of the room.
I lingered, my heart pounding as I saw Nicholas lean back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed on Valerie. I should have left, but something in his expression made me hesitate. I slipped into the hallway just outside the dining room, pressing myself against the wall as I strained to hear their conversation.
“I don’t know what that was about,” Valerie said, her voice sharp now that the audience was gone. “You didn’t have to embarrass me like that.”
“I didn’t embarrass you,” Nicholas replied evenly. “You did that yourself.”
There was a pause, and I could imagine her bristling, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the tablecloth. “Excuse me?”
Nicholas’s tone was calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down my spine. “You think I don’t notice the way you talk to people? The way you treat them like they’re beneath you?”
“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off.
“You do,” he said firmly. “And I’m sick of it. This isn’t the first time, and it’s not going to keep happening.”
Her voice dropped, sharp and cold. “What are you trying to say?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m saying you need to start treating people with respect, Valerie.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. I held my breath, my pulse racing as I waited for her response.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low and tight with barely contained anger. “I can’t believe you’re taking their side. You’re overreacting,” she snapped. “I was just making conversation.”
“No, you were making digs,” he said sharply. “And you’ve been doing it since we got here.”
I pressed my hand to my chest, my heart pounding as the truth in his words settled over me. I shouldn’t have been listening, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
“I’m not the problem here,” Valerie hissed. “You’re the one who’s been acting different. Distant. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
Nicholas exhaled sharply, the scrape of his chair audible as he leaned back. “I’ve been distant because I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”
My breath caught at the bluntness in his tone. I edged closer to the doorway, my pulse pounding as I waited for her response.
Valerie didn’t miss a beat. “Fine? You think I’m the problem here?” Her voice was sharp but edged with something calculated. “Nicholas, you’ve been distracted since the moment we arrived. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way your eyes wander.”
There was a pause, heavy with implication. Nicholas didn’t respond immediately, and when he finally did, his voice was low but filled with quiet anger. “Don’t try to twist this.”
“I’m not twisting anything,” she said quickly, her voice softening as if she’d just realized she’d pushed too far. “Look, I know the last few months have been… stressful. Planning the wedding, keeping up appearances—it’s a lot. And maybe I haven’t been as understanding as I should be.”
Her tone shifted, adopting an air of vulnerability. It was a performance, but an effective one. “But that’s no excuse to start attacking me at the dinner table. You humiliated me, Nicholas. In front of your family.”
Nicholas sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. “You’re not the victim here, Valerie. I’m not going to sit back and let you talk to people like they’re beneath you.”
“I wasn’t!” she snapped, but then caught herself. Her next words came softer, more measured. “Maybe it came off wrong. I was just trying to make conversation, Nic. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The air shifted, her tone almost pleading now. “I know I can be… abrasive sometimes. It’s just the pressure, you know? I want everything to be perfect for us, for the wedding, for your family. I’m trying, Nic. I really am.”
She reached across the table, and I could practically hear the sound of her hand resting on his. “I need you to believe that. To believe in us.”
My chest tightened, a familiar pang of jealousy mingling with anger as I listened to her carefully crafted words. She was diffusing the situation, steering it back under her control, and Nicholas was letting her.
“I don’t know if I believe it anymore,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.
Her breath hitched audibly, and I could feel the weight of the silence that followed. Then, she let out a soft, shaky laugh. “You don’t mean that,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. “You’re tired, Nic. And overwhelmed. We both are.”
“I mean it,” Nicholas said, his tone unwavering. “I don’t want to keep pretending.”
Valerie didn’t respond immediately, and when she did, her voice was calm, almost too calm. “Do you really think now is the time to be having this conversation? With your family here? With everyone watching us?”
Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh, but she pressed on. “I get it, Nic. I do. But this isn’t just about us anymore. There’s the baby to think about. Our future.”
I heard Nicholas’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. His footsteps echoed as he walked away, and I barely had time to duck further into the hallway before he passed by. His expression was dark, his jaw tight, but he didn’t see me.
And he might’ve not seen me then, he sure as hell saw me whenever his eyes weren’t on Valerie.
Every stolen glance, every brush of his hand against mine when no one was looking, sent a jolt through me. He found excuses to slip away from the group, and I wasn’t far behind. It was reckless, dangerous, and impossible to resist.
The first rendezvous after our pool house tryst happened after the dinner incident. I was helping Maria set up the dessert table in the garden. Nicholas appeared out of nowhere, his presence like a storm cloud rolling in.
“(Y/N),” he said quietly, his tone a warning and a plea all at once. Maria glanced between us, her brows knitting in confusion before excusing herself with a polite nod. She left me alone with him, the space suddenly too small despite the open air.
“Yes, Nicholas? Do you need something?” I whispered, my voice sharp as I adjusted a platter of macarons, careful to meet his gaze even though I knew there was nobody around. Though, I was hyper aware of the windows of the house, especially the ones on the second floor, which basically had a front row and unobstructed view of the backyard as opposed to the first floor windows covered in bushes and climbing vines.
“You,” he replied simply, the weight of the word making my hands tremble. I felt him step closer, the heat of his body radiating against my back.
I stiffened, gripping the base of the macaron tower as my eyes flicked up to the second floor, my heart skipping a beat as I caught sight of a shadow passing by one of the second-floor windows. I turned my back to him, walking to the end of the table to fix the tablecloth, “Second floor, left corner window,” I whispered.
Nicholas stilled, his gaze snapping upward in the direction I indicated. He lingered just long enough to catch the subtle movement of the shadow, then turned his head slightly, pretending to admire the flowers lining the garden path.
“Were you always this observant?” he asked, his voice low and steady as he walked toward the far end of the table, keeping his posture casual but a smirk played on the corner of his mouth.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, my fingers adjusting the edges of a napkin as though I cared deeply about the table’s presentation. “I had to learn if I was gonna sneak around with you all those years ago,” I teased.
Nicholas chuckled softly, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the house. “You always were good at keeping me on my toes,” he murmured, his dark eyes catching mine briefly before flicking back to the shadow in the window. “But you’re even better now. More confident.”
I rolled my eyes, keeping my hands busy with a basket of utensils. “Confidence comes with age,” I replied lightly, though my heart raced under his gaze. “Unlike some people, I actually grew up.”
He grinned, a flash of white teeth against his sun-kissed skin. “In more ways than one.” His voice dropped to a whisper, full of teasing heat, as he leaned just close enough that only I could hear.
I nearly dropped the basket, my cheeks heating as I turned my back to him again, pretending to fix the tablecloth. “Oh, my god. You really just said that,” I muttered, though the faint smile tugging at my lips betrayed me.
Nicholas chuckled, the sound low and full of mischief, but I could feel the tension radiating off him as he glanced toward the window again. “I’m just being honest, baby,” he murmured, stepping closer but keeping his distance just enough to avoid suspicion. “Meet me in the pool house in ten minutes,” he whispered.
I hesitated, my pulse quickening at his words. I wanted to say no, to remind him of the risks, but the weight of his dark, steady gaze made it impossible to resist. Every nerve in my body hummed with the memory of his hands on me, his lips tracing lines of fire against my skin.
Without looking at him, I adjusted a fork in the basket, my voice barely a whisper. “You’re insane.”
“I’m desperate,” he countered, his voice low and rough. “Ten minutes.”
Before I could respond, he stepped away, his posture casual as he walked back toward the house. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked as if he’d merely stopped to check on the dessert setup. But the brush of his fingers against mine as he passed sent a jolt through me, a silent promise of what was to come.
I exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself. The faint movement in the second-floor window was gone, and I prayed whoever had been watching had lost interest. My heart raced as I glanced at the house, the hum of conversation and laughter drifting through the open doors.
Was this worth the risk? Of course it wasn’t. But that hadn’t stopped me before, especially not the other night. Though, to be fair, I was drunk. I’m not sure what excuse I could possibly have now.
After an excruciating ten minutes of debating whether to listen to Nicholas, I excused myself from Maria with a lame reason about needing to check on something. She barely glanced up from the desserts, too preoccupied with arranging the delicate tower of profiteroles to question me. I slipped further into the garden, navigating around the paths of perfectly trimmed bushes, my footsteps light against the stone path as I passed the pool and made my way to the pool house.
The pool house door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, my heart pounding in my chest. The space was dimly lit, the faint glow of indirect light filtering through the windows and casting long shadows across the room. I closed the door behind me, my breath hitching as I turned to find Nicholas already waiting.
He was leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, his tie loosened and the top buttons of his shirt undone. His dark eyes locked onto mine the moment I stepped inside, the tension between us crackling like a live wire.
“You’re late,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.
“You said ten minutes,” I replied, my tone sharper than I intended as I stepped closer. “I waited exactly that long.”
Nicholas pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us in two quick strides. He stopped just in front of me, his towering frame casting a shadow over mine as his dark eyes searched my face. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You told me once,” I shot back, my voice trembling slightly as I held his gaze.
He smirked, his hands reaching out to grip my hips and pull me closer. “I mean it,” he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek. “Every time I see you, every second I can’t touch you—it’s killing me.”
“Nic,” I started, but he cut me off, his lips crashing into mine with a desperation that made my knees weak. His hands slid up my sides, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath my blouse as he pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine.
I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as his mouth claimed mine, hot and demanding. The taste of him, the feel of him, the sheer intensity of his presence — it was intoxicating. I hated how much I wanted him, how easily he could unravel me with just a look, a touch.
“This is insane,” I murmured against his lips, my voice trembling as he kissed his way down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.
“I don’t care,” Nicholas growled, his hands gripping my waist as he backed me toward the couch. “I need you.”
I gasped as the backs of my knees hit the edge of the couch, my body sinking into the cushions as he followed, his weight pressing me down. His lips found mine again, his hands working quickly to unbutton my blouse, his movements rough and desperate.
“We shouldn’t,” I whispered, even as my fingers moved to loosen his tie, my body arching into his.
“We won’t get caught,” he promised, his voice low and full of heat as he quickly ripped his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. His lips brushed against my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. “I’ll make it quick.”
I laughed softly, the sound breathless and tinged with disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You love it,” he shot back, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned down to kiss me again, his hands sliding beneath my skirt.
And God help me, he wasn’t wrong.
Other times, we wouldn’t have sex. Yes, we would sneak a kiss here and there, but we’d also find ourselves just enjoying the other’s company and getting to know each other again.
Late one afternoon, after most of the guests had gone off for a wine tasting tour, Nicholas and I found ourselves alone in the garden. It wasn’t planned — or at least, it wasn’t planned on my part. I’d been rearranging the floral arrangements along the fountain when his voice startled me.
“Still playing florist?” he teased, leaning against the wrought-iron gate with his hands in his pockets, the sunlight casting a golden glow on his sharp features. He was devastatingly casual, his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his dark eyes fixed on me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I straightened, forcing myself to meet his gaze, shrugging my shoulders. “You know how much I love details.”
He smirked, pushing off the gate and strolling toward me, his every movement fluid and purposeful. “That’s one of the things I always loved about you,” he said, his voice low but warm. “You notice the things most people overlook.”
I rolled my eyes, turning back to the arrangement in front of me. “Careful, Nicholas. Someone might think you’re flirting.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and familiar, sending a shiver down my spine. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, stopping a few feet away. He tilted his head, watching me carefully as I adjusted the flowers. “Why did you even come back to work here? Last I heard you were off working at some big office.”
I froze for a moment, my fingers hovering over the delicate white roses as his question hung in the air. Finally, I sighed, my shoulders dropping as I adjusted the petals of the centerpiece. “It was an unpaid internship, and it looked like it wasn’t going anywhere. So I thought about going back to school to get my master’s, but I can’t do that without a paying job, now can I?” I asked with a smile.
Nicholas nodded slowly, his gaze softening as he stepped closer, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Makes sense,” he murmured, his voice quiet. “But this place… doesn’t it feel like going backward? You always said you wanted to do bigger things.”
I shrugged, forcing a nonchalant smile as I busied myself with the flowers again. “One step forward, two steps back.”
Nicholas tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he said quietly. “You’re not the kind of person who settles for less than what you want.”
I laughed softly, though it lacked any real humor. “Sometimes life doesn’t give you much of a choice, Nic. You should know that by now,” I cocked an eyebrow, trying to insert a tinge of teasing behind my words to lighten the mood.
He frowned, stepping closer until he was standing beside me, his presence warm and overwhelming. “So what do you want, then?” he asked, his voice low and serious. “What would make you happy?”
I hesitated, my hands stilling over the arrangement. His question lingered in the air between us, heavier than the summer heat. I could feel his gaze on me, piercing and unrelenting, demanding an answer I wasn’t sure I could give.
What did I want? What would make me happy?
The truth was complicated, tangled in the years we’d spent apart, in the choices we’d both made, in the reality of who we were now. And yet, standing there with him so close, the answer felt heartbreakingly simple, but I couldn’t tell him the truth.
