#like how I imagine he has a room or space where he can settle his emotions/anxieties?

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, smut mndi, chronic pain mention, I always feel like my confessions are awk so sorry if you think this one is too

note for minors: a lot of this chapter is smut, but you can read up until the red line without worrying about it. There's no summary this time because it really is just smut for smut's sake and all the character development happens before it starts, so you won't need it for the plot. There is one vague mention of boners before the red line (sorry it's just for a laugh), but that's it

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 3.2k words

You catch on quickly to what’s happened between Sirius and Remus. What you don’t understand is why they’ve interrupted it to come talk to you. And how you could be wrong twice—do they cancel out if you were truly right the first time? 

Clearly, the chemistry you’d felt between Remus and Sirius wasn’t imagined. You’d convinced yourself you must’ve gotten your wires crossed—otherwise why would Remus have kissed you?—but evidently they’ve come to some sort of agreement. Are they here to ask for your permission? Intra-team fornicating: approved. 

You’re not sure if you wish they’d waited until they were less hard to pop by. 

“Um.” You keep your eyes very intentionally on the boys’ faces. “What’s up?” 

Sirius looks almost nervous, skittish even, but Remus’ hand wraps around his to pull him closer to your doorway. Your heart does something funny in your chest. 

“Could we talk?” Sirius asks. 

“Er…yeah. Of course.” You step aside, letting them into your small room. Remus sits politely on the edge of your bed, giving you deja vu from the night before, while Sirius makes himself comfortable further back. He leans his side into your pillow where it’s propped up on the wall. 

“We were talking,” starts Remus, “and I told Sirius about what happened between us.” 

Your next breath seems to come slower. Unwillingly, your gaze flits to Sirius, but he looks impassive, only like he might be scrutinizing you in turn. You look back at Remus. “You did?” 

“I did,” he says gently. “But it wasn’t—” 

“Babe,” Sirius interrupts, “don’t look so freaked. What’s the matter? And why are you still standing there?” 

You realize you’re hugging yourself around your middle, standing awkwardly in front of the bed. “I’m not sure it’s meant to hold three people,” you say weakly. 

Sirius snorts, whatever nervousness he’d arrived with vanishing. Sirius has always been good this way; he can only ever panic when no one else is, but the second you’re panicking too he’s all ease. 

“Don’t be silly.” He pats the space between himself and Remus. It’s as ample as the bed allows, which isn’t saying much. “It’ll be fine. Anyway, it’s your bed.” 

You can’t think of a good reason to argue. Something in you calms as you settle in between them, Sirius’ hip touching yours and the warmth of Remus’ body on your other side. It’s familiar, safe. 

“Are you upset?” you ask Sirius. 

His brows pinch. “Why would I be?” 

“Because…” You cringe. “Aren’t you two…?”

“There’s been a lot of confusion, I think,” Remus says kindly. “But when we were talking, we both sort of came to the realization that we fancy each other…and you.” 

There’s a dense pause. 

“And me?” you echo. 

Remus’ lips tilt slightly. “Yes.” 

“As in…” You rub your eyes, dumbfounded. “Sorry, I did just wake up.” 

Sirius laughs. Remus too, reaching over to rub your knee like he can’t help himself. 

“For the record, I didn’t plan any of this,” says Sirius, “but if I had, I’d have done it exactly this way. It’s very gratifying to finally disturb your sleep schedules the way you pricks have been doing to me all these weeks.” 

“Oi,” Remus chides teasingly, reaching over you to push at Sirius’ thigh. You marvel at this new easiness between them, now given even newer context. “Anyway, we thought we’d come see if you might be interested.” 

“In…you.” You rub your lips together, looking between them and noticing Sirius’ gaze has fallen to your mouth. Unless you’re terribly mistaken and you’ve got it all wrong, this means he fancies you as well. Your partner, your best friend. 

The idea isn’t as upsetting as it ought to be. 

Do you fancy him too? You’ve never thought about Sirius in that way. You love him, of course, but you’ve never taken the time to parse out if it might be a different sort of love than the kind between friends. And as for the rest—well, who wouldn’t be attracted to Sirius? You’re only human. 

“In both of us, yes,” Remus confirms patiently. 

“Is that something you’d be into?” Sirius asks. 

Your answer leaves you on a breath, thoughtless but true. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius grins. 

You nod. You’re suddenly fixated by the way his cupid’s bow flattens out when he smiles like that. It’s something you’ve noticed a thousand times before, but now…

“Yeah,” you say again. “Um…what do we do?” 

Remus chuckles. “I don’t really know. I’ve not been with two people before.” 

“Believe it or not, this is a first for me as well,” Sirius says lightly. 

“Right,” you laugh. It breaks up some of the apprehension in your chest. 

“If you want to,” Remus’ voice softens, “I suppose you could start by kissing him.” 

You look at him, then at Sirius. For the first time, something like insecurity flashes across his face. 

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly. No longer the brazen flirt, but the kind, considerate boy you know. “It’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply. 

It’s like he’s afraid to touch you until you get to him. You steady yourself with a hand on his jaw, your other pressing into the mattress as you lean towards where he’s reclined against your pillow and bring your lips to his. 

You know all the ways that Sirius moves, and even this new, completely uncharted part of him is consistent. Sirius’ kisses start out slow, probing, feeling out what you like and what he can do, but then he gives himself over to it. His hands find first your hips, urging you closer to him before one slides to the small of your back. Greedy fingers curl in the fabric of your pajama top. 

You make a small, accidental sound in the back of your throat when his teeth tease your bottom lip, and Sirius pulls away. You’re both breathing hard. 

Sirius stares at you for a weighted moment before his eyes drift behind you and he huffs out a laugh. “Enjoyed that, did you?” 

You look over your shoulder, and Remus is watching you both with a low flame burning in his gaze. He flushes a tad at the question but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward, kissing you, tasting Sirius on your lips. 

───────────────────────────────────────────

The three of you don’t need to speak much to communicate. Remus pulls you back into him, his length hardening against your ass, and Sirius follows. He kisses Remus over your shoulder with a relieved sort of sigh. All the while, his hands are roving your thighs, pushing up your pajama shorts until they crease and pinch at your crotch. 

You exhale and tilt your head to the side when Remus drops his lips to your neck. “We have a competition tomorrow,” you remind them both. “We ought to be resting up.” 

You feel Sirius’ grin as he brings his mouth to yours again. “Yup.” He nips your bottom lip. “I’m aware this is a bad idea.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t condone it,” Remus agrees, one hand covering your ribs while the other sneaks down to tease the waist of your pajama shorts.Your poor shorts are being attacked from both sides. “How far do you want to go?” 

Sirius pulls his lips from yours to watch you think. They still tingle, and you rub them together unconsciously. His eyes darken. 

“You drive me mad when you do that,” he says. 

“Do what?” 

Sirius’ mouth kicks up at the corner. He brings his thumb to your lower lip, pressing down on it gently. His own lips are swollen and gleaming prettily with spit, eyes nearly all pupil. Remus’ hand strokes lazily at your side. 

“I want to go as far as you guys want to,” you say without breaking Sirius’ gaze. 

His grin widens, and he looks at Remus, shrugging. “We could just go until somebody says stop.” 

“Alright,” says Remus. One of his hands leaves you, finger hooking in the waist of Sirius’ trousers. “Can we take these off, then?” 

Sirius isn’t shy, but you didn’t think he would be. He sits up on his knees and pulls them down, letting Remus help them over his ankles before they’re discarded in a heap on the floor. Remus gets rid of his too, and then you’re staring at the outlines of both boys through the far thinner material of their underwear. 

Remus ghosts a touch over Sirius’ cock, making the other boy’s expression pinch with want, before pulling down the waistband. Lithe, graceful muscles and hip bones curving inwards. Sirius curses as Remus’ long fingers wrap around him. 

Remus pumps slowly, his own arousal an insistent heat at your hip. You find your attention torn between the feeling of his body against your backside and the sultry droop of Sirius’ eyelids as he watches Remus work his cock. 

“Doesn’t he look pretty?” Remus murmurs. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s speaking to you. “Yeah.” Your mouth feels dry. You swallow, and watch as Sirius’ eyes flit up to the motion. “He always does.” 

Remus hums in agreement, pressing a light kiss to an exposed bit of skin beside the neckline of your top. “Do you want to try, lovely?” 

You turn your head to look at him. Remus’ eyes are glued to Sirius. “What about you?” 

A chuckle, and another soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’ll be alright.” 

Remus waits until your hand is around Sirius’ shaft, pumping a couple times against his own fist, before letting go. You choose a slightly less languid pace than Remus had. Sirius twitches in your grasp, taking your face in his hands and setting his lips to yours with a muffled groan. 

Behind you, Remus moves closer until his length is pressed against your ass. One of his hands steadies you by the hip while the other dips below the waistband of your shorts, palming you through your underwear. You shift, and he hisses when you move against him. 

You turn your head on instinct, Sirius’ lips smudging across your cheek. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” Remus’ voice is breathy, amused. “You just surprised me.” 

“What’d she do?” Sirius is never one to be left out of the loop. 

“Just backed into me.” 

“Oh. Gorgeous,” he smiles, turning you by the chin to capture your lips again, “who wouldn’t want that?” 

Their praise soon has you devolving into a thoughtless, sensory creature. Sirius’ hands caress your face and neck and Remus’ fingers brush your panties aside to toy with your cunt. Every movement of your hips makes him push more insistently against you. Your shirt comes off, Remus dotting your shoulders with sweet kisses. Your grip tightens on Sirius’ cock, and a low, needy sound tears out of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

Your heart flutters at the endearment, but you don’t let your movements stall. Soon he’s pushing his hips into your hand, kisses turning messy and desperate, your own sounds harder to suppress as Remus bullies your clit with two fingers. You’re glad to know at least Sirius’ room is empty on your other side, because you’re beginning to wonder how thick these walls are. Remus pushes his length into the crease between your asscheeks through your shorts, Sirius’ cock beginning to twitch in your hand, and you press your lips together to contain a sound that promises to be both loud and mortifying—and the bed collapses. 

You fall backwards onto Remus as the cardboard on his end gives out, sending all three of you to the floor. Sirius’ teeth knock into yours and Remus catches you around the waist with both hands, keeping you from fully sitting on his hard cock. 

“Fuck.” Sirius brings a hand to his mouth. “What the fuck?” 

“Oh, shit.” You scramble away from Remus, onto the floor. Both boys look at you in alarm. You’re looking to where Remus’ leg is bent underneath him, not at a terribly cruel angle, but still— “Your hip. Is your hip okay?” 

“Oh.” Remus glances down as though he’s forgotten it himself, realization dawning over his features. 

“Fuck,” Sirius breaths, remembering as well. His hand moves toward Remus but lingers in the air, afraid of hurting him. 

“It’s…yeah, it’s okay,” says Remus. His eyes meet yours. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Sirius’ brows pinch, but his hand makes it the rest of the way, rubbing tentatively over Remus’ hip joint. “Are you sure?” 

Remus shifts slowly, sitting up off his knees to move closer to Sirius. “I’m sure.” A little smile graces his lips. “You worried about me, Pads?” 

Sirius’ face splits in the sort of grin you can only ever surprise out of him. “Fuck off,” he laughs, pushing Remus away when he tries to kiss him. Remus catches Sirius’ hands, his own smile unfurling slowly, almost unwillingly. It makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“How sweet,” he hums, smug. 

You find yourself smiling at them both, your heart a balloon in your chest. 

“Okay.” You give the mattress a little tug. “In that case, could you guys get off?”

“What’re you doing?” Remus asks. Both he and Sirius move. 

“Having this on a slant doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I’m moving it.” 

It should be awkward, this break in the tension, but maybe it’s because you’re so used to working as a team that it isn’t. You all get the mattress situated on the floor, and then you’re dragging Remus’ underwear off, his hands moving kind and doting over the lengths of your arms. He inhales a small breath as Sirius takes his cock into his mouth. 

You watch Sirius’ lips move up and down his shaft, his eyes dark and growing shiny as he takes Remus as far as he can. You aren’t quite sure how to contribute, but when you rub the inside of Sirius’ thigh tentatively both boys moan. You take that to mean you’re on the right track. 

The muscles in Sirius’ back flex as he raises and lowers his head between Remus’ legs, mouth growing wet with spit and slick, and it’s not long before Remus’ fingers are curling in Sirius’ hair, curses spewing from between his lips in a Welsh accent you’ve not heard before. You can’t help but follow them back to the source, kissing Remus just before he cums down Sirius’ throat. He grips you by the arms with something like desperation. You’re happy to stay as the tension unwinds from his body, until his hands are moving down you, smoothing across the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. 

“Are you planning on keeping those on all night?” 

It’s Sirius who asks, his gaze sultry as he watches Remus’ finger skim just underneath the fabric covering your ass. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb. 

“How’s this?” Remus suggests. He pulls you gently into his lap, situating you between his legs with your back against his chest. Again, you can feel the impression of him pressed against your backside. 

Your voice comes out weak. “This is good.” 

He chuckles, soothing a hand down your side while Sirius grins. Sirius’ fingers grasp the elastics of both your shorts and your underwear. “Okay?” he asks you. 

You nod. 

He takes his time working them down your legs and off your ankles, his eyes locking on your exposed cunt and the arousal Remus has coaxed out of you already. Remus, too, is watching over your shoulder. His fingers gravitate back to it, dragging slick up through your folds idly, almost worshipfully. He kisses behind your ear. 

“Fuck, you’re lovely,” says Sirius. 

Both boys’ gazes stay glued to your cunt as Sirius positions himself over you, pushing into your warmth. You bite down on a small sound. Remus tuts at you, his hand spreading reassuringly over your navel. 

“You can do better than that,” he chides. “Don’t think we don’t want to hear you.” 

Sirius holds your hips as he sinks into you. His fingers dent your flesh, and you marvel at the fact that you’ve wasted so much time not doing this. That you’ve ever been in a room with either Remus or Sirius and managed not to kiss them dizzy. You’re not sure you’ll be able to manage it again. 

Remus draws slow, tight circles around your clit with his finger. You arch your neck back onto his shoulder, and Sirius groans as you tighten on him. 

“God—you’re so perfect,” he says hoarsely. “You feel so good.” 

Your reply gets lost on a lewd sound as he drags his cock along your walls. Remus kisses you rewardingly in the soft skin underneath your ear. “There you are,” he says. “Good girl.” 

Warmth unfurls through your gut. 

Sirius grins whatever reaction must show up on your face, his hands migrating to your ass as he thrusts into you. As he gets rougher, so do Remus’ ministrations to your clit, his slow circles turning quick and jagged. You feel yourself tighten on Sirius in little flutters that have him gripping you tight enough to leave fingerprint bruises. 

“Fuck, like that, yeah. Just like that, baby.” 

Your lips part at the pet name and Sirius’ eyes flick up to yours like he’s surprised too, like he’s let slip something he didn’t mean to. But you say, “come here,” and he goes, leaning over you to let you take his face in your hands and kiss him until you can’t breathe. 

Remus feels your high approaching before you do. His free hand smooths over the inside of your twitching thigh. 

“Are you close?” he asks you. 

Sirius parts his lips from yours, looking down to see the confirmation on your face. You give it.

“Good,” he says, picking up his pace, “good, sweetheart, that’s it. Cum for me, yeah? I’ve got you.” 

You nearly bite your lip in half when you do, Remus tsking amusedly and kissing your neck while the tightening of your cunt threatens to send Sirius over the edge as well. He starts to pull out of you, but you grab his hand. 

“It’s okay,” you manage. “In me.” 

“Really?” he asks in a strangled voice. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I wanna feel it.” 

That’s all it takes. Sirius’ expression pinches like you’ve said something cruel as he thrusts into you one last time, a shock that reverberates through you as he warms you from the inside out. He’s rigid for a few seconds before tipping forward, his head to your shoulder and to Remus' chest, which you’ve slipped down without noticing. His breath fans softly over your skin. 

Remus rubs your thigh comfortingly and with his other hand pets down Sirius’ hair, cupping his flushed cheek. “Alright, love?” he asks. 

Sirius’ blush seems to worsen. “Yeah. You?” 

“More than.” Remus kisses his head. 

It’s only after a few seconds of silence that you realize Remus’ question was posed to the both of you. 

“That was…” you shake your head, at a loss “...fantastic.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius nudges his nose into your skin. “I thought so.” 

Remus’ chuckle rumbles through all three of you. “Cocky,” he says fondly. 

“And decent enough with it, by all reports.” 

It starts up a round of sweet, half teasing kisses Sirius pretends to want to escape despite making no real efforts to do so. You give and receive plenty of your own, until not just your lips and shoulders but many other parts of you are wet with spit and slick. You fall asleep all three on a twin mattress on the floor, your head on Remus’ chest and Sirius’ arms wound around your middle. It might be the best sleep you’ve ever had.

[fawnhunter]

natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

[sugarbbgrl]

idk how i feel abt this but o well :)

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ MDNI 18+ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

bodyguard!Simon is a watchful man. his eyes never leave you, no matter where you are. your father trusted him with you, hence why he hired the best of the best. he knew nothing could ever happen to you.

you can be a bit much for simon sometimes, but he never minds. when you're drunk, you get a bit handsy, doing your best to seduce to mysterious man tasks to keep you alive and well.

"simon, c'mon, look at me!" you slur and gesture to yourself as you stumble your way to your front door. "you're telling me you don't want a slice of heaven?"

simon just snickers as he unlocks the front door, moving out of the way to let you in. "you're drunk, sweetheart."

"but i know what i want." you giggle and walk into the threshold of your shared space. you sit on the couch and spread your legs for the man in front of you, biting the tip of your finger.

