#that should’ve been what it was forever

[greengoblinswifey]

Nanny Knows Best

pairing— nicholas chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— Since the first kiss you shared with Nicholas, he’d been avoiding you, so to combat, you teased him relentlessly, having him at your mercy until he snapped.

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, lots of flirting, fluff, strip tease, possessive!nicholas, spanking, finger sucking, fingering, praising, mentions of virginity.

Introduction

Nicholas had been avoiding you.

It started right after the kiss—that slow, intoxicating moment when his hands were on your waist, and his lips molded against yours like he’d been waiting for it forever. But instead of pulling you into his arms again, he pulled away completely. Suddenly, he wasn’t around as much. He wasn’t in the kitchen late at night when you tiptoed in for a snack. He wasn’t watching you from across the playroom, trying and failing to pretend he wasn’t staring.

Instead, he was with Victoria.

You noticed how he started making more of an effort—taking her out, staying in conversation, touching her more. You tried not to care. But when you walked past their bedroom one night, the sound of hushed arguing made you stop in your tracks.

“What is this, Nicholas?” Victoria’s voice was sharp, accusing. “You’re not even into it. You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“Jesus, Victoria, are you serious?” He sounded exhausted, frustrated. “I’m trying here. I’m literally trying, and you’re making up shit in your head.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded.

You shouldn’t have been listening. You should’ve walked away. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t go down.

The next morning, you found Nicholas alone in the living room before the kids woke up, scrolling through his phone, brows furrowed. He barely looked up when you walked in.

It made your stomach twist.

“Mr. Chavez,” you called, your voice was soft. He finally glanced at you, and you shifted on your feet, fingers curling around the hem of your pink crop top. “Are you mad at me?”

His expression softened immediately. He sighed, setting his phone down before leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“No, honey,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, lip quivering slightly. “Then why are you acting all weird?”

He ran a hand over his face before reaching for you, big hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb stroking your skin gently. “Because I put you in a position I never should have.” His voice was so low, so careful, and his lips were right there. “That was my fault. Not yours.”

“But I liked it,” you said instantly, eyes wide.

He let out a shaky breath, and for a second, it looked like he was struggling. Like he wanted to kiss you again. Like he needed to.

“It can’t happen again,” he whispered.

Your pout deepened, but you nodded, trying to look like you understood. “Okay. You’re right.”

Before he could say anything else, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself against his broad frame. He stiffened for just a moment before his hands found your back, hesitating—then holding you tight.

Your voice was soft and sultry as you whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Chavez.”

Then you pulled away, giving him one last doe-eyed glance before disappearing down the hall. And Nicholas was left sitting there, dick hard, jaw tight, knowing damn well this wasn’t over.

The next few days, you had Nicholas in a chokehold, and you knew it.

You weren’t doing anything explicitly wrong—just being yourself. A little giggle here, a casual brush against his arm there. The way your fingers smoothed over his shoulder when you walked past him, staying just a little too long. How you bent over a little too slowly when picking up the kids’ toys, or pouted at him like you had no clue why his gaze always dropped right to your boobs.

You played dumb.

And it drove him insane.

One evening, after you’d walked past him wearing a skimpy pajama set, soft pink lace that left little to the imagination—he finally snapped.

“Sweetheart,” he called after you, voice rough.

You turned, blinking up at him innocently. “Yes, Mr. Chavez?”

His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered down your body before meeting yours again. “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?” you asked, brows furrowed in feigned confusion.

Nicholas huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. So that’s how you wanted to play it.

“You,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Are trouble.”

You just smiled sweetly. “You’re the one that said it can’t happen again.”

His chuckle was quiet, deep, as he ran a hand over his face. You were messing with him. And worst of all? It was working.

One morning, you sat cross-legged in front of your vanity, doing your makeup while Madison and Alexander sat beside you, watching in awe.

“Pretty,” Madison sighed dreamily. “Want that.” She pointed to the lipgloss you held in your right hand.

You giggled. “Thank you, baby. Wanna try some lip gloss?”

Her eyes lit up. You dabbed a bit of clear gloss on her lips, and she smacked them together excitedly, grinning at her reflection in your pink handheld mirror.

And then Victoria walked by.

Her sharp gasp made you freeze.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped.

Madison shrunk back. You blinked up at Victoria, confused. “She asked me to—”

“And you just did it?” She scoffed. “She’s a child! She doesn’t need that cheap lip gloss all over her face!”

You exhaled, trying to keep your cool. “Victoria, you know would’ve cried if I didn’t—”

“And why are you even putting on makeup right now?” Her voice rose, cutting you off. “Who are you trying to impress, huh? My husband?”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could respond, a deeper voice cut through the tension.

“Victoria,” Nicholas warned.

You both turned. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“Stop it.” His tone left no room for argument.

She scoffed. “The nanny is putting her cheap lip gloss on my daughter—”

Your jaw clenched, ready to fire back. But instead, you did what you did best.

Your lips quivered. Your eyes all big and filled with tears. Your chin dipped, and you pouted like you were seconds away from crying.

