#pls listen to him he just wants to have a conversation with someone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 7 days ago

Text

El Cumpleañero | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~8.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

Tags: friends with benefits dynamic, jealous!javi (can't help myself), flirting, dancing, javi is a little ooc here but idgaf i need him (in my head he's a bit younger in this au), some untranslated spanish, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), back shots for days, a lil bit of exhibitionism on javi's part, creampie, one use of a degrading term (slut), some dirty talk, pussy pronouns, facial, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions of reader, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: hiiii everyone! this is my humble submission to @yxtkiwiyxt's never have i ever challenge with my prompt being never have i ever woken someone else because i was too loud during sex 🙈 kiwi bb tysm for hosting such a lovely writing challenge for us, i hope you enjoy this smutty fic! oh, and i am dedicating this one to @letsmeetintheafterglow, amorcito, you left such me a juicy request in my inbox for javi that i just had to write! so, i merged it with the challenge prompt 🖤 hope you dream of him tambien ☁️ also, i couldn't help but project my fantasy of wanting to dance to corrido/banda music with javier. i feel like he's actually a pretty good dancer! swinging ya around to the beat of the song with his hand at your lower back and a modelo in the other. ugh. the song la niña fresa basically inspired the nickname javi calls reader 🍓 and just sets the vibes, i think. as always, let me know that you think and thank you for reading 🖤

The backyard is buzzing with the chatter and laughter of what feels like half the town, the smoky scent of barbecue wafting through the air and the twang of a corrido blasting from oversized speakers, making the ground shake.

You walk through the fenced yard, the southern breeze grazing your skin as familiar faces nod or wave in passing. Your eyes scan the crowd, skimming past clusters of people dancing and conversing, all of them gathered to celebrate someone who swore he didn’t want a fuss.

Of course his family didn’t listen. They turned his “keep it small” request into a blowout, like they always do, inviting anyone and everyone. Not that he could stay mad—he never really does.

When you spot the man of the hour, the corner of your lips lift instinctively and your feet seem to move on their own accord, pulling you toward him.

He’s by the bonfire, the glow of the flames painting his chiseled features in shades of gold and shadow. He stands with his hip jutting out, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, sharing it lazily with two girls you barely recognize.

They hang on to his every little move, trying to soak up whatever attention he might spare. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed too many times, and you really can’t blame them.

You’ve been in their shoes (still are, truth be told), waiting for even a flicker of his focus to land on you, and you know all too well where that desperation led.

To his bed, on his tongue, his cock—you shiver at the memory, your nipples pulling taut.

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to try to make hearts ache; it’s just who he is.

A walking daydream wrapped in leather and indifference, with that devil-may-care grin that promises trouble and delivers every time.

You roll your eyes and huff sassily, detouring toward one of the coolers instead. You grab a drink, making polite small talk with a couple of acquaintances, though you can’t keep your gaze from wandering back to him.

He’s already looking at you.

It stops you mid-sentence the way his brown eyes are fixed on you, heavy with intention.

The cigarette is at his lips, the faint glow of its cherry pulses when he sucks in then lets out a ribbon of smoke.

He makes it look so damn hot, it’s almost enough to persuade you into picking up the bad habit.

The curly haired beauty next to him is chattering a mile a minute, but it’s clear he isn’t listening.

His focus remains locked on you, sweeping slowly—mischievously—down the length of your body. You can feel it, as sure as a touch, lingering at the deep neckline of your sweater then on the way your jeans hug your curves. It’s shameless, but that’s him, isn’t it?

Your smile tilts into a puckish smirk. Lifting your hand, you wiggle your fingers in a small wave.

It’s like striking a match. His gaze narrows slightly as if he’s trying to decide his next move.

He hands off the cigarette with a casual flick of his wrist and shifts his focus back to the girl beside him. She’s still rambling, her words tumbling over each other in an eager attempt to hold his attention.

He doesn’t bother pretending to care. Instead, he lets out an indulgent chuckle, shaking his head like whatever nonsense just came out of her mouth is equal parts adorable and absurd.

You almost feel bad for her. It’s hard not to fall for that sleazy charm—especially when it’s attached to a man that’s so fucking handsome.

When she swivels to chat with her friend, his eyes immediately find yours again. A cocky expression paints his countenance, one that practically asks: What the hell are you doing all the way over there?

You entertain the idea of making him wait, savoring the power in holding his attention hostage for just a moment longer. But who are you kidding? The magnetic pull he has over you is impossible to resist. It always is.

The small box tucked snugly in the back pocket of your jeans presses against you as you weave through the crowd, sidestepping a few overly tipsy guests and slipping past the fold-out tables scattered across the lawn.

“Hey,” you say, sliding yourself effortlessly between the two girls, not caring about interrupting their conversation. Immediately, their sharp side-eyes practically stab you with twin daggers of irritation.

You don’t flinch. You’re not here for them, anyway.

You only care about the pair of deep brown eyes that make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he looks at you. “Happy Birthday, Javier.”

A flicker of what looks like smugness and amusement crosses his face as he licks his lips, taking another measured drag.

He’s dressed in a variant of his signature look—a white button-up with a few buttons let loose to show off his neck and the top of his chest, despite the brisk autumn air, and a worn brown leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders.

However, it’s the ridiculous tiara perched atop his head that catches your eye, and the sight makes you frown ever so slightly when you notice the matching glittery ones on his groupies, like it’s some inside joke you’re not a part of.

For some inexplicable reason—it rubs you the wrong way. You can’t believe you’re slightly jealous of it. How stupid.

“Thank you, fresita.”

Ugh, that infuriating nickname. You’d been charmed by it at first, assuming it was something sweet and impish. It wasn’t until Chucho let it slip that it’s also used to describe a woman that’s spoiled and picky that you realized it wasn’t just affectionate; it was also dig at your finer tastes.

And so what if you are a little high maintenance?

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though he loves coaxing it out of you. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting a soft undercurrent of flirtation lace your voice as you ask, “Mind if I pull you aside? I’d like to give you your gift.”

His interest is evident in the way his brow raises and the girls bristle slightly, their expressions shifting to thinly veiled jealousy once they realize he’s no longer focused on them. You captured him the moment he saw you amidst the crowd.

“We were just finishin’ up,” Javi says casually, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. He flicks a glance at the two disappointed faces, his smirk widening. “Con permiso, chicas. Thanks for the smoke.”

As he steps away from them, you feel a little triumphant thrill surge in your chest. They look deflated, their pouty expressions almost comical as they watch him leave with you, muttering goodbyes under their breaths.

The curly haired woman stares you down, and you try not to let the smug victory of whisking him away be too obvious… though you can’t help but smile condescendingly before fully turning away.

“Some fan club you’ve got,” you tease once the two of you are finally alone, near the entrance of the sunroom that’s a part of the house.

He smirks, leaning against the siding and tilting his head, once more eyeing you down like you’re the finest thing he’s ever seen. “You jealous?”

You scoff, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Absolutely not.” It’s a little white lie, since you had felt a twinge of that pesky envy, but you don’t want him to know that. He’d either give you shit for it, or on the more extreme end, rethink this arrangement he currently has with you.

And you’d rather not lose it. Not right now, at least. You’re having too much fun letting Javier fuck your brains out on a consistent basis.

Slowly, you close the space between you, your fingers darting up to flick the tacky tiara perched on his head. “Cute.”

Before you can step back, his hands are on you—big and warm as they grip your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

The force of it has you sighing out in satisfaction. There’s something wholly fucking addictive about the way he handles you.

His hands know exactly where to place themselves, his fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure to set the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“No need to be, baby. You know you’re my favorite.” If your friends knew you were hooking up with the town slut, they’d definitely stage an intervention before you could finish your next sentence. Laying out all the reasons why letting Javier Peña into your bed was a one-way ticket to heartbreak city.

They’d call it desperation. They’d call it lowering your standards.

But what they don’t know is that standards start to feel awfully overrated when Javier has you pinned to a mattress, whispering filthy promises in your ear as his hands map every inch of your body. They don’t know what it’s like to have his full attention—his lips trailing worshipful kisses down your skin, his gravelly voice murmuring sweet nothings in Spanish that you don’t fully understand from how he slurs them together but feel all the same.

Being around him is electric, intoxicating, a high you’re not quite ready to give up.

So no, your friends don’t know. And as long as you can keep this thing between you and Javier your little secret, they never will.

“You gonna let me unwrap my gift or what?” His hand slides lower to cup your right cheek with shameless familiarity, giving it a frisky spank that makes you giggle.

This man and his obsession with your ass—it’s borderline ridiculous, and yet, you’re absolutely here for it.

“Later, maybe,” you reply with faux coyness, your finger dragging along his mustache then over to his pouty lips. He purses them, placing a kiss to the tip of your finger, “if you’re not too busy.”

His hold on your backside tightens, voice morphing into something more sultry, raspier, which is your absolute weakness. It makes your thighs rub together. “You know I always make time for you.”

You laugh softly at that. More often than not, you’re the one initiating while he only reaches out when it suits him. It’s not ideal at times, but you don’t get hung up on it.

You’re not about to ruin this by asking more of someone who doesn’t have it in him.

You reach back and pull the small box from your pocket. “Here’s your real gift,” you say, holding it out to him. Your voice softens, but there’s still a playful inflection. “Hope you like it.”

Curiosity fills those dark eyes as he takes the box, eyeing the tacky birthday wrapping paper with a soft smile. The sight of that grin on his face has your eyes morphing into hearts.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” you reply with a shrug. “But I saw it at the thrift store and just knew it had to go to you.”

You angle yourself to press a light kiss to the tip of his chin, your lips brushing against the stubble before you nip at it gently with your teeth. “Open it.”

His nimble fingers pull apart the crinkled folds of the wrapping paper to reveal the small box inside. When he opens it, you see his immediate delight, and your heart does a traitorous little flip.

The golden chain bracelet glints under the string lights strung along the roof’s edge, somehow making it look nicer out here than how it had been displayed at the store.

“Damn, this is nice,” he says, genuinely appreciative. The praise sends a faint thrill up your spine, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him lift the bracelet out of the box to inspect it.

You’ve imagined how good the gold would look while his wrist is flexing as he grips your thighs, holding you open for him. Or when he’s feeling you up, rough and greedy, fingers digging into your soft hips as he takes your pussy how he wants.

“Put it on,” he holds his wrist and the bracelet out toward you. His tone carries that easy confidence, like he already knows you’ll obey without question.

Which you do, obviously. You carefully clasp it around his wrist, your fingers brushing his skin as you secure it, and that little brush feels like you’ve just snorted a line of adrenaline with how amped up your body gets.

“Looks good on you,” you admire your handiwork, though the truth is; he’d make anything look good. Even a paper crown. Or, you know, a tacky tiara.

“Gracias, fresita,” he replies smoothly, that familiar nickname rolling off his tongue.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Nah.”

Before you can come up with a witty retort, he pulls you against him again, One hand at your lower back, the other tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s eager and completely unapologetic.

“Easy there, birthday boy—”

“Can’t help it,” he cuts you off, his voice rough against your lips. “Been waiting for you to show up all night.”

You can’t help but chase after that tasty mouth of his, your tongue licking against his, teeth biting into his lower lip and the slight tickle of his mustache makes you shiver. Then his hips grind against your thigh, his erection prominent, which in turn has heat flaring all over your body.

“Let’s go inside,” he breaks away, tugging you toward the small steps leading into the sunroom.

You weren’t expecting to fuck him so early on in the night but you’re not about to complain about it. Every fiber of your body yearns for this man—but specifically your cunt. She’s obsessed.

The room looks like it’s in the middle of a renovation—a man cave in progress.

One wall boasts an unfinished bar, complete with half-empty bottles and shot glasses scattered across the surface. A brand-new pool table sits in the center of the room, its felt pristine, untouched by drunken games or spilled drinks.

At the far end, a set of leather couches and a recliner face the large television set and entertainment center.

The double doors to the house are shut tight, leaving the room dim and private, save for the warmness of the string lights spilling in through the windows.

You’re caught up taking it all in when Javier sneaks up behind you, pressing hot, greedy kisses against your neck as his hands roam your body.

There’s nothing tentative about his touch—he cups your tits with both hands, squeezing them over your sweater as a deep groan rumbles in his throat. His need for you is palpable, a force that makes your knees weak even as he maneuvers you toward the pool table.

“Here, Javi?” you pant when he sucks at your weak spot under your jaw. “Let’s just go up to your room—”

“No,” he growls, spinning you around to face him, his dark eyes alight with lust. “Want you right here on this table.”

Before you can argue, his lips are on yours again. You let yourself melt into it, your hands reaching up to pluck the ridiculous tiara off his head and tossing it aside with a flick of your wrist.

His hair is soft under your fingers as you card through it, tugging lightly just to feel the way his body reacts, the way his kisses deepen in response.

When his tongue slides into your mouth, you surprise even yourself by wrapping your lips around it, sucking gently. You’re greedy and he loves it.

Javier’s grunt prompts your thighs to clench instinctively around him. His jacket hits the floor as he shrugs it off, lips trailing down your neck. You kick off your boots, his hands lifting you with ease to place you on the sturdy pool table.

Your sweater is gone before you know it. He’s in the middle of working on the button of your jeans, his fingers deft and impatient, when your eyes land on something that makes you freeze.

Or better yet, someone. There’s a figure slumped in one of the recliners at the far end of the room.

Your breath hitches, your body tensing. “Javi, stop.” Your words falter into a moan as his lips find your collarbone, sucking on your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, barely pausing as he tugs your pants down your hips. Despite yourself, you lift slightly to help him, even as you frantically nudge your head toward the recliner.

“There’s someone here,” you whisper.

He stops, his head snapping up to follow your gaze. His expression shifts into a frustrated scowl when he sees the figure sprawled in the chair. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling away from you and heading over to investigate.

You watch as he approaches, his boots heavy on the hardwood. It’s his cousin Danny, completely passed out, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open. Javier whistles sharply, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Nothing. He gives his shoulder a firm nudge once, twice—still nothing.

“Out cold,” Javier says, his tone both annoyed and amused as he turns back to you. “Took down almost a whole bottle of tequila earlier. He’s not gonna bother us.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the unconscious form. The idea of hooking up with someone uninvited in the room feels... complicated… exhilarating, maybe? You’ve never done it before.

But your reluctance evaporates the moment Javier closes the distance between you again, his hands sliding your jeans clean off, leaving you in nothing but your mismatched bra and panties.

He drinks you in, and the rest of the party—including the slumped figure in the corner—melts away under the weight of his attention.

No words are needed, not when he roughly tugs the cups of your bra down, letting your breasts spill free, nor when he dips his head, his stubble grazing your skin as his warm mouth captures one of your nipples.

Your breath catches, back arching your breasts into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue lazily circles and flicks over the hardened bud. Then he sucks harder, pulling a drawn-out moan from you before switching to the other side.

You bite your lip, determined to stifle the sighs of pleasure threatening to break. His knocked out cousin in the corner keeps you cautious, even as your body aches to let go.

Javier notices. Always does. He pulls away with a pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his pouty lips to your nipple. “Nu-uh,” he chides. “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m not trying to wake him up,” you counter, though your voice wavers from how good his mouth felt.

“You won’t,” he replies, almost dismissively, giving you a peck on the lips before he drops to his knees before you. He starts at your calves, leaving slow, deliberate kisses that send sparks dancing along your skin.

The faint scrape of his facial hair adds to the wonderful torment as his mouth works its way up, switching from leg to leg.

When he reaches the inside of your right knee, he kisses it almost sweetly, before dragging his tongue slowly in a hot stripe up to your inner thigh. You can’t stop the small shiver that ripples through you, your hands gripping the edge of the pool table for balance.

Javier finally reaches your pussy and you shudder as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed clit. The heat of his breath and the firm pressure of his lips through the cotton of your panties makes your back arch.

He hooks a finger into the fabric and pulls it to the side, diving in immediately. His tongue parts your folds, curling and slithering against your pearly clit before moving lower.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your hips bucking involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth.

He groans, enjoying how reactive you are, his fingers digging into the soft meat of your thighs while he holds you firmly in place. His mouth works with a singular focus, his tongue swirling and dipping into your entrance, then sliding back up to flick over your clit.

The feeling of his stupid mustache makes it that much better, scratching at your cunt lusciously.

You can’t help it now—a soft, keening moan slips out of you, echoing faintly in the dimly lit room. Your head lolls around on your shoulders as pleasure coils at the pit of your stomach, the tension winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

“That’s it,” he practically purrs. “Let me hear you.”

His lips seal around your clit, sucking gently, and you swear it feels like you’ve been possessed—holding back is impossible. Another moan escapes you, louder this time, your thighs shaking in his grip as he devours you.

Javi pushes you over the edge so effortlessly that a cry of his name spits out of your throat before you can stop it, cutting through the room.

You're grateful this area of the house is directed away from the backyard, where the party celebrating him outside continues on, oblivious of his absence as he indulges in you.

Your orgasm settles like a heavy current, fingers nearly going numb from holding on to the pool table for dear life.

You’re still disoriented and flustered when Javier stands, looming over you, cupping the back of your head and bringing you in to passionately make out.

His mouth is coated in your tangy essence, making you taste yourself as he slips his tongue down your throat.

You whimper, clawing at his chest for more and he pulls away to turn you around, manhandling you onto your stomach on the table.

His hands are firm yet impatient as he grips one of your legs by the back of your knee and hooks it over the edge of the wooden border.

Javi stares down at your sex, partially exposed and glistening for him. Your panties are askew, one swollen pussy lip peeking out while a dark, damp patch spreads over the cotton where his tongue had devoured you moments ago.

“Fuck.” The lewd sight has him hastily undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, his dick hard and ready to bury himself inside your sweet cunt.

Propping yourself up on your palms, you glance back at him over your shoulder, a teasing, blissed out smile playing on your lips despite the burning heat between your thighs. “I figured you’d want to savor me. Wait for later…” you coo, rolling your hips and causing your ass to jiggle, feeling giddy at how his eyes zero in on the motion.

“I savor you all the time, baby. Even during these nasty, quick fucks.” Him saying that has you over the fucking moon. “You can’t expect me to wait knowin’ this pussy needs me to fuck her real good.”

The hand adorned with your golden bracelet grabs your supple ass, kneading the flesh before landing a stinging spank that makes you jolt and let out a cry. The sharp sound carries, making your eyes flick nervously toward the recliner where his cousin still lies, unaware of the debauchery happening mere feet away.

Javier seems completely unbothered, casually toying with your panties as though you have all the time in the world. He hooks his finger into the soaked fabric, dragging it back and forth against your sticky folds, smearing your slick across your pussy lips.

Your hips move on their own, chasing the friction, and you bite your lip hard, trapping the needy moan building in your throat.

“Can I come over later?”

His question is so nonchalant it nearly makes you laugh, but the way he teases you has you too far gone to do so. You grind back against his touch, desperate for more, your lips parting in a breathy moan.

“Yes.” The thought of him showing up at your doorstep at three in the morning, bourbon on his lips, just for you to sink to your knees and take him down your throat makes your pussy clench around nothing, crying out for his cock as more of your arousal leaks against your panties. “Whenever.”

He hums in satisfaction, stepping closer and reaching for your jaw, tilting your head to the side roughly and meeting you for a kiss. The fabric of his shirt grazes your bare skin and he tugs your panties to the side again while his mouth continues to hold yours captive.

His cock nudges against your waiting entrance, teasing, the flushed head dragging over the fleshy cleft of your clit in languid taps.

When he finally pushes in, there’s no preamble—just the yummy stretch of him filling you to the fucking brim, shoving a strangled whine out of your mouth as he sets a brutal pace immediately, not giving you even a moment to adjust.

Your palms slip against the velvet of the pool table as you struggle to hold yourself up, but it’s no use. The force of his thrusts sends you collapsing forward onto your chest, scattering the neatly racked pool balls across the table.

They clatter and roll in all directions, but Javier doesn’t slow for a second. His grip on your waist tightens, forcing you to fuck yourself back on his dick.

“Shit,” he growls hoarsely, already breathless as he watches your ass bounce with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a loud fuckin’ mess,” he hisses, though there’s no real malice there—just straight horniness.

In one smooth motion, he grabs both your wrists with one large hand, pinning them to your lower back. He then angles your pelvis so that your clit is grinding against the smooth wooden border of the pool table while your tender nipples rub against the green felt.

The effects of that are immediate, your body feeling like it’s burning from the inside out. “Mmm, fuck yeah, keep doing that,” you moan desperately.

The raunchy sound of your ass clapping against his thighs fills the room, a filthy rhythm accompanied by the feeling of his heavy balls brushing against your cunt.

The noise feels impossibly loud, your whimpers and his grunts reverberating off the walls. Surely, his cousin will wake up—surely, someone will walk in on the shameless display Javier is putting on with your body.

Or maybe not, since Javier keeps fucking you all hot and wanton, especially when he hits your sweet spot and your ribbed, gushy walls hug around his dick like a vice.

Your forehead presses against the table as you chant his name, your vision swimming.

You try to glance toward the recliner where his cousin is passed out, but your eyes can’t focus. Everything’s a blur—two of everything, indistinct shapes swimming in the haze of your arousal.

The only thing you can truly focus on is Javier: the way his cock breaches your most intimate spaces, the heat of his body against yours, the sharp bite of his belt against the backs of your thighs.

You’re soaking him, ruining the hem of his half-buttoned shirt. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s splitting you open so perfectly, his tight grip on your wrists keeping you pinned and utterly open for him to take.

Your sore clit continues to rub against the smooth wood of the table, now sticky from how shamelessly you’ve been humping against it while chasing your pleasure.

Between the stimulation on your clit, the rough scrape of the felt against your sensitive nipples, and the relentless pounding of his shaft brushing your g-spot—it’s all too much.

Your body trembles, a loud cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm slams into you.

"Javi!" you spasm in his hold, nails digging into your palms as your wrists remain trapped beneath his firm grip. shoulders burning from his rough hold.

Your pussy clamps hard around him, wet and creamy as you come, soaking his cock and leaving no doubt about how thoroughly he fucked you.