"i want you, si." you run your hands along your inner thighs, the alcohol spiking your confidence. simon inhales deeply through his nose at the sight of you. you face is flushed from the liquor and your legs agape, presenting your lacy black panties under your dress. he could feel his cock harden at the thought of what he could do to you right now. but she's drunk and your boss's daughter, nonetheless, the thought to himself.

"there is nothing more i would want to spend my saturday night, buried deep inside you, but you're not in a state i want you in, doll." he admits to you, likely because he knew you'd forget the next day. "and, you father would gut me."

you whine, your libido failing to settle down. "please, simon, i'm aware of my surroundings." your hands trail to your underwear, slowly and gently rubbing through the thin fabric.

simon sighs and ignores the tightness in his jeans. "c'mon, love, 's time for bed, yeah? we can talk it over tomorrow." he reaches his hand out to you for you to take, blatantly ignoring your actions. you groan and stand from your position, taking his big hand.

"yeah, sure we will." you mumble as you let simon lead you to your bedroom. as soon as you get into your room, you drop your dress and turn to look at the man behind you.

"last chance, si. you could have me right here, right now." you place your hands on your hips and wait for an answer from him. simon sighs once more and take your door knob in his hand, slowly closing the door, mumbling a short goodnight.

as fast as the man could get to his room, he was already removing him jeans and underwear, his hard dick red and aggravated. he shouldn't be lusting over you, especially when you're intoxicated, but he just can't help himself.

simon wrapped his hand around his shaft, squeezing gently and stroking slowly as if trying to torture himself for the reasoning behind his actions. his breathing picks up as he leans against his closed door, his hand never feeling like enough. the images of you splayed on the couch for him, running your hands over yourself. you dropping your dress to show you in all of your glory, your nipples hard from the contact of the ac.

simon moans as he imagines himself to be the one rubbing your thighs and pussy through your panties. he imagines running his tongue along your slit and teasing your clit with small licks and sucks. he wants to hear you moan his name over and over again, bucking your hips into his hot, wet mouth while gripping onto his slightly overgrown hair.

he pumps to the thought of slapping his cock against your sopping and swollen pussy after cumming for him however many times he decides to make you. he wants to wrap his hand around your throat while fucking into you mercilessly, leaving fingerprints on your thighs and hips.

with a few more fast pumps and groans, simon explodes, his cum shooting up and onto his stomach, wishing it were inside of you instead, coating your walls and pussy in the thick pearls.

it's a shame simon practically needs you, but he knows he can't. he just has to settle for 'accidental' walks ins when you're getting out of the shower or listening in on the sweet sounds of your self pleasure.

[blog-o-meter]

House of Whispers (Part 2) - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

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!

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.

[andy-15-07]

could you maybe write pedro pascal x reader having a big fight and pedro snapping at her and idk something like that angst

Shattered Echoes

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 3030 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You never imagined that a quiet evening at home could shatter the fragile peace you’d spent weeks trying to build. The living room is dimly lit by a single floor lamp, its soft glow failing to warm the chill in the air. The clock ticks monotonously, marking each second of the silence that has grown too loud to bear. Tonight, the tension is palpable—an invisible weight pressing down on you as you await Pedro’s return.

The door creaks open. Pedro steps inside, his gaze flickering around the room before settling on you. His usually warm eyes seem distant, troubled. You stand up slowly, heart pounding, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Pedro,” you begin, voice trembling just enough to betray your inner turmoil, “we need to talk.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and regret. “We do, don’t we?” he replies, his tone flat, almost defeated. The air between you vibrates with unspoken accusations and past hurts.

You cross your arms, trying to maintain composure. “I’ve been feeling… neglected. Like I’m just an afterthought in your life. Every time you get busy or, worse, when you shut me out—I just feel worthless.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he steps closer. “Neglected? Worthless?” he echoes, his voice rising. “Is that really how you see it?”

“Yes!” you shout, unable to hold back the flood of emotions any longer. “I see you coming home late, not answering my calls, and then expecting everything to be okay when you walk through that door. I’m here, Pedro. I’m right here, and I deserve more than half-hearted apologies and silence.”

Pedro’s hands clench at his sides. “You think I don’t struggle with this too?” he snaps, his tone laced with anger and hurt. “I’m doing everything I can—every day is a battle I never wanted to fight.”

The raw intensity in his voice stuns you for a moment. “A battle? Since when is loving someone a battle? Since when do we have to fight for every scrap of attention?”

His face reddens as he takes a step forward, the space between you charged with explosive energy. “Maybe it’s because you keep pushing me away!” he roars, his eyes glistening with tears of frustration. “Every time I try to get close, you’re already building a wall.”

You feel your heart shatter a little more with each word. “I’m not pushing you away, Pedro,” you plead, your voice cracking under the weight of your pain. “I’m trying to understand why you’re not here when I need you. I’m trying to understand why you let your demons take over our moments.”

Pedro’s laugh is bitter, almost mocking. “My demons? What about yours?” he fires back. “You hold onto every slight, every misstep. You let anger and resentment fester until you’re drowning in it. I can’t always be your savior, your crutch.”

The room feels too small now, the walls closing in as memories of countless silent dinners and missed conversations flash before your eyes. “So now it’s all my fault?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I’ve felt hurt, you’ve dismissed it as overreacting, as if my feelings aren’t valid?”

“Don’t you dare,” Pedro snaps, his eyes flashing dangerously. “My life isn’t some fairy tale where everything is perfect. I have my own scars, my own regrets. I’m trying—damn it, I’m trying to do the best I can.”

The anger in his voice is raw and jagged, each word a desperate attempt to explain, to justify. “Then explain why you can’t even talk to me without snapping? Explain why every conversation turns into this war zone?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and sorrow.

Pedro paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair as if trying to untangle the mess inside his head. “Maybe if you didn’t always dredge up the past, we wouldn’t be here!” he exclaims, his voice rising with every syllable. “You’re always reminding me of every mistake, every time I wasn’t enough. And maybe if you could just let me breathe, I wouldn’t feel suffocated by your expectations!”

Your eyes brim with tears, and for a moment, the hurt is too much to bear. “Is that what you really think?” you ask, your voice trembling. “That I’m just a burden? That every time I reach out, I’m the reason you can’t breathe?”

Pedro stops pacing, his shoulders sagging as the anger fades into sorrow. “I never meant for you to feel that way,” he says softly, though the damage lingers in every syllable. “I just… I’m scared. Scared of not living up to what you need, scared of failing you.”

“Failing me?” you echo, bitterness creeping into your tone. “Pedro, I’ve never asked you to be perfect. I only asked you to be present, to be honest with me.”

He turns to face you, eyes filled with a cocktail of regret and longing. “Honesty is hard when you’re broken, y/n,” he whispers. “I thought I could protect you from the worst parts of me, but I see now that maybe that wasn’t the right choice.”

Silence falls heavy between you, each of you grappling with your own demons in the quiet of the room. The only sound is your shallow breathing and the soft hum of distant traffic outside the window. You search his face, desperate for any sign of the man you fell in love with—the man who was kind, loving, and fiercely protective.

“Pedro, I’m not asking for a miracle,” you finally say, your voice low and laden with sorrow. “I just want to know that you’re here. That we’re fighting together, not against each other.”

For a moment, his eyes soften, and the anger seems to dissipate like smoke. “I’m trying, y/n,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Every day, I’m trying to be the person you deserve. But sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m failing, like I’m not enough.”

Your heart aches at his words. “You are enough,” you whisper, squeezing his hand in a silent plea for reassurance. “I love you, Pedro. But I need you to love me too—fully, even when things aren’t perfect.”

He withdraws his hand abruptly, his eyes hardening once more. “Love isn’t always perfect,” he snaps, voice laced with a bitterness that cuts deep. “It’s messy and painful and sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it just falls apart.”

“You say that like you’re giving up,” you counter, shock and disbelief mingling with anger. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the times you’ve promised to work on us…”

Pedro’s gaze drops to the floor, his silence speaking volumes. “Maybe I have,” he admits quietly. “Maybe I’m just not capable of being what you need.”

A lump forms in your throat as tears well up, blurring your vision. “So that’s it?” you ask, voice trembling. “You’re just going to walk away, leaving me here to pick up the pieces?”

He looks up, eyes red-rimmed and full of regret. “I don’t know if I can be the person you deserve, y/n,” he confesses, each word a dagger to your heart. “I thought I could hide behind my charm, my reputation, but it’s all crumbling. I’m tired of fighting this battle inside me.”

The raw vulnerability in his confession leaves you momentarily speechless. For a long time, neither of you speaks, the silence filled with shared pain and unanswered questions. Finally, you manage to choke out, “Then why fight at all? Why hold on when you’re so sure it’s broken?”

Pedro’s jaw tightens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because every time I see you, I remember who I used to be,” he says hoarsely. “I remember the man who believed in second chances, in love that conquers all. And I can’t let that go, even if I’m failing every step of the way.”

You take a tentative step towards him, the urge to comfort mingling with the need to be heard. “Pedro, I know it’s hard,” you say softly. “I know we both have our demons, but we can fight them together. I’m not asking for perfection—just for honesty. For us to try, even when it hurts.”

He laughs bitterly, a sound filled with despair. “Try? How many times have we tried, y/n? How many times have I promised you things I couldn’t deliver?”

The intensity in his voice makes your heart sink. “I don’t care about the promises,” you reply, tears spilling over. “I care about you. I care about us. But I can’t keep doing this, Pedro—the constant fights, the endless arguments. It’s tearing me apart.”

Pedro’s eyes flash with anger and sorrow all at once. “Maybe if you stopped dredging up every little mistake,” he retorts, his voice rising once more, “we wouldn’t be here, screaming at each other in the dark!”

That stings, and you recoil as if struck. “I dredge up mistakes because they hurt, Pedro,” you whisper, voice raw with vulnerability. “They hurt because I care. Every argument, every tear, it’s because I’m still here, still trying to hold on to what we had.”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Maybe what we had is gone,” he mutters, barely audible. “Maybe we’re better off apart.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. You stare at him, heart pounding, unable to comprehend how quickly everything can change. “No,” you say firmly, though your voice trembles. “We’re not giving up. Not yet.”

Pedro stops pacing, his back still turned to you as he takes a moment to steady himself. “I’m tired, y/n,” he admits, voice softening. “Tired of fighting, tired of feeling like I’m constantly disappointing you. I’m so damn tired.”

The admission is a blow, and you feel your own exhaustion mirror his. “I’m tired too,” you confess, stepping closer until you’re nearly touching him. “Tired of the arguments, tired of the silence, tired of feeling alone even when you’re right here.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the silence filled with the shared weight of your burdens. Then Pedro’s voice, ragged and soft, breaks through the quiet. “Maybe we need a break,” he whispers, as if the words themselves are a reluctant concession.

Your heart clenches at his words, a mixture of relief and heartbreak. “A break?” you echo, disbelief lacing your tone. “Is that really what you want?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he replies, “I don’t know what I want anymore, y/n. All I know is that I can’t keep hurting you, and I can’t keep hurting myself. Maybe we need time to figure out who we are without this constant fight.”

The thought of a break sends a shock through you. “But what if we lose each other?” you ask, voice barely a whisper. “What if this break becomes the end?”

Pedro turns to face you, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of pain and hope. “Then maybe it’s better than staying in a relationship that’s slowly killing us,” he says, though his tone is uncertain. “I don’t want to lose you, but I’m scared that if we keep going like this, we’ll both end up broken beyond repair.”

Your mind races, torn between the desperate need to hold on and the gnawing fear that maybe the fight has already done irreparable damage. “I’m scared too,” you admit, voice raw with emotion. “But maybe… maybe we can find a way to heal. Together.”

Pedro’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears as he searches your face, trying to find a glimmer of the love that once bound you. “I want to believe that,” he says quietly. “But right now, I feel like I’m drowning in everything—the guilt, the anger, the regret.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the tidal wave of emotions. “Then let’s start by talking. Really talking. No more snapping, no more shouting—just honest conversation about what hurts and what we need to heal.”

He hesitates, his eyes flickering with vulnerability before a hint of determination takes root. “I’m willing to try,” he concedes, voice barely audible. “I want to try, for both of us.”

A tentative smile plays on your lips as you reach out, gently placing your hand on his. “Then let’s start now,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the pain. “Let’s figure out how to be there for each other, without tearing each other apart.”

Pedro nods slowly, taking a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he murmurs, the words heavy with remorse. “I’m sorry for the times I’ve let my anger get the better of me, for the moments I made you feel less than what you truly are.”

Your eyes well up again, the raw sincerity in his apology stirring something deep inside. “I’m sorry too,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for not understanding your pain, for pushing too hard when you needed space. I just… I miss you, Pedro. I miss the us that we used to be.”

For a long moment, the two of you stand there, the silence between you now laden with both sorrow and the fragile promise of a new beginning. Outside, the city moves on obliviously, but in this small, dimly lit room, time seems to pause—a suspended moment where healing might just be possible.

Pedro takes a deep breath, and for the first time that night, his voice is gentle rather than sharp. “Maybe we need to start with something small,” he suggests. “A conversation without accusations, without judgment. Just… talking about how we feel.”

You nod, feeling a spark of hope ignite within you. “I’d like that,” you reply, squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s try to remember why we fell in love in the first place.”

He manages a small smile, though the pain in his eyes remains. “I remember,” he says quietly. “I remember the way you used to light up the room with your laughter, the way you’d look at me as if I was the only person in the world. I remember how it felt to be loved by you.”

“And I remember how you made me feel safe,” you add, your voice soft with reminiscence. “Like no matter what happened, everything would be okay as long as we had each other.”

There’s a long pause as both of you cling to those memories, the echoes of happier times mingling with the scars of tonight’s argument. “Maybe,” Pedro says slowly, “we can find a way back to that. Not by pretending nothing is wrong, but by acknowledging our mistakes and learning from them.”

Your heart swells with cautious optimism. “I want that too,” you say, determination threading through your words. “But it’s going to take time, and we have to be patient with each other.”

Pedro steps closer, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hope and resignation. “I’m willing to try,” he repeats. “I don’t want to lose you, y/n. I’m tired of fighting for the sake of fighting. I want to fight for us—to fight to be better.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you brush it away gently. “Then let’s do it together,” you reply. “No more walls, no more anger. Just us, learning how to heal.”

In that moment, as the remnants of the fight slowly fade into the background, you both understand that the road ahead will be long and fraught with challenges. But for now, there is a spark—a fragile, tentative promise that love, even in its most broken form, can be rebuilt with honesty, forgiveness, and a willingness to fight for what truly matters.

Pedro’s voice is soft as he speaks again, each word measured. “I know I have a lot to fix, a lot of ways I’ve hurt you. And I know I have to confront my own demons if we’re ever going to have a chance at happiness.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his admission settle between you. “And I have my own demons,” you confess, your voice trembling with sincerity. “But maybe, together, we can exorcise them. We can start by listening—really listening—to each other.”

He reaches out, taking both your hands in his. “I promise to try harder,” he vows, eyes earnest. “To be more present, to talk when I’m hurting instead of shutting down. I promise to be honest about my feelings—even when it scares me.”

You squeeze his hands in response, tears mingling with hope. “And I promise to be more understanding,” you say, voice firm despite the lingering pain. “To give you the space you need, and to communicate without letting my own fears dictate every word.”

For a long while, you stand there, hands entwined in a silent pact—a promise to rebuild what has been broken, to navigate the treacherous waters of love and anger with newfound empathy and trust. The night is still dark outside, but in this small moment of shared vulnerability, there’s a glimmer of light that hints at the possibility of healing.

Though the wounds are fresh and the memories of tonight’s fight still sting, you both know that this conversation is only the beginning. The journey ahead is uncertain, and there will be times when anger resurfaces, when the ghosts of the past threaten to tear you apart again. But as long as you have this moment—this raw, unfiltered honesty—you have a chance to find your way back to each other.

Pedro finally speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a resolve that steadies you both. “Let’s promise each other one thing,” he says. “That no matter how hard it gets, we won’t give up on us.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity behind them. “I promise,” you reply, your voice resolute despite the lingering ache. “We’ll keep fighting—not against each other, but for each other.”

And as the night slowly gives way to the soft glow of dawn, you hold onto that promise. In the quiet aftermath of shattered echoes, there is a fragile hope—a belief that even in the midst of conflict and despair, love can be reborn through honesty, forgiveness, and the willingness to try again.

[tojisun]

sun!! i hope you’re doing well sweetheart <3

i’m on my period and feeling miserable :( i’m just imagining biker!simon and his big warm hands massaging my lower back and being my personal heating pad

i feel like he’d be so doting and sweet…and i just know his cuddles are IMMACULATE

my goodness my beloved im sorry for how late my reply to this is!! i hope ur feeling a whole lot better today :(( and that u were able to rest well hhhhh

no ur right!!! big man like simon gives out good hugs!! just, warm and comforting over all <33 // biker!simon mlist

simon leaves as soon as he can, your message still bright in his mind – im dying lol.

“Not on my watch,” is what simon replied, trying to be playful if only to distract you from your pain.

he says his goodbyes to his friends, waves at john who tells him he’ll close up the shop and that simon doesn’t have to worry about it, before walking towards the parking lot. he snags his helmet, snaps it on, and hefts himself on top of his bike.

he traces the initials engraved on his gloves before bringing up his hand to the mouth of his helmet and presses it in lieu of a kiss. then he’s off, the purr of his engine smooth as he whips against the wind.

simon’s left you on his bed today, bundled up in his sweater and underneath the blankets. you’ve been teary-eyed as you bid him goodbye, trying to assure him that your period’s not kicking your ass.