Nicholas melted.

He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward to cup the back of your head and pull you into his chest.

“Hey,” he cooed, his voice warm, “it’s okay, sweetheart.”

Victoria stiffened. “Are you serious?”

Nicholas barely looked at her. “Take the kids downstairs.”

She clenched her jaw, eyes flickering between the two of you. But she didn’t argue. She just rolled her eyes, huffed, and yanked Madison and Alexander’s hands, pulling them toward the stairs.

The moment she was gone, Nicholas pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up.

“Are you okay?”

Your lips curled into a tiny smile. “I am now that you’re hugging me with your big arms.”

His expression flickered, something passing through his dark gaze. Then you wrapped your arms around him again, pressing yourself against him, your soft hands sliding up his arms and back.

“Mm, you’re so manly,” you moaned, “so big and strong.”

Nicholas tensed.

You felt it—how his muscles tightened, how his chest rose with a slow, deep inhale. How something else pressed against you, solid.

Your lashes fluttered as you tilted your head up, lips hovering just over his chest. “Mr. Chavez,” you murmured.

His hands flexed on your waist.

And you knew you had him.

Nicholas’ grip on your waist tightened. He shouldn’t. But with you pressed so close, warm and soft against him, your scent sweet and intoxicating, his self-control was slipping.

His lips hovered just above your hair as he inhaled deeply, letting your perfume settle in his lungs like a drug. You were ruining him. His fingers flexed at your waist, gripping just a little harder, his pulse pounding in his ears.

He wanted to take you right then and there—right against the vanity, where his wife could walk in at any moment. He wanted to press you against the mirror, tilt your head back, and claim those glossy lips. Claim that pussy he knew was tight and ready for him.

You shifted slightly, your body brushing against him, and Nicholas swore under his breath. His jaw clenched. His resolve was cracking.

Then, just as his head dipped lower to kiss you, as if drawn by some invisible force—you stepped away.

“Well, I’m gonna finish getting ready!” you said brightly, completely unbothered, as if you hadn’t just had him on the verge of losing himself.

Nicholas exhaled sharply, shaking his head, watching as you hopped back to the mirror.

You hummed to yourself as you dusted on a final touch of highlighter, your hips swaying slightly, utterly oblivious to what you’d just done to him.

He let out a rough chuckle, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he muttered, forcing himself to look away.

A bit of silence passed before he cleared his throat. “I, uh—” He hesitated. “I’m sorry about Victoria.”

You turned back to your reflection, carefully applying another layer of your lipliner. “What for?”

“For how she acted,” he said, watching you. “She’s not usually like that.”

You shot him a skeptical look through the mirror. “I find that hard to believe.”

Nicholas sighed, but he didn’t argue.

Victoria left the house in a fury, slamming the door behind her. So it was just you, Nicholas, and the kids.

With Madison on your hip and Alexander perched on the kitchen counter, you set about making your famous baked mac and cheese.

“Okay, little chefs,” you cooed, handing them both a handful of shredded cheese. “Sprinkle it all over, just like this.”

Madison giggled as she clumsily dropped her handful onto the tray, while Alexander, ever the perfectionist, focused like a professional chef.

“You guys are naturals!” you gushed, pressing a dramatic kiss to Alexander’s forehead. He blushed, ducking his head.

“You forgot mine!” Madison pouted.

You gasped playfully. “Oh no, my princess needs a kiss too!” You smothered her chubby cheek in kisses, making her squeal.

As you turned to slide the tray into the oven, you suddenly felt a presence.

Your breath hitched as you spun around—and there was Nicholas, watching.

You placed a hand over your heart. “Mr. Chavez, you scared me!”

“Did I?” he smirked.

“You so were staring at me,” you accused, your other hand holding Madison close.

“I wasn’t,” he said as he cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

“You so were,” Alexander piped up, all too happy to sell his dad out.

Nicholas shot him a look. “Whose side are you on?”

“Y/N’s,” Alexander said proudly, throwing his arms around you.

“Good answer, baby,” you giggled, ruffling his brown hair.

Nicholas exhaled a laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a bit too long. Because as you stood there, effortlessly balancing his daughter, doting on his son, moving around his kitchen like you belonged—he found himself thinking you’d make a great mother.

A great mother to his children.

And maybe even—more of his children.

Nicholas shook the thought away as Alexander pulled back, still grinning.

“Y/N kissed me and Madison,” he mused. “But what about you, daddy?”

Nicholas raised a brow, amused. “Yeah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Where’s mine?”

“Yours?” you asked, letting out a giggle.

He turned to Alexander. “Shouldn’t I get a kiss too, buddy?”

Alexander nodded happily. “Yeah! Give daddy a kiss!”

Nicholas smirked, shifting closer. “Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping. “Give daddy a kiss.”

Your breath caught. For a second, you froze, heart thudding loudly in your chest. Then, before you could second guess yourself, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Nicholas inhaled sharply. You pulled away, all doe-eyed innocence, like you hadn’t just ruined him in a single second.