Javier curses through gritted teeth, switching between Spanish and English as he ruts into you, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, fresita, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—just like that.”

He doesn’t falter, fucking you even as your orgasm settles over you like a heavy current.

He hauls you upright, pulling your back flush against his chest, his grip on your wrists unrelenting as he traps them between your bodies.

Both of his arms wrap tightly around your trembling frame, one hand sliding up to grab your tit, kneading it roughly while the other sprawls against your stomach and waist to hold you steady as he fucks up into you.

His mouth is at your ear now, his breath ragged. “Gonna bust inside this pretty pussy baby and you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You nod weakly, biting down on your lip as your eyes flutter shut. “So fuckin’ willing to take my cum like a real slut,” the degrading name makes your clit twitch because he’s right—you are a real slut. Only for him. Always hungry and ready to please, to do anything to satisfy him and he knows it.

“You’re so goddamn perfect—fuck.” His hips jerk a few times before he groans deeply, his cock pulsing as he finishes deep inside you, his hold on your body tightening to the point where you wince but it hurts so good.

“What the fuck?”

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, yanking you back to reality. Your eyes snap open, and panic floods your system as you instinctively try to shield your almost-naked body.

Across the room, Danny sits up in the recliner, his hair a mess and his bleary eyes squinting in confusion. He looks like he’s been rudely yanked out of a drunken slumber, and unfortunately, it’s your fault.

Javier, of course, remains maddeningly calm. “Relax,” his voice still thick with that post-climax rasp as he mumbles in your ear.

Meanwhile, your body is burning—part embarrassment, part leftover heat from the sinful things Javier just did to you on this pool table.

You try to wriggle out of his grip, but his arms are like iron bands, keeping you firmly in place.

Danny rubs at his eyes, blinking hard as if trying to process what’s in front of him. His head tilts slightly, and for one horrifying second, you think he’s piecing it all together. But instead, he suddenly leans over the side of the recliner and starts retching, the sound loud and wet as he empties his stomach onto the carpet.

The sharp, acidic stench of vomit hits the air, mixing unpleasantly with the heady scent of sweat and sex. It’s enough to finally get Javier to loosen his hold.

He pulls out of you with a grunt, leaving you aching and exposed, and you both watch as his release starts to spill out of you, trickling over your swollen folds and dripping onto the table with obscene little plops.

But there’s no time to dwell on the mess. You scramble to grab your clothes, your movements frantic and clumsy as you yank your jeans up your legs and shove your arms into your sweater.

Javier’s doing the same, though far less hurried, like he’s still amused by the whole situation.

When you finally look up at him, his dark eyes are sparkling with mischief, and he throws you a roguish grin that almost makes you laugh despite yourself.

Danny, meanwhile, is still groaning and gagging, his face pale as a sheet. You feel a tiny pang of guilt, but before you can even think about offering help, Javier grabs your hand and tugs you toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low.

“Fuck no,” Javier replies without missing a beat. “Not my fault he couldn’t handle his liquor.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, his lips warm and soft against your skin, and you can’t help but follow him.

You glance back over your shoulder as you’re being pulled toward the backyard, unable to stop yourself from throwing out a half-hearted, “Sorry!”

He doesn’t respond—he’s too busy dry heaving—but you and Javier are already sneaking out, stifling your laughter as the sounds of the party grow louder around you.

The music thrums through the air, its infectious rhythm pulling you in as your dance partner tightens his grip on your waist. His hands are firm, guiding you with confidence, but the musky cologne mixed with the sour tang of sweat is enough to make your nose crinkle if you focus too hard on it.

Still, you’re here out of spite, letting the sway of your hips speak louder than words as your body molds to his. The banda song carries you both across the makeshift dance floor, your movements fluid and natural as though the music itself has taken over.

Javier is just a few paces away, entangled with the curly-haired girl from earlier. His hands rest on her lower back, his body moving with ease.

There’s a playful challenge in both of your eyes when your gazes finally meet, knowing how this little game of yours will end.

Neither of you looks away, both determined to outdo the other, even in this small, ridiculous way.

Your dance partner spins you abruptly, breaking the moment. The move is smooth, you’ll give him that, and you find yourself face-to-face with him once again.

He’s not bad looking, honestly—sharp jawline, nice green eyes—but the cologne is killing the vibe, and his wandering hands are starting to push it.

Thankfully, the song winds to a close just as his fingers inch a little too far down your back. The music shifts, a different tune kicking in, and you step back, offering a polite smile as he thanks you for the dance.

“Got a number I can save?” he asks, hopeful and slightly cocky.

You grin, a little too sweetly, and rattle off your number without hesitation. You’ve got no intention of responding if he uses it, but you can’t resist the temptation to stir the pot. As he finally walks away, you feel it—a scorching stare burning into your back.

You don’t even have to look to know who it’s coming from.

“Baila conmigo.”

The familiar rasp of Javier’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps into your space. He takes a swig of his beer, his leather jacket gone, leaving him in just the white button-up that hugs his chest a little too well.

You cock a brow, crossing your arms. “What happened to your dance partner?”

“Sent her away,” he replies easily, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “Poor girl couldn’t catch the rhythm.”

You let out an amused huff, rolling your eyes. Of course, he’d say that. Before you can think better of it, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you toward la pista.

The moment you’re there, he pulls you flush against him, one large hand settling at your lower back while the other still clutches his beer. You fall into the simple two-step with ease, your bodies moving in perfect sync to the music.

His thigh slots between yours, the friction sparking something electric, and you can’t help but press closer, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you.

“Reminds me of that night at the club,” his lips brush at your ear. It’s a miracle you can still hear him over the loud music. “When you finally let me get between those pretty legs.”

The heat in his words, combined with the faint scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath, floods your senses. He smells and feels like everything your last dance partner wasn’t.

Whistles and cheers ripple through the crowd as you and Javi throw yourselves into the rhythm of the song, your bodies moving like two parts of the same melody.

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good dancer the first time you shared a dance—not until that night at the club.

And just like his dancing, the way he fucked you afterward had blown every expectation out of the water.

The song comes to an end, leaving you both flushed and slightly winded, sweat clinging to your skin despite the cool night air. The cheers die down as a new track begins, and Javi’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin.

“C’mon, give me another one,” he urges, his voice still rich and sensual despite the exertion.

You laugh, shaking your head as you step back, hands on your hips. You hadn’t planned to stay this long, and now your body is screaming for mercy. “Raincheck, handsome. I gotta head home.”

Javi’s grin falters slightly, but it doesn’t fade completely as your hand drifts down his chest, fingers savoring the firmness of his body.

His broad shoulders and toned frame are just so enchanting, and you can’t resist indulging one last time before grabbing his beer. You take a long, slow sip, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you drain the bottle and set it aside on one of the plastic fold-out tables.

“Not gonna stick around for the cake?” he asks, that boyish charm in his tone as he steps closer.

You flash him a flirty smile. “Save me a piece.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the rowdy chaos of his friends and cousins cuts him off. They swarm him, loud and eager, tugging at his shoulders and shouting for him to take another shot.

He laughs, but his gaze finds yours, his warm brown eyes locking on to you one last time.

“Enjoy, Javi,” you tell him with a wink. “You know where to find me.”

That familiar smirk is at his lips as he’s pulled toward the makeshift bar. You watch him for a moment before turning to make your departure.

You’re cutting across the lawn when you hear a voice behind you.

“Need a ride home?”

It’s the guy you danced with earlier, his cologne still potent even in the open air. His gentlemanliness would’ve been charming if it weren’t for the obvious expectation in his tone.

You decline politely, offering a quick smile before brushing past him and unlocking your car.

What you don’t realize is that Javi sees the entire exchange from afar. He’d caught the tail end of the guy trailing after you, his gaze narrowing as he watched you disappear into the sea of parked cars.

A flicker of irritation tugged at his expression, but he stayed rooted to his spot, letting his friends push another shot into his hand.

Instead of following, he threw himself into his own celebration, his laugh loud and boisterous as if he hadn’t seen a damn thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving with that guy, and the glint in his eyes that had been so bright when you were there dulled just slightly.

Still, he let it go, for now.

He knew exactly where to find you, after all.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your back arching against the cold tile of your kitchen floor. Javier thrusts into you with a raw, animalistic need, his cock driving so deep inside you that it feels like he’s carving himself into your very being.

The absurdity of the situation is a bit funny—you’re still fully clothed, minus your sleeping shorts having been thrown haphazardly across the room, a stark contrast to earlier when you’d been bare and spread for him on that damn pool table.

Just as you predicted, he showed up at your door in the dead of night, his silhouette illuminated by the dim porch light. You’d barely made it to the door before his desperate, insistent knocking threatened to wake the entire block.

It felt like he might break it down if you didn’t open it fast enough. Whoever dropped him off didn’t even wait to see if you’d answer.

No words were exchanged when you finally let him in. His brown eyes, dark and searing, did all the talking.

He’d cupped your face with one rough hand, the other holding a plate with aluminum foil covering it, precariously balancing it in his palm as he kissed you with an appetite that left you breathless.

You let him back you into the kitchen, setting the plate on the counter, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go.

And now, here you are, legs spread wide, the weight of him pressing you down into the tiles, his jacket still on, smelling like beer and bourbon as he ruts himself against you.

“Givin’ your number out, huh?” he growls against your lips, his words dripping with bitterness. His hand snakes up to wrap around your neck, firm but not harsh, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his. You feel the subtle coolness of the bracelet against your skin and that only makes it better. “That’s all it takes, fresita? One fuckin’ dance?”

Each word is punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust that has you gasping for air.

Your hands scramble at the back of his jacket, trying to find some sort of anchor while his dick fucks into you over and over, your slick cunt clamping helplessly around him.

If your brain wasn’t fogged with pleasure, you’d call him out on his jealousy, tease him for letting something so trivial get under his skin. At least you were better about hiding it.

But god, it’s too fucking hot—seeing him like this, so undone, so unhinged, all because of you.

Javier, the man who always carries himself with that cool, confident swagger, who never seems to let anything faze him, is now losing his composure right here on your kitchen floor.

And all it took was watching some other guy’s attention on you to make him snap. If anyone is picky and spoiled here—it’s him.

“Answer me,” he demands, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to leave you lightheaded, his thrusts never faltering. His free hand grabs at your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, the angle forcing you to experience every inch of him.

“I—it was nothing,” you manage to cry, though your words are almost incoherent as he’s driving into you. “Javi, I—”

“You what?” he interrupts with a curt laugh, his teeth grazing the underside of your jaw before he bites down gently, making you squirm beneath him. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around, lettin’ some asshole think he’s got a chance with you?”

The thought alone seems to fuel him further, his movements growing rougher and you swear you’re on the edge of unraveling.

And as he watches the way your body responds to him—your nails digging into his back, your moans turning into screams—he knows he’s making his point loud and clear.

Javi’s grip around your throat tightens, cutting off your breath just enough to stimulate you. The pressure makes you feel somehow, impossibly, even more turned on.

“He can’t fuck you like I can,” he grinds against you, his coarse and damp pubic hairs bristling against your sensitive clit, the friction of it almost too much. “No one can.” His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your mouth falls open on instinct, tiny, wheezy moans spilling out as his nose brushes against yours.

Javier’s dark eyes feel like they’re boring straight into your soul, gleaming with hunger as he watches your every twitch, every little surrender. He leans in and kisses you all demanding and vehement.

His lips claim yours like he’s trying to eat you whole, his tongue slipping inside to taste every gasp you give him.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs mockingly as he pulls back just enough to let his gaze drop between your bodies, watching your pussy swallow his cock. “Just listen to how wet you are, baby. Think he could ever make you sound like this?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment—and arousal—as the obscene, sloppy sounds of his length plunging into you fill the air, amplified by his words. The drive of his hips is merciless, each stroke drawing you closer with dizzying precision.

Your nails dig into his forearms, bending your body beneath him as your vision starts to be blotched with white spots.

You can feel it, the winding of your orgasm at your core pulling taut, about to burst. When it finally does, your pussy flutters and squeezes as waves of smoldering intensity crash over you.

“Puta madre,” he snarls, his head falling back from how good it feels to have you come around him.

Pulling out, Javier pins you down with his weight to keep you from squirming away. His cock, flushed, drooling, and shiny with your juices, hovers inches from your face as you lay flat on the floor.

Your swollen lips part instinctively, the scent of your own headiness making your mouth water.

“Tongue out, baby,” he commands, his voice rough but coaxing.

You obey, sticking your tongue out lazily, your half-lidded eyes locked onto his. The sight of you like this—wrecked, pliant, and waiting for him—is enough to undo him completely. His hand pumps his cock, the golden accessory on his wrist jolting with each move.

With a low, rasping groan, he spills over you, thick, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face and tongue.

You moan softly, savoring the warmth, licking your lips and swallowing whatever lands in your mouth. The taste of him leaves your tongue and throat buzzing, and you revel in the messy intimacy of it.

He uses his fingers to wipe the remnants of his release from your cheeks, then pushes them into your mouth without hesitation.

“Suck,” he orders, and you comply, wrapping your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue over them with eager enthusiasm. You get carried away, your tongue flicking and sucking greedily, and he chuckles darkly.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you can’t help but tease, your voice carrying amusement as you both come down from the dazed fucking.

Javier sways a little, his inebriation finally catching up to him. He stumbles, but he steadies himself smoothly, like the world itself wouldn’t dare let him fall.

He wipes a hand down his face before meeting your gaze, still kneeling on the floor. “Not a fan of people playin’ with what’s mine,” he says, the statement edged with that possessiveness he tries to pretend isn’t there.

Usually, a line like that would have you rolling your eyes and telling the guy to take his ego down a notch. But with Javier? You don’t mind. At all. Something about the way he says it—like it’s a fact, not an opinion—makes your stomach flip in the worst (or best) way possible.

“Yours?” you challenge, sitting up on your forearms and arching a brow at him. “I thought this was casual.”

“It is,” he says without missing a beat, bringing his fingers up to caress the side of your face, more calm and sure, like he’s completely unaware of how contradictory his behavior is.

You narrow your eyes slightly, refusing to let him off the hook that easily despite melting under his touch. “Casual hookups don’t go into a frenzy after watching the other dance and flirt with someone else.”

He doesn’t even flinch at your words, doesn’t even bother to defend himself. Instead, he smirks—because of course he does—and stretches his arms over his head like the entire conversation is nothing but a minor inconvenience to him.

He straightens up then stands, extending a hand to you, his palm open and inviting, the gold band of the bracelet glinting in the low light.

You let him pull you up and let out a sound of exertion, your muscles still tense from rolling around on the hard floor with him.

“Dance, flirt with whoever you want. When I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

That’s possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “That so?” You try to sound unimpressed, but your voice betrays you, just the tiniest bit giddy.

“That’s so,” he concedes vaingloriously. “Don’t forget who makes you feel this satisfied.”

As if I could ever. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite.

He leans in, kissing you gently, then his voice drops into that deep, velvety murmur that makes your pussy tingle. “Yet you keep coming back.”

You don’t respond because, let’s face it, he’s not wrong. Especially not when he pairs those words with an affectionate kiss.

Instead, you finally roll your eyes, the most predictable move in your arsenal, and step around him to grab your discarded sleeping shorts.

Sliding them back on, you make your way to the counter, where the lonely styrofoam plate of half-smashed birthday cake waits for attention. Without a word, you pull it closer, grab a fork, and dig in.

Javier watches you with a grin still plastered across his face, leaning his hip against the counter. “Didn’t even offer the birthday boy the first bite, huh? Real cold.”

You stab a piece exaggeratedly, lifting it to your mouth, and chewing slowly, giving him a look that says cry about it.

But when you see the faint pout pulling at his lips—a deliberate act, no doubt—you sigh, scoop up another forkful, and hold it out. “Fine. Even though technically it’s not your birthday anymore.”

He leans in, not breaking the eye contact, and takes the bite straight from the fork, his lips brushing the tines with an unnecessary amount of flair.

You swear he’s showing off, but you don’t call him out on it, not when he groans softly in appreciation and you can’t help but admire him like this, playful and flirty in your kitchen.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Javi,” you say after a moment, softer now.

He swallows, his smirk shifting into something a little more genuine as he meets your gaze. “Gracias, fresita.”

For a moment, the air between you shifts—gentler, almost intimate. Then he reaches for the fork still in your hand and steals another bite, flashing you a look that drags you right back to reality.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out ��

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz .

#NHIE2025 #pedro pascal #javier peña smut #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena x reaader #javier pena x you #kat's writing.#javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic

711 notes · View notes

agreeeeeeeeeee · 18 days ago

Note

hiii <33

first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg

and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!

SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too 😬)

I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ

feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader

SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp

AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!

masterlist

“Honestly, I don't know what Slughorn’s problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I can—”

“Four days and I would die of deprivation,” Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.

“Sure, but what a way to go.”

You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.

“Should we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,” Pandora said, turning her attention to you.

“Sure, it's probably quiet this early anyways—”

“Going to dinner, are we?” Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “I'm fucking ravenous.”

Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.

“As am I,” Barty purred against the shell of your ear.

You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. “Not in the mood, Junior,” you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.

“Aw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,” he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.

“I'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,” Pandora said, rolling her eyes. “Which is not at all.”

“Oh, she needs me.” Barty grinned. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

“Give it a rest, Crouch,” Xeno cut in. “Keep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.”

“Oh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlin’s fuck, please say choking—”

“Maiming sounds about right,” you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.

“You can maim me whenever you like,” he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. “Will you do it now if I ask nicely?”

You ignored him, looking forward again.

Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.

You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.

“So are we eating or what?” Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.

You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.

“I'm actually going to head back to the dorm,” you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. “See you later?” You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.

“Are you sure?” She asked, tilting her head like an avian.

“Yeah, you guys enjoy,” you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Barty’s face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.

The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.

Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.

Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.

Barty's POV

Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.

Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.

He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.

Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlin’s sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.

You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.

It was worth it just to have you look.

After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.

Nothing made him nervous like you did.

Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.

You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.

The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.

He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.

“Who invited you?” You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.

He set the paper bundle on your chest. “Thought you might be hungry, sweetness,” he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.

Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.

You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. “You brought me food?”

He nodded, biting back ‘and dessert too’. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.

Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.

Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.

“I'm not hungry,” you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.

That was good enough for him.

You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.

The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.

Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.

Reader's POV

You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.

Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.

“Excuse the hell out of me,” Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.

Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.

“What? Like you own this table?” Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.

“Yes,” Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."

Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.

A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.

But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.

You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.

Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.

After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.

Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.

Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.

You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.

Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.

Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?

Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.

You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.

“Something wrong, y/n?” Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.

“Nothing, I—”

Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. “Rushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?” Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.

“More interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,” Evan chuckled. “We're as interesting as it gets.”

“If you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,” Barty hummed, striding up to you.

You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. “You were asleep five seconds ago,” you argued.

“Asleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.” He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.

“What are you, a fucking court jester?” You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.

“I'm whatever you want me to be,” he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.

“Will you leave her the fuck alone?” Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. “She's not interested in your act, Junior.”

“Act?” Barty quirked a brow. “I’m dead serious.”

“Don't talk about his brother that way!” Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.

“I don't give a fuck about his brother!”

“I don't give a fuck about you!”

“Oh, so you're a bitch and a liar?”

“I'm not a bitch, you cunt!”

“I'll see you guys at the party later,” you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.

If Barty sincerely liked you…did that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.

Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.

He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.

Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actions…his actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.

Was that the real Barty?

Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.

Had you been all wrong about him?

By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.

You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.

Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?

Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.

Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.

He looked like a wet fucking dream.

Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.

His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. “Look at—baby, look at you!”

You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.

You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. “Firewhisky?” You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.

Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. “What are you doing to me?” He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.

You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. “I'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,” you chastised, accepting your drink.

“And you're beautiful,” he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.

“Fuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?” You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.

Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldn’t accept it. So you pushed him away.

“C’mon, you simpering mutt,” Evan said, hauling Barty up. “I think I saw a kegger over there.”

Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.

“You should have some mercy,” Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.

“Oh?” You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.

“Poor prick is besotted,” Dorcas supplied.

“He's full of shit,” you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.

Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. “It's true, I’ve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.”

“He's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,” Dorcas said.

“Yeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arson—”

“You guys are serious?” You asked, cutting off Xeno. “You think he actually likes me?”

They all stare at you, dumbfounded.

“You can't tell?” Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. “Babe, he's absolutely gone for you.”

“Like, gone gone,” Dorcas added.

“But it's Barty, I mean—he’s never serious—”

“Exactly, that's what makes it so obvious!” Pandora cried, exasperated. “I thought you knew!”

“Why would you think that!” You shouted back.

“Because he says it constantly!” Your friends yell in unison.

“He was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,” Xeno said, shaking his head. “It doesn't get much more devoted than that.”

Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didn’t allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.

He’d been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all you’d done is punish him for it.

Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?

You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.

“Barty!” You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.

He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. “Y/n? Are you alr—where are we going?”

You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. “Be honest with me,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“Always,” he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.

“How do you feel about me?” You asked.

Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. “I just wanna be yours.”

The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"

“Yours,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. “Please, let me be yours.” He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. “I promise—I promise I’ll be good, if you’ll just give me a chance too—”

You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.

You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.

His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.

“Your dorm,” you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.

He didn’t hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.

“Barty!” you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didn’t flash anyone. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didn’t care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.

“Look at her ass again, see what happens!” You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.

A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldn’t seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere, darling, relax.”

He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. “Need you so bad,” he groaned. “M’sorry, can’t help myself.”

You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. “I know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?”

He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos you’d only gotten glimpses of.

“So pretty, Bat,” you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting me this whole time?”

“Yes, so badly—fuck, treasure, please—” he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. “I’m getting that tattooed,” he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. “Swear to Salazar.”

You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.

Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.

“Good boy,” you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldn’t resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.

“Fucking shit, you’re going to kill me.” His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.

You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.

“Baby,” he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.

“Say your mine,” you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.

“I’m yours. I’m so fucking yours.”

You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. “Bloody hell, you’re way too good at this. What the fuck—oh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.”

You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.