“just go, si,” you said, huffing when simon continued to stand by the edge of the bed, hesitating.

“i don’t wanna leave you when y’r like this, sweetheart,” he replied, bending down just enough to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye.

“you can’t just skip work, y’know?”

“if it’s for you, i can.”

it wasn’t a lie – you two knew this – but you insisted, giggling, and told him to just remember to bring snacks when he returns home. he kissed you goodbye and drove off.

simon didn’t forget his promise, of course. his bag’s full of chocolates and cookies and a pack of electrolyte drinks. he knew the medicine cabinet was stocked but simon got extra pain medications – for cramping and nausea – in case you needed more.

johnny had seen simon’s grocery bag and asked that simon tell you that johnny’s wishing you to get well soon. then, kyle and john overheard and they gave simon the extra ladyfingers stored in the break room.

simon parks his bike and almost stumbles on his feet when he lurched out of his bike. he speeds through the stairs, thundering footsteps echoing, before tearing through the fire escape door.

he fumbles for his keys, steps into his apartment, and has just enough coherence to remember to toe his shoes off, place his helmet on the counter, snag his gloves off, and wash his hands. then, simon’s back in his room. back where you are.

you’re still buried underneath his quilt, curled into yourself. simon would have cooed at how little space you are taking up on his bed but he hears you whine, exhausted face peeking out of the quilt, before weary eyes meet his own.

“i’m home, sweetheart,” he breathes out, watching as your face breaks out into a smile.

“hey there, baby,” you reply, shuffling until he sees you lift a corner of the sheets for him to crawl in.

simon doesn’t even care that he’s still in his work clothes, not when your pretty eyes are pleading him to slip in and finally cuddle with you. so he drops his bag and takes his jacket off, before slipping underneath the quilt and sliding beside you.

you’re blinking up at him as he settles in, your warm palms reaching up to caress his cool face. he hears the faint hum that rumbles from your throat and simon huffs a fond laugh at the small smile tickling your lips.

“how do you want me, love?” he asks, his own hands claiming their rightful place by your waist. he rubs at your sides the way he knows you want – smooth glides with just enough pressure, grounding you into him.

“spoonin’,” you whisper, sniffing, before turning away from him with your mind made up.

simon laughs, pressing the quiet puffs of it on the back of your head as you shimmy towards him, pressing your back to his chest, before falling putty with a quiet sigh. he loops his arm around your waist, the heavy weight of his palm falling just underneath your belly.

“lift y’r head up a bit,” simon murmurs, humming when he slots his other arm under your head for you to use as a pillow. “good girl,” he murmurs as you fall back into him.

simon fixes the sheets as you shuffle closer again, nuzzling your face onto his arm with a pleased grumble, and he barks a laugh at your sudden sneeze.

“shit, sorry,” you croak out, hiding your face behind your palms.

simon laughs. “don’t be, sweetheart.” he kisses the back of your head again. “feelin’ better?”

“a bit,” you reply, and simon trembles when he feels your fingers glide along his arm. “now that you’re here.”

jesus. you sure know how to make him ache with the weight of his love, huh sweetheart?

IT GOT TOO LONG IM SORRY!! but yea :(( i hope u are feeling better luv <333

[softshuji]

Mikey's voice is light.

It's tinkly, a little melodic, a little soft, airy- sounding, like a breeze coming through an open window.

You like how it sounds when he speaks, when he laughs, and especially when he says your name, the little 'chin' at the end he hasn't quite dropped despite being well into adulthood.

You like it even now, a thousand miles away, the tinkly breeze of his voice inundated by the crackle of the receiver, and the occasional shuffle as he takes another bite of a snack on hand.

And he always hums between it, changes position in his bed, an occasional "oof" as he turns over and presses the phone to his ear.

He likes your voice but he's not half as good with the words to describe it. He says it's "pretty" that's it - he likes your accent, the way your mouth forms certain words, the lilting foreignness of his name on your tongue, when you elongate "manjiro" to get his attention.

He's never said it mind you, but he thinks you know it already- or at least he hopes you do. You talk a lot with him, and he's surprised by how much he likes listening.

He's never been the type to slow himself down for anyone, take such a vested interest but it's different with you. He likes the wait, the "uhm" you do before you answer a question, the hum that often accompanies your thoughts.

Like now when you're quiet and he can tell that you're thinking, can almost imagine your eyes fixed to a spot with a frown.

'Hey 'jiro, can I ask a question?' you say now and your voice is punctuated by the rhythmic thump of the washing machine in the room adjacent.

It's a nice sound, helps to ground him sometimes. These almost nightly calls where you're letting him into your space even if it isn't physically. A reminder that you're there, that you're always there.

'Mhm? Yeah?' and he takes a bite of steaming hot taiyaki, winces when the steam seems to burn his tongue and you suppress a laugh at how he curses a "shit that's hot" and takes a swig of juice.

It's almost too comfortable at times like this. You could easily get lost in it- moments that never seem to end, the atmosphere punctuated by a tension that never breaks, a siren somewhere that reminds you of how far the two of you are, the lull in the line where the signal breaks.

And it's almost too easy to say, when you whisper a 'What would you do if you were in love with someone?'

And the silence is palpable, terrifyingly loud.

He stops chewing, eyes widening, a hand half halted in the air as he stares at the receiver, a sinking ache that settles in his tummy.

But he's Mikey, he's manjiro. And he's always known what that meant - the type that never lets anything bother him too much- the type that never cries in front of others- the type that has to be the man you need even if you don't feel like you need him.

'Huh?' he says, a little forced, a lump of taiyaki suddenly caught in his throat. 'You in love with someone or something?'

'Maybe I am. And maybe you know them.'

He lifts an eyebrow, the ache snaking towards his ribs. 'I know them?' and then, a sudden burst of noise. 'Is it ken-chin?! Oh you know ken-chin is in love with Emma-'

'No dummy! It's not ken-chin! I know he's with Emma, I'm not that mean that I'd go after your sisters boyfriend y'know.'

And he laughs unexpectedly at your sudden outburst, and it makes the tension a little easier to bear despite what he knows is coming, a rejection and hurt that he's spent a long time preparing for.

'Oh so not ken-chin,' he says and rolls over, propping his chin up in a hand that now discards the taiyaki wrapper on the bedside table. 'So do I get a clue?'

'No,' you say now, your voice broken by the pop-pop of a car exhausting it's engine outside. 'I didn't say I would tell you who it was y'know. But think...a little closer to home maybe.'

'Oh.......'I get it.' A beat. 'You're in love with Emma!'

'No?! When I said closer to home I didn't mean it like that!' You huff in faux annoyance, and he smiles to himself, the tug of his lips instinctual when he senses the irritation in you, and it hurts to prolong this kind of pain, to slowly tug the band-aid.

'Mhm, you could just tell me yknow, maybe I could help set you up.'

And you roll onto your back, stretch out a hand to the window where the moon sits on a branch, the white ivory of it cracked by the grey mist of the clouds.

'I do not trust you as far as I could throw you when it comes to matchmaking me manjiro.'

'Hey!' he says, a familiar pout as he stretches his hand towards the window on his own side, the edge of his white tank top riding up as he shifts onto his back. 'I'm not that bad. You saying I couldn't find someone who treats you like a princess?'

I could.

You giggle, a slip of a laugh despite the brewing tears. 'I don't doubt it, but no, I don't need you to matchmake me. And besides you're getting off topic. I asked what would you do if you were in love with someone....someone you knew.'

And you sigh, a half stifled thing that you hope he doesn't notice, hope is lost somewhere in the end to end encryption. And he pauses in thought, turning it over on his tongue, the familiar ache, the pain that never ends when he speaks to you, a dread that always follows the searing hurt of your smile across his chest. 'Mhm, depends who they were. Someone close?'

'I guess so. We're...best friends. At least I'd like to think so.'

'Excuse me, you have other best friends that aren't me?!'

You stiffen, pull back a little, a dangerously close dip to the truth. 'I didn't - that's not the point!' you huff, hoping it hides enough, hoping you're still elusive. 'Would you tell them?'

And his heart thunders across his ribs, a plummet into his stomach, a redness that spills across the ivory of his skin. He lapses into a silence then, a quietness punctuated by the thwack of the branches on the window.

'Jiro?'

'Huh? Oh yeah sorry, got distracted by something.' And he clears his throat, swallowing the ache, the spiky slice of a knife edge across his chest. 'I would only tell them if I knew they liked me too, if I was sure.'

'And....how would you be sure?' A whisper dripped down the line.

His tongue is heavy, clinging to the roof of his mouth, a weight that's heavy and suffocating. 'I don't know, I don't think you could be without being honest.'

'But being honest means you might be wrong, because what if they don't like you back? Especially as your best friend.'

You muffle the sniffle, time it perfectly with the roll onto your side, the moon now falling and hidden entirely by the trees, a white ring of light that cracks through the branches.

'Yeah....' he says, a trail of a murmur that's soft and silky. 'I guess you don't really know unless you try.'

And he hates that he holds out hope, that he wishes he could hear it even now, knowing what he knows, and hoping to hold on anyway.

'Mhm...yeah you're right.' A crash, a crescendo, an end. 'Anyway, 'Jiro, it's late, I gotta go okay?'

'Yeah, yeah me too,' he says, a disappointment crashing through his bones. 'I'll see you tomorrow yeah?'

'Mhm, goodnight 'Jiro.'

'Goodnight Princess.'

And he holds the phone to his ear long after you're gone, watching the moon fall further down, a hand of his stretched out towards it, knowing somehow somewhere you're doing the same.

Reblogs appreciated

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, trauma, therapy, unprotected piv, oral sex (female receiving)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Part Twenty-Eight of Ink & Needle

The aftermath of Kit’s actions influences your daily life. You proposition Simon with the hope of moving forward.

Chapter Twenty-Seven // Chapter Twenty-Nine

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Months Later

Healing isn’t linear. It is not kind or forgiving. The strangeness of therapy is how it resembles a spiderweb, beautiful at a glance but a lie. There is nothing beautiful in facing what you wish to leave behind. Sticky and lethal and pure carnage rehashed over and over again until talking it out becomes a numbing dullness.

Hope therapy goes well today. Love you.

Evie’s text stares up at you from the phone screen. She’s been a good friend through all of this, giving you space yet standing by your side. How the roles have reversed, become opposite from where it all started.

Bravo’s wet nose pushes into your palm, forcing your attention away from the phone screen.

“Hello, Bravo,” you croon softly, scratching the underside of his chin. “You good boy. Best boy!” His tail whips around in a circle, kicking up a breeze.

Simon’s dog has attended every therapy session with you. At first, you thought is strange that Simon insisted on it, but now you can’t imagine not having the German Shepherd there. Nearly all of your appointments occur during 141 Ink’s business hours. Simon cannot join you in person, but he can send a piece of himself along.

“Where’s your dad?” you tease. “Do you see him?”

Bravo stretches his neck, glancing around for Simon. It lasts only a moment. He is clearly far more interested in the attention you’re giving him.

“He is right here.”

Simon’s voice wraps around like a warm hug. You went without it for so long that now it’s a treat every time you hear him speak.

Bravo pivots out of your touch, taking a step forward to situate himself between you and Simon.

Simon’s eyebrows rise slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. The body language stands in stark contrast to his massive grin. “Protecting her, are you? Even from me?” Bravo half-whines, half-barks. Simon chuckles. “That’s my boy.”

He gives Bravo a quick pat on the head before stepping around the dog. You immediately lean into Simon, one hand pressing into his chest as he cups the side of your neck, his thumb resting on the front of your throat. There is a protective, nearly primal quality to the way Simon’s features shift as his attention turns to you

“Am I late?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.” Presenting your mouth, Simon descends slowly, meeting you with a serenely sensual kiss.

All the quiet, simmering anxiety that sits in the back of your mind melts away like a last snow, leaving behind a plethora of green grass that reaches for the sun. Simon is your beacon in the dark, the candle flame that lights your way.

One kiss is not enough. You need a second. A third.

The old flame of desire snakes upward, slithering between your bones to settle in your chest. It is asking for the thing you’ve denied yourself the last three months—an intimacy you had with Simon before everything happened.

A fourth kiss. A fifth. Desire tightens its languid body, constricting until your breath catches.

“Get a room!”

The voice of a passing stranger breaks the enchantment, the building desire retreating to hide amongst brown leaves and sticks.

Your cheeks grow hot just as a scowl appears on Simon’s face. Shoulder’s straightening, Simon is gearing to tell the interloper off, but you grab at Simon’s hand the second he begins to turn. A light tug is all it takes. Just your touch, and Simon’s scowl recedes to a soft smile that he only ever gives to you.

With a quick shrug of his shoulders, Simon clears his throat and takes Bravo’s offered leash, wrapping it around his tattooed knuckles. He places his hand low on your back, ushering you toward his parked car.

“How was therapy?”

Simon asks every time—a loaded question.

You exhale through your nostrils, briefly glancing away from him because telling the truth is fucking hard, especially when it involves him. You settle on a half-lie.

“Fine,” you reply. “Productive.”

Fine? Yes. Productive? No.

Simon’s head tilts slightly, gaze assessing like he doesn’t entirely believe you. “Up for company today?”

This you can appreciate it. Simon may always ask how therapy went but he never pushes further than you’re willing to give.

“Not really,” you answer, this time truthfully.

Evie’s unanswered text is as much a reminder as Simon’s questions. Things are different now. Normal cannot be what it once was. There are fractures you hold in your heart, memories that you wish you could erase with a quick snap of the fingers.

Simon nods, apparently content with your answer. “Then we’ll go home.”

It’s a short walk to the car, but you savor every second, leaning against Simon with each step. He talks your ear off about nothing, filling the air with what he did at the shop today, and the customers he had even as he helps you into the car.

It’s a lovely distraction. Which is why Simon is doing it at all. He knows. He understands. Simon is not a chatty person, he’s usually blunt with his words, more to the point than anything else. He prefers fewer words than long-winded nothings, and him keeping you distracted like this goes against everything he’s comfortable with.

But Simon doesn’t know what you talk about in those sessions with the therapist, and you refuse to share it with him. He also doesn’t ask, and for that, you’re fucking grateful. You’re still coming to terms with it yourself, shuffling through the two and a half months you were gone.

Sometimes, you think things would be easier if Kit had just hurt you. That’s the expected thing, to be mutilated in unforgiveable ways. You think about his choices often, what was going through his head, and why he never raised a single hand to you. The silence you received instead is almost worse somehow. Kit refused to speak with you, and the only other person who saw was the man that brought you your meal. He refused to say anything to you—refused to even glance in your direction. It wasn’t until the coffin that you heard the first human voice other than your own in two months.

And the voice was Simon’s. Not Kit’s. Simon’s.

Today, you talked about the coffin.

Not that you actually remember it. You only saw it after you were released from the hospital. Simon took you to some military base because Captain Price thought that seeing it in person might trigger a memory. He was firmly against it, insisted that you didn’t have to do this, but you pushed back, wanting to see what that monster put you in. Simon backed down, but setting your gaze on the thing that you nearly died in turned your limbs to stone and your mind to smeared jelly.

Simon was fucking furious. You’ve seen him upset—and you thought you knew what anger looked like on him. How wrong you were. Kyle stepped in and escorted you out of the room. You might have been on the other side of the wall but it only damped the screaming match that happened. Their words were heated, the exchange loud, and though you didn’t catch all of it, you picked up pieces.

Don’t involve her again.

This is my price to pay.

She’s suffered enough.

Kyle, while leaning against the wall next to you and fidgeting with his watch, had given you a solemn smile, an attempt to reassure but only left you feeling hollow.

“Don’t fret over it,” he had said. “Simon loves you is all. Price knows that.”

“They’re screaming at each other,” you murmured.

Kyle shrugged, the smile becoming more sincere and genuine. “Price will hug him after he’s done yelling. Simon will grunt.” He winked. “All good, love. Promise.”

Simon never brought you to another military base or anything to do with what happened again. If anyone reached out to him to insist, you never heard about it.

But of what you do remember, it’s of what happened before the coffin, how Kit smiled when he brought you your meal. You didn’t know it was drugged then. He hid it well, disguising the taste and texture. You should have known something was wrong when Kit sat on the floor across from you and watched you gobble up every bite. But you had been hungry, and having another person near felt so comforting in the moment.

“Movie sound good?”

You inhale sharply, turning toward Simon’s voice. He’s standing next to you, passenger door open, the middle of the brow creased with concern by your reaction. The two of you are already home.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “What did you ask?”

The corners of his lips turn downward. You’ve slipped off again—left reality for a bit.

“A movie,” repeats Simon. “After dinner. Thought we could stay in tonight.”

Bravo shoves his face between the front passenger seat and the interior of the car. His dark eyes dart between the two of you, impatience clear in the way his tail thump thump thumps against the backseat.

“Great,” you reply, slipping out of the car.

Simon’s gaze remains impassive, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes your hand, Bravo trotting along behind the two of you.

Inside, Simon takes your coat, hanging it up next to his before heading into the kitchen to start the kettle. It’s April now, but the weather is still chilly on occasion, and you could go for a tea.

“The new visa should arrive soon,” says Simon, flipping the tap on the electric kettle. “Price made a few calls.” Grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, he sets them down on the counter before turning around to face you. “Could get you a different one. A longer stay.” He pauses, a hopefulness twinkling in his eye. “Citizenship even.”

With everything that’s happened, Simon still wants you here, with him. Hands clasped in front of you, you meander into the kitchen, almost sauntering in the way you approach him. Simon’s eyelids grow heavy, that earlier desire forming in his gaze. The two of you have touched and kissed, but the few times any further intimacy has been initiated, it’s been by Simon. You weren’t committed then, still confused and dripping with a sense of being unclean.