Then, as if you hadn’t just branded him, you turned back to the oven and chirped, “I hope you’re hungry, Mr. Chavez!”

Nicholas let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand over his jaw.

Oh, sweetheart.

You had no idea.

Evening settled over the mansion, the warm scent of baked mac and cheese filling the air as you finished plating everyone’s share. Alexander kicked his feet excitedly under the table while Madison clung to your side, eager for her portion.

You scooped up a bite for Alexander, holding the spoon to his lips. “Open up, baby.”

He grinned, taking the bite before giggling. “Mmm! So good!”

Nicholas smirked, ruffling his son’s hair before turning to Madison, gently offering her a spoonful. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

She happily opened her mouth, chewing with delight before clapping her hands. “Yummy!”

“See? Told you guys I make the best mac and cheese.” you beamed.

Nicholas raised a brow, amused. “You sound pretty confident.”

“I am confident.” you said as you twirled your spoon playfully. “Now, Mr. Chavez, your turn.”

Nicholas leaned back slightly. “Oh? Am I getting special treatment too?”

You giggled. “Open up.”

He chuckled under his breath but obeyed, parting his lips as you fed him a spoonful. The moment the cheesy flavor hit his tongue, his brows lifted in surprise.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he admitted, shaking his head.

You giggled, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “Told you.”

The evening passed with full bellies and when it was time for bed, you bathed the kids, their tired giggles filling the air, and helped tuck them in. Nicholas offered to put Alexander down while you took Madison, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s forehead before slipping out of the room.

And then he saw you.

Sitting on the edge of Madison’s bed, brushing back her soft hair as you read to her in a soothing tone. She was barely awake, blinking up at you sleepily as you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, princess,” you whispered.

Nicholas stood frozen in the doorway, something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. He found himself thinking once again, you’d be a great mother. The thought was dangerous, but it was there. Then you turned, catching him watching.

You smirked. “You’re staring again, Mr. Chavez.”

Nicholas exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Can’t help myself.”

Your giggle was soft as you brushed past him, padding into your room. As you walked into your room, Nicholas trailed behind like a lost puppy, unable to tear his eyes away from you. The way your hips swayed, the soft curve of your waist—everything about you was intoxicating and you had him completely wrapped around your finger. And then he saw just beneath the waistband of your shorts, your tramp stamp tattoo peeking out, a delicate mark sitting low on your back.

Nicholas clenched his jaw.

He’d love to have you bent over, his fingers tracing slow circles over that ink, feeling you tremble beneath his touch. The thought alone made his grip tighten at his sides.

And just when he thought you couldn’t test him any further, you reached for the hem of your top.

Without a second thought, you lifted it over your head, letting the fabric drop to the floor.

Nicholas’ breath hitched. A leopard print lace bra.

Of course, you were wearing something bold, something so you. And you weren’t done.

Hooking your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, you wiggled out of them, bending just enough to give him a full view of your clothed pussy before stepping out of them completely.

Nicholas was practically heaving at this point. You peeked over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Close your mouth, Mr. Chavez.”

His lips parted, ready to say something, anything—but nothing came out. You only giggled, climbing onto your bed like nothing had happened, flipping through your phone, legs swinging idly.

Nicholas dragged a hand down his face.

You were toying with him. You had him at your mercy.

And worst of all? It was working.

Nicholas tried to act unaffected. He cleared his throat, shifting his stance like he was preparing to leave. “I- I should head to bed,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

You pouted, tilting your head. “Stay,” you said softly. “Just to talk.”

“Talking, huh?”

You nodded, all wide eyed and innocent, stretching your arms over your head in a way that had his gaze flickering lower before he caught himself.

With a sigh, he sat at the edge of your bed while you casually chatted, kicking your feet and twirling your hair around your finger. Your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Do you think I’m a bad girl, Mr. Chavez?” you asked, voice between playful innocence and sultriness.

Nicholas swallowed hard, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the sheet. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Am I?” you whispered, inching closer.

His jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tense. He reached out, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing your lower lip. Your breath hitched, the air crackling between you. His thumb parted your lips and in and act of boldness, it slipped pass, finding the wetness in your mouth. With your gaze locked on his, you sucked on his thumb, wrapping your lips around it and swirling your tongue.

His breath hitched. “Fuck.”

He pulled his thumb out and put it into his mouth, sucking the remnants of your saliva.

Just as his lips hovered inches from yours, the sound of the front door downstairs opening made him jolt back. Victoria’s heels clacked against the floor, her sour mood obvious. Catching Nicholas slipping out of your room, his face flushed, she raised a brow, her gaze darting between the two of you.

“Really, Nicholas?” she spat in suspicion and jealousy.

You played innocent, clutching the blanket to your chest. “We were just talking,” you offered sweetly, biting back a grin at how her eyes narrowed further.

Victoria scoffed, crossing her arms. “Is that right? Because it doesn’t seem like that.”

Nicholas stiffened, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re being ridiculous,” he deflected.

Her glare lingered before she finally turned on her heel, muttering something under her breath as she retreated down the hall.