I turned to him slowly, meeting his dark, searching eyes. But then, I smiled slowly, “I’ll let you know.”
Nicholas threw his head back in defeat, a smile growing on his face. “You always were good at keeping me on edge,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.
I shrugged, turning back to the flowers. “Keeps things interesting,” I replied, plucking a stray leaf from the arrangement and tucking it into my apron pocket. The sunlight filtered through the garden, casting dappled shadows on the path between us, but the air felt charged, humming with unspoken words.
Every touch, every stolen moment, every secret conversation felt like a rebellion against the world around us. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Not when he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Not when his touch set my skin on fire.
It became a pattern. Nicholas found me whenever he could — in the garden, in the hallway, even once in the pantry when I was restocking supplies. Each time, he kissed me like he was starving, his hands greedy and demanding as though he was trying to remember every inch of me. Or asking me about what I had been up to since I last saw him all those years ago, as if he wanted to get to know the girl that had escaped his grasp and make up for lost time.
And I let him.
I let him because I was angry.
Angry at Valerie for the way she treated everyone around her, for the way she manipulated Nicholas with her lies and her performance of the perfect fiancée. I told myself it was revenge, that every touch, every kiss, every stolen glance or word was a way of reclaiming some small part of my dignity, that she couldn’t scare me into submitting to her. Angry at the universe for ever separating Nicholas and I in the first place. But most of all, I was angry at myself — for still wanting him, for letting him back in so easily, for pretending I could walk away unscathed when I knew better.
Nicholas wasn’t just my past. He wasn’t just somebody I could brush off and forget. He was in my blood, in my bones, in every broken piece of me that still remembered how it felt to love him like I was still that wide-eyed 18-year-old. And no matter how much I tried to deny it, I wasn’t strong enough to resist him.
I hated the person I was becoming. I had never imagined being the other woman, never thought I could be someone who existed in the shadows, taking stolen moments and pretending they were enough. But I couldn’t stop. Not when Nicholas whispered my name. Not when he looked at me with that raw vulnerability that made my heart ache. Not when his touch felt like the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
I was in too deep, and there was no way out.
One day, I was in the kitchen, wiping down the counters as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air. My mom was nearby, chatting softly with Paolo about the menu for the day, and the house was just starting to stir with the faint sounds of life.
That’s when I heard it — a voice. Hers.
I paused mid-wipe, my ears pricking at the sound of Valerie’s voice drifting from the adjoining hallway. She was speaking low, but there was an urgency to her tone that made me still.
“—can’t keep pushing this off,” she hissed, her words clipped. “I told you I’d handle it. Just give me more time.”
I froze, my heart racing as I glanced toward the kitchen door. She was on the phone, and she wasn’t trying to be overheard, but her voice carried just enough that I could pick out the words.
“I know it’s risky,” she continued, her voice sharp. “But I don’t have another option right now. He’s suspicious as it is.”
Suspicious? My stomach twisted as I stepped closer to the door, careful not to make a sound. She was pacing, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she spoke.
“Because it’s not that simple!” she snapped, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. “Do you think I want to be in this position? He’s expecting a baby, and I—” She broke off abruptly, her breath hitching audibly.
The blood drained from my face as her words settled over me. Oh my God.
“But I’m not pregnant,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, raw with frustration. “Not yet.”
I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white as I tried to process what I’d just heard. Not pregnant. Not yet. She was lying to him — about everything.
My chest tightened, and I took a step back, the tile cool against my bare feet as I tried to catch my breath. The image of her drinking the mimosa, the wine, her tendency to wear very loose clothes to hide a belly that wasn’t really growing flashed through my mind, and suddenly, it all made sense. The evasiveness, the secrecy, the drinking — it was all a façade.
Before I could think better of it, I stepped into the hallway, my voice trembling but firm. “You’re not pregnant?”
Valerie spun around, her eyes wide with shock and then narrowing into something colder. She ended the call with a sharp tap on her phone, slipping it into her pocket as she straightened her posture. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone icy.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I asked, my voice steadier.
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a tight, forced smile. “That’s none of your concern.”
“It is my concern,” I shot back, anger bubbling to the surface. “You’ve been lying to Nicholas, to everybody. And last week—” I took a step closer, my voice rising. “Oh, my god; it makes so much fucking sense.”
Her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she composed herself, stepping toward me with calculated grace. “Listen carefully,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut.”
I stared at her, my hands trembling at my sides. I wasn’t sure if it was because of anger or fear. “Why are you lying to him?”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might answer. But then her lips curled into a smirk, and she leaned in closer, her voice dripping with condescension. “If you think for one second that I’ll let a housemaid ruin everything I’ve worked for, you’re even dumber than you look.”
My heart pounded, but I held my ground. “Is that what this is about? Baby trapping Nicholas so he can marry you?”
Valerie let out a low, humorless laugh, her eyes gleaming with something darker as she stepped even closer, her perfume sharp and overwhelming. “I prefer to think of it as securing my future. Nicholas is my future.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at her, my chest heaving. “He’s not your future if it’s built on lies. You’re playing with people’s lives — his, his family’s, your own. Do you even care about him?”
Her smile faltered, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something real — fear, maybe, or guilt — but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same steely confidence. “Of course, I care,” she said smoothly, crossing her arms. “But love doesn’t pay the bills.”
Her words were like a slap, the cruelty of them making my stomach turn. “You don’t deserve him,” I said, my voice low but firm. 
She laughed, studying me like I was some curious little animal she could squash under her heel. “And you do?” she asked, her tone sharp and cutting. “Let me save you the trouble, (Y/N) — If you so much as hint at what you think you know, I will make sure you and your mother are out of this house. You’ll lose everything. You want that master’s degree, don’t you? You want your mom to have job security?”
Her words hit me like a slap. She was threatening me, my family. I gulped at her threat. Knowing her, it wasn’t idle. I mean, look at everything she’s done so far to keep up her lie.
She straightened her posture, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her dress. “This conversation is over,” she said coolly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll stay away from Nicholas.”
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest as a wave of helplessness washed over me. She was lying to him, manipulating him, and there was nothing I could do to stop her — not without risking my future, my mom’s job security.
I stayed rooted to the spot as she walked away, her heels clicking behind her. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway where Valerie had disappeared. My chest was tight, anger and helplessness swirling together into a storm I couldn’t contain. Every instinct screamed at me to run to Nicholas, to tell him everything I’d just heard. But her words echoed in my head like a taunt.
You’ll lose everything.
I couldn’t let that happen. Not to my mom. Not after everything she’d done for me, after all the sacrifices she’d made to give me the chance to build a better life, not when she fought for me to have this job again after I quit my internship. My hands clenched into fists at my sides as I forced myself to turn back toward the kitchen.
The moment I stepped through the door, my mom’s gaze snapped to me, her brow furrowing in concern. Paolo, who was busy chopping vegetables, paused mid-motion and glanced up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took me in.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” my mom said, setting down the dish towel she’d been holding. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, too quickly, the words tumbling out before I could think them through. I busied myself with grabbing a clean dish from the drying rack, avoiding their gazes. “Just needed some air.”
Paolo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his sharp intuition cutting through my flimsy excuse. “You’re pale,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Did something happen?”
“No,” I lied, forcing myself to smile as I turned to face them. “I just needed a break. That’s all.”
My mom didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. “Well, sit down if you need to,” she said, her tone softening. “You’ve been working so hard lately.”
I nodded, grateful for the out, and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. My hands trembled slightly as I folded them in my lap, but I clenched them into fists, willing the shaking to stop.
Paolo, however, wasn’t so easily swayed. He leaned against the counter, his sharp gaze fixed on me. “You know,” he said, his tone casual but pointed, “sometimes the truth has a way of coming out, always.”
My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression neutral. “What are you talking about?”
Paolo shrugged, turning back to his cutting board with a nonchalant air. “Just saying.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Did he know something about what happened just now? About what’s been happening between me and Nicholas? Or was he just trying to get me to open up? Either way, I couldn’t risk saying anything — not here, not now, not when my family was in jeopardy.
For the next few days, I kept my head down, doing everything I could to stay out of both Nicholas’s and Valerie’s paths. It wasn’t easy. Nicholas was everywhere—lingering in the garden, passing through the kitchen, even showing up at the greenhouse where I sometimes retreated to arrange flowers. He always seemed to find me, his dark eyes filled with questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
But I avoided him. I avoided everyone.
My mom noticed, of course. She wasn’t the type to pry, but I could feel her watching me, her brow furrowed in quiet concern. Paolo, on the other hand, wasn’t so subtle. He made little comments, dropped hints about secrets and truth, his sharp eyes cutting through every flimsy excuse I gave him.
And then there was Valerie.
She was everywhere, too, but for a different reason. It was like she could sense my hesitation, my fear, and she reveled in it. She was sharper than usual, her barbs aimed with precision at anyone who dared to cross her path. She was always smiling, but it never reached her eyes. When our gazes met across a room, her lips would curl into a smirk that made my stomach twist.
She knew she had me cornered, and she wanted me to remember it.
But the most unnerving thing was the shift between her and Nicholas. He was colder, distant. I noticed the way his jaw tightened when she touched his arm, the way he didn’t lean into her kisses anymore. He didn’t even pretend to laugh at her jokes. It was subtle, but it was there. A tension that simmered just beneath the surface. And then, one evening, it all came to a head.
I was in the library, organizing the collection of vintage books that hadn’t been touched in years. The smell of leather and paper filled the air, the soft light from the desk lamp casting a warm glow over the room. I liked it there. It was quiet, out of the way — a place where I could breathe without feeling like the walls were closing in. But my peace didn’t last long.
The door opened behind me, the sound of footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor. I froze, my hands stilling over the spine of an old copy of Pride and Prejudice. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting.
“(Y/N).”
His voice was low, rough, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I forced myself to stay calm, to keep my hands steady as I slid the book back into place. “Yes?” I asked, my voice soft as I turned around to face him.
Nicholas glanced over his shoulder and locked the door before crossing the room toward me in a quick few strides.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, though my heart pounded against my ribs.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, Nicholas closed the distance between us until he stood just a foot away. His dark eyes burned with intensity, and the tension rolling off him was palpable. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. 
I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the bookshelf behind me as though it could anchor me. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” I lied, my voice trembling slightly. “I’ve just been… busy.”
“Don’t bullshit me, (Y/N),” he snapped, his tone cutting through the quiet like a knife. “You won’t look at me, you barely say a word when we’re in the same room, and now you’re hiding out in the library. What the hell is going on?”
My chest tightened, and I glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing,” I said weakly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Nicholas reached out, his fingers brushing my chin as he tilted my face up, forcing me to look at him. “Talk to me, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intense. He leaned in then, peppering my face in soft, tentative kisses, maybe hoping that his kisses might reassure me that I could talk to him, but I couldn’t.
I jerked back slightly, shaking my head as my heart raced. “Nic, stop,” I said, my voice breaking.
His brow furrowed, and the confusion in his dark eyes made my chest ache. I hesitated, my heart racing as I searched his face. He was everything I shouldn’t want, everything I should have let go of years ago. But the truth was, I didn’t want to let go. Our past few trysts were everything I wanted. But then, the image of Valerie flashed inside my mind. Her threats. That evil smile she only reserved for me.
I closed my eyes. “I need you to go back out there,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Nicholas froze, his breath catching as he stared at me, his dark eyes searching mine like he was trying to make sense of my words. His hands were still on my face, his body pressed so close I could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“What?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “You need to go back out there, Nic,” I said again, my voice trembling but resolute. “We can’t do this anymore,” I whispered as my gaze fell to the floor.
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he was going to argue, to push back the way he always did when he didn’t get what he wanted. But then his shoulders sagged, and the fight seemed to drain out of him.
“Why?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why the fuck are you pushing me away?”
I took a shaky breath, every nerve in my body screaming at me to say the truth, to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. The weight of Valerie’s threat loomed over me, heavy and suffocating. My mom’s face flashed in my mind, the way she’d look if she lost everything because of me. I couldn’t risk it.
“You have a fiancée,” I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. “That’s why—“
Nicholas’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes blazing with frustration. “Don’t give me that. You know how I feel about you, (Y/N). I know how you feel about me, baby. What happened? What changed?”
“What we do… it’s not right,” I said, my hands trembling. “You’re supposed to be marrying—”
“She’s lying to me,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Fuck, I know she is. I don’t know about what or why, but I know she is.”
I froze, my breath catching as his words sank in. His dark eyes bored into mine, searching for answers I couldn’t give him. Of course, he caught my change in demeanor, he always did.
“Is that what this is about? (Y/N), do you know something? Did she say anything to you?” he asked, his voice softer now but no less intense.