When you’re ready. No rush.

Respect for you outweighs his desire. Simon made you aware in other ways—subtle glances and touches, gentle compliments—but never pushed, never made you feel like sex is an expectation. He handed you the ball and bat with the only request that you swing when ready.

“Is that what you want, Simon? For me to stay?”

As you draw closer, Simon’s hands instinctually reach out to you. You do not shy away but step into his embrace. Those large, tattooed hands of his clutch your waist, pulling you closer until you’re nearly flush against him.

“There are few things I want more.”

“Only a few?” you tease, and you’re greeted with a warm smile.

“Nothing, then.”

The kettle starts to boil, but Simon ignores his, all of his attention focused on you.

“I don’t want to watch a movie. Think I’d like to do something else.”

Simon shrugs. “Course, love. Whatever you want.” He shifts slightly to plop a teabag into each mug and then carefully pours the water over the top. “We can watch the next episode of that show—”

“No,” you interject, and Simon sets the kettle down. “I mean—” You lick your lips, unsure of how you want to approach this. “I want to…try.”

Simon blinks. “Try,” he says slowly. “Try…what?”

It takes every ounce of control to not laugh at Simon’s confusion. Placing your hand on his chest, you slide it lower, and lower still until the confusion on his face melts away and realization dawns. Without breaking eye contact, Simon grasps your wrist and draws your hand away as it falls dangerously close to brushing against his groin.

“Only if you’re ready,” he murmurs, though you hear the hunger. “Don’t do it on my account.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here, love.”

As you press into him, Simon’s resolve splinters. Your face is upturned, lips slightly parted in offer, and Simon’s mouth is just shy of connection. You breathe him in just as he does you. There is nothing you want more, to be consumed by him, to reconnect in the one way you’ve been without.

Simon lightly grasps the bottom-half of your face. “After dinner,” he says, and the curling need pooling low in your belly squirms with discontent.

“Now,” you breathe, a demand.

Simon’s eyelids flutter. Close. He takes a deep, steadying breath before opening them again. “If I sink inside you right now, I won’t last.”

The admission only enflames the already burning embers. You desperately need to cross this hurdle, to find this intimacy with Simon again. With one hand free, you gently cup him through his jeans, rubbing, finding him hard and wanton.

Simon growls, and then you’re being lifted. He shoves everything out of the way, hot water spilling into the sink and onto the floor. The tea is forgotten, the bags briefly floating in the sink before the water disappears down the drain.

“I’m not taking you like this,” says Simon, forehead pressing against yours. “We’re having tea. Dinner. And only after will I indulge you.”

“Think the tea is ruined, Simon.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, closing the distance to seize you in a fierce kiss.

Everything about it is honey-drenched. Sticky. Slightly sweet. You open for him, and he goes for a taste, his hand on your throat like a collar. This is the passion you remember; the wanton need you crave.

It is not gone. Only buried.

As your hands roam, the kissing only becomes more desperate. Your thighs trap his waist, but he makes no move to retreat. Not like you could stop him. He’s far stronger than you, and even in that strength he’s aware of it, not grasping too tightly.

Fingers delve, and in seconds you have the front of Simon’s jeans open, slipping your hand inside to find his warmth. As your fingers brush his skin, Simon breaks the kiss, nearly choking on his next breath as he draws back.

“Dinner first,” he groans, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand from his pants. “Food first.”

“You’re a tease, Simon Riley,” you whimper.

He chuckles, low and knowing. “Like making you squirm.”

Dinner is a much longer affair than you’d like, as if Simon has an eternity to feed you. Every time you try to help, he shoos you off, telling you to relax and enjoy your cuppa. You eventually give up, curling up with Bravo on the sofa watching reality television as Simon putters about.

When he finally hands you your plate, you scarf it down in record time, promptly setting it aside to stare at Simon longingly.

“After,” he repeats.

“Buzzkill.”

Simon reaches over and squeezes your thigh, returning to his meal, gaze locked on the television. You try to refocus, but your mind is locked on a singular goal like you’re a man thinking with his dick and not his brain.

With a final scrape of his fork across his plate, Simon clears it, sighing with contentment. Reaching for your plate, he starts cleaning up, still insisting that you don’t move from the couch at all. This time, you don’t put up a fight, deciding it is better to snuggle with Bravo.

“Bed, Bravo,” snaps Simon. The German Shepherd grumbles as he lifts his head from your lap and dramatically slides off the couch. “To think you used to sniff out bombs,” mutters Simon, shaking his head. “Off with you.”

Bravo disappears down the hall, and then Simon is turning to you, holding out a hand in offering. “Come here to me.”

The delivery in his voice leaves no room for denial. Pushing off from the couch and reaching for his hand is easy. You want this—need this.

Simon’s arms go around you, holding you close. That soft smile returns and you answer it with one of your own.

“Still want to do this?”

“I’m sure.”

Simon’s thumb lightly grazes the line of your jaw. “Tell me if you want to stop. Promise me.”

“Promise,” you murmur.

“That’s my girl.”

With your hand in his, Simon walks backward into the bedroom. He pulls you in as he shuts the door, teasing a kiss but not giving it to you. You try to steal one anyway, but Simon knows you too well, leaning away at the last second as he slips his hand from yours.

There is no mask. No anymore. Haven’t seen it at all unless he’s at the shop, working. His sweatshirt goes, followed by his shirt, leaving him bare from the waist up. Even in the dark with a just a hint of moonlight, you can glimpse him.

Corded muscle. Endless tattoos.

Your hands copy his movements, removing an article of clothing one at a time. All this time you’ve been rushing, and now that you’re here, the undressing is slow. Languid. Simon is done before you, and even in the dark you notice the way his hands clench and unclench with the anticipation of touching you.

You barely have your socks and pants off before Simon is grasping for you, hands groping ass and hip, mouth coming down on yours with desperation. In this, you feel utterly wanted, as if there is nothing he requires more than to be one with you.

Simon’s erection presses into your lower stomach, an insistent thing that both of you ignore. His kisses are your favorite, you want them forever, and that is all you can focus on even as your grow slicker between the thighs.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and then connect them behind his neck, clinging like he’ll disappear if you don’t. Simon’s hands slide over your back and down to your ass, filling his hands as squeezing. Angling your hips up a bit, he rubs himself against you, a low groan leaving him as the base of his erection brushes the side of your clit.

Forget slow. Forget the fact that Simon admitted he wouldn’t last.

Unlocking your arms from around his neck, you reach back and grab one of Simon’s groping hands. Bringing it between your bodies, you guide his fingers to your pussy, desperately needing him to touch you. His thick fingers slide easily over your sex, your arousal apparent.

You shiver from the contact, but Simon? Simon growls, low and feral, and utterly primal. Flattening three fingers against your sex, Simon parts you, the middle finger teasing your entrance with a soft caress. It hovers, and then starts to slide in.

Simon’s lips move away from your mouth and to your chin, then to your jaw, and then your throat. More of his finger enters.

“I missed you,” you whimper as he settles to the knuckle. Simon’s teeth graze your neck as his finger begins to slide back out. “Every. Day.”

Simon adds a second finger, pumping both in perfect rhythm. “I’m here now, love. Right here. Not going anywhere.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as Simon’s palm rubs against your clit. “I—love—”

“Love, what?” coaxes Simon.

“You. I love you.”

Simon’s teeth no longer graze but they don’t bite down. They trace a line up your throat before taking a nip at your bottom lip. His fingers begin to retreat again but you grasp the back of his hand, pressing, urging him back inside.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmur, rocking your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers. “Fuck me the way you want to. Please.”

Simon’s head tilts to the side. “You sure about that, love?”

You whimper, nodding, pussy clenching around his fingers as his palm lightly rubs against your clit again. It’s lovely—slowly building that orgasm you so desperately crave. But then Simon’s fingers are gone and in his mouth, sucking them clean.

Your brain short circuits, unable to comprehend the change until Simon is guiding you onto all fours on the bed. He places a hand on your upper back, urging your front into the mattress as your ass stays up in the air. Guiding your legs apart, you expect him to settle between, to mount you and rut.

His mouth finds you instead, tongue parting your pussy from clit to opening then back again. You press back against his mouth and Simon makes a feast of you. The orgasm is a slap in the face. It doesn’t arrive slowly but as a thunderous force, nearly smashing you over the head with its intensity.

Thighs quiver. Legs shake. You cry out so loud you think Simon might stop. He doesn’t. He only continues through the ordeal, urging toward another and yet another until there are tears in your eyes. Only then does he draw back, wettened lips kissing the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

His strong hands rub up and down the length of your back. Soothing and comforting at first, but then demanding, helping you turn until you’re facing him. Limbs like jelly, you allow Simon to draw you into his lap, to ease your legs to fall on either side of him, to help guide you to and then onto his cock.

“Want me to stop?” he asks, voice gruff.

You vehemently shake your head. “No. Want you. Always.”

With a final effort, Simon rocks his hips up just as he presses down on your hips. Every inch is inside of you, stretching, filling. You’re full of him, but it’s not enough. You need him to move.

“Simon,” you beg.

Shifting his arms, he supports you with his hands and forearms as well as his thighs. It forces your legs up and open, ankles and feet dangling. A slice of moonlight cuts through the room, highlighting the space where your bodies meet. With your forehead resting against his cheek, you watch as Simon guides you up and down his length, disappearing and then reappearing with a shine.

Keeping one arm hooked behind his neck, you reach between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. You create a v with index and middle finger, parting your pussy to open you up more, to capture the place where Simon’s cock penetrates you.

He’s hardly keeping it together as you tease the base of his cock with a fingernail Simon’s whimper instinctually has your pussy tightening around him.

“I want you to come inside me,” you whisper, breath brushing over his cheek. Simon’s hands tighten, fingers digging into your flesh as he ceases sliding and starts thrusting. “Please,” you add with a hint of longing.

He cannot say no. Simon never does.

In seconds, Simon has you on your back, flattening you against the bed. With one hand above your head, fisting the sheets, he rests the other on the inner thigh of your left leg, holding it wide and open for a better angle.

Simon’s first thrust is brutal. He buries his face against your neck, and doesn’t fucking stop. Every time your bodies connect, he grunts loudly. The muscles in his back bulge beneath your palms.

This is not healing. This is carnage. This is a burial.

Simon is digging your grave but not to leave you to rot. You are to be wholly submerged, wholly undone in the dark, to be thread unspooled. You will linger in this grave, in Simon’s arm, to know only of him. And then, only then, will you be unearthed from the dirt.

In the morning, with the light, there will be a calmness that smothers all. A closing of a door that will never be reopened. There is no definition in past, only a resounding future, and you must take it—seek it.

“I love you,” groans Simon.

His words are what does it, that breaks the flood, and shows you the way forward.

“You’re mine.”

These words are not a groan, more a plea. You’re mine because he wants it so, and all you need to do is agree.

Mine.

Mine.

“Love you.”

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[cow-smells]

Perv! Sanji hc's

Word count: 710

Warnings: sanji being a major creep, dubcon, drunk reader, im not great at warnings so just know this has dark themes and if that's not your jive, its best to skip this one

A/n: honestly and seriously, im embarrassed to have written this. the character of sanji and actor taz live rent free in my head. it is an issue. i will be seeking council

He doesn’t become obsessed with you immediately after you join the crew. He’s after you the same way he is after any other woman, but the more he gets to know you, the less interested he is in other women until eventually, you’re the only one he sees.

And when I say obsessed, I mean the man is OBSESSED.

You could do no wrong in Sanji’s eyes. Every little thing you’d do, he’d fawn over and praise you for

It certainly didn’t hurt that you were receptive to his wandering hands when he would praise you

He took it upon himself to teach you to cook. Whenever you’d manage to improve your skills or make something tasty, Sanji would pick you up in an excited hug, he was so happy you were learning from him

And when he’d put you down from said hug, his hands always somehow found themselves on your bottom, squeezing, pushing you against him

The kitchen was his favourite place to be with you

There was a lot less space to move around than there was in the kitchen at the baratie, but Sanji didn’t mind; it just gave him a reason to have his hands on your waist anytime he needed to move you around – he loved how easy it was for him to control you like that

And whenever he needed something from a shelf above the counter where you stood, it was an excuse to cage you in, grinding his groin over your bum

Sometimes he’d use the fact he knew you were busy in the kitchen or someplace else on ship to allow himself in to your room

He’d smell your sheets, imagining waking up in them with you

Ruining them with you

He’d never leave your room without a souvenir

His favourite? Your used panties

He’d settle for a washed pair if you didn’t have any used ones but he just loves them used

It’s the closest to your cunt he could get right now

Sanji would spend those nights jerking off with your panties in hand, cumming in to them, thinking about you wearing them after

He once heard you whisper to Nami that you kept losing your underwear. Nami threw a glance at Sanji’s direction, but didn’t voice her suspicions

So Sanji learned to wash them and put them back, and it was actually nicer than keeping them. He liked thinking that you indirectly had his cum on your cunt

Any time Sanji would see you having any type of positive interaction with Zoro, the jealousy would send him up the wall

His frustrations would manifest themselves in extra-intense fighting with Zoro and being a lot less subtle with his perving on you

After he’d have a fight with zoro, he’d go to you for comfort

He liked to hug you from behind, acting upset and in need of your care, but really he just liked how you’d let his hands wander to your breasts

If he felt really bold, he’d let his hands snake under your shirt or your skirt

If you’d try to push him away he’d play up how distressed he was about whatever happened, he knew you have a soft spot for him, that’s why he loves you

He knew what your favourite dessert is and he loves making it for you. He may or may not have cum in the frosting.

He makes you cocktails all the time. He tries to get you inebriated because then you’re much more receptive of him sneaking his way in to your bed.

He knew you wanted him when you were sober, too, you were just shy and needed to be pushed in the right direction

He loves it when you’re drunk – he can kiss you all over, touch you all over, mark you up as his (which was partly for himself, and partly so zoro would finally take the hint)

And being drunk made you so cuddly. Sure, he was hot for you, but he really did love you and just loved having you wrapped around him

[saerins]

PREV: #005 THE ICE SURRENDERS 𖧧 #006: COMFORT IN FAMILIARITY 𖧧 NEXT: #007 TWO STUBBORN ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot going on in life. there’s a lot expected of you. both of you. sometimes love is all it takes. and sometimes, love is not enough.

content: itoshi sae x female reader. smut/fluff/angst. tw: making out, dry humping, oral (male receiving), profanity, they tiptoe around their awkwardness, lots of being needy, clingy, sae’s a little shameless & so are you. word count: 7.5k

༝༚༝༚ it’s finally here !! the next chapter haha to whoever’s still reading & waiting for this , thank you for still being here :’) i appreciate you more than you’ll ever know <3 also yay !! finally you’ll find out whether sae & bianca fucked :p (psa about taglist at the end of the chapter !!)

there’s something very foreign about waking up in peace. very foreign, but very welcome. 

sunlight filters nicely through the half-closed blinds of the guest room. the paint on the walls don’t chip, don’t leave anything for you to stare at, can’t wonder whether the paint job would come undone first before you.

the bed is soft. doesn’t have those annoying noises the springs make when you get up and stretch. the room is cold from the air conditioning, but the slight warmth of the sun that bounces on your skin is a nice contrast.

you feel light.

the events of last night leave much to your imagination. you have no idea if last night was too much, if asking for a kiss was too much.

but sae kissed you himself—it shouldn’t be, right?

you find you never quite know with him. you really should get out there and deal with it.

it’s 7am but something tells you sae should already be up. he’s a soccer player with a tendency to make the best of his days, there’s no way he’s not up and ready yet.

true to your guess, by the time you awkwardly peek into the living room, there’s a note waiting for you on the coffee table.

got a photoshoot till night, help yourself to anything in the house.

his penmanship leaves much to be desired, unlike the other parts of him. an indication of how little he actually writes.

sae could’ve just texted you this, but you guess even he’s feeling at a loss after last night.

which both of you think must be stupid; it’s just a kiss.

work is already settled for you. sumi offered to help you speak to mr tatsuji. the interview with sae early on really does work miracles. it’s so easy to curry favours now.

a three-day break from work because sumi thought you might need more time off so she conveniently told your boss that you’re nursing a fever.

where do you find friends like her at work nowadays?

you plop yourself down on sae’s leather couch, rife with the kind of comfort that’s alien to you. you definitely owe sumi one. sae, too. 

you’ll figure out ways to repay sumi soon. there has to be someone else on the team that you can convince for an interview under her name. you’re already calculating possibilities between oliver aiku and shuto sendou.

but as for sae, you find yourself drawing a blank.

what can you do for someone who already has everything? what kind of benefits can you extend?

you’re feeling even worse as the clock continues to tick, realising that you’d probably never be able to measure up to someone like him.

your feet carry you to the balcony before you know it, the chilly morning air hitting your face like the wake up call you need.

sae’s not really like anyone else you’ve known before. he’s a normal, sane-enough human—nearly the polar opposite of how eita is, though, so maybe that’s why your head’s devoid of ideas.

you groan, elbows perched on the wooden railing lining the edges of the balcony, palms pressed against your cheekbones as you desperately try to manifest an idea in your head.

he can lend you his shirt. he can extend a space in his house. he can give you that kiss he remembers you wanted.

but you can’t think of one measly idea of what to do for him in return.

you can think of one idea of how to get there, to get your answer, but you can’t shake the notion that it’s kind of stupid and kind of shameless. 

you juggle the degree to which each attribute bothers you and ultimately decide to just go ahead with it anyway.