Barty groaned. “Never mind, I’m getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirror—”

You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. “Do you ever stop talking?” you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.

In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. “There’s one sure-fire way to shut me up,” he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. “This dress,” he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. “Wear it for anyone in particular?”

“I wanted to see your reaction,” you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.

“Sent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.” He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.

You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.

The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. “Fuck, Barty—please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.

“Say your mine, treasure,” he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.

“Yes, Barty! All yours! Just please—”

He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.

“So fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar f’me.” He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.

Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.

"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artist’s fingers coax you open.

Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Barty—oh God, I’m going to come—oh fuck, oh fuck!” You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.

Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.

“That’s my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,” he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. “Not so mean now, are you, sweetness?”

You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.

"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. “Better hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.”

You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.

“Fuck, I knew you were perfect for me.” He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything you’d felt before. “I was fucking made for you, baby,” he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.

“Fuck, B, feels so good,” you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.

He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination he’d harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higher—

“Shit, baby, I’m gonna come soon,” he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. “Can feel it, tres. C’mon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, m’dying for it, please, please—”

You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it—fuck!” Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.

You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. “Barty,” you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. “I’m yours.”

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.

“And I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.

“I'll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. “SHE’S FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!” He screamed down the stairs to the party.

A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.

Barty whirled around, a maniac’s grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.

Thank you for reading!

427 notes · View notes

deonsx · 26 days ago

Note

bachira, isagi, rin, (add ur favs if you want <3) with reader who’s love languages are like quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation + is pretty talkative and social feeling annoying?? like reader yapping away and sometimes realizing it could be boring, or reader always liking being close to them but pulling away sometimes for seemingly no reason cause they don’t wanna be a bother? (Also sfw pls I am asexual :3)

muah muah have a nice day/night drink lots of water!!! remember to take time for yourself!!!

heyaaaa im here again!!! i love this cutie rq lets do this also im adding^^ +Nagi,Sae,Kaiser

Rin Itoshi

He’s used to solitude and silence, so your constant chatter initially feels like an intrusion into his carefully constructed world

But over time, he notices how your voice fills the spaces he didn’t realize were empty. Even if you’re rambling about something he doesn’t fully understand, like the plot of a drama you’re watching or a funny story from work, he listens. He’s a quiet listener, his sharp eyes fixed on you while you speak, occasionally nodding or offering a low hum of acknowledgment

Sometimes, though, you realize you’ve been talking too much. You falter mid-sentence, worry flickering across your face. “Sorry, I’m probably boring you” you mumble, starting to pull away, both physically and emotionally. Rin frowns when this happens. “You’re not” he says, his tone firm. “Just… keep talking” It’s not a grand declaration, but it’s enough to keep you going

Your love for physical touch throws him off guard at first too. You’ll casually lean against him while watching a movie or brush your fingers against his when you’re walking together. He stiffens initially, unsure how to reciprocate, but he doesn’t pull away. In time, he grows used to your closeness, even coming to crave it

But there are moments when you suddenly withdraw. Maybe you were resting your head on his shoulder but then sit up, or you pull your hand back from his. Rin doesn’t understand why you do this and it frustrates him

One evening as you sit together on the couch, you shift away after being snuggled against him for a while. He grabs your wrist gently, stopping you “What are you doing?” You hesitate, avoiding his gaze. “I just… I don’t want to annoy you. I know I can be too much sometimes”

Rin’s grip tightens ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. “You’re not annoying.” His voice softens, a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through. “If I didn’t want you here, I’d tell you” It’s a simple reassurance, but it means everything coming from someone like Rin. Slowly, you relax and lean back into him. He doesn’t say much else, but the way his hand lingers on yours, grounding you, says enough

Bachira Meguru

Bachira genuinely enjoys hearing you talk. Whether it’s about your day a funny story or some random thought that popped into your head he listens with a wide grin his golden eyes sparkling with interest. Sometimes he even adds to your rambles tossing in jokes or exaggerated reactions that make you laugh

“Wait wait so you’re telling me the cat jumped on the table during the meeting? Was it secretly trying to take over the company?” he says dramatically making you giggle until your sides hurt

He never makes you feel boring. Instead he thrives off your energy loving how your conversations never seem to end. But the moment you start doubting yourself maybe mid-sentence when you realize you’ve been talking for a while he notices right away

“Am I talking too much?” you ask your voice suddenly hesitant. Bachira tilts his head confused “Huh? No way!” He leans closer his nose almost brushing yours. “I like your voice. Don’t stop now you were telling me about that weird customer!”

Your love for physical touch is something Bachira immediately embraces. He’s naturally affectionate and loves being close to you whether it’s linking arms holding hands or draping himself over you while you sit together. You’re like his personal magnet if he’s in the room he’s going to find his way to you

“Bee I need to cook dinner” you protest one evening as he hugs you from behind his chin resting on your shoulder “Mm but you’re so comfy” he murmurs nuzzling into your neck “Can’t I stay here? Pretty please?”

Sometimes though you pull away unexpectedly. Maybe you feel like you’re overwhelming him or being too clingy. Bachira notices this too. The first time it happens he blinks in confusion watching as you slide to the other side of the couch or step away from his playful embrace

“Why’d you move?” he asks pouting slightly “I just… I don’t want to bother you” you admit avoiding his gaze

Bachira’s expression softens and he wastes no time closing the gap between you again. He cups your cheeks in his hands his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin “Bother me? That’s impossible.” His voice is soft but filled with conviction. “I like it when you’re close. You don’t have to pull away okay?”

The reassurance in his tone makes your chest feel lighter and you smile “Okay” Bachira thrives in your shared chaos loving every moment of your affection and chatter. To him you’re never too much; you’re the perfect match for his wild boundless energy. He even gets a little needy if you ever try to tone yourself down

“Hey” he says one day tugging at your sleeve. “Why are you so quiet today? Did I do something?” You laugh shaking your head “No I just didn’t want to talk too much and annoy you”

Bachira’s jaw drops dramatically “Annoy me? You? Never!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders pulling you into a side hug “You could talk all day and I’d still wanna hear more. So go on tell me everything”

Isagi Yoichi

At first he’s a little overwhelmed by how much you talk. You’re full of energy and always have something to say while he tends to lean on the quieter more thoughtful side. But it doesn’t take long for him to realize he enjoys the way you bring so much life into his day

He listens to you intently even when you’re going off on tangents about your favorite show or a random funny thing that happened during the day. He nods along offering small comments or questions that show he’s genuinely engaged. When you pause mid-conversation worrying that you might be talking too much Isagi is quick to reassure you

“Wait why’d you stop?” he asks tilting his head slightly his soft blue eyes full of curiosity “I don’t know… I just thought I might be boring you” you admit quietly. Isagi’s expression shifts to one of determination the same look he has on the field “You could never bore me. I like hearing you talk. It’s… comforting”

Your love for physical touch takes a bit of getting used to for Isagi. At first he stiffens slightly when you casually grab his hand or lean into his side. It’s not that he doesn’t like it he’s just not used to someone being so openly affectionate. But over time he starts to crave it. He finds himself reaching for your hand first or sitting closer to you just so your shoulders brush

One evening you’re sitting next to him on the couch and absentmindedly rest your head on his shoulder. After a few moments you pull away suddenly feeling like you might be crowding him. Isagi notices immediately

“What’s wrong?” he asks his voice laced with concern “Nothing I just didn��t want to bother you” you say looking away. He frowns slightly before gently grabbing your wrist pulling you back to him “You’re not bothering me. I like it when you’re close. Stay?”

Nagi Seishiro

Nagi is a great listener even if he doesn’t seem like it. He’ll lie back phone in hand while you go on about your day occasionally mumbling a soft “hmm” or “yeah” to let you know he’s paying attention. When you suddenly pause mid-ramble and mumble “Sorry I’m probably boring you” Nagi’s lazy eyes lift from his phone to meet yours “Not really” he says plainly his voice soft but firm. “Keep talking. It’s kinda nice”

Physical touch is another adjustment for him. You’re always leaning into him holding his hand or draping yourself over his shoulder and while he’s not the most physically expressive person he doesn’t mind it. In fact he starts to crave the warmth of your presence though he’d never outright say it

Sometimes though you pull away suddenly like when you’ve been curled up against his side during a lazy day of gaming. You’ll sit up or move to the other side of the couch a little self-conscious. Nagi notices right away and glances at you his expression unreadable

“Why’d you move” he asks his tone nonchalant though there’s a hint of curiosity in his voice “I just… I don’t want to be a bother” you admit avoiding his gaze. Nagi sighs softly setting down his controller “You’re not a bother” he says simply pulling you back to him with surprising gentleness. “You’re comfy. Don’t overthink it”

Quality time with Nagi is less about doing something grand and more about enjoying the quiet moments together. He’s perfectly content lying on the couch with you watching random videos or playing games while you talk about whatever’s on your mind. Sometimes he’ll pause his game just to listen to you more closely a small barely noticeable smile tugging at his lips

If you ever try to tone yourself down or give him space because you think you’re overwhelming him Nagi is quick to call you out in his own way “Why’re you being so quiet today” he asks one afternoon peeking at you from the corner of his eye

“I didn’t want to annoy you” you reply fiddling with your hands. Nagi sighs again this time more dramatically “You’re not annoying. You’re kinda the opposite actually. It’d be a pain if you stopped being yourself”

Sae Itoshi

He listens to you more than you realize. When you’re excitedly talking about your day or sharing a random story he doesn’t interrupt. He might offer a quiet “Hmm” or “Is that so” to show he’s listening but his responses are subtle. Sometimes you notice his lack of reaction and start to feel self-conscious

“Sorry I must be annoying” you mumble mid-sentence suddenly pulling back. Sae’s gaze sharpens slightly as he looks at you “You’re not annoying. If you were I’d tell you” His blunt honesty catches you off guard but it’s also strangely comforting

Physical touch is something Sae doesn’t quite know how to deal with at first. You’re always finding ways to be close to him draping yourself over his shoulder or reaching for his hand. He doesn’t pull away but he doesn’t reciprocate much either not because he doesn’t like it but because he’s not sure how to show it

But then there are moments when you pull away thinking you’re being too much. Like when you’ve been leaning on him during a quiet evening and suddenly sit up creating distance. Sae notices immediately

“What are you doing” he asks his tone calm but with a hint of curiosity “I just didn’t want to bother you” you say avoiding his gaze. Sae exhales softly shaking his head “If you were bothering me I’d say something. You don’t have to stop” His words are matter-of-fact but they hold an underlying sincerity that makes your chest feel lighter

Spending quality time with Sae looks a bit different. He’s not the type to plan elaborate dates or go out of his way to entertain you but he values the quiet moments you spend together. Whether it’s sitting beside him while he watches a match or walking together in comfortable silence he appreciates your presence even if he doesn’t always say it.

When you’re unusually quiet Sae notices right away. “Why aren’t you talking” he asks one day his tone almost teasing. You hesitate before answering “I just didn’t want to annoy you.”

Sae sighs softly turning to meet your eyes “You don’t annoy me. If I didn’t like being around you I wouldn’t be here”

Kaiser Michael

He’s an active participant in your endless chatter. Whether you’re recounting a random memory or diving into an elaborate story he listens intently often throwing in witty remarks or teasing comments to keep the conversation lively

“You really don’t stop talking do you” he says one day smirking as he leans closer. Before you can apologize or feel embarrassed he adds “Good. It’d be boring otherwise”

Physical touch is something Kaiser welcomes wholeheartedly. In fact he often takes the lead when it comes to affection. He’s the type to casually drape his arm around your shoulders pull you into his lap or grab your hand just because he feels like it. He thrives on being close to you and makes sure you know it

But then there are moments when you pull away suddenly like when you’re leaning against him during a quiet moment and decide to sit up creating some space. Kaiser notices instantly and his confident demeanor shifts ever so slightly

“Where are you going” he asks his tone playful but his eyes hold a flicker of genuine curiosity “I didn’t want to bother you” you mumble avoiding his gaze

Kaiser scoffs lightly shaking his head. “You? Bothering me? Don’t be ridiculous.” He reaches for your hand pulling you back to him “I like having you close. Stop overthinking”

Spending quality time with Kaiser is anything but dull. He enjoys taking you out to exciting places fancy restaurants spontaneous trips or even just a scenic walk because he loves seeing your eyes light up. At the same time he’s perfectly happy lounging with you watching a movie or simply lying around while you talk his head resting on your lap as you absentmindedly play with his hair

When you’re unusually quiet he notices right away “Alright what’s going on” he asks his tone somewhere between teasing and concerned “Nothing” you reply quickly “I just didn’t want to overwhelm you”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow leaning closer. “Overwhelm me? Please. I can handle you and more” He grins leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your forehead “I like you just the way you are so don’t hold back”

Enjoy!

409 notes · View notes

jk97 · 1 year ago

Text

Unprofessional Attraction | ONE

♡ pairing - yunho x afab!reader ♡ word count - 13K ♡ series synopsis - There's no such thing as a coincidence, right? CollegeSenior!Reader (22) and linguistics teacher Yunho Jeong (27) indulge in an entanglement of inappropriate gravitation. It's risky and it's wrong, but listening to one's better judgment never leads to anything as intoxicating. When someone threatens this secret relationship with blackmail to expose the truth, things take a turn for the worse. Graduation can't seem to come fast enough. ♡ warnings for this chapter - fluff and explicit content (mdni), slight age gap, teacher/student relationship, other members are featured, pining, some obsessive behavior and manipulation (mainly from reader), drinking alcohol, inebriated driving (big no no frens!) perverted!yunho, bigdick!yunho, sprinkles of praise, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex (mention of bc pill tho), porn with plot ♡ A/N - part one is kinda tame, the next two parts will have more explicit scenes. I hope you enjoy, and please look forward to the rest! I haven't posted a fic on tumblr in many years so pls be kind ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Yeosang is too attentive, especially when it comes to his best friend.

That’s why he knows you well enough to call you out when he whispers, “You’re staring again.”

“I’m staring at the whiteboard, pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do in class,” you argue, not bothering to even glance at him. It’s quite obvious that your eyes are too busy soaking in things that don’t have to do with phonology.

Your linguistics teacher, Yunho Jeong, is dressed particularly charmingly today. Something about the tight-fitting white polo shirt and chocolate brown slacks he has on this class is too distracting. It doesn’t help that his hair is a little more messy than usual, you wonder if he was running late this morning. Linguistics has nothing to do with your major, however, for your final semester in college, you simply needed a filler class for your last few credits. Yeosang suggested joining him in this class so you could both support each other, but he never factored in the fact that you’d be too distracted by the teacher to do anything of use for him. There weren’t many younger teachers such as Yunho at your university; in fact, you were pretty sure this was only his second semester teaching in general. He was generally a mild-mannered and easygoing teacher, but he was also able to command a room when necessary.

A minute later, Yunho offers everyone a 10-minute break since the last section of his lecture lasted a little longer than he anticipated, and the class immediately breaks out into chatter.

“He’s single, you know,” Yeosang turns towards you and props up his head on his palm, “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Don’t tell me things like that, you’ll make me delusional.”

He doesn’t miss the goofy smile tugging at your lips as you stretch your tired limbs from too much sitting. The lectures for this class were two hours long, but they were only twice a week on Wednesdays and Fridays, so you couldn’t complain too much.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That I might have a chance with him,” you nudge him playfully.

“I’m not sure he’d want to date someone barely passing his own class,” Yeosang quips quickly, subsequently squeezing his eyes shut when you flick his forehead in response.

“Watch your mouth, I am not ‘barely passing’!” You return your eyes to the subject of your conversation, slowly taking in his form, “For the record, I could definitely pull him if I tried to. You think he likes younger women?”

“That is a terrible idea,” your best friend immediately shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Surely I would be guaranteed to pass then though, no?” you offer instead, half-joking.

“You haven’t gotten laid in the last month and this is the first person that comes to your mind to fix that?” Yeosang scoffs incredulously.

“I wouldn’t just be in it for the sex,” you clarify. Your keen eyes watch his every move, from the way that his large hands flex as he thumbs at his phone to the way he purses his lips in curiosity at whatever he’s looking up. Like a lion stalking a gazelle before pouncing. “He’s quite literally perfect. Tall, smart, handsome, financially stable… the whole package. I deserve a man like that, right Yeo?”

You meet Yeosang’s eyes curiously, and he reminds you, “I think you’re forgetting he’s our teacher .”

“We graduate soon,” you whine, “Act now, worry later. I could graduate with a boyfriend already lined up the minute I get handed my degree.”

“You’re playing with fire, ____,” he holds his hands up in surrender. As your best friend, he knows you’re not joking, despite how much you might play it off later. He knows that once you set your mind on something, you generally don’t stop until it’s achieved, “Let’s see you try, though. It’ll be entertaining.”

When class resumes, you listen to the rest of his lecture with renewed cravings and an unusually optimistic disposition Yeosang has never seen you hold for this subject.

From that moment forward, every instance you “stumbled” across your teacher was planned. You figured out which parking lot he parked his car on during the day and bought a proper parking pass for that lot, now alternating between taking the shuttle and your car to the university. Your schedules crossed occasionally on your driving days, and you’d simply offer warm greetings or cheerful send-offs depending on the time of day. Yunho was a man of habit who visited the same campus restaurant nearly every day he worked during lunchtime in between his midday classes. It didn’t take much energy to stop by a couple of days a week and run into Yunho, giving you the ability to strike up a conversation or two when asking for recommendations on what you should order. These instances were simply to put you more on his radar, instead of just being a face in the sea of students in his class.

He seems to be good friends with two other teachers who are also around his age, teachers Seonghwa Park and San Choi. You wonder if getting in their good graces would somehow transfer to your teacher, by word of mouth. Luckily, you have a friend who has Mr. Park for a history seminar. On a Sunday night, you shoot a text to set the stage.

[Y/N: Jongho!!!! It’s been so long since we’ve hung out :(( Can I swing by your class tomorrow and pick you up? Let’s get lunch!]

When 2 PM rolls around on Monday, you make the mistake of trusting the shuttle to come on time. It’s nearly 3 PM when you get to the necessary building, and you’re sure Jongho’s class ended close to half an hour ago. The plan to run across Mr. Park is thrown completely out of the window, you are only worried about Jongho being upset with you. You know he’d never, but still. Being late to something planned ahead of time always upsets you to no end. You curse at yourself over and over every stride down the hall, and it’s good that the hallways are virtually empty or else you’d probably look crazy. Eventually, you make it to your destination.

You’re just about to blindly call out an apology to Jongho but end up stopping dead in your tracks as soon as you enter the door; not only is Mr. Park in the room seated at his desk, but he’s also accompanied by Mr. Choi and Mr. Jeong. They’re huddled together, Yunho leaning against the whiteboard leisurely with a cup of coffee in his hand while intently listening to Seonghwa complain about the registrar’s office fucking up another one of his student’s enrollment for his class.

“There she is,” Jongho sighs this aloud as if his prayers have been answered.

He didn’t know if you were going to still make it and he’s dying of hunger from skipping breakfast. Immediately, all three men’s eyes turn towards the entrance. You pray to God that your face isn’t flushed with how hot you feel being the fixation of so many eyes. Or maybe it’s more so how handsome the men are that those eyes are coming from. This surely isn’t the time to have such a weakness for a strapping man in a button-up and crisp slacks.

“Hello, ____,” Yunho is the first of the three to speak. Subsequently, San amiably nods toward you in acknowledgment.

“Good afternoon all,” you greet everyone, bashfully adding, “I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Not interrupting at all,” Seonghwa waves his hands, dispelling those fears, “We were curious why Jongho was sticking back so late. He assured us a friend was coming to get him and we just chose not to leave him.”

Well, this is embarrassing. You nod hastily and glance toward Jongho, who is practically skipping down the lecture hall’s steps. Yunho wants to crack a joke about seeing you everywhere, about how you both must be magnets or something else silly, but he decides to keep that to himself. He doesn’t want it to seem like he’s keeping track of course, even if he is.

Instead, he affirms to the other men, “This is a student of mine.”

Admittedly, your ears had tuned every other word out except “mine”, and you nodded a little too enthusiastically. You haven’t been this discomposed in a long time, too bashful to look any of them in the eyes, and you pray it’s not showing too much elsewhere. Jongho’s friendly hand landing on your shoulder grounds you.

“You ready?”

“Absolutely,” you puff out.

“Don’t cause too much trouble for her, Jongho,” Seonghwa pokes a bit of fun at one of his top students, who replies by waving him away and scoffing. They seem to be relaxed with each other— this is something you desire to achieve with Yunho soon. You snatch up your friend’s hand and finally move to leave for lunch, if it could even be considered that now with how late it is.

“See you Wednesday, Mr. Jeong,” you look back and shoot him a wave, accompanied by a charming smile. He nods back, offering you his own as well.

Unbeknownst to you, San’s eyes follow you out the door with Jongho, especially surveying the plush of your thighs rubbing together as you walk. Such as yourself, skirts are surely a weakness of his.

“She’s a senior, right?” he murmurs, half-jokingly.

“Stop it,” Yunho promptly elbows San in the arm, earning a stifled laugh from Seonghwa.

Yunho has heard stories about San’s slight affinity with the pretty college women when he goes out to bars on the weekends. Nobody from his own classes, of course. Needless to say, Yunho would not let him even think about you that way. No way in hell.

“I was just asking, Jesus.”

Seonghwa stretches his limbs from his chair, “It’s never ‘just asking’ with you.”

“You buy a table of women drinks one time and your friends never let you hear the end of it,” he groans with a roll of his eyes, “God you guys are the worst.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what it is,” Seonghwa concedes sarcastically.

“Just don’t make any unannounced visits to my classroom anytime soon, you buffoon,” Yunho chastises him while pressing his cup to his lips, “And I’m serious.”

“You got that,” San yields, “Wouldn’t wanna be a cock-block.”

Yunho nearly spits his coffee, “I beg your pardon?”

San nearly doubles over in laughter and, to Yunho’s surprise, Seonghwa has joined in. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the look they’re sharing and it makes the back of his neck burn with heat. Yunho doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed but he steers the conversation away from discussing you any further. He ignores the feeling of indignation and possessiveness pooling in the pit of his stomach.