I hesitated, my heart pounding as I weighed my options. I wanted to tell him the truth, to expose Valerie for the liar she was. But her threat hung over me like a guillotine, the weight of what I — my mom — stood to lose pressing down on my chest.
“No,” I whispered finally, my voice breaking.
Nicholas’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he stepped back slightly, studying me with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Don’t lie to me, (Y/N),” he said, his voice low and sharp. “You’re not this good at hiding things — not from me.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could shield me from the intensity of his gaze. “I’m not lying,” I said quietly, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a moment, he just stared at me, his dark eyes burning with unspoken words. Then he let out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “She’s gotten to you, hasn’t she?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a mix of anger and pain. “What did she say?”
“She didn’t say anything,” I insisted. “I just… I can’t do this anymore, Nic.”
Nicholas froze, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in his frustration. He stepped back, running a hand down his face before letting it fall to his side. “You never give up easily, (Y/N). You promised me you wouldn’t give up on us. Why are you doing this?”
I stared at him, my heart breaking under the weight of his plea. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk everything for a truth that might not even set us free.
“Please, Nic,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just let it go, okay?”
Nicholas stared at me, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and frustration. For a moment, I thought he was going to argue, to push me for answers. But then he exhaled sharply, stepping back. His gaze lingered, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, and for a moment, I saw the boy I used to know — the one who used to climb through my bedroom window or sneak me into his house and make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, the one who made me believe in love, even when it hurt.
“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “If that’s how you want it.”
He turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening, and I sank into the nearest chair, my head in my hands as the tears finally spilled over.
I had done the right thing. The only thing I could do. But it didn’t feel right. It felt like I’d just lost him all over again.
I stayed there in the silence of the library for what felt like hours, staring blankly at the rows of untouched books. My tears had dried, leaving my cheeks stiff and my eyes sore, but the ache in my chest refused to let up. I had pushed him away, again, but this time it felt irreversible.
Eventually, the muffled hum of voices from the main living areas reminded me that I didn’t have the luxury of hiding forever. I forced myself to stand, smoothing down my skirt and wiping my face as I stepped back into the hallway.
As I made my way toward the living room, my heart sank at the sound of familiar voices drifting toward me. Mrs. Chavez, with her warm, commanding tone, was deep in conversation with an event planner’s crisp voice, discussing fabrics and color schemes. I considered turning around, but it was too late. They were right in my path.
When I entered, Mrs. Chavez glanced up first, her smile jovial, “Oh, (Y/N)! Come look at the concepts for the gender reveal party I’m throwing for Nicholas and Valerie,” she excitedly waved me over.
I hesitated for a moment, the words “gender reveal party” hanging heavy in the air. My feet felt like lead as I moved toward the table where Mrs. Chavez and the planner were seated. She gestured to the seat beside her, her smile warm and inviting, but I could feel my pulse quickening.
“It’s going to be beautiful,” Mrs. Chavez said, her voice brimming with excitement as she tapped on a sketch of a grand garden setup. “I’ve already ordered the custom cake, and the florist is bringing in peonies next week.”
I nodded, my throat tight as I sat down. The sketches in front of me blurred together, my mind racing with the memory of Valerie’s words: “I’m not pregnant. Not yet.”
Mrs. Chavez studied me for a moment, her eyes softening. “You’re usually so excited about parties,” she said gently, tilting her head. “Is everything okay?”
Just then, the planner stepped away, sensing the shift in the room. I forced a smile, nodding quickly. “I’m fine.”
She reached out, resting a hand on mine. “You’ve been working so hard. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you do.”
Her kindness was almost unbearable, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a stone. I swallowed hard, nodding again as I focused on the sketches in front of me.
“You know,” Mrs. Chavez began, her tone thoughtful, “I’ve always admired your strength, (Y/N). Even when you were a teenager, you had this quiet determination about you. It’s one of the reasons I was so happy to have you back here.”
I glanced up at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. Her gaze was warm but piercing, as though she could see right through me.
“I used to think…” She trailed off, her smile faint but knowing. “Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t have been surprised if I might’ve been planning all of this for you in some other lifetime.”
Her words hit me like a tidal wave, the weight of her insinuation crashing over me. My stomach twisted as I struggled to keep my composure, my fingers gripping the edge of the table.
Mrs. Chavez’s smile remained gentle, her tone casual, but her eyes never left mine. “You and Nicholas were always so close back then,” she continued, her voice light but deliberate.
My breath hitched, but I quickly masked it with a laugh that sounded too forced, even to my own ears. “Nicholas was—he’s always been kind to everyone,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.
She hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair as if considering my words. “Kind, yes,” she agreed. “But with you, it was different. I thought it was sweet.”
I felt my heart hammering in my chest, my hands trembling as I tried to focus on the sketches in front of me. “That was a long time ago,” I said quietly, avoiding her gaze.
She reached for her teacup, her movements graceful as ever. “You know, (Y/N), it’s okay to hold onto feelings from the past. Sometimes, they never really leave us.”
My head snapped up at her words, my eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, I saw something in her expression — a flicker of understanding.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
She smiled knowingly. “You’re a terrible liar. You always were.” Her tone was gentle, but the weight of her words made it impossible to breathe.
“Mrs. Chavez,” I started, my voice trembling. “I—”
She held up a hand, silencing me with a look that was both kind and firm. “Listen to me, (Y/N),” she said, her voice softening. “Whatever is happening now — whatever has happened before — I want you to know that you are important to this family.”
Her words were like a lifeline I didn’t know I needed, but they also left me feeling exposed, as though she could see every tangled thread of my life unraveling. I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and nodded, though I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Chavez leaned forward slightly, her hands folded neatly on the table as she studied me with an intensity that was both comforting and unnerving. “You’re a good person, (Y/N),” she said softly.
Her words hit me like a tidal wave, the truth in them cutting through my carefully constructed walls. I wanted to tell her everything — about Valerie’s lies, her threats, and the unbearable weight of keeping it all inside. But the fear of what I stood to lose kept me silent.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my voice trembling as I glanced down at the sketches, unable to look her in the eye.
She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine in a gesture of quiet support. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said gently.
The sincerity in her voice made my chest ache, and for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope — a small, fragile light breaking through the darkness. I nodded again, unable to trust my voice as a lump formed in my throat.
Mrs. Chavez smiled, her expression warm and understanding. “Now,” she said, her tone shifting back to its usual brightness, “how about you go and take a breather, hm? I’m gonna need you and your mom’s opinions on balloons later.”
I nodded, managing a small smile despite the turmoil swirling inside me. “Of course, Mrs. Chavez. Thank you.”
Her eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, and I could see the unspoken concern in her gaze. But she didn’t press. Instead, she reached for another sketch, her attention shifting back to the plans in front of her as she called the event planner back inside.
I stood, my legs feeling shaky as I pushed the chair back and stepped away from the table. The walls of the estate suddenly felt too close, the air too thick. I needed to get outside, to breathe, to clear my head.
The garden was quiet when I stepped outside, the hum of activity inside the house fading into the background. I walked aimlessly, my fingers brushing against the hedges as I tried to make sense of the chaos inside me. Mrs. Chavez’s words played on a loop in my mind, her knowing tone, her gentle reassurance.
She knew. Maybe not everything, but enough to suspect something wasn’t right. And yet, instead of judgment, she’d offered me compassion, a lifeline I hadn’t expected.
I stopped by the fountain, the sound of trickling water soothing the storm in my chest. My reflection in the rippling surface looked foreign, my face pale and my eyes clouded with uncertainty. I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.
“Pull it together,” I whispered to myself.
But as much as I tried to convince myself, the weight of the secrets I was carrying felt unbearable. Every moment I stayed silent, I felt like I was betraying not just Nicholas, but also Mrs. Chavez, my mom, and even myself.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, lost in my thoughts, when a voice broke through the silence.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
I turned sharply, my stomach dropping to my feet. Valerie stood there with her arms crossed, a smirk curling her lips. Her eyes gleamed with a cold satisfaction, as if she’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t.
I threw my head back and looked up at the sky, as if I was pleading the universe for mercy. How many heavy conversations could I have in one day? “What do you want, Valerie?” I asked, my voice sharp.
Valerie let out a soft, mocking laugh, as if she found my frustration amusing. “Relax, (Y/N). I just wanted to remind you how you’ve been doing a pretty good job staying out of my way so far. I’d hate to see you ruin that.”
I took a deep sigh, my shoulders slumping, “Look, I’m not in the mood right now. I get it, okay? I’ll stay out of your way.”
Valerie tilted her head, her smirk widening as if she found my resignation amusing. “Good,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.
My jaw clenched, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. “Is that all?” I asked, my voice flat.
She pursed her lips in triumph. “For now,” she said before turning on her heel and walking back into the house.
I watched her retreating figure until she disappeared through the tall French doors. My chest felt tight, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap. My fists clenched involuntarily at my sides as the rage simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.
I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take. Every word she spoke was another brick added to the wall I was building around myself, trapping me in a web of lies and threats. And yet, I couldn’t seem to find a way out without everything crumbling around me.
The days leading up to the gender reveal party weren’t any easier. Tension hung thick in the air, palpable enough to choke on. There were a few bumps in the party planning, so Mrs. Chavez was frazzled about the details, having to find a different florist and needing Paolo to take over for the catering company that dropped out of the event at the last possible moment.
I was avoiding Nicholas like the plague, or maybe he was avoiding me, too. I hadn’t really talked to him since our conversation in the library, and if I did, it was polite and professional. Though, I could sense the hurt in his eyes every time I did. Valerie, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on the chaos. She floated through the house with an air of smug confidence, her voice carrying easily as she commanded staff and fussed over every detail of the party.
By the time the day of the party finally arrived, I was on full-on autopilot mode. My nerves were already frayed from days of walking on eggshells and dodging both Nicholas and Valerie, but I didn’t want what had happened to affect my performance at work. So, I plastered on the most polite smile I could muster and got to helping set up for the party.
It was an hour before the allotted time on the invitation. The backyard was a flurry of activity as staff hurried to have everything ready before the first guests could arrive. Paolo and his team of hired underlings were all rushing to get the last of the desserts ready on time. Maria and I were in charge of helping set up all of the tables while the rest of the sub-contracted decorators were being overseen by my mom and the event planner Mrs. Chavez had hired.
So far, the backyard looked just about done. The extravagant pink and blue balloon archways and garland adorned every entryway and path leading guests toward the heart of the event. The main attraction was the centerpiece fountain, transformed into a cascading display of pink and blue hydrangeas, their soft petals spilling into the water like a fairytale come to life.
Strings of fairy lights were woven through the garden’s trellises and wrapped around the ancient oaks, casting a warm, inviting glow as the sun began its slow descent. At the far end of the garden, a dessert table was the picture of decadence. Towering macaron pyramids in alternating hues of pink and blue flanked a massive tiered cake, the top tier covered in edible glitter and crowned with a gold question mark. Miniature cupcakes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and bite-sized éclairs filled the table, their intricate designs reflecting the party’s color scheme.
The smell of fresh blooms mixed with the tantalizing aroma of Paolo’s creations wafting from the catering station. His team was arranging trays of hors d’oeuvres on a smaller table nearby, each bite-sized piece meticulously plated with edible flowers and tiny garnishes.
Around the fountain, small tables were arranged in concentric circles, draped in crisp white linens with golden accents. Each table was adorned with glass vases holding sprays of baby’s breath and roses dyed in pastel shades of pink and blue. The soft notes of instrumental music drifted from hidden speakers, adding to the serene yet celebratory atmosphere.
Maria and I worked silently as we adjusted chairs and made last-minute tweaks to the arrangements, our movements quick and efficient. I paused to straighten the centerpiece on a table closest to the fountain, my fingers brushing against the delicate petals of a pink peony. Despite the beauty surrounding me, the tight knot in my chest refused to loosen. The party was perfect. The party was nothing more than a celebration of a lie.
Across the garden, I caught a glimpse of Nicholas speaking with his mother near the dessert table. He was dressed impeccably, his dark suit tailored to perfection, but his posture was tense, his hands stuffed into his pockets as Mrs. Chavez gestured animatedly. He nodded occasionally, his gaze flickering over the setup before landing on me.
Our eyes met for a fleeting moment as I walked past to make my way toward the kitchen and check on Paolo, and I quickly looked away focusing on my strides, but Mrs. Chavez called out to me. “(Y/N)!”
Nicholas’s gaze awkwardly shifted away as I made my way over to them.
“(Y/N), can you check on the pedestals near the canopy and make sure none of them are easy to knock over?” She asked with a smile. I was about to nod my head and turn to do what she said but she stopped me, “Wait.” She turned her attention to Nicholas, “Sweetie, is Valerie almost back from her nail appointment? Did you ever get that ultrasound from her so we can put it up on the slideshow?”