You stretched out on the bed, arching your back, letting the blanket slip just enough to tease. “Goodnight, Mr. Chavez,” you purred.

He gripped the doorknob tightly, caught in the web you had woven. The hallway stretched before him—the master bedroom he shared with his wife on one end, your tantalizing presence on the other.

You glanced at him, eyes sparkling. “Unless, you wanna stay?”

His breath hitched, eyes roaming over you one last time before he finally tore himself away, muttering a strained, “G-goodnight, sweetheart,” as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Left alone, you hugged your pillow, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. If he thought this was over, he was sorely mistaken.

The next morning, you woke up early, making breakfast for Nicholas and the kids. Pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit—you wanted everything to be just right. Madison sat on the counter, swinging her legs while Alexander set the table, and Nicholas leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching you.

“You always cook like this?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

You flashed him a playful smile. “Only when I feel like being appreciated.”

After breakfast, you got the kids ready for school, hair brushed, backpacks packed and finally took a moment to get yourself dressed. A crop top, a denim mini skirt, platform sandals, light makeup. When you walked back into the living room, Nicholas was already standing by the door, keys in hand, but his eyes trailed over you slowly, his grip tightening on the keyring.

You smirked, adjusting your skirt. “Too much?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, you look beautiful.” But deep down, he wanted to say yes—only because he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.

You dropped the kids off at their private school, earning a mix of disapproving side eyes and whispered admiration from the teachers. Nicholas barely looked at anyone, his hand hovering protectively over your lower back as he led you out.

“Want to come with me to set?” he offered once you were back in the car.

“Why not? Not like I have anything better to do.”

The moment you arrived, heads turned. Nicholas had always been the center of attention, but today, all eyes were on you. His hand remained firm on your back as he guided you inside, like he needed everyone to know you were with him.

The team got to work dressing him for the press interview and photoshoot, buttoning a crisp white shirt over his broad chest, rolling the sleeves up just enough to show off his muscular forearms. His jawline looked even sharper under the bright studio lights, his dark hair tousled in that perfect way you loved to see it.

“Wow,” you murmured under your breath, watching as the stylist fussed over his collar.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Nicholas turned to you, amused.

“Just that you look like—really, really good,” you said, titling your head and smiling.

His smirk deepened. Before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. The unexpected gesture made warmth bloom in your chest, and you knew he saw the way you grew flustered.

You rolled your eyes but still clapped for him when the cameras started flashing, watching as he moved effortlessly through the shoot. He was a natural and you bit your lip seeing him in his element.

While he was busy, a younger guy, one of the interns, maybe, made his way over to you. He was all easy smiles and smooth compliments, obviously flirting. You laughed, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as he asked for your number.

Nicholas noticed. His expression darkened, his fists clenched. In seconds, he was striding over, his muscular frame practically blocking the guy from view.

“She’s busy,” Nicholas snapped, his voice dangerously low.

The intern blinked, startled. “Oh—I was just—”

“Leaving,” Nicholas finished for him.

“You didn’t have to be mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Nicholas didn’t look away from the guy. “Yeah, I did.”

Smirking, you turned back. “Wait, what was your number again?”

Nicholas turned to you, his voice firm. “Y/N. Let’s go. Now.”

Your expression dropped, irritation creeping in. “Why? Because some guy talked to me?”

“Because I said so,” Nicholas said with a clenched his jaw, grabbing your wrist—not rough, just enough to make you follow.

The ride home was tense. You stared out the window, arms folded, before finally snapping, “It’s not fair.”

He exhaled. “What’s not?”

You turned to him. “You’re married. Am I supposed to just sit around and be sad and lonely while you go home to your wife?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

“No.”

He glanced at you, his eyes dark. “You’re being a brat.”

You scoffed. “What are you gonna do? Exactly.”

Nicholas exhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure. “I’ll take you over my knee when we get home. Don’t test me.”

You rolled your eyes stifling a gasp. “You’re too pussy for that.”

Nicholas was silent for a moment, but his knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

The second you got home, he yanked the car door open, pulling you out and leading you straight inside.

“Hey—” you protested, but he didn’t stop, not until you were in your room, door shut behind you.

He was fuming, eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel the heat of his frustration in the air.

“What now, Mr. Chavez?” you swallowed, tilting your chin up defiantly.

“Keep pushing and find out.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him toward the door. “I think I’ll find that cute guy’s Instagram,” you said, just to test him, just to see how far you could push.

Something in Nicholas snapped. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, sat down on the edge of your bed, and pulled you over his knee with surprising ease. Your breath hitched as you found yourself sprawled across his legs, your hands pressing into the mattress for balance.

“What are you doing, Mr Chavez?” you asked, all innocent.

He let out a slow breath, his palm resting on the small of your back. “What you’ve been needing these past few months,” he murmured, his voice low.

You swallowed, but refused to let him win so easily. “You’re not gonna do it,” you taunted, tilting your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “You’re still a—”

The sharp sound of his palm meeting denim cut you off. A gasp left your lips before you could stop it.