“what is it, idiot?”

eita’s as friendly as always, on the other side of the line, voice a low rasp, obviously stirred from a deep sleep.

“can i ask you for your opinions?”

a sigh from the other line, as if he expects something completely stupid.

“yeah, sure.”

“and promise not to lecture me!”

eita pauses. you hear rustling on his end, probably getting up because he’s gotten curious and invested in the conversation now.

“depends, what the fuck did you do?”

he acts as if you’re the only one out of the two of you that does stupid, stupid things.

“nothing stupid, thank you very much.” (yet. possibly.) “but… do you have any idea what sae likes?”

it’s a long shot. a really long one. eita would probably have a better chance at guessing an AV star’s favourite dish. wouldn’t hurt to try, though.

eita makes a loud, confused noise. warranted.

you think.

“uh… i don’t know, bianca?”

a pause.

“i’m joking.”

it still hit your sore spot. the nagging reminder that there’s more to sae and bianca than meets the eye that just gets sprung back into the forefront of your temporal lobe.

“well, i’m serious!” you choose to ignore it.

another sigh from eita. you can practically envision him on his bed, duvet carelessly discarded to the side, scratching the back of his head.

“look, all i know is that he hates french fries and loves his routines, and oh, the only girl he’s ever admitted liking is momoko sakura.”

eita says it all in one breath and waits for your response like you’re supposed to appreciate it. the last one nearly made you vomit before you realise it’s a fucking tv show.

if you’re going to get help, you’re not going to get it from him.

“oh, he’s more of an ass guy than a boob guy, if you need to know.”

“what? eita!”

“i’m serious.”

you don’t really know whether you can trust him. even if you do, what the heck are you supposed to do with that information? jiggle your ass randomly in front of itoshi sae?

“thanks, eita.” you’re evidently bummed out. that doesn’t cancel out your actual gratitude that eita didn’t just hang up on you. you consider it a big enough surprise that he even tried.

“wait, why do you ask?”

his voice comes out all rushed, like he’s just now waking up and realising it’s not like you to ask him something like this out of the blue.

it’s probably not the greatest idea to tell him where you are and why you’re there, but you don’t actually like lying to your friends so you cough up the information without much persuasion.

“so what, are you guys a thing now?”

it’s fair of him to ask. you conveniently left out the kiss though, so maybe eita’s jumping the gun here.

“no, we’re just… getting to know each other.”

“uh huh.”

it sounds almost accusatory.

suddenly you don’t know what to say to the one you’re always talking around.

“well, if you need me, call me,” he says, more laconic than you’re used to. still, all things considered, you guess you can’t really blame him.

the discontent in his voice is apparent, the lack of intonation eating you up with guilt.

you retreat back into the living room, into the warm embrace of the single-seater, hoping that the softness of it would swallow the tornado in you up whole.

the rest of the morning is spent on your phone and laptop, between brainstorming ideas on what you can do for sae and replying to any of your colleagues who have no respect for the aspect of a time off.

after eventually deciding that nothing you think of can actually be good enough, you settle for just asking him straight.

yes, you’ll ask him later when he’s back and just be straight up with him about it. that way, you won’t waste your efforts on something vapid and sae would actually like it.

come afternoon, you dare yourself to fish out another shirt from his closet because you opened his fridge only to find absolutely nothing inside but a few bottles of salted kombucha. (which is absolutely not a qualifying substitute for lunch.)

it also won’t do for you to be wearing sae’s national jersey out to the supermarket and bringing more attention to yourself than necessary, so you tiptoe into his room even though he’s not there, in pursuit of a completely plain (or at least a more vague) t-shirt.

freely traversing his apartment like this makes you feel more than what you are, but you shake that thought away.

and there you were thinking eita was the one jumping the gun.

by the time the sun gives way to the moon and sae trudges his way back home—with a small spring in his steps that he can’t ignore—he walks into the apartment, reminding himself to say he’s home in the process.

it’s his first time coming back home to an apartment that’s not empty. it’s not something he thought he’d want to get used to. but knowing who’s on the other side of the door, he thinks it might be nice.

“hey, you’re back!”

there’s the usual uplifting lilt in your voice that he can’t ignore, can’t forget.

the sound of bounding footsteps that he can usually hear from the other apartments are infuriating but the ones that come from you makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker.

“hey,” he greets, the dull of his voice nearly being betrayed by the light in his eyes.

three seconds and you’re right in front of him, peering at him with inquisitive eyes. you do that cute head-tilt thing you always do when you have questions.

“what’s that?”

you point your finger in the direction of his neck, and he cranes his head toward the mirror hung on the corridor to see what you mean.

a big red lipstick stain on the side of his neck. or mauve, as the makeup artist calls it.

sae sighs to himself. so that’s what his assistant meant when she tried to call him back saying they’re not done with him yet.

“are you too eager to go home or something?”

that’s what she asked when he ignored them and left the set the moment everything was over.

“oh, uh, photoshoot.”

it’s always simple, his answers. what’s not simple are bianca’s natural reactions. he can just envision her face if she was in your position instead; the slight twitch in the corner of her lips, the pout that comes after to mask her disdain, the questioning to come.

that’s why it’s a built-in reaction for sae to elaborate.

“it was—”

“i see.”

you both speak at the same time. sae doesn’t know what to think.

the slight confusion on your face is represented by the raise of your brows, before it quickly gets replaced by a giggle, and then your fingers find the box of tissues and hand one to him.

“wanna wipe it off?” you ask. a simple question that makes him question a lot, actually.

only because he’s been conditioned to think all girls are a carbon copy of bianca behaviour-wise and you just happen to prove otherwise.

“oh! or did you want to wash up first?”

how long has he been standing there idly again?

sae just blinks as he stands in his doorway, stupid and dazed. he gets his bearings a few seconds later when you do that cute head-tilt thing in the other direction. he can’t stand seeing anymore of it or he’ll get an untimely reminder of how you tasted last night.

“yeah, i’ll go wash up, we can eat after.”

he still takes a piece of tissue without using it. he assumes you haven’t eaten dinner and only remembers he probably should ask first but he’s already closing his bedroom door behind him, his person of interest on the other side.

this idle state of confusion, of questioning his every move and every word; it’s not an experience he’s ever had before and he thinks it isn’t very pleasant.

on the field he never has doubts. always plan after plan, carefully crafted by the milliseconds. when something doesn’t work, he tries another. dribbles it past the troublesome one, pass it to one of his forwards. the one that can score.

it’s easy on the field.

easier than it is in front of you.

it still proves the same when he gets out of the showers, mind refreshed and vitality rejuvenated, only to come face to face with home-cooked dinner.

foreign, all alien, very welcome.

you’re rambling on about the three dishes you made and how you’re not sure if he’d like it. sae’s all in his head trying to think of excuses so that you can keep staying here.

for someone who’s spent most of his adulthood keeping people at arms’ length, your presence in his life now is half-exciting, half-concerning.

if he’s heard correctly from his assistant who nags him constantly about a possible budding love life at the height of his career, it’s how people get screwed over. how their plays get fucked up.

if she’s any reliable.

sae used to think he wouldn’t let anything come in the way of him and his career, because his career’s the only relationship he ever thought of having. until now. until you’re sitting on the side of the dining table that used to always be empty because he refuses to let anyone in.

until your smile paints the dull bland walls with colour for once and your food tastes unsettlingly like home. the kind of home he hasn’t visited in a while. the kind where it’s out of sight, out of mind that people don’t realise what they miss.

“how is it?”

you’re grimacing, like you’re expecting something bad. as if sae’s some sort of food critic. as if sae’s ever been anything but subjectively nicer to you.

“it’s not bad.”

really, he has nothing to compare it to. the last time he ever had home-cooked food was probably before he even started playing soccer. everything’s a blur when he tries to recall it, just the vague imagery of him and rin side by side with their legs dangling in the air of the high stools while their mother plates all the food he didn’t bother to memorise when he was, what, six?

he wonders if his brother remembers anything.

it’s enough strain on his mind that he’s finding this type of humdrum fascinating, when it’s with you. it doesn’t help that your hips brush when both of you wash the dishes together.

sae doesn’t really know what he’s doing and he only now realises that you went out earlier and got the groceries. he hasn’t thanked you yet, has he? should he?

everyday courtesy is lost on him.

it’s only after the dishes are washed and the countertops are wiped down that sae thinks maybe he should just express his gratitude.

“tha—”

“thank you, by the way.”

the both of you really need to stop saying shit at the same time.

you got it out first. sae’s such a loser. sae lets you continue.

“i know i’m imposing on you a lot, but…” your words get lost on you, and sae can sense the lack of explanation on your circumstances is a choice.

he wants to know you. there’s a stinging irritation in the back of his head knowing that otoya knows you better than he does.

it’s selfish. he knows. but sae’s always been selfish. in a sense.

“you can stay here as long as you need.”

it’s just sae’s pathetic attempt to ride on what you’re saying, to hopefully keep you here a little longer because somehow the walls don’t seem to suffocate when he comes back to you. the air seems clearer and the house becomes more like home, if he dares to say he knows anything of what that’s like.

he tries to gauge your reaction, trying not to crane his neck too far to the side to make it so obvious that he’s staring.

you’re comfortably perched on the couch, right next to him. there’s an annoyingly small gap in between you. he nearly misses the contact. your feet are on the cushion, hugged close to your chest, your eyes gazing at the little space of nothing between the air in front of you and his coffee table.

normally, he’d think that if someone extends an offer that they know you’d like, it’ll be taken without question. so he wonders why you still need to think.

his first guess is that you have a penchant need to not owe anyone anything.

his mind strays to how good you look in his other shirt. whenever you happened to take it. he’ll probably give you his entire closet if you ask for it.

half exciting, half concerning.

“thank you.” but you hesitate. you’re not looking at him yet. sae takes full advantage of that to look at you. at every smidge of movement in the muscles of your face. how your brows furrow half-heartedly, how your lips are pressed into a firm line.

he really wants to see your lips. want to taste them again. even if it means he has to go to bed and groan into the pillow instead of your mouth.

you give him what he wants when you start to speak again.

“is there anything i can do to repay you?”

there’s really no need.

sae shakes his head. “it’s fine, you don’t need to do anything.”

there’s a crease between your brow bones that beg to differ.

“no, really, i mean it. is there anything you need? anything you want me to do?”

there’s a really long, awkward pause as sae struggles to process your simple question. his adam’s apple bobs up and down. the walls and his glass windows start their suffocation game once more.

sae’s not sure you want him to tell you what he wants. he’s a visual thinker; and his mind isn’t anywhere but in the gutter.

between having a long day doing a photoshoot that doesn’t even interest him and having a female model as his partner when he keeps comparing her to you, sae can’t really keep it together after more than twenty years of keeping to himself.

he already has one of the couch pillows on his lap, just in case.

it’s already coming in handy thanks to what he’s thinking about.

sae shakes his head. “really, it’s fine.”

he’s half praying that you’ll just let it go so he can go back into the confines of his own room, feeling guilty that he’ll have to help himself to the thought of you but soothing his frustrations anyway.

the other half of him is praying for just you.

and that’s the part that’s alarming to him.

he nearly loses it when you shift, your elbow resting against the back of the couch, body turned to face him as if he hasn’t had a good enough look in his imagination that you have to bring it in real life.

yeah, he’s blaming you. because his brain’s short-circuiting and his synapses are failing him and he can’t seem to get his fucking eyes off of your lips.

he feels nearly shameless for staring at you point blank.

sae doesn’t know what expression you’re wearing now. he’s not sure he wants to know. are you offended or do you feel the same way you felt last night?

feelings can change like the season. or so he’s heard.

your voice is murmured; his thoughts are in the foreground. you say something along the lines of “what do you want, sae?” and he doesn’t have any of the carefully constructed self-control he’s had over the past few years.

so easily undone just by your mere presence.

“you.”

sae says that without thinking. it’s a chore, thinking. he keeps bouncing between shoulds and should-nots and it’s really fucking irritating.

“kiss me,” he tells you, more outright.

if you can tell him such a thing, you won’t punish him for saying the same, right?

here’s the spoiler: you don’t.

another spoiler: you feel like you’ve been waiting for him to tell you that all night.

barely a second into his request and you’re already fulfilling it. sae’s hand curves behind your neck, his calloused palm delicately placed on your skin. the other hand that’s free decides to pull you in, make it so you’re straddling him.

fuck, when did he get rid of the pillow?

your groan is enough indication that you feel him under you. the way he’s so stiff right now is nearly painful, only because the need it feels him with surpasses any sort of need he’s ever had.

both of you are half kisses and half pants. sae has no choice but to tip his head backwards as you roll your hips against his.

“shit,” he hisses, the hand on your neck crawling upwards to grab a fistful of your hair and tug it downwards. it doesn’t affect your hips in the least. why would it?

his other hand grips onto your waist, like he has to do that to make sure you stay there, make sure you keep moving against him. his eyes practically roll into his head, the sounds he’s so shamelessly making betraying any sort of stoic that he used to have in front of you.

a soft chuckle escapes you, and he pries his eyes open just to stare. the tilt of your face, the way your eyelashes brush against each other, that bite of your bottom lip—you’re a delicacy wrapped in his dreams.

“you’ve been thinking of this, huh?”

there’s a blush on his cheeks that he doesn’t let you see, releasing your hair and immediately letting his lips land on your neck. 

it feels nice to make you sound as undone, as needy as he is.

your chest pressed against him doesn’t do much to ease the tightening in his sweatpants. you still haven’t stopped rolling your hips.

right now it looks as if you’re the one with the better stamina.

his teeth latches onto your neck, head bowed, leaving a mark while you have to tell him to ease up a little on it. he’s learning.

he tries again.

better this time, from your lack of feedback.

“i hate what you do to me.” he sounds so stupid, so lost. it’s the vulnerability that’s annoying.

you try to catch your breath as he leans back against the backrest, both of you a bundle of nerves all out in the open. his hair’s mussed, but so is yours. sae’s still hard as fuck, a wet spot already formed on his regrettably light grey sweatpants.

maybe it’s your instinct that tells you to ask him your next question.

“have you ever done this before?”

you fail to clarify what this is, but if sae’s adept enough, you mean making out, and whatever else could happen after. humping. blowjobs. sex.

they’re all the same to sae either way.

“no, never.”

he’s still breathless.

you were halfway to catching your breath, but his admittal takes another pocket of air out of your lungs.

to sae, the silence that follows is painfully awkward. he’s good at guessing what players think on the field, but he’s an absolute goon at trying to guess what the girl he’s interested in is thinking when he just basically admitted he’s a virgin in all romantic aspects.

the only person that came close was bianca. and even then all they did was kiss.

this is the first time he’s ever wanted more.

“i don’t,” he pauses, his eyes momentarily fluttering shut as he thinks of ways to express this animal need to have you. “i don’t want you to repay me with anything.”

you settle your forehead on his, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. your breathing’s even. it helps him even his out too.

“but if you ask me what i want.” sae takes his time to shift his gaze towards you. your lips, your eyes. you’re so pretty it should be an insult to everyone else. “i want you to be my first.”

it sounds so fucking corny that a small part of him is shrivelling inside. it can’t believe he said something like that. he would’ve cringed if he heard it in movie theatres.

see how pathetic you make him feel?

“your first… what?”

he wants to chuckle. he knows you know. you’re probably being a little shit by asking him to admit it. but even so, he’ll give in to you.

because it feels right.

“everything.”

it could be that you don’t know what to say. it could be that you’re too eager. sae wouldn’t know.

but the way you kiss him next, the way you guide his hands under your shirt (it may as well be yours now), it knocks all wind out of his lungs, all the sense out of his brain.

for the first time, sae finds his hands on your bare chest. it makes a noise come out of him, one that’s equally greedy and needy. he gives it a squeeze, make sure you pay him one back.

your lips are on his lips but by now you’re barely kissing, more open panting and desperate hands pawing at each other.

he takes your nipple between his fingers, giving it a light pinch. your back arches, a sinful sight in front of him, one that he’ll probably have to use for a while if you’re not around.

how can one person have this much control over his desires? that’s a foul.

your hips resume their rolling just for a little bit only for them to stop when you pull back. your hand is on his chest, lips shiny from being subject to his mouth. sae already wants to touch you some more, both his hands relegated to his sides.

“i wanna suck you off.”

you say that so casually that sae’s doing the blushing for you.

if it’s even possible, he gets even harder, and you take the twitching you see as a yes.

you get on your knees in front of him, sat in the spot between his legs, knees folded against the cold floor. sae grabs your wrist before you can pull his pants down, committing himself entirely to the moment.

“take your shirt off first.”

yeah, that request—demand?—shouldn’t roll so easily off his tongue. yet here he is, letting it. the wet patch on his pants is shameful enough. what else does he have to lose?

he finds it near endearing that you don’t hesitate to pull his shirt off over your shoulder. sae’s eyes drag shamelessly over your breasts as he takes in the view. he nearly fails to stop himself from telling you to suck his dick already because it’s getting harder to ignore the wanton need it has for you.

nothing else has to be said.

you divest him of his sweatpants, his cock hitting his shirt as it springs free, near the spot around his bellybutton, the wet patch spreading on his old jersey. you’re looking at his cock, then looking at him, then back at his length—it makes him nervous.

the moment you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft, he sucks in a sharp breath, head tilted towards the ceiling. it’s different than when he touches himself.

your fingers are smaller, more delicate than his. it feels good. feels even better when you give his tip a little kitten lick, and he’s almost sure you’re just experimenting now, just checking how he’s reacting to every single gesture.

sae’s doing everything in his goddamn power to keep it all together.

he can’t even look at you. that’s a sure fire way to end everything the moment he does.

a strained groan leaves the back of his throat as you pump his cock painfully slow. he doesn’t know if this is the norm. if it is, he hates it.

then comes what he’s been imagining: your tongue flat on his length, licking a stripe up his cock, your hand around it pumping a little bit quicker, still as gentle.