It doesn’t take long for you to decide you’ve done what needed to be done outside of the classroom; the cherry on top now was simply to get him alone more privately.

You didn’t have to try very hard for this to happen; your work on your paper outline was already sub-par at best. You did fairly well on the quizzes and packets he passed out once a week, but that final paper preparation was surely going to be a challenge. When you find enough courage in yourself to email him about seeing him during his office hours for extra academic help on formatting your paper and choosing a more concise topic, he replies quickly and enthusiastically. According to your syllabus, the topic should relate to what you’re studying for your degree, but the real meat and potatoes of the paper should incorporate an aspect of linguistics in relation to your career path. Yunho understands how something like this can be difficult to tackle, so he assures you not to worry and that you both will work on perfecting it in no time.

“Mr. Jeong, do you mind if I text you instead? It’s more convenient for me than to email,” you end up asking him at the end of class on a Friday.

Yunho doesn’t mind this and he says so; he's put his phone number on the syllabus for situations like this. Moreover, he doesn’t think anything of it when he receives a text from you the morning of your first session telling him good morning and saying that you’re excited to finally get some guidance. You follow up by asking how he likes his coffee, and if he prefers muffins or donuts. Even after this indicator, he’s still surprised that you show up at his office right on time at 10 AM on Monday with two fresh cups of coffee and a couple of things from the campus bakery.

His office is fairly small, but not enough to feel uncomfortable. He’s decorated it to his liking though to make it feel a little more homely on the days he has to stay late for one reason or another. He watches you marvel at his space before you set down everything in your hands and relieve yourself of your backpack.

“Good morning!”

“Good morning ____, welcome in,” Yunho smiles. “You’re very punctual.”

“Of course, I meant what I said about being excited,” you tell him honestly, settling into the seat in front of his desk, “The right one is yours, by the way.”

Yunho timidly thanks you before sliding it closer to himself. He’s never had a student do something for him like this, then again he hasn’t been teaching that long to begin with. Regardless, he appreciates it and the gesture goes straight to his heart. He takes a sip to emphasize this.

“I’m all ready when you are,” you proclaim, clasping your hands together.

With that, he begins to look through his folders for your class number and finds the topic idea and outlines you’ve submitted previously. He doesn’t even have to look for your name specifically, you always tend to write his name and your class section in a particular way on the top of your work that is very appealing and oddly unique.

“You have really pretty handwriting,” Yunho murmurs out absentmindedly when he finds it. When he lifts his head to see your intrigued eyes gazing back at him, he clears his throat and adds, “Mine looks like chicken scratch so I’m always fascinated by others.”

“As long as it’s legible, that’s all that matters,” you hum with a smile, “And I can read yours just fine, so you’re fine.”

Yunho’s not sure why that mild compliment, something that should probably be insignificant, steals his words from him for a moment. Instead, he offers a hum in place of thanks while quickly taking another sip of his coffee. He glances at his notes before speaking again.

“Okay, so when I reviewed your work, it seems like you generally have a solid topic,” he begins, “It’s definitely something that can be a bit more concise, but it’s fine. The problem is that you’re trying to incorporate too much into the paper as a whole.”

You nod in understanding, so he takes a sip of coffee and continues.

“That’s good and bad, for a couple of reasons. It’s good that you’re being ambitious and trying to give lots of information. This shows me that you’re planning on doing a lot of research and you’re going to be very knowledgeable about your topic,” Yunho cocks his head, “If you set yourself up like this, though, your paper will end up being over twenty pages easily. And we both don’t want that, right?”

He gives you a knowing look, and you can’t help the candid snort you let out at his frankness, “Definitely not, oh God. I’m so sorry.”

“Precisely. So, let’s work on cutting some of these sections out and conjoining some of these bullet points in others. Sound good?” He holds out his hand with a grin as if to make it a deal, and you grant him a firm shake.

After a considerable amount of time figuring out which parts of your paper to chop without losing the vision, Yunho feels his limbs tighten from sitting too long. He’s been in this chair since 9 AM, so he asks, “Can we take a quick break? I need to stretch a bit.”

“Of course!”

When he stands to full height and stretches his arms, your eyes inconspicuously survey the way the edge of the desk lines up right with his pelvis. Perfect height for extracurricular activities… You wonder if he’s the type of guy to be open to something like that, fucking his lover in his office. Surely this thing is sturdy enough to withstand it, you muse. The thought of him bending you over the desk just to prove how sturdy it is makes you rub your thighs together. You decide to chug the rest of your now-cold coffee to get your brain back on track. Yunho collapses back into his office chair gently and lets you know he’s ready to resume. The rest of the time is spent setting up a list of some things you could tweak when you go home on your own and prepare for him to view in a couple of days.

On Wednesday, for your second meeting, you both convene at his office directly after your class with him in the afternoon. You smell especially good today, a mix of jasmine, vanilla, and something else he can’t put his tongue on… but it’s got Yunho’s head a bit foggy. Still, the meeting is engaging and brimming with useful help just as the last. Leaning back in his chair, he takes a brief moment to review a printout of what you’ve implemented into your outline from your last meeting discussions. It’s definitely already an improvement, but there are still a few things that could be tweaked in terms of sectioning. He grabs his favorite pen and lays your papers out in front of you, leaning forward to mark things you should be mindful of. A circle here, a quick jotted note there—his soothing voice explains each eagerly, and you can tell just how much he loves this subject by his enthusiasm. You reply to all of his criticism and suggestions with just as much enthusiasm. Yunho finds himself leaning in a little closer than might be suitable for the circumstances, but his brain is still ensnared by your perfume. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, truthfully, but it doesn’t bother you a bit. In fact, you’re a little too enamored with watching his large hands grip his pen and flex while writing to notice he’s calling your name.

“____?” he calls for a second time, to which you finally meet his gaze while blinking bashfully. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry, I think I spaced out for a second,” you answer honestly. He is absolutely too close to you right now and the way you can see the details in his eyes is making your brain short-circuit. He finally sits back in his chair and chuckles warmly.

“We have been working for quite a while today, I’m sure it’s a lot of information. Maybe we should wrap up for the day and meet again next week? I’m a bit tied up on Friday,” he ponders. You can’t help the hint of disappointment that makes its way onto your face, and he notices. There’s this unusual feeling in his chest right now; why does he feel regret for his stupid schedule? He leans forward on his elbows and cocks his head, “You’re doing very well, you know that? We’ve made a lot of progress after only a couple of meetings. I’m very excited to see how this comes together at the end of the semester.”

“I’m very self-conscious about my writing, so I appreciate that, Mr. Jeong,” you confess with a sheepish smile.

“You have nothing to be stressed about, I love what I’ve seen so far,” he continues his praise, “And I’m very happy you’re in my class, ____.”

The smile he gives you after such a statement manifests dozens of butterflies in your stomach, and you can’t help but match it. These one-on-one sessions go on 2-3 days a week for about two more weeks, loosening him up to you. He successfully becomes much more casual and unfiltered in your presence before you decide to up the ante. The following Tuesday of the next week, you remain on campus fairly late after classes end for the day, seated on a bench near the parking lot you both share. It’s warm outside even with the sun gradually setting, and you spend the time mentally rehearsing exactly what you planned on saying when he arrives to leave for home. He should be here any minute now–

“_____?”

You spin around at the familiar voice calling out your name. It’s him, of course, coming from the staff meeting you found out was being held this evening. Finally , you think. He stops just short of where you’re perched on the bench.

“Oh, hello Mr. Jeong.”

“What are you doing out here so late?” He inquires quickly, and there’s a tinge of concern laced in his voice. However, he realizes that asking this might be out of the realm of things he should know, you’re a grown woman after all. So, he follows up with an excuse, “It’s getting pretty dark out.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” you mutter, glancing away from his gaze.

Yunho can’t deny, he’s a bit mesmerized by the way you look tonight. He’s never seen you with your make-up done up like this, or your hair styled so charmingly. When you glance back at him again with those long, fluttering lashes of yours, he feels the back of his neck turn hot.

“You can tell me anything, you already know,” he reminds you, “I won’t judge and I’m always available to listen.”

“Well… I have a reservation for dinner with someone at six… but it seems they stood me up,” you reveal while mindlessly fiddling with a frayed string on the skirt of your dress. Yunho glances down at his watch: it’s 5:48 PM. “They were supposed to pick me up a while ago. I was trying to hold out some hope, but… I’m just being stupid.”

Yunho furrows his brows; why would someone stand a girl like you up? You’re beautiful and exceptionally smart (despite any kind of trouble you may have had with your paper). You’re also one of the sweetest people he’s ever crossed paths with in life. Many of those paths having been crossed within the last month, of course. Still, he can’t fathom it.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, ____,” he tells you truthfully. Then, he thinks about how your car isn’t here, and how the shuttle won’t be around until 6:30 PM. He’s slightly apprehensive before offering, “Do you want a ride home?”

You give him a winsome smile that pierces into his heart with an invisible arrow, “You don’t have to do that. I appreciate the offer though.”

“No, really, I don’t mind at all,” he says with more confidence. The idea of him being your knight in shining armor, buried deep in the back of his head, is shouting at him. That’s when you decide it’s time to take your shot, for better or worse.

“Well, in that case, would you like to accompany me to the restaurant instead?” you inquire, glancing up at him curiously. “I already paid for the spot, so I wouldn’t want the reservation to go to waste.”

Normally, you’d follow up a statement like that with a: “But it’s okay if not.”

Not tonight.

You didn’t want to give him an out to this proposal willingly. You can see the mild indecisiveness in his face anyway, all the way down to how Yunho’s hand tightens around the handle of his briefcase. You did get all dolled up for whoever you were supposed to be spending the evening with, and he’ll feel awfully bad letting you go back home to take it all off for no reason. It’s just a dinner, he tells himself.

“Sure,” Yunho finally says in an exhale, “Let me pull around my car.”

While he walks off into the parking lot towards his car, you bite down hard on your bottom lip to stop the dishonest smile that’s threatening to spread across your face. Was it all a bald-faced lie? Of course it was! But, sometimes it takes some white lies to get to what you want, and what you wanted was no longer that far out of reach if tonight was anything to go by.

When he finally pulls around to pick you up, you allow yourself to slip into the mode you usually go to on dates. It doesn’t hurt to pretend tonight, it’s like manifesting your reality. You thrum your fingers against your bare thighs, to no particular beat, while staring out of the car window at other passing cars during your brief trip on the highway.

“Is this a restaurant you’ve been to before? It looked really nice online,” Yunho eventually says into the silence, trying to make small talk. He had briefly skimmed the reviews while plugging the address in on his phone.

“I haven’t, actually,” you divulge, going further, “I’m a bit of a foodie, you know? I like to try new places occasionally.”

That conversation flows smoothly for the rest of the drive, and even smoother when you both are seated and eating dinner in a booth towards the back of the restaurant. It’s nice to see him in a more relaxed setting.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Mr. Jeong.” You offer him some well-deserved gratitude as you wipe your mouth, signaling the end of your eating. “Makes things a lot less embarrassing tonight for sure.”

“No need to thank me, I enjoyed your company,” he smiles. He doesn’t even hesitate this time before adding, “That bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

The bubbly laugh and adorable smile you grant him the experience of witnessing enraptures him, the tips of his ears burning at the thought of how he wants to be able to produce that from you again and again. Yunho hasn’t been on a date in a while, so he’s sure this feeling is just because he’s attention-deprived. Still, it’s something he notes mentally. And, even though some might consider it inappropriate, you and your teacher both began having dinner occasionally, just like that. Platonically, of course.

“We can go over my questions for my paper topic here rather than in that cramped office of yours, you know?”

Surprisingly when you proposed this, he showed little resistance to the idea. Yunho enjoyed getting out of the house for the evenings he usually spent alone with a few beers and a Netflix series. He enjoyed having a pretty girl keep him company even more. He reminds himself every time he picks you up, though, that this is simply work and nothing more. Just some overtime—helping a student who enjoyed his class get better at the material. It’s not meant to be enjoyable.

But after the first few times of these “informational paper related” meetings, conversations involving anything to do with linguistics slowly molded into Yunho placing a nimble finger to his lips to say a silent shhh, followed by, “Let’s not talk about schoolwork tonight, okay?”

That moment, when you noticed that slight shift in Yunho’s energy, the atmosphere from there turned more informal. You become more conscious of those important invisible lines between student and teacher— or even more teacher and friend— that have begun to blur significantly. “Good evening Mr. Jeong,” became, “Le’me taste your food, Yunho?”

To which he never declines, naturally.

Tonight, on the 5th dinner, the climate between you both plows further into the downward spiral of informality, warm and fairly flirtatious. At least, that’s what you surmise by the way he keeps openly teasing you this evening. It’s all innocuous banter, but that doesn’t quell the adoration you hold for him in the pit of your stomach. It’s enough to make your thighs clench together underneath the table. You finally decide to shamelessly reciprocate, teasing him about the way his hair is going every which way tonight. You emphasize how the style is still very handsome despite him looking like he’s been through hell and back.

“I was having a pretty bad day today until I remembered where I was going tonight actually,” Yunho divulges, pushing the wrinkly sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He truly has been through hell and back today, between snooty older teachers and idiot freshmen both treating him like he’s a student just because of his age, “These kinds of nights with you always make my day, so it’s been saved.”

A playful smile tugs at your lips as you cock your head, “Is it the food or is it the company?”

He leans forward on his forearms with a prepossessing smile, one that makes your heart thump loudly in your ears.

“Both, of course,” he teases again, “I suppose the food is just a bonus, though.”

He takes notice of the way your cheeks are dusted in crimson as you shyly avert your eyes and locks that innocent image into a deep chamber of his mind along with all the others. He practically has a photo album saved mentally. It’s not too long until the food comes, and things become all about eating. A fair amount of time into your dinner, you decide to add a new element to your dynamic.

“Do you mind if I drink a little tonight?” you inquire quietly while your eyes skim the wine menu briefly. Not like you were going to care about his answer, but it was simply fun to ask. He chuckles.

“You’re an adult,” he points out instead. You smile to yourself before meeting his eyes from behind the menu. There’s something especially curious tonight behind those dark irises of his. The unfamiliar stare he gives you from behind his bangs is accompanied by a subtle smirk that makes your stomach tie into tight knots.

You turn away your eyes until you’re able to catch the attention of your waiter once more. In the process of requesting a glass of some Cabernet Sauvignon, you hesitate before saying the name of which brand because of the price tag for one glass, but most risks are pricey and tonight you felt like splurging for the reward in return: releasing your inhibitions. The waiter turns towards Yunho to confirm if he’d like to add anything before he leaves.

“Bring a bottle of that instead, please. We’ll share,” he requests alternatively. It takes all of your strength not to look at him like he’s crazy as the waiter nods and heads off to fetch it.

“It’s on me tonight,” Yunho beats you to the punch on declaring anything about his decisions.

“You don’t even know the price of it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he quips back with a chuckle, “Are you suggesting I can’t afford it?”

“Yunho…”

“Don’t even give me that, ____.”

The way he blithely says your first name with a different warmth now always causes your heart to swell in your chest. All formality is truly gone between you two. You both share matching smiles in place of any further words about the matter.

When the waiter returns briefly with a freshly opened bottle of wine and two glasses, you both offer him words of gratitude before he slips away once more. Yunho wastes no time pouring you both a proper amount, sighing contently when finished. You lift your glass towards him and grin once more, “Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

Yunho surely got his money’s worth, because the bottle is gone between you both quickly, signaling the end of your dinner as well. You don’t feel the few glasses fully set in until Yunho is helping you out of the booth, your legs feeling akin to a newborn baby deer as you bashfully stumble into his arms. You suppose your food wasn’t as carb-heavy as usual tonight. You’re not drunk, but surely you’re not sober either. He doesn’t mind holding you steady on the way out of the restaurant, a guiding hand timidly pressed to the small of your back.

As much as you despise the thought of driving under the influence, it’s pouring an insane amount of rain upon exit of the restaurant and Yunho insists he’s fine enough to drive. The dilemma that arises is how your place is further than he has confidence in making it to in this storm while inebriated. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way he’s driving you home tonight.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he begins, and glances over at you, hoping you understand what he means because he’s not sober enough to come up with the words to ask you otherwise. The pouring water is making it hard for him to keep his eyes open but he doesn’t miss the feigning look of indecision in your eyes. He tries to ignore the way the rain has soaked through your dress enough to make it plaster your body. It accentuates every contour of your figure, from the rounds of your breasts down to your supple thighs. When the boom of thunder somewhere far off fills the silence after his proposal faster than you do, he panics slightly.

“I can get you an Uber if—”

“You already paid for an expensive bottle tonight, don’t waste more money on an Uber,” you grasp onto his arm fondly, sopping breasts squished into his bicep. Your lips curl into a soft smile at his attempt at chivalry though, “I’ll be fine. Let’s hurry though, okay? I’m cold.”

That statement is followed by a sharp shiver running down your back, and that’s enough for him to drag you along with him to his car with quick, but careful, steps.

Surprisingly, Yunho lives in a townhouse. You’re very thankful not to have to walk up the stairs of a condo. He thanks God there’s an empty parking space in front of his house, he hates when the tiny lot fills up before he gets home. You both prepare yourselves before rushing out of the car and to his front door.

Your hazy eyes train themselves on his pretty, slender fingers fiddling with the doorknob before he finally gets it open. Those same fingers grab your hand and pull you through his front door with him mindlessly. Another chill immediately runs down your spine at the cool AC blasting through his home, which he immediately runs off to turn down.

“Both bedrooms have bathrooms with showers,” Yunho sputters while quickly heading off to find you a towel and some spare clothes for which you could sleep in.

While you’re still peeling your drenched shoes and socks off, he settles on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants since it’s still a bit chilly in the house. You try not to track too much water through his home while you journey through his living room and meet him halfway.

“I’ll shower in the guest room,” you tell him, taking the items.

He runs an anxious hand through the wet hair sticking to his forehead, “I can also dry your clothes if you leave them on the bed.”

“Fuck, that’s great,” you sigh with a smile, stepping past him but cocking your head back to add, “Wait about five minutes before you come grab them, I should be in the shower by then.”

Just as you requested, Yunho comes into the room a little over five minutes later when he hears the shower running. His eyes confirm that the bathroom door is closed for your privacy before grabbing your wet clothes and retreating to his laundry room down the hall. He chucks them all in his dryer and runs it on medium heat and maximum dryness. While that’s running, he busies himself with running to his bedroom and speedrunning his shower to ensure he’s out before you. He’s a man on a mission, pulling on clothes and towel-drying his hair before rushing to the laundry room to get your clothes.

Yunho pulls your garments from the dryer one by one, making sure there’s nothing left wet. He stops when he pulls something out that catches his eyes. Your underwear. He’s quite enticed by them, even if they were pastel pink with turtles... Hot, he thinks sarcastically. Yunho eyes the crotch curiously and remembers that technically he didn’t wash your clothes at all. It’s been a while since he’s had a girl over his home and that, on top of the thought of even holding your underwear, is taking a small toll on him. He gives in and puts them to his nose, breathing in deeply.

Oh God … Even after they've been soaked in rain, your scent is still heavy on the fabric. He groans, why did you have to smell so fucking good? He remembers that you are quite literally right down the hall while he's here sniffing your underwear like a pervert. It’s your fault, right? Yeah, it’s your fault for trusting him with such a sensitive piece of clothing by himself. It’s your fault for smelling so good and looking so pretty and—

He gives up on rationalizing it and presses the clothing fully onto his face again, inhaling heavily and feeling himself grow harder and harder by the second. His arousal grows worse and worse, precum dampening his underwear with every deep inhale and fluttering thought of what you probably taste like… He finds his hand mindlessly palming himself, and luckily his groans are muffled by the underwear bunched up in his face. That’s when he hears the water shut off.

Yunho whispers a handful of obscenities as he hurries to the room to place your dried clothes on the bed while you’re still in the bathroom, closing the door behind him softly. He’s long gone by the time you step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

Normally, you’d stay in the shower until your fingertips are pruney, but you suppose being a good guest includes not using up all of his hot water. There were more pressing things to attend to anyway, like the tall attractive man patiently awaiting your presence outside of this room. So, when you tug on your now dry panties and his previously provided clothing, you quickly make your way out of the room and to the living room. You’re not exactly sure what you expected upon seeing him, but he’s indeed still exceptionally handsome freshly out of the shower. Those same curious eyes gaze at you behind his shaggy bangs, still in the process of drying. Clad in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, his biceps and strong thighs are fully on display as he lounges on the couch. The way his long legs are man-spread now that he’s comfortable in his own abode makes you swallow a little harder than usual. Still, you meander over and sit on the other side of the couch, not too far away.

“Your place is very nice,” you state absentmindedly, glancing around at the walls of his home. “Very fit for a bachelor.”

Without you noticing, Yunho’s eyes skillfully study the way you’re so casually in his clothing. You’re too busy glancing around at unnecessary things anyway; he wonders if you’re rambling about his decor because you’re nervous. He’s nervous too, but not for the right reasons. Regardless, seeing you in his clothing is taking an additional toll on his mental health. How did you both end up in this situation together… This is wrong, he thinks. He shakes his head to try and clear those corrupted thoughts from his mind. It isn’t until you realize he hasn’t replied to anything in a couple of minutes of you jabbering that you finally peer over at him. His eyes are trained on the short distance between the both of you, mindlessly chewing on the nail of his thumb.

“You okay?” you ask, finally catching his attention.

He nods hastily, “Definitely. Sorry, it’s been a long day. Mind is on empty.”

“You’re fine, no worries.”

It’s uncomfortably quiet for a moment as you both exchange stares. You’re seconds away from breaking the silence before Yunho steals the chance.

“I’m sure you’re tired, so we can head to bed,” he suddenly exhales, hands clasping his thighs, “The guest room is all yours for as long as you need it.”

You take the chance and lean forward toward him on your palms at this statement, slightly sinking into the couch while you gaze at him, “Is that what you really want, Yunho?”