“Count,” Nicholas instructed, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “One.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt before hiking it up then delivering another. You squirmed, but counted again.

By the time he reached ten, warmth spread across your ass. His hand lingered, soothing over where he’d struck, his fingers tracing patterns as if to calm the sting. Then, without thinking, he pressed a kiss, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

You shifted in his lap, your hands pressing against his chest as you straddled him, legs on either side of his thighs. Nicholas stilled, his breathing uneven as you settled against him. His hands instinctively found your waist, gripping you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push you away or pull you closer.

His gaze flickered down, something dark and unreadable crossing his face. His fingers trailed lower, finding their way into your underwear and when he realized just how wet you were, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he murmured, shaking his head in amusement. “Getting all worked up from being spanked.”

Your whole body warmed. “Shut up,” you muttered, but your breath hitched when, without warning, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled—hard enough to tear the delicate fabric.

“Hey!” you gasped, eyes wide. “That was Victoria’s Secret!”

Nicholas smirked, tossing the ruined fabric aside like it meant nothing. “I’ll take you to the store tomorrow,” he promised, his voice low and smooth. “You can pick out as many as you want.”

His eyes searched yours, his expression shifting into something more serious, more intense. His gaze dropped to your lips, and you could feel the heat radiating between you. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and then—your lips crashed together.

It was wild, needy, weeks—months of tension snapping all at once. Nicholas groaned against your mouth, his hands roaming your back, your waist, your ass, gripping, exploring, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. You kissed him just as desperately, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go.

When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

Then, before you could react, Nicholas shifted, turning you in one swift movement so that your back was against his chest, your legs draped over his knees. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. A shiver ran through you as he trailed slow, lingering kisses along your skin, his breath warm against your shoulder.

You swallowed, eyes flickering to the standing mirror in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip��Nicholas behind you, his dark eyes hooded with something dangerous, desperate and needy. His lips pressed just beneath your jaw, on your collarbone, your neck, your cheeks, all over, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

His breath was unsteady as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough with restraint. Your hands curled over his arms, your heart pounding. “Maybe,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, allowing him more access. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Nicholas let out a quiet chuckle, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You’re a tease.”

You smirked. “But you totally love it.”

He sighed, pressing one last lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I really do.”

With a smirk playing on your lips, you took his hand and placed it right on your pussy, the heat and wetness making him gasp.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice faltering.

“Something that I know we both want to do,” you answered.

As you stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes darkened and you couldn’t help the tiny moan that left your lips as his fingers pressed against your bundle of nerves. The air was charged, both of your breaths heavy as he slowly rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, your moans are just pretty as I imagined,” he whispered in your ear.

As he rubbed your clit slowly, his gaze was laser focused on you in the mirror. He slipped a finger inside you, a gasp leaving your lips, nothing had ever been inside you besides your fingers and his eyebrows furrowed in the mirror before he used his free hand to tilt your head.

“Sweetheart, are you a virgin?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, a bit of embarrassment evident on your face. “Is that like, bad?

“No, no it isn’t, sweetheart. I just didn’t know.” He’d have to think about that and discuss it later, the revelation had definitely surprised him.

All rational thoughts however, had been slapped out of your head when he curled his finger inside you while he rubbed your clit. The pleasure was beyond anything you had ever felt and you squirmed in his lap. He pumped his finger carefully, gradually increasing his pace as he pressed kisses against your neck.

“So fucking tight for me sweetheart,” he said, between kisses.

“Well duh, I’m a v—” Your snarky remark was cut short when he slipped another finger inside your pussy, the sound of squelching filling the room. You could see the cocky smirk on his face in the mirror and your pussy clenched at how hot he looked. Hair tousled, face chiseled, your hot boss was finger fucking you. Your hot married boss at that. And you were enjoying it thoroughly.

“Mr. Chavez,” you gasped, your back arching off his chest, “I’m gonna cum.”

His movements increased and you began squirming away but he held you close, his fingers relentless and he fell back on the bed. You were pressed against his chest on top of him, your moans so loud, it echoed throughout that wing of the mansion.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers sweetheart.”

Your release washed over you, hitting you like a truck and you squirted all over his fingers. He didn’t stop though, Nicholas continued pumping his fingers until he drew every last moan and liquid from you, leaving you utterly spent and a breathless mess in his arms.

He placed you beside him and you watched as he licked his finger clean of your juices. “You taste delicious,” he hummed in delight.

Your cheeks heated and you hid your face in the crook of his neck. He wasn’t having it and he cupped your cheeks so that you were looking at him.

“Are you gonna act like weird again like when we kissed?” you asked, a small pout on your lips.

“I won’t, I promise. And now you have to promise me you’ll keep this a secret.”

“Totally, I promise,” you beamed.