Nicholas pulled out his phone from his pocket, “She should be on her way. Valerie said she’d call her doctor before she left, but I can call and ask if they sent it over to her. I think I have the doctor’s name somewhere,” he said as he scrolled away on his phone, tapping something, and bringing the phone up to his ear before making his way back inside the house.
Mrs. Chavez turned back to me, “Check the pedestals please.”
I nodded quickly and hurried away, relieved to have a reason to distance myself from Nicholas. As I walked toward the canopy, the tension in my chest only grew tighter. My hands were trembling as I reached the first pedestal, giving it a slight nudge to ensure it was steady. I did the same for the next. The next. And the next.
Some minutes later, Maria joined me, a smile on her face. “The decorations are so pretty, aren’t they?”
I let out a breathy laugh, “I’m more focused on making sure Paolo saves us some leftovers to take home.”
She laughed heartily. “You know he will. These people always prefer the drinks to the food.” Maria’s laughter was a small reprieve, her warm energy cutting through the tension that had been suffocating me all day.
I nodded, trying to match her lightness, even as the weight of everything threatened to pull me under. “Good,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m staking my claim on those macarons.”
“Smart,” Maria teased. “But don’t let Paolo catch you sneaking them early. He’s in full perfectionist mode right now.”
I chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction as we continued adjusting the pedestals. For a moment, it felt almost normal — like we were just two coworkers prepping for another lavish party. But then, the distant sound of a raised voice shattered the illusion.
“…in the actual fuck are you talking about?!”
My heart stopped. Nicholas’s voice, sharp and unmistakable, carried across the garden. I exchanged a worried glance with Maria, who had frozen mid-reach toward a floral arrangement. We both turned around and saw Nicholas stomping out into the backyard with Valerie following closely behind, her white dress flapping in the air.
Nicholas’s expression was thunderous, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if he might crack a tooth. “Valerie, stop lying to me!” he shouted, his voice booming over the chatter of the staff setting up.
Heads turned, tools paused mid-air, and the garden fell eerily silent except for the sharp clip of Valerie’s heels as she tried to keep up with him and the sound of the soft instrumental music, which was quickly deafened by somebody pausing the music from the DJ booth.
“Nicholas, please!” she called after him, her voice desperate but still laced with that performative sweetness that grated on my nerves. “Can we talk about this inside?”
“No, we’re talking about it now,” he snapped, spinning around to face her. His dark eyes burned with anger as he gestured around the lavish setup. “You expect me to stand here and smile for a fucking gender reveal when you’re not even fucking pregnant? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Gasps rippled through the staff, whispers breaking out like wildfire. I felt my stomach drop as Valerie froze, her face draining of color before twisting into something uglier — rage and fear warring beneath her perfect façade.
“Nicholas,” she hissed, her tone sharp and low as her eyes darted around at the onlookers. “You’re making a scene.”
“I’m the one making a scene?” Nicholas shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Valerie straightened her posture, her mask slipping back into place as she tried to regain control. “Where’s this even coming from, Nic?”
Nicholas let out a sharp laugh, the sound devoid of humor. “I called your OB/GYN to ask about the ultrasound. They didn’t even know who the fuck I was talking about!” His voice cracked on the last word, the raw betrayal evident in his tone.
Valerie’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she quickly composed herself, adopting an air of indignant disbelief. “You must’ve called the wrong office or—“
“Cut the bullshit, Valerie!” Nicholas roared, his voice booming and echoing off the garden walls. His fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer, his dark eyes blazing. “You’re not fucking pregnant. You let my family do all of this shit for you over a fucking lie!”
The staff froze, their eyes darting between Nicholas and Valerie, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Maria tugged lightly on my arm, silently urging me to step back, but I was rooted to the spot, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Valerie faltered, her perfect composure slipping as her gaze flickered toward the staring crowd. Then, like a cornered animal, she turned the blame outward. “You want to talk about lies?” she spat, her voice trembling as she pointed an accusatory finger in my direction. “Ask her!”
I froze, my breath catching as every eye turned toward me. Nicholas’s gaze snapped to mine, his expression a storm of anger and confusion.
“What the fuck is she talking about?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
“I—” My throat tightened, my words choking on the sheer weight of the moment.
Valerie pressed on, sensing her opportunity. “(Y/N) knew and didn’t say anything,” she continued, her voice gaining strength. Valerie sneered, turning her venomous glare toward me. “She’s known for days, Nicholas. Ask her why she kept her mouth shut.”
Nicholas’s gaze burned into me, a mix of anger and betrayal flashing in his dark eyes. “(Y/N), tell me what she’s talking about.” His voice was tight, barely controlled, but his tone cut through me like a knife.
The air around me felt suffocating, my chest tightening as Nicholas’s eyes bore into mine. Everyone was watching — Maria, the staff, even Paolo who had stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, his sharp gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos. I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. From behind Nicholas and Valerie, I could see my mom and Mrs. Chavez embracing each other and clutching at their necklaces as they watched everything unfold.
“She threatened me,” I finally choked out, my voice trembling but clear enough to cut through the silence. “She said she’d have my mom and I fired if I said anything… if I stayed near you.”
Nicholas’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening as a muscle in his cheek twitched. He turned his fiery gaze back to Valerie, his voice low and seething. “You threatened her?”
Valerie flinched but quickly recovered, shaking her head as her voice took on a pleading tone. “Nic, listen—”
“No! Don’t ‘Nic’ me,” he growled, stepping closer to her. “You lied about a pregnancy, manipulated my family, and now you’re fucking threatening (Y/N) to keep your dirty little secret? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Tears welled in Valerie’s eyes as she glanced around, her gaze darting to the stunned faces of the staff. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was scared, okay? You were going to break up with me, and I—I didn’t know what else to do.”
Nicholas laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. “So your solution was to fake a fucking baby? To trap me?”
Valerie clenched her fists at her sides, her perfect composure cracking under the weight of his rage. “You were going to leave me!” she shouted, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I could feel it. You were slipping away, and I—” She faltered, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I love you, Nicholas.”
“Well, I never fucking loved you!” Nicholas spat, his voice like a whip.
The words hung in the air like a bomb, silencing even the faint whispers of the staff. Everyone froze, the weight of Nicholas’s confession crashing down like thunder. Valerie staggered back a step as if he’d physically struck her, her face pale and tear-streaked.
“What?” she whispered, her voice trembling, her bravado crumbling into raw, exposed pain.
Nicholas’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes cold and unyielding as he took a deliberate step toward her. “You heard me,” he said, his tone low and cutting. “I. Never. Loved. You. This—” he gestured between them with an almost violent motion—“was over a long fucking time ago.”
Valerie let out a choked sob, her carefully crafted image shattering in real-time. She reached for him, desperation etched across her face. “I—I just wanted to keep you, Nic. You don’t understand. I owe money. I—”
“I don’t give a shit about your excuses,” Nicholas snapped, stepping back out of her reach. “You don’t get to manipulate me or the people I care about. That's disgusting.”
Her face twisted with anger, the tears on her cheeks glistening in the sunlight. “And what about you, huh? Don’t think I didn’t know what was happening,” she spat, spinning around and pointing at me again. “You don’t think it’s disgusting that you were fucking the maid while you still thought I was pregnant?”
Nicholas froze, his body going rigid as the words left Valerie’s mouth. The crowd of staff that had gathered to watch the spectacle collectively held their breath, the air crackling with tension. My heart plummeted, the blood draining from my face as every set of eyes turned to me once more.
Just then, I felt Maria’s hand wrap around mine. Her grip was the only thing tethering me to reality, her presence a small but steady reminder that I wasn’t completely alone in this humiliating nightmare. My throat was dry, my chest tight as I fought to find the words — any words — that could possibly defuse the bomb Valerie had just dropped.
Nicholas’s gaze snapped to her, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. “What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low and dangerous, the kind that made even the boldest person think twice.
“You heard me,” Valerie spat, her lips curling into a venomous smile despite the tears streaking her face. “You think you’re so fucking righteous, Nic, but you’re just as bad as I am. Fucking the help while I was here, pretending to build a life with you?”
Nicholas took a slow step toward her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His entire body radiated fury, the kind that felt like it might explode at any second. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that,” he said, his voice a deadly calm that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Oh, please,” Valerie sneered, taking a step back but refusing to back down completely. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“That’s enough,” Nicholas growled, his voice rising as his self-control started to slip. “You’re not fucking dragging her into this because you can’t handle the fact that you’re a manipulative, lying piece of shit.”
Valerie laughed bitterly, her mascara smudging as the tears continued to flow. “Oh, so now you’re defending her? After everything? God, you’re fucking unbelievable.”
Nicholas closed the gap between them, his face inches from hers. “You’re done,” he said coldly. “Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house.”
Valerie’s face twisted in rage, her tear-streaked cheeks flushed with anger. “You don’t get to just kick me out like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “I’ve been here for you through everything, Nicholas! Your career, your fucking family drama—”
Nicholas’s laugh was cold, sharp as a blade. “Spare me the goddamn speech. You didn’t give a fuck about me. Now, get the fuck out before I call the police.”
Valerie blinked, her bravado faltering for the first time. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You wouldn’t—“
“Try me,” Nicholas interrupted, his voice low and lethal. His dark eyes were unyielding, daring her to push him further. 
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the sound of the breeze rustling through the garden seemed to fade as everyone watched the scene unfold. Valerie stood frozen, her hands trembling as they instinctively moved toward the massive diamond ring on her finger.
Her face crumpled, a sob escaping her lips as she fumbled to pull the ring from her finger. It slipped off easily, catching the evening sunlight as she held it out to him with trembling hands.
Nicholas didn’t even glance at it. “Keep it. Pawn it. I don’t give a shit. Just get the fuck out.”
Her hand dropped to her side, the ring clenched tightly in her fist as tears streamed down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Finally, with a trembling breath, she turned and stalked toward the house, her heels clicking against the stone path like gunshots in the heavy silence.
Nicholas watched her retreating figure, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his emotions. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, his fists still clenched at his sides. When she disappeared through the doors, he turned, his dark eyes immediately finding mine.
My stomach twisted as his gaze bore into me, an unspoken storm of emotions swirling in his expression—anger, frustration, hurt. He took a step toward me, and I instinctively stepped back, my breath hitching. Maria quickly squeezed my hand then before leaving my side and joining Paolo outside the kitchen door.
“Nicholas, I—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the thick air like a knife. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a bitter laugh as he paced a few steps away before turning back to face me. “I asked you point-blank if you knew anything. You fucking knew this whole time, and you didn’t tell me.”
My breath hitched as I met his gaze, the weight of his anger like a physical blow. “I—I wanted to,” I stammered, my voice shaking. “But she—“
“Threatened you,” he finished, his voice dripping with disdain. “I heard that the first time. But so what? That was enough to stop you? After everything we’ve been through, (Y/N), you didn’t think you could trust me enough to tell me the fucking truth?”
His words hit me like a slap, and I felt my eyes sting with tears. “It wasn’t just about me,” I said, my voice breaking. “She threatened my mom, Nic. Her job — everything.”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands on his hips as he took a deep, shaky breath. “You should’ve come to me,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less strained. “I could’ve protected you.”
“I didn’t want to put you in that position,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “And I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“Worse?” Nicholas turned back to me, his dark eyes filled with raw frustration. “How the fuck could it have been worse than this?” (Y/N), I could’ve handled this days ago if you’d just told me!
My chest ached, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe under the weight of his words. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as if the fight had drained out of him. “I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. 
The staff remained frozen, their eyes wide as they processed what had just unfolded. Nicholas looked around, his chests heaving. “Everybody, go inside please,” he closed his eyes and lazily waved his hand at his side.
Maria, standing near the kitchen door, nodded sharply and began ushering the others inside, herding them like sheep. Paolo shot me a look—concern and something else, maybe pity—before clearing his throat sharply. “You heard him. Let’s move,” he barked, his voice brisk but professional, cutting through the tension like a knife. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, their footsteps echoing against the stone paths as they filed back into the house.
Nicholas’s gaze stayed locked on me. His gaze was cold, unrelenting, and it made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t prepared for. The last time I’d seen that same look in his eyes, the same mixture of pain and anger, was on the night he left for Los Angeles, when we had argued in this very spot.
The garden was bathed in the warm glow of golden hour, the sunlight filtering through the treetops in soft beams. It was the same garden where Nicholas and I had shared stolen moments, whispered dreams, and a hundred quiet kisses. But it felt different. The world felt too still, too calm, considering the storm brewing between us. I could hear the distant hum of crickets, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, but it all felt muted—like my senses were dulled by the ache in my chest as I stared at him.
Nic stood in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes unreadable, and for the first time since I’d known him, he felt like a stranger.
“So, that’s it?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “You’re just… ending things?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. “(Y/N), this isn’t easy for me. You think I want to do this?”