There’s now an even longer moment of silence where you both stare each other in the eyes again and the room is unbearably quiet. Yunho finally breaks it after his Adam’s apple bobs uneasily.

“Of course,” he awkwardly chuckles with furrowed brows, “What do you mean, ____?”

Your heart deflates. For a second, you wonder if maybe you’ve been reading his body language incorrectly the entire night. There’s a flare of embarrassment that ignites on your cheeks as you immediately retract yourself.

“I suck at making jokes,” you match his chuckle nervously, “Don’t mind me.” He cocks his head at you curiously and you stand to your feet before he can catch the way your face is lighting on fire with every passing second. You avoid looking at him as you begin striding back to the guest room, “Goodnight Yunho, see you in the morning!”

Yunho is left alone to his own devices once he hears the sound of the door to the guest room closing down the hall. Sitting alone on a large bed in your teacher’s home feels surreal, and all too disappointing the same. You press your palms to your eyes to try and settle the embarrassment that keeps washing over you every time you think back to your impromptu attempt at making an advance toward him. God this fucking sucks…

After a few minutes of setting up some alarms on your phone for the next morning, you decide you need to go get some water and wash away tonight from your mind forever. Yunho Jeong doesn’t like you more than a friend, it’s time to accept your fate and that you failed at attracting him. To be fair, it all was a shot in the dark to begin with. You try not to be too hard on yourself and hope that he’s already in his room by now.

But, if that’s all truly the case, then why is Yunho standing in front of the guest room door when you open it? His arm is positioned as if he was about to knock. Yunho had been standing there for quite some minutes, debating his next actions in his head, overthinking as usual. Though, could it be considered overthinking if the consequences of his actions could lead to delinquency? Had you not opened the door to go get water, albeit unknowingly, he probably would’ve psyched himself out.

“Oh– Did you need something?” you mumble and look up inquisitively at him. His mouth lingers open for a few seconds before he learns how to speak again.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course.” You can’t help the hint of confusion gracing your face as you step aside and allow him inside the room, “Is everything okay?”

When you close the door and face him, he looks distraught. Everything was indeed not okay.

“Are you still drunk?” He asks first.

“I don’t really think I was ever drunk,” you tell him, “But no.”

“Neither am I.”

At first, it doesn’t click about why he’s confirming this. You also don’t notice the way he gradually takes tentative steps forward—or the way you’re equally taking steps back—until your back hits the bedroom door. He’s so close that you can smell the minty mouthwash still fresh on his breath unfurling over your face. Still, he looks hesitant about his actions.

“I’m sorry, I was just… nervous before,” he swallows. He watches your face shift from confusion to realization; he’s referring to his response when you shot your shot. You relax against the door.

“About?” Is all you can ask in a soft voice, left hand daringly reaching up and cupping his cheek.

“About drunken words,” he continues, his voice just above a whisper. You can see the stutter of his heart against his chest. “And my feelings.”

Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, “What are you feeling, Yunho?”

In a moment of fleeting courage, he gently grabs your right hand and leads it to settle below his groin, pressing it against him a bit for good measure.

“What does it feel like I’m feeling to you?”

Your cheeks heat up at the feeling of him in your palm; you didn’t expect him to be so forward about it out of nowhere. The overall anticipation of the situation is killing you, even though everything feels like it’s moving too slowly and too fast all at the same time. All of your effort was leading to this point and yet, somehow, you still don’t feel nearly as prepared as you thought you were to finally fuck him, to finally fuck your teacher. That doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around nothing at all at his words alone, because this is definitely what you’ve wanted so badly for weeks.

You try to swallow even though your throat feels parched, mindlessly whispering, “Oh my God…”

Then, you give him an experimental squeeze which has his eyelids fluttering closed, and a deep grunt leaving his flared nostrils.

“Fuck …” he groans. It’s too natural, the way you subconsciously run your hand up and down the bulge, feeling it harden even further. Yunho is at his wit's end. “I need you to tell me exactly what you want ____,” he reminds you.

You get it, he’s covering his bases because of his relation to you outside of this bedroom. Consent is sexy regardless, so you grant that to him.

“I really, really want you to fuck me Yunho,” you purr as your hands creep up his chest until you can wrap your arms around his neck, “And I think you want the same, right?”

Yunho’s hands sneak under the t-shirt on you and he massages the flesh of your sides, fingertips ghosting up your skin until they reach your breasts. His thumbs brushing against your hard nipples involuntarily make you whimper his name, and this is all Yunho needs to hear to proceed without such caution. The moment he leans down and smashes his lips to yours, time stops.

It’s nasty, the way your tongues are dragging against each other, spreading trails of saliva everywhere.

It’s nasty, the way he can’t help but drag that same tongue down your neck, sullying your freshly washed skin with spit.

It’s even nastier, the way he moans out your name, shamelessly grinding his clothed boner into your crotch, searching for friction because he’s touch-starved.

“A-Ah—wait! Bed, please,” you let out a broken moan at the way he sucks and bites on your neck. Yunho grunts in agreement, spinning you around and forcefully guiding you back until you both reach the bed. You can’t help but giggle when you fall back on the mattress— he’s so hungry for it, for you. And you’re more than ready to give it to him.

“Can I take them off?” He still asks like a gentleman, though his fingers are impatiently already tugging at the bottom of your sweatpants. You nod with fervor.

The moment he tosses them away, the situation begins to feel a bit more real to you both. Maybe it’s because you’re sopping wet and semi-exposed, and he’s not, so you become bashful and self-conscious.

“Take yours off too?”

Yunho doesn’t hesitate to oblige you. He peels off his shirt and shoves his shorts away easily. There’s a brief second where he hesitates before also pulling his boxer briefs down and finally fully exposing himself to you in all his nude glory. Yunho hasn’t slept with a woman in a while, but he’s never had complaints about anything, and especially not his size. He can tell by how your eyes are drinking him in, that you won’t have any either.

“You’re so handsome, you know that?” you murmur, eyes hazy as they rake over him from his broad chest to his defined abs, then his defined hips to his heavy cock. There’s a cute hue of pink dusting his cheeks at the compliment.

Yunho doesn’t give you a chance to stare at him very much longer before he’s finally ridding you of your shirt, lips meeting yours again the moment it’s tossed. It’s not long before that naughty mouth of his indulges in your breasts, licking and sucking on your hardened nipples like they’re the only thing that will keep him grounded to earth. You’re a moaning mess underneath of him, hands carding through his tresses and lips struggling with telling him how much you love his mouth. He could suck on your beautiful breasts all day but there are more pressing matters at this time.

His eyes never leave yours as he kisses all the way down the expanse of your stomach to the waistband of your panties. Only then does he close his eyes to bury his face in your clothed cunt and take a deep breath, filling his lungs until they feel like they're about to burst. He’s so content that now he can do it knowing the real thing is right underneath. It gets him hard all the same as the laundry room. You watch him grind himself into the mattress for some relief just at the smell of you.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” he divulges, pressing heated kisses into the skin of your sensitive thighs.

“What, eating pussy?” you tease to ease his nerves. He stares pointedly at you from behind your mound.

“You know what I mean.”

Your hand reaches down to find a comforting purchase in his hair, “Neither have I, Yu.”

Yunho can feel himself falling apart faster and faster, and the nickname is not helping him keep it together at all. He hooks his fingers in your panties and gently tugs them down your legs, joining the rest of the discarded clothing on the floor. Your cheeks tingle with heat when his hands spread your legs wider, eyes seemingly mesmerized.

“Such a pretty pussy…” he whispers, marveling at the way your sticky lips tremble when you clench around nothing.

He solves that by pushing in two of those pretty fingers of his, all the way down to the last knuckles. The desperate moan that flies from your lips sends him into a depraved headspace. He immediately latches his mouth onto your throbbing clit and sets to work, thrusting into your squelching squeezing heat and sucking to his heart’s content. Yunho loves eating pussy, truly. There’s something truly cathartic to him about holding a woman’s legs down while she twitches and grinds against his face as he’s slurping up every bit of essence that seeps from her greedy hole. He even removes his fingers and opts for lapping at your heat like a starved man instead. Up and down, left and right… His tongue leaves no inch of your heat untouched. He loves the feeling of your slick coating his face when he pushes his tongue as deep as he can into your hole. He feels your hands yank him by his hair before he can even get to the fun part. He gazes up at you in confusion, mouth messy and eyes indubitably pussy-drunk.

“Please,” you beg, chest heaving, “I want you inside.”

Yunho licks his lips clean before crawling back up your body to fulfill your request. You’re right honestly, there’s only so much grinding he can do into the mattress to ease the ache of his hard cock. He leans over to grab a condom from the nightstand but you pull him back over, mumbling about how you’re on the pill and that it’s fine.

He’s so big, the way he’s engulfing your whole body with you caged between his arms like this. Gazing into your eyes, he drags the blunt tip of his cock back and forth through your dripping folds, occasionally pressing it hard against that clit that he’s taken such a liking to sucking on.

“Hey,” you mumble against his lips, catching the full attention of his blown-out irises. “I can tell you’re nervous. Just relax and lose control, for me. Okay?”

Yunho’s last rope of restraint snaps.

The moment you feel his tip finally breach your entrance, you squeeze your eyes shut and mewl at the feeling of his thick cock sliding into its rightful place. Yes, obviously he’s meant just for your cunt, because you fit like a glove when you're swallowing him in so badly the deeper he pushes. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt, despite your squirming and twitching underneath him at the feeling of being so full.

“I’m about to move,” he pants, adjusting to the feeling of your warm walls squeezing his cock, “Holy fuck.”

When you nod, he finally lets go of his inhibitions. He begins to roll his hips at a nice steady pace, large hands clasped to the backs of your thighs as he pushes them towards your torso. His mouth hangs open in ecstasy and his eyelids lower lazily at the way your walls suck in his cock so tightly and squeeze it like they’re begging to be filled to the brim. You reach up and latch onto his arms to ground yourself, head dizzy and overwhelmed at the feeling of him starting to snap his hips just a little faster now that you’re stretched out a bit more to accommodate him.

“Yunho, fuck, you’re so big,” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. Yunho grinds his pelvis into you at this remark, rubbing against your clit with his happy trail.

“And you’re taking me so well,” Yunho praises with a lopsided grin, “Feels good?”

“So fucking good.”

Yunho pushes your legs back even further as he leans in to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss. You’re so pretty with those glassy eyes and those flushed cheeks of yours, but there’s something about that that quivering bottom lip that makes him want to suck every sound from you himself. He finds himself bucking faster and faster, unable to maintain any kind of self-control.

He breaks away to catch his breath, eyes lazy as he groans, “Let me hear you. This is what you wanted, yeah?”

“Mhm, yes, yes,” you whine desperately, “I wanted it so bad. Wanted you so bad.”

You grant him a flurry of shameless bitten-off moans, egging him on further and further. Yunho buries his face into the crook of your neck, making your skin damp between his own warm gasps and grunting obscenities. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this aroused before; yes, he’s so painfully hard at the fleeting thoughts of how inappropriate everything is. He’s your linguistics teacher—he’s not supposed to be teaching your cunt how to mold to the shape of his cock. He’s not supposed to be massaging your clit and babbling nonsense about how he’s going to lick your pussy clean when you cum. How can he say that to a student? However, his eyes roll back at that thought.

“I’m going crazy,” he groans into your skin, mindlessly speaking his thoughts aloud. “I’m so close.”

You’d say the same if you could, but your mouth can’t form proper words with the way his long fingers are rubbing quick messy circles around your clit. Instead, you put your mouth on the shell of his ear and say his name in a filthy mewl. Your legs tense up and your toes curl; Yunho can feel you cum around his cock a beat later, encouraging your convulsing and whimpering. He can only manage to give you a few more rough thrusts before he pulls himself out and allows himself to empty his balls in quick spurts all over your torso, a mix of “fuck” and “____” leaking from his mouth at how filthy the action is, dirtying you like this. He’s a man of his word though, quickly hefting himself back down to your sopping cunt and diving face first to taste everything he missed tasting earlier. The groan of pure bliss he lets out into your sensitive cunt has you squirming away, much to his dismay. But he finds himself chuckling anyway—he got to taste your cum and, even if it was for only a few seconds, he’s satisfied.

Cleaning up and cuddling after is far from awkward, Yunho feels comfortable with his arms wrapped around you and head on your chest. You find yourself mindlessly scratching his scalp and playing with his messy hair, while his large hands massage the muscles of your thighs. It’s immensely intimate, and this scares Yunho deep inside. Unbeknownst to his stress, you’re settling into a mental state of bliss; you can’t wait to see where this night leads you after, even if it might be a little awkward back in the classroom at first. He tries not to dwell on such thoughts for too long, eventually falling asleep under your touch.

Yunho wakes up to a cold, empty bed. Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand, he catches some time he can’t be bothered with reading fully, nine-something-in-the-morning. He groans internally at the bittersweet arrival of the morning. After a few seconds of just lying there, bleary eyes staring at anything and everything, he remembers that he’s not supposed to be alone right now. The grimace that crosses his face is heavy.

He lugs himself up and out of bed to find his phone, which he’s left God knows where. After a bit of searching, he’s even more upset to see a lack of text from you about leaving. Leaving with no word after sex… Yunho has been in this position before and it makes him feel like shit. It feels even worse considering that this is not just some random woman, you are his student. He’s a chronic overthinker, he knows he is. Yet, he can’t stop his mind from filling with a plethora of miserable thoughts about what this could mean.

Did you simply want to fuck him and nothing more?

Did you regret sleeping with him and want to leave without confrontation?

Did you sleep with him to then leave and tell someone, maybe to humiliate him?

All of these thoughts scream at Yunho until he finds himself clenching his jaw, and tears are pricking at his eyes. He hates this feeling every time it happens; it makes him feel like he’s not good enough. In a moment of brief irrationality, Yunho debates if he should outright block you.

He’s impulsive like that when he’s worked up. However, after a few minutes of begging himself to calm down, he tossed his phone away and went on to make a cup of tea to ease his agitation. He knew this was a mistake from the start and he still did it.

He doesn’t get a text from you until after 11 AM.

[Y/N: sorry for leaving without saying anything!! I forgot I had prior commitments this morning, didn’t wanna text you until I was sure you’d be up. hope you slept well :)]

Yunho doesn’t know what to think. Prior commitments? Surely this would’ve been something you would’ve mentioned before he drove you to his home last night. It is Saturday though, so it’s plausible. He opens the message and leaves you on read instead.

Earlier this morning, you were certain Yunho must have completely tired himself out after sleeping with you because he failed to wake up when your alarms went off. You make a mental note that it only takes him cumming once to make him go comatose (and maybe a little wine to boot). You had left his place with no ill intentions, and your message was truthful. So, when you get left on read by him, it ignites a small flame of insecurity in you. You’re never one to double-text a man, but considering this is something you put a great amount of effort into getting to happen, you put your pride aside when you don't get a reply by the next day.

[Y/N: Wondering if you want to try a new restaurant after work tomorrow… Let me know if you’re interested!]

To your surprise, Yunho replies that he’s too busy. He doesn’t offer to reschedule for a better day, which isn’t like him. Instead of taking it too seriously and replying something disheartened, you let him know that you understand and to let you know if anything changes. He opens this message and doesn’t reply. You try again on Tuesday. This time, your inquiry is more succinct, no fluff.

[Y/N: Are you free Wednesday?]

He answers this similarly to the last attempt, maintaining that he’s too busy to see you that day as well. However, this text is more curt than the last. When you cave in and ask him which days he’s not busy, he leaves you on read, again.

[Y/N: Do you have a free moment to talk then?]

Yunho doesn’t open this text altogether, and the disgruntlement this stirs within you lingers in your system all day, even when you decide to go out with your friends to clear your mind.

Throughout his class with you the following day, you endure Yunho’s eyes practically boring into you at various points in time. It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched, nagging at your scalp while you keep your head downcast towards your laptop. Thoroughly, as distractions do, it keeps you on edge and unfocused throughout the whole lecture. It doesn’t help that Yeosang is out today, so you feel alone even surrounded by so many people.

At some point, during a quiet moment of everyone completing an individual assignment he had handed out, you glance up over the screen of your laptop and catch his attentive eyes gazing back. He gnaws on the nail of this thumb as he usually does when his brain is on overdrive, his eyes calmly lingering on the fixation of all his thoughts. Eventually, he turns them away and decides to focus on something else irrelevant involving his phone. Anything to take you off of his mind.

You quietly snicker to yourself and roll your eyes. So, he can play on his phone just fine during class but can’t find the time to text you and talk? Men will be men… If he just wanted to sleep with you and leave at that, he could at least tell you, you brood. You try not to let it get to you, but it’s hard to focus on anything for the last half hour of class. You don’t bother sticking around after and instead, preoccupy yourself by striking up a conversation with another acquaintance on the way out of the doors. Yunho notices the way you act like he doesn’t exist while leaving and it makes him a bit bitter. He knows it’s irrational, but you’ve really done a number on him, so he can’t help it.

On Thursday, you’re sick of the games altogether. Being the super sleuth you were at the beginning of this mess, you knew when Yunho typically went to his office in between classes to get grading done that he couldn’t do throughout the day. So, when you finish your mathematics class, you pack up your things quickly, knowing he should be roaming this same hall in very little time. There’s one thing–or person, you suppose–that you didn’t account for in this plan.

“You’re terrible at covering hickeys, you know,” Hongjoong chides, eyeing your messy job at applying makeup to your neck.

To be fair to yourself, you hadn’t realized Yunho had sucked one onto your skin the night you both slept together, and the dark blotch was too annoying to deal with every single day. You bruise too easily and they don’t go away fast enough. Admittedly, you had slacked off on the cover-up today. You chalk it up to secretly being in Fight Club, which you remind him, the number rule is to never talk about Fight Club! That, of course, was not a good enough reason for Hongjoong, and you regret that you didn’t acknowledge beforehand he would surely grill you endlessly about your recreational pastimes.

“Okay seriously, I just wore my choker too tight yesterday and it pinched my neck, that's all,” you explain as he quickly follows you out of the classroom. He squints at you with skeptical eyes, as if he is not believing any of the piping hot shit you’re serving him on a platter. Phase two was to gaze at him with winsome eyes, ones he was definitely familiar with. They always worked on Yeosang, but Hongjoong was harder to subdue.

“Don’t.”

“Joong, I’m telling you, there’s nothing more for me to answer here.”

You employ a small pout to boot.

“And you think I believe that?”

“I think you should believe it.”

He rolls his eyes in annoyance. Meanwhile, your eyes inconspicuously search for Yunho in the sea of classmates flooding the hallway; there was a very important conversation you had hyped yourself up to finally have with him. One that surely would not be done if it didn’t get done today, at this very moment. That would obviously fail to happen if Hongjoong kept pestering you with his concerns. Suddenly, your eyes spot the tail end of Yunho’s styled hair turning the corner and leaving the hallway. Goddammit!

“Joong, I really gotta go,” you say frantically and secure your backpack onto your back. His lips open slightly in puzzlement, but there’s nothing he can say before you’re already shoving people out of the way to make it through the hallway to follow him to his office.

You take the stairs while he takes the elevator to waste some time; hopefully, he'll be set up and comfortable by the time you get to his floor. When you make it to his office, he’s indeed already seated and filtering through sheets of work from students during the last class. You don’t bother knocking before entering; he hadn’t afforded you the comfort of manners lately, so neither would you.

Honestly, had anyone else burst into his office so unannounced like this, he might've cussed them out by accident. But before he can get any words out, you can see the physical shift from annoyance to puzzlement wash over his face as he realizes it’s you, then, genuine dread graces his face before downcasting his gaze.

“I need to talk to you,” you insist, “Now.”

He’s having a hard time even meeting your eyes when you’re speaking and it’s pissing you off tremendously.

“I’m a bit busy right now,” he sighs, now in the process of looking through his desk for a pen that works. “It’ll have to wait for another time.”

You ignore him entirely, “Why are you avoiding me, Yunho?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Yunho quickly objects. “I’m just–”

“You’ve blown me off twice this week already,” you counter. “Now I can’t even come see you at your office?”

Yunho puts his head in his hands and tries to collect his thoughts. He’s too sensitive to handle this conversation with no preparation beforehand. Then again, the longer he keeps isolating, the longer he’s going to keep feeling like shit. He can hear the undertone of hurt in your words, but he’s only doing what’s best for you, right?

“The least you could do is give me a real reason,” you continue. He finally lifts his head and meets your frustrated eyes. “Just give me a real reason to and I’ll fuck-off all you want.”

“____, that night was a mistake,” he tells you simply. The look in his eyes says otherwise. You know he’s lying but it still feels like a punch in the gut.

“A mistake?”

“It’s something that shouldn’t have happened, and it was inappropriate of me to do that with you. Let’s just forget about it and move on, please.”

You furrow your brows in agitation, “You really feel that way?”

“I do,” he murmurs, eyes falling back to the papers in front of him. He visibly hesitates for the briefest moment before picking up his pen and resuming his grading. This feeling of rejection hurts a little more than usual. Why do you feel like a failure? Why do you feel like a fuck-up? Maybe it’s because of the effort you put into this man, unlike many others. You stand there in his doorway uncomfortably silent until you find it in yourself to offer some final words.

“We’re both adults, Yunho,” you remind him in a voice that airs on the more serious side of yourself. He’s never heard you sound such a way with him. “No one has to know what two grown adults do in their free time. And you don’t owe anyone any explanations.”

When he doesn’t look up from his paperwork anymore, you finally leave and gently close the door behind you.

Nearly a week after that day, your phone begins to ring while you’re out at a bar with friends. Yeosang’s nosy eyes catch the name on the screen and he gives you an incredulous look. His name still has a heart beside it and you haven’t updated him on anything regarding Yunho since telling him that you both were texting each other outside of class.

“What is he doing calling you at 9 PM, miss?” he teases as you move your phone to your lap, “Booty call?”

“Would you like to ask him yourself?” you snort.

“Boo, why can I never know anything–”

“Oh but when I mention the obvious hickey, I’m imagining things, huh?” Hongjoong interjects with narrowed eyes when he overhears you both bickering. “Who’s the mystery man?”