And the affair began.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn

[lvrsatoru]

╭ pairing ⸺ gojo satoru x reader

╭ drabble ⸺ 1.8k, before his final fight with sukuna, gojo reunites with someone he thought had been long gone </3 sorry in advance luvs

𐙚 december 24th, age 28

she’s standing in front of him.

she’s standing in front of him.

she’s standing in front of him.

his mind loops over the thought, unable to process it, unable to accept it. his six eyes tell him it’s real—she’s real—every fiber of his being tuned to the cursed energy signature he knows better than his own.

but it can’t be.

because he was 23 when he kissed her goodbye for the last time. because he was 23 when he got the call, when he read the report, when he stared at the empty space where her body should’ve been.

because forever had lasted less than a year.

and yet—

“satoru,” she whispers, hesitant, careful.

his name in her voice sends a violent shudder through him.

his infinity is still up. she hasn’t touched him. she can’t.

but he feels her anyway.

it’s muscle memory, instinct. his body still reacts to her, still leans toward her even as his mind tells him to run.

he doesn’t.

but he doesn’t move forward, either.

she takes another slow step, like she’s afraid he’ll bolt.

“you look different,” she says, soft but teasing, a poor attempt at levity.

his throat is too tight to respond.

her gaze drifts over him, and the weight of it makes his skin prickle, makes him aware of how much he has changed.

his hair is shorter now, with the undercut he gave himself one night, after she’d left. he’s leaner, stronger, his body hardened by war and loss and time.

but she—she looks like she’s lived, like she has known something beyond grief and battle and the never-ending ache of survival.

and it makes him feel sick.

like she’s had years he wasn’t a part of. like she kept going while he stood still.

like the dead had the audacity to age.

“where the hell have you been?” his voice comes out strangled, hoarse, barely a whisper.

her expression shifts, guilt flashing across her face before she can hide it.

“satoru—”

“where have you been?” louder, harsher this time.

she flinches.

and it kills him, because she’s not supposed to flinch at him.

she takes another step forward, cautious, careful.

his infinity is still up.

she stops.

“you’re not real,” he says flatly, more to himself than to her.

she blinks, startled. “what?”

“you’re not real. you’re a trick. a clone. a shapeshifter. an illusion.” he lists them off mechanically, like if he keeps saying it, it’ll become the truth.

but his six eyes don’t lie.

and neither does the ache in his chest.

she swallows, and for the first time, he sees the fear in her eyes.

but it’s not fear of him.

it’s fear for him.

he hates it.

he hates that she still looks at him like that. like he’s something fragile, like she’s worried he’s about to fall apart.

because he is.

he is, and she knows it.

she’s always known.

“satoru, it’s me,” she says, voice softer now, and god, it sounds like home.

he shakes his head.

no.

no, no, no, no

this is cruel.

this is so fucking cruel.

“you died,” he says, as if saying it aloud will make it true again.

her face crumples, and he has to look away, has to stare at the ground because if he meets her eyes, he’s going to break.

“i had to leave,” she whispers.

his jaw clenches.

“you left,” he repeats, voice hollow.

she hesitates. “i—”

“you left.”

his infinity flickers.

just for a second.

just long enough for her to step forward, just enough for her to lift a hand to his face—

just enough for her fingers to brush against his skin.

he shatters.

the breath rushes out of him like he’s been struck. his legs feel weak. his hands, which have been clenched into fists, loosen, tremble.

her hand is warm, so impossibly warm.

it has been five years since someone has touched him like this.

since she has touched him like this.

he wants to pull away, wants to shove her back and demand why, why, why, why she thought she had the right to do this, to touch him, to stand here in front of him like she hadn’t been a ghost for half a decade.

but he doesn’t.

he can’t.

he leans into it instead, his face tilting into her palm like it’s instinct, like he has no choice in the matter.

and maybe he doesn’t

maybe he never has.

“you left,” he whispers, softer this time, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s so quiet he barely hears it.

but he feels it.

feels the tremor in her hand, the way her thumb brushes against his cheekbone, the way her fingers tighten against his skin like she’s afraid he might slip away.

like he’s the ghost.

“you left me,” he repeats, because it’s the only thing he can hold onto, the only thing that makes sense in all of this.

“i know.”

“you—” his voice breaks, and he hates himself for it, hates the way his shoulders shake, hates the way he can’t stop leaning into her.

her forehead rests against his, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming out shaky and uneven.

“i know,” she whispers again, her voice cracking.

his hands move on their own, gripping her waist, holding her there.

he shouldn’t.

he shouldn’t.

but he does.

he clutches her like she might disappear again, like she might slip through his fingers if he lets go.

she wraps her arms around him.

and that’s when he breaks.

a sound leaves him—something between a sob and a laugh, something raw and guttural and helpless—and he buries his face in her shoulder, his whole body trembling.

she smells the same.

she feels the same.

but everything else is different.

he is different.

“i thought i was getting better,” he breathes. “i thought i—I thought I was moving on.”

“i know,” she says, holding him tighter.

“i wasn’t.”

“i know.”

he swallows, his throat tight, his hands clenching at the fabric of her clothes.

“i still love you,” he admits, and it feels like surrender, like defeat.

she exhales, a shaky, broken thing, and pulls back just enough to cup his face again.