“shit, that feels good,” he finds himself admitting without much thought.

is he supposed to have any thoughts when you’re blowing him so impossibly good like this?

you don’t say much, and you can’t, not when your mouth slowly wraps around his cock and his tip starts hitting the back of your throat. your rhythm is steady at first, like it’s a tease, like it’s just a hell of an opening act.

sae’s hips start to buck upwards into your mouth, and you take it expertly. he dares himself to look at you when you start moaning around his cock, the sight of you so saccharine, so indulgent.

and then yep, there it is, the way his self control gets shredded into pieces, in the form of thick white ropes of cum in your mouth as he groans in resignation.

his eyes are still on you, this time he doesn’t want to look away anymore. he watches you as you swallow his cum, licking his tip just to watch him shudder in pleasure as he gets subjected to the slight over sensitivity.

your breasts still look beautiful. he still wants to play with them.

sae finds that maybe his courage got lost with his cum. it takes everything in him to pull you up onto the couch, this time back in your original position next to him. he kisses you, a blatant disregard for tasting himself on your tongue.

it catches you by surprise, he can tell. if the little squeal in your throat is any indication.

“i’m starting to feel like we’re in one of those landlord-tenant situations.” you’re probably joking. just like you always like to when there’s an awkward silence.

sae doesn’t really feel awkward though. so maybe this is something else.

“well, i mean, if that’s what you’re into.”

you playfully shove him away, rolling your eyes as you tug his shirt back on over yourself. a smirk finds its way onto your face.

“you’re still horny?” a rhetorical question. it’s only asked because sae’s still hard.

his walls are wider than it’s ever felt. than it’s ever been. than it’s ever allowed to be.

sae pulls his pants back on, eyes on you as you take mini steps towards his side of the apartment.

“what do you expect when that’s the best i’ve felt in my life?”

you stifle a laugh when even with his pants on, his tent is still so obvious.

you must be feeling a little bold, because you open up his bedroom door by yourself, giving him a look that he can only equate to come hither.

oddly, he doesn’t feel any sense of shame when his feet carry him to you. when his hands tug you into his room, when your feet tumble against one another’s and you end up on top of him on the bed.

he feels no shame letting you blow him again. he feels no shame letting you swallow all of him for the second time tonight.

there’s only a split second of bashfulness when he asks you to sleep with him. in the literal sense.

but you don’t see anything wrong with it. you don’t say anything. you don’t agree, you don’t reject. you only give a weak laugh as you lay beside him, his hair messed up to fuck and laying there questioning where all his stamina went.

you fall asleep within seconds, just laying there on your side of the bed.

sae takes one more chance at being shameless, wrapping his arm around your torso, letting himself fall asleep.

sae’s a winner.

he has a track record of all wins in all matches. he’s excellent at what he does. the calm and composed one. the one who has his shit together.

but right now he feels like a total loser.

sae brisks out of his bedroom, wondering if you treated him like a one night stand. even if he didn’t stick it inside you. even if he barely got a chance to help you.

jumping the gun, maybe, but he’s already thinking of ways to convince you that it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.

his brisk walk turns slow when he realises you’re just washing up in the guest toilet, an embarrassment hanging over his head at his slight overreaction.

when you waltz out of the bathroom, sae’s quick to act normal. can’t let you see any of his shortcomings just yet.

you spend yet another day at his apartment. this time, sae’s right there with you. doesn’t have to conform to any schedules, doesn’t have to wish the girl he’s spending time with is you.

because it is you.

turns out you also want to get to know him.

you open the windows and try meditating with him. the morning yoga comes right after.

“you really do this every morning?” you ask him while your body tries to adjust to the downward dog.

sae tries not to laugh.

“mhm.”

he runs slower than his usual speed later in the park. doesn’t want you to quit on him before you’ve even begun. you can only make it half his usual route and he acts like it’s normal, tells you you’re already very good.

sae squeezes in questions whenever he can.

slowly, at first. stuff pertaining to you and otoya’s friendship. stuff like university and middle school and how you slapped otoya he nearly quit being your friend.

you’re an open book when it comes to friendship.

you admit what you had with otoya was just physical, admit that you’ve never tried anything more, that it was a stupid phase and he’s really just a friend.

sometimes sae can’t help but wonder whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

he starts to ask about stuff you like when you’re preparing lunch together. he learns a little more about you the same time he’s learning how to chop vegetables right.

it’s harder than he thought.

both of it.

you used to like baking. you made some money with it. you love the smell of home cooked food and you’ve always wanted to try that bar you’ve heard about that serves killer sushi and is housed at the top of a skyscraper.

by the time sunset hits and the river that’s sold as part of his apartment’s view starts shimmering with the orange hue, he touches on the topic of your family.

that one, you’re not so keen about.

sae can tell from the drop of your smile and the light fading from your eyes. he tries to ignore it but he’s curious. aren’t they fundamentally who made you what you are?

he can’t help himself.

between the silences, all either of you can think about is what is this thing, between the two of you? but neither of you have the balls to ask.

the day is almost perfect.

sae doesn’t feel like he is who he always thought he was. he doesn’t feel like the revered soccer player that nearly everyone knows. he doesn’t feel like he has any larger-than-life obligations.

if this is what a normal day feels like between normal people, then he thinks maybe this is what he wants. the feel of you by his side, doing things together or even just existing.

there’s a calm you bring that he can’t find in anyone or anything else.

it’s different than the kind of serenity playing soccer gives him, but it makes him addicted all the same. his mind chants the same mantra the whole time—he wants you. just you. only you.

dinner’s ready and sae’s hungry. your stomach’s growling too, just as it was about half an hour ago. he’s placing the dishes on the dining table while you excuse yourself to check on your messages.

something about how your colleagues have no sense of personal space. something like that.

he expects to see you bounding out of the corridor as usual, a little hop in your footsteps. a hum to a tune he thinks you make up.

instead, what he gets is the heavy trudging of the heels of your feet, the same kind he gives oliver when he’s weary and groggy and just wants to go home instead of getting another drink.

sae’s a quick learner. he really is. he learned how to talk to you, learn more about you. he can learn how to tiptoe around subjects you don’t feel up for talking about.

but there’s this mulishly desperate part of him that aches to know more about you. especially when your expression shows a side of you he’s never seen.

he feels on edge. he feels out of the know. he feels like he has to know.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

your bag is looped around your shoulder, the frustration on your face eking into every part of your body. your movements are erratic, your arms swing by your side. it takes you too long to find your shoes in the genkan.

“nothing, i have to go.”

your voice quivers like you’re trying not to break. sae’s heart doesn’t know how to feel about that. his hand reaches out before he can consider alternatives. it wrestles to take hold of your wrist but you pull it away before he can get a firm grip.

“y/n, tell me.” he’s nearly pleading with you this time, his feet heavy in the entryway.

all he knows is that he doesn’t want you to go. doesn’t want you to feel however you’re feeling alone.

but he doesn’t know a thing about you when it comes to whatever this is. and where the walls expanded, they crash down all over him the same. you’re shutting him out, a punishment that he was pardoned off all along until this moment.

when you don’t say a word, just stand with your back facing him as you struggle to put your shoes on right, sae tries again.

his head doesn’t know when to tell him that enough’s enough. doesn’t know the little nooks and crannies of you that prefer to be left alone sometimes.

“oh my god, what do you want?”

this time, you turn around and face him, and he’s not quite sure how to process the fact that there are already tear streaks on the side of your face.

“tell me what’s going on, let me help you.” sae’s not sure either how he managed to say that without choking on his words. he’s a mix of fear and concern. like if he says a single thing wrong and you’ll slip away forever.

his words make your heart ache. they do. because you want to believe that. you want to believe he means it. but the excessively distrustful part of you, the one that remembers baring your heart out to your partner only to have it flipped around on you is the one that’s ruled your mind since the relationship ended.

protect yourself. even in the wrong ways. just leave them before they get to leave you. disappoint them before they get a chance to do that to you.

a scoff leaves your throat, more harsh than you intended it to be.

“help me? itoshi, you barely know me.”

your heart drops. you’re sure sae’s drops further. the words come out of you uncontrollably.

you’re sorry. very sorry.

“what can you help me with, huh?” the slight upturn on your lips is all sneer and vile and nothing nice.

sae only hears you out.

you wish he somehow hears the words you’re thinking instead of what you’re saying.

you’re sorry.

“listen, you’ve been very nice to me, thanks. i’m pretty sure there are lots of other girls out there more deserving than me, so really, i’m grateful that you wasted a couple of days on me.”

sae’s expression doesn’t change. a subtle mix of confusion and heartache and you want to kill yourself for being so stupid.

“but we’re nothing to each other, okay? we’re barely even friends! you don’t need to concern yourself about me.”

it’s like you can feel the effort that’s waiting to pour out of him. the kind that would threaten you to take a step back and pour your heart out instead of letting your sharp tongue loose.

you can’t risk that. you don’t think you can.

“the jig’s up. i tried making friends with you so i could get more scoop, okay? it’s easier for you to approve it if you like me. that’s all there is to it. so please, i’m begging you,” you pause, the words catching in your throat because you could never mean them. “please just leave me alone.”

that seems to do it.

the effort that was waiting to pour out feels like it stopped. sae doesn’t have any other words to say. he doesn’t waste his energy on stopping you as you leave the apartment, letting the heavy mahogany close behind you naturally.

you don’t look back.

sae doesn’t look away.

it’s foolish of you to think that an escape with sae could help. it puts things off. it doesn’t help. nothing does. you should’ve known better by now.

you rush out of his building, a haze of gormless mixed with desultory. you don’t notice anything or anyone else. not even the figure that stares at you in shock as you exit the lift.

these two days were the best days of your life.

now it’s time to wake up.

she’s both the reason and the bane of your existence. 

your mother desperately points towards you when you make your way towards your front door. she has absolutely no qualms about giving you up just so she can see another day.

there’s multiple men by your front door. big, burly men. a lean, muscular one stands in the middle, his hand holding a fistful of your mother’s hair.

it’s the first time you’ve seen them. you’ve lost track of how many loan sharks your mother knows.

it takes nearly half an hour and half a million yen to shut them up and get them on their way. not without the leader among them giving you a kiss on the cheek and a warning that you won’t get to save your mother so easily the next time.

pervertic. that’s what you think his thoughts are.

usually you’re magnanimous. you’d let your mother get a word or five in before you give up on listening. tonight, you’re not so.

she’s just ruined your perfectly constructed dream day with someone who seems so foolishly earnest you nearly feel bad for him having to associate with someone like you.

someone with problems like this.

you walk the same path. you lock your own door and slump onto your own bed. you can hear the annoying springs and the chip of the paint surrounds you. right now you’re coming undone faster than the paint.

it isn’t raining but you wish it is. maybe it’ll be easier to drown out the noise of you crying. right now you’ll have to settle for burying your head in your pillow, the only comfort of your earlier time spent with sae arrested in the confines of his shirt you wore home.

a call comes in and you forget to check who it is. you pick it up without much thought.

if it’s sae you’ll just hang up. he shouldn’t have to associate with someone like you. someone who’ll only bring him problems.

but it’s not sae.

“oi, idiot.”

you’d recognise the voice of your best friend anywhere, through any medium.

you don’t say anything. you can’t, really. not when both your nostrils are blocked and if you open your mouth you’d just make an insufferably pained noise.

eita doesn’t say anything for a while either. he only hears the slightly muffled sound of your sniffing. it takes him only a second to extend himself.

“spare key still under the vase?”

you let out a noise of acknowledgement. he’s your best friend. he knows how to tell apart your responses by noise. he should understand.

he does.

you hear the familiar sound of his kawasaki revving to life.

“wait for me, okay?”

you do. only because you can’t sleep and eita likes to speed. he’s good at riding his bike so you’re never worried. he makes it there faster than you think he ever did.

there’s no shrill nagging when he unlocks the door. your mother must either be asleep or she’s already off trying to make your life more of a living hell. either way, it’s good she’s not here.

fuck her.

when he comes through your door, his own set of keys for your room nestled safely in his keychain, he doesn’t say a word. he only takes his place behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulder, resting his chin on your head as you involuntarily sob into his arms.

he doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t need to.

his arms are a comfort in itself.

it’s familiar. never foreign. never scary.

re: taglists — since it’s been a while, i’ll discontinue the old taglist & start a new one :) it’s cool if you don’t want to be tagged anymore ! if you still do, just let me know !! but please make sure you are 18+ and have your age somewhere obvious & visible on your blog <3

[be4chywritez]

Afterglow | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x roommate!reader

you have a big fat crush on your roommate

request: heyyy, can u do oscar or lando or max w 28 and 36?

prompts: “accidentally” locking other out. (they’re roommates.), and "Quit smiling at me, I can't stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that."

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list🐚

If you had told your thirteen-year-old self that your best friend’s really cute brother would one day be your roommate, she would have absolutely lost it.

But life works in mysterious ways. Oscar had always been a point of interest in your life—not just because you were next-door neighbors, but because you’d been close with his sisters. You were a year older than Hattie, and the two of you got along splendidly.

As university discussions became more frequent, you decided to take a leap, applying to the International University of Monaco. To your surprise, you got in. At seventeen, you packed your bags, said goodbye to the only home you’d ever known, and headed for a new life by the Mediterranean.

Leaving meant parting with your friends, your family, the Piastris—your second family—and the boy you’d secretly been in love with since you were thirteen.

Fast forward to 2023. You’re twenty-two, settled into an amazing job, and living comfortably in your lavish Monaco apartment. Your connection to home hasn’t faded—you still have regular calls with your parents and close friends.

During one of your weekly catch-ups, Hattie mentions that Oscar’s made it to Formula 1. You couldn’t be prouder. You remember her talking endlessly about his journey through F3, and you have no doubt that now, with him in F1, she won’t stop anytime soon.

After hanging up, you return to sketching prototypes for work, the details pulling you back in. So much so, you nearly miss the chime of your phone—nearly.

Glancing down, your heart skips a beat. It’s Oscar.

Hey, can I call you for a sec?

You hesitate for just a moment before typing back a quick Sure and setting your sketchbook aside.

Seconds later, your phone rings, and when you answer, the familiar sound of his voice sends a ripple of nervous energy through you. “Hey, long time no talk,” Oscar greets, his tone easygoing as always.

You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How’s everything going with you?”

“Busy, as usual,” he chuckles softly, and you find yourself fidgeting, your fingers lightly tapping against the sketchbook in your lap. His voice has always done this to you—made it hard to focus, made it hard to breathe, if you were being honest.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You’d known him for years, but now, with him on the line, your thoughts scatter. There’s a beat of silence before you speak again. “Hattie told me you got into Formula 1. That’s amazing, Oscar.”

“Thanks,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been pretty surreal.”

There’s another pause, a moment where you think the small talk is winding down, and you brace yourself for the inevitable goodbye. But instead, Oscar clears his throat. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something.”

You shift in your seat, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m moving to Monaco soon,” he starts, and the mention of Monaco—your Monaco—makes your heart skip again. “I was wondering… Would it be okay if I stayed with you for a bit? Just until I find a place of my own?”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter. Rooming with Oscar? The idea alone sends a jolt of panic and excitement through you. You’re quiet for a moment too long, and Oscar’s voice cuts through the silence.

“If it’s too much trouble, no worries. I can figure something else out.”

“No, no!” you rush out, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s fine, I mean—yeah, you can stay with me. It’s no trouble at all.”

The words leave your mouth before you can fully process what you’re agreeing to. The thought of sharing your space with him, being around him constantly, sends your mind spinning. But you can’t bring yourself to say no. Not to Oscar.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he says, his voice light again, like the weight of the request is off his shoulders. “It’ll just be for a little while.

“Yeah, no worries,” you repeat, though inside, you’re anything but calm.

You hang up a few minutes later after more polite exchanges, but as you set your phone down, the reality of what you just agreed to hits you like a wave. Oscar Piastri, the boy you’d been in love with since you were a teenager, was going to be living with you.

And there’s no way you’re going to survive this unscathed.

That was a year ago.

Oscar hasn’t left as he promised. Not that you’re complaining—you like having his company, and you’d say he enjoys yours as well. But you weren’t going to lie: your crush on Oscar hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown, expanding until it was something you could no longer ignore.

You’d gotten better at hiding it, of course. But there were moments—little, fleeting moments—when you’d catch yourself staring at him too long or feeling a spark when his hand brushed yours. And those moments? They were dangerous.

Living with him had brought its own routines, little traditions that had become your favorite parts of the week. Like Tuesday movie nights. It had started casually—something to fill the time—but now it was your unspoken ritual. The only complication was when Oscar was away for races, but even then, he’d FaceTime you, watching the movie along with you through the screen.

Tuesday movie nights had become a guilty pleasure, though you’d never admit it. You told yourself it was just because of the routine, but deep down, you knew it was because of him. The way he would sit close enough for your arms to touch, the way his laugh made your chest tighten. It was torture, and yet, you craved it every time.

And then there was the way he looked at you—so casual, so unbothered. He had no idea, did he? No idea how your heart raced every time he smiled at you or how the sound of his voice made you forget everything else.

You often wondered if Oscar noticed—if he could feel the tension simmering between you, or if he was just blissfully unaware. Sometimes, you thought you caught him looking at you a little too long, or that his teasing smile held something more. But you never let yourself hope too much. Not when he seemed so completely, utterly unaware of the effect he had on you.