“It’s nobody,” both you and Yeosang say in unison.

Hongjoong quirks a brow at how you both are gazing at him with matching smiles, suspiciously. He lets it go quickly and instead butts into Mingi and his girlfriend’s conversation. By the time you glance at your phone, Yunho’s call has already gone fully unanswered. Subsequently, you chose not to return the call later when you’re done and home. You didn’t necessarily want to talk to someone who called such an intimate moment with you a mistake. And especially not intoxicated. If he wants to talk to me that bad, he’d just send whatever he needs to say in a text, you tell yourself. But, of course, those texts don’t come. Yunho doesn’t know how to express himself like that over message. However, after getting wasted, it takes everything within you not to text him first in a fit of overwhelming horniness. What’s the worst that could come from letting him know that you’re craving the feeling of that thick cock of his splitting you open, or how maybe this time you should test out your gag reflex? Yeosang knows you well enough to take your phone from you after a certain amount of shots, so you don’t get that opportunity anyway. God bless your best friend.

A couple of days later, you still find yourself unable to let things go. How can you when Yeosang brings it up any time you speak alone? For someone so sure you were making a huge mistake, he sure is desperate for the tea. It’s like he’s your frontline cheerleader (which he usually is anyway). If he found out you both fucked, surely he’d lose his mind.

“You can’t keep me in the dark, I’m still dying to know how much progress you’re making with Mr. Jeong after seeing him call you that night,” Yeosang pleads, “Have you both met up in private off of campus yet?”

“That’s classified info,” you state and try to stifle your subsequent laughter when you hear him grumble. You still hadn’t found it within yourself yet to tell him that your plan had failed. “You’ll know by if I pass this class or not.”

“Just a little hint, please? I’m on my knees.”

“Progress is being made, Yeo,” you disclose in a sing-song voice. Surely a little white lie wouldn’t hurt in the meantime, “He’s a very good conversationalist, you know. With that deep voice of his, and especially late at night.”

Yeosang groans in annoyance, “You’re killing me ____, I’m too curious! You didn’t entertain a single man at the bar, something juicy has to be happening.”

You debate on at least telling him about the extra study sessions you and Yunho had been having before things were soiled, the innocent stuff that he could gush and tease you over. But, just as you’re about to say something, he cuts you off unknowingly.

“Shit, Mingi’s calling. Le’me call you back,” Yeosang groans, and you offer a hum of affirmation before the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best that you had been interrupted before you put your foot in your mouth.

You quickly fill the silence by shuffling one of your ‘Doing Chores’ playlists and focusing your mind on cooking the remainder of your dinner. A couple of minutes later, the chime of your phone interrupts your music. You continue to focus on stirring while your other hand carelessly presses the answer option.

“That was quick,” you giggle.

“Felt like forever to me,” a familiar, deep voice replies. You freeze and glance over to see Yunho’s name on the screen of your phone in place of your best friend’s.

Fuck.

“Good evening, Mr. Jeong,” you reply instead. “I thought you were someone else, my apologies.”

“Have we really already reverted back to the formalities?” he sighs and his voice already sounds a bit defeated.

You roll your eyes, “I’m a bit preoccupied right now. So unless you’d like to discuss my class work, I don’t have time to entertain this.”

“Just give me five minutes, please.”

You turn off the stove and snatch up your phone before ambling to your bedroom.

“Spit it out already, Yunho.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you ____,” he admits.

Hearing you say his first name makes him feel a smidge better, even if it’s in irritation. He wonders if you can feel his heart pounding through the speaker or the way it makes his fingers tremble while holding the phone. “I was just scared, you have to understand that at least. I told you I’ve never done that kind of thing before, ever.”

“Thought it was a mistake–”

“I only said that because you left without saying anything. I thought you regretted it!”

“I literally told you why I did that, you decided to not believe me apparently,” you counter, voice laced with the slightest bit of frustration as you sit on your bed. Then you add in a mutter, “Instead of talking with me like an adult.”

There’s a long moment of silence. He doesn’t hang up though, so neither do you. You stare at the timer under his name, continuing to count up seconds full of emptiness.

“I’m really sorry,” Yunho finally sighs. “I said a lot of things I didn’t mean. I was just scared.” You remain silent and it eats at his confidence slowly. He’s desperate and doesn’t really care if it shows at this point, so he goes on to fill the silence again, “You were right, we’re adults. It’s not anybody else’s business what happens outside of campus. That’s why I’m trying to fix things now. Please.”

You sigh heavily while stroking your temples. This conversation is not something you had prepared yourself for, but the desperation in his voice is hitting you right in the gut. You know he’s being sincere, but it’s just hard to make yourself that vulnerable as well. You both know the truth is that it’s not okay, none of this is. It’s all extremely inappropriate. What you are doing with each other could ruin both of your lives if found out before you graduate. It’s risky; and yet, you still find yourself saying a sentence you definitely shouldn’t be saying:

“Listen, I genuinely like you Yunho.”

“And I genuinely like you too, ____. So let me take you on a proper date,” he says a little too hastily, but he can’t stop himself from the excitement that bubbles inside of him, stemming solely from you even reciprocating his feelings, “And not just a dinner like usual, I mean something thoughtful.”

“Something thoughtful…” you repeat after him, accidentally punctuating it with a giggle at how foolish the whole situation seems. “Are you serious about that?”

“Absolutely,” he assures you, “Only if you want to, of course.”

You sigh and smile to yourself at how heartfelt he sounds. Sure, there are millions of ways this could go extremely wrong, but you decide to ignore those thoughts and take him up on his offer. If you were one to listen to the better part of your judgment, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into this situation in the first place. It would be a shame to let that work you put in go to waste just because of a little hiccup in the road. Besides, Yunho was surely the best fuck you had received in quite some time. There was plenty of time through the rest of the semester to explore that side of him again as well. The conversation ends with you both agreeing to meet with each other in a few days, Yunho promising to make it enjoyable even though it’ll be discrete.

♡ taglist for those who replied to my interest post: @yeos-bunny @sharksandminhos @sannieluvrr

2K notes · View notes

motthe · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! If you're taking requests, can I pls have young!Silco and reader dancing in the Last Drop during an event/celebration?

I've been listening to all the bangers in the S2 soundtrack and the Ekko + Powder dance in ep 7 has my heart, they're so young and carefree 🥺 Maybe reader comes through the door all glammed up, leaving Silco awestruck and his mind spinning ✨ Cue him being all stiff on the dance floor but reader encourages him to dance with them. No revolutionary leader this time, just a young man in love 💖

Pls feel free to modify this as much you like, your writing for Arcane has me in a choke hold, esp Young! Silco and Viktor ones. Thank you! 🥺♥️

+ @locinne : hii can i request silco and reader sharing a cig or just having a moment together.

It’s a lively time for the Last Drop. Silco’s used to a crowd most nights—the bar stood as a comfort for many wandering souls in the Lanes—but not one of this wild nature. While he didn’t enjoy the noise, he couldn’t judge the people’s delight. It was a celebration, after all, the after party of a wedding of one of Vander’s friends.

“At least drink, Sil,” Felicia called over the music, a soft hand curling over his shoulder. “I’d give anything for one.”

He smirked to himself, turning from his seat at the bar to eye her swollen stomach before meeting her tired gaze.

“I’ll bring your favorite bottle as soon as the little troublemaker is born,” he promised.

She grinned and sat next to him, cupping an arm under belly as she got settled. “Where’s your party spirit?”

“Have you ever seen me entertain such gatherings in the time we’ve known one another?” he questioned in return.

“I’ve seen you drink at the very least.”

“I’ve had a glass,” he admitted. “I’d rather not nurse a hangover like half of the Lanes tomorrow.”

She purses her lips, head swiveling to scan the crowd. “So it’s not because a certain someone isn’t here yet?”

“Now, you’re reaching,” he chuckled.

“And you’re waiting,” she laughed right back, nudging him with her shoulder. “One glass to loosen up but you don’t want to lose your charming wit, huh?”

“I think that baby of yours is stealing precious brain power.” He twisted back to the counter where his journal lied with countless plans and future prospects.

A sharp whistle came from Felicia in response, but it was when she patted his arm with the back of her hand that he realized it wasn’t towards him.

He glanced over his shoulder, breath seizing as your frame stepped through the doors. You were practical with your everyday style, but tonight you’d brought out a few pieces he’d never seen. You were a feast for the eyes and he’d been starving since you’d left the wedding venue.

“Feeling parched?” Felicia’s voice snapped him back to present as he saddled her with a soft glare.

You were mingling with the happy couple of the night, passing greetings. He needed to recover. That one glass of whiskey felt a bit too warm in his stomach now.

“I’m going to step out for a smoke,” he said, cutting her off with a shake of his head as she went to disagree. The path to the door was relatively clear and you were too busy with conversation to clock him as he slipped into the shadow of night.

As the door closed behind him, you found Felicia at the bar, smiling bright enough for her to see it across the bar as she laughed and twiddled her fingers at her temple. You finished up with the people around you before scurrying over and wrapping your arms around the woman.

“You look amazing,” she said, taking in your outfit.

“Thank you.” You stepped back, taking in her stomach. “How are you feeling?”

She groaned instead of answering, the both of you embracing each other again as you fell into laughter.

“Ay, there you are!” You looked behind her to find Vander. “The usual?”

“Sure,” you called, observing the spot next to Felicia. “Silco out?”

She raised two fingers to her lips as you nodded, accepting the glass sliding down the counter. It was a sipper, but you downed that shit in one gulp.

“I’m dragging that man back in here. He needs to socialize.”

“Yes!” Felicia cried, patting your back. “Please, Gods, he needs to let loose.”

“What’re you two scheming?” Vander shouted over the song, eyes narrowing.

“I can’t hear you!” you lied, putting your glass down as you headed off. Felicia just laughed.

Pushing through the crowd as more people filtered out to dance, you shivered as you stepped out into the cool night. The moment the door shut behind you everything became muffled leaving you to the distant ambience of the Lanes.

Looking to your left, you smiled to yourself as you spotted the figure leaning against the wall, the tip of a cigar mounting from red to bright orange as he took a deep drag.

As soon as you stepped towards his corner his head turned, a dark eyebrow ticking up in question.

“All by your lonesome,” you hummed, shuffling up to his side and eyeing his past time. “Those the ones I got you?”

He held out a few seconds before expelling it away from you. “Splendid choice.”

You smiled, the scent clinging to each word. If it was between his secondhand smoke or oxygen, you’d wouldn’t live long.

“I’ll return momentarily.”

“Not here to rush you,” you said. “Just wanted to see you.”

The silence while enough to unnerve you at times was warm as it filled the minute space between you. A hidden smile in the corner of his lips was enough of a push (and maybe that double pour). You reached for the collar of his shirt, fixing a crease. He tilted his head away but moved closer, accepting the preening.

“Look good dressed up.”

He shook his head as you withdrew, taking in another pull. “I’m afraid you’ve got me beat, pet.”

Holding up the cigar, you happily leaned back into his space, wrapping your lips around the end and breathing in.

“Mm,” you let the smoke spill from your nose, the flavor settling over your tongue, “damn, that is nice.”

He watched you, keeping his thoughts to himself as you rested your head agaisnt the wall. You wished you could read him, understand that look that overcame him in the quieter moments like this.

“Dance with me,” you asked, gentle as you tugged at his sleeve.

“You’re asking the wrong person,” he rumbled, focusing back on your little gift from months back.

“No, I’m not.”

Another warm beat of silence.

“I don’t dance.”

“Just one,” you begged, fingertips brushing the side of his hand. “Just dance with me once, and I’ll leave you to your lonesome if that’s what you want.”

His jaw flexed, another cloud dispersed. When he stubbed the cigar out, you were practically beaming, happily pulling at his elbow back into the bar.

Almost everyone was dancing, leaving the two of you to blend seamlessly into the crowd as lights flickered and colors crossed. Silco was stiff—a common occurrence in most settings—but with your guiding hands you got him to sway. Making a fool of yourself, spinning circles around him, it was enough to get him chuckling and nodding along until his feet followed yours in a fever across the floor.

When the fast paced song melded into something slower, you prepared for him to move away but his arms slipped around your waist, your chests grazing as he led you into a new rhythm.

“You don’t dance?” you asked him, voice lilting as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“In this, I’m capable,” he replied, forehead brushing yours, sending your heart into a frenzy, “and I’d rather not be by my lonesome. Not now that you’re here.”

Holding back the grin that’d make anyone look stupid (but you most of all), you rested your head against his shoulder as you both swayed together.

In the background, Felicia cheered glasses with Vander at the bar, happily sipping on her juice as he sipped his whiskey.

#young!silco #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane series #arcane silco #arcane fic #arcane drabbles #arcane oneshot #young silco #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #masterlist #arcane content

366 notes · View notes

amarmoria · 6 months ago

Text

Nepenthe

꩜.ᐟ Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Notes: I've seen fics abt padawan reader and none can quench my thirst eugh😫pls note i have nooo idea what goes on in the star wars universe please don't come for me😣

"Hand me that one, fast" He gestured to the purple fruit just beside you, not daring to glance at you. "Yes, sir"

You curiously peeked over your master as you handed the fruit, what was so important it had him rushing like this?

"It's for Mae," he says, the squelching fruit making you frown, you forget he reads minds as easily as breathing. Your frown deepens as you remember. Mae. His acolyte, he took you in a few months before Mae came, that first few months felt like heaven, it was just you and him, in this unknown planet, training, practicing.

Yet, after Mae came, it almost felt like you were some kind of servant for the both of them, he trained with her day and night, leaving you to fend for yourself, he told you it's because you've already been trained by him, that you don't need to anymore, you didn't mind, you got along with Mae... on your perspective that is.

Mae was a fast learner, you were proud of her, now you have someone to share your training with, converse like a normal person, but later you realized that him and her were two sides of the same coin, quiet, mute, they don't like conversations, although you made an effort to be friends with Mae, than you ever did with your master since she was the lesser evil, you're quite proud of yourself when your conversations with her turned from smalls nods and no's to simple phrases.

You didn't care that your master had two Padawans under his belt, that is until he taught her some things he never even told you about, every now and then he would drop hints about what he would teach you next, to prepare you, but this one was unknown to you, you thought, maybe, maybe he forgot to tell you since he was so engrossed in trying to make Mae catch up to you, but Mae didn't just catch up to you, she had already passed way above you, while your stuck on the pedestal she was weeks ago.

"Something on your mind, little bee?" That nickname, he never once gave an explanation on why he calls you that. "No, uh, nothing.. master"

You focus on his muscles grinding the stone bowl.

"I don't think that's nothing"

"I'm fine, really." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Hm"

You blink, fiddling with the hem of your robes, you let a few seconds pass before speaking up.

"Why.. why does Mae need it?" He halted his movements, and right then and there you almost regretted asking, almost. "She's having nightmares"

He resumed his cooking, although his brief answer didn't provide you with anything, so what? You were having nightmares once too, and he told you to suck it up.

And as if he read your mind, which he did. "I don't want it to hinder her performance, we don't want any distractions during this time of her training."

What about my training? You wanted to yell at him, what about me? Why can't you make me one of your anti-nightmare potions too?

You could only clench your fists, making sure he doesn't hear some of your thoughts, which is hard considering he didn't teach you to, only Mae, along with healing your body by using the force, all her, and your left in the dust.

Your master said using negative emotions is the best fuel for people like them. Them. He told you, him and Mae obvi, you're nowhere near the equation, like an addition symbol in a multiplication question, makes no sense right? Because you make no sense being there when he clearly prioritizes Mae.

"—are you still listening?"

"I, huh," your eyes flutter up to him, frowning when he says nothing but look at you. A few seconds pass with only the both of you staring each other down, I mean, him staring you down with his creepy mask, he suddenly lets go of the pestle, the tool colliding with the mortar loudly.

He was now towering over you, and you realize then how big he was compared to you, it's like a dwarf next to a willow tree. (Guys no matter how big you think you are, Qimir is always bigger✋)

"I can't hear you, but I feel you" oh fuck, you forgot about that. "What is this plaguing your mind?"

Before you could answer, Mae comes running.

"You're back" He focuses on her, you let out a deep breath, for once your relieved Mae came in just a nick of time. "The ship's ready, master"

"Good, let's go" he grabs his robe from behind you. "Finish the potion before we come back"

"Whe, where are you guys going?"

"Nothing of importance, now go." He gestures to the stone bowl, his menacing helmet buzzing in your ears. "Yes, master.."

"Good girl." you couldn't hear his last few mumbles, only registering everything when they left the cave, leaving you alone.

You decided that you're gonna make an anti-nightmare potion for yourself too, because why does only Mae get it when you can make one in case you get nightmares?

And the best place to buy ingredients was with the best apothecary in town.

"Qimir?" You knock on the door. "I need to buy things for him, are you there?"

No answer.

"Hellooo?"

You pouted and turned around, now everyone's busy when you're not, you wanted to wait for a few more seconds but people might think you're crazy for trying to buy from an abandoned pharmacy, your master told you Qimir was there anytime you needed something to use for missions, but now that you don't go to missions, you love to annoy the clumsy pharmacy owner.

"Hey, wait!"

You tried to stop the smile creeping to your face when you hear the door bust open.

"I'm here!" He yelled, you turned around and waved, a big smile covering your face. "What took you so long?"

"What do you mean?" He playfully shrugged. "Been here since forever"

You felt more comfortable with him, you don't have to have to tiptoe around him unlike with the other, you liked to tease him about not taking a bath and for looking like a ragged hobo.

"What are you doing here though?" His eyebrows furrowed as you skip to him, you gave him a warm smile once again before making your way inside. "I need some things for him."

He frowned.

"Things? He didn't tell me he needed anything when they passed here."

"Well he told me, so go fetch it for me, servant" you chuckle and hit him on the bicep, he fakes a cry before hesitating to open the shelves.

"Here's the list of his majesty needs"

"His majesty?" He laughs, you just love making him laugh, maybe it's just you, or maybe you're just alone, but if there's anyone in the world you're going to survive an apocalypse with, it's Qimir.

"Uh huh, he keeps barking orders, finish this, finish that before we get home nyeh nyeh nyeh"

He chuckles once again. "Are you sure about telling me that? I might just snitch and get a promotion."

You feign an insulted look. "You don't dare"

"Oh but I do"

You both sat there laughing, forgetting about what you were here for. You clutch your tummy and struggle to inhale air.

"I can't— stop—" you burst out laughing once again, your face heating up, the tears in your eyes now brimming full.

"No no don't die on me" He jokes, you can see him staring, you wanted to look at him like that, shameless, but you can't stand looking at him for more than 3 seconds without blushing.

"Really?" He mumbles, but you heard him, clear as day. "What?"

"I, I mean, really h-huh? You can't stop laughing?" He waved both his hands in the air.

"You weirdo"

"Oh so now I'm the weirdo?"

"Uh huh"

"Since when?!"

"Since we met"

"Says the person who keeps barging in my shop"

"You like it though right?" You look up at him expectantly. "Like w-what?"

You gesture with your hands. "This?"

"This what?"

"You're always alone here, you must be grateful that I always visit."

"Yeah, always"

"What does that mean!" You put your hands on your waist. "It means you're always here, so you're like an everyday occurance by now"

You roll your eyes as he finishes up the list.

"Here's the last one—" you frown as he pauses. "What?"

"Isn't this," he picks up the list again. "It's for.."

You gulp, your fingers fumble with the wooden seat.

"N-no, no, it's not" you avert your eyes from him, the floor looking a little more interesting today.

"It's for nightmares isn't it?"

"I don't know, he only gave the list, nothing else."

"It is for nightmares, why do you need these?"

"I don't know, it's not for me." You clench your fists. "If it was for him he'd tell me himself"

Your eyes try to find something, anything, to tell him.

"I think it's for Mae okay? Maybe, maybe she's having nightmares and, and maybe he doesn't want it to distract her.."

"But I al—" he pauses, his jaw flexing. "I already gave him these."

His eyes narrow on you, like a deer in the headlights you could only look away.

"Tell me?" His soft voice lures you to him. "Are you having them?"

"No.." you sigh, do you tell him you're making the potion out of spite for your master? For making one for Mae and not for you, ugh it all sounds childish now, before you left you had a plan, and now you look like a child caught.

"Just—" you let out a deep breath. "Give it, and I'll be on my way"

He stares at you for a moment, before placing everything in a small pouch. You thanked him and left the credits on the table before hurriedly leaving, you could still feel his stare at the back of your head.

#qimir x padawan! reader #qimir x reader #the stranger x reader #the stranger #acolyte x reader #the acolyte #manny jacinto x reader #manny x reader #manny jacinto

575 notes · View notes

melovrs · 6 months ago

Text

he isn’t the biggest fan of parties.

he could think of so many more things he could be doing other than mundanely chatting with acquaintances and friends-of-friends. the loud music and shitty drinks make him want to puke his guts out; being sociable was never one of his strong suits, after all.

yet, just as he’s about to leave, he comes across the girl of his dreams. the girl he had been crushing on for the longest time, the girl in his biology class, sitting on a beat up sofa.

his friend noticed his lingering gaze on you and interrogates.

“looks like someone’s caught your eye.”

he turned around, his ears tinged with a blush.

“it’s nothing like that.”

his friend snorted and walked off, presumably to talk to another group of people. with his friend gone, his gaze returned back to you. your face glowed despite the darkness of the room. fluorescent lights danced across the room, and chatter is amongst the crowd, yet all he could focus on was your beauty.

the thought of leaving the party has been abandoned, not when the girl of his dreams is right before him! he gathered himself up, realizing he was staring at you for far too long; long enough for you to possibly notice him. he turned on his heel and decided to get some water.

with a bottle of water, he returned to the same spot he was at, looking down at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but to you. as he was fiddling with his hands, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

to his utter surprise, it was you, in the flesh. a shy smile was on your lips as you waved at him.

“hey, you’re in my biology class, right?”

you started the conversation, noticing how he froze up at your touch. he cleared his throat before responding.

"um, yeah, i think so."

he regrets his response immediately. 'i think so?’ what was he on about? he practically noticed you every time he walked into the lecture hall, your face radiant as always.

you smiled at his response.