“i still love you too,” she whispers.

it’s unfair.

it’s so fucking unfair.

because she’s here.

but she won’t be for long.

and he’s about to die.

they stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, both afraid to let go. he clings to her, hands curled into the fabric at her waist, like if he holds on tight enough, time will stop, and none of this will matter.

but he knows better.

time has never been kind to him.

“you have to go, don’t you?” he murmurs.

she stiffens.

he pulls back just enough to look at her, to search her face for answers, and god—he hates that she looks guilty.

“tell me,” he says, voice quiet but firm.

she bites her lip, hesitates.

and that alone is enough to set him off.

he pulls back entirely now, hands falling from her like she’s burned him.

“don’t,” he snaps. “don’t look at me like that. like you already know how this ends.”

“satoru—”

“don’t.”

she exhales, looks away.

and fuck, it’s happening again, isn’t it? she’s leaving again.

“why?” he demands. “why now? why show up just to—” he stops himself before he can say it, before he can put words to the fear clawing at his throat.

just to leave me again.

she steps forward again, hesitant, like she’s unsure if she’s still allowed.

but his infinity is still down.

he hates himself for it.

“there are things i can’t tell you,” she says finally, and he wants to scream.

“that’s bullshit.”

her jaw tightens. “it’s the truth.”

he laughs, sharp and humorless, runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“i spent five years thinking you were dead,” he says, voice low, almost trembling. “five years, and you come back just to—just to what? tell me there are things you can’t tell me? give me some cryptic half-truths and expect me to accept it?”

“it’s not that simple.”

“it never is with you.”

she winces.

it makes him feel sick.

“do you think this is easy for me?” she asks, voice cracking.

he stares at her, and for the first time since he’s seen her again, he lets himself really look.

her hair is longer, her face a little older. she carries herself differently now, like someone who’s had to live a life she never wanted.

it hits him then—she didn’t want this, either.

but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“why did you come back?” he asks, quiet now, all the fight drained out of him.

she takes a shaky breath.

“because you’re about to fight sukuna,” she says.

his stomach drops.

he had almost forgotten.

almost.

the weight of the truth settles in his chest.

she came back because she knows.

“you think I’m going to lose,” he says flatly.

her eyes are glassy, but she doesn’t deny it.

his breath catches.

“i don’t—” he swallows, shakes his head. “i don’t know how to do this.”

she reaches for him again, and this time, he lets her.

her fingers trail over his cheek, down his jaw, feather-light and devastating.

“neither do i,” she whispers.

and suddenly, he hates her for this.

for coming back, for giving him this sliver of something just to take it away again.

but he can’t be angry.

because she’s here.

she’s here.

and it’s the cruelest thing the universe has ever done to him.

“stay,” he says, and it’s not a demand—it’s a plea.

she swallows hard, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

“i can’t.”

his hands tighten on her waist, his chest aching so badly he can hardly stand it.

“please.”

she shakes her head, her own tears slipping free now.

“i can’t,” she says again, and it shatters him.

he presses his forehead to hers, closes his eyes, breathes her in.

because this is all he gets.

a stolen moment before the end.

she holds him just as tightly.

“i love you,” she whispers.

his breath hitches.

“i still love you,” she says, voice breaking. “i never stopped.”

his chest cracks open at that, something deep inside him splintering beyond repair.

his grip tightens, fingers digging into her like he can carve her into his skin, like he can keep her here.

he doesn’t say it back.

because it’s never been a question.

because of course he loves her.

of course he does.

he always has.

he always will.

but she’s already slipping away.

and he lets her go.

[freedelusionshere]

I think part of Carmy’s problem in S3 is how he accelerates everything to get the star. Which is about Syd. The idea that he will run out of time (which he even says).

I’ve always thought this meant he knows there is a countdown clock until Syd leaves him (like she almost did in S1). That he can’t do this without her and doesn’t even want to. It’s always really been about Syd and wanting to get her to stay from the minute she walked through the door of The Beef.

How much of what Carmy has done from the start is about keeping Syd with him? Starting with the brigade (hierarchy, she’s his subordinate), which creates a barrier so he can’t fully act on his feelings. Then she leaves him and he promises her the restaurant she’s always wanted in return.

He dated Claire in S2 and yet tells Syd he is giving her what she wanted, but distanced himself physically. He wasn’t around the way he knows he should’ve been and tries to make up for it at the end (I also get slight vibes of what maybe went down with the Berzatto dad here, and his aversion to hard emotional things despite being a dreamer). When you see how at ease he is with Syd versus his anxiety around Claire it lines up with him hiding out to avoid real feelings vs superficial ones.

In S3, he distances himself from Syd emotionally, while trying to make her his partner and constantly being physically present but controlling (Donna/Chef David mode) and trying to make Syd believe she needs him to get a star as he watches her demonstrate that’s absolutely not the case; it’s the other way around and now everyone knows it, too.

Like I’ve said many times before I think he has realized this by the end of S3, it’s just a matter of what Syd will do now.

At least since the discussion in Legacy when he saw her in the cute outfit, he mentions wanting to get square with everything and everyone.