“Then don’t!” I snapped, the words bursting out of me before I could stop them. “If it’s so hard, then don’t fucking do it, Nic! We can make this work.”
His gaze softened for a moment, but then he shook his head, his expression hardening again. “I can’t. I’ve thought about this a hundred different ways, and it always ends the same. If I stay, I’ll end up resenting you. And if I go and we try to hold on, I’ll end up hurting you. Either way, you lose.”
“Let me decide that!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “God, Nicholas, don’t you get it? I don’t care about the risk. I want to try. I want us to work.”
He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply as if trying to steady himself. “You think I don’t want that too?” he said quietly, his voice low but laced with frustration. “I do, (Y/N). I want it so fucking badly it hurts. But I can’t give you what you deserve right now. Not when I’m about to dive headfirst into… all of this.”
“Into what?” I demanded, my chest heaving. “Into auditions and callbacks and God knows what else? Nic, you don’t have to go through that alone. I’m right here. I’m always right here.”
“That’s the problem,” he muttered, almost to himself. He looked at me then, his eyes burning with a mix of anguish and determination. “I don’t want you waiting around for me while I figure my shit out. You deserve more than that.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I deserve!” I yelled, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilling over. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for yourself. So don’t stand there and act like you’re some kind of martyr.”
His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Maybe I am doing it for myself,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
I laughed bitterly. “You’ve spent all summer acting like everything was perfect, like—like what we had actually mattered, and two months ago, you told me that I should go with you and now you’re just walking away? Why the fuck did you even bother with me, Nic? Was I just some good fuck to you? Just some hometown fling before you head off to bigger and better things?”
His face twisted with hurt, and he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “Don’t you fucking say that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You know that’s not what this was. You know you mean more to me than that.”
“Do I?” I challenged, stepping closer until we were inches apart. My chest heaved with anger, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. It feels like you’ve been stringing me along all summer, letting me fall for you, just so you could rip the rug out from under me when it was convenient.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of my words had physically hit him. “That’s not what I was trying to do,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then what the fuck were you trying to do, Nic?” I demanded, my voice cracking as the tears I’d been holding back spilled over. “Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can look at me like I’m your whole world one minute and then tell me you’re leaving the next.”
He sighed, his hands raking through his hair as he took a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said finally, his voice filled with raw emotion. “That’s why I can’t do this. I can’t give you what you deserve right now, (Y/N). Not while I’m chasing this dream. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“Fair?” I echoed, my voice trembling with disbelief. “You think this is fair? Breaking my heart the night before you leave?”
“I’d rather break it now than let you waste your time on someone who can’t give you what you need,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t be what you need right now, (Y/N). I can’t be here. And you deserve better than that.”
“I don’t want better,” I said, my voice breaking as I stepped closer to him, my hands trembling as I reached for his. “I want you. I don’t care if it’s hard or messy. I want to make this work, Nic. Why won’t you let me?”
His hands closed over mine, his grip firm but trembling as he looked down at me, his dark eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own. “Because you deserve someone who can give you all of himself,” he said softly. “And right now, I can’t. Acting is all I’ve ever wanted, and if I stay here — if I try to juggle this and you — I’m going to end up failing at both.”
I shook my head, the tears streaming down my face as I tried to pull my hands away, but he held on, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” I said, my voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m doing it anyway. Because I love you too much to half-ass this, (Y/N). And I’m scared that if I try to hold on to you while I’m chasing this, I’m going to lose you anyway.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my knees buckle beneath the weight of them. “You’re already losing me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Nic’s jaw tightened, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he cupped my face in his hands. “I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “And it’s killing me.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine as his thumbs brushed away my tears. For a moment, we just stood there, the silence between us filled with everything we couldn’t say. And then he kissed me, soft and slow, like he was trying to memorize the feel of me before he walked away.
When he pulled back, I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. He let go of my hands, stepping back as if putting distance between us was the only way he could follow through with what he’d just said.
“I hate you,” I mumbled.
Nic flinched as if my words physically hit him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his dark brown eyes locked on mine, filled with a mixture of regret and anguish. “I hate me too,” he finally whispered, his voice barely audible but laced with raw honesty.
The admission twisted something inside me. I wanted to scream at him, hit him, anything to make him feel a fraction of the pain that was tearing me apart. But instead, I just stood there, trembling and broken, watching as he turned and walked away.
I stayed in the garden long after he disappeared, the warmth of the summer night doing little to thaw the icy grip around my chest. When I finally found the strength to move, I felt hollow, like he’d taken a piece of me with him when he left.
The sound of Nicholas clearing his throat pulled me back to the present. “You, too, (Y/N),” he spoke softly.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. None of this was. I wanted to scream, to plead, to explain. But I couldn’t. The words stuck in my throat, choked by the weight of everything I hadn’t said when it mattered most.
I nodded once, my movements stiff and mechanical. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I turned on my heel and began walking toward the house, the sound of my footsteps on the stone path feeling unnaturally loud in the heavy silence.
And just like that, the party was over before it even started.
As I reached the threshold of the French doors, I hesitated, glancing back over my shoulder. Nicholas was still standing there, his back to me, his hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. He looked… broken. And I hated that I was part of the reason why.
I opened my mouth to say something, but the words died in my throat. What could I possibly say that would make any of this better? So I turned away, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind me.
The air inside the house was tense, the energy crackling with the weight of what had just transpired. Staff members bustled about, their voices hushed as they pretended not to glance in my direction. I quickly ducked my head and made my way to the supply closet at the base of the stairs, desperate for a moment of solitude.
Once inside, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, my chest heaving as I fought to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. The small, dimly lit space felt like a sanctuary — a place where I could finally breathe, even if just for a moment.
I sank to the floor, my knees pulling to my chest as I buried my face in my hands. My mind raced with everything that had just happened, every word Nicholas had thrown at me, every ounce of his anger and betrayal. It played on a loop, each moment stabbing at my heart like a knife.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to storm out of this house and never look back. But more than anything, I wanted to go back in time and undo everything that had brought me to this moment.
My head jerked up as a faint knock came through the door. For a moment, I froze, my breath caught in my throat.
“Cara mia, are you in there?” Paolo’s voice muffled through.
I hesitated, wiping at my face. I planned on standing, but the door slowly cracked open before opening fully. I looked up to see Paolo, Maria, and my mom all at the door.
Their faces were a mix of concern and quiet understanding. My mom crouched down immediately, her arms opening as she settled on her knees in front of me. I didn’t even hesitate — I crumpled into her embrace, the dam finally breaking as the tears spilled over.
She wrapped me up tightly, her hand cradling the back of my head as I sobbed into her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured softly, rocking me gently. “Let it out, sweetheart. I’m here.”
Maria crouched next to her, her usually bubbly demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. “(Y/N), you did the best you could,” she said quietly. “You were trying to protect your mom, protect yourself. Nobody can blame you for that.”
Paolo leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, but his expression wasn’t stern. It was softer than I’d ever seen it, his sharp features etched with something almost like sympathy. “That bitch,” he muttered, shaking his head. “She’s vile. Manipulative. None of this is on you, sweetie.”
I tried to speak, to explain, but the words got lost in the overwhelming tide of emotion. My mom held me tighter, her voice a soothing murmur as she whispered reassurances I barely registered through the sound of my own sobs.
“I didn’t want this to happen,” I finally choked out, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You didn’t,” my mom said firmly, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. Her own were glassy with unshed tears, her expression fierce. “You didn’t hurt anyone. That woman did. She’s the one who lied and threatened and created this mess — not you.”
Maria nodded, placing a hand on my knee. “She’s right. You’re not the villain here, (Y/N). You’re just caught in the middle of something none of us could’ve seen coming.”
Paolo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And Nicholas,” he added, his tone softening. “He’s hurt and angry now, sì, but he’ll see the truth eventually. Give him time.”
I wiped at my eyes, sniffling as I leaned back against the wall. My mom reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, gently dabbing at my cheeks like she used to when I was little. Her touch was so tender, so grounding, that it almost made me cry all over again.
“Take a breath, sweetheart,” she said softly. “You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. Let us help you carry it now.”
I nodded weakly, taking a shuddering breath as I tried to calm the storm raging inside me. They stayed with me in the small, cramped closet, their presence a quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone, even in the middle of this nightmare.
After a few minutes, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the distinct voice of Mrs. Chavez. “Where is she?” she called out, her tone brisk but tinged with worry.
Paolo stepped out into the hall. “In here,” he said quietly, gesturing to the door.
Mrs. Chavez appeared a moment later, her usual grace and composure slightly shaken. Her gaze softened the moment she saw me huddled on the floor, and she crouched down beside my mom, her hand resting gently on my shoulder.
“Oh, darling,” she murmured, her voice warm and soothing. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea she was putting you through this.”
I shook my head, wiping at my eyes again. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered.
Mrs. Chavez’s expression tightened, her jaw clenching as she glanced toward the hallway where the chaos had unfolded. “It is my fault,” she said firmly. “I brought that woman into our lives, and I didn’t see her for what she really was. But that ends today.”
Her words carried a weight, a promise of action that I hadn’t realized I needed to hear. She turned her gaze back to me, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. “You’re not going anywhere, (Y/N),” she said firmly. “You and your mom are part of this family, and no one — not her, not anyone — will take that away from you.”
I nodded, the lump in my throat too big to speak around. My mom squeezed my hand, her own eyes shimmering with gratitude as she glanced at Mrs. Chavez.
“Thank you,” my mom whispered.
Mrs. Chavez offered a small, kind smile before turning back to me. “Take as much time as you need to collect yourself, sweetheart. We’ll handle everything else.”
Her words were a balm, a lifeline in the middle of the chaos. I nodded again, my chest loosening just a fraction as I realized I wasn’t as alone in this as I’d thought.
For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to lean into the support being offered to me. My mom’s hand remained on mine, steady and warm, while Maria gave me a reassuring nod, her bright eyes filled with quiet determination. Paolo lingered by the door, his sharp gaze scanning the hallway as though ready to intercept anyone who might disturb this fragile moment of calm.
Mrs. Chavez’s presence was a surprising comfort. I hadn’t expected her to take my side so firmly, especially given everything that had just unraveled. But her unwavering resolve gave me the strength to nod, to whisper, “Okay.”
She straightened, smoothing down her blouse as she glanced back at Paolo. “Gather the staff and let them know they’re dismissed for the evening,” she instructed. “They’ve worked hard enough for tonight; they can come back tomorrow to get rid of everything.”
Paolo nodded curtly, already stepping into the hall to carry out her orders.
“Maria,” Mrs. Chavez continued, her voice softening as she turned to her. “Could you help Mrs. (L/N) with some tea for (Y/N)? I think we all need a moment to regroup.”
Maria gave me a small smile before standing and gesturing to my mom. “Come on, let’s get you both something warm,” she said gently.
My mom hesitated, her grip on my hand tightening slightly as though reluctant to leave me. But I managed a faint smile, squeezing her hand back. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” I said softly. “I promise.”
She searched my face for a moment before nodding, brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead like she used to when I was a child. “We’ll be right back,” she murmured before standing and following Maria out of the room.
That left me with Mrs. Chavez, who remained crouched beside me, her eyes soft but steady as she studied me.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Chavez,” I whispered.
She gave me a sympathetic smile, “For what?”
I wiped away the salty mucus running down my nose with the collar of my uniform, “Nicholas and I…we were—“
Mrs. Chavez raised a hand gently, stopping me mid-sentence. Her expression remained calm, though her eyes softened with understanding. “Darling, stop,” she said quietly, her voice steady but kind. “I’m not here to judge you or demand explanations. I know my son, and I know his heart.” She paused, her gaze holding mine. “Whatever happened between you two, I can see it’s complicated. But I also see the way he looks at you. That’s not something I can ignore.”
My breath caught in my throat as her words sank in. I searched her face, expecting disappointment or anger, but found neither. Instead, there was only warmth and something that almost looked like pity.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, my voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
She let out a soft sigh, reaching out to take my hand in hers. “Life is messy, (Y/N). Love is messy. And sometimes, people find themselves in situations they never intended. That doesn’t make them bad people.” Her thumb brushed over my knuckles in a comforting gesture. “You’re not a bad person, (Y/N).”
Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I looked down at our joined hands, the weight of her words almost too much to bear. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Or you, or anyone.”
“I know you didn’t. Trust me, this house has always been full of whispers, lies, and drama. This isn’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last,” she said softly.
I nodded slowly, though her words didn’t erase the ache in my chest. “He hates me now,” I whispered, the tears threatening to spill over again.
Mrs. Chavez shook her head, her hand moving to gently tilt my chin up so I’d meet her gaze. “Nicholas doesn’t hate you,” she said, her tone steady and certain. “He’s angry, yes. Hurt. But hate? That boy has loved you for far too long to ever hate you.”