"i was hoping you'd remember, or this would have been weird," you laugh awkwardly.

the silence between you two was eminent, and he was desperate to break it. before he could speak, though, you started.

"uh- how's the party going for you?"

he played with the water bottle in his hand.

"it's alright, i guess. i'm not a fan of parties, my friend just dragged me here, so..." he trailed off.

you nodded knowingly, agreeing with him.

"i'm the same as you too, i'm here just because my friend," you point over to the couch, "brought me here."

you softly laugh and lean closer to his body, your shoulders almost grazing. though the party is as loud as ever, and the lights are blinding, all he could feel was your arm leaning on his, your voice like a melody to his ears.

maybe he'll start going out to more parties, if it means you'll be there.

(hq) kageyama tobio, akaashi keiji, tsukishima kei, futakuchi kenji, ushijima wakatoshi, (wbk) sakura haruka, takiishi chika, togame jo, (bllk) itoshi rin, (post wc) kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, barou shouei

i've never been to a party in my LIFE so this is probably super inaccurate jsjsdjfj pls be nice !! i was listening to cherry wine by grentperez then this idea came to me !! go listen !! (wbk debut YAY !!!)

thank you so much to @littlemissemeritus for beta reading i love u pooks 🥺🥺

891 notes · View notes

jammydodger3579 · 6 months ago

Text

Young Lust

Summary: Reader is an ex-widow. She escaped with Yelena and lives at the Avengers compound, though she denies being one. The X-men have been working with the Avengers quite closely lately. (I plan on making this a series so that's all the context you get for now hehe)

A/N: so this is the first piece I've put out in a long time so pls be kind, feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. idk when I'll post the second chapter so enjoy this for now. Also couldn't stop listening to Young Lust by Pink Floyd and Closer by Nine Inch Nails while writing this iykyk ;)

18+, for mature audiences only.

1000+ word count.

Warnings: smut, p/v sex. cursing? I'm really bad at writing smut so apologies

It wasn’t the first time they’d met, it was just the first time he’d noticed her. Her hair, messily curled. Her makeup, strikingly bold. It suits her. Y/N noticed him too. Drink in hand, leaning against the kitchen island. He seems to have put effort into his appearance for this night. His hair was done, his beard freshly shaven. He even wore his nicest jeans and jacket. Y/N was half listening to a conversation between Kitty and Yelena. Something about how Kitty had come to be at the mansion. They all got along, especially since the Avengers, and their associates like Y/N and Yelena, wanted to bridge the gap between them and the X-men.

Professor Xavier had come to the compound around 3 months ago to discuss with Stark the future of the X-men and how they should all work together. They were practically already neighbours, Stark remarked, the Avengers compound being only a 20-minute drive from the school. Logan had visited that day, sparking up a conversation with Y/N and Bucky.

“So you’re an avenger?” She looked up and smiled at the large man.

“Only by association. They give me a place to live, and I help them out with missions” She shrugged and stood up. Compared to her, Logan towered over her. “So you’re an X-man?”

“Only by association” Logan nodded and noticed the Professor leaving Starks office. And with that, he was gone. Y/N sighed. Bucky stood up and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Guess we’ll be seeing more of them,” He said. He was right, Y/N would be seeing a lot of Logan. She wanted to know more.

The X-men had successfully worked with the Avengers for a series of related missions, Y/N only onboard for some of them, so as a celebration of their success, Professor Xavier hosted a dinner night for the Avengers. Y/N parted ways with the woman and walked over to Logan. She leaned over the counter and poured herself a drink.

“Enjoying yourself?” They’d only spoken a few times during their missions. They seemed to work well together without talking. Logan nodded and took a sip of his drink. “I’ve never actually been here before, it’s nice”

“It is, have you had the tour yet?” Logan pulled a cigar out of his pocket. “I need fresh air anyway, so I can show you around a bit” Y/N nodded and followed him out of the kitchen. They walked through the dining room and a living room. One of a few, Logan had said. They made their way outside to the back of the building. Y/N watched as Logan lit his cigar and she took this opportunity to light herself a cigarette. Logan scoffed slightly. “Didn’t peg you for a smoker, bub”

She smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes you just need a cigarette,” Logan nodded, understanding. He couldn’t help but notice her face, under the moonlight. Her makeup making her features more prominent. He’d recognized she was naturally pretty before, but tonight was different. She was wearing casual, nice clothing. Not her usual tactical gear. Her hair was down unlike how she usually had it. She looked almost regular, someone you wouldn’t expect to have a gun tucked under her skirt. But she was raised to be prepared for anything. “Tell me, how does the Professor feel about his teachers smoking on school grounds?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. Besides, it’s a stressful job” Y/N was drawn to him, especially tonight. Maybe it was just the alcohol or the moonlight. Something in her stirred. She needed more. His massive body, his arms around her…

They’d had a moment, about 3 weeks back, a one-time thing. Logan was at the compound with Bobby and Kitty, discussing some information they had with the team. Y/N wasn’t a part of the conversation, she had just been training with Yelena. As she walked into the room, the conversation died down. Stark called the meeting there and everyone piled out of the room. Except for Logan, he stayed behind. They made small talk, but there was tension between them. He’d seen how she’d fight, still looking gorgeous after each punch. Even after she’d been training, she barely looked bothered. Logan was collecting files from around the table when he leaned past Y/N, brushing past her shoulder. He held his breath, fearing something would happen if he moved.

“Good workout?” he finally said, breaking the tension.

“Could’ve joined, y’know, since we’re a “team” now” She replied calmly, leaning against the table. “God knows I need a new training partner, Yelena is relentless”

“You guys are very close.” Logan was still standing right next to Y/N. He extended his claws out to retrieve the last file on the table.

“We were raised together, in the red room... We escaped together, and when she found her sister, she offered for us to stay here. We were family, shared trauma and all..” she trailed off, shaking her head “Sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all this onto you”

“It’s okay, I get it” Logan looked over. He saw a vulnerable woman, not the same snide-commenting one he’d gotten to know on the battlefield. His gaze flickered between her eyes and her lips, hurt washing over her face. And then it happens. Y/N had leaned in and kissed Logan. By instinct, he pulled back, shock all over his face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sor-” Y/N was cut off by Logan's lips crashing against hers. His hands dropped the files and moved to her waist, pulling her in flush against his body. He was rough, his lips chapped. She was comfortable, her lips soft. Y/N lifted a hand into his hair. That caused Logan to pull away again, second-guessing what he was doing.

“No I’m sorry, you’re upset and I’m taking advantage.” Logan grabbed the files off the table and left the room, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. It felt like second nature, the act itself feeling so normal that it left Y/N feeling confused. Why had she done that? Why did she open up like that? Logan was an X-men. They should be working together, not getting together behind closed doors.

“You’re cold, here” That snapped Y/N back. Logan removed his jacket and put it around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Y/N leaned in and kissed his cheek without thinking. Stupid. Logan smiled and kissed her forehead. It was instant. Y/N put her cigarette out, took Logan's cigar away from his mouth, and kissed him. It was hungry, desperate. To her surprise, logan leaned into it this time, putting one hand around her waist and the other on her face. Then he pulled away. “I wouldn’t take a man's cigar away from him, sweetheart,” he said, taking it back.

“What are you gonna do about it” The words escaped before she could think about it. Then, without warning, Logan took her hand and pulled her inside the building. This was exciting. He found an empty broom closet and the two went inside. Before she could ask what was happening, Logan had her pinned against the door. They could hear talking and laughter. Logan locked the door, just in case. Y/N was drinking in his scent, the cigar still burning between his lips. He removed it, put it out against his hand, and placed it back in his pocket. He was thinking about it, a suitable punishment.

“Let's see, what would a dirty woman like you deserve” he snarled before kissing her again. It was heated, sloppy. Y/N had been waiting for a moment like this for months. Before this, it was stolen looks and glances towards the other. He would casually ask if she was okay during their missions. Constantly checking in. This was different. This was heading somewhere. Finally.

She moved her right leg to wrap around Logan’s left leg in an attempt to bring him closer. He kisses her roughly, poking his tongue inside his mouth to show whos boss here. Logan’s hands roamed her body, smiling when he found the gun she had hidden for emergencies. He removed it carefully before returning to explore Y/N’s body. He left marks down her neck, causing a loud moan to escape. Logan placed a hand over her mouth, the other returning to her leg. She leaned into him, desperate for him to feel her. She could feel his growing erection against her. She muffled something against his hand quietly. He moved it away.

“I need you” she panted, she was eager, he’ll give her that. He wanted to devour her. He pulled down her underwear and traced her clit painfully slow.

“So wet for me already,” he purred. Her hips moved closer, wanting more. Her hands roamed his chest, then moved down to his belt. She started to unbuckle it, fumbling as she was very distracted when he stopped her. He moved away slightly, taking in his view. He quickly took his belt off with one swift tug and then freed himself of his pants. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight, daunted by his size. Logan smiled and returned his lips to hers. He placed his hands under her thighs and lifted her onto him slowly. Y/N moaned against the contact. “Shh, I’ll need you to be more quiet sweetheart”

Logan got a good rhythm going before returning his lips to a special spot on Y/N’s neck. She whimpered, not wanting anyone to hear her get fucked against a door. Her legs wrapped themselves around Logan's waist, not wanting him to leave. His hand covered her mouth, not wanting any noise to escape. He nibbled and licked and kissed all along Y/N’s neck. Her hand reached into his hair, holding on for dear life. She was already close to her end. She bit the inside of Logan's hand. This made him speed up his thrusts, knowing she was almost close to coming undone around him.

“Such a dirty girl, taking me so well,” Logan growled against her skin. His movements were getting rough and sloppy, also close to his climax. Lust filled his eyes when he saw the pleasure on Y/N’s face. He became animalistic almost, kissing her, dominating her mouth. Y/N could feel the build-up coming, moaning against Logan's mouth, no longer caring about the possibility of being heard. He placed his hand back over her mouth as she came around him. Logan continued until a deep grunt left his mouth, coming undone inside her. Y/N felt him fill her up, and it drips around Logan's waist. They're both breathing heavily and kissing each other sloppily. They rode out the high together for as long as possible before Logan placed her back down. Her heart was racing, she couldn’t believe what had just happened. Logan pulled his pants back up and adjusted his belt. He didn’t know what to say. Y/N was still trying to catch her breath when he handed her gun and underwear back to her. She put everything back into place when Logan broke their silence. “I hope we can do that again sometime bub” and before she could reply, Logan had left the closet, returning to the dinner night.

Part 2: here.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #hugh jackman

408 notes · View notes

formulawolff · 8 months ago

Text

fanboy behavior - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: an older man having an insanely large crush on a woman thirty years his junior, ONE-SIDED PINING (LOTS OF IT OKAY), allusions to smut/sexual fantasies, toto is a mess, mentions of divorce, common fic tropes, yadayadayada

a/n: this is sort of a prequel to alkaline! this is set one year before the events of the 2024 bahrain grand prix. toto is super down bad in this already, so expect lots of pining and him being a flustered mess hehe! i figured this would provide some context/background for the first chapter of alkaline <3 (ALSO PLS LISTEN TO ALKALINE BY SLEEP TOKEN!!! IT REALLY ENCAPSULATES TOTO'S YEARNING!!)

his mind is other places.

he should be invested in the current conversation with his engineers and drivers, discussing the current status of the car and the potential modifications that needed to be made before sunday.

but he's not, his foot tapping against the concrete floor absentmindedly, body on autopilot.

it's almost as if his brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to compute any sort of coherent thought in correlation with the task at hand. yet, if he tries, it just sputters, trailing off, veering towards something else.

well, someone else.

he's thinking about a driver, merely a few paddocks down.

a williams racing driver, actually.

the american girl. barely twenty-one, a rookie in the second williams seat, preparing to compete in her first formula one race in approximately twenty-four hours.

her eyes were like starlight, bursting with a torrent of emotions and complexity, pulling you into their depths, begging for you to get lost within them. her hair was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her features no matter its state.

and her physique?

fuck, the team principal felt like a teenage boy very time he stole a glance, his slacks feeling a little tighter than usual.

with a smile that lit up every room she was in, a radiant aura brimming with kindness and humility, as well as a fiery determination to compete, she was comparable to the sun.

the woman who was starting to become routinely embedded in his daily pondering.

ever since that fateful day in december, when his eyes first drank in that photo of her, hand interlocked with james in front of that williams car, she was the last thing on his mind before he dozed off. and well, the first thing his mind wandered to in the mornings.

she even made an appearance in his dreams, the sound of her voice almost haunting him, so tantalizingly sweet and angelic.

fuck, he was a goner.

this was the third month now where she consumed every crevice of his brain. a continuous loop of all of the sins he wanted to confess, the ways in which he wanted to touch her, and the burning desire to take her under his wing, teaching her all of the ins and outs of racing.

was he obsessed with her? surely not.

not that he memorized every single one of her f2 stats or anything. not that he spent a majority of his free time lately invested in interview clips with her, jotting down all of her favorite things. not that he doodled her during meetings or anything.

not that at least twelve times a day he fantasized about her in a mercedes suit, his fingers carefully tugging down the zipper.

this was normal behavior after a recent divorce. completely normal behavior, actually.

the team principal clears his throat, "i need to step away for a moment. i can barely think straight right now. please, continue. i will rejoin the conversation once i get my shit together."

he can't help but notice the way his drivers exchange a concerned glance, lewis coughing slightly.

"um, all right. toto, is everything okay?"

not quite.

he was going absolutely insane, his mind already reeling at the anticipation of potentially catching a glimpse of her. he wasn't even sure if he would or not, but that possibility sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

those endless possibilities are what kept him up at night. what sent the blood rushing in the mornings, the stiffness in his boxers nearly pulling him out of his slumber. what had him pacing some days in his office, desperate beyond belief for some sort of way to break this spell.

as he strolls out of the garage, a warm breeze rolls through the track, strands of hair blowing all over. he curses slightly, running a quick hand through the tousled mess.

just to his left, a flurry of voice catches his attention, his head swiveling, searching for the source.

besides james is the object of his every desire, the apple of his eye.

as the sun dips below the horizon, he can barely make out her expression. she appears frustrated, her brows furrowed together, a deep frown etched across her lips.

"i just don't fucking understand why that dickhead felt the need to ask me if i was on my period!" she groans, shaking her head, "what the fuck was i supposed to do? let that slide?"

there's a sternness plastered across james' face, yet his voice is soft, laced with sympathy, "i know, but you have to realize that you're going to be asked questions like that because there are misogynists within the sport. no matter how much you prove to us that you deserve this seat, there are going to be pricks out there. we can do a little bit more media training, if you'd like. or, i can hire a publicist for you."

"a publicist? are you fucking kidding me?" her eyes widen, her tone growing more and more frustrated, "i'm not fifteen. i can speak for myself, james."

"it was just a suggestion," he shrugs, sticking out his hands, "look, i know you had a rough day, but let's focus on tomorrow. all right? you're tenth on the grid. that's monumental for your first race. you could win us points."

"we'll see," she scoffs, the toe of her shoe scuffing against the pavement, "i'm sorry for getting upset with you. i'm just really nervous. and well, scared."

scared of what? you have nothing to fear, sweet girl. you're one of the best drivers i have seen step foot on the grid.

toto narrows his eyes, lingering for just a moment longer.

"i just don't know if i deserve this seat," he can sense the falter in her voice, how it shakes, "i don't even know if i deserve a spot in formula one. i mean, look at me! i'm this upset over a dumb question. and i'm just scared everything is going to go to my head tomorrow and i'm going to overthink it."

james wraps his arms around the driver, pulling her in for a tight embrace as a sob wracks her body, "hey, when you're in doubt, you have alex and i. we will always be there for you. i know you're nervous, but you have to realize how special and talented you are to be in this position. you've deserved everything that has come your way, and you will continue to deserve this. i promise."

his biceps flex as he folds his arms against his chest, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to just walk over there and casually sweep her off her feet, squeezing her against his chest as he murmurs in her ear how fucking special she was.

james, she wasn't just special and talented.

she was a fucking star. a star that deserved to shine and hold every ounce of that spotlight.

just like the sun, she deserved to cast her rays of light all over the world.

the world deserved to know who she was. where she came from. how she got here. why she was a worthy competitor and excellent driver.

and by god, toto wolff was hellbent on making that happen.

one way or another.

he just had to be patient. play the long game.

every move from here was to be carefully calculated.

as toto harbored a plan. one that had been brewing the second that speculations swirled around the world of formula one that the first female american driver would be signing to a team.

he was going to have her by his side at mercedes.

fuck, he had been yearning for her this long already.

how much harm would a few more months do? a year?

he could wait a year. he was a patient man.

well, he could wait that long.

as long as that hunger gnawing away at him didn't kill him first.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula one #f1 #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x you #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #female driver au #toto wolff x y/n #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #alkaline series #alkaline #george russell #lewis hamilton #mercedes amg petronas #williams racing #james vowles

689 notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 20 days ago

Text

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty?

dieter bravo x younger!reader

summary: the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" I laugh nervously, yanking my arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You di good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo the bubble #the bubble #pedro pascal characters

196 notes · View notes

blog-o-meter · 24 days ago

Text

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.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x fem!reader #nicholas alexander chavez fanfic #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez fic #father charlie mayhew x reader #father charlie smut #father charlie mayhew #father charlie x reader #fic-o-meter

222 notes · View notes

vhaos-chaotic-writing · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!👋, im back(again), sorry if im a little bit of an bother(english isn't my first language sorry😅), i want to have ANOTHER request of Yandere TFP ALL Autobots(poly pls🥺)with an same cybertronian s/o from my first request that is SUPER shy, easily flustered and hardly ever raises thare voice that comes out as VERY adorable whispers and thare...

🥰DROP🥰

💞DEAD💞

❤️‍🔥GORGEOUS❤️‍🔥

🥰🌌💗💜AND like my first request small scenario and headcanons💜💗🌌🥰

Hug🤗

YOU ARE NOT A BOTHER SHUT UP I LOVE YOU!!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) And it's okay, english is also not my 1st language, but be patience and keep listening, reading and speaking it!! And you'll get the hang of it!

(〃￣︶￣)人(￣︶￣〃) Sending hugs too bestie!!!

(TFP) Yandere!Autobots w/ Shy Cybertronian!Reader (HCs & Scenario)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, yandere harem, romantic relationships, overprotective and obsessive behaviour, soft kidnapping (?), typical violence from the series and a little bit more, Reader is gender neutral and in the Autobot faction. Long ass post ngl.

Don't worry guys I'm adding Ultra Magnus I ain't forgetting that fine mech again. And Cliffjumper, sorry baby I forgot you at first.

You were the little of hope the team protects dearly.

Everyone in the autobot team loved you so dearly and all of them had a little non-spoken vow: to protect and love you.

And how could they not do that? You were such a soft, spark-spoken bot, always trying to bring comfort to the others, never being too loud, supporting them and just being that light in the darkness they were in.

You arrived to earth with the original team - and if back in Cybertrone all of them were a little bit protective over you, being on a new planet it go 10 times more.

From the beginning after the autobots established on the base thanks to the human's militia and Agent Fowler, the team decided to forbid you from going on missions - you would have tried to gently speak in your defense of being able to fight alongside your friends, but after hearing the concerns of your teammates and feel as if their sparks would vanish at the mere thought of you getting hurt or... offlined by the Decepticons, it was more than enough to give in, smiling at them sweetly with a small 'I understand', deciding to become Ratchet's assitant.

All of them were so relieved - they didn't want to force you inside of one of the storages room and keep you there inside against your will. They were gonna do it to protect you! Alas, you were such a good, sweet bot that knew they were only looking after your well being! So good, so good!

The team cherishes every single little moment they have with you - every little smile, chuckle, conversation, inside-joke - anything became a dear memory within their softwares.

After Cliffjumper's death... the need to protect you grew, to the point the team started to develop such obsessive ideals about you.

Everyone's spark was clenching in pain, watching you cry your optics out while hugging Arcee, how was holding you closely and sobbing quietly, anger painted on her faceplate... she wasn't gonna let you get offlined like Cliffjumper did - no one was gonna let that happen.

You love dearly your teammates, and you know all of them love you! But... sometimes you feel like their love for you is too much. Sometimes.

Optimus Prime and Ratchet can be too overprotective, sometimes - You know they mean well, but sometimes you are mad at yourself for not telling them to chill. Optimus always remind you the promise you made to them before he leaves with the others for a mission - "to leave the base it is prohibited, even less if you don't have someone making you company." And you try to convice him, but his worried expression and your stuttering and passive behaviour always makes you close your mouth and whisper a "I'm sorry, I understand." It melts your spark at the sight of Optimus' soft, relieved smile and that forehelm gives you. And Ratchet, by Primus, he is always fretting about you - he is always checking on you even when you are on the same room, making sure you are well recharged and had your fill, always saying that "you are far more important than him" when you scold him for not having his fill of energon. You always remind him he is important too, but he is set on always prioritizing you over himself...

Your spark sinks a little at hearing Ratchet and Optimus speak quietly in the dead of the night - Ratchet was telling on detail everything you did on the day, as if it was a report. What it scares you is how precise his words and details are, it seems... obsessive, too obsessive. And Optimus thanks Ratchet for keeping you safe and sound, promising to keep fighting for a better world so all of the team and you could live happily back at Cybertrone... and you swear you felt Optimus' optics on you as you tried to recharge on your own berth, or heard Ratchet whisper sweet nothings to you as you recharged, too.

Bulkhead, Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus have silently vowed to be your guardians, your own personal wrecker-guards. Wheeljack is constatly flirting with you, as Bulkhead is the shy type to quietly give you small gifts like a small flower or pretty rock. Ultra Magnus always gives you praises and words full of - all three of them always get to make you blush. But lately, Wheeljack's flirting has become too... intense in your opinion. Bulkhead seems always too anxious whenever he gives you a small gift, fearing you are going to reject it. And Ultra Magnus seems to make his praise become worshipping, as if you were like Primus itself. You've also have started to notice how the three of them seem to always aim to get your favor, any kind of positive reaction - an approval from you, as if you were the one to have the last word and decision, like a god does. Wheeljack wishes for a flirt back, Bulkhead wishes for an approval, Ultra Magnus wishes your benevolence.