And so, you kept pretending. Pretending that your feelings were buried, that living with Oscar was perfectly normal. But every day, it became harder to ignore the truth: you were still in love with him, and no amount of time or distance could change that.

It was another Tuesday night. Oscar got home earlier than usual, greeting you with a tired smile that made your heart do an inconvenient little flip. You felt oddly underdressed as he looked at you, even though you were in the comfort of your own apartment—cozy sweats and a tank top, nothing out of the ordinary. But something about the way his eyes lingered made your skin feel too warm.

You tried to shake it off, busying yourself by pulling out snacks from the cupboard for movie night. The crinkle of the chip bags was enough of a distraction—until Oscar walked back into the kitchen, out of his workout clothes and now wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt.

You raised an eyebrow. Jeans? For movie night?

“So, I know it’s movie night,” he began, leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the granite. You watched the way his fingers flexed on the stone, trying not to think too much about how good he looked—like you hadn’t seen him in casual clothes a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” you prompted, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you glanced up to find him already staring at you. His gaze was soft, but it sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

He rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. “Meredith from PR asked if I wanted to go for drinks.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you forced your face to stay neutral. You knew you shouldn’t feel this way—shouldn’t feel the sudden green wave of jealousy swirling in your stomach—but there it was.

“Oh,” you managed, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I get it. We don’t have to do movie night.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a small pout, and you had to look away because, God, that look was going to be the death of you. “I know you want to do movie night,” he muttered, almost as if he didn’t want to disappoint you.

You kept your eyes on the snack bags, pretending they were the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s fine,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You should go. It’s no big deal.”

There was a brief silence, one that stretched just a little too long for your liking. “Can we do movie night when I get back?” Oscar asked, and the hopeful tone in his voice made it impossible for you to say no.

You hesitated for just a second, your heart already betraying you. “Yeah, sure. What time will you be back?”

“Ten,” he said, and you nodded, already telling yourself that it was fine. You’d fill the time with work. That project needed attention, anyway.

Oscar smiled again, this time a little more relaxed, as grabbed his car keys and wallet. “I’ll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door.

You forced yourself to smile back. “Yeah, see you later.”

As the door closed behind him, the apartment suddenly felt too quiet. You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, and tried to push down the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting in your stomach. You shouldn’t care this much. He was just your roommate. Just Oscar.

But the pang in your chest told you otherwise.

You tried to shake off the unease, focusing on your project instead. Time passed in a blur of work until you wrapped things up around 9:30. Twenty minutes to spare.

You leaned back, glancing at the clock and then at your reflection in the nearby window. Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself reaching for your makeup bag. Just a little—subtle mascara, a swipe of lip gloss. You told yourself it was because you were bored. But deep down, you knew the truth: you wanted Oscar to see you.

A glance at the clock.

9:48.

You padded into the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard once again. You pulled out some of Oscar’s favorites—chips, biscuits, a pack of his beloved Tim Tams. You reached to the back of the cupboard, fingers grazing the last pack of Tim Tams, and popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

The machine hummed as the kernels popped, the comforting sound filling the silence. You found yourself glancing at the clock again.

9:59.

The popcorn was done. You set it on the counter to cool slightly, and grabbed a few blankets from the couch, arranging them neatly. Tonight was your turn to pick the movie, and you had already decided on La La Land. A few sparkling waters from your last grocery run sat ready on the table.

And then you waited.

You sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. The soft glow of your phone lit up your face, but the anticipation thrummed beneath your skin, distracting you.

10:15.

Your popcorn was cold.

10:25.

Condensation from the sparkling waters was beginning to leave small rings on the coffee table, pooling at the base of the cans.

10:30.

You sighed, the weight of disappointment settling over you. The TV screen remained frozen on the movie selection screen, your remote still in hand. With a frustrated click, you powered it off and got to your feet. Slowly, you folded the throw blankets, placing them back where they belonged. The cold popcorn went straight into the trash.

Sitting back down on the couch, you stared at the wall for a long moment, a heavy feeling growing in your chest. Why were you waiting for him? Why did it hurt so much?

In a snap decision, you stood up and walked to the front door. You pulled it open, crouching down to check beneath the mat for the spare key. Your fingers closed around it, and you slipped it into your pocket.

Oscar never bothered to take his apartment keys when you were home, always joking about how you had “Oscar tingles”—how you’d somehow know exactly when he was coming home and be ready to open the door. It wasn’t tingles at all, though. You just… waited for him.

Except tonight, you weren’t going to wait anymore.

After locking Oscar out, you settle on the couch, arms crossed tightly, trying to ignore the guilt creeping in. Sure, locking him out might have been petty, but he deserved a little consequence for coming home late. Still, your phone buzzes again—his name flashing on the screen.

“You locked me out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, debating whether to reply. After a beat, you type:

“Oops. Thought you had your keys.”

“I didn’t take them because you’re always here.”

You hesitate, knowing you can’t leave him out there forever. Letting out a sigh, you slowly rise, dragging your feet toward the door. When you open it, Oscar is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at you with that familiar easy smile.

He doesn’t seem irritated at all. In fact, he’s grinning like this whole thing is some kind of joke.

“Took you long enough,” he says, stepping past you with a shrug. “I was starting to think you’d make me sleep in the hall.”

You force a smirk, stepping aside. “Maybe you would’ve learned something out there.”

As he walks by, you notice his shirt—rumpled, his collar slightly crooked. Then, you see it: a faint smudge of lipstick near the edge of his neck. Your stomach drops, but you swallow down the sting, forcing yourself to play it cool.

Oscar heads for the couch, oblivious as always, and stretches out comfortably. You stay near the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze flicking over him as you try to keep your voice light.

“Rough night, huh?” you ask, eyes lingering on his collar and the mark on his neck.

Oscar frowns a little, looking down at his shirt before brushing at the smudge casually. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Meredith’s friends get a little… enthusiastic when they’re drinking.” He chuckles, seemingly unaware of the effect his words have on you.

You force a smile, your voice sharper than you mean. “Clearly.” You gesture vaguely at his collar. “Looks like someone really went for it.”

He glances down again, this time actually noticing the mess of his collar, and shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d care about my wardrobe choices.”

You laugh, though it’s hollow. “Oh, I don’t. Just thought you might want to… tidy up a bit. Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Oscar, still completely relaxed, glances over at you, confused but not concerned. “What wrong idea?”

You stare at him for a moment, caught between wanting to scream and laugh at his complete obliviousness. Instead, you force out a sarcastic reply.

“Nothing,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Just looking out for your reputation.”

Oscar, unaware of the storm inside you, smiles softly and turns his attention back to the couch. “Right. So, still up for that movie? I did say we’d watch it.”

You swallow down the surge of frustration, nodding even though your chest feels tight. “Sure. Why not?”

You head to the kitchen, not to grab the snacks you’d laid out earlier—those were already thrown out when the disappointment set in—but to busy yourself with something, anything, to avoid looking at him. Your chest feels tight, and your head is spinning.

You settle back on the couch with Oscar, and though you’ve tried to compose yourself, the weight of everything unsaid presses down hard. He’s right there—so close—but he might as well be a million miles away.

The movie starts, but you can’t focus. Your eyes flick to the screen, but your mind races. Oscar is relaxed beside you, oblivious, a faint smile on his face as he settles into the film. Meanwhile, the tension inside you is almost unbearable.

And somehow, despite everything, he remains blissfully unaware.

You’re about halfway through La La Land when you suddenly feel Oscar’s arm settle around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your skin, and for a second, it feels like everything stops. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and your heart skips a beat.

Without thinking, you shrug it off. “I, uh… I think I want some crisps.” The words tumble out of your mouth, and before he can react, you practically leap off the couch, heading straight for the kitchen like your life depends on it.

You tell yourself you’re just hungry, but your racing heart and flushed cheeks betray the truth. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the cupboard door, staring blankly at the shelves.

Suddenly, you sense him behind you. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You okay?” Oscar’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in it.

You nod, even though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Y-Yeah, totally fine. Just, you know… snack cravings.” You don’t dare turn around, because you know if you look at him, you’ll probably combust.

Oscar steps even closer, his breath now ghosting over your shoulder. “You sure?” he asks, his tone soft, as if he can sense something’s off.

And that’s when it happens. You can’t hold it in anymore. The dam breaks, and the words spill out, fast and frantic.

“No! No, I’m not okay! Because I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen, okay? And it’s driving me absolutely insane because you are so damn clueless and oblivious, and I thought maybe after you moved in, my feelings would just—poof—disappear, but they didn’t! They got worse! And then you come home late with lipstick on your neck, and your stupid rumpled shirt, and I try to pretend like I don’t care, but I do, Oscar! I really do! And you just keep acting like we’re—like we’re buddies, and I can’t—”

You stop, panting slightly from the rapid-fire confession, and that’s when you notice it.

Oscar is smiling.

Not just smiling—grinning. A huge, cheeky grin spreads across his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your face flushes even hotter, and you glare at him. “Quit smiling at me! I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

Oscar’s grin softens, but he doesn’t stop smiling. Instead, he takes a step closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue as he suddenly pulls you in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s not the gentle, tentative kiss you might have imagined. No, this is full-on, heart-stopping, world-tilting, toe-curling. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, and for a moment, you completely melt into it, into him.

But then, reality crashes back down. You shove him back, eyes wide as you remember the smudges of lipstick, the crumpled collar, the late night out.

“What about—what about the girls from the bar?” you stammer, stepping back, heart still racing from the kiss.

Oscar blinks, and then understanding dawns. “The lipstick?” He reaches up, brushing a finger over the spot you’d noticed earlier, and then laughs softly. “It was Meredith’s friend. She tripped, spilled her drink, and kind of… crashed into me. PR disaster, but nothing else.” He shrugs, completely calm as always. “I didn’t mention it earlier because, well, I didn’t think it mattered. Guess I should’ve explained, huh?”

You stare at him, still processing what he’s just said. The knot in your stomach starts to loosen, but your heart is still racing for entirely different reasons now.

Oscar steps closer again, his smile softer but unwavering. “You’re the one I want to be with. Not some random girl from a bar. Just you.” His voice is quiet, but there’s no hesitation in it. He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You feel your breath catch, the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for so long starting to lift. But instead of saying anything, you just stand there, staring at him, your mind a mess of emotions. His hand gently finds yours, and even that small touch sends another spark of warmth through you.

For once, Oscar isn’t oblivious. He can see the worry in your eyes, hope and doubt swirling in your mind. “Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand gently, pulling you out of your head. “It’s always been you. I thought you knew that.”

You blink at him, still trying to believe it’s real. But the way he’s looking at you, so calm and sure… it’s hard not to believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

[dreadsuitsamus]

i'm waiting for my state inspection and this mom is here with her baby and the baby is so cuuuuuuute, the noisy lil thing. and now i'm imagining single parent nanami in a similar scenario with baby yuji, and reader being the only other person in the waiting lounge.

kento gently shushes the boy in his arms, the little thing quickly growing into a ball of energy, even at only six months old. "yuji." he murmurs softly, fruitlessly pressing the baby's pacifier into his mouth. "please settle down."

yuji spits out his favorite binkie, waving his hands around as he babbles to his adopted father his woes. kento nods along with a sigh, glancing over at the only other person in the lounge. "i apologize in advance for any headaches." babies deserve their space in public, no doubt, but yuji is so loud that kento feels the need to at least warn you.

smiling warmly, you wave a hand. "don't worry. i raised a child myself for a time— i assure you, i'm used to it."

for a time? perhaps you're a foster parent; kento initially only planned to be as such for yuji himself, but the bond he formed with the pink-haired cutie quickly became too strong for kento to even entertain the idea of giving him up. "thank you for understanding."

"besides, who could possibly ever be mad at that face?" you coo, waving at an enamored baby yuji. his cheeks blush, the now bashful baby hiding his face in his father's broad chest.

"you only act shy around women." kento murmurs, brow perked as he looks down at his boy.

chuckling, you settle back into the nice armchair and open your magazine again. kento glances over at you as he swipes a comforting hand over yuji's back. feeling eyes your way, you look up to catch his gaze. he's handsome. and a good father, from the looks of it. "how old is he?"

"twenty-seven weeks."

nodding, you pick up the toy yuji carelessly throws to the ground that rolled to your feet. standing and coming to hand it over, your fingers brush kento's. "i take it he resembles his mother?"

kento wipes the toy on his shirt before giving it back to the baby. "i'm not sure. i took yuji in when he was just born; he was left in the cold with a note attached to him." all the note said was the boy's name, and that this was what was best for him. a little digging for further information only provided that the boy's two older siblings have been lost to the system, but kento is determined to eventually bring them all together again as brothers should be.

gasping softly, you take the seat beside kento. "he's been through so much, hasn't he?" you murmur softly, eyes soft as the baby stares at you with big, warm eyes.

"he has." kento mumbles, squeezing his son just a bit. "his spirits are high, despite that."

"no doubt because of you."

kento's cheeks warm. "... thank you."

silence falls, or as silent as it can be with a rambunctious baby in the room. yuji begins to whine after a point, likely hungry! kento swears lowly; he hadn't anticipated it would take this long for his car to be serviced, and that's where the baby's snacks are!

the usual routine of bouncing, tickling and kisses isn't working, and you bite your lip as you watch the struggle. a handful of years ago, you fostered a baby too and are more than familiar with this struggle. "... may i?"

kento considers it, eventually handing the boy over. perhaps you'll be able to settle him just long enough for kento to make a dash into the shop—

yuji stops crying the second he's settled in your arms, that little smile bright. returning his grin, you gently rub his tummy. "now, now... giving your papa such grief isn't very nice!"

the baby is putty in your hands, quiet and giggly and bashful as a conversation stirs between you and kento. an hour passes and yuji's fast asleep by the time kento's name is called, and you stand to walk with him to the car and carefully settle yuji in the car seat. kento straps him in, triple-checking each buckle and strap before he's satisfied enough to close the door.

"thank you for your help." kento murmurs, staring down at you and your sweet face. it's been some time since he's encountered a stranger as lovely as you.

"of course... and, if you'd like..." it's your turn to be bashful now, your eyes flicking from kento's to anywhere else. "um... i'd love to see you and yuji again sometime."

glancing at the soundly sleeping baby through the window, kento gazes back at you. "i— we would like that." his cheeks flush, and your giggle pulls the tiniest of smiles to his lips.

[jiminrings]

fail-safe; intermission 02.

wordcount: 2k

glimpse: you leave for the night, but hopefully for good in the future.

alternatively, jungkook offers you reprieve.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

You’ve come to loathe your childhood home.

You’ve come to loathe your room and most especially your bed. You’ve come to hate the people who inhabit it in one way or another, whether it is to guard the door to it or sleep on it.

You detest the floor space that makes everyone who enters it regard it as cozy as if it’s an embrace that’s waiting solely for them. You despise the way it smells, the mix of what lived-in comes off as a scent seeming like an invitation for just about everyone.

The start and end to everything that has caused you immense pain in your life had something to do with your home. From the evident patriarch that’s missing in all your family photos, to how the outside doesn’t seem lavish compared to the facades of your classmates’ houses, to even the visitor that has been hellbent since day one to treat it as his very own — everything that has given you grief comes from the same place you’ve sworn up and down gave you nothing but comfort.

You don’t know where to place all your rage; you can’t even start unpacking everything you hold inside because there’s no space in a house so little to even tolerate you. It houses everything from a past (you’re not so sure of the tense) lover to offspring of said lover, but what your home can’t do is bear you–

Which is why you find yourself driving up to the big city, crashing into a room you know the most outside of your own space in your own house, just to stay for the night. It’s maintained to the state of when you’ve last been in it, the sight of the city below you reminding you that even for just a second, you could pretend that it’s your own home.

It’s your own space in the big city where there isn’t a brother whose loyalties don’t lie with you. It’s your own home wherein you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s intruding on everyone else in there because out of all of them, you’re the one who’s the least-adjusted when it comes to family. You’re above everyone, even if it’s just pretend, and in your few moments of peace, it comes. The click on the door comes, and you freeze up instantly.

What you didn’t expect is for the owner of it to actually come home.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, immediately straightening up your form on his couch. You didn’t even dare to put up your feet on his coffee table but with the way you react, he’d almost think you defiled it in ways he can’t even imagine. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t find any vacant hotels that could take me in such a short notice.”

There’s no confusion in Jungkook’s face. Surprise, sure, because he’s not used to anyone else having his key except for you, and when his eyes did settle to the light, his shock immediately dissipated. There’s no hostility. No arrogance, and no hint on his face telling you that you were unwelcome.

If anything, he looks warm.

“Oh come on, Y/N. You can crash anytime you’d like,” he laughs loudly once he figures that your startled expression looks amusing, the sound of his keys hitting the bowl snapping you out of your daze. “God knows you’ve saved my ass and let me crash in your house far too many times.”

Jungkook takes off his coat and hands you his own house slippers, sliding them from underneath your feet that you’re adamant to not put up anywhere else besides the floor.

You’re relieved for the most part, the guilt that you feel in your stomach creeping into your chest because Jungkook looks relaxed. Nonchalant, even, to know that you dropped into his home without even asking. It’s the total opposite of what you’ve felt seeing Yoongi do the same to you, the lone difference being Jungkook actually wanting you to be here.

“That’s because I’m your manager. That’s literally my work,” you sigh breathlessly, accepting the meal that he gives you sheepishly. You’d have to share with him because he wasn’t expecting anyone, but oddly enough, Jungkook’s more apologetic than you are because he didn’t check on you during your break. Your talent’s sorry because he didn’t anticipate you coming to him, and it’s a situation you’re completely unused to.

You’re not used to being on the receiving end of apologies.