Her words soothed the raw wound inside me. But they also felt like a double-edged sword, a reminder of the complicated, messy love I shared with Nicholas.
“What do I do now?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Chavez sighed softly, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand in a reassuring gesture. “You give him time,” she said simply. “Time to process everything, time to heal. And when he’s ready, you show him that you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago.”
I nodded, unable to speak as the lump in my throat grew tighter. Mrs. Chavez gave my hand one last squeeze before standing, her usual grace and composure returning as she smoothed her blouse once more
“Take as long as you need, okay?” she said, her tone gentle but firm.
I nodded again, my voice still caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. She offered me a small, reassuring smile before turning and leaving the room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
I stayed on the floor for a while after Mrs. Chavez left, her words replaying in my mind. The knot in my chest loosened slightly, replaced by a strange, quiet determination. If she believed in me, if she thought I still had a place here, maybe — just maybe — I could believe it, too.
But it didn’t change the fact that Nicholas was still furious with me. And rightfully so. I had betrayed his trust, whether out of fear or misplaced loyalty to my family, and I couldn’t take that back. All I could do was hope that time, as Mrs. Chavez suggested, might help heal some of the wounds I’d caused.
I pulled myself to my feet, my legs shaky but steady enough to carry me back to the kitchen. The house was quieter now, the hum of activity from earlier replaced by an uneasy calm. When I stepped into the kitchen, my mom and Maria were waiting for me with steaming cups of tea, their expressions a mix of concern and relief.
“Here,” my mom said, pressing a cup into my hands. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
I nodded, taking a sip and letting the warmth spread through me. The tea did help, if only because it gave me something to focus on other than the turmoil swirling inside me.
Maria leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she studied me. “What now?” she asked, her tone softer than usual.
I shrugged, setting the cup down and wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess I’ll just… stay out of his way for a while. Give him space.”
Maria nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered my words. “Maybe. But don’t let him push you away completely. Nicholas is stubborn, but he’s also human.”
My mom reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear like she used to when I was a child. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart,” she said softly. “And you’re not alone in this.”
I smiled weakly, grateful for their support even if I didn’t feel entirely deserving of it. “Thanks, Mom,” I murmured.
Paolo poked his head into the kitchen then, his expression as sharp as ever. “No sign of that cagna,” he announced. “I think she left.”
“Good,” Maria muttered, her lips curling into a smirk. “About time she slithered out of here. I never liked her.”
Paolo’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at me. “You okay?”
I nodded, managing a small smile. “I’ll be fine,” I said, though the words felt more like a hope than a certainty.
He gave me a curt nod before disappearing back into the hallway, leaving me alone with my mom and Maria. I took another sip of tea, the warmth settling in my chest like a fragile shield against the storm that still raged inside me.
The next few days were a blur. The grand estate, usually so full of life and activity, felt quieter, the atmosphere heavy with tension. It seemed everyone was tiptoeing around the aftermath of the blowout, from the staff to Mrs. Chavez. Even Paolo had gone unusually silent, though his protective glares whenever someone mentioned Valerie were hard to miss.
I kept my head down, focusing on my tasks and doing my best to avoid Nicholas. I couldn’t face him—not yet. Every time I passed through the garden or the library or even the kitchen, my heart raced, half-expecting him to appear and demand answers I still wasn’t sure how to give.
Maria, ever the bright spot in my day, kept a close watch on me. She had a way of easing the tension with a quick joke or a simple squeeze of my hand when no one was looking. My mom, too, had become even more attentive, her concern etched into her features as she checked on me constantly.
But Nicholas? He was nowhere to be found, on the estate at least. He had gone back to Los Angeles, back to his place. And it didn’t take long for Valerie to end up winning in the end. She had ended up going to every tabloid that would hear her side of the story, and I bet she was paid pretty well for every single one.
“Valerie: ‘Nicholas Alexander Chavez Cheated On Me’”
“A Broken Engagement: The Truth Behind Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s Secret Affair”
“Hollywood Star Nicholas Alexander Chavez Caught in Love Triangle with Fiancée and Maid”
“Inside Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s Explosive Breakup”
The headlines were relentless, splashed across glossy pages and plastered on every celebrity gossip website. Photographs of Nicholas and Valerie at charity galas and red-carpet events were juxtaposed with grainy, invasive shots of the estate, Nicholas looking rough while out running errands, and exclusive images courtesy of Valerie. 
Her version of events dominated the headlines, painting herself as the tragic victim of a heartless actor and his manipulative fling with the “help.” The stories twisted every detail, skewing the truth into a salacious narrative that catered to gossip-hungry readers. The stories even dragged me into the spotlight, labeling me as everything from a conniving gold digger to an innocent pawn in Nicholas’s supposed “games.”
The narrative was clear: Nicholas was the cheating fiancé, Valerie the heartbroken victim, and I — the villain.
I avoided looking at the articles, but it was impossible to ignore the whispers among the staff, the way Paolo slammed down his phone and ranting in Italian in the kitchen after scrolling through social media. My mom banned any newspapers from the house, her protective instincts going into overdrive as she tried to shield me from the worst of it. Even Mrs. Chavez’s normally serene demeanor had shifted into something more fraught, her jaw tight as she made calls and spoke in hushed tones to her lawyer.
Maria, on the other hand, kept tabs on the media frenzy with a quiet determination. “Look, people are starting to turn on her,” she said one morning, setting her phone on the kitchen counter and showing me some tweets.
Apparently, Valerie’s attempts to gain sympathy were backfiring. Social media sleuths dug up old interviews and photos, piecing together a narrative of a woman who had been desperate for fame and willing to do whatever it took to keep it. Even some of the hired staff that were sub-contracted for the gender reveal had come out saying that Valerie was a liar. That’s when comments began flooding in, questioning her story and calling her out for her lies.
“Can’t believe she lied about her pregnancy!”
“Nicholas doesn’t owe her anything if she was faking a baby.”
“Team Nicholas all the way. She’s sketchy AF.”
Still, the damage was done. Nicholas’s name was dragged through the mud, and so was mine. He disappeared from the estate entirely, no doubt retreating to wherever he could escape the relentless glare of the media.
As for me, I kept my head down and worked as much as I could. I stayed out of sight whenever Mrs. Chavez entertained guests, avoided the staff gatherings, and did my best to pretend I wasn’t the unwitting center of a media circus.
But no matter how hard I tried to move on, the weight of it all lingered. Nicholas’s absence was a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong, every choice I’d made that led to this moment. And every time I glanced at the empty garden where it all came to a head, my chest tightened with a familiar ache.
It wasn’t until almost three weeks later that I finally saw him again. Mrs. Chavez had arranged for Nicholas to return to the estate to finalize some of the logistics with the family lawyers away from the paparazzi stalking him in Los Angeles. I didn’t know if it was intentional on her part or just sheer coincidence that she mentioned it while passing me in the hall, but either way, it felt like my last chance.
By the time his car pulled up to the driveway, the air outside was heavy with the promise of rain, clouds rolling in and casting shadows across the estate. I watched from the kitchen window as Nicholas stepped out, his movements stiff, his shoulders squared like he was bracing himself for a battle. My heart clenched at the sight of him, his face sharper, more guarded than I remembered. He looked tired in his plain white t-shirt and sweatpants, worn down by everything that had unfolded since that disastrous evening.
I stayed frozen as he disappeared into the house, my pulse thundering in my ears. I hadn’t thought beyond this moment — hadn’t planned what I’d say, how I’d approach him. I only knew I couldn’t let him leave again without trying to make things right.
I found him that night sitting by the pool, just as we both liked to do that entire summer all those years ago.
The night air was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made every breath feel heavy. The estate was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the trees and the occasional chirp of a cricket. I hesitated at the edge of the garden, the faint glow of the pool lights illuminating Nicholas’s silhouette as he sat at the edge, his feet dangling over the side. A beer rested on the ground next to him, untouched.
I didn’t know what I was expecting — to find him pacing in frustration, to hear him yell at me again, to be met with indifference. But this? The quiet, vulnerable stillness of him caught me off guard.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, the sound of my footsteps muted by the damp grass then shuffled across the concrete. My footsteps were quiet, but he must have heard me because his head tilted slightly, though he didn’t look back. I stopped a few feet away, the pool’s reflection dancing on his face.
“Can I sit?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Nicholas didn’t answer right away. He sat there, staring at the rippling water as if the answer he wanted might emerge from its depths. His jaw tensed, his dark eyes unreadable, but eventually, he nodded once, the movement barely perceptible.
I took it as permission and sank down beside him, keeping a careful distance. The concrete beneath me was cool, the faint smell of chlorine mingling with the earthy scent of petrichor. My heart pounded in my chest as the silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words trembling as they left my lips. “For not telling you. For all of it. So much could’ve been avoided if I just…” the words died on my tongue.
“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. He turned to me then, his dark brown eyes piercing in the dim light. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“But I do,” I insisted, my chest tightening as I looked at him. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you, and I didn’t. I let her scare me, and I—”
“Baby,” he said softly, the word wrapping around me like a lifeline. His voice was strained, but the sharp edge it had carried before was gone. “I get it. Okay? I understand why you didn’t tell me.”
I blinked at him, my breath catching. “You… do?”
He nodded, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands as if trying to ground himself. “She’s a fucking piece of work,” he muttered, his gaze flicking back to the water. “And she knew exactly what to say to keep you quiet. She’s done it to me too, in her own way. Let’s just say there was a reason I was gonna break up with her before she…” he paused. “I just didn’t see it until it was too late.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “That doesn’t excuse what I did,” I whispered. “Or what I didn’t do.”
Nicholas turned to me again, his gaze softer now, though still heavy with emotion. “I’m not saying it does,” he said quietly. “But I also know you were trying to protect your mom, yourself.”
I nodded, my eyes stinging as I tried to hold back tears. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Nic. I swear I didn’t.”
He exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he reached through the space between us and raked his fingers through the back of my hair, his thumb repeatedly brushing back the hair near my temple. “I know, baby,” he murmured. “And I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that. Especially in front of everyone. Fuck, I was just…”
I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch and the quiet intimacy of the moment. For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension that had weighed on my chest began to ease.
I bit my lip. “You had every right to be angry, Nic,” I said. “I kept something from you that I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.” When I opened my eyes again, Nicholas had scooted closer, closing the distance between us, and was watching me with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
He shook his head, “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t deserve that, (Y/N). Not after everything. I was never mad at you, not really. I was mad at myself. For letting her… I don’t know, take over my life. For letting her manipulate me for so long. I’m mad at her, at this whole fucking situation. But not you, baby. Never you.”
His words broke something inside me, and the tears I’d been holding back spilled over. I let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch as my chest ached with a mix of relief and regret. “I’m so sorry, Nic,” I whispered. “It’s not your fault,” I said softly. “She’s the one that lied about being pregnant in the first place. It’s not your fault you chose to step up when it mattered.”
Nicholas let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head while brushing away the tears that spilled out of me with his thumb. “Yeah, well, I should’ve known better.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. He pulled me into his arms then, holding me close as I buried my face in his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear was a balm to my frayed nerves, a reminder that no matter how messy or complicated things got, we still had each other.
For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence between us heavy but not unbearable. I could feel the warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing as he.
“No offense, but I never liked her,” I mumbled, wiping away my boogers, “Even before the fake pregnancy thing.”
His chest rumbled beneath my ear as he let out an audible laugh then, a genuine one. “You don’t say,” Nicholas replied, his tone light but with an edge of teasing. His laughter warmed me, a sound I hadn’t realized I missed so much. His hand stayed on my back, tracing slow, calming circles as he added, “What gave it away? The constant passive-aggressive digs or the terrifyingly fake smile?”
I pulled back slightly, my tears drying as I looked up at him. “Both. And the way she treated everyone like shit.” I sniffled, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite everything. “She wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Nicholas smirked, shaking his head. “You should’ve told her off way sooner.”
“I thought about it,” I admitted, letting out a soft laugh. “But I couldn’t defy the soon-to-be lady of the house now, could I?”
His smirk faltered, his expression softening as he cupped my cheek. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that, baby. Especially not because of me.”
“It wasn’t just because of you,” I said quickly, placing my hand over his. “I stayed because of my mom and Mrs. Chavez. And…” I hesitated, looking down before meeting his gaze again. “And maybe because I wasn’t ready to let go of this place. Of… you.”
Nicholas’s dark eyes searched mine, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek. “You don’t have to let go,” he murmured. “Not of us. Not anymore.”
I blinked up at him, my heart swelling with a fragile hope I hadn’t dared to feel before. “You mean that?”
He nodded, leaning down so his forehead rested against mine. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, (Y/N). But letting you go back then? That was the worst one, and I’m not making it again.”