Bumblebee and Smokescreen can't never get enough of your affection and attention - like two young puppies. They also always try to have any kind of physical contact with you, which nearly always translates into hugs or servos holding. And these two are an intensified version of the three wreckers - Bee constantly seems to look after your approval, your words of affirmation and gentle praise. Smokescreen either flirts with you non-stop or spills too many worshipping praises like he did when he got to meet Optimus. But what makes them different is that they verbalize their protective promises. The two of them have said they are not afraid of ending any decepticon for the sake of keeping you safe and sound, to give you the Cybertrone you deserve so you can live happily and surrounded only by the bots that love you so dearly. And they promise this as they snuzzle gently their helms against yours, holding your servos softly... whispering their obsessive promises to your audials.

You know that, since the day Cliffjumper was killed, something inside of Arcee broke again. And thus, you became her light of hope, for whenever she was grieving or letting her spark poison with anger and a need for revenge, you were there to hug her or hold her servo, letting her cry on your shoulderplate. But she should be the one doing that! You cried and grieved the loss of Cliffjumper too! She is still has burn in her system the sight of you crying after finding out about the red autobot's murder. She was gonna avenge Cliffjumper (oh, how much he loved you - He would always tell Arcee everything he loved about you, and find such happiness at knowing Arcee thought the same) and keep you away from any danger. She wasn't gonna lose you. She was gonna offline anybot before that happened. She had become more touchy, overprotective, always seeming to act as a wall between everyone and you. "Cliffjumper always vowed to protect you... and I'll do the same - I won't let anything happen to you." She promised in a whisper as she hugged you. All you can do is hug her back, even when you were slightly... scared at how lost her optics seemed.

You love your teammates - you were so sure you wished to pass the rest of your life with all of them once the war was over, to bond with them and love them... but you've noticed how deep their feelings for you were.

Obsessive. Overprotective. Worshipping you as if you were like Primus. Promising to you with whispers about forever protecting you, about how important to them you were, that they were not going to be afraid to shed energon in your name if it meant to prove their love and devotion for you. Keeping tabs on you, whispering to one another everything about you, listening to you, watching you from time to time as you recharge, making sure you never leave the base.

You are their beacon of hope, the light in the darkness - Optimus and Ratchet are not afraid to taint their vow to not offline the enemy if it means to keep you safe and sound, keeping their optics on you. Bulkhead, Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus are ready to protect you from any danger as guardians and destroy anyone who tries to touch you. Bee and Smokescreen will keep giving you all the love and attention they can, promising you the universe and the stars. Arcee will make Cliffjumper's wish come true by keeping you away from danger and bring you the Cybertrone you derseve, just like the others aim to do.

And... there's nothing you can do about it.

All you can do is allow your teammates surround you as if the cocoon of a butterfly - keeping you warm, safe, loved.

Did my best!! Kind off felt like I didn't do good. (Uu￣ 3￣) Vhaos out!

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers prime #yandere transformers #yandere x reader #transformers prime x reader #autobots x reader

268 notes · View notes

closerstars · 8 months ago

Text

small favors

mingyu x oc reader

fluff, friends to lovers

note: this is purely self-indulgent because i have a big fat ass crush on mingyu. havent got the time to proofread and fancify everything but pls enjoy!!!

—

"This is my third glass already. If that girl in the red dress doesn't stick around, I'm tapping out," you sigh, your face resting on your hand while the other holds onto your margarita. Mingyu had come up with the plan for you both to team up and help Wonwoo find a date at Seungcheol’s sister’s wedding party, and you had readily agreed.

You've known Wonwoo since childhood, introduced by his mom at the playground, and you've been the best of friends since then. Mingyu joined your circle in high school, and the three of you have been inseparable ever since.

"Hang in there. I think the girl in red might be the one. They’ve been chatting for a good ten minutes now," Mingyu remarks, checking his watch.

"Yeah? Let's see," you reply skeptically.

"Such a pessimist. Remember, she's your candidate," Mingyu teases.

"I don't know, I just don't see Wonwoo fully engaged in the conversation. She had that charm when I talked to her," you admit, though it's hard to tell from three tables away whether Wonwoo's truly interested or just politely listening.

As you both observe, Soonyoung joins in with his drink. "What are you both up to now?" he asks, following your gaze to Wonwoo and the girl in the red dress, looking at you and Mingyu with a confused expression.

Turning to Soonyoung, you ask, "Soonyoung, what do you think? Will the girl in the red dress be able to break through Wonwoo's defenses?"

He takes a sip and frowns at the aftertaste. "How come you never set me up? We're friends too, you know, both of you."

"Just answer the question," you roll your eyes.

Soonyoung takes another look at Wonwoo and the girl in the red dress. "I think she might," he finally answers, earning a nod of agreement from you.

"Hey, look! They're laughing!" Mingyu giggles at the sight of Wonwoo saying something that earns a laugh from the girl.

"Oh my god," you gush with Mingyu. "She just handed him her phone."

You playfully slap Mingyu’s arm. "Dude, they're exchanging numbers!"

Both matchmakers celebrate with high fives until the girl in the red dress exits their view and waves goodbye to Wonwoo.

"Wait, where's she going? Is she heading home already?" you wonder aloud, checking the time on your phone. When you look back up, the girl in the red dress passes by your table and greets you with a nod, saying, "Nice to meet you again, Y/N. Gotta go."

Wonwoo follows after her, approaching your table. As he sets his drink down, you immediately ask, “So?”

Wonwoo takes a sip of his drink. “She was alright,” he says nonchalantly, earning a disappointed expression from you, which he finds amusing.

"What do you mean she was alright?" Mingyu prompts.

"Well…" Wonwoo tilts his head, trying to recall the details. "She’s a photographer. So that’s a good start."

Impatient with his lack of detail, you sigh. Typical Wonwoo, a man of few words. "Okay. And?"

Wonwoo takes another sip. “She suggested I visit her photo exhibit sometime. So she gave me her Instagram page and I gave her mine too.”

Realizing your mission was a success, you grasp Mingyu's shoulder. Mingyu raises his glass, proposing a toast among the four of you.

"I'm so happy right now, I need another glass," you giggle, taking a sip of your margarita.

“Okay. Wonwoo’s got a date. How about me?” Soonyoung pouts, making you laugh. You then ask Mingyu to switch seats so you can play matchmaker with Soonyoung this time.

As you're in the middle of interviewing Soonyoung and scanning the crowd with him to find someone he’d want to talk to, Dami, Seungcheol’s sister in lawapproaches and grabs your arm, pulling you to her.

“Y/N! I have someone you should meet!”

With wide eyes, you look at your tablemates and mouth "Help," but they only laugh at you.

“Bye!” Wonwoo teases, waving to you.

Meanwhile, the three guys left at the table continue drinking and talking over the jazz music playing in the background. Mingyu notices you at a table with Seungcheol as Dami walks through the crowd with her arm looped around some guy in a tux.

He figures maybe this is the guy Dami wanted to introduce you to. Guess they aren’t the only ones playing matchmaker that night.

Wonwoo notices his best friend looking intently from afar. He turns his head back to see you shaking hands with a handsome stranger. Mingyu’s eyes start to wander, trying to distract himself from the hint of jealousy he was feeling

“When is the DJ set going to start? I am so bored,” Soonyoung pouts as he scrolls through his phone, then gets nudged by Wonwoo, directing his attention to you observing something from a distance.

Soonyoung couldn’t help but tease. “Oh wow, Dami’s got good taste. I’d like to see how Y/N would play the game tonight.”

“What?” Mingyu snaps out of it and pretends not to hear.

“Good luck stealing her back, man. Just letting you know I’m always Team Mingyu.” Soonyoung pats Mingyu's back, gripping his drink and takes off.

Wonwoo then slides closer to Mingyu. “You know you’ve always had the advantage, right?”

Mingyu looks at him, confused. “Advantage? What are you talking about?” Mingyu knows what his best friend was talking about. Wonwoo is direct, but this conversation feels different. They've never discussed about him and Y/N before.

“Oh, come on, Mingyu. I've noticed the way you look at her lately. If you like her, just tell her and let it happen the way its fated to happen,” Wonwoo says, taking a sip of his drink, as though confessing to Y/N were as simple as ordering another round.

If telling Y/N what he felt was that easy for him and her, he could’ve done it sooner. But no. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to be sure that this wasn’t just some sort of crush.

“Okay, let's calm down,” he chuckles nervously. “I’m just taking my time, hyung. And I also want to give her all the time and space she needs if…” he pauses. “… if she ever feels the same way.” He adds hastily, gulping down the rest of his drink. “This stuff is good. I need more.”

Conveniently, Seungcheol appears out of nowhere with two glasses in hand, setting them down their table. “I thought you might need another round,” he says, chuckling softly.

Mingyu thanks him, but before he can even grab his drink, you swoop in and snatch it from his hand, leaving the three of them surprised.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a sip and letting out a relieved sigh. You hadn't expected to meet one of your biggest radio DJ crushes, Joshua, at a wedding party. As the brief conversation with him ends, you hurriedly excuse yourself from Seungmi, feeling your face grow warmer by the second.

As you return to your table, Cheol gives Mingyu a teasing glance while sipping on his drink. “Y/N's pretty cute when she's flustered.”

“Oh shut up.” You playfully roll your eyes and then offered to get Mingyu a new glass which you did.

As you stepped away, Wonwoo chuckles at Cheol’s comment, earning an eye roll from Mingyu. “This is so annoying.”

“Why are you annoyed? Oh, I see. You know I heard that Joshua invited her to visit him at the radio booth sometime.” Cheol prods.

“She'll probably be too busy to go,” Mingyu counters.

“How would you know? Are you her manager?”

“What if I am?” Mingyu retorts, trying to play it cool.

They stop abruptly when you came back with a new drink in hand and gave it to Mingyu. “Gentlemen. I am back. Here’s your drink, sir.”

“So how’d it go meeting one of your celebrity crushes?” Wonwoo asks. He wanted to see how his bestfriend will react.

“Oh. Pfft. Yeah I think I played it real cool. Did I?” You turn to Seungcheol for affirmation but he laughs at you instead.

“You were good. Charming at least.” He winks at you and you mouthed a ‘thank you’ You then proceeded to rambling about Joshua’s radio show Sunday Mornings aired every Sunday morning.

“So annoying.” Mingyu mutters as he side eyes Seungcheol.

Wonwoo tries to hold in a laugh, covering his mouth with his drink. Mingyu takes another big sip from his drink thinking this was going to be a long night for him.

—

The tension Mingyu was feeling inside eases off as the night progressed. He has the alcohol to thank for that as well as when the dj finally starts his set for the after-after party.

You, however, was on a high and was extra loud for the night. Never in your life would you think you’d have the energy to goof around and match Soonyoung’s on the dancefloor considering that you weren’t that good of a dancer.

With your confidence at its peak you even pulled the bride to dance with you twirled her over to her now husband. The warmth and joy you felt was incomparable as you watched the newly weds dance and then seal everything with a kiss as the song ended.

Another song plays as you wanted to rest because your feet was starting to hurt already so you head to the bar for another drink as if you weren’t tipsy enough. You scan the room for somewhere to sit on but all you found was the flight of stairs from where the bride and groom had their grand entrance earlier that night.

Wonwoo was sitting down a step checking his phone. He then notices you approaching. He scoots a little and sweeps the space beside him with his hand for you to sit on.

“Tired?” He says with a welcoming smile.

“Yeah. A little.” You sigh as you carefully take a seat.

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” He asks like a dad asking his daughter if she had fun.

“Yes, dad. There were lots of boys hitting on me though.” You joke and scrunch your nose waiting for his reaction.

Wonwoo chuckles and plays along. “Ah my pretty daughter. The boys must’ve had a hard time getting your attention.”

“They’re just boys. I’m here for the party.”

“Really? No one caught your eye?” He points to the small crowd of people enjoying the music, dancing, having drinks.

You casually pretend to scan the crowd until you notice Mingyu was fast approaching still looking to be at full energy.

“I dunno. This guy seems pretty decent.” You shrugged. “Pretty. Decent. Kind.” You said that in a very smug way but heaven knows you meant it.

You’ve developed a skill of being friends with Kim Mingyu. And that was suppressing even the slightest infatuation that eventually grew over the years. Who wouldn’t have a crush on Kim Mingyu anyway?

You’ve had plenty of experience with girls befriending you just to get close to him, some would bribe you with coffee to have you give them his number. You get the coffee, ask Mingyu for permission if he’s comfortable with his number being given and then hand him the coffee you got for free.

With your sibling-like dynamic, he was so comfortable with sharing even his dating life sometimes it wasn’t as fun anymore because you realize how good of a person he was it’s almost unreal that some girls think of him as too naive when he’s really just that kind of person who always believes there is something good in everything.

You were glad to be his friend. You continue to learn a lot from him. There’s an internal struggle however, when that dreaded question “what if you wanted something more than being friends” comes to mind. It scares you. Scared that he might get to close to see through the cracks.

“What are you two doing?! Sitting down?! Really?!” Mingyu reaches for your hand while his other hand reaches for Wonwoo’s and then pulls the both of you up like his ragdolls.

This was always the dynamic between you three. Mingyu being the energetic golden retriever, Wonwoo being the calm black cat, you being the confused chihuahua to balance them out.

—

Later that night, you find yourself assisting a drunk Kwon Soonyoung to his hotel room.

As you search your purse for Soon’s key card he has entrusted you earlier that night, Wonwoo was trying to restrain Soon who was trying to kiss him while he laughs and giggles. Same with Mingyu. But he just talks to Soon in his state.

The door beeped and clicked open so you successfully assisted Soonyoung to his room. You help remove his blazer and then finally made him lay in bed.

Thankfully, your rooms were on the same floor so you all went your separate ways for the night.

Once you settled in and changed to a shirt and sweatpants. You were in the midst of removing stubborn makeup when you decided to open a bottle of beer to cap off the night

As you were quietly browsing photos you took in your hotel room you notices Mingyu’s coat that you lazily hung to a chair.

You text him.

“You still awake??? forgot to give your coat back sorry”

“i’ll go get it in a minute” he replied

You continue browsing the photos you took for tonight and you stop at photos Soonyoung took of Mingyu and you making funny faces. Your lips curl to a smile as you remember this was taken after you sent Wonwoo off with a girl to talk too.

You heard knocking so you toss your phone to your bed and set the beer bottle down. You get Mingyu’s coat and open the door.

“Hey.” You were greeted with Mingyu hair still a bit wet from the shower, obvious from the droplets of his hoodie.

“I was going to give it later in the morning but you were eager to get it.” You hand him your coat.

“You can just tell me you’re gonna hug it to your sleep if you want to you know.” He reaches for it and your hands slightly brush together.

Your face contorts. “Ew. Why the hell would I do that? Creepy.”

“So you can dream of me. Duh.” He is still at it.

“I’ll pass. Good night, Gyu.” You were not having enough of it you rolled your eyes and was about to close the door but his hand stops it.

There was silence between you two for a few seconds. He then takes a step closer, height towering over you. At this moment you felt as if you were put under his spell. Unable to move, you focus on his forehead since your legs might just give up if you look straight into his eyes.

His eyes traveling from your eyes nose and lips.

He softly touches your fingers, moving up your arms barely touching it with his fingertips then tracing your jaw.

You feel your breath slowing down. Your eyes trying to read his. Was this really happening? Should you let it happen?

“Can I kiss you?” He says quietly.

You nod slightly, closed your eyes then it happens. You felt the warmth spread to your face.

Mingyu smiles as he pulled away. Both your eyes meeting each other. You sigh a little. Your foreheads against each other.

“You taste like beer.” He giggles softly and you let out a shy laugh.

You weren’t sure what got to you as you reached for his neck to kiss him again.

After you break it off there was a pause and then you both go back to laughing faces against each other. You have no idea if it was just the high of finally doing what both your hearts wanted to do for a long while. And finally meeting halfway with what the score is between the two of you.

You were both interrupted with the sound of the door being opened. You both straighten up as if nothing happened.

“I-uh…” Mingyu clears his throat. “Goodnight, Y/N.

You touch your nape and avoided eye contact. “Yeah uh. Good night, Gyu.”

—

It was another long day for you and Mingyu at work. While you were busy writing and revising scripts and trying to help your editor with the video editing, Mingyu was busy shooting new content for the project you were working together for. He was the director this time and you were one of the writers.

No one has said a word ever since that kiss. You were at your best at pretending that it did not bother you at all and kept busy at work.

He asked you to eat lunch with him at your favorite sandwich place.

The whole time you sat there were complaining about how you were frustrated at one of your scripts keep getting scrapped by one of the hosts you were shooting.

“Can I talk to you about something” He asked softly.

You peel off the wrapper of your subway BLT “Yeah go on.“ And then you took a big bite.

“About that kiss.” His eyes not leaving yours. Observing how you’d react.

You somehow mastered controling your reactions being with Mingyu for years.

“What about it?” You said nonchalantly. “I was pretty drunk that night.” No you weren’t. You were having a beer and completely aware.

“You…were?” He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Okay. But I remember you kissing me back.” He was taken aback by your reply. You were clearly not as kissing anyone she sees drunk level as Soonyoung.

“Yeah, cause I was drunk. We do and say stupid things when we’re drunk. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” You meet his eyes this time to make your lie more convincing to him but moreso yourself.

Mingyu was left confused. You were not drunk that night.

He raised an eyebrow because you were obviously lying. You were more stern, retained more eye contact when you lie. It’s the same strategy you do when you’re pushed to do revisions to scripts that you did not want to do because it’ll only change the story.

“Look I just want to you to know that I don’t regret doing that.”

“Mmhmm.” You were busy chewing your sandwich and back to avoiding eye contact.

“And that I have liked you long enough for me to have the courage to do that.”

He can see your eyes widen and proactively try to avoid his. Your gut goes crazy until your eyes meet his. You stay there and your gut eases.

You were about to say something but couldn’t find the words so you just closed your mouth and looked into his eyes now and sighed.

“But please don’t say anything. You don’t have to answer.”

“And just tell me if you’re not comfortable with this. I mean we do work together almost all the time.” He then takes a big bite of the sandwich he barely touched after all that.

“It’s fine. I mean… It was a drunken mistake on me. I just-” You sighed again and wanted to say something but your emotions were all over the place. “Thank you. For telling me this.”

“Are we cool?”

You smiled. “Course we are.”

—

“So… Wonwoo told me something earlier before he left.” You peeked through your laptop and glanced at Mingyu who was cooking.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing. He just told me that he… saw us kiss that night at the wedding.” You shrug trying to keep your tone as casual as you can.

“Okay. And?”

“He said that whatever that was, it’s safe with him. It’s none of his business.” You stood up from your seat and walked to their fridge.

“I just told him that it was nothing. I was drunk.” You said as you searched for a can of soda and then reached for it.

Mingyu’s eyebrows were raised at the sound of you saying you were drunk excuse again. He turns to face you with arms crossed across his chest. “It was nothing huh? And you were drunk.”

“Yeah. I was. Haven’t we talked about this?” You opened the soda but almost fizzed out but you drink it up with your mouth before it spills.

Mingyu scoffs. “You can’t keep convincing yourself that you were too drunk to kiss me back that night,” Mingyu finally snaps, his frustration boiling over. He’s tired of you dismissing your kiss as a drunken mistake. It wasn’t just about the kiss he was frustrated about.

You were a mess. You were going on this push and pull game of yours. You would be sweet one day and then the next one push him away. It wasn’t as if Mingyu didn’t see this coming knowing you.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“You were sober,” Mingyu states firmly, taking a step closer to her. “You kissed me back.” He removes his apron this time and carefully sets it aside.

Your arms cross defensively. “And what if I did?”

“Just admit it,” Mingyu insists, his voice tinged with exasperation. “I kissed you because I like you, you kissed me back, and now you keep saying you were drunk and it was nothing?”

“Stop saying the word ‘kiss’!” You retort, your irritation becoming more obvious.

“Stop acting like a child!” Mingyu shoots back, his frustration building up.

“I was just experimenting, okay? Can we drop it now?” Your tone softens slightly as you resigns herself to the conversation.

“Experimenting? For what? You’re unbelievable! Are we guinea pigs now to experiment your feelings on?” Mingyu’s disbelief is palpable.

“I was trying to see if it was real,” you admit reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What is?” Mingyu’s gaze softens as he meets her eyes.

“You and I,” you replie quietly, your defenses crumbling. “Whatever this is.”

There’s a moment of silence as they both process your confession.

Finally, you sigh, tone resigned. “I was just checking. Making sure what I felt was real. So I can confront it and have the guts to tell you.”

“But you kissed me, so I kissed you back, and then I went crazy, so I wanted to think about it for days, hence me trying to convince myself and you all that I was drunk!”

Mingyu’s eyes soften, a hint of understanding dawning in them as they trail from her eyes to her lips. “Well, do you want to check again?” he asks softly.

You chuckle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re so stupid,” you murmur. “I’m not kissing you again.”

“You want to,” Mingyu insists, leaning in closer.

You place your palm on his chest, stopping him from closing the gap. “Yeah, I kinda do,” you admit, before leaning in for a short kiss.

#mingyu x oc #mingyu x reader #svt x reader #svt #oneshot #kim mingyu #seventeen #seventeen x reader #fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #mingyu fluff #wonwoo #seungcheol #soonyoung #mingyu imagines #svt imagines #svt fanfic #acewrites

492 notes · View notes

nhaaauyen · 6 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun.

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?" You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments.

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika.

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today," She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm.

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers?

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you. You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn.

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch. You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready.

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits. Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice.

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her. You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself. You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in?

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?"

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes.

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold.

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back.

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat.

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team.

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out. You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners.

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases. Sevika.. Was being obedient?

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?"

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly. You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop. "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages. You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it.

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment.

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us. But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord. Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands. “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

327 notes · View notes