“No, that’s beyond your work. A friend would do that. A manager would rat me out to the CEO and give me an ultimatum,” Jungkook corrects you, flipping his hair that’s grown out since his last project. The break the both of you are in on is literally the first throughout your whole careers, and the sudden reunion reminds you of the fact that he is correct.

Jungkook sees the knot in between your eyebrows, the same one that always appeared whenever you had to chew someone out for messing up something on his agenda, the chuckle that leaves him making you look up attentively.

“You could use a drink. You look like you need it,” he stands up to pour you a glass of his favorite liquor in his favorite glass, the worn-out milk cup freebie of his cereal being the perfect container whenever he wanted to get tipsy but not drunk. “How was going home?”

“It felt bad,” you admit with no shame. It’s Jungkook, and even if he has more stuff going on in his life success-wise than you do, you don’t feel a need to prove yourself. “I had to leave early.”

“And how was seeing Yoongi?” he raises a brow, still adept to the stories about him whenever you both took a load off busy schedules with drinking.

“Even worse,” you grumble, shuddering at the remembrance of a memory that’s still fresh in your mind. “I had to leave early because he was on my bed again, but this time, sleeping with his ex-wife and his son.”

Jungkook gasps softly, lips parting open in shock. “The same guy who fucked his high school sweetheart in your room?”

“Get this,” you chuckle with no real humor to it, looking down on your cup with a hatred that he could recognize. He doesn’t see it everyday, most especially not from you either, but Jungkook knows that look — that anger that could only come from someone who had to endure so much. “High school sweetheart and mother of his child and ex-wife? Just the same person.”

You’re not sure if it’s pity you should expect from Jungkook. You don’t expect any grand reaction because he should be desensitized to points like these (he’s done his fair share of dramas, both melodramatic and straight-up cheesy), but what you certainly don’t expect is for him to launch himself at you. To comfort you.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles to your shoulder, large hand cupping repeatedly against your back.

“What are you sorry for?” you whisper, pulling away to wipe at the tears at the corners of your eyes before they get on Jungkook. You turn your head away, pretending that the city you look down on is Yoongi, and that the tears that pool onto your cheeks aren’t there at all. “It must be Yoongi’s birthright to go sleep in my room like he owns it.”

Your sarcasm can’t carry over not because you sniffled, but because Jungkook is perhaps the most observant person in the world after you. “But that’s not the worst, Jungkook.”

He’s nervous for a second before it turns into annoyance, the look of genuine concern filling his face. He has his hand on your forearm, trying to get you to look at him so when you do lie, he could catch it. “Do you need me to rough him up for you?”

“I have no right,” you mutter to yourself more than you do for him, kissing your teeth at the frustration that whatever it is to do, you can’t seem to pick yourself up now. “I can get angry at him for sleeping on my bed with no permission. I can even get angry at him for lots of things. For giving me this, this false hope that we’ll ever amount to something,” you shakily exhale, looking down on your hands that are far from Hyewon’s that have held him and their child. “But the one thing — the one thing I can’t get angry at Yoongi for is him sleeping with his family.”

You have no right. Absolutely no semblance, no fraction of anything that could ever lead you to the conclusion that you have a say on how Yoongi loves his family, even if he’s divorced Hyewon whom he’ll forever keep the porch light on for.

He can leave town and take his share, but Hyewon can always come home — that’ll never change because she was once someone whom he loved the most (probably still), and the mother to Haneul. The porch light is on and the windows are cracked open in the event that she wants to come home to them, be it their home in New York or Los Angeles, be it the home you grew up in.

“What can I do about that, Jungkook? I can’t fault him for that. That’s his family. I don’t play any part in it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” he soothes you, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Stop lying,” you cry to your hands even if Jungkook’s chest is right in front of you, the best he could do (the best that you allow because you’re not used to anyone going out of their way for you) only letting you cry the way you know how.

“I’m saying the truth,” he hums, unconsciously swaying you back in forth as you sit on the floor together. “People take so much from you, do you know that? Weren’t you the one that had to hustle and get a practical job because your brother was gambling on passion alone?” he tilts his head, wiping at your tears. “Weren’t you the one who had to carry all the hurt when it came to Yoongi?”

Jungkook even comes to a conclusion.

“I’m guilty of it too. I give you such a hard time.”

“Stop it,” you nudge him, effectively snapping out of your crying state when you hear Jungkook going into a train he shouldn’t even board in the first place. “That’s different. It’s literally my job to go through a hard time so you don’t.”

“But still. I feel like I don’t pay you enough for it,” he frowns, the immediate laugh that bursts from your lips making him smile.

“The agency does, but okay,” you roll your eyes. “Besides, the bonus you gave me enabled me to buy a new car.”

“Eh,” he shrugs exaggeratedly in faux arrogance, the smile on his face cheeky enough that it makes you throw your head back in amusement. “It is a nice car, isn’t it?”

Jungkook does it so quick, it being your reprieve, you don’t even notice that it’s the first long stretch of silence you’re under without thinking about anything but yourself; how you breathe, how you feel your fingers move, and even how steady your heart feels.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you smile softly, turning to him as he does the same. “For letting me crash and making things a little lighter for me. Even if it isn’t your job.”

“We’ve known each other for years,” he reasons. “You’re there and I’m there, even we’re not on the clock.”

There’s weight behind his smile, the inkling that pops up into your brain making you chuckle to yourself as you straighten up once again.

“I’ll get out of your hair in a few hours. I need to beat the traffic on the way back.”

“You’re still going back? This has got to be torture.”

You shrug carelessly, sighing heavily. “Three more days. My mom’s been blowing up my phone telling me she wants the family complete so she wouldn’t look stupid in front of everyone for this big family reunion,” you nod to yourself, building up whatever dignity and resolve you have left. “I think I can endure that much for her.”

Jungkook’s mind is as set as yours is to go home.

“You don’t have to endure it alone,” he offers, eyes wide and honest.

“What?”

“I’m an actor. Award-winning,” he adds, the smile that lingers on his face giving you more than just reprieve. “Even better than that, I’m also a good friend and an excellent debt-payer.”

“Jungkook,” you say his name as warning, partly in disbelief, and partly to convince yourself that he’s not thinking what you’re thinking.

“You’re a decent actress too. Just follow my lead,” he shrugs, shoving you lightly.

“You’re ridiculous,” you gasp, shaking your head adamantly. “Seriously, you don’t want to play any part in this chaos-…”

“I’ve been in worse settings,” he counters. “Stop taking shit, Y/N. Pretty woman like you doesn’t deserve anything of the sort.”

“Jungkook.”

He knows he already has you partly convinced when you let him get another word in.

“You and me, dating, driving back home. You can pretend you’re alright and unaffected with everything,” Jungkook grins. “We act it out enough, it’ll eventually come true.”

[belphiesreverie]

Hello! May I please request a platonic yandere Dottore? With a prodigy reader he came across at the Academia?

Take care!

Ofc, tysm for the request!! 🫶

TW: yandere behaviour, manipulation, Dottore himself is a warning tbh

Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. He’s absolutely plotting on how to convince you to join him the moment he sees your talent

He’s incredibly charismatic when first approaching you, knowing just what to say to get you to trust him. To open up to him about your struggles at the academia and keeping up with the demand at the level your teachers expect from you

He plays the sympathetic, understanding role well; you truly feel like he gets what you’re going through, the struggles of being put on a pedestal and expected to out perform yourself over and over. He feels like a mentor you can trust, or maybe even close to an older brother

And that’s when he proposes that you come work on a project with him instead. You don’t need the academia, he’ll provide you with a job. It’ll be low stress, working with someone you think you know well, and in a field you’re most interested in

It feels too good to be true, but Dottore assures you his offer is real. Has he ever lied to you before? So you take the leap and leave the academia to work directly under him

Dottore thinks that for a prodigy, you can be incredibly stupid sometimes

At first, the job seems exactly as Dottore had described it and you settle in quite quickly. He seems like a very understanding boss, and still just as kind as he was before you began working under him

There are a few questionable things about his lab that you start to notice as you spend more time there however

The other workers refuse to talk to you, some even outright avoiding looking at you, and the ones that you attempt to talk to too many times seem to get… transferred to another part of the lab

Sometimes you feel like you can hear screaming coming from distant parts of the lab, but Dottore always assures you it’s just your imagination, or the pipes making a strange sound etc. He always has an excuse prepared, but they seem to convince you less and less each time

There are security cameras in the rooms, which makes sense, but they give you a feeling of unease. Whenever you look up at them, it feels as if they’re always pointing directly at you, following your every move

Originally, you’d felt like you could bring these issues up to Dottore, but for some reason it doesn’t seem like an option anymore. It’s not like he’s directly given you a reason to distrust him yet… but you’ve just started to feel uncomfortable in his presence. What once felt like a safe space now feels like it’s constricting and oppressive

Dottore is no idiot, he can tell you’re starting to pull away from him. But he isn’t concerned. He knew you’d start to notice things eventually, it’s not like he was ever planning on keeping anything hidden. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon. Oh, but you are quite the genius aren’t you

He’ll leave you be for now, let you stew in your paranoia… maybe even feed into it a little bit. It is quite amusing to watch you pretend to stay composed. But the moment you start to think of leaving, he’ll step in to keep you exactly where he wants you

His word alone won’t be enough to quell you at this point, he’ll have to think of something more… permanent. But it’ll be worth it. He can’t have his favourite little worker running off on him after all, he still has so much more use for that magnificent brain of yours

[devildomditzy]

Mammon SFW A-Z

🎂Happy birthday to my beautiful jpeg husband

🎂 I ain’t even gonna lie this is so rushed 😭 but I wanted to get something out for his birthday in time!

🎂 This is more so based off of OG game Mammon and not Nightbringer Mammon

🎂 SFW besides some cursing

🎂 A-Z template by tumblr user @/the-coldest-goodbye

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He has a very hard time showing affection in a public setting. Even in front of his brothers, he sometimes panics - getting all red in the face - which usually ends with him denying his feelings for you or outright insulting you (why would he want to be with a stupid human anyways?, etc.)

In private, he is the most annoying motherfucker you have to peel him off of you most days. Earlier into the relationship, it was shy touches mixed with blushing. Now that you’re comfortable with each other, you have 0 personal space. Because hey, what’s yours is his - and that includes your bubble, right MC?

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

We already know the answer to this one, as he was literally written in game to be the ‘best friend’ archetype. Mammon starts crass and rude, acting like you’re a bother and he’d rather be anywhere else but next to you. Your friendship starts once Lucifer assigns him to be your guardian. Though he acted like he hated it, Mammon quickly became fond of you. Now you’re his inseparable partner in crime.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

The minute you are home from RAD and you both have changed out of your uniforms, he’s pulling you into his room, on to his bed, and not letting go of you. Sometimes he doesn’t even wait for you to change. He’s clingy, okay! Why would you wanna be anywhere else but layin’ with him?

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Mammon already feels like you are. His home is the HOL, with his brothers. And now, his home includes you. It’s his ideal scenario.

Plus he doesn’t have to pay rent.

He can be good at both tasks if he actually applies himself, but only seems to do it if you specifically ask him to. If Lucifer asks him to cook or clean, the room still feels dirty and everything is burnt. You almost think he does it on purpose.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Listen-

He literally couldn’t.

Once you and Mammon are together, he can’t see a future without you. He can’t see his life without you.

If it was ever broken off, it would be a scenario where he means well, thinking you would be happier or safer, generally better off without him.

But he is greed and even the thought of it upsets him to no end.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The boy cried watching Cinderella ofc he wants to get married! But he couldn’t imagine to whom until you came into his life. Something just clicked for him. You’re his best friend, his partner in crime, you’re his. I don’t think it would be quick, as a matter of fact he’s way too tsundere for that. But he’s sure once he’s ready, it’ll definitely be you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

It depends! So we know he’s the second strongest, so in that regard if he wants to be he can be far from gentle. But when it comes to you and his brothers, he consciously trying to be softer. Emotionally? Boys a wreck. A huge softie. Please hold him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Once again, please hold him. Even if he acts like he hates it sometimes, your hugs are something he looks forward to. When he feels awkward in public he’ll give you one of those weird barely touching you side hugs. But in private? Have fun trying to get him off you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

So we know canonically when this happens (I believe it was around end of season one of the og game?) and we know he says it plenty after that. We don’t have an exact way to know how much time passes between episodes, but you can assume it took about a year as that was the end of MC’s exchange program originally.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Ooooooooh while he may not be like Levi embodying envy, when it comes to you he’s ridiculously jealous. He’s your ‘first’, remember? If it’s something that’s making him jealous relating to his brothers (i.e. hanging out with someone other than him), he’ll pretend he doesn’t care to the point of being a giant dick about it, inadvertently showing he actually does care a lot.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Honestly? Most of the time they’re timid and shy. He holds you in the highest regard, he adores you though he may not show it very well. You still make him blush like crazy and his stomach still stirs every time he looks at you.

Other times they’re possessive and passionate, he is the avatar of greed after all. But really, his style depends whether or not you take the lead.

His favorite place to get kissed is the neck/collarbone area

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Another one we canonically know! He’s great with them. He probably the most emotionally intelligent of his brothers and actually cares greatly about the things that matter to him. His brothers and you are everything to him, but that little girl back in the human realm that he takes care of? She means the world to him too. He’d be devastated if something happened to her. Meeting you, the thought of having your own child pops into his head every now and again, and it makes his heart melt. But whether or not you have children is something he leaves entirely up to you, not pressuring or pushing you about it. All in all, he’s a natural at taking care of them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If it’s a school day, most the times Lucifer forces you both to sleep separately in your own rooms. He’ll knock on your door at the same time everyday to walk you down to breakfast with the others, and then off to school. It’s very routine.

If it’s a lazy day, or a weekend, he’s clingy. Have fun trying to get him out of bed, and if he has anything to say about it, you won’t be doing anything productive either.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

School nights are spent having to be separated most of the time per Lucifer’s rules which Mammon says are ‘totally unfair’ and ‘dumb’ and whatever other negative thing he can think of. But he’s going to call you. Relentlessly even, if you don’t pick up right away. He’ll talk your ear off into the night until one of you falls asleep on the other line of the phone.

Weekend nights are spent out on the town, he wants to go to places like casinos and The Fall, so if you let him drag you along too, he’s elated.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Since he puts up such a front with his feelings, it’s hard for him to get really mushy or personal. Once he begins to trust you more (and fall for you) the speed at which he tells you everything quickens, and he becomes an open book.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He seems to be easily angered by his brothers teasing him, but knowing him as well as you do, you can tell he’s never really actually mad at them. He could never be. The only time you’ll see him actually get mad is if something happens to you or one of them.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’ll pretend like he doesn’t remember every single little detail you’ve told him, but mentally he’s taking notes every time you open your mouth. He hangs off your every word, so he knows things ranging from general facts about you to your most deep, personal secrets. And he won’t forget a single word (even if he may act like he did)

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Mammon’s favorite moment in your relationship was your first trip to Devil’s Coast together. He’s honestly not even sure if you considered that a date, since you were actively looking for Lucifer and Diavolo, but he certainly does. No. 2’s commentary didn’t help at all. He gets embarrassed when he thinks about it, but he loves it all the same. He keeps the picture you took together in his wallet.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He was literally assigned to essentially be your own demon bodyguard, so yes, he’s very protective of you. At first it was because it was an obligation, then it was because he was intrigued with you, and it quickly morphed into because he’s in love with you.

He’s shocked anytime you stand up for him or defend him in anyway. He’s not used to his brothers defending him in conversations, and is surprised to see you do it. Honestly, he feels like he doesn’t deserve it because of how much he looks down on himself. And you’re this tiny human stepping up to the plate, sometimes risking your life for him? Honestly he finds it hot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

The most try hard that ever tried hard. Even if he tries to pretend what he’s doing for you is a favor, or the gift he got you was nothing special, it’s always something ridiculously couriered to you and your tastes, or something you physically said you wanted out loud. You could have said you wanted something three months ago. A year ago even. But he’ll always remember and always make sure you get it one way or another.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s literally the avatar of greed, so obviously there’s that. He can lose control sometimes when it comes to grim, or his obsession with both his belongings and with you.

But, I think Mammon’s worst bad habit is how negatively he thinks about himself. You’ll always need to check in on him from time to time to make sure he’s not spiraling in his mind. But when he does, you’re the best person to pull him out of it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s concerned to a degree being a model and all, but definitely nowhere near Asmo standards of vanity. He’s the kind of person who always looks good without trying. The most effort he’ll put into anything is his outfits, especially if it’s an outfit he’s wearing to go out with you. Besides that, he’s not too concerned.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

His world would shatter.

Now that he’s met you, and now that he’s almost lost you countless of times, he could never ever see a future for himself that doesn’t have you in it.

He doesn’t want any future without you in it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He goes through your things. With good intentions of course!!! Why would you think anything else??

Okay maybe at first it was to sell your stuff. But now that he’s with you, he only does it to see what you’re into at the moment so he can gauge the best gift he can get for you, or what date he can take you out to.

He lives for the sparkle in your eye that you get when he does that kind of stuff, so while not an amazing thing to do, his looking is not malicious.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t like people who are assholes for no reason. Sure, he can see why someone would act aggressively if he knows the why they are, but if they’re just doing it to do it or for some self serving reason, he dislikes them.

And though he is a model, he also doesn’t like people who are too full of themselves. He’s already got an Asmo at home, why would he need another one of em’?

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He is terrible at falling asleep.

And even worse at waking up.

He becomes accustomed to staying out late or just talking to you late into the night, so his sleep cycle is horrendous.

Once he does fall asleep, have fun trying to wake him up. We all know how great that went for Levi when he was trying to get his figure back :)