My breath caught, the sincerity in his voice and the closeness of his touch grounding me. “I love you, Nic. So much. I never stopped. Never.”
Nicholas exhaled deeply, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of my neck as he pulled me closer, his lips brushing softly against my forehead. “I never stopped loving you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and raw with emotion. “But you already knew that,” he smirked ever so slightly.
The rain began to fall in gentle droplets, cool against the humid air, but neither of us moved. The world around us seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body, and the truth we had both been too afraid to confront until now.
Nicholas tilted my chin up with his fingers, his dark brown eyes searching mine. “Can we start over?” he asked finally, his voice soft but filled with quiet hope.
My heart ached at the tenderness in his words, the vulnerability in his gaze. I nodded slowly, a small, shaky smile tugging at my lips.
Nicholas let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as a faint smile crossed his lips. “Good,” he said softly, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face.
His lips found mine then, soft and tentative at first, as though testing the fragile bond between us. But when I didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his hands tightening around my waist as he pulled me flush against him. I melted into him, my fingers clutching at his shirt as the rain grew heavier, soaking us both.
The cool droplets mixed with the heat of his touch, the contrast igniting something wild and desperate within me. Nicholas groaned against my lips, his hands roaming over my back before settling on my hips, pulling me onto his lap. My skirt bunched around my thighs, the wet fabric clinging to my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All that mattered was him — his lips, his hands, the way he made me feel like the only person in the world.
His hands moved up, gripping the sides of my waist as he kissed me like it was the only thing tethering him to this earth. I shifted in his lap, straddling him, the fabric of my soaked skirt bunching between us. His mouth left mine to trail down my neck, his hot breath sending shivers through me despite the cool rain cascading over us.
“God,” Nicholas murmured against my skin, his voice rough and low. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed this? Missed you?”
I didn’t trust my voice to reply, not when his lips were doing things that made coherent thought impossible. Instead, I tilted my head to give him better access, my fingers threading through his damp hair. His hands roamed down, sliding beneath the hem of my shirt and brushing against the bare skin of my back, sending electric jolts straight to my core.
“You’re soaked,” he whispered, his lips pausing just below my ear.
I let out a breathless laugh, threading my fingers through his damp hair as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot on my neck. “Right back at you, baby.”
He pulled back at the word, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “Say that again.”
“Baby,” I whispered, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to his jaw.
He chuckled, low and throaty, the sound vibrating against my skin. I grabbed his face and pulled his lips back to mine. The kiss was urgent now, full of pent-up desire and weeks of tension finally snapping.
His hands gripped my thighs, sliding upward beneath the wet fabric of my skirt until his fingers found the edge of my panties.The sound of the rain grew louder, the rhythmic patter against the pool’s surface blending with our labored breathing and soft moans.
He shifted, guiding me back until I was lying flat against the wet concrete, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from both of us. His body covered mine, his weight pressing me down in the most delicious way as his hands continued their exploration, finding every inch of skin he could reach.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips, his voice raw with need. “I’ve been dying for this—dying for you.”
My fingers dug into his back as he kissed me with a hunger that felt almost feral, his hands tugging my soaked panties down my legs and tossing them aside. His lips found my collarbone, trailing wet kisses down my chest as his hand slid between my thighs, his touch igniting sparks everywhere he went.
I gasped, my head falling back against the concrete as his fingers explored, teasing and coaxing reactions from me that left me trembling. The rain kept falling, the cool droplets mingling with the heat of our bodies, and the world beyond us faded away.
“I need you to promise me something,” he murmured, his voice low as his lips returned to mine.
“What?” I breathed, my voice shaky as I looked up at him. His dark brown eyes burned with intensity, his face inches from mine.
“Promise me you’ll never keep anything from me again,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I don’t care what it is. If something’s wrong, if someone’s fucking with you—I need to know.”
My chest ached at the raw vulnerability in his voice, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. “I promise,” I whispered, my hands framing his face. “I won’t keep anything from you ever again. You mean too much to me, Nic.”
His lips crashed into mine again, his relief palpable as he kissed me with a passion that left me breathless. “Good,” he murmured against my mouth. “Because I’d fucking move heaven and earth for you, (Y/N). Do you hear me? You’re my everything.”
My breath hitched at his words, the sheer intensity of his confession leaving me speechless. His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine as the rain continued to fall in a relentless rhythm around us.
“You’re my everything, too,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion.
His hands slid down my body, tracing every curve and hollow as if memorizing me all over again. When his fingers slipped between my thighs, I let out a soft gasp, my hips instinctively rising to meet his touch. He groaned against my lips, his breath hot and ragged as he murmured my name.
“I’ve missed you so much, baby,” he whispered, his forehead still resting against mine as his fingers moved in slow, torturous circles. “Missed the way you feel. The way you taste. The way you look at me like I’m the only man in the world.”
“You are,” I breathed, my voice trembling as I clung to him.
Nicholas froze at my words, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten. His fingers stilled for a moment, resting against me as he let out a shaky breath.
My hand came up to cradle his face, my thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve always been.”
A low, guttural sound escaped him, and he captured my lips in a searing kiss that left me dizzy. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him as his mouth claimed mine with a hunger that sent sparks of heat coursing through my body.
The rain fell harder, soaking us both to the skin, but neither of us cared. The world around us disappeared, leaving only the sound of our ragged breathing and the feel of his body pressing against mine. His hands roamed my body, exploring every inch of me as if rediscovering a treasure he thought he’d lost.
He leaned down, his lips trailing over my neck, my collarbone, leaving a fiery path in their wake. My back arched against the wet concrete, and he took the opportunity to push my shirt higher, exposing my damp skin to the cool night air. His lips followed, pressing kisses to my stomach, my ribs, his breath warm and teasing.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at me. His hands slid beneath my thighs, spreading them as he knelt between my legs. 
Before I could respond, his mouth replaced his fingers, and a cry escaped my lips as he teased me with his tongue. The intensity of his touch, the way he seemed to worship me, made my head spin. My hands tangled in his rain-soaked hair, pulling him closer as he sent wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me.
Nicholas’s hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. His mouth moved with a deliberate slowness that drove me wild, each flick of his tongue, every soft, teasing suck a reminder of how much he had missed me, how much he wanted me. The rain blurred my vision, mingling with the tears that slid down my face, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was him and the way he was unraveling me with every touch.
My breath hitched, my thighs trembling against his shoulders. I tried to push up, to chase the feeling building inside me, but his hands held me down firmly. “Not so fast,” he whispered, his lips brushing over my sensitive skin.
I whimpered, my fingers gripping his hair as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm. My body writhed against the slick concrete, a desperate plea for more, for release. But Nicholas took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction he pulled from me.
“Please,” I gasped, my voice breaking as I tugged at his hair. “Nic, I need—”
He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The sight of him—his rain-drenched hair, the water dripping down his sharp jaw, and the raw hunger in his gaze—made my stomach flip. “You need what, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “Tell me.”
“You,” I breathed, the word slipping out before I could think. “I need you, Nic. Please.”
He sat on his knees then, his body towering over mine, rainwater dripping from his hair onto my flushed skin. His wet white shirt clung to every peak and valley of his sculpted muscles, his nipples visible through the soaked fabric.
Nicholas’s gaze darkened as his hands moved to the hem of his soaked shirt, peeling it away and revealing the smooth, golden skin beneath. The rain traced rivulets down his chest, following the sharp contours of his muscles. His body, damp and glistening, hovered over mine like a storm ready to break.
I reached for him, my hands trailing up his arms and across his chest as if grounding myself to him. My fingers skimmed over the moles on his torso — marks I’d memorized long ago. His breath hitched when I touched him, and for a moment, the raw vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much to bear.
I sat up, planting kisses near his naval and working my way upwards. He embraced me then, lifting us both and moving to a nearby chaise lounge so we could escape the unforgiving concrete beneath us.
The rain continued to fall, heavier now, soaking every inch of us as he settled me onto the lounge. He slipped my skirt off and wrapped my legs around him, tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down to reveal his hardened length. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was both tender and full of unspoken urgency.
The rain fell around us, creating a rhythm that matched the rising tension between our bodies. Nicholas pressed his forehead against mine, his hand sliding between us to guide himself to my entrance.
“Slow, please,” I whispered but still audible over the heavy patter of the rain.
Nicholas stilled, his dark eyes locked on mine as he nodded, the raw emotion in his gaze making my chest tighten. He shifted closer, his hands framing my face as if grounding himself. “Slow,” he repeated, his voice hoarse, reverent. “I promise, baby.”
His lips found mine again, softer this time, the urgency giving way to something deeper, more deliberate. I felt the tip of him press against me, a teasing pressure that sent a shiver down my spine. He groaned against my mouth, his hands trembling slightly as he moved with painstaking care, entering me inch by inch.
My breath hitched, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as the stretch filled me, the sensation overwhelming but perfect and everything I needed — what we needed. Nicholas buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath warm against my rain-soaked skin as he whispered my name, over and over.
I gasped, my body arching into his as he pushed further, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips never left my skin, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my neck, my collarbone, as if grounding himself in the moment. Each kiss was laced with quiet apologies, murmured words of regret and reassurance that made my heart ache and swell at the same time.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough and trembling as he stilled inside me. His hands gripped my hips, anchoring us together. “I’m so fucking sorry for not fighting for you then, for now.”
Tears mingled with the rain on my face, my fingers threading through his wet hair as I pressed my lips to his temple. “I’m sorry, too,” I whispered back, my voice breaking.
Nicholas groaned softly, his hands trailing up my sides, brushing over my ribs as if trying to remind himself I was real, that we were here. I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me, to see the sincerity in my eyes.
His lips crashed into mine, the kiss tender but filled with a desperate need that made my heart race. Slowly, he began to move, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that was agonizingly slow, deliberate, and full of love. Each thrust was a reminder of everything we’d been through, every moment that had brought us to this point. It wasn’t just physical — it was emotional, a reconnection of souls that had been lost in the chaos.
I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he filled me completely, his movements steady and unhurried. The rain soaked us to the bone, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way he made me feel — seen, cherished, loved in a way that words couldn’t capture.
Nicholas’s forehead pressed against mine as his rhythm stayed slow, deliberate, and tender, his lips brushing against my temple as though grounding us in the moment. Each stroke sent a shiver through me, a soft gasp escaping my lips as I clung to him. The rain was relentless, but the cool droplets against my overheated skin only heightened every sensation.
“Baby,” he murmured against my ear, his voice raw with emotion, “Do you feel that? How much I fucking love you?”
I nodded, unable to form words, my hands trailing up his rain-slicked back to tangle in his hair. His pace remained torturous, each thrust measured and purposeful. His lips found mine again, soft and searching, and I felt the unspoken apologies in every kiss, the promises in every caress.
His lips claimed mine again, slow and deep, as though trying to pour every ounce of his love and regret into that single kiss. The world around us faded away, the storm intensifying as the rain fell even harder, soaking our bodies as we moved together.
Every roll of his hips, every kiss, every whispered word was a balm to the wounds we’d both carried for far too long. There was no urgency, no desperation — only the deliberate, unyielding connection between us. His hands roamed over my body, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin that made me tremble beneath him.
Our movements were unhurried, each touch, each kiss, deliberate, as though we were weaving the pieces of ourselves back together. Nicholas held me like I was something sacred, his hands cradling my face, his lips brushing over mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache. The rain continued to fall, the steady rhythm against the pool blending with our breaths, our sighs.
He whispered my name like a mantra, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you,” he murmured, his forehead pressing against mine as his hips moved against me in a rhythm that felt like poetry.
Tears blurred my vision. “I love you, too,” I whispered, the words spilling from my lips like a vow. “Always.”
His pace quickened slightly, the pressure building between us as his movements became more purposeful, more insistent. The heat pooling in my core grew, spreading through my body like wildfire as he pushed me closer to the edge. Nicholas’s hand rested on the one I had curled around his hair, intertwining his fingers with mine and pinning my arm above my head.
His lips hovered just above mine, his breath mingling with mine as the rhythm of his hips grew firmer, more insistent. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice thick and raw, every word vibrating through me. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
“Nic…” I gasped, my voice trembling as my body arched beneath him, seeking more, craving everything he had to give. The rain poured down around us, the sound a backdrop to the symphony of our breaths, our moans, the quiet gasps that escaped every time he moved inside me.
A groan tore from his throat, his lips crashing against mine as if he couldn’t stand the distance between us for another second. His tongue swept into my mouth, desperate and demanding, as his pace quickened, each thrust more deliberate, more consuming.
“Fuck, (Y/N),” he growled against my lips, his voice ragged and trembling with restraint.
Nicholas pressed deeper, his grip on my hand tightening as he brought his other hand to my waist, holding me firmly beneath him. His movements grew more purposeful, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure radiating through my entire body. His control was slipping, and I could feel the tension coiled within him, the sheer effort it took for him to keep his pace measured and deliberate.