Then he realizes he is obsessing over trying to figure Syd out instead of working on himself in Apologies (this is the reason he contemplates calling Claire: to apologize and not be shitty).

Then he starts to do the actual work in Forever by acknowledging he’s been a bad boss by confronting his own bad boss. Claire and his mom will follow as well as Richie.

These three seasons combined also give me massive François Truffaut feels, following a similar arc about love, marriage, and seasons of life in his film cycle The Adventures of Antoine Doinel.

[sonic-adventure-3]

i was considering drawing something shippy for valentines day and then i remembered i don’t care abt any ships. or romance. or valentines day. i don’t even like red and pink as a colour combo 80% of the time

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[deus-ex-mona]

flashtag ✨ignored✨

[gwandas]

It’s quite rich of the IC to be pissed at Nesta for being taking a risk to save millions of people on another planet because if I recall correctly, the IC took a big risk when they trusted those human queens which led to the most traumatizing moment of Nesta’s life hmmm?

[new-york-no-shoes]

This love left a permanent mark. This love is glowing in the dark / At least I did one thing right. Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

[smilesrobotlover]

Rewatching Clone Wars and Rebels and I just gotta say it. Star Wars peaked with those shows. I love them so much

[acourtofquestions]

Boots crunched in hay, and then he was knee to knee before her.

Aedion.

There was nothing kind on his face. No pity or warmth.

For a long minute, they only stared at each other.

Then the prince growled softly, "Your plan was bullshit."

She said nothing, and couldn't stop her shoulders from curving inward.

"Your plan was bullshit," he breathed, his eyes sparking. "How could you ever be her, wear her skin, and think to get away with it? How could you ever think you'd get around the fact that our armies are counting on you to burn the enemy to ashes, and all you can do is run away and emerge as some beast instead?"

"You don't get to pin this retreat on me," she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.

"You agreed to let Aelin go to her death, and leave us here to be slashed to bloody ribbons. You two told no one of this plan, told none of us who might have explained the realities of this war, and that we would need a gods-damned Fire-Bringer and not an untrained, useless shape-shifter against Morath."

Blow after blow, the words landed upon her weary heart. "We—"

"If you were so willing to let Aelin die, then you should have let her do it after she incinerated Erawan's hordes!"

"It would not have stopped Maeve from capturing her."

"If you'd told us, we might have planned differently, acted differently, and we would not be here, damn you!"

She stared at the muddy hay. "Throw me out of your army, then."

"You ruined everything." His words were colder than the wind outside. "You, and her."

Lysandra closed her eyes.

Hay rustled, and she knew he'd risen to his feet, knew it as his words speared from above her bowed head. "Get out of my tent."

She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey, though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. She should fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her, needing an outlet for his fear and despair.

Lysandra opened her eyes, peering up at him. At the rage on his face, the hatred She managed to stand, her body bleating in pain. Managed to look him in the eye, even as Aedion said again with quiet cold, "Get out."

Barefoot in the snow, naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs, as if realizing it. And not caring.

So Lysandra nodded, clutching Ansel's cloak tighter, and strode into the frigid night.

"Where is she?" Ren asked, a mug of what smelled like watery soup in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. The lord scanned the tent as if he would find her under the cot, the hay.

Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier, and said nothing.

"What have you done?" Ren breathed.

Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.

So it didn't matter, what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair, wasn't true.

Didn't care if he was so tired he couldn't muster shame at his pinning on her the blame for the sure defeat they'd face in a matter of days before Perranth's walls.

He wished she'd smacked him, had screamed at him. But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow, barefoot.

He'd promised to save Terrasen, to hold the lines. Had done so for years. And yet this test against Morath, when it had counted ... he had failed.

He’d muster the strength to fight again. To rally his men. He just ... he needed to sleep.

Aedion didn't notice when Ren left, undoubtedly in search of the shifter with who he was so damned enamored.

He should summon his Bane commanders. See how they thought to manage this disaster.

But he couldn't. Could do nothing but stare into that fire as the long night passed.

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

pissed rn specifically bc i lost my detailed plan for the near’s bday event pieces i’m doing :/

[shaykai]

Oooooh I forgot how much I hate the end of Warcraft (ignoring the MMOs I don’t fuck with those djdjjd)

[howblunt]

The only reason they made Paul and Jess not work out was because they hate me

[kavehayati]

I’ve been teaching my sister how to play Genshin for some of the past hours today and I hope she quits bc now I feel really guilty about it I don’t want her to waste all her time on it and Im thinking abt why she even wanted to start the game and now I feel even more horrible bc of some reasons that I kinda feel guilty explaining

[heartual]

sigh cardio appointment today didn’t sleep at all last night left with heart monitor that’s starting to feel itchy fell asleep for two hours and somehow woke up WORSE

[storygremlin]

I sat down with my friend so she could watch Merlin’s two-part Beauty and the Beast episodes, and I just love watching someone experience the appropriate amount of glee at realizing that Uther Pendgragon will have the knowledge that he married and had sex with a troll for the rest of his life 🥰 probably while said troll literally smelled like horseshit