“I’m yours,” he growled, his voice low and guttural, each word punctuated by the steady rhythm of his hips. “I’ve always been yours, baby.”
I moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as he pushed me closer to the edge. The rain was relentless, soaking us both as it blurred the lines between where he ended and I began. My fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer, as if the mere inches between us were unbearable.
Nicholas shifted, his weight pressing into me as he lifted my leg over his shoulder so he could hit deeper and reach that spongy spot inside me until I cried out. His lips moved to my neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.
“Right there, baby?” Nicholas growled against my neck, his voice thick with desire as his teeth grazed my skin.
“Yes,” I gasped, my hands clutching at his damp shoulders, nails digging into his slick skin. “Oh, my God, Nic. Don’t stop.”
His hips snapped harder, the rhythm deliberate yet overwhelming as he drove into me again and again. The rain hammered down, but the heat between us only grew. Nicholas leaned back just enough to look into my eyes, his face intense and wild, water dripping down his sharp cheekbones.
“You like it when I fuck you like this, baby?” he rasped, his free hand trailing down my waist to grip my thigh. “When I make you scream my name?”
“Yes!” I cried out, my voice raw as my body arched beneath him. Every nerve in my body was alive, every touch, every word pushing me closer to the edge. “Nic, I’m so close.”
“I’ve got you, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, his lips capturing mine in a brutal, possessive kiss. “I always do.”
My nails raked down his back as he thrust harder, deeper, each movement building the pressure inside me until it was unbearable. His growls mixed with my cries, the sound of our bodies moving together in the rain echoing into the night.
“I love watching you like this,” he whispered, his breath hot against my lips as he gazed down at me. “Taking me so perfectly. Fuck, you’re incredible.”
His words pushed me over the edge, my body tightening around him as I shattered. A scream tore from my lips, and he swallowed it with a searing kiss, his own movements growing erratic as he chased his release.
“Baby,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hips jerked against mine. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” I gasped, pulling him closer, my legs tightening around him. “I’m yours, Nic. Always.”
With a guttural growl, he buried himself deep, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me, filling me completely. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he collapsed against me, his forehead resting against mine as he fought to catch his breath.
Nicholas wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as we lay tangled together on the lounge chair. For several minutes, neither of us moved, the rain cascading over us like a curtain, shielding us from the world outside as it refused to let up. The weight of everything — the fight, the lies, the media circus — seemed to fade, leaving only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the way his chest rose and fell against mine.
Nicholas’s hands traced gentle patterns along my back, his touch soothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to my damp forehead. “I’m not letting you go again,” he murmured, his voice low and resolute.
I tightened my grip around him, my fingers tracing the curve of his shoulder. “Me neither,” I whispered back. “Not this time.”
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his dark gaze searching mine for any hint of doubt. Whatever he saw there must have reassured him because a soft, almost shy smile tugged at his lips — a glimpse of the Nicholas I had fallen in love with so many years ago.
“Good,” he said, his hand coming up to brush a strand of wet hair from my face. He rested his chin atop my head, his fingers trailing down my back in soothing strokes. “We should probably get inside,” he said after a while, his voice tinged with reluctant amusement. “Before we catch pneumonia.”
“Five more minutes,” I sighed, burying my face in his chest and hugging him tighter.
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Seriously, baby, you’re shivering.”
I hadn’t even noticed until he mentioned it. The wind was beginning to pick up, and there was only so much warmth Nicholas’s body could provide in the weather. I nodded, reluctantly pulling away from him slightly. With a grunt, Nicholas pushed himself to his feet, lifting me with him. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, but his arms stayed wrapped securely around my waist, steadying me as he bent down to pick up our discarded clothes.
Nicholas draped his wet shirt over his shoulder and handed me my skirt and panties. I took them silently, my cheeks warming as the reality of what had just happened settled over me. I slipped my panties back on, the damp fabric clinging to me uncomfortably, and stepped into my skirt.
He shrugged on his wet shirt, the fabric clinging to his chest, and bent down to pick up my soaked blouse, carefully opening it by the collar so the fabric wouldn’t drag on my hair as I slipped it on. His touch lingered on my arms for a moment, his dark eyes searching mine. I could see the softness there now, a quiet tenderness that made my chest ache.
Nicholas’s lips quirked into a half-smile, though his concern didn’t waver. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
He kept an arm wrapped around my waist as we made our way back toward the house, the rain continuing its relentless downpour. My shoes squelched against the wet stone path, and I winced at the uncomfortable sensation of cold fabric clinging to my legs.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing down at me.
I let out a shaky laugh, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’ll survive.”
Nicholas’s arm tightened around me, his body warm against my side despite the chill. “You’re a trooper, baby. But next time? We’re doing this somewhere dry.”
I laughed softly, the sound shaky but real, and leaned into him as we approached the door. We kicked off both of our shoes and socks, leaving them to dry outside.
Nicholas held the door open for me, his hand lingering on the small of my back as I stepped inside. The warmth of the house enveloped us immediately, and I let out a relieved sigh as the shivers that had wracked my body began to subside.The faint hum of the staff’s voices carried from the kitchen, but otherwise, the house was quiet.
The second we stepped inside, dripping wet and shivering from the rain, Mrs. Chavez’s voice cut through the air as she approached us from the kitchen. “Maria, grab some towels and clean clothes!” she called out, her tone brisk but not unkind. “Oh, my god, you two look like a pair of drowned kittens,” she said as she took in our soaked clothes and disheveled appearances.
Maria appeared within a minute or two, thick, fluffy towels in one arm and clean clothes in the other.
“What in the world were you two doing out there?” Mrs. Chavez asked, her eyes wide.
He let out a soft chuckle, reaching for a towel and slinging one towel around his neck, “Just talking.” He grabbed the other towel, unfolding it and holding it open with both hands, and turned his attention to me. “Here, baby,” he spoke softly as he carefully patted my face dry before draping the towel over my back and proceeding to dry my arms.
I stood still, letting Nicholas dry me off, his touch tender and unhurried. He worked his way down my arms and over my shoulders, his brow furrowed in concentration as if this simple act was the most important thing in the world. The towel was warm and soft, a stark contrast to the icy fabric clinging to my skin.
Mrs. Chavez’s eyes lingered on the way Nicholas’s hand rested protectively against me. Her expression softened, and she let out a quiet sigh. There was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and I swore I saw a glimmer of relief in her eyes. “Well, I hope you’ve managed to sort things out,” she said, her tone gentler now. “But next time, perhaps consider talking indoors,” he sighed before walking off.
Maria smirked as she handed me some dry clothes. “Here, sweetheart. You two better warm up before you catch colds. Paolo has some soup on the stove if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, Maria,” I murmured, clutching the clothes to my chest.
Nicholas gently tugged on my damp blouse. “Here, let me help you.”
I hesitated, my cheeks flushing under Maria’s watchful gaze, but she waved me off with a wink. “I’ll give you two a minute,” she said, turning on her heel and disappearing back into the kitchen.
The room felt quieter without her, the hum of the rain outside the only sound as Nicholas carefully peeled off my wet blouse. His fingers brushed against my skin, and I shivered — not from the cold this time, but from the heat of his touch. His dark eyes stayed locked on mine, and I could see the unspoken emotions swirling in their depths — concern, affection, and something deeper that made my stomach flutter despite the chill.
“You don’t have to,” I murmured, clutching the dry clothes tighter against my chest.
“I want to,” he said softly, his voice low but firm. “You slipped through my fingers once; I’m not letting it happen again.”
The way he said it, so tender and unyielding, left me breathless. He reached for the dry shirt and slipped it over my head, his hands lingering at my waist as he adjusted the hem.
Nicholas crouched in front of me, his hands sliding down to hook themselves around the waistband of my skirt. He pulled it off with care, leaving me standing in just my damp panties. His eyes flicked up to mine, his dark gaze soft but intense.
“Underwear, too?” he hummed.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, my cheeks burning under his gaze. But there was no judgment in his eyes — only concern and a quiet, unwavering devotion that made my heart ache. I looked around to see if anybody was lingering and nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”
Nicholas’s hands moved with deliberate care, his fingers brushing against my hips as he slid my soaked panties down my legs. The air between us felt charged, every movement laden with unspoken emotion. He kept his eyes on mine, his touch tender and unhurried, as if he were handling something fragile.
Once the damp fabric pooled around my ankles, he picked it up and placed it neatly with the rest of the wet clothes. He reached for the dry sweatpants Maria had provided. “Step in, baby.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder for balance, stepping into the sweatpants as he guided them up my legs, pulling the waistband up. His hands rested lightly on my hips, his thumbs brushing against the fabric as he stood, his face inches from mine. The warmth of the dry fabric against my skin was a welcome relief, but it was the quiet intimacy of the moment that left me breathless.
Nicholas reached out, tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. His touch lingered, his dark eyes searching mine. “I’ll always take care of you,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You know that, right?”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, nodding as I placed a hand on his chest. “I know.” When he reached for the towel again to dry my hair, I stopped him with a light touch on his wrist. “Your turn,” I said, nodding toward his soaked shirt.
Nicholas smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “That’s fair.” He peeled off the wet fabric, his muscles rippling with the motion, and my breath caught at the sight of him — the way the light coming from the chandelier above us highlighted every line and curve.
I reached for the towel he’d left draped around his neck, standing on my tiptoes to dry his hair. He bent slightly to make it easier for me, a playful grin tugging at his lips as I worked. “You’re really getting into this, huh?”
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at my lips. “Just returning the favor.”
I moved the towel down to dry his arm and torso, carefully working as if I could undo the rain’s lingering touch. Nicholas stood perfectly still, letting me take my time, his dark eyes following my every move. There was a vulnerability in his expression, something unspoken but deeply felt that made my chest tighten.
I grabbed the spare shirt Maria had set aside for him, bunching it up to the collar and shrugging it over Nicholas’s head. As the soft fabric fell into place, I smoothed my hands over his chest, brushing away any wrinkles. Then, I proceed to tug down at his sweatpants, making sure to shield him with my body in case anybody walked in.
Nicholas chuckled softly as he rested his hands on my hips, steadying himself as I worked. His voice was warm and teasing, a soft contrast to the intensity of everything we’d just shared. “If you wanted to undress me again, baby, all you had to do was ask,” he said as he stepped out of his wet bottoms and kicked them off to the side.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the heat that rose in my cheeks. “I’m making sure you don’t catch a cold,” I said matter-of-factly, though my voice trembled slightly.
I crouched down carefully, still wanting to keep Nicholas modest, and held the sweatpants open for him to step into. One leg at a time, he stepped into them. I quickly pulled them up and adjusted the waistband, my fingers lingering at his sides for a moment before stepping back.
His hands settled on my hips as I finished, his touch light but grounding. He looked at me for a moment, and I grew a little bit shy. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
I smiled, a small, lopsided thing. “You’re welcome.”
The playful glint in his eyes was replaced by something deeper, more serious. “You know, I’ve spent nights thinking about this — us taking care of each other.” His voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. “I thought about what it would be like to have you like this. Not just for a moment, not just for a summer, but always. Waking up next to you. Taking care of you. Letting you take care of me.”
My breath hitched as I searched his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze stealing the words from my lips. I wanted to tell him I’d thought the same thing, dreamed of it, even in the moments when I’d tried to convince myself it was impossible. But the lump in my throat made it impossible to speak.
“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, (Y/N),” he continued, his thumb brushing softly against my hip. “I know I said that I would regret not going to Los Angeles, but I think my biggest regret was ever leaving you behind. And I’m not doing that again. You hear me?”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, my hands coming up to rest on his chest. His heart beat steady and strong beneath my palm, a rhythm that grounded me. “I hear you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of everything I couldn’t say.
His jaw tightened, his dark eyes shining with an intensity that made my chest ache. “Okay,” he said softly, his hands sliding up to cup my face. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”
I let out a watery laugh, the sound trembling but real as my hands gripped the front of his shirt as if to anchor myself to him. Nicholas’s lips found mine again, soft and deliberate, as though sealing our words with a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate — it was steady, full of quiet assurance and unspoken promises. The world around us seemed to fall away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of our breathing.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, the corners of his mouth tugged into a small, almost shy smile. He pulled me into his arms, his embrace warm and secure. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace, as though the storm that had raged between us was finally settling.
“Let’s get that soup,” he murmured after a moment, pressing a kiss to my hair.
I laughed softly against his chest, the sound shaky but genuine then smiled, letting him guide me toward the kitchen.
The rain continued to fall outside, but for the first time, it felt like it wasn’t a storm but a fresh start, washing away everything that had come before. And with Nicholas’s hand warm in mine, I felt like maybe we’d finally found our way back to each other — for good